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cherienymphe · 8 months

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Escapism

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: Your brother always stayed up with you whenever you couldn’t sleep and nothing has changed now that his best friend is the reason for your late nights.

warnings: Dub-Con, stepcest, cheating, toxic relationship, semi-public sex, jealousy, secret relationship, side of Rafe x reader, lots of playing in Rafe's face, kook!reader, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

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You were a shitty girlfriend.

Perhaps, in some ways, you were being too harsh on yourself because it wasn’t like Rafe would ever win boyfriend of the year. The blond came with a plethora of issues that could only be fixed with therapy—something you probably wouldn’t even be able to pay him to do—and he chose to handle every single one with one horrible coping mechanism after the next. When it was all said and done though, you really only had yourself to blame.

It wasn’t like you were a stranger to the man before you started dating him.

You knew Rafe well—you’d grown up with him—so was it really his fault that you chose to ignore every single thing you knew about him in the hopes that he would mature and change? Was it his fault that you forgave him time and time again with the hopes that he could still change? Was he the asshole for being him or were you the asshole for going into this with the expectation he’d be something he wasn’t?

“Come on,” Topper would say to you in the dead of night. “You and I both know what he’s like—what he’s always been like.”

It was usually after he’d listen to you cry over Rafe and whatever girl he’d kissed or whatever awful thing he’d said to you, pupils blown and alcohol on his breath. He’d pull you to sit back, hands rubbing over your arms in an attempt to calm you down. It was always well into the night when you both should’ve been asleep, but per your routine as of late, you’d be waiting up for Rafe to call or text or walk through the door.

Anything to let you know he wasn’t passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere.

“Rafe can take care of himself just fine.”

Or some variation of that would reach your ears, and you’d press your hands to your face in exhaustion. You’d never miss the bitterness—borderline malice—in Topper’s voice as he said something like that. You knew it wasn’t directed at you, but more so your relationship with the other blond as a whole and his frustration with it. Topper never wanted you to date Rafe, and you knew he took no pleasure in watching Rafe prove him right.

Rafe may have been his best friend…

…but you were ten and Topper was twelve when his mother married your father. He’d been protective of you since day one, having been an only child before that, and you knew that he hated having to let you make your own choices and mistakes with the guy you’d both once called a friend. If you and Rafe came out of this relationship intact, you doubted you’d ever call him ‘friend’ again.

He’d hurt you too much for that.

You weren’t a bad girlfriend for thinking such thoughts. Nor were you a bad girlfriend for trying to break up with him on several occasions, something Rafe would always talk you out of with promises of remorse and change. You didn’t even think you were a bad girlfriend for venting about your frustration and hurt to his best friend—your stepbrother.

You were a shitty girlfriend for allowing something to continue that should’ve ended years ago.

Fed up with talking about Rafe and how badly he’d hurt your feelings earlier in the day, Topper had pressed his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up with a kiss. A kiss that you returned, shoulders sagging and a weight lifting off of your chest as his arms circled around your waist. Rafe had called you a nag hours before, subsequently telling you he wouldn’t be staying over before hanging up without another word.

It had hurt you, but you were sure Topper was just relieved to have you all to himself.

Or at the very least, wouldn’t be tempted to fuck you anyway—Rafe under the same roof be damned.

You both were quiet in the dark living room—your parents asleep upstairs—and the longer you kissed him, the more you just wanted to forget about Rafe. The t-shirt you wore was bunching up under the blonde’s hands, and you gasped when his mouth trailed down to your neck. You could feel how much he wanted you, and any other night you would’ve loved to drag this out, but much like Topper…

You just wanted to feel him inside of you.

You never wore any underwear to bed, both for convenience and just because. It was something Topper had come to appreciate, and when you helped him pull his shorts down, cock springing free, you couldn’t slide down the couch fast enough. He hooked one hand under your thigh, helping you and dragging you closer, the other squeezing his cock with long strokes.

He rubbed the tip of himself against you a few times, coating the head in your essence, unsurprised at how wet and ready for him you already were. The feel made you bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your hips in an attempt to get him to sink into you even if just a little. You didn’t miss the soft chuckle that rang through the air.

“I’m sorry,” he huskily told you, pushing into you with one slow thrust. “Is that better?”

You hated his mocking tone, but not as much as you loved the feel of him stretching you out. You clawed at him, pulling him closer, sighing into his mouth when he finally kissed you again. The movements of his hips were slow, too afraid to do too much and make too much noise. The pace was enough to make your head spin and was definitely enough to make you squirm beneath him. When you started lifting your hips to meet him halfway, he groaned into the kiss.

Rafe was the furthest thing from your mind.

Sliding your hands up Topper’s frame, you threaded your fingers through his hair, nails lightly dragging along his scalp. By the way he shuddered against you, you knew that he liked that. Every snap of his hips into yours had you swallowing down every noise that threatened to escape. His cock stroked your walls in a way that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Shifting, you felt his hand slide down to rest on the inside of your thigh, pushing it and spreading it until your leg hung off of the couch. At that, you did gasp, a choaked sound escaping your lips before you snapped them shut. His free hand was beside your head now, forearm resting on the couch cushion. You both were quiet, but your soft labored breathing could still be heard if you listened hard enough.

When you softly moaned his name, he shushed you.

“I want…” you fought to catch your breath enough to speak. “I want you to come inside of me.”

You felt another shiver travel up his spine, head falling into the crook of your neck at that. You knew he wasn’t close, but you felt like making that known. It wasn’t something you both made a habit of, but you loved the feel of Topper spilling into you, cock twitching as he coated your walls in his release. When you pushed against his hand, he got the hint, and you circled his waist with your legs, ankles hooking at the small of his back.

Topper took his time fucking you.

He often did, feeling no need to rush or no fear that you’d get caught. You didn’t know if he was just that confident in how quickly you could pull yourselves together or that it simply wouldn’t happen. Some part of you wondered if maybe he just didn’t care. You knew that couldn’t be true for several reasons, the most pressing being your boyfriend.

It was funny.

Rafe had probably cheated on you more times than you actually knew of, but the minute some other guy looked at you for even just a second too long, he was gearing up for a fight. You didn’t know if he was performative or just that skilled at compartmentalization, but you hated it. What good did it do for him to act so noble and possessive when way too many people knew how much he’d embarrassed you over the past six months?

You didn’t doubt that he’d try to kill Topper in some coked out rage if he ever knew.

Topper’s hand was cupping your breast under your shirt as he pressed kisses to your neck and jaw. He was whispering in your ear, telling you how good you felt and how wet you were, and how much he wanted to feel you coming around him. He knew what to say to send you over the edge, and at the first sound, he covered your mouth in another kiss to swallow your moans.

You squeezed him tight, walls clenching as he fucked you through your climax, cock plunging into your soaking cunt as he chased his own. His thrusts grew sloppy, and they weren’t as languid, and his blond strands kissed your forehead as they grew messy and awkward with sweat. Your legs had long fallen around him, and you pressed your hand against his lower back.

When he came, he buried his face into where your neck and shoulder met, groaning into the skin. You shuddered at the feel of him spilling into you, still clenching around him as remnants of your orgasm finally started to dissipate. His breathing was heavy against your skin before pulling back just enough to touch his forehead to yours.

You could only hear your efforts to catch your breath.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded, positive he could feel the action against his forehead. You fingered the top of his shorts, and you bit your lip. You didn’t say it back often—something you still had trouble accepting and admitting—but you told him enough so that he’d never doubt it.

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” you quietly asked him. “Rafe probably won’t come over until after noon…if he comes over, at all.”

You tried not to let your voice shrink at the thought, but Topper caught it anyway. Pulling out of you and sitting up, he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him. Righting himself, he pulled you to your feet, his other hand pushing his hair away from his face.

“You know you never have to ask,” he told you.

His hands were comfortably on your waist as he followed behind you, guiding you upstairs.

“What…? You got a problem or something?”

You knew it was coming when you were the only one who wasn’t laughing, unamused as he recounted his tale of how he’d cornered Pope. You’d never known the other guy to get into any trouble or bother anyone, and while you knew there would never be anything you could do about whatever petty rivalry your brother and your boyfriend and their friends involved themselves in, Pope just seemed like low hanging fruit.

He wasn’t even the type to fight back.

“I just don’t find it funny,” was all you said, squinting under the harsh rays of the sun. “You know Pope’s not even like that. I might’ve laughed if it were JJ or…I don’t know…someone who would actually put up a fight.”

Rafe’s entire demeanor clouded over at that, and you were prepared for whatever was about to come out of his mouth when Topper spoke.

“Rafe,” the other blond warned. “Chill.”

He seemed to anticipate Rafe’s ire just as much as you did, and Rafe paused, glancing at his best friend before huffing. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with that cold blue gaze of his. The sun shone off of his dirty blond strands, the tresses curtained along his forehead, and you watched him bring his hand up to rest against his lips before finally settling on a better response than what you both knew you almost got.

“So, what are you trying to say?”

Choosing to end this fight before it even began, you sighed, looking away.

“I’m not saying anything, Rafe. You can do whatever you want,” you murmured. “You always do.”

He heard that loud and clear, and the laugh he let out wasn’t humorous in the slightest. You heard him roughly get up from his seat, chair scraping against the wooden floor. You watched him snatch his glass off the table, mumbling something about needing a refill but not before making a comment to Topper that was solely intended for you.

“Get your sister, Top,” your boyfriend drawled, making you cross your arms over your chest.

You could feel the man in question’s eyes on you, and you avoided his gaze.

“Sometimes I swear you like fighting with him just as much as he does you.”

At that, you scoffed, looking at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t laugh because he beat up Pope Heyward…and that was apparently a problem,” you pointed out to which Topper merely shrugged, unable to disagree. “I apologize for not finding it funny.”

“Babe,” he softly said, reaching out and touching your arm. “He’s a Pogue, and you know how Rafe is.”

His excuse for Rafe’s behavior only made you roll your eyes, and you heard him sigh as you reached for your stuff. He said your name, trying to get you to sit back down, but you were only more determined to leave once you caught sight of Kelce walking up the steps to the restaurant too. Dealing with all three of them at once was enough to give you a coronary.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t answer Rafe as you passed him on his way back to the table, ignoring Kelce too when he said hey to you. You hated to take it out on him when he didn’t actually do anything this time, but you knew his mindset was just as bad as Rafe’s, and so you figured it was preemptively deserved. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that Rafe was going to talk shit about you the second you were out of sight.

It was one of those days where you really felt emboldened to finally break up with him for good. Rafe hadn’t been good to you nor right for you since the beginning, and you knew that if Topper was a lesser person, he would’ve said ‘I told you so’ a million times by now. You were grateful that he didn’t make you feel worse for being naïve enough to ever believe in Rafe Cameron.

Although, some part of you wondered if having you crawl into his bed night after night was satisfaction enough.

It was hours later when he was softly apologizing for both his and Rafe’s behavior, fingers digging into your waist as you pushed yourself down onto him. Rafe had long fallen asleep, his light snores easing your worry as you’d snuck out of your room. Topper was awake—as you’d hoped—and it was true that you’d only intended to talk. Rafe’s attitude hadn’t been much better when you finally reunited again, something you were sure Topper had overheard.

“You really want to talk about Rafe, right now?” he’d whispered, hand sliding along your thigh.

“Topper,” you’d quietly hissed in warning. “Not…tonight. He’s…”

You didn’t need to finish that sentence, feeling no need to as you gestured towards his door. The blond had fixed you with a look that made your stomach flip, a hint of a smirk dancing along his pink lips as he held your gaze.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

You’d swallowed at that, feeling unsure, but that was a feeling that had never stopped the other man before either. The first time he’d ever kissed you, you’d felt unsure, but Topper hadn’t cared, holding you to him and fingering you on the back deck while his mother threw some grand party downstairs. You still remembered the way you came around his fingers, an admission of insecurities somehow leading to your first ever sexual experience—and with your own stepbrother no less.

“Topper,” you’d quietly warned when he brushed his lips against yours. “Rafe…”

“Do…not…talk about him, right now,” he’d slowly said, fingers grazing along your folds just as slow.

Despite your hand against his shoulder, he’d laid you down, lips finding the skin just under your jaw.

“He’s the last thing I want to talk about, right now.”

…and he’d meant it, curving his fingers into you while pressing open mouthed kisses to your jaw and throat and collarbone. Any protest you had was swallowed down and quickly forgotten at the slick feeling between your legs, Topper’s fingers sinking into your cunt with ease. Your own twisted into the fabric of his shirt, hips lifted towards his hand, fighting to swallow down a whimper each time his thumb circled your clit.

“Fuck,” he’d cursed into your skin. “I love how wet you get for me.”

It wasn’t long after that that he was hurrying to get inside of you, shirts and shorts discarded as he pulled you on top of him. When you sank down onto him, he’d sighed, throwing his head back and lifting his hips. With your hands on his stomach, you’d lifted yourself until the tip of his cock just barely remained inside of you before sliding back down.

You gently bounced on top of him, hyper aware of who was just in the other room. You could tell that Topper wasn’t a huge fan, feeling that you had to pick one between being on top and being gentle, but it couldn’t be both. When his hands slid up your frame, they rested on the sides of your neck before pulling you down. Your eyes fell closed when you kissed him, and you gasped into his mouth when he lifted his hips, driving himself up into you.

You mentally cursed, realizing you’d been tricked.

With his hands quickly sliding down to snake around your waist, Topper wasted no time in lifting his hips to push his cock up into you. The force of his thrusts had you squeezing him in more ways than one, lips parted and eyes tight as he roughly fucked himself up into you. His bed shook under his movements, and you couldn’t stop yourself from whining into his mouth, the sound of him sinking into you reaching your ears.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he hummed, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek.

When his bed knocked into the wall, he halted his movements, using the moment to both catch his breath and listen. Your own heart stuttered, digging your nails into his chest because you’d literally told Topper so. Once Rafe was knocked out, it was usually pretty hard to wake him up, but it would be just your luck that this night of all nights he’d be a light sleeper.

You really didn’t want to imagine the chaos if he left your room in search of you only to find his best friend balls deep inside of you.

When no worrying sounds reached your ears, Topper took that as a sign to continue, knees bent as he thrust up into you again. You could tell he was close by the way his cock twitched inside of you, and something nagged in the back of your mind about that. When you attempted to pull yourself off of him, he held you tighter.

“Topper,” you gasped, a warning in your tone. “Don’t-.”

Your words were abruptly swallowed when he rolled you both, pinning you beneath him and jerking his hips into yours. The rough and fast pace had you momentarily forgetting your train of thought, weakly pushing against his stomach. You both knew why you didn’t want him to finish inside of you, but he didn’t seem to care about Rafe possibly sinking into you in the early hours of the morning with his best friend’s cum dried along your folds.

You yelped when you came, a roaring sound in your ears as you felt him do the same, filling you up with a grunt. His hips didn’t stop snapping against yours the entire time, fucking you through it and fucking his cum into you. He had you completely caged beneath him, and all you could do was quietly milk his cock, toes curling as you scratched at his back.

When clarity finally hit, the fog lifting, you roughly pushed him away. You didn’t miss his quiet chuckle, and you didn’t spare him a glance as you reached for your oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumbled, pulling it over your head and slapping his hand away when he reached down to slide his fingers between your sticky folds.

You didn’t spare Topper another glance before hurrying out of his room.

You kept your eyes on Rafe as he flew down the road, the loud music making his truck almost vibrate. He was ignoring you, preoccupied with his conversation with Kelce who was in the passenger seat. It was funny because the only one with a right to be mad was you, recalling the fight you’d had on the beach not even an hour ago.

“She was all over you, and you just stood there and let it happen,” you’d yelled at him, feeling humiliated for the umpteenth time.

“I barely remember what that girl even looks like,” was his reply, pupils blown. “It was nothing, baby.”

You had slapped his hand away when he reached for you, unmoved by the way his countenance darkened. The sounds of the party just down the beach only served to remind you how you felt when you walked up on him with his hand on some girl’s waist, her lips trailing kisses along his neck. You could tell she was drunk, and instead of pushing her away, Rafe just entertained it.

Your eyes had only met for half a second before you were turning away.

You didn’t even know why he chased you down the beach, and that was what you’d told him.

“You’re not sorry…you don’t feel bad, and you know what? You’ll probably do worse two weeks from now, so why are you even here?”

You’d shrugged at him, certain your confusion was evident on your face.

“Look, it was nothing,” he’d spat at you. “Once again, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

That had actually made you laugh, tears kissing your eyes.

“If you caught me cozying up to any guy with half the effort that she was with you…you would lose your shit, and you know it,” you’d sneered, watching his jaw tick. “I would love to see the look on your face if I fucked someone else.”

He’d gotten in your face, his finger almost touching your eye.

“I was barely touching her-.”

“That wasn’t the case three months ago,” you threw in his face. “…and I can only imagine what I don’t know about.”

Rafe’s nostrils had flared, and for a split second, you swore you saw some shame pass through his blue gaze. It was gone just as quickly as it came though, anger replacing it instead.

“You wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t fucking dare,” he bit out, invading your personal space. “I said I was sorry, and you said you forgave me, so don’t think you can use that as an excuse to go fuck some asshole who clearly doesn’t value his life.”

His words had only made you angrier, and you had to bite your tongue to keep your face even, recalling the feel of Topper’s cock inside of you just thirty minutes before Rafe came to pick you both up. You and your boyfriend had stared each other down for a few moments more before he spoke again.

“I’d love to see you do that,” he finally said, shrugging. “I would love to see you try when you can’t even stick to staying broken up with me.”

His words had the desired effect, and you’d felt your face fall.

“Now, you’re trying to convince me you’d ever have the nerve to cheat on me?” he’d wondered, fingers grazing his own chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

He’d left you with a scoff, and you hadn’t been able to stop your tears from spilling over. All you’d ever tried to do was routinely look for and believe in the best in Rafe, and you couldn’t believe that he threw that in your face like some insult. Maybe it was an insult though…because how many times were you going to let him show you exactly who he was? How many times were you going to let him play in your face?

The day after you’d confronted him about sleeping with some girl—only privy to the information because of none other than Topper—you’d cried yourself to sleep. It was always little things before that, but that incident was what broke you, allowing Topper to slip into your room and wrap his arms around you. It was reminiscent of a time where he used to sneak into your room almost every night, your parents none the wiser to what went on underneath their roof. You’d been eighteen then, Topper twenty, and you both mutually agreed to putting a stop to it.

However, that night, his mind had clearly gone to the same place yours had.

When he kissed you, you’d pulled him closer, and two years after you ended your forbidden dalliance, you resumed it again. For a few hours, you’d forgotten all about Rafe and what he did and just basked in the feel of Topper pushing his cock into you, embarrassingly turned on because of how much you’d missed him. You hadn’t paid any mind to the countless phone calls and texts that were blowing up your phone, no one else but Rafe and his vain attempts to fix what he did.

The day you forgave him, you knew you were making a huge mistake.

Rafe throwing the grace you’d shown him in your face had you stomping to his truck. You’d ignored the feel of eyes on you, knowing it wasn’t Rafe, opting to slide in the backseat without acknowledging him. Kelce—ever the standup guy—just pretended not to notice the tension between you and his friend as he slid into the passenger seat. The moment Rafe’s truck was on the road—music blaring through the vehicle—you’d grabbed Topper’s hand.

He didn’t protest at all when you dragged it across your thigh, pushing his fingers between your legs.

