#I think the less I think about it the better it comes out
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SLEEPOVER WITH SECRET!BF!RAFE
a/n: i got a request for this a few weeks ago but the ask deleted itself so I'm so sorry to whoever sent that! and i'm trying to get out of my writers block so enjoy...whatever this is. (not sure how I feel about this) not proofread!!
cw: contains smut, 18+
“come over? just for a little bit?” rafe asked as he looked at you through the facetime camera. it's been a rough day for him and you were really the only person he wanted to see right now. but it was past midnight and you weren't supposed to be out of the house around this time, let alone going to his house.
you've been told by your parents to stay away from him—countless times, actually. rafe knew he had some...things to work on, but in his mind, he wasn't that bad. at least towards you. “dunno rafe...'m already in trouble for skipping school yesterday.” you frown, tapping your manicured finger on the side of your phone. rafe sighed, sitting up against his headboard “please? it'll be quick. i'll sneak ya in and out.”
you were hesitating and that's something rafe could see clearly, but he was desperate. you were one of the only people he actually cared about these days and he didn't want to be alone right now, especially not at night.
“please..? you're the only person i want to see right now.” he pleaded, almost begging in a way. he was never one to beg, but it was the only thing he could think of that could convince you to come.
you thought it over as you bit the inside of your cheek. you knew how it would end if your parents found out you snuck out of your house. “isn't sarah home though?” rafe was silent for a moment, his hand running through his hair “no...she's out. won't be home 'til morning” he murmured. that was one less obstacle so it was one good thing. but you still weren't sure. rafe was your boyfriend and you cared about him, but sneaking out wasn't the best idea right now. “but my parents said-”
“i know sweetheart and i'm not tryna get you in trouble, but i swear it'll be like thirty minutes.” he cut you off, his tone almost desperate. you bit your lip as you leaned back against your headboard. “rafe...” you trailed off with a sigh. you weren't saying no right away, but you weren't saying yes either. it was clear you were conflicted as you hesitated before adding, “okay, fine. but just for thirty minutes. not a second longer.”
rafe's face lit up as he heard you agree. he knew he could be convincing if he wanted to and he was so glad it worked this time. “thank you baby, be outside waiting. i'll come get you.” with that, he ended the facetime, standing from his bed as he grabbed a jacket and his keys. it didn't take long for you to change into some shorts and a hoodie and put your shoes on. you carefully crept out of your room and out into the livingroom, pausing to listen for any noises. once you were sure your parents were asleep, you opened up the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind you. by the time you were out of your house, rafe was already parked outside.
rafe was leaning against the door of his car as he waited for you. he heard the door open and shut, looking up and seeing you walking towards him. he could see you were nervous, but it didn't stop him from pulling you into a tight hug. “hey,” he greeted, his voice tired but he felt better with you in his arms. you returned his hug, leaning into the embrace. “hey...” you murmured back, your tone almost equally as tired. you could feel the exhaustion in him as he hugged you and you felt the need to ask, “you okay?”
rafe let out a sigh against your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back “not really...” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you reluctantly. he opened the passenger side door for you, waiting until you got in before shutting the door and walking around to get into the driver's side.
you got into his car, leaning back in the seat as you looked over him. you could tell something was bothering him by the look on his face and his tone of voice. it's been a long time since he sounded that exhausted. “...rough day?”
rafe ran a hand over his face, looking over to you wearily “rough life.” he mumbled, starting up the car as he pulled out from the curb. “seatbelt.” you hummed quietly as you reached out to grab the seatbelt, buckling yourself in. you decided not to ask more about what exactly was bothering him; in time, he'd probably talk about it.
the car ride was silent as rafe drove back to his house. you didn't mind though, figuring that he needed the silence in order to calm his head for a bit. a few moments passed before he parked in his driveway, unlocking the doors and getting out. he came around the side and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car.
you slipped your hand into his, letting him help you out of the car. walking through his yard, he quietly unlocked his front door and let you in first. “wheezie's home so we're gonna have to be quiet” he said as he shut the door behind him, locking it again.
you followed him inside “gotcha” you whispered as you looked around. “is she awake? i don't wanna be the reason she doesn't sleep.”