…and that was how you found yourself watching Rafe, keeping your eyes on him not because you actually wanted to, but because you didn’t need him looking over his shoulder. Even if he did, it was dark, but still, you weren’t exactly emotionless as Topper slid his fingers in and out of you. Your lips were parted, and your chest was heaving, and even though all that could really be heard was whatever rap song Rafe put on, you were still pulling your lip between your teeth.

You reached out to grip the door handle when Topper added another finger, his hand soaked in you, and you reached down to place your own hand on top of his. You spread your legs a little more, and you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your hips a bit. You were thankful for the music, certain that if the truck were quieter, they’d be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers pushing between your folds.

He pulled them in and out of you for the duration of the ride, just slowly stroking you and teasing you. Every time you started to tighten around his fingers, he’d stop, just letting them sit there long enough for you to come down from a high that quite never happened. Like clockwork, he’d start moving his fingers again, and he only fully pulled them out of you—underwear snapping back into place—when Rafe pulled into his driveway.

He'd sucked them clean by the time Rafe and Kelce opened their doors, and when your boyfriend saw that neither of you were moving, he paused. You crossed your arms over your chest when he glanced at you, throwing him a frown.

“I need to talk to Y/N for a minute,” Topper told him, and Rafe only scoffed.

“Please do,” he mockingly said, tone full of arrogance as he wrongly assumed what the conversation would be about. “…because I didn’t do shit, and I’m tired of your sister blowing things out of proportion.”

That last part was aimed at you, and you only coolly met your boyfriend’s gaze before he slammed the door shut.

“He’s such an asshole,” you mumbled, staring at his back as he walked away. “I’m breaking up with him. For good this time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Topper’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yeah, we both know how much you’ll hate having me all to yourself again.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before you turned towards him, reaching to slip your hand down his pants the moment Rafe was inside of his house. Wrapping your fingers around Topper’s cock, you slowly stroked him, uncaring as to how risky that was. You were just angrier than you ever were at the realization that Rafe didn’t appreciate how gracious you’d been, and how many other girls would’ve dumped him months ago for everything he’d pulled. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe respected you less for it.

That realization didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would…because you’d long stopped respecting him in return.

You moved to settle in Topper’s lap, facing away from him as he lifted his hips enough to only just pull his pants down. One hand was pulling at your panties, yanking them aside just in time for you to sink down onto his cock. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he filled you up, throbbing inside of your heat. It was almost too easy, courtesy of his fingers and how wet he’d made you.

You lifted yourself slightly, moving over him and hanging onto the headrest of the driver’s seat while Topper lifted his hips too. His grunts and labored pants were a little loud, but that was only because you were alone. Rafe nor Kelce was going to hear anything from all the way out here in a closed vehicle. You clung to the seat harder as you thought about Rafe’s haughty tone and that challenging look in his blue eyes, so certain that you’d never do to him what he did to you.

So certain that you’d never have the guts.

Speaking of, it felt like you could feel Topper deep in your stomach as you rode him. His hands were tight on your waist as he bounced you on top of him, cheeks grazing his thighs with every movement. One of those hands slid around you, reaching under your dress and resting on you, fingers rubbing over your cunt.

“You’re doing so good, babe,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet truck. “Just like that.”

You knew that this couldn’t take long—and Topper knew it too—and feeling you come around him always sent him over the edge, so your eyes rolled when he started circling and dragging his fingers across your clit. He lightly pinched it, making you jerk, and the fact that you were fucking him in Rafe’s own backseat had you coming hard.

The broken moans that tumbled out of your mouth should have embarrassed you, but you were too concerned with sliding yourself up and down his cock, squeezing him tight and making him come too. Topper wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you back against him as you came together. Knowing that you’d stayed out here long enough, he was gently pushing you off of him the second he started to soften.

You could feel him dripping out of you, and you hurried to put your underwear back in place.

“Did you talk some sense into her?” was the first thing Rafe greeted you with the moment you both made it back inside.

You ignored him, hearing the tone of Topper’s voice as he said Rafe’s name. You knew that it would just be another useless talk of him almost begging Rafe to do better. The older blond never listened to his friend though, and you knew it didn’t twist Topper up too much, always happy to make you feel better when your boyfriend fucked up.

He took advantage of it every time.

Like now, for example.

Your hands clung to the railing of the back porch, head bowed as Topper drove into you from behind. Rafe was asleep in his own room—Kelce asleep in a guest room—and you couldn’t help yourself. You needed him again, sneaking into his designated guest room and begging him to fuck you. He was never one to protest, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you against him while murmuring something along the lines of ‘not in here’.

There were too many people in the Cameron household for him to touch you on the same floor as everyone else.

You kept pushing yourself to your tippy toes, thighs squeezing together with every slow stroke of his cock. Rafe’s t-shirt was pushed up your back, and the light slap of skin against skin reached your ears as well as the wet sound every time he slid between your folds. When he leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm curled around your waist.

“You love this,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You love fucking me right under his nose…especially when he really pisses you off.”

If you’d tried to deny it, the way you tightened around him would’ve exposed the truth anyway. You did. Rafe underestimated you, and you loved proving him wrong, especially with his best friend of all people. You moaned, pushing back against him at that. Topper only chuckled, twisting a hand at your roots and pushing you back down over the railing again.

After coming around him twice, the insides of your thighs were embarrassingly sticky, and when Topper eventually stilled against you, pumping you full of his cum, that only made your predicament worse. When he pulled out of you, you reached down to wipe away some of the mess, fighting to catch your breath and reminding yourself that you’d have to make a stop to the bathroom before rejoining Rafe.

Topper was silent the entire ride home, and unlike with Rafe, you had no one but yourself to blame in this situation. Whenever you happened to glance over, you’d catch sight of his clenched jaw, cold blue eyes—so much like Rafe’s—focused on the road. His knuckles were white from the strain of his skin pulled taut over them, a death grip on the wheel of his jeep.

You didn’t speak because there wasn’t much you could say.

So fed up with Rafe’s blatant disrespect—and the pitying looks the odd girl threw you at the party as he danced with some stranger—you hadn’t thought of who else you’d be hurting when you grabbed the nearest guy and pressed your lips to his. You were so far gone with the alcohol, and the satisfaction you’d felt only drove you to close your eyes at the feel of his lips moving against yours.

It had also caused you to momentarily forget about your boyfriend, a misstep that was quickly remedied when you found yourself covered in alcohol.

Several of his friends—Kelce included—had been struggling to hold Rafe back as he tried to make his way to you. His angry shouts could be heard over the music, and you suspected that the bloodthirsty glint in his blue eyes was what drove your poor unsuspecting victim to slip away. Watching him get further out of reach only drove Rafe crazy…until his angry gaze landed on you, as if just remembering your presence.

He was screaming at you, calling you every name in the book, and you’d taken a step back as his friends struggled to keep him from getting to you. Only one stood off to the side, and when you remembered Topper’s presence, you hadn’t been able to keep the sheepish look off of your face. Adopting the older brother role, he’d quickly stomped towards you, yanking your arm as he pulled you along and away from your enraged boyfriend.

“I think its time you call it a night,” he’d evenly said.

That was the last thing he’d said to you, holding you as you stumbled to his car.

When his phone rang again, cutting through the silence in the vehicle, he finally answered it.

“Rafe, she’s drunk,” Topper told him the minute he picked it up. “…and you can’t act like you didn’t have this coming a little.”

You shifted in your seat, thinking to yourself that you’d gotten back at Rafe many times over. You didn’t hear what your boyfriend—possibly ex-boyfriend—said on the other line, but it was loud, and you could pick up on his tone. Topper chuckled to himself, and if you hadn’t been looking at his face, you might’ve thought it was genuine. His frustration with both Rafe and you—mostly you at the moment—was all over his face.

“There’s a whole list of shit you’ve done while drunk or high. You can talk to her tomorrow,” he told his best friend, meeting your gaze. “I’m handling it, so if you come over, I’m telling you now I’m not answering the door.”

You looked out the window at that, swallowing at the venom in both his voice and his gaze.

Your parents weren’t home, out of town for the weekend, and you were never more grateful, certain you’d never been this drunk in your life. Topper was still ignoring you as he helped you inside, and when you stumbled away from him, leaning against the table by the entrance, you gave him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Before you could do it, he was dropping to his knees, angrily taking off your shoes. You flinched at the way he threw them across the room, slowly rising and staring you down. The house was quiet—too quiet for comfort—and you licked your lips.

“Topper-.”

“It’s already bad enough seeing you kiss him and be with him and fuck him,” he spat at you, pointing outside. “Even worse when he treats you like shit, and you just won’t leave.”

You frowned at him, tears kissing your eyes.

“I’m…sorry for just hoping he’ll do better…”

“He won’t!”

Topper’s voice bounced off of the walls, and you shrunk away from him as he got in your face.

“How many times does he have to show you that? Why do you still expect better from him, so much so to the point where you’re kissing random guys, now?” he wondered, rearing back away from you with a frown. “Yeah, you wanted to make Rafe angry, but we both know the truth.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together when Topper stepped closer. You could feel his breath on your cheek as he exhaled through his nose, the atmosphere tense.

“Rafe’s mad because you dared to play his own game,” he slowly whispered. “I love you, and we both know it’s me you’re really with, not him, and I’m fucking pissed.”

You swallowed with one look into his eyes, finally finding the strength to face him, and your heart skipped a beat at what you saw there.

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, fingers digging into your arms. The sequence of events happened too fast for your drunk brain to catch up with, only gasping when he reached down to press his hand into the small of your back, yanking you closer. If it wasn’t for him holding you, you would’ve tripped over your own feet as he forced you into the living room.

Topper’s teeth nipped at your throat while he pulled at your dress, something Rafe had bought.

“I fucking hate this dress,” he quietly confessed as if reading your mind.

The sound of tearing fabric reached your ears as he forced you to bend back, his arm around you keeping you from collapsing. He kept you against him as he laid you down on the floor, in a hurry to get you at least half naked. His other hand reached behind his head to yank off his shirt, and you only had the sense to hold onto his arms while he kissed along your chest. When his pants were pushed down just enough, he pushed into you with a grunt.

You scratched at his skin at the rough entry, but it took no time for each thrust to become as smooth as they always were whenever he got his hands on you. One of your hands clawed at the rug, and you moaned—loud—when he gripped the hair at the nape of your neck. You suspected that Top had done a line or two tonight, gasping at his uncharacteristically tight grip.

He was fucking you so good that you almost missed the sound of a vehicle in the yard. When you did, your eyes flew open, and you attempted to look around towards the window. You guys were too close to the couch to see over it, and when you whined, pushing against him, Topper only grabbed your hands and pinned them down beside your head.

“Topper, I think…”

You couldn’t get it out, groaning as he curved his hips against yours.

“Fuck him,” he breathed, pounding into you.

The harsh knocks on the door didn’t faze him, and Topper only let one of your hands go to reach down and reach under your thigh. He rested that leg over his shoulder, pushing it towards you as his nose brushed yours, lips parted as he thrust into you. You were dripping around him, teeth sinking into your lip as Rafe knocked on the door again, trying the locked handle. Somewhere, you could hear your phone vibrating…and then Topper’s after a while.

The man on top of you didn’t care, stretching you out, pushing his cock into your tight hole.

“Break up with him, or don’t,” he whispered to you, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your nose. “…but what you pulled tonight is not happening again.”

You drunkenly nodded at him, mewling as he slowed down his thrusts, the sucking sound of his cock plunging into you reaching your ears. You heard your phone vibrate again.

“You know where to find me when he pisses you off.”

#topper thornton #topper thornton x reader #topper thornton imagine #topper thornton smut #topper thornton fanfiction #obx #outer banks #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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celestialprincesse · 4 months

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Following up from this idea here!

⋆˙⟡♡

The last twelve months had been surprisingly productive for Simon. He'd been reticent at first, pushed back against the barrage of support provided for him by both the military and those who'd remained close to him outside of mere workplace obligation. That said, it hadn't taken him long to realise how big of a change a civilian lifestyle would be after twelve years of active service. Therapy had been an uphill battle, but Tina, the nice lady he saw twice weekly, who specialised in supporting veterans and those suffering with complex PTSD, was as patient as a saint, and had eventually helped him to open up.

He still, however, struggled to find a new sense of purpose. Life had become quiet, sluggish and static. When Tina had suggested he get a pet, he'd tentatively agreed.

"Hi there! How can I help you today?" Is the sweet voice that shakes him from his thoughts, bringing him back to reality only to realise he now stands at the front of the queue, before the desk of his local adoption centre.

"I'm looking to adopt..." He trails off, somewhat awkward and still a little unsure of whether there's some sort of protocol with these things. "A dog. I'm looking to adopt a dog."

After having quietly filled in the required forms, nervous under the warm gaze of the front desk attendant, he allows himself to be shown to the kennels in which the canine residents of the centre play, sleep and eat. With a nervous, almost shy gaze, Simon takes in the rowdy pack of dogs before him, before crouching to meet the crowd of wet noses coming to check him out.

"Have you got any preferences?" You pipe up from behind him, absently scratching behind the ears of a three legged Bernese Mountain dog, Lucky, who stands loyally at your heels.

"Just - um," Simon murmurs, looking between you, the dog at your feet, and a funny looking beagle, intent on sniffing at the contents of his pockets. "Just some company really. Therapist told me I needed a reason to get out, so..."

Taking his silence as an invitation to speak up, a pensive hum fills the room as you flick though the chart listing the animals currently up for adoption, and what their ideal situation would be. "You said you're quite physically active?" You probe, shooting him a glance.

"Yeah. I run and stuff. Like to try and stay fit."

Another hum of confirmation breaks the quiet as you rule out some of the less mobile options, and, having seen the way he grimaced at a slightly dishevelled Chihuahua, you take the incentive to rule out the smaller lap dogs too. You can't help but to note the way he looks between you and your own little canine friend, a look you've seen countless times on the faces of clients, the look that says that they're interested.

"I'd introduce the two of you, but she's already spoken for I'm afraid." You hum, a wry smile pulling at your lips when you note the expression on his face, surprised at your astute observation. "She's not exactly the most mobile, either."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He stammers back awkwardly, shooting you a bashful smile.

"I do, however, have someone that might take your fancy?"

Taking the laminated sheet from your offered hand, Simon is met with a grainy image of an earnest looking dog, big, marble eyes seemingly staring at him from off of the page.

"He only came in a couple days back. Golden shepherd mix from what we can tell. About four and really good natured. He's at the vet right now, but we could book you in to meet him when he's back?"

"I'd - yeah - That'd be great. Thanks." He nods, a pale blush colouring his cheeks.

Better still, when he leaves the adoption centre with a beginners pet care brochure, flipping through the pages on the walk back home, he's met with a hastily scrawled phone number, and a little smiley face below it.

⋆˙⟡♡

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readsaboutreid · 2 months

Text

Permanent Solution | S.R.

cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesn’t get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise

no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all

"None of us like you."

The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.

First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.

Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.

"—none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.

"You—," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.

"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.

Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.

I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "I— th-this—," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.

"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Why— wh-what— I don't— where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.

I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.

"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.

"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.

As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.

5 minutes and 29 seconds.

That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.

Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like th—"

"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.

"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears.

“Reid, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. “I should have stopped him,” she continued, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk to her like that.”

“What did he tell her?” Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject.

“I told her the truth,” Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia.

“Garcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?” Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread.

“He— he told her nobody wanted her around,” she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, “which of course that’s not the case! I love (Y/N) like she’s my own sister...” Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed.

“But?” Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued.

“...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,” JJ finally spoke up. “We haven’t seen you in ages outside of work! If she’s keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?” She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him.

He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. “She hasn’t kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone.

“Spence, I just meant that—” JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling.

“In fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I don’t drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didn’t realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,” he bit back before turning to leave.

“Where are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!” Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something he’d regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—he figured they’d find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.

When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia.

“What do you want, Garcia?” He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression.

“I— I’m sorry, Spencer,” she whispered. “I should have told Derek to shut up, I’m so sorry! I just— I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down and— and I know I should have stood up for her but I just— I just froze like a coward and—” her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off.

“Garcia, it’s not your fault,” Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. “Derek was drunk and belligerent. You’re not responsible for his actions.” He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. She’s so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldn’t have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks.

“Spencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,” Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.” Garcia’s own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms.

“Wh— what do I do, Penelope?” He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. “I just want to help her feel better.” That’s all he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt she’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one) who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasn’t feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if she’d want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.

He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. She’d slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.

Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.

It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (‘a left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!’), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.

Or at least he had thought so, until tonight.

“Give her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,” the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “She loves you more than anything, and we both know that.” She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks.

“You’re right,” he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. “Plus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know she’s a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!” He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob.

“If I were you, I’d just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.”

“Right. Yes, you’re right,” he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“I’m always here for you, Spencer,” she smiled at him before adding, “both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.” She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. “Call me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?” He nodded quietly. “Uh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? ‘A promise doesn’t count unless you say it out loud,’ right?”

“I promise,” Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N).

When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep.

“Hi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,” he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that I’d call her once you made it home safely.” He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, “I love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.” And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears.

He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off.

I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldn’t give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times I’d made this trip.

I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, he’d take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadn’t even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black...

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #heavy angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #angst

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endless-weightless · 5 days

Text

Ford Pines x GN!reader headcanons!

I'm surprised it took me this long to get into Gravity Falls. Anyways this has both SFW and NSFW so beware. There's also a brief mention of being AFAB as a possibility but other than that it's completely gender neutral (I'm 99% sure, I didn't proofread too well lol).

SFW

Right off the bat, I’m saying he’s autistic because so am I and I said so.

If you’re someone who needs reassurance or is generally anxious/paranoid about anything he’ll go into long (often scientific) explanations to ease your mind and also throw in some fun facts.

Both a listener and a yapper. He loves nothing more than the sound of your voice but also loves being able to spout all sorts of things about his research and interests while you stare at him lovingly.

Can’t sleep unless you’re next to him. You don’t even need to be cuddling, your presence is just the one thing he needs to fall asleep.

That being said, he will NEVER pass up an opportunity to cuddle. Watching a movie? Cuddling. Working at his desk in the lab? Cuddling on his lap. Cooking something in the kitchen? He’s got his arms wrapped around you as he presses loving kisses into your temple.

He rarely swears, but when he does it always makes you do a double-take (and maybe giggle because it sounds so odd coming from him).

Probably tried weed once or twice in the '70s and was somewhat part of the psychedelic rock scene. Stan has some old photos of him during that time somewhere but Ford is absolutely mortified by the idea of you seeing him in bell-bottom jeans.

It doesn’t matter how long you two have been together, every time he sees you he feels the same as he did the day you two met. Ford will never stop becoming flustered at the sight of you.

Post-Weirdmaggedon he became very anxious at the thought of you being out alone or not being near him. He feels like he needs to be on guard at all times so that he can protect you. He eventually calms down after some reassurance from you and a fuck ton of therapy.

While he lacks some emotional intelligence he’s actually very attentive and knows exactly what you need when you’re upfront about your feelings. As long as you’re not vague and communicate, he knows what to do to help you.

Adding onto that, I think he briefly studied psychology in college so he’d have a pretty good understanding of any mental health issues you might have.

Said “No more Mr Nice Guy” one time and hasn’t heard the end of it from anyone.

NSFW

Has to stop himself from cumming too quickly when you tell him how good he’s making you feel. Stroking his ego (and other things) is the best way to get him horny.

Will always ask you for consent no matter what it is. You could be mid-fuck and he’d still ask if he could put his hands on your hips.

This is just my personal headcanon but I believe while he didn’t really have too much experience before he got stuck on the other side of the portal (probably hooked up with Fiddleford once or twice tho), I fully believe that after a few years of dimension-hopping, he would’ve had a few one-night stands (mans gotta blow off some steam). So when he gets the chance to fuck you, a real human from his dimension, he’s more than ecstatic, especially since he’s picked up more than a few tricks over the past thirty years.

Knows how to use all twelve of his fingers.

Since Ford was sucked into the portal in the early ’80s and spent thirty years in there, he’s super confused when you mention shaving down there or being embarrassed about your body hair (if you do either) since the last time he was around everyone preferred going all natural.

This one’s less sexy but I’m putting it here anyways. He avoided taking off his shirt for ages since he didn’t want you to see all the scars he’d gotten over the years or any of the tattoos related to the things he did in the portal, especially the ones related to Bill. Surprisingly not as insecure about his “Flirty Gal” tramp stamp.

Doesn’t understand that he’s ridiculously hot.

You jokingly said “Yes sir” one time and he got hard so quickly.

Although he does rather enjoy you taking the lead.

Loves experimenting with cock warming and edging. Literally. He’ll time the both of you and have everything written down somewhere and draw a graph with extra info like if you’re someone with a menstrual cycle and how that affects the results.

#gravity falls #x reader #fanfiction #stanford pines #ford pines #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #smut #headcanons

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tothosewholisten · 4 months

Text

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 00

next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989. 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.

Sir Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got seven of them, yes seven.

MARCH 21, 2019

I have to be at least somewhat proud of myself for lasting this long. I thought as I sat on the bus, not everyday you are born with magical powers and are destined to save the world from evil. Yes, hearing myself think that sounds crazy. But that's normal in my life.

I had reached my stop after a half an hour of sitting with my earbuds in, listening to nothing at all. I just wanted to seem unapproachable on the sketchy city bus.

My destination was a terribly designed office building, the space was so crammed and ugly it made me want to turn right back around and get on that bus again. But I didn't because I was trying to convince myself that this would be good for me, but I didn't believe my words.

I was about to have a therapy session with some middle-aged white lady who has glasses and tell her all of my life issues, starting every week at 5pm..

It's not like I had anything else going on, I haven't had work for days now. So I thought I'd give it a shot.

The waiting process made me anxious as hell, I finally got the courage to walk up to the front desk and gave the man who sat there my name. And now I have to wait for this lady to get done with some other patient.

I sat on a chair and frowned, like she is really going to be focused on "my" problems and not the 30 other people she sees today.

I swear it was only a second into me zoning out when I heard my name yelled. "Y/n L/n? It's so nice to meet you!" A woman said, when i looked up at her i saw the exact lady i was describing earlier to the closest details.

I let her lead me to a smaller room that looked way better than the lobby. It had two chairs, a water machine, some fidget items and a large window view of the city. Gloria, I learn to be the name of my therapist, asks me to sit with her.

She clears her throat, "I know this is our first session so you may not be the most comfortable sharing details. But I'd like to know a little bit about you if you're okay sharing."

“Well, I’m 29 years old and a home care nurse.” I say slowly. Hearing the words leave my mouth I knew I haven’t amounted to a lot in my years.

"Oh wow, 29? I would've never guessed that Y/n, you don't look a day over 21" Gloria complimented me i give her a tiny smile in return.

I'm not sure why that is, I get that a lot in my working field. Older women saying that they wished they looked as young as me.

"That's a great start for today's session." She smiles, "A little bit me is, you know my name already but I'm 56 years old since Monday. I have 3 children and a cat named Mr. Furball."

I regret what i said earlier because I think I already like Gloria and not just because of Mr. Furball. But the fact that she has a calming sense about her. I find myself listening to what she's saying, and I rarely do that with people nowadays.

"But I would like to hear more about your upbringing, how’d you become the fine young lady you are today?" She says.

Oh, she wants to hear about my childhood. I mean I knew she would ask but so soon, I'm worried about saying anything. So I told her that.

"I'm worried about opening up to someone about my past cause well I've never done it before." I said.

She hands me a cup of water. "That's okay Y/n, we can take it at your pace."

“I grew up in a small house with my mom and dad until I was twelve. When I was scouted by Reginald Hargreeves because of my unique abilities. And I've been there ever since I was 18 when I moved out to live on my own.” I waited for the burst of confusion I was about to get from Gloria. Not everyday one of the Umbrella Academy walks into your office.

“Oh wow…” she says, eyes wide. “You're one of those superheroes? That’s amazing wow.” She nervously chuckles “I’m sorry I’m normally not this shocked about things, and I hear a lot on the daily.”

“It’s okay” I say, staring at my hands.

She clears her throat. “I'm sure being apart of the Umbrella Academy was big but could you tell me about your life before that?”

I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, pictured my childhood in my brain and opened my mouth.

"Well, I'm sure to this day my father still thinks that my mother cheated on him, due to his "daughter's" virgin Mary-like creation since they were just newlyweds. He held it against my mother all of her life." I took a sip of water and continued.

"I'm not sure why he turned to alcohol. But that turned out as you could expect. He turned on everyone around him and acted like a beast. He regularly attacked my mom for anything she did wrong. But what made him more angry was that his freak of a daughter could heal her mother, after every beating."

"My mom told me before I left I had made her so much happier and in her words. She didn't even question these strange occurrences; she knew her baby was special." I smiled a bit.

I could tell that Gloria was painting a picture in her head of what I was describing too.

"And by the age of 8, I was standing up to my father, even if it didn't end so well. I'd get the beating instead but by the next day, my bloody body would be as good as new. On the surface at least, I had lots of internal issues from that time. But none of that stopped my father from trying to get equal with me.." I stopped talking after that.

My eyes could only focus on my right hand as it was picking at my left hand's skin. It was a habit I picked up as soon as I started to use my powers because I knew my skin would be right back to normal in the next few minutes.

"That's awful y/n I'm so sorry." She frowned. "Would you be okay with continuing?"

I blink up at her. “Yes, that would be okay,” I said. “Then there was this one day..”

17 YEARS AGO

“In five, four, three, two. This is Jim Hellerman, reporting live for channel 2 News outside of the Capital West Bank at Main and Sixth. A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages.”

That was the big news update of September 2002, I remember. Well I don’t really have to think about it much because I was there with my mom at the bank. She planned on making some deposit when we were screamed at, not to leave by a man who had his gun pointed at us along with so many other civilians. He taped us up and told us to stand in a corner.

That was the first and only time I feared for my life. Police didn’t want them to start shooting, so they didn’t come into the building. Meaning that we were on our own and could die at anytime

One of the armed men walks into the scene unfolding. Sirens blaring, people getting shoved around and threats being made to the innocent.

“Now you’ve put me in a position where I gotta do something I don't want to do. Hmm?” He said talking to another person on his walkie talkie.

My mom brought me closer to her trying to use her body as a shield if things went south. And to us we thought they were about to be.

But strangely, a girl walked up to the man. She’d looked to be around my age in a school uniform and cartoon mask. Her loose curls bounced in the wind as she skipped up to him.

“Shit!” He screams putting his device down. Not noticing the girl until a few seconds after his outburst. “Hey, get back with the others.” He told her, trying to sound intimidating but she didn’t seem to fear him at all.

“I heard a rumor.” She spoke out.

He bent a little to reach her height and get in her face. “What? What did you say?”

She leaned in and cupped her hand to mimic whispering in his ear but loud enough for all of us to hear. “I heard a rumor that you shot your friend in the foot.”

Without any hesitation he did what she commanded and shot the nearest armed man who happened to be trying to rough up my mom. We screamed as he kept shooting.

“We just heard shots from inside the bank. It’s uncertain if any hostages have been harmed in that.”

“There’s some movement on the roof. Possibly law enforcement.”

A loud crash and a boy landed down from the roof. It was crazy he wasn’t harmed at all from that high distance. He was also wearing the same mask and uniform as the girl but he had blond hair. From where he landed he jumped on one of the robbers and started beating him to a pulp, and then throwing him out a glass window.

“Looks like one of the armed robbers had been thrown from the bank.”

Another boy with brown hair runs in from the opposite doors as the girl and yells. “Guns are for sissies. Real men throw knives.” He then threw one of his knives and it curved in the air hitting a robber no where close to where the knife had originally been heading. It was incredible.

“I've been in many hostage situations like this, and it can escalate very quickly.”

The original man hops on a table pointing his gun out at the two of the before seen children plus another one. “Get back you freaks” he says walking back and forth in fear.

“Hey, be careful up there, buddy.” The knife boy calls out.

“Get back now!” The man screams.

“Yeah, I wouldn't want you to get hurt.” The girls mocking voice says.

Right before my eyes another boy teleports behind the man, sitting criss-cross on the table. “Or what?” He said calmly.

The man turns around and shoots at him but before the bullets could hit he teleports again. This time standing up with his arms crossed, clearly not impressed. But the man tries to shoot again.

“Ooh! That’s one badass stapler!” The boy laughs. The man no longer had a gun anymore but a stapler placed in his hand by the kid instead. The boy shoves the stapler into his face and the big man falls back, head hitting the floor before his body does.

“Although there’s been no activity for a few minutes, we’re gonna stay live on location to make sure we don’t miss a thing. In this hostage situation at the Capital West bank.”

The five already counted for children make way for the last and shortest one to make his move. “Do we really need to do this?” He talks quietly.

The blonde one replies to him. “Come on, Ben. There’s more guys in the vault.” So his name was Ben huh?

Ben sighs, “I didn't sign up for this.” Before walking into the room with more people. Large black tendrils illuminated the room as men screaming could be heard behind the door. And a beast roars but then the sound stops and Ben walks out again, this time covered in blood and guts.

He breathes heavily. “Can we go home now?” I felt bad for him.

The kids untied our hands and told us to run. And once it was clear to go my mom started to run out of the doors thinking I was right behind her.

“Now we see the hostages. They— They’re free. They’re scared clearly but they do seem to be unharmed.”

But I was behind her trying to help this older woman who’d slipped on the floor. As I was helping her, the kids walked out too.

“People are coming out now. It’s not the armed robbers. These are schoolchildren in uniforms with masks on. Jim Hellerman, Channel 2 News.”

But there was one not accounted for robber, the one from earlier who had been shot in the foot. I started to run out and call out to my mom who was outside. When the man got up from the floor, cocked his gun and shot at the kids.

Fortunately, he missed them but the bullet hit me.

Questions being asked to the children stopped when they saw my body flail onto the floor outside of the bank doors. I was shot right in the chest. There was blood everywhere and it started to leak over to where the kids were standing. They turned around to see where it was coming from..

Everyone looked horrified and there was a bunch of screaming. Mainly from my mother who was wailing as she ran over to hold me to her chest screaming for me to wake up. And that will be engraved in my memory forever after this day, I never wanted to hear her like this ever again.

Police started to rush over but in a matter of minutes, a miracle seemed to happen. At least to the city that is. There was a yellowish glow around my chest and the blood seemed to have reversed back into my body. Even the stains on my blue dress were gone. The bullet even spit out of my chest; it was truly witchcraft.

My eyes then shot open as I started to breathe in and out.

I don't exactly remember what I felt during those moments but I'm sure I left those people around me stunned. After all this was their first look at powers.

I couldn't care what the paramedics were talking about above my body. I was focused on the 6 children looking at me bewildered as well as the old-looking man with them and whatever my mom was saying at the time.

I was put on a stretcher and rushed to a hospital for evaluations after the pandemics came but they never found anything. It was like everything was perfectly reattached.

But as I was leaving I could see the news reporters zeroing in on the kids trying to get the details on how these children saved the bank from thievery.

“Our world is changing.” The man spoke to the crowd. “Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary.” He said looking back at the children. But they weren’t paying attention, some were staring at my ambulance and some eyes were on the ground.

“I have adopted seven such children. I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.”

I now realize thinking back, the seventh person he was talking about was me..

PRESENT DAY

My mouth felt like it was moving faster than my brain so I took a pause and chugged the rest of my water cup.

Once again Glorias eyes were wide open. As she took some notes down in a notebook I never noticed beyond this point.

"Uh once I got home I remember the house phone noise filled my house with its nonstop ring, the other person on the phone would change my life forever when he came in.”

“And who was that person?" Gloria asked.

"Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and caring father from what the public knew.." I rolled my eyes.

"So I'm guessing it wasn't really like that" she asked carefully.

"He was never a father really, more like a hard state-national basketball coach." She wrote that down.

"I guess it was a hard decision for my parents to make well, my mother. My father was ready to give me up as soon as Reginald stepped foot in my small house."

"And I'm sure they thought there was nothing bad about the offer they were given, he promised I'd be raised in a steady environment with the best schooling and my powers would be used for the greater good. And in exchange, my parents would get a large sum of money for my absence."

"What were you doing during this?" Gloria worried.

"I think I was just sitting right there next to my mom actually. I definitely didn't understand at that point what was happening to me. Still thinking about the events of that day.”

"And then I was being taken out of my only home in the blink of an eye. I resisted the people taking me, starting with screaming and then kicking and then running. Back to my mom's arms, Reginald himself had to pull me away from her. The deal had already been struck and there was no taking me back."

Now looking back at my hands I could only see small teardrops on my palms. Gloria reached for a tissue from the other side of the room. "Thank you," I said as I wiped my eyes.

"I like to think that my mom was upset that day but the memory has already started to fade as I reached adulthood.

You know after that day I was no longer 'Y/n L/n' no, I was known by my new name.. Zero Hargeeves."

I decided that was the end of my story, at least for now because I couldn't place the pieces together anymore. I was full-on sobbing at that point.

Gloria decided to bring up something more light to talk about next but I don't remember what it was because I'd zoned out and thought about the cat she'd told me about earlier.

The two hours seemed to fly by because the last thing I heard her say was if I didn't have anything else to talk about then that would be the end of the session. My legs seemed to move on their own as I walked out of that building. I would come back at the same time next week and honestly, I think therapy was for the best. I forgot about how I felt about all these things for the longest time.

I started the journey back to the bus stop, stopping to look in the windows of shops.

Shops like bakeries and bookstores and other things like that. Until I came to a stop in front of a store with a TV sticking out in the window.

My eyes scanned the screen and they went wide. The lady on the news had a somber expression as someone died. I was feeling sad for the person's family, but then I read the red-blaring headline.

The person who died was Reginald Hargeeves...

...

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

#ben hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves #viktor hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves

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izzystizzys · 3 months

Text

There are outsiders inside the Guard headquarters - capital O Outsiders, in Thorn’s mind, whose palms are growing sweaty inside his gloves. There’s a crackle of static across his HUD which temporarily blurs the bright orange markings across Commander Cody’s armour in front of his eyes, and he wonders a little faintly if making a break for it would be worth it.

Maybe if he kicked the Commander in the shin. Emotionally, if not realistically.

General Kenobi hums deeply into his mysterious Jedi beard, and Thorn abandons that line of thinking. It would just mean leaving Thire in charge anyways, a thought he shudders at. Fox has been gone for only eight hours and twelve minutes, and already Thorn wants to spend the rest of his life in the scream closet. He has considerably more empathy for the Marshall Commanders refusal to keep to anything approximating an existent sleep schedule all of a sudden.

“This is a very strange turn of events”, the General remarks, for the seventh time that hour. He’s been hm-ing and ah-ing his entire trip through HQ, making that line of tension threatening to snap Thorn’s spine draw up tighter each time. He’s going to give Stabby a nervous breakdown, at this rate. “As I understand it, Marshall Commander Fox was considered rather severe to the point of disproportionality in his consciousness of duty.” General Kenobi’s face does something very strange. “Even considering the evidence and facts, I cannot picture him assassinating the Chancellor and kidnapping a Senator.”

Thorn can, actually, a thought he doesn’t voice. Assassinating the Chancellor, that is. A good number of the Guard can picture themselves doing exactly that, and Stabby needs to be physically restrained from doing it on a regular basis. He also cannot picture Fox kidnapping a Senator, though, especially that one.

Which is why this stinks to high heaven.

“General”, Cody breaks the awkward silence Kenobi was evidently waiting for Thorn to fill, “Fox didn’t kill the Chancellor - he couldn’t have. He would never -“ The 212th’s wonder boy pauses briefly, searching for something to say that conveys more gravitas than trust me, I just know. Evidently, he doesn’t find it, because he finishes lamely on, “- he just wouldn’t.”

Shows you how much you know, ori’vod, Thorn thinks acidly, with all the pent-up rage of two years’ time watching Fox silently break apart at the seams.

“We will get to the bottom of this, Cody”, Kenobi says soothingly, with the hope for someone who hasn’t been chewed up and spit back out but Coruscant. “I promise, the Jedi are doing-“

A loud banging noise drowns out the rest of Kenobi’s sentence, and then promptly cuts off the rest when part of the ceiling suddenly caves in with extreme prejudice - no, Thorn realizes, that’s the air vent being launched at the ground followed by a dark, blurry shape of long dreads and sandy Jedi robe. Heartbeat thundering in his throat, Thorn barely stops himself in time from unloading his blasters into the stranger and is only slightly comforted by Cody’s equally drawn blaster. Only Kenobi is unimpressed by the turn of events, Jedi space-spidey-senses and all.

“- everything we can”, he finishes dryly, flicking a speck of dust off his fellow Jedi. “Commander Thorn, meet Quinlan Vos. Quinlan-“

“Yes, yes, good morning or afternoon, whatever”, the Jedi - Vos - intercepts. Thorn doesn’t point out that it’s advanced evening dipping into the night-cycle, because it might make him lose his shit for good. “We have a problem, Obes. There’s some creepy shit going on here - Force, all of you need therapy.” That last bit is aimed at Thorn, he’s pretty sure. The furrowed brow definitely is. “And some heavy-duty medical assistance, I’m pretty sure. What the kriff is up with that?”

Kenobi’s eyebrows are steadily inching towards his hairline, and beneath the bucket and general assholery Thorn is sure Cody’s are doing the same. He’s rescued by a sudden chime from the Commander’s com signalling a priority level one message, and Wolffe’s grey armour that pops up.

“Kote, thank kriff I caught you - there’s some seriously weird stuff in the Chancellor’s office, the General said to get Kenobi over here as fast as possible. No sign of Fox, but-“

Which is when Vos decides to pipe up by throwing a comlink at Kenobi that makes Thorn’s chest grow cold with panic, because it should be locked behind several bomb- and thief-proof doors deep in the lower levels. “Right, I might be able to help with that!”

Which is when, to Thorn’s growing horror, the comlink lights up and all he can do is watch numbly as Fox’s voice crackles through.

“-kriffing Sithspit is going on, Thorn, you can’t just send out distress signals and then not answer, was your growth tube kriffing dropped or -“

A loud, familiar wailing sound interrupts Fox in his rant, just as it was starting to get good. Thorn wants to bang his head into the wall. Thorn wants many things.

“MEESA NO MEAN TO IMPALE THE CHANCELLOR ONSA PEN, MEESA SORRY!”