“she's asleep.” he mumbled, nodding towards the stairwell. “come on..” he took your hand again, quietly leading you upstairs to his bedroom. once inside, he closed the door and locked it before turning on his bedside lamp and walking over to his bed.
you followed him to his bed, crawling onto it and moving to lay back against the pillows. you could still see the exhaustion in his body as he laid down next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “wanna talk about anything...?” rafe was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about your question. he really didn't wanna talk about anything at all. all he wanted was to lay here with you, which he thought to himself as he shook his head. “nah”
you nodded once he answered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you closed your eyes. you could tell he didn't want to talk and you were okay with that. you both laid there in comfortable silence, no sounds besides the sound of your breathing and the occasional passing of a car outside. “can i do anything to help?”
it felt good to lay here with you. it was the only real peace he's felt in weeks and it helped calm him a little. when you spoke again, he lifted his head to look at you, his tired eyes meeting yours.
he moved a bit closer to you, his arm around your waist tightening as his head rested on your chest. “this is more than enough for me, sweetheart” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your side. “i do have a request though”
you looked down at him, your fingers lightly running through his hair as you waited for him to speak. you could tell he was still thinking about something and you waited patiently before finally speaking, “what is it?” rafe's eyes closed as your fingers ran through his hair. he loved when you did that and it relaxed him greatly
he was still silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. “i need to relieve some stress.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against your waist once more before suddenly resting right above the drawstring of your shorts.
────୨ৎ────
“a-ah shit, rafe” your hands clench by your sides as rafe glides his tip between your drenched folds, looking down at you with this tongue between his teeth. “mmh...this wet already, darling? barely even touched ya yet.” rafe hummed, smirking down at you. all you can do is nod and let out a whimper as he tapped his cock against your cunt. “nuh-uh, words. none of that whimpering shit”
you were already a stuttering, whimpering mess as he ran his fingers over your clit. you needed more from him, wanted to feel more of him, but you knew that he wasn't going to give that to you until you answered.
you let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him, eyes wide. “yes!” you quickly whimpered, “been thinking about it all night. please, please rafe...” you whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to get more from him. “i know baby, i know” rafe murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he teased your clit with his thumb again “been so long since you've had this cock, yeah?”
you nodded rapidly, eyes pleading him to do something, anything. you wanted him so badly and you could tell he was just teasing, which was driving you absolutely insane. “rafe..." you murmured, your voice trembling a little. rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head “come on. don't get all shy with me now. tell me what you want” he said with a smirk, his fingers still moving over your clit, barely applying pressure. he could feel you shaking beneath him, which encouraged him to tease you a little more. “tsk tsk i want an answer. i know you know how to talk, baby. i just wanna hear your pretty little voice say it.”
you swallowed hard as you looked up at him from under your lashes; he looked so damn proud of himself. you were almost positive he got off on teasing you like this, and the last thing you wanted to do was give him that satisfaction. but your patience was wearing thin and you were getting desperate. you just wanted him to touch you already, but he was always so stubborn. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip as you met his gaze again, your voice shaking a little as you finally spoke up, “n-need you rafe…please...”
“mmh, that's my good girl. i knew you could do it baby.” rafe murmured, finally pushing his cock into your aching hole, causing both of you to let out simultaneous moans. “a-ah fuck” you gasp, gripping onto his biceps as he pushes all the way in, making you groan at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt, “so fuckin' tight” he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his member.
you whimper as he remains motionless, denying you the much needed friction. “mmh what do we say after i give you something, baby?”
you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he murmured the question into your ear. he knew what he was doing. he knew exactly how to get you to say what he wanted you to say, knowing how well he filled you up and how he wasn't moving. you moaned quietly, hands moving to grip onto his back as you looked up at him with watery eyes, “thank you.”
rafe hummed and nodded against your neck, lightly kissing just under your ear as he lifted his head, “good girl.” he said “you're welcome, my love. anytime.”