#commander fox #corrie guard deserves better #commander thorn #jar jar binks #clone wars au #inspired by the episode where jar jar and mace go on a mission together #which was the best cw ep in my opinion #tbf it would be much funnier to write them on a months long run from the law buddycop thing #but also i feel sorry for fox’ sanity as is #coruscant guard

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huramuna · 9 months

Text

growing on you - oneshot.

modern aemond x (ex) girlfriend reader

content: smut (specifics under the cut), afab reader, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, descriptions of depression and its effect on the body, probably an unhealthy relationship, aemond being an idiot, probably ooc aemond, reader not described, no use of y/n, targtowers seek therapy: the story, fluff at the end bc hehe

work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 7.4k (oops)

a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for a while. tweaked to be a fun 'lil angsty end of year holiday fic. as is my motto: fuck it we ball. a/n 2: i pivoted from a third person pov fic to a second person pov fic 3/4 through writing this using the find and replace tool, so if there are grammar errors, i apologize! also my first time doing second person pov, weehee.

monsters - all time low ft. blackbear • why do i - set it off ft. hatsune miku

warnings: p in v, creampie, cockwarming, slightly tipsy sex

Everything in your life was enveloped by him. your clothes smelled like him, small strands of his hair were woven into every nook and cranny of your apartment together, his fitness regime protein powder and ketogenic supplements were littered in your kitchen cabinets.

You couldn’t get rid of him, not even if you tried. Aemond was all you'd ever known— you have known one another since the age of seven, and have been in a relationship since fourteen. You were both now twenty-six. Twelve years you’ve been together romantically (longer, even, but you were both too stubborn to admit it) and nineteen years you’ve been in each other's lives in some capacity or another.

You’ve been involved together longer than you’ve not known each other. You hardly knew who you were without Aemond— a thought that scared you deeply.

It’s been two weeks since he moved out, only temporarily he’d said. He needed space. He would still pay his share of the rent and you didn’t need to worry about that.

But what about everything else? What about him warming you at night? Comforting you when you had nightmares? What about his items in the fridge, surely you’d spoil if he didn’t use them soon. What about Vhagar? Their— no, his geriatric cat that he took with him to God knows where— she must be terrified, surely.

Was he giving Vhagar her medicine before bed? Of course he was— he was the more responsible one anyway.

You paced back and forth until the soles of your feet ached and then some. Knowing Aemond for so long, you had intimate knowledge on everything about him, you were woven into each other's DNA like vines on a trellis, growing and expanding until you swallowed all of the other plants whole.

That is what happened, wasn’t it? You grew too large, too comfortable and became stagnant. You weren't unaware of his rising workload at his firm, but he had always been a workaholic— throughout their teenage years, through college and grad school. It never slowed him down so you didn’t understand the change in behavior.

Aemond was closed off. He always was a bit emotionally stunted due to his upbringing or lack thereof from his father and everything that happened surrounding his eye, but he had a soft side for you, always for you. You could retrace every part of him perfectly from memory, always could make him laugh, could comfort him when he recused himself, and the rare times he did cry, you were there.

But the last few months there was a shift— a change in him. Where he had been hard to open before, like a rusty hinge just requiring some oil, he was now padlocked, ironclad and impenetrable. Attempts to talk were shrugged off, ignored or diverted.

“Please, just talk to me, Aemond,” you said one night as you sat on the couch. You were watching your collective favorite show and he wasn’t even commenting on it like he usually did, he was silent and deadpanned. “I don’t understand what’s wrong if you don’t talk about it.”

“There's nothing wrong, therefore, nothing to talk about. I’m just tired from work,” he responded gruffly. “Stop whining.”

His tone was clipped and harsh, sending a wave of hurt trickling through your body. you were overly emotional, where he was under emotional— usually, you balanced each other out and struck a good middle ground, but in times like these, during fights, things would get explosive.

The tears started right away, your little sniffling cries stifled by a hand over your mouth. You turned away, wrapping yourself in the blanket.

“Seriously?” he growled, “I didn’t even say anything and you’re fucking crying again.”

“I d-don’t appreciate your tone, Aemond— you’re being mean,” you sniffed, wiping away tears that were soon just replaced by new ones. “Please, don’t be mean to me.” you were always soft hearted, and it was one of the things Aemond loved about you— or he had loved at one point.

“I’m not being mean,” he pinched his brow, “you’re overreacting and I do not have the capacity to deal with your antics anymore.”

Of course, your mind hit the panic button. ‘Anymore’ meaning that he didn’t want to deal with you at all, ever. The tears increased and you recused yourself further into a ball.

“Fucking hell.” he cursed, getting up from the couch and stomping outside to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette. He was out there for about an hour— you had cried yourself to sleep.

It was many situations like that for weeks that finally just… broke him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said one day, slamming his keys down on the kitchen table, “I seriously cannot deal with your childish shit anymore— I’m working my ass off at the firm, actually bringing in money and I still have to come home and tend to you. you’re twenty-six, grow up and stop crying at every little thing. It’s fucking infuriating.”

“You know I can’t control that part of me!” you screamed back, your temper rising immediately to match his. The words flowing out of your mouth didn’t feel like yours, but some sort of defensive mechanism. “You can’t do this anymore? You’re not doing anything Aemond, except pushing me away. God, you haven’t even touched me in weeks.”

“Oh, so this is about sex?” he countered, getting closer to you, nostrils flaring. “You’re mad because I won’t fuck you? Are you that desperate?”

That one stung, to be sure. Aemond had been your first and only— you only ever knew him, only ever had him. “No, not just sex,” you murmured, “you haven’t even… just touched me normally. No hugs, no little caresses, nothing— it's as if I’m an aversion to you.”

He backed up from you, “Maybe we’re just too close,” he admitted, “We’ve been together too long. It's not fun anymore, it’s not new— it’s the same old, same old, going through the motions for release, not because I actually like it.”

“I don’t understand.” you said, your voice sounding disconnected from your body. The tips of your fingers felt numb, the numbness spreading through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to escape.

“I need space. I need to think about this.”

“This?”

“Us. I need to think about us and if this is something I really want,” he paused, “You’re… too much and not enough right now.”

“Wh— Aemond, please,” you whispered, your voice broken, “What can I do? I’ll… I’ll change, I won’t cry or whine anymore— please.”

He stared at you, his prosthetic eye unmoving while his remaining one bored into you, “I will think about it.”

“What… does this mean?”

“We are taking a break, alright? I’ll have my essentials out and I’m going to stay with Aegon.”

“Please— don’t go. I need you.”

That was the end of that conversation. That was the last time you spoke, two weeks ago. You expected him to text you at some point, to check in on you, to maybe try to talk things out.

Nothing. There's been nothing. Radio silence.

You felt isolated— you had no family, as your parents were estranged from you. you couldn’t go to Aemond’s family, as close as you were to them all, it just simply wasn’t an option.

You didn’t have friends. All you knew was Aemond.

It was early in the evening and you were in a deep pit of self-loathing. You decided to text him.

You swallowed thickly— the green meant he either turned off his phone or blocked you. You hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

The next few weeks were a blur. You felt like you were barely living, merely going through the motions to stay alive— not that you really were.

You woke up, went to work, came home, scrounged up food and then went to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Weeks become months of your monotony, and no word from Aemond. He still had half of his stuff left in the apartment, you felt like you could barely breathe. At every turn there was something to remind you of him.

You’d lived in this apartment together for four years, the evidence of your relationship etched into the very walls. It was like the space was closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath, barely keeping your head above water.

You had to move out— you had to get away.

You managed to find a place, a cheap studio above a coffee shop downtown. The landlord was an old lady who was sympathetic to your situation and agreed to let you take the space quickly.

There was still the matter of your and Aemond’s current apartment— or, rather, it was just Aemond’s now.

Saving yourself the embarrassment of seeing if you were still blocked, you called Aegon. He was a better messenger than none.

“Hey, Egg,” you said, sitting on the couch. you bounced your knee up and down, biting at the skin of your lip. You and Aegon were amicable, not necessarily as close as you and Aemond, but you grew up together. Aegon ran in different social circles than you and you were somewhat polar opposites so you never really stuck— you did have your phases of friendship, though– which pissed Aemond off to no end. “Um, I don’t know if this is the right way to go about things but, do you mind relaying a message to Aemond for me?”

“Yeah, ‘spose I could. What’s up?” Aegon replied, his tone nonchalant like usual.

“I’m moving out of the apartment into my own place, so I guess he can go back. I’ll have all my stuff out by tomorrow.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Aegon said, “He’s been driving me up the wall with his tidy, feng shui bullshit. He rearranged my whole place like five times and has taken up all the space in my cabinets with that nasty no-carb shit,” he paused for a moment, “I… didn’t mean that in a bad way to you, ‘course. I’m sorry it had to come to this. He’s a fucking idiot.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. Your first laugh in months. “Yeah– he… tends to do that. He left half of his stuff here, it feels like I’m living in the twilight zone. I just… gotta get away, you know?”

“Hey, I get that– you don’t have to explain yourself to me. He’s a dickhead and doesn’t understand how good he has it. If you want, I can bring my truck over tomorrow and help you move stuff.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Egg.”

“I want to– please.”

Your brow furrowed– Aegon usually wasn’t so persistent on anything unless it involved drinking or drugs. But, you hadn’t had real human contact in eons besides at work so… maybe it could be good.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Thank you, really.”

–

It was rainy the next day– nasty and wet, droplets pouring down like tears. It felt somewhat familiar.

But, Aegon showed up like he promised, rolling up in his old, fading yellow pick-up truck. His hair was much shorter than you remembered and he looked actually well kept– Aemond must’ve been whipping him into shape.

He waved and ran through the rain, standing under the eave, “So– it’s raining.”

You snorted, “I think I can see that,” you teased with a tiny smile, “Not sure when it’ll let up.”

“I brought uh…” he paused for a moment to think, stretching out his arms in a square shape, “Y’know?”

“A tarp?”

“Yup– that,” he gave a lopsided grin, inviting himself in through the open door, “you aren’t going to kick me out if I don’t take off my shoes, right?”

You glanced down at his boots– they were a bit muddy and definitely wet. Aemond wouldn’t have let him step two feet through the threshold without taking them off. But– you weren't Aemond. “No, keep them on if you want. It’s not my problem if you track dirt through the place anyway.”

He nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket for a moment and shooting a quick message to someone. “Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s just… he’s my brother. It would be kind of… I dunno, crossing some sort of unsaid boundary if I visited his… girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. I guess,” you corrected softly– but you didn’t really know yourself what it was. He wouldn’t talk to you, “It’s fine. I didn’t expect anyone to really reach out anyway, because of that… unsaid boundary thing.”

“We should’ve. you’re a part of our family with or without Aemond. Me, Helaena and Daeron have a whole group chat about it. Even mom asked where you’ve been,” he scratched the back of his head absentmindedly as he sent out another text, “Someone should’ve checked up sooner.”

“You’re acting like I’m some sort of neglected puppy, Aegon,” you turned to him, “... do I really look so terrible?”

Aegon glanced up at you, his mouth formed in a hard line. He cracked his knuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t lie to you. You look half dead.”

You blinked. Hard. Moving towards a mirror in the hall, you looked at yourself. Dark circles under sunken eyes, your skin was a pale pallor and your hair needed a trim desperately, your split ends curled and fettered. You were gaunt, as well– having lost a bit of weight over the months. “Jesus,” you muttered. Glancing over at Aegon, he was texting again. “Sending an update to the group chat, I guess? ‘Good news, she’s still alive, barely’?”

He snorted, “Yeah– something like that,” finally, he locked his phone and slipped it in his pocket. “I made sure to text Aemond, too.”

Your mouth felt dry at the mention. “Why?”

“He asked.”

“Asked?”

“He asked me to… make sure you were okay.”

Goosebumps prickled at your skin, the ever familiar feeling of nausea and despair swirling in the pit of your stomach. Nibbling at your lip more, you turned away, feeling a bit too exposed. “And what’d you say?”

“I said you were alive but you are not okay.”

Your lips pursed into a line as you tasted a bit of copper in your mouth from chewing on your lip. “I guess that’s right,” you muttered, “Why would he ask?”

“Aemond is… complicated. you know that better than anyone. I don’t know what kind of bug he has up his ass these last few months but… even through all of this, he still cares.”

“Like hell he does,” you snapped, feeling the sting of tears, “If he did, he would’ve given us a chance to talk it out, to… to try, maybe even go to therapy, I don’t fucking know– he would’ve reached out– anyone should’ve reached out,” your hand went to your hair, right at your hairline at your scalp, picking at the hairs there– another self-destructive habit you’ve picked up in your months of isolation, “I’m so fucking alone, Aegon. He knows… you all know I have absolutely no one else. I’ve been going through this on my own. I have no friends, no family– no brother to go live with when I need space, no family group chat. I don’t have shit, Aegon. All I’ve ever known in my life is him and you and Helaena and Daeron and mom. Why… why does it feel like I was cast off the island without even… a tribal council or something?” you sniffed, the tears coming in full force now.

Aegon was silent, coming up behind you. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, putting his hands on your shoulders, as frail and skeletal as you were, “We should’ve been better. We… will be better.” he turned you around and pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in his arms. “We thought you would’ve been… fine without him. He made it seem like that– that you were strong enough. I only figured it out yesterday when he was up my ass about texting him as soon as I saw you. He needed to know if you were feeding yourself, if you were keeping up with your medication, if you still had nightmares. A fuckin’... laundry list of questions– I told him to stick his questions up where the sun don’t shine and to see for himself,” he took a breath, “He settled on one question– if you were okay.”

“I think he got his fucking answer, then,” you whispered, “I am not okay. I haven’t been okay in months. I… I need help.”

“I know,” Aegon shifted you slightly to look at your face, “We’ll help you– I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. Look, I’ll even add you to the group chat, okay? I’ll rename it to ‘Aemond Sucks’, how does that sound?”

You cracked a tiny smile, sniffling. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

–

You ended up moving your belongings to your new place the same day, effectively ridding yourself of the constant shadow of Aemond’s memory.

Aegon even took you to Michael’s and HomeGoods to get stuff for your little studio, so you could really make it yours. It was a bit intimidating at first– you weren't used to being able to decorate things the way you wanted, as Aemond always opted to keep things simple and minimalistic.

You, admittedly, went all out. Your new studio looked like a Pinterest board titled ‘cottagecore’. You were incredibly happy with it all, practically jumping up and down at it.

“It looks so good! I love these little mushroom chairs you picked out, Egg,” you hummed, patting some plush felted stools in the shape of mushrooms, which you put near the window. “I bet Helaena would love it.”

“Let’s take some pictures for the group chat, Hel will literally be all over this. you two always love that cottagecore, fairycore, fantasy… shit.” he grinned, stooping down to take some very out of perspective pictures of the mushroom chairs, making them look fifty feet tall.

You settled into your new place quickly, having Helaena, Aegon and Daeron over quite often for drinks and movies. Your health steadily improved until you were mostly back to normal physically– there would be a lot of scars internally, however that would take longer to heal, if you ever would. You had developed a trust issue complex since Aemond’s unceremonious exit from your life and hadn’t gone on any dates, you didn’t know when or if you would ever be ready. They did you the courtesy of not mentioning Aemond, until Daeron said something odd.

It was about four months after you moved in, and almost a full year since you’d last seen Aemond. You were all a few mixed drinks in, Aegon had made them and you were heavy on the alcohol, light on the ‘mix’, and you were all kicked back on the couch, with Aegon laying on the mushroom chairs stacked next to each other, lazed back like a cat.

“Mom says she wants you over for Christmas dinner,” Daeron said, taking a sip of his drink, “She figured it’d be fine with Aemond going off with his new…” he blinked, catching himself.

Helaena nudged Daeron in the ribs as a warning, staring at their friend warily.

“... his new? His new what?” you asked, your voice so quiet that it must’ve been like a squeak.

“... new girlfriend.” he finished.

You were silent for a while before sighing. “I figured it would happen eventually. I can only hope that it… wasn’t too soon after we broke up– or whatever… happened.”

“We all told him it was fucked up that he just left and ghosted you, lovey. Even mom got on his ass about it, and he is her favorite child who usually can do no wrong.” Helaena put her drink down, wrapping her arm around you. “You should come to Christmas dinner, everyone would be super happy to see you! And Aemond won’t be there, so even more reason to come. Please.” she whimpered, using her best puppy-dog face.

You mulled it over in your mind for a few moments. You couldn’t think of anything more painful than being alone during the holidays, so you nodded.

–

It was snowing on Christmas day, the flurries coming down and melting against your skin as you waited for Aegon to pick you up. You were wearing a red checkered tapestry dress with a flannel jacket, a white fluffed scarf wrapped around your neck and lower face. As soon as you saw the familiar color of Aegon’s truck, you practically booked it into the passenger seat.

“Merry Christmas, you look fantastic,” Aegon mused, ever the charmer. “I’ve got the heater on full blast, I promise– but y’know my old boy’s puttering these days. We’ll need to get some speed for it to really warm up.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, your teeth chattering, “S’cold.”

He reached back and grabbed a well-used blanket, draping it over your legs. “Better?”

“... yeah– but,” you blinked, raising a brow. “What do you have this in the truck for?”

Aegon laughed as he began the drive to his family’s estate. “I think you know.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fucked someone on this blanket, Aegon.”

“Someones– not just someone. But I keep it clean, no worries!”

The drive to the Targaryen estate was about an hour and a half from town, nestled deep into an expansive forest where there weren’t any other homes in at least five miles. It was a gorgeous, Victorian style mansion and according to Daeron, was most certainly haunted. You had been here numerous times, of course, but it’d been a while. As you pulled up in the driveway, you saw Alicent standing outside the door dressed in a gorgeous red and green festive dress, hair curled to perfection. Nothing less was expected of Alicent, though.

“Oh, my darling,” Alicent cooed, holding her arms out to caress who she thought of as her fifth child. “It’s been too long, I’ve missed you.”

Your heart warmed under Alicent’s caress, someone who had become more of a mother figure to you than your actual mother. You sniffed, pressing your forehead into Alicent’s shoulder. “Missed you too, mom.”

“Come on, you both can cry inside in the nice toasty house, yeah? I’m freezing my balls off here, mom.”

Alicent huffed, ushering both of you inside. “Don’t be vulgar, son– it’s Christmas.”

Helaena and Daeron were already there, as well as Otto, who gave you a stiff nod as a greeting, as was his usual means of communication.

You settled into the kitchen, Alicent pouring everyone apple cider and dishing out at least six types of holiday themed cookies. About an hour after arriving, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh, that must be Rhaenyra and Laena. Can you answer the door, darling? I need to take the roast out of the oven. I’m sure they would be happy to see you!”

“Mhm!” you mused through bites of cookies. You loved Rhaenyra and Laena, who were technically married with husbands, as was Alicent, but the three of them were in a secret, not so secret to anyone with eyes, polyamorous relationship. It always amused all of their kids when they tried to hide it.

You turned the doorknob, fully expecting to see Rhaenyra and Laena. It was not.

Aemond.

“Fuck.” you blurted out, eyes wide. It had been the better part of a year since you had last seen him. His hair was longer now, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, his cheeks a bit more gaunt. He still wore his earrings and his rings– including the one you had given him almost a decade ago.

“Shit.” he responded, seemingly caught equally off guard by seeing you again. The pupil of his non-prosthetic eye dilated until the iris was almost consumed in black, before he flexed his hand and reeled himself in.

You couldn’t help but notice he was alone– no ‘new girlfriend’ as Daeron had put it. “Aemond,” you breathed, feeling like you were outside of your own body, your head filled with fluff and static. “Merry… Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” he responded gruffly, “Can I come in?”

“Oh– yeah, duh,” you chastised yourself, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” he grunted in his usual manner. That seemed to be a habit he hadn’t dropped.

You all but retreated to the kitchen, the expression on your face telling everything. Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena gathered around you.

“I didn’t invite him, I swear.” Aegon whispered.

“Well, neither did I!” Daeron professed.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t invite him. He left me on read three weeks ago when I sent him a picture of a bug on my windowsill.” Helaena sniffed.

A new voice chimed in. “I invited him,” Alicent spoke, breaking up the little posse, “I told him to come over or he would be grounded for three months.”

All four of you stared at Alicent, deadpanned.

“Mom– he’s… almost twenty-seven. you can’t ground him,” Daeron said, confused. “And moreover, why? Wasn’t he busy?”

“Well, first off, he is my son, so I wanted to see him for Christmas. Two, I believe we have someone here who has some unresolved issues with him.” Alicent responded, staring right at you pointedly.

“... I don’t know… I… I don’t know if I can talk to him. It’s been too long… I feel like I was just getting over all of this.”

“Well, do I have any say in this?” Aemond barged into the circle, his hands in his pockets.

You suddenly felt overwhelmed, the familiar bubbling of everything being too much rising in your stomach. You were teleported back to months ago when you were barely alive, trapped in your own mind. “I… I need… I need a minute.” you muttered, your voice sounding distorted as you made your way to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. Chest heaving, you were already crying, the waterworks starting somewhere between the hallway and the sink.

“You’re always fucking crying, I can’t take it anymore.” Aemond’s voice from months and months ago echoed in your head, causing the tears to flow more. You bit against your lip, tasting blood right away as you willed yourself to stop crying.

“S-stop… stop crying,” you whispered, fingers messing up your hair as you held fistfuls of it. You couldn’t catch your composure for the life of you, sliding against the bathroom wall onto the floor.

Vision blurring, you don’t know how long you were incoherent for. When you came back to yourself, Aemond was in front of you, crouched down.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, the door closed behind him, “It’s okay.”

You swallowed, still numb as he pried your fists from your head, out of your hair, smoothing it down.

“Look at me, can you do that? Nod if you can hear me.”

You nodded slowly, the feeling coming back to your extremities in a sprightly tickling sensation. You blinked tears from your eyes, the liquid smearing your vision.

Aemond rasped a thumb over your eyes, effectively clearing the obstruction from your vision. “Just breathe,” he continued to whisper. It was ever reminiscent of when he would calm you down after a nightmare, voice low and scratchy in a way that comforted you. He was so close now, closer than he’d been in forever. He still smelled the same, the scent triggering a deep aching within your chest. A scent that took you forever to get rid of, but you never truly could. “Can… we talk?” he asked then, his voice sounding more vulnerable than ever.

It felt like whiplash, visions of your previous fights plaguing you, where he had been so closed off, so far away, so distant that you couldn’t reach him– and now, he was here. In the present, in the flesh. In front of you, opened. Not opened completely, but you could see it, like the slit of a cracked door, the light bleeding through. It was there.

“... yeah.”

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. What I did was fucked up. It was fucked up and wrong and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“You’re right about that,” you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “I didn’t deserve it.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched slightly before he sat down next to you, propping up his legs in a criss-cross. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, before closing it. His hands flexed and unflexed in quick succession– he was clearly thinking very carefully about his next words. “... I’ve… got issues. You know that better than anyone. I don’t know what was going through my head those months that we fought. I can hardly remember it now, it was like… I was in a fog, a haze– I was working myself half to death, I just wanted dad to notice, to fucking… appreciate me,” he put his hands on his head, “I was so… tied up in this illusion that if I made junior associate at the firm so young that he would congratulate me on my achievement and…” Aemond let out a sigh, “And… in the process… I pushed you away.”

You looked at him, feeling your gaze soften ever so slightly. You knew that his father was a sore spot for him and that trauma ran deep. “You didn’t just push me away, Aemond,” you sighed, reaching out a shaky hand to pry one of his from his face. “... if you would’ve just talked to me, I could’ve helped. You didn’t push… you… you shoved, you shoved and ran in the other direction.”

His one violet eye danced towards you. “I know. I’ve been kicking myself for it. When Aegon told me you weren’t doing well… I almost left work to see you.”

“... you did?”

“Yeah. Aegon basically told me not to– that… this was something you needed space for. Kind of like I did but… maybe in a more healthy way.”

“A text wouldn’t have hurt.”

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone– his wallpaper was still the same as it was, a picture of you, him and Vhagar very unhappy in an elf costume. He scrolled to his notes app, which was filled with messages addressed to you. “... I thought it might, after what Aegon had said. I was… ashamed of how I acted, how I handled the whole thing– how I left you alone without a word. He told me how you looked… dead. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your eyes scanned the messages, picking out some words. The main ones that caught your gaze were ‘sorry’, ‘love’, ‘regret’. A huge breath left your lungs, feeling as if everything had been knocked out of you at once. You felt like you were being whipped back and forth in the wind, trying to grab onto anything. If you both weren’t so stubborn and just messaged one another– well, no. You did message him, one time. “I thought you blocked me.”

“... for five minutes, maybe.”

“God, we’re so fucking stupid, Aemond.”

“You aren’t– don’t say that. I’m literally a dumbass. All of my siblings told me so, even my own mother, and you know she never curses.”

The tiniest of smiles cracked onto your face as you jostled his shoulder. “Yeah… you are a dumbass. I am allowed to say it at least once. So, um,” you shuffled slightly, “Daeron kind of let it slip that you had a new girlfriend?”

Aemond pinched his brow. “Of course he said that. He is twenty-one years old and still doesn’t know how to use his goddamn ears. I said I was seeing a new therapist, not that I had a fucking girlfriend.”

“A therapist?”

“... things got really dark for me after I moved back into our… no, my… place. After you officially moved out. It felt lifeless, all of your things were gone, the fucking warmth sucked out of the place. It felt like it’d been sterilized of anything… good. I feel into something– I don’t know, a depression? I guess, that’s what Aegon called it. He suggested I see a therapist, citing me as ‘an emotionally stunted asshole who needs more therapy than him’.” he exaggerated the last bit with air quotes, rolling his eye.

“... he isn’t wrong. I mean, I love your family, but all of you are all kinds of fucked up. Maybe I am too, practically being a part of it.”

Aemond chuckled, giving a tight lipped smile. “We are fucked up. I realized that… I really do not give a shit what my dad thinks, because nothing will ever be good enough for him. He’s so far gone now that he probably doesn’t even know we exist. I’ve come to terms with that and honestly… it feels like a weight has been lifted.”

“I’m glad you could… work through some of that, Aemond.” you say sincerely, resting your cheek on his arm absentmindedly.

“... I want to talk about us.”

“... us. Okay.”

“I don’t expect you to want to jump right back into things. It would be unfair to think that– but… maybe we could try?”

Your chest feels a bit tight at his admission– he wanted to try. Every fiber in your being wanted to say yes and jump back into it like you’d never left. But you knew you couldn’t. There were still parts of you scarred by this whole experience, some parts that may never heal. It would take a long time and a lot of talks like this to even get some semblance of what the both of you had. “Well… before we were together, believe it or not, we were friends. Could we… try that for right now?”

His chest visibly deflated a bit, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, okay?”

–

The days following Christmas, leading up to New Year’s were… different. You and Aemond were back in contact, going out for coffee and lunch a few times.

On the day before New Year’s eve, you texted him.

Turns out, timing the movie to sync with 12 am on New Year’s day to Toby Maguire saying ‘Pizza time’ was difficult. Well, it wasn’t difficult for normal people– but you and Aemond were a bit tipsy, as Aegon had left some hard apple ciders in your fridge, to which you both indulged.

“Okay, okay,” Aemond stared at his phone, “5… 4… 2… wait, no, fuck, 3… 2… I think we fucked it up– just go, go!”

Quickly, you started the movie. “Maybe we should’ve practiced– can we start over?” you plopped on the couch, sinking into the sofa and taking a swig of the cider.

“Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. Can’t turn back time.” he mused softly, squatting down on one of the mushroom stools. “Pretty comfy.”

“Aegon picked those out, nifty, huh?”

“Nifty.” he parroted.

The movie continued on, but as it went on, there was an unspoken tension growing. Aemond hadn’t sat on the couch, but rather, the stools that were on the other side of the room. It felt like a chasm had formed, the strain almost palpable.

You chewed on your lip anxiously, contemplating whether or not to say anything. But, you had both been trying a new technique called ‘communication’ – a pretty cool and helpful thing that Aemond’s therapist had taught him. You remember laughing when he posed it that same way– but it was extremely important. You cleared your throat. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“... um. I wanted to try the mushroom seats, I guess.”

“You don’t want to sit next to me?” you countered, feeling especially brave.

“Is that… alright?”

“Um, duh. I invited you over for pizza and a movie so we could… sit together. Not for you to be half a mile away sitting on a mushroom.”

“As long as it’s alright with you.” he murmured, sitting up from the mushroom stool and making his way over to you, sliding onto the couch, still a few feet away from you.

You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere, the pent up emotions, the small buzz of alcohol, or a destructive cocktail of all three, but you inched closer to him. Closer, closer… until your thighs were touching. You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he responded, his voice low and warm. It caused a balmy and comforting vibration to go through you, reverberating in your chest.

You became all too aware of your movements, your closeness to him, the skin of your thigh grazing against his jeans as you got as close as you could. Your lips parted slightly as he stared back down at you. “Can… we?”

“Can we, what?” he murmured, lacing his fingers through your loose hair, gently grasping it at the nape of your neck. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“... kiss. A little bit.”

“Just a little bit?”

“Mhm. A teeny bit.” you leaned up, Aemond meeting you halfway as your lips came together. The culmination of your year apart, all of the emotions, the sadness, the frustration and anger, the passion, love, tears– all of it came together at this moment as the two of you melded together perfectly, as if you’d never left. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, followed by what could only be articulated as a moan.

It caught both of you off guard, Aemond pulling away for a moment, his lips still ghosting over yours. “Fucking hell,” he breathed against your skin, sending goosebumps tingling from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck, the hairs on your body standing on end. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you responded before latching onto him once more. It started off loving and slow, your lips moving against one another like two old lovers dancing together– then it began to heat up, your mouth parting to accommodate his tongue, gnashing against yours as their dance turned up a notch. Your hands roamed his body, everything you committed to memory for so many years still in its same spot. It felt good, it felt like home. “Please, Aemond– I… I need you. It’s been so long… too long…”

“Too long since I’ve had you, had this,” his hand reached down, cupping your mound still hidden beneath your panties. Somehow, you foresaw this moment before it happened and thankfully wore a light dress. “Let me in, love.”

You parted your legs, feeling the ever familiar crook of his fingers slide down the front of your panties, testing the waters. The pad of his thumb and middle finger locked on instantly to your clit, swirling the sensitive bud, sending electric shocks through your extremities. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, pressing your forehead against his. “Need you inside, now.” you all but growled as you peppered little kisses along the soft flesh of his neck.

He wouldn’t keep you waiting long, as it seemed he needed this as much as you did. He parted your panties to the side, propping you on top of him and sliding you down his length, earning a hissed gasp from both of you. It took all of his strength not to burst in you right then, as you enveloped him in your tight, wet heat. “You were made for me,” he breathed, biting down on your shoulder, leaving red marks. One of his favorite things to do was to mark you, leaving hickies in his wake as he worshiped every inch of exposed skin he could reach. “Melded so perfectly, just for me.” he grabbed the flesh of your bottom, squeezing gently at first, then landing a smack on it as he began to thrust up into you.

You nodded fervently, hiccuping little moans as you dug your face into his shoulder, biting him in turn. Your nails sunk into his skin, indenting against his spine as they always had, as they always were meant to. It felt much like a pianist resting their fingers on the ivories after a long break, the pads of your fingers sinking into the ridges of his very being. You were meant to be here, he was meant to be here. You could feel your end coming on all too soon, his cock filling every nook and cranny of you, bullying that spongy, delicate sweet spot just right. You began to clench, your tell-tale sign to him that you were close.

“I love you,” he whispered, panting slightly, using one hand to push your face back so you could meet his gaze. His wild, pupil-blown out gaze, cheeks reddened, mouth parted, brow furrowed. “I love you, I fucking love you. I missed you– fuck.”

“I l-love you,” you responded before he parted your lips with his thumb, “Love you so much– p-please, s’close.” you whined into his mouth.

“Let go, sweetheart, c’mon,” he grinned against your lips, nipping and biting at them. “Come for me.”

That was all you needed, the twine of your climax coming undone right in your core, snapping like a taut thread. Your usual habit was to hide your face in his shoulder when you came, whimpering and panting– but he didn’t let you this time. He held your face, staring at you intently as if you were a piece of fine art on display, and he was a connoisseur.

You clenched around him tightly, spurring him to his own end. His hard wrought fingers gripped your ass like it was a lifeline, grunting as he found his release deep within you, where it was always meant to be.

Coming down from your high, you slumped against his chest, mouth parted. Embarrassingly enough, a little drool wetted your lips. You were fully and thoroughly fucked out, not even registering that Tobey Maguire said “Pizza time!”

“Happy New Year, love,” Aemond murmured against your hair, nestling you tightly against him. He didn’t pull out– he preferred it this way, having you warm him through until you both fell asleep.

“... Happy New Year,” you whispered back.

–

Two and a half months later, it was Valentine's day. You and Aemond were officially dating again as of January 2nd, much to the surprise of no one.

You both took things as slow as you could, keeping separate apartments for the time being– but you’d given him a key to your place about two weeks in, and he was there all the time, taking much needed leave from work.

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you walked in, seeing Aemond lounging on the couch with a scruffy brown furball on him.

“Oh, Vhagar! You brought my baby,” you mused, dropping your items (with some grace, so as not to scare the geriatric cat), walking over, “Oh, I hope she remembers me.” you frowned, kneeling down and offering your hand to her.

“Of course she’ll remember, she yelled at me for a good three months at Aegon’s when we were without you.”

Vhagar sniffed your hand for a good minute before blinking her sleepy, lazy eyes at you, then promptly rubbing her scraggly cheek fur on your hand. You were elated, scratching her cheeks, hearing the tinkling of a little bell.

“A new collar?”

“Mhm, take a look.”

You swirled the collar around, looking for the name tag– only to find… a ring. An opal and moonstone ring. Your heart stopped in your chest as you stared at Aemond.

“I would get down on one knee– I was intending on you coming home and Vhagar running to you and then you finding it… but she’s on me, and I can’t get up. Cat rules,” he mused, unclipping the collar from her neck and slipping the ring onto your finger. “I know we’ve only been dating for… a month and a half, so stop me if it’s too soon.” he grinned, his toothy smile.

Vhagar gave a croaking meow, promptly jumping off of Aemond’s lap. As soon as the old cat was off, you threw yourself at Aemond, blubbering. “This… this…” you sniffed, unable to form words.

“Just so there isn’t any confusion… will you marry me?” he asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“Yes, yes– I will,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest and sobbing.

He let you sob on him, getting his shirt all snotty and wet, all while smiling.

After crying for at least ten minutes, you manage to take a picture, sending it to the group chat, with the caption: “I think we should add him to the chat now, guys.”

Ding.

“Is this group chat named ‘Aemond sucks’?”

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond smut #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond angst #my writing

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cod-dump · 2 months

Text

Open Door (teen!Ghost au)

———

This wasn’t the conversation he was imagining when Kate called him to talk about the kids. John expected it to be just a talk between friends, not business.

“Boys been doing well?”

“Been doing very well. And Farah has settled nicely.”

“She’s been looking at universities, hasn’t she?”

It started off normal. They were sipping tea in the back garden, enjoying the breeze in the shade. The boys were off at Johnny’s, no doubt causing mayhem. Not that the MacTavishes weren’t experts in chaos, John wasn’t worried about getting a phone call about his boys’ behavior from Mrs. Muriel MacTavish.

“I’ve been talking with the Shadow’s CO.”

John bristled at the mention of the mercenary. He looked at Kate, questioning why she would even bring him up when they were talking about their families.

“As you know, he’s become Gary’s full time guardian.”

“But?”

“But… he’s not quite… ready to handle a kid. Especially not one as young as Gary, or as traumatized.”

He didn’t like where this was going.

“He accepted being the kid’s guardian without being ready to take care of him when the need arises?”

“John, he didn’t expect to lose men coming here. With our operation, and, hell, even Nik’s, not it’s not a dangerous place.”

John could hear the unspoken words on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s- This isn’t my area of expertise-“

“Kate, just say it.”

Kate swallows, “Can you take in Gary? At least help care for him until Phillip can take him?”

John lets out a deep breath, there it was. He sets down his cup of tea and leans back, covering his eyes. Kate continued talking.

“After Simon’s transformation I have no higher recommendation for Gary’s care.”

“I have a dog, a cat, a fucking pigeon, three kids, and a Nik in my house.”

“You have the room. Plus Phillip will pay you for all of Gary’s needs and then some. He wants to come over as often as possible, too, to help in any way he can with him.”

John takes a breath before his uncovers his eyes and looks at Kate.

“You really can’t take him?”

“Annie is already doing twelve hour shifts and I’m running the office and helping Alex with his physical therapy and running him to his extracurricular activities. Like I said, after Simon? I no one else more capable that I trust to do this.”

“Oh fuck me- Fine! How much is he willing to pay?”

“£5’000 a month.”

John chokes as he sits up, “You’re joking-“

“No, sir. From my understanding, Phillip Graves is a very wealthy man and he doesn’t half ass anything.”

“Fuck… lead with the money, damn.”

Kate snorted, "Didn't take you as a greedy man, John."

John rolls his eyes, was he really agreeing to this? He wasn't doing as many 'jobs' as of late, mostly running to the office every month and doing surveillance of the town. Compared to how his life was years ago before Simon, he has a lot of free time. But he wasn't sure he was prepared to possible have another Simon in the home.

The hours that went into loving him and helping him get on his feet was worth it but... John wasn't sure he had another decade of that left.

"I'll send you Phillip's contact information so you two can start coming up with an agreement."

"I'm really doing this..."

"I'm not forcing you."

John glared and Kate rolled her eyes before continuing.

"I'm not forcing, just heavily persuading you."

"Forcing."

"Fine, forcing. This could give us a good in with Shadow CO. Besides, I forced you to care for Simon. Of course I dropped Kyle off at your door a few years after that. Do you regret that?

John didn't even have to think about it, "Never."

"Then give the poor kid a chance. I know you'll love him."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The door opened and Annie called out.

"We're home! Hide the bank blueprints!"

John couldn't help but snort as Kate grinned and stood. She left into the kitchen to greet her wife and kid, giving John an opportunity to escape before he agrees to something else he's not entirely sure about. As he walked into the hall, he caught a glimpse of Alex darting down the hall to his room. Annie was having her coat taken from her by Kate, the woman having that same smitten look she had the day she met her.

Annie spotted John and grinned, "Hey, stranger. Feel like you've been avoiding me."

"You? Never. Her? I try."

Kate gave him a playful glare, "Leaving?"

"If I stay out too long Nik starts getting anxious. And with my boys it's infectious."