he finally pulled his hips back a little, thrusting back into you “you feel so damn good, baby.” he breathed before beginning to thrust into you harder, repeatedly hitting your cervix deliciously “been too long without having you.” he murmured, his hand gripping onto the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up over his shoulder. the change of position caused his cock to slide even deeper, making you gasp.
you whimpered at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot, unable to speak clearly “oh...oh g-god rafe” you tried, your eyes already shut as you tried to move your hips in time with his. he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red indents. “look at me.” he murmured in your ear, his hand reaching down to grab your chin, turning your face towards his “look at me while i'm fucking you, sweetheart. ” your mind goes a little blank for a moment when he says that, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you. it takes a few seconds before you manage to open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. rafe's eyes are focused on you, a small smirk on his lips as he sees you staring “there you are.” he hums, biting down on his lip once he feels you start to clench around him “shit, you gonna cum already?”
“yeah...mmh, so close ray.” you moan, struggling to keep your eyes on him as his hand reaches to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles. “so fast, sweetheart?” rafe murmured with a smirk “been that long, huh? gonna make a mess all over my cock already?” you don't even have time to respond before your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your stomach snapped. eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft. the way your pussy cinched around him is all rafe needed to go over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.
“mmh ray?” you murmur, looking up at him with your glossy eyes. “hm?”
“think 'm gonna stay here tonight.”
taglist: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl
© rafesdollette
#demi's works ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖#slutty demi ⋆˚࿔#not sure If I love or hate this#© rafesdollette#rafe cameron#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe fluff#obx rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe smut#rafe x reader smut#rafe fic#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#rafe imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#obx season 4#rafe x reader
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Something I have seen people complain about is when the story “stops” for a character to mentally think about their feelings regarding something.
I think that’s bullshit.
Like, okay. Think about it. How fast is your train of thought? Faster than your reading speed, right? Do your thoughts all happen in neat little sentences, or as more of a nebulous and/or choppy half-formed thing that *you* understand, but would sound like nonsense on a page?
Also, the character probably isn’t actually taking as long to think these things as you are reading it. “Character A feels xyz about this” isn’t taking ten seconds to actually happen, feelings coexist with action!
Now, there is a time and place for introspection. It is my personal philosophy to have the amount of introspection reflect the pacing of a scene. Fast battle scenes will be far more action-heavy and introspection-light compared to, say, a calm breakfast.
I think it balances the annoyance over pages of introspection completely breaking the flow of an intense section of the story (at least, from the perspective of the reader), while still maintaining some of that wonderful interiority (which is actually a new word for me, and I adore it).
I’m the first to admit that I am far from an experienced or professional author. I don’t have a professional editor, and my only education is via Highschool and middle school classes (and while I was always in the advanced classes, a few even college level, they were still restricted by being part of the American education system). I definitely can think of times where my grasp on the interiority slipped. Especially when it comes to describing things that wouldn’t necessarily be noticed by the pov character, simply because I as the author do know about it and think it’s funny or important.
I’d imagine a good rule of thumb regarding this would be to treat it like dialogue. People always say to read your dialogue out loud to notice any problems. Well, just act out the scene as though you are the pov character. Not necessarily irl, but in your head. (And maybe even irl if you can manage it, it can’t hurt!) What way are you facing? Would you be able to see that annoying dog? Would you focus on the person you are talking to’s face, or their hands? Is this activity one that you would space out during, or does it require laser focus?
Basically, all the things you would not think about if you imagine the scene like a movie as you are writing.
Picturing the scene as a movie can be helpful, particularly for things like imagery. But it does have its shortcomings, as op said.
It can work thematically for some stories, but when it comes to most writing that is not third person omniscient, it’s definitely something that can cause the reader to feel… distant, I guess. Less immersed.
It’s also something that, sadly, many writers will have to teach themselves and seek out to learn, because, as OP said, it’s becoming harder to find in modern works. This is doubly so do people who mainly read non-published works. I will sing the praises of fanfiction until the day that I die, and maybe even after, but the fact of the matter is that 99% of fanfiction authors are self taught. They may not know how to incorporate interiority. They may not even have ever read a work that had it.