Annie gives an understanding nods, "Better not keep him waiting then. Oh! And before you go-"

Annie stepped away from Kate to grab a book from the shelf nearby. She handed it over and John immediately recognized it as a science workbook, "Kyle left this here the other day. I was going to have Alex give it to him at school Monday but he won't be there."

John fought the amused grin that tried to show itself. There was something so inherently sweet about Alex and Kyle's budding relationship.

"I'll make sure he gets it."

John managed to make it outside to his car before Kate stopped him.

"John-"

"I'm going to talk to Nik about it tonight, and you know he can't turn away a stray."

"You won't be able to back out then."

"Exactly why I have to tell him."

Kate smiled, "Tell him if you take in another kid that he has to stop trying to catch one of the neighborhood raccoons."

John laughed out loudly, "Oh, you know that won't happen."

They said tonight and John pulled out of the driveway, preparing himself for what was ahead of him. He thought back to when Simon was first brought home. He wasn't supposed to stay long but three weeks in John was ready to fight the world for him. Simon coming into his life was a blessing, Nik came along and apparently they were a package deal, and them being in his life opened the door to Kyle and then Farah.

He wasn't going to turn away Gary, and he wasn't going to turn away the man who was seemingly determined to do right by the kid. It was the right thing to do, reaching out for help, and John could overlook the fact that the man was a foreign mercenary for the sake of the child. John was hoping, even praying, that this wouldn't lead to anything. But considering what taking in Simon lead him to, he was too curious, maybe even eager, to see what else was brought into his life.

#teen!ghost au #john price #kate laswell #gary roach sanderson #pricenik #dad john price #dad price #ficlet #drabble #guess who has access to a computer again finally :)))

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megalony · 3 months

Text

Resemblance- Part 7

Thank you all for the lovely feedback on this Evan Buckley series and for all the ideas you've been sending in, they really help.

I hope you will all like this part, thank you for waiting while I finally got round to finishing this part.

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Series Taglist: @lunaroserites @swanshells @moonlovers34 @bartkevicius03 @btskzfav @papafritafria @shortchubbybibi @essienoe @capswife

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Evan introduces (Y/n) to Eddie, she resembles someone he used to know. And he can't help himself when he's around her, leading to frightening behaviour.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't understand…"

Tilting his head back, Evan ran his hand across his jaw and down the back of his neck. His nails scratched into his skin enough to draw blood and create deep indents into his skin. Deep rouge lines appeared like cracks in his pale skin and dragged down beneath the collar of his shirt.

He could feel the doorframe digging into his back right near his spine, but Evan couldn't take his eyes off of Chris.

Then twelve year old looked the smallest Evan had ever seen him. He looked fragile, fractured, panicked. And Evan couldn't blame him.

His eyes raked over Chris, watching as his legs slowly swung back and forth with the heels of his feet disappearing behind the bed, hitting whatever games or toys he had hidden under there. Both hands were clenching around the bed cover and his body was leant forward like he was about to flop down onto the floor.

His chin was tilted down into his chest but his eyes were staring up through his lashes, locked onto Evan like he was a beacon.

"Where's dad going?" Chris sounded awfully young when he said that and it brought a shiver tearing down Evan's spine.

With a sigh, he pushed off the door frame and trudged across the bedroom. He thought it was a good idea to try and talk to Chris here, at home, and then get him to pack. And it had to be Evan who had to explain. He couldn't trust Eddie to explain without breaking down or giving up and trying to talk everyone out of this idea.

But they had all agreed.

Eddie had found a programme he could work with. It involved staying on a ward and entering therapy group sessions and one to one sessions with a counsellor. He would be around doctors twenty four seven and if he agreed and they thought he might need medication, they could do that too.

He couldn't go back to work yet anyway, Bobby had signed him off on leave and he couldn't go back to work without having an assessment first to clear him.

He knew he was lucky. (Y/n) didn't want to press charges, she didn't want the hassle that would entail and it felt cruel. Despite everything Eddie had done, he needed help and charging him wasn't going to help him.

All that was going to be on file was a domestic incident. It was Evan's way of having security. If Eddie tried anything ever again, they would already have it on file that he had been involved in a domestic incident so they had some sort of proof if they ever needed it.

"He… he's coming back, right?" Chris didn't give Evan chance to respond to his first question. "Mum left us, she didn't wanna come back."

He watched Evan plonk down on the bed next to him and reach out to slide one hand up and down Chris's back. His other hand brushed across his jaw again as he tried to gather his senses.

"Your dad would never leave you if he didn't have to, and he will always come back to you. He doesn't wanna go."

Evan knew this was going to be hard. He knew the moment he told Chris that Eddie had to go and he had to come and stay with Evan, that Chris was going to panic. He didn't want his dad to go, he would revert back to the memories of his mum leaving and when she came back, it was clear Shannon wasn't sure if she wanted to be in Chris's life permanently or not. And then she died, she ultimately left and he could never see or talk to her again.

Chris didn't want that to happen with his dad. He couldn't lose both parents, he had to have his dad around, he didn't want to be apart from him.

"Then why's he going? Where's he going that I can't go too?" His dad had brought him down here to LA from Texas.

When Eddie needed a fresh start away from his overbearing family and away from the memories of Shannon, he brought Chris with him. He couldn't bear the thought of his parents looking after Chris and being apart from his boy. Why was this time any different? Why couldn't Chris go with him this time?

Evan took a deep breath and shuffled back an inch on the bed so he could twist to the left. He wanted to be able to look at Chris when he told him what was happening, he wanted this to go smoothly and he didn't want Chris to panic. This was his nephew, the kid he looked out for and cared about as if he were his own son. Evan never wanted to hurt him or have anything else hurt Chris, he wanted to shield him from the world.

"Your dad… he's- he's going to stay at a facility for a while, in a hospital. At the minute, it might just be for a month, but it could be longer, and you can't go to a hospital with him, buddy."

"He's sick, like grandma?"

The fear in Chris's eyes had Evan's chest shuddering and he let out a trembling breath, doing his best to stop himself from shaking all over. He knew Shannon's mum had battled cancer and eventually lost. He knew Chris barely got to know his grandma before she died and that was why he was closer to Eddie's parents, they were the only grandparents he had left.

"No, no no buddy he's not sick like that I swear."

"Then why's he going to hospital? Buck, why?"

"Chris… you know the phrase die of a broken heart? Well it's true, scientists don't actually know how or why or have a name for it, but sometimes when people lose the one they love, their heart gives up. They can't carry on and they die from heartache."

Chris nodded. He was with Evan so far. He didn't know that was true, but he knew Evan was full of random, fun and inquisitive facts about almost every situation possible. He was always telling Chris something new.

"Your dad's got a broken heart. He misses your mum, and he's not gonna die from it, but he needs help. He's not well in his mind, he's made some bad choices recently and we want to get him help so he can come back to work, and come back to be with you."

Evan wholeheartedly believed in the phenomenon that people died of a broken heart when their loved ones passed. He had seen it. He had seen couples pass away after the other one died. He had seen parents wither away and fade when they lost their children. The mind gave up trying to continue and the heart couldn't beat on its own anymore. He had seen it in animals too, it was real.

And right now, Eddie was heading that way. He was lovesick after someone he lost. It didn't matter that Eddie's relationship with Shannon had been turbulent and broken and estrangled. She had been the one for Eddie and now she was gone. His heart was still beating strong, but his mind was fragmented from loss.

If he didn't get help he was going to hurt himself or do more damage to Evan and (Y/n) and Chris and everyone around him. He was going to hurt them all and if he pushed things too far, none of them would ever recover.

"What did he do?"

Evan didn't want to say. It seemed wrong, everything inside of him was crying out for him to gloss over this, to tell Chris the moderated version of events. But Chris was twelve, he understood a lot more than people gave him credit for and he deserved the truth. He deserved to know what had happened because he needed to see how unwell Eddie was and why he needed help.

If Chris knew what had happened, then he would be the reason Eddie got help. Chris would want Eddie to get help and Eddie wouldn't be able to refuse or back out if hs son told him to get better.

"You know (Y/n)?"

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, she reminded your dad of your mum… a lot. And it upset him, he started to think she was alive again. He uh, he had a breakdown the other night, and he hurt (Y/n) by accident. I don't want him to get any worse or hurt himself, do you get what I mean?"

There was more, there was so much more that Evan wanted to say. He didn't want Eddie to hurt (Y/n) again, he didn't want Eddie to frighten her more than he already had. Or to pin her to the wall or force himself on her or smash her through a door or try and lock her in her own home and take her hostage.

Evan wanted to keep (Y/n) safe because he loved her to the end of the Earth and he wasn't going to let her get hurt or let her walk away from him to save his friendship with Eddie.

Eddie was the one causing all this mess, he was the one who needed help and right now, sat here with Chris, Evan could see things through a different perspective.

He could see the person Eddie was. A kind soul, protective of those closest to him, striving to do the best he could for his son, wanting to help people and look out for them. He could see Eddie struggling, wanting the old life he had, wanting someone to love him the way he had felt only once, with Shannon. Feeling so broken and desperate that his mind played tricks on him and made him do anything to get his girl back.

He could see all of that because Chris loved his dad and he knew Chris was Eddie's world.

But when Evan was at home, when he had (Y/n) in his arms, all he could think of was how cruel Eddie was.

He had forced himself on (Y/n). He had frightened her. He got so blindly drunk that he let himself into her home, locked her in and then tried to pin her down and hold her hostage. He attacked her when she denied him and tried to get him to see the truth. He fought her so hard that he knocked her through a glass door and caused her to aspirate.

He shell shocked (Y/n) and almost made her break up with Evan because she didn't want to come between their friendship. And despite being influenced by grief and drowned in sorrow, there had to be part of Eddie that knew what he had done. Because he cried. He said sorry. He begged for forgiveness. He could see in the daylight that (Y/n) wasn't his wife and he had no right to do what he did, even if part of Eddie didn't remember everything he had done.

There were two sides to every story, and Evan was trying to see this from both sides, but it was hard.

"Is she okay?"

"She's okay, I promise. And your dad will be better once he's got help. I said you can come and stay with me and (Y/n), so you can still go to school and I'll always look after you. But if you'd rather stay with your grandparents in Texas, I can always make that call for you. It's your choice, buddy."

It was always going to be Chris's choice, but it was never going to be Eddie's choice.

If Eddie wanted his son in his life, he had to get help. If he didn't, Evan would let Athena take matters further. He would go to social services and explain what had happened. They wouldn't let Chris stay with Eddie when he had attacked someone and held them hostage in a drunken rage.

But if Eddie got help, they would do this informally. Chris would stay with whoever he chose and it would be like a mini vacation, just staying with a friend for a while. No social services involved and Eddie would get Chris back as soon as he was better.

When Eddie made Evan Chris's guardian in his will, he made Chris his responsibility. It was Evan's duty to look out for him and if he thought or saw that Chris wasn't safe, he would do what he could to protect him.

It seemed like a better choice for Chris to stay with Evan and (Y/n). They had a spare room downstairs behind the living room, it was small but it would do just fine for Chris to stay with them. He could bring any of his games and books and the loft was close to his school, his friends and his Abuela. But if Chris would feel safer going to Texas, Evan would try and make that happen.

All he wanted was for Chris to be safe and looked after, he didn't want him to go but if he wanted to, Evan wouldn't stand in his way.

"If I stay with you, can I visit dad?"

"You can see him every week."

***

When the sound of tepid, tender footsteps caught his attention, Evan cast a glance over his shoulder. His lips immediately curved up into a grin and his nose crinkled when he looked across at (Y/n).

She one of his oversized jumper on that pulled down over her hands making her look like a child in their parent's clothes, but it was a somewhat sweet look. Both her hands were rubbing up and down her arms and scratching through the thick material of her jumper.

The smile on her face was one that made Evan's stomach pool with adrenaline and had him wanting to melt on the spot.

Evan realised a second too late that he had been staring for a while when (Y/n)'s lips rolled together and her head tilted down to hide her blush. He could stand there and drink her in forever if he had the time.

"What're you boys making?"

(Y/n) moved over to the island counter and leaned forward, arching her back out as she folded her arms over the countertop.

She would admit that Evan looked very appealing in his 'Kiss the Cook' apron which was dark black with a spatula on the front and lots of red and pink kisses dotted all around the front. He had a short shirt on which showed off the way his arms flexed when he moved around the kitchen and his lips creased lovingly when he smiled. Even from this distance, (Y/n) could see the stubble painted across his face and it only made him more appealing.

Then there was Chris. Stood beside Evan like his apprentice chef, a ladle in one hand and a taste-testing spoon in the other. He had a smudging of orange at the corner of his mouth and a cheesy smile on his face that creased his eyes so much he could barely see.

"Lasagne," Evan finally responded, clearing his throat and swiping his tongue out over his lower lip which had suddenly gone very dry.

The steam from the cooker made a shiver roll down (Y/n)'s spine and she realised it was making Evan a bit tense, his arms were straining against the short and rather tight sleeves of his shirt. And a trickle of sweat rolled down his cheek and traced along the vein in his neck.

"Smells good,"

Her eyes cast over the cooker and the worktops, taking in how much effort they had put into making a simple lasagne, making it anything but plain. The white cheese sauce had been made from scratch and so had the bolognaise, the only thing store-bought was the pasta sheets. But (Y/n) knew Evan could make those sheets if he was in a proper cooking mood.

"Want to taste test it?" Chris waved the spoon in his hand towards (Y/n), begging her with his eyes to come over and test their work of art.

Every day off Evan had, he and Chris had been cooking together. They had made cottage pie, homemade pizzas with homemade sauce, they even ventured into making ratatouille which had been a success.

Both of them had done their best to make Chris feel at ease and comfortable while he stayed with them. Of course he had stayed with Evan before and Evan knew all of his routines, but this was different. He had never stayed with Evan for a long period of time, except for when Eddie got shot a few years ago and they had stayed at Chris and Eddie's home that time.

It seemed to be going well. Chris was settled in after the first day and they all had their routines. (Y/n) picked Chris up from school, Evan dropped him off when he wasn't at work. Chris helped with the cleaning, they had a lot of movie nights and cooking together and they were trying to plan two days out a week, whether that was going out to the zoo or just for a walk in the park.

Chris was happy and settled with them and that was all that mattered.

"Of course I do."

(Y/n) grinned brightly and headed over to the boys. She rested her hand on Chris's shoulder and her other hand clamped down on her hip. When she lifted her eyes, she caught the way Evan was looking at her and the way he swiped his tongue over his lower lip which had her shivering.

She leaned down so Chris could hand her the spoon to test the bolognaise. "You two could open up a restaurant, you know." She ruffled Chris's hair and took a step back so they could start layering up the lasagne in the dish.

"Alright, wanna go set up a game before tea?" Evan leaned back against the counter once the dish was in the oven.

He patted Chris's shoulder and watched him hurry out the kitchen towards the living room. He had been here two weeks now and he was doing great in adjusting to such big changes.

Once he was off, (Y/n) turned towards Evan and narrowed her eyes when she noticed the quirky smile on his lips. But when he leaned his right hand on the counter and looked down at his apron, her shoulders sagged and she couldn't help the giggle that left her lips.

"Oh, I see." She murmured quietly, looping her arms around his neck and pushing up on her tiptoes so she could press a chaste kiss to his lips.

She felt Evan's arms circle around her waist, his hands flat out against the middle of her back while he pulled her chest flush against his. She could feel each breath he took, deep and slow but when he stooped down for another kiss, she noticed his pulse quickening. He couldn't seem to help but smile into the kiss, especially when their lips parted and his tongue darted into her mouth, fighting for control.

Her nails scratched lowly into the back of his neck, raking across the short hairs before reaching up to knot her fingers in the curls at the top of his head.

When they pulled apart, (Y/n) let her cheek rest on his shoulder while her hand came down to drag her fingertip slowly across his cheek. She couldn't help the smile that danced across her lips that peppered tender wet kisses against Evan's neck.

"What's that look for?" Evan spoke softly against the top of her head, realising he was swaying them from left to right as if they were having their first dance at their wedding.

"Hm?"

"That melting look." He reached up to drag his thumb across (Y/n)'s cheek and near the corner of her eyes.

There was something tender in her eyes and the way her lips quirked up to one side made her look so adoring and sweet. Evan wanted to know what was going through her mind right now, he wanted to know what was making her smile like that so he could see that look more often.

"You're really good with him, you're a natural." The way Evan was with Chris was what made (Y/n) smile like that. Seeing him get defensive and protective over Chris was one thing, but to see him around him was something else.

To see the way Evan always tried to listen and understand or how he got Chris involved in everything made (Y/n)'s stomach pool with adrenaline. Evan made sure Chris didn't feel left out, that he did all he was capable of, he helped him with homework and calmed him down when he didn't understand the work and got confused. He always stayed calm and she had yet to see either of them fall out. Their dynamic was sweet.

"Thank you." He chuckled softly and tilted his head down to kiss the top of her head.

It wasn't the first time Evan had heard that. He was always babysitting his friend's kids, he had always been first on the list to look after Chris and Maddie knew Jee loved Evan the best out of all their family.

(Y/n) knew he was good with kids, he had a personality that radiated with them and he could always get on their level and understand and listen and be patient. And he was a beaming, enthusiastic person that could light up a room so of course kids levitated to him. But it was lovely to see Evan day in and day out with Chris rather than just seeing glimpses of him with kids for a few hours here and there.

"You'd be a great dad." She murmured the words so quietly into his neck that he almost misheard her. But when her words registered in his ears, his smile turned beaming.

He pushed back against the counter and spread his legs so (Y/n) could stand between them. He slithered his hands down to hold (Y/n)'s hips and he tilted his head down so he could look at her properly. He felt (Y/n)'s hands graze down from his neck to rest against his chest, her fingers slowly scratching into his shirt that she seemed to be focused on.

"Oh yeah? You thinking about us having kids?"

The thought made Evan smirk, he couldn't help it. It was the same way he had looked and thought about (Y/n) when he saw her having a mini tea party with Jee a few weeks ago. He loved that (Y/n) was integrated into his family, that everyone loved her and she made the effort with Jee, one of the most important kids in Evan's life.

He knew (Y/n) would be a great mum and of course they had talked about it, they were engaged now after all.

"I'm late."

"What?" Evan's smirk changed into a smile and his nose crinkled upwards as his lips parted. "What are you late for?" They didn't have any plans that Evan knew about.

But when (Y/n)'s head dipped to one side and her lips pressed together with a deep breath, Evan's lips formed an oh shape.

A shudder jolted down his shoulders and along his spine and his hands tightened on (Y/n)'s hips until his fingers were almost puncturing through into her hips. He stood up straighter, pushing off the counter while he held his breath, hoping this wasn't some kind of joke or a trick being played on him.

"Really, w- how late?"

(Y/n) kept her eyes on Evan's chest until one hand left her hip which tingled in his absence and she felt his fingertips gripping her chin. He tilted her head back and leaned down until she finally let their gazes interlock.

She hadn't been sure how happy Evan would be about this, the timing wasn't great, she knew that. It hadn't been long since the ordeal with Eddie who was still in the hospital in the middle of his recovery. They had Chris staying with them, things weren't right at the station now that the core team knew what had happened. No one knew how to regulate and get back to a sense of normality.

But she couldn't change it, all she could do was wait to find out if she was actually pregnant or not. It could be a false alarm, but she wasn't so sure.

"Enough… I was gonna wait another week to be sure, and do a test. You okay, w-what are you thinking?"

A gasp tumbled past her lips when Evan's hands slid down her thighs as quick as lightning and he hoisted her up. Her arms moved to lock around his neck again and she held her breath, biting down on her lip as she hooked her legs around his waist to secure herself on his torso.

She had never seen such a broad smile on his face and the look in his eyes was one that (Y/n) could drown in. She could already feel her lungs about to pop and adrenaline was swarming throughout her body that was turning numb.

She thought Evan would be apprehensive because of the timing and the situation. They were looking after Chris, they didn't know how long he was going to be here with them. A baby meant they would have to look for somewhere a bit bigger to live. They had only just gotten engaged, they weren't even married yet.

But this reaction showed he was more than overjoyed at the thought of having a baby and (Y/n) was almost worried that if it turned out she was just late, telling Evan was going to be disappointing.

"I think you're gonna look gorgeous with a bump."

***

A sigh tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she looked up at the clock on the wall while her nails raked up and down her thighs.

Maddie was late.

If she didn't get here soon, Chris was going to miss his visit to go and see Eddie. For almost three weeks since Chris had moved in with them, he had been going to visit Eddie at the hospital twice a week. He went on a Wednesday after school which Carla took him for the visit, and then he went on a Saturday afternoon and had a bit longer to spend with his dad.

It seemed to be doing them both some good, Chris didn't feel so confused or lost when he still got to see his dad and he could see that Eddie was in fact doing okay. He was consolidated that Eddie wasn't about to die or disappear on him. And Eddie calmed down when he saw Chris, he had his reason for continuing with the programme and to get himself better.

If Evan wasn't able to take Chris to one of his visits, either Carla or Maddie had been stepping in to help. Maddie was always offering to do whatever she could to try and help, she had dropped (Y/n) off to her own therapy sessions quite a lot too.

(Y/n) jumped back against the sofa cushion when her phone started to buzz on the coffee table.

It was Maddie. Maybe she was parked outside ready to take Chris and bring him back later this afternoon. Maybe she was finally on her way and was ringing to say she wouldn't be long and to get Chris ready.

"Hi," She breathed down the receiver, moving her other hand to rake through her hair as she sat forward and slumped her elbows onto her knees.

"Hey, I know I'm supposed to be taking Chris today but Jee's been throwing up and now she's having a meltdown. I don't think I can take him."

(Y/n) felt like she was going to be sick. What was she supposed to do now? Evan was at work and so was Chimney, Hen and Bobby. None of them would be able to come over and take Chris there and it wasn't as if Chris just needed to be dropped off and picked up.

Because he was under eighteen, Chris had to have supervised visits, he wasn't allowed to be left at the hospital. He could be left in the room with Eddie for a few minutes at a time as long as someone was right outside the door and able to look through the window. Whoever took Chris had to stay there with him for the entire visit.

How was (Y/n) supposed to do that? Would it be good for Eddie if she turned up right in the middle of his recovery? Was seeing (Y/n) going to set Eddie back?

Something deep down within (Y/n) told her that Eddie wasn't going to make progress or do well if he saw her right now. She could set him back miles in his progress. But if she didn't go, Chris was going to miss a visit. He needed these visits, he needed these few hours to be with his dad and keep that connection. And these visits were what Eddie was living for, he would break if he missed a visit and had to go a week without seeing his son.

"It's okay, I'll sort it."

"Are you sure? I don't want to let him down-"

"No, no you're not, don't worry. Just ring me later so we know how Jee is, will you?" (Y/n) couldn't believe the calmness that tangled through her tone and masked the panic bubbling up inside of her.

She didn't want Maddie to feel bad or panic about this when she was clearly worried about her own daughter. As long as she let (Y/n) and Evan know later if Jee was alright or not, there was no need for Maddie to panic.

"Of course I will, thanks."

(Y/n) began to tap her phone against the palm of her hand before she looked back up at the clock. There wasn't time to call round and see if she could find someone else to help her out. If she wanted Chris to keep this meeting and not be late or miss out on any time with his dad, she was going to have to take him now.

She was going to have to see Eddie.

She hadn't seen Eddie since the night he took her hostage in the flat. The last memory she had of him was Eddie pinning her to the wall. His hot breath on her neck. His rough fingers scratching up and down her thighs. Pulling her shirt and yanking on her underwear. The feeling of his heavy body crushing hers when they fell into an abyss.

A shudder crawled down her spine and she realised a tear had traced down her cheek at the memory.

She brushed her hand across her face and stood up, feeling her head start to spin and her stomach churn as she turned towards the small box room at the back of the living room. It was poxy, barely bigger than a cupboard, but it was the only spare room they had in the apartment. And it was easier for them all to stay here than for the couple to move into Eddie's home for the time being.

And Chris didn't seem to mind the small room. He had put posters on the walls and the door, his games and books were neatly lined up beneath the bed. There was a tv on the desk that was squashed between the foot of the bed and the wall. And Evan had stuck up hundreds of glow in the dark stars to the ceiling because Chris's new obsession was space.

(Y/n) tried to stop herself from shaking as she rapped her knuckles on the door and gave it a gentle nudge.

"Hey, you ready to go?"

Chris was sat on the bed, jacket on, backpack beside him with a few books and drawings that he wanted to show his dad. He turned off the tv and grinned, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"Is Maddie here?"

"Um, no, Jee's not well today so I'm gonna take you. If that's alright." She slid her phone into her back pocket and started to rub her hands nervously up and down her hips.

She was surprised to watch Chris's smile broaden and he nodded, bouncing up to his feet like a kangaroo before he reached out for her hand. He had grown fond of (Y/n), he was starting to refer to her and Evan as his aunt and uncle and he was more than willing for her to take him today.

It didn't seem to dawn on Chris that (Y/n) tagging along might stir up some memories and problems for his dad.

(Y/n) hooked her bag on her shoulder and once Chris had his bag and shoes on, they headed out the apartment. She let him swing their hands back and forth, rambling about one of the new tv shows he had started to watch. He was a lot like Evan, once he learned something new he loved to ramble and spill every detail and new fact he had learned. And (Y/n) was more than happy to listen to him.

Her hand absentmindedly moved to her stomach that was churning and rotating like a washing machine. She was going to be sick. Her throat was turning dry and the muscles were tightening and closing off, rubbing together awkwardly. Everything was bubbling and fizzing in her veins and she could feel the shakes setting in her system.

It didn't take long to reach the hospital and as soon as they pulled up, (Y/n) felt her fingertips turning numb and her arms began to shake.

"I uh, I don't know where we go honey, you're gonna have to guide me." She held her hand out for Chris who happily entwined their fingers and took the lead.

"It's not far, dad's on the Daffodil ward." Chris found all the different ward names rather amusing, but he wasn't fond of the name of his dad's ward.

Although he thought the ward itself was lovely. Lots of large feature walls dotted around, a clear white tiled floor with flecks of sparkles and black spots glazed on top. Bright lights and skylights built into the ceiling, and all the visiting rooms were lovely.

Plush chairs, books, music, windows looking out onto the gardens and the room he got to visit Eddie in was spacious and they got to be alone.

(Y/n) let Chris drag her through the main entrance, head to the stairs and up to the second floor. All the while, her free arm bound across her waist like an iron bar to try and prevent herself from being sick.

God, if (Y/n) really was pregnant, the baby was going to be doing summersaults and it was turning (Y/n) green at the gills.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be doing this. Seeing Eddie was going to bring the nightmares back and it was only going to cause problems for Eddie. But they didn't have a choice. Chris needed this, he needed to see his dad and Eddie needed the stability and comfort of being around his son.

And if Eddie saw (Y/n), it might put all his hard work to good use. He would have to control himself and the thoughts he had when he was around her. Eddie would have to remind himself that this was (Y/n), a completely different person to his wife. She wasn't Shannon, she didn't belong to him and he couldn't kiss her or hold her or be close to her. Eddie would have to start seeing reality and this would give them a rough guess at how well Eddie was doing in his recovery.

If this meeting went well it would prove that the programme was working for Eddie. If it went south, it showed he needed more concentrated help or a different method of treatment to get his mind back in order and control the impulses he had whenever he saw (Y/n).

"Over there." Chris leaned his head on (Y/n)'s arm and pointed to the reception desk once they walked through the bright yellow doors to the Daffodil ward.

(Y/n) forced her feet to move and pushed herself over to the desk which took her weight when she slumped her hip against it.

"Hi, we're here to visit Eddie Diaz."

"Of course, room two, as usual. Go through lovey." The receptionist smiled across at Chris and gave him a little wink which told (Y/n) she was usually on shift whenever Chris came to visit his dad.

Every pulse of her heartbeat vibrated through (Y/n)'s skin and thumped horribly in her ears. Her lungs expanded to the max, pushing out against her ribs as she realised she couldn't release or take in a new breath. Sweat started to form like crystals glistening on her skin and her palms were slick and grubby with sweat.

Each step closer to the door had (Y/n)'s body breaking out in shakes and a quiet murmur stuck at the back of her throat when Chris let go of her hand and pushed open the door.

Why couldn't she just wait out here for him?

Eddie wasn't a danger to Chris, he was going to be a danger to (Y/n) if she walked in that room. He would be fine to be alone with his son for their session, it would do them both some good. But (Y/n) had to go in, she knew she did. This was her moment to prove to herself that she was okay, that she could stand up for herself and be around the man that had attacked her more than once.

She could see how well Eddie was doing in his recovery and try to get them all back onto a normal track.

If she and Evan were going to get married, Eddie had to get used to her being with his best friend. Eddie had to get better for (Y/n) and Evan to be able to move on. They had to get Eddie back on track if they really were having a baby and if they were going to tell him that they were having a baby.

And (Y/n) instinctively knew that they were going to have to tell Eddie if they were pregnant, while he was in this facility. There was no way they could let him recover and get settled back at home to then break the news. Telling him they were getting married and possibly having a baby was going to send Eddie into another spiral.

It would be best to tell him while he was here so he could be monitored and looked after and if the news set him back in his progress, it wouldn't matter. Because he would be here and be helped and pushed to get back on track again.

Terror pulsed through (Y/n) like she was a boombox when she shuffled over the threshold and quietly shut the door behind her.

Her eyes locked on Chris as he dumped his bag down on one of the chairs and bolted across to the plush leather sofa in the middle of the room where Eddie was sat.

Eddie slumped forward and deadlocked his arms around Chris, letting out a breathless laugh as he pulled his son between his legs, crushing him into his chest. His lips pressed against Chris's curls and he squeezed him tight, swaying from side to side.

"There's my boy! You okay? How are you doing?" Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and pulled back enough to look at him. He cupped Chris's face and kissed his temple.

"I'm good, I missed you."

"Oh I missed you too."

Chris looped his arms back around Eddie's neck and reeled him in for another hug which elicited another laugh from deep within Eddie's chest.

But when he opened his eyes and lifted his gaze towards the door, every part of Eddie's body went rigid. His heart hammered itself into his ribs like it was trying to impale itself on his bones. His blood turned thick and cold and gloopy in his veins like it was clogging up and becoming stuck. His muscles went taut and stiff and locked in place when his eyes set on that familiar figure.

That long glossy hair. Those deep swirling pools in her eyes. The dip in the middle of her lips and the way they were plump and lively. How she had both arms wrapped around her waist in that anxious habit he remembered so well.

Every nerve in his brain started to misfire. Wrong signals were sent every which way, his arms tensed and relaxed continuously. His feet began to tap against the floor, his lungs stuttered and had him gasping for breath.

"Hi Eddie."

Just her voice was enough to restart his blood rushing throughout his body and Eddie couldn't help the way he gulped and closed his eyes for a second or two longer. Revelling in the sound of her voice and the way she said his name like it was sugar on her tongue.

"Hi."

He sounded breathless and somewhat confused which (Y/n) could understand and relate to. She leaned her shoulders back against the door, staying as close to the exit as she could in case this meeting went south. She didn't dare step forward, she didn't want to be close enough to Eddie that he would be able to reach out and touch her. She didn't want his gaze on her, let alone remember the feeling of his rough hands groping and pulling at her.

As she stared across at him, she fidgeted from foot to foot, anxiously trying to decipher something. The way Eddie was looking at her was confusing her.

Looking at her like that, did he see (Y/n)… or Shannon?

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #eddie diaz #resemblance

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nebulablakemurphy · 8 months

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Moves & Countermoves (Part 24)

Part 23

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

“Lean your head back, so I can rinse.” Y/N instructs Katniss, gently.

It’s been two weeks back in twelve. The Abernathy family, Katniss, Cashmere and Johanna. Peeta had to stay behind, not quite ready to be exposed to all the potential triggers of home.

Cashmere and Madge had no problem cozying up in the Abernathy home. However Katniss keeps to her own house in Victor’s Village and Johanna has agreed to stay in the house gifted to Y/N after her win. Finnick and Annie will visit too, of course. After the baby.

The girl on fire sits in the tub, knees pulled up to her chest, with both arms around them, as her former mentor washes her hair. Katniss can’t bring herself to do much these days. Rotting away on the couch, after Prim… But Y/N is nothing if not stubborn and loves Katniss more than her own mother ever could.

When Y/N is finished, she leaves Katniss to dry off. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Katniss blinks at her, nodding. She does not speak.

Y/N returns to her own home, bustling with life. Nothing here is still. The victor dances past her oldest daughter, twirling about the living room to music. Moving carefully behind the house of cards that Everest and Cashmere are building on the dining table and into the kitchen.

Haymitch follows her there, Daisy in his arms. He hardly puts her down. “How is she?” Katniss.

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You should go see her, Haymitch. Maybe she’ll talk to you.”

“What makes you think she’ll talk to me?”

“Because you understand each other.” Y/N says, “I love her, she knows I do. But it’s not the same. She needs you.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Haymitch frowns, “if it sets her off? Makes it worse?”

“The last thing Katniss needs right now, is to feel like another person has abandoned her.” Like her mother. Like Gale. “Especially you. You don’t have to say anything, just be there.” Y/N wrings her hands, anxiously. “Please.”

Haymitch shakes his head, bouncing between feet, when Daisy begins to fuss. “The things I do for you.”

Y/N half smiles, “gimme the baby.”

At this he hesitates. It is hard enough being in a separate room from his children. Or not to holler in protest, each time Y/N moves out of his sight.

“Haymitch?” Y/N rests a hand against his back.

It’s not you, it’s me. “Here.” He forces a smile, passing off their child.

“Haymitch, what’s wrong?” Y/N wonders, adjusting the infant in her arms.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat, “it’s nothing.”

“But-”

“I love you.” Haymitch tells his wife, pecking a kiss to her lips, “nothing’s wrong.”

Y/N pulls back, slightly, studying him. “I love you too.”

He pats her cheek, in parting. Hurrying out the door, before Y/N can get a word in.

“You guys are disgusting.” Johanna remarks, leaning heavily against the refrigerator.

Y/N murmurs. “Yeah.”

“I’m out of eggs.” Johanna adds, to explain her presence.

“We have plenty. Help yourself.” Y/N waves toward the fridge.

“There’s something wrong with him.”

“I know.”

“What are you gonna do about it? You’re Mrs. Fix It. That’s why we’re all here. So you can fix us.” Johanna scoffs, “you can’t even fix yourself.”

“I can,” Y/N cuts her off. “I will.”

“You think I haven’t noticed there’s a room you can’t even go in?” Johanna continues.

“It’s not what you think.”

“I think you’re afraid of old hunks of metal that used to record you getting your rocks off.” Johanna crosses both arms over her chest. “They can’t hurt you.”

“They can hurt me.” Y/N purses her lips, “they did.”

“You should get rid of them.” Johanna suggests.

“I can’t.” I just can’t.

“My head doctor would call it ‘exposure therapy.’”

“Will you help me?”

Johanna huffs a laugh. “What are friends for?”

————————————————————————

That night, after the children are fast asleep, Y/N tosses and turns in bed.

“Just say it.” Haymitch snaps.

“It’s nothing.” Y/N whispers, “I’m sorry.” She turns away from Haymitch, nuzzling her back against his chest, until he has no choice but to wrap his arms around her.

“Angel,” Haymitch pauses, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Been free.” Haymitch confesses, “not since the games, never as an adult. Never as a husband or a father; and I am terrified that at any moment, all of this is going to be taken away from me.”

Y/N squeezes his hand, a bit tighter. “Sometimes I think that too.” We’ve been playing the game too long. “Do you think we’ll get used to it? Being free?”

Haymitch sighs, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “I hope so, angel.”

This is new. Haymitch having hope. “Me too.”

————————————————————————

Nights bleed into days. Days into weeks.

Daisy naps contently, in the sling against Y/N’s chest, while she tidies the kitchen.

Everest and Haymitch have set out to pluck weeds from the pathway between houses of Victor’s Village.

Arista is playing in the backyard.

The birds chirp.

The sun shines.

Then Arista screams. “Mommy!”

Y/N abandons the pan she is washing, into the sink, water still running, as she races toward the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Arista!”

“Mommy! Daddy! Hurry!”

Haymitch and Everest rush toward her cry. “Arista!”

Y/N finds her first, at the far edge of their yard, hunched over a mass of white feathers. “Arista? Are you ok?”

“He came back.” Arista tells her mother, with overjoyed tears in her eyes. “Louie came back.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Y/N chokes down the panic that has risen in her throat. “That’s wonderful.”

Everest comes to a stop beside his mother, panting as he takes in the scene before him. “She’s ok?”

“Yeah,” Y/N reaches a hand over, to ruffle his hair. “We’re all ok now.”

Haymitch joins them last, out of breath, face flushed. “Is everything-”

Y/N turns to him, with a grin. “Louie came home.”

“It’s just the goose.” Haymitch can’t help but laugh. “Just the god damn goose.”

————————————————————————

That night, at dinner, with Madge, Cashmere, Johanna and even Katniss, the phone rings. The sound of it still jarring, after being without a form of easy communication between districts for so long.

Maybe it’s Annie and Finnick.

Maybe there is news in the Capitol.

Maybe Effie.

“I’ll get it.” Johanna volunteers.

Y/N holds up a hand, not wanting to speak with a mouthful of food.

“Or not.”

“I’ve got it.” Y/N excuses herself from the table, into the hallway. Lifting the phone from the receiver to her ear; heart pounding. “Hello.”

“Y/N, it’s me.”

Her free hand comes up to her heart, attempting to quiet the ache. “Peeta, hi. How are you?”

“Better, I’m good.”

“That’s good, honey.” Y/N blinks back tears. “That’s so good to hear.”

“Dr. Aurelius says I’m free to leave the hospital, as long as I keep up with sessions over the phone.” He sounds nervous, like the other shoe is about to drop.

Maybe he’s staying with Effie in the Capitol.

“The train leaves tomorrow morning.”

“Can I- I’ll come get you from the train station?”

“Yes.” Peeta says, immediately. “That would be great.”

“Ok,” Y/N breathes, “that’s perfect. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a @nj01 @eruannaaa-blog @thatkindofgurl @solikeapparently @innercreationflower @nicksolemnlyswears @a-sweet-little-fangirl @champomiel @kate654 @maladptivedreamer @rainbow12346 @gabwitch99-blog @theseerbetweenus @qvnthesia @prettybiching @izziebreeziel @anneliese500 @scoliobean @mariechristine00 @hoslunix @frstlght @winter-jensen

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #the hunger games fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch fanfic #thg haymitch

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fourmoony · 1 month

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Two

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: Language, mentions of violence, sour sibling relationships, overbearing parents, mention of car crash and scars.