I know a lot of people say that you should read the “classics”, and you may be thinking that could help here, but I for one am a fierce defender of not putting up requirements to be considered a writer, and that includes required reading. Yes it can help you learn skills, but so can more modern works. I learned a lot from reading Percy Jackson, and other lesser known books, and none of them are considered classics on par with The Great Gatsby or Shakespeare.
Instead, I propose this: if you want to get a better grasp on writing with interiority, try actually consciously focusing on your day to day life for a little while every day. Focus on your train of thought, on the things you focus on, on the things you see.
If you want to read something, great! Ask for recommendations, go to your local library and flip through books until you find one you think you will both enjoy and which has a good grasp of the concept.
First and foremost, however, in any writing, is to remember how we as humans actually live and interact with the world, and you’ve got a primary source of research at all times: yourself. Exclusively using other texts as sources will only ever end in a very broken game of telephone.
A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.
When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.
fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.
#on writing#writing#creative writing#sorry this got so long oops#as always I am incapable of being concise
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Prompt: Name
"Name" - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 555 words
Warning, sort of: Vague Death Threat
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"Regulus."
"No."
"Darling."
"No."
"Love."
"No."
"Reg."
"Not happening."
"Regulus."
"James, I don't care how many times you say my name, it's not happening."
Everything went quiet for a moment, and Regulus thought maybe James had given up.
"I really love the shirt you're wearing today."
James's tone - soft and quiet, just loud enough to reach Regulus through the door - made his cheeks burn, and he scowled at the closed door.
"Green is a beautiful color on you. Sometimes I see you in green, and I think it might be my new favorite color. You make everything look so pretty, Reg. I don't think I really understood how a color should look before I saw it on you."
Regulus closed his eyes, trying not to melt at the words.
"You're just - Merlin, you're everything, do you know that? You're everything to me. And I've never seen you as anything less than breathtakingly radiant."
"If I keep the door closed, then you'll never have to," Regulus replied.
"If you keep the door closed, I can't perform the counter-charm."
"It'll wear off on its own."
"In ten hours, Reg. You have to eat something."
"I'll be fine."
"Regulus, darling, love of my life. Please."
"No."
There was a quiet sigh. "Do I get a reason?"
Regulus considered. "You'll laugh at me."
"I promise you I won't."
"You will."
"Regulus."
"No."
"Okay," James said. "Alright. We can sit here for nine more hours."
Regulus frowned. "You don't have to stay."
"Love, I'm staying."
Regulus was sure he'd leave eventually. "You'll get bored."
"Probably, yeah."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "And what, you'll still sit there?"
"Yes. I'll be right here when you do come out."
Regulus huffed. Then he unlocked the door. "If you laugh at me, I'm breaking up with you."
"I'll never, I promise."
Regulus didn't believe it for a second. "It's unlocked."
"May I come in?"
Regulus rolled his eyes. "I said it's unlocked, didn't I?"
"I still need your permission, love."
Warmth spilled through Regulus's veins, and he grinned involuntarily. "You have my permission. Come in."
"Thank you." The door swung gently inward, and James stepped into the bathroom. He visibly bit down on his smile when he saw Regulus.
"You said you wouldn't laugh," Regulus reminded him, crossing his arms.
"And I'm not," James replied, visibly amused. "It's just - well. You know."
"I know." Regulus glared. "Fix it?"
"Of course." James murmured the spell, and Regulus's bright yellow skin returned to its normal shade. "There, all better."
"Hmph." Regulus fell forward, letting James catch his weight. "That was an awful spell."
"Yes, Sirius and Barty were dealing with Snape when I left," James replied, smoothing his hands down Regulus's back. "And I think Pandora was about to help."
"Hope she kills him," Regulus muttered.
James hummed. "Usually I'd try to curb the violence, but this time I kind of agree."
"I was yellow," Regulus whispered in horror. "Yellow, James."
There was a muffled sound, and Regulus bit down on James's shoulder.
"Ow." James ruffled his hair. "Sorry. Yes, it was awful. I'm so sorry that he turned you - um, that he -" James dissolved into laughter. "-yellow. Such a bright shade of yellow."
Regulus scowled, holding James closer. "I'm breaking up with you."
James broke down laughing again.
Against his will, Regulus felt himself smile.
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Insight 4
Smarter universe
A/n: I feel like this one I might edit a bit more so a rerelease might cone idk I don’t really like my writing in this. it’s 1am and I wanted to give you guys another insight as promised. Also thank you to @womenwoso for helping with the logistics of this insight.
Leah hasn’t known what it’s like to not wake up and feel nauseous for the past few days, not since you left, but today it’s worse, today she goes to training and although she hopes you’ll be there in the back of her mind she knows you won’t.
Leah’s slow to get ready, slow to leave and slow to arrive to Sobha Reality training ground, she’s late and her teammates don’t understand why. Leah’s never late, you’re never late.
Leah checks in and trudges her way to the changing room where the rest of the arsenal girls are, slowly Leah pushes the door and walks making a b line for her locker before throwing her bag down and quietly getting ready.
Leah doesn’t miss the way the girls look for you coming in behind her like you usually do, and she definitely doesn’t miss the questioning glances between Steph and Alessia.
“Le where’s Y/n.” Leah shrugs continuing to get ready, her eyes glued to the floor. Steph steps forward “hey mate, where’s Y/n? She didn’t answer the phone to Less or I this morning.” Leah mumbles into her chest “I don’t know.” This only causes more confusion between the pair as Leah continues to put on her training gear.
“What do you mean you don’t know Leah you live together, you’re married to her for godsake” Leah feels her stomach flip “she’s gone-she left.” Alessia steps forward her own stomach dropping, gone, left. Where, why and why didn’t you text them or call it doesn’t make sense. “ She would have said something, why did she leave arsenal.” Leah shakes her head as she feels her emotions start to rise again “not Arsenal, not yet anyway.” Leah pauses tying her shoe “she left me.”
Leah hates that for a slight moment you’re the bad guy and that her friends support her, but it’s all a lie. Steph puts her hand on Leah’s shoulder comforting her “what happened.” Leah shakes her head the tears forming in her eyes as the feeling of getting sick intensifies “I cheated.” She lets out quietly so quietly that Steph is the only one to hear.
Alessia looks confused “what.” As Steph recoils her hand as though she’s just been burned “you did what.” Leah shakes her head “please Steph.” Steph doesn’t take pity on her instead she shouts “you cheated on your wife, on Y/n.”
The rest of the girls all seem to freeze as they turn to look at their Vice captain “you better be taken the piss.” Katie shouts from across the room.” But Leah’s silence is deafening “Leah.” Kim tries but the defender stays silent.
“She won’t answer our texts, our calls, how-is she safe.” Leah doesn’t answer she can’t answer she doesn’t know where you are, she doesn’t know you’re wrapped up in her bed in her childhood home holding on to her jumper as you sob.
“I don’t know….we…she talked and then she left.” Leah lets out, “who was it Leah.” Leah’s head turns to Lia and the knot in her stomach tightens “I-Lia.” Lia already knows, she wish she didn’t but she does “Leah.” Leah shakes her head “I didn’t-please- it-I don’t know it just-we just…please.” Lia feels sick and the room spins slightly at the thought that she had been introduced to HER months ago when Leah and her met up for coffee and SHE came bouncing over.
Steph has her phone out as she tries you again and again Alessia’s frozen “but what about everything-you guys were supposed to be having a family.” They don’t know Leah thinks of course they don’t know she didn’t know “we are.” The room seems to drop like a led balloon.
Leah’s up against a wall next Katie holding her shirt in her fists “please tell me your wife…who wants nothing more than a family with you…who we have all seen cry day in and day out over not being able to have a baby with you isn’t pregnant because if she is so help me god Leah.”
Again Leah’s silence is all it takes to confirm the team’s worst fears. “I don’t know who else to call.” Steph lets out painfully “everyone else is in this room” Leah gulps, your gone, you’re not answering your phone and Steph right everyone you love…you think of as your friends, family are in this room and once again the knot gets bigger.