ITN: The Masterlist

James

One of James’ earliest memories is of the rink, back home. It’s not exactly a clear memory. There was lots of falling, a plastic penguin almost the size of him, and Sirius Black. His first day at kiddie-skate. Even though he’d spent more time on his ass than skating, it’s a memory James will always cherish. Even if it blurs, slightly, as time goes on. Because it’s the day he met Sirius. At five years old, James had no idea that the lanky, smart as a whip kid who somehow managed to both stumble across the ice and act like he owned it at the same time, was going to be one of the most important people in his life. Sirius is James’ soulmate. His best friend. There isn’t a day where James isn’t grateful for Sirius Black stumbling into his life; wild and untamed.

Except, maybe, today.

The rink at Hogwarts is a place James always feels at home. The smell of Zamboni fuel and the rubber mats meant to protect skate blades. The banging of lockers and the whir of the air conditioning that keeps the ice cool. It’s a small area of campus where James can go when he feels too much. Too overwhelmed, too sad, too anxious. A safe place. Even training is a relief to James. A time in which he’s allocated to turn his brain off, become captain and lead his team. He focusses on plays and makes mental notes on what to work on with the guys. During games he’s focussed on one thing: winning.

But today. Today, Hogwarts Arena is the very source of James’ anxiety, of the weight in his chest that just keeps pressing. It’s not that he’s scared of the rink. Or even of you. But the idea of being in charge of twelve miniature humans whilst knowing in the back of his mind that you’d rather be literally anywhere else is a pretty decent source of anxiety. The last thing James wants to do is make you uncomfortable in an environment that you love so much. You’ve coached mini skate since you were a sophomore. You once told James that it felt like your purpose. To fill the world with as many accomplished skaters as possible. Be a role-model. A guiding light. Someone they could look back at and think I’m glad I had a coach like her. A motivator. A kind soul.

You’re setting cones out on the ice when James takes a seat on the team bench to put his skates on. The kids are down by the tunnel, if the noise that flows from it is anything to go by. James finds himself staring as you skate. You do it with such ease that it reminds him hockey isn’t the only on-ice sport. You’ve trained your entire life to get to the level you’re at, today. He knows you’re going for Nationals again, this year, refuses to allow himself to think about last year. You deserve better of him than to have him distracted by that whilst co-coaching. He knows how that spiral goes. Spent all of his summer thinking about you, about the physical therapy you’d be enduring, the anger you’d have been feeling. Shame washes over him, hot and fast.

He ties his skates tighter than they probably need to be and joins you on the ice. Your head turns at the sound of his blades against the ice, fresh pressed by the Zamboni, after your training session with Pince, probably. You’re still wearing your training clothes, likely haven’t left the rink to get food between practice and mini skate. James makes a mental note to bring you something, next week.

“You’re late.” You call across the ice. You set another cone down, skate towards the next location.

James weaves in and out of the cones you’ve set out with ease, gaining on you without trying. “My Econ class ran long. Flitwick sent you an email.”

Your ponytail swishes when you turn to drop the next cone, feet crossing in a way James imagines is only capable because of your toe picks. If he tried a move like that in his blunt rounded hockey skates, he’d land on his face. With the final cone in your hand, you skate backwards, eyes on James. “Literally the last thing I said to you was ‘be on time’, James.” You sigh.

James smiles, “Actually, I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘You’re sorry that you feel like shit’.”

Your eyebrows hook in the middle when they furrow. James knows he has no right to chide you or try to joke with you, but he wants this to be painless. He hurt you, he knows that. He done a lot of stupid shit, things he can’t take back, even if he wishes he could. But he never thought you’d want to act like strangers, like two people who can’t hold a civil conversation. In his opinion, there’s too much history there, for that.

“The kids will be out any minute. We’re going over control. You take half, I take half.” You nod your head to the pile of cones on the other side of the rink.

James nods. “Sure thing.” He gets to work on setting up his cones before the kids come out of the tunnel.

The majority of kiddie-skate passes in a flurry of tiny skates torpedoing around James. He tries to keep up, tries not to come across as stern, even when all six of the kids under his leadership would rather race each other across the span of the ice. They remind him of he and Sirius, at that age. Causing trouble everywhere they went, consequences be damned. It’s exhausting, but nowhere near as awkward as he thought it might be. You dutifully keep your kids to your side of the ice, well behaved and skating in neat circles around their cones. James finds himself wondering if you gave him the wild bunch as a punishment. By the end of the session, James finds himself giving in and racing seven-year-old Michael from one net to the other. He considers letting him win but decides against it when he sees the determination on Michael’s face, the sure-fire way he glides on his skates. He’s fast; has potential. That shouldn’t be coddled. It should be nurtured, turned into motivation to try harder, next time. Because, next time, when he does try harder, he might just win. Until he’s playing at division one level.

James is sure that’ll be true, one day.

The parents mill around by the exit doors at the far end of the ice, ten minutes before the session ends. James can’t quite believe how fast the time has gone. You call him and his group of kids over to the middle of the ice, skidding to a stop on the edge of your skates. Dutifully, James directs his kids towards you. “Let’s go, team. The boss wants us over here.”

If you hear him, you don’t say anything. Instead, you direct James to stand next to you, arms crossed over your chest. “What did we learn, today?” You ask.

“Control.”

You nod, smile kind and patient. “That control is a key part in skating. Whether it be hockey or figure skating. If you can’t control your weight, your speed, your skates? Pshh,” You scoff, dramatically, “Game over, guys. You’re out.”

There’s amusement in your voice, despite the importance of what you’re saying. James finds it admirable, your ability to connect with the kids. You could connect with anyone, anywhere, though. It’s the kind of person you are. Patient, kind. Undeserving of all the bullshit James has brought into your life since you met him.

“Did you lose control when you broke your ankle?” One of the kids asks. A younger girl, a sparkly pink helmet sitting squint on her head. There’s no malice, just that childlike innocence that brings about curiosity.

The question shocks you, regardless. Your lips press into a thin line, eyes a little distant. James wonders if he should step in, cover for you. Change the subject, somehow.

“No, Kayla,” You fix your face, a sort of wistful look that James can’t figure out. “No, I lost focus.”

James feels his heart sink. Two nights before you left for Nationals, James dropped an irreversible bomb on you. It broke your heart, tore your relationship apart. Then, he sent you off to Nationals with a head full of his bullshit and watched you break your ankle in front of the entire country. Because he distracted you. He broke your focus. Took away the gold medal that had your name written on it.

The guilt keeps him awake at night. More so than the ache of missing you. Because he does. He misses everything about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re focussing. He even misses your grumpiness when trying, and failing, to nail a new routine. He misses holding you, kissing you, telling you that he loves you.

But the guilt, the shame. The reality of what he did. It plays on a loop in his head, eats him alive. He’s trying not to drown in it as he watches you dismiss the kids, waving to parents as you skate them to the door. James just stands there, in the middle of the ice. Unsure of how to act. Unsure of what to do, if he should go, if he should stay and try to talk to you. He settles for skating to the team bench, a carved-out box halfway up the side boards. He sits down on the bench, bends down to untie his skates.

The door clicks shut behind you a moment later, a whoosh of cold air and the scent of your perfume as your skates skid to a stop outside the box, beforehand. James looks up as you cross past him, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. You follow his lead, untying your skates in silence. He puts his guards on, places them in his bag. Puts his shoes on. All the while suffocating in the silence.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You tell James. Your voice is quiet, so soft, like maybe you’re not sure you want him to hear you. Your eyes don’t leave your socked feet, hands folded in your lap.

James focusses on putting his shoes on. Doesn’t look at you. “You were right, you know.”

He catches the way your face scrunches, the sadness there. You won’t appreciate his comfort, so he doesn’t give you it. Instead, he stands, slings his bag over his shoulder. His hand itches to reach out and touch you, to tell you that he’s sorry. He wishes he could change everything, could take it all back. “I do feel like shit. But that’s not why I’m sorry.”

Your head tilts up. Your eyes are filled with tears and James can’t stomach it. He hates himself. You look so sad and tired. “See you on Sunday.” He nods and books it out of the team box, along the corridor, the foyer, and into the carpark.

He climbs into his truck, lets the shame swallow him whole, lets the pain burn him. And there, in private, alone, he breaks. He loathes himself for it. He has no right, no reason to be so sad, so solemn. He took everything from you. Yet he still breaks, anyway.

James doesn’t know how much more he can take before he can’t put himself back together, anymore.

Sirius

The Hogwarts Library is Sirius’ least likely haunt. He, honestly, avoids it at all costs. Unless he’s trying to find Lily. Even then, he tends to only stay for ten minutes, or so. It’s not that he hates studying. He actually enjoys his classes, finds the work stimulating for his overactive brain. He’s smart. That’s not to be doubted, even if he acts like an idiot ninety-nine percent of the time. The reason he hates the library so much is because it reminds him of the one at Grimmauld Place.

Hogwarts library is brighter, in fairness. But the high ceilings, regal architecture, the smell of old books and the eerie quiet. It’s all too similar to the library in his childhood home. It makes his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He’s guarded, like he always was at home. A place where it was do or die, fight to survive. Libraries are supposed to be a peaceful place. A place of childlike wonderment, a place where you can get lost in stories of knights in shining armour, passionate love. His opinion of libraries is that it’s a place one would go to get the shit kicked out of them at a dinner party for being too smart tongued. He remembers that all too well. Hates that particular story.

The girl at the front desk smiles kindly at him, but all he sees is a vulture waiting to pick him off, trap him here and make him relive his worst memories over and over. He grimaces, places his hands on the cold wood of the desk and begs it to ground him. Sirius forces a breath as he rolls his shoulders.

“I’m here for community service? There’s a kid writing a paper or something.” His words are breathy, unsure, gritted out through unwilling teeth. He hates this. Hates it with his entire being.

The blonde girl smiles, likely a little awe struck at the sight of a hockey player in the library. As far as Sirius knows, none of them use the library. Half of the team prefer to study at home, and half of them could give less of a shit about their degrees. “Uh, sure, Sirius, right?” She asks, prucking around the desk for a sheet of paper.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Astrology is on the third floor. He’ll be waiting at the main desk for you.”

Sirius nods, thanks the girl and heads towards the stairs. He climbs them two at a time, skin itching with anticipation. He really hopes whoever he’s stuck with for the foreseeable future isn’t an overachieving dick. The signs for the astrology section of Hogwarts library point to the right, Sirius follows them all the way to the main desk in the centre of the floor. All of the shelves surround it in a circle, little stars and flecks of paint on the edge of each bookcase. In the centre of the circle sits a circle table, scattered with open books, papers, drawings of constellations.

Sirius tries not to think too hard about the irony of being landed with an astronomy student. He might hate everything about his family, but he loves the stars. Loves his namesake.

There’s no one at the desk, their things left abandoned. Sirius tries not to be nosey but fails. The closest thing to him are drawings, mappings of planets and stars. Hand drawn; with such painstaking detail he finds himself in awe of it. He sets it down, moves on to the next piece of paper, covered in barely legible ramblings about the importance of planet distance, star mapping, it’s barely congeable.

“Did no one ever teach you not to touch what’s not yours?”

Sirius freezes, blood draining from his entire body. The ice cold, baritone voice. Sirius hears it in his nightmares. It claws at the darkest parts of him. His hands shake as he turns; face to face with a more polished carbon copy of himself. Regulus Black is two years younger than Sirius, and yet he looks almost a decade older. He looks positively regal in his ironed clothes, with his perfectly tamed hair and clean-shaven face. Even his shoes don’t have a single scuff on them. It’s not lost on Sirius, the idea that this could have been him. He was supposed to be the heir, the brother with his shit together.

Regulus scowls at Sirius, reaches forwards to rip the paper from his trembling hands. His brain refuses to work, bile rises in his throat. He’s going to kill Moody.

There are memories, there. Playing somewhere in the back of his head. Childlike voices talking in hushed tones, screaming, fighting, hateful words, laughing, crying. He and Regulus were once as close as brothers could be. He hates that Regulus now looks at him with disgust. But refuses to let him win.

“Only thing my parents taught me was to hit fast and hard, watch your enemies wither and die.” Sirius scoffs, hands stuffed in his pockets. He will not allow Regulus to see him rattled. “Of course, they treated their own children like enemies.”

It’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. Even his scoff is prim and proper. He rounds the table and takes a seat, like a king in his throne. Sirius supposes he is. Everything in the Black family dynasty will be his in a few years. Everything Sirius didn’t want. Everything Regulus didn’t want. Not until he didn’t have a choice. “You wanted for nothing.” Regulus quips.

Sirius’ blood burns with the statement. He sounds exactly like their mother. Cruel, evil. Willing to overlook the darkness of her own soul because it got her what she wanted. Money and power. “Spoken like a true Black, Reggie. Congratulations.”

Regulus’ smile is nothing short of bitter. He knows the insult that lies in there, but he shrugs it off as easy as picking a piece of lint from his pure cotton shirt.

“I need all of the books from section A to B noted. Titles, author, date of publication. Alphabetised.” Regulus levels Sirius with a bored look and he balks.

His younger brother, acting like Sirius is beneath him. He shrugs, “Better get to work then, Reggie. Might take you a while.”

“You’re the one on community service for acting like a rabid animal.” Regulus shrugs.

“Yeah, I’ll take the suspension. This shit isn’t gonna happen.”

Regulus chuckles and Sirius can already picture it. His younger brother, sweet, kind, sensitive Reggie. Turned into a fortune five hundred shark, belittling his staff because he can. Just like their father. “Sure. Throw away your hockey career, Sirius. But the Black family won’t be there to welcome you back when you blow your trust fund.”

Sirius’ jaw ticks. Hockey is his life. The Cannon’s won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, draft or no draft, if he doesn’t touch the ice this season.

“You’re just like him, you know.” Sirius spits. He doesn’t miss the way Regulus’ face hardens; a little shame mixed in there somewhere. They’re too similar, in some ways. Sirius knows exactly where to press where it hurts.

Regulus hands him a notepad. “A to B.”

“Better get out before you end up like her, too, Reggie. That shit’s irreversible.” Sirius tells him, disappointed in himself for even saying it. It feels like acid on his tongue. He turns and goes to find section A. Doesn’t look back to see the fear on his younger brother’s face.

Remus

Thursday evenings are Remus’ least favourite. There’s no practice to keep his mind occupied, the gym is closed for deep cleaning, there’s nothing for him to occupy himself with, except his weekly call with his parents. He’s longed for an excuse to cancel a million times over. It never comes. A punishment, Remus thinks, for something he did in a past life. He loves his parents. They can be overbearing, intense, but they care. That’s a lot more than some people have.

But they don’t get him. His father, more so, than his mother. Hope Lupin is kind and understanding. If Remus told her he wanted to sack it all in and become a shark wrestler, tomorrow, she’d buy him a shark keyring and do as much research as it took to help him on his way. But Lyall Lupin? Five-time Stanley Cup Winner, top player in the NHL for years, retired, hardass hockey player? He’d strangle his only son with his bare hands. All he ever does is push. He pushes and pushes and refuses to see Remus’ health as an issue.

It’s exhausting. Sometimes, Remus just wants to be told to slow down. As much as he’d hate to (he has goals, things he wants to do, his illness won’t stop him). It would still be nice to not have so much pressure on him all of the time.

The call connects with a heavy sense of dread. Hope and Lyall are in their living room, a large canvass of Remus with his first ever hockey trophy hung proudly behind him. That was before the crash, before the scars and brittle bones. Back when the world was his for the taking. Remus hates that photo.

“Hi, love.” Hope beams, cheeks appled out in a smile.

Remus looks most like his mum. Right down to the sandy brown hair, fluffy and unruly. Except he has his father’s nose. The nose that his least favourite scar slashes jaggedly across. He avoids looking at the square with his face on it. Instead, he focusses on the look on his father’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks, nerves on edge.

Lyall Lupin, to the media, to people who don’t know him, is an unreadable man. Remus can read him like a book. His face might portray as impassive, but he’s furious. About what, Remus has no fucking idea. It’s always something.

“Nothing, love.” Hope tries to shake it off.

“You were a little heavy on your left skate last game, no?” Lyall grits out.

Remus almost laughs. Like, full on belly laughs. Disbelief washes over him, hot and furious, his blood burning. “I played first and second line because Kennedy bust his shoulder over the summer. You remember I have a bad knee, right?” Remus scoffs, eyebrows raised.

He sees the way his mother eyes his scars, the way they pale with the stretch. She looks sad, remorseful. He relaxes his face, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Of course, we do, Rem.”

“You think the Wasps will be impressed with that performance? So early in the season, too.” Lyall scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at Remus.

Sometimes Remus thinks his parents see right through him. Sometimes, he wants to scream that he’s right there. That they almost lost him altogether and anything he does now should be a fucking bonus. That he’s sick of never being good enough. That his father should be grateful Remus is even still physically able to get on the ice.

Instead, he swallows the anger and sighs. “Holme gave me some new physio exercises. It’ll be better next time.”

His father nods. “Good.”

“Is that all, then?” Remus asks shortly.

“How was your week?” Hope asks, at the same time Lyall lets out a stern, cold, “Yes.”

She frowns at her husband, who blatantly ignores her. It raises a feral beast in Remus. A wolf howling. He wants to tell his father to respect his wife, to appreciate all she does for him. But he knows Hope hates when he does that. So, he scoffs, hangs up, and slams his laptop closed. He’s exhausted after a mere five-minute phone call, wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with a book and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But Sirius stands in his doorway, a sympathetic look on his face. Remus hates it. Hates when Sirius treats him like something fragile, something that can be easily broken. While it may be physically accurate, it will take a lot more effort from Lyall Lupin to break Remus mentally.

“He was in top form.” Sirius murmurs.

Remus nods, runs his hands across his face. The raised bumps of his scars irritates him, so he drops his hands to his lap. “How was community service?”

Sirius shrugs. “The kid writing the paper?”

Remus hums.

“Regulus.”

“Shit. Sorry, Pads.” Remus offers, hand itching to reach out and intertwine with Sirius’. A comforting touch for both of them. He doesn’t.

Just follows Sirius across the room with his eyes as he approaches Remus’ neatly made bed and climbs in. Remus sighs. He’s not sure he has the energy for whatever game Sirius is playing. He can barely keep up anymore. They’re toeing the line between best friends and something else, and while Remus enjoys it, sometimes, he doesn’t think he can stomach it tonight.

But Sirius pushes the display pillows off the side, pulls back the covers for Remus and he finds he can’t resist.

Sirius smells like old books with a touch of cinnamon. He curls into Remus’ side with ease, muscles relaxing until he’s lax in his arms. He feels himself relaxing, too.

“I miss him.” Sirius whispers, voice broken.

Remus presses his lips to Sirius’ hair. “I know.”

“He hates me.”

His chest constricts. Remus knows how much Sirius regrets leaving Regulus. It weighs on him, is probably a large part of why he refuses to take responsibility for anything, ever. He wishes he could make it better for Sirius. “He hates that you got out.”

“I hate myself for not dragging him with me.” Sirius says.

His grip tightens on Remus, his head pushing further into Remus’ neck.

“He’ll forgive you. If you tell him.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. His breathing slows, Remus feels his eyelashes flutter against his neck. Asleep. Out cold.

He presses one last kiss to Sirius’ hair, pushes all of the thoughts out of his head, and follows suit.

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