Katie drops Leah back to her feet “Kim.” Kim looks at the Irish girl “you’re suspended”. Kim turns to Leah as the vice captain tries to protest “I don’t want to see you near this place until I say otherwise.” Leah nods packing up and heading out the door.
“Leah.”
Lia chases after her stopping just at the car park “please tell me that it’s not HER.” Leah shakes her head “I…” Leah’s interrupted by a car honking HER car as SHE pulls up beside the duo “Hey baby ready.” Leah turns and looks to Lia “I-i can explain.” Lia shakes her head “don’t bother, you’ve made your bed and clearly you still enjoy sleeping in it.”
#woso#mysunshinetemptress#mysunshinetemptressasks#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso one shot#awfc#leah williamson#leah williamson x y/n#leah williamson imagine#woso asks#woso writers#woso couple#woso couples#woso community#woso soccer#woso x reader#woso appreciation#woso blurbs#leah williamson x you#leah williamson x reader#smarter
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About the Reader who became Jason's roommate and all. I wonder what if they were so cold and distant with the family, they made sure for them to know that they are not a family. (They already closed their heart).
It can be things like, in class they won't talk with Tim unless they have to, like having a project together and if they do they'll only talk about the project if he tries to talk about something else she changes the subject or shut it down. All with a smile on their face, the way they talk is too professional and they won't let him involve emotions. "We are only talking about what needs to be talked about" they say.
The less subtle with Dick, Bruce and Damian because they come to them as vigilantes. Waking up to Batman and Robin cuddling them. They snap at them. Because first, "when did dressing as a furry and making kids fight crime with you turned to doing that to stalking civilians? And you claim to be my 'family' yet what family breaks into the house of someone and touches them in their sleep? That's not like family behavior but one of creeps!!"
They also snap at Dick for coming to them in his Nightwing costume. "Are you trying to put me in danger by associating me with your vigilant persona? What a good hero- what a good 'brother' you are."
With Jason, what if the reader didn't snap at him till now and told him about the three show up as vigilantes to a civilian, using his protectiveness against them in that way.
I don't know how may readers treat Jason but I can imagine that they don't cook for him and they don't eat what he cooks for them. They keep personal stuff like tooth brush and all of the personal things in their room. If he comes with injuries they will give him a first aid kit and clean the mess he made but mostly won't help him unless it is something he really needs help in like bandaging his back. Stay in their room for most of the time they are in the apartment.
I can imagine reader apartment hunting after Bruce by there's and stuff but also what if Reader got a better job that can help in that? What if the Reader decided that they will pay Bruce rent because to them he is nothing but their landlord? What if Reader managed to find another place to live in and became the roommate of a friend?
If the fam asked them to hang out or visit the manor they'd use the same words who were used against them when they were in the manor like "not now" "I have more important stuff to do" "don't you have other things to do?" "Go bother someone else" "stop nagging me". So it's like how they used to treat the reader at the manor.
I also feel like what they are trying to do is swipe things under the rug so, I can imagine them reaching the point where they try to confront reader and they just say "after treating me like nothing in my most valuable times of my life you think you can waltz back in my life and play family and I'd welcome you whit open arms? What kind of delusion is this?" "You are not my family and made it clear from day one. You can't just take it back, not after all the damage you've done."
Original fic: Jason's sidecar (Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Reader)
Masterlist
Jason had anticipated it. He was a child of neglect as well not just from his original parents but also partly from Bruce. He blames himself too when it comes to you. He’s the smart one next to Tim and he had read a lot of books on how to end the cycles of neglect and emotional abuse and yet he wasn’t able to help you. He may not say it but he feels like he deserves the current treatment he’s getting from you. And honestly, he’s fine with it. He’s fine with the coldness, he’s fine with the emotional distance. He’s fine by just being the shadow in your apartment who tucks you in your sleep at night whenever Bruce and Damian are out.
Tim is not satisfied with it. He will pull strings to make sure that you and him will always be on the same assignments and projects. If he’s not in the same group with you then he will quickly bribe the weakest link in your group to swap with him. Tim would also use his bad sleep habits as a weapon. It started with him passing out of the class and the professor having to call you to get him home and now the professor has you on speed dial (do people still use speed dial) whenever it happens. Most of the time it’s just a ploy for you to go home to the mansion because sometimes you can’t just say no to Alfred.
Bruce and Dick were hurt but it makes sense. The cowl and the masks protect the cities but too much attention is just as dangerous. At the end of the day even when they are tired, they have made it a habit to change clothes before coming to see you. Bruce is saddened over the fact that his relationship with you became transactional but much like Tim he would find ways to outsmart you. Whenever you pay him rent every month, he would slip back a hundred or two in the less conspicuous places. Most of the time you end up thinking it’s just money you forgot about. If you have those physical piggy banks, he will surely slip the rent back little by little. Dick would make it a part of his routine to be on constant lookout on Gotham’s apartment rent and leasing. Everytime an apartment lowers its initial rent, he would immediately book it and give it to a poor citizen (he’ll do it in secret and help citizens pay for the rent and even find a stable job to keep the apartment). He is also on the constant lookout in other cities as well with help of his other friends.
Damian hates it. He thinks you’re being a brat and that you’re doing it for attention. The estate is the safest place in Gotham and you left it for independence? Why would you ever gamble your life for it? He wasn’t in the whole ‘get you back home’ plan and he respects your decision on leaving even though he hates it. He wasn’t on it until he found his fist clenching hard as he stood inside your now empty room at the estate. He knows of emptiness and yet the feeling of you being missing in that very room felt like he’s falling down the abyss. Bruce holds you two tight every night but Damian will hold you tighter. Arms tight on your midsection and head on your chest. He’s partly glad those grip training worked off.
#batfam x reader#batfam#yandere batfamily#batfamily#gender neutral reader#yandere batfam#batman#batfam imagine#batfam headcanons#batfam shenanigans#yandere tim drake#yandere jason todd#yandere x reader#platonic yandere#yandere#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batboys#yandere damian wayne#damian wayne#damian al ghul#bruce wayne#yandere bruce wayne#tim drake#jason todd#batfam x batbro#batfam x batsis#dick grayson#batfam x male reader#batfam x you
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I watched a video a little while back of a fellow talking about how his small family-run company grows various types of high-quality gourmet mushrooms...and he's doing it with a heavy Southern accent (Alabaman, iirc). He's using a lot of scientific names & terminology, he's absolutely flat-out serious (as well as enthusiastic for his work).
I quickly realized that I myself was having a "jarring moment of ambivalence" over what my brain was saying "should" have been an "uneducated accent" in a man who was giving a very concise, and clearly expert, description of his work. (You have to be very meticulous when growing & farming mushrooms for the gourmet restaurant industry.)
Nobody is ever completely prejudice free, folks.
The key to reducing prejudice is to recognize it when it happens, and work on doing better.
So I made myself back up and rewatch the video from the beginning, because in the beginning, we were introduced to a guy with a Southern accent who was talking casually, so my mind--influenced by dialectic accents!--was pre-judging him as "uneducated hick" at the very start, before he showcased his specialized expert knowledge.
When I rewatched it from the beginning, I kept checking myself every time my thoughts started to backslide into dismissiveness. When I came out the other side of the full presentation, I had a lot more respect for him & his family in regards to their years expertise, and I freely admit that I would have held less respect if I hadn't realized what I was thinking & doing, checked myself, and went back to re-listen from the beginning with a much more open mind.
Could he have come across as a lot more educated if he had lightened his natural accent? Sure...but it wouldn't have been him.
Honestly, of all the things to get upset over, let alone to denigrate people for...an accent is particularly pathetic.
Take the time to check yourself, because most often in these cases, the (perception) problem lies within you. Not within them.
i wish people who dunk on “silly” southern accents and vernacular could experience the total derealization that comes with listening to yourself talk and realizing that it’s not your real voice anymore. i spent so many years flattening my accent to sound smarter that i have to remind myself constantly that it’s okay to use my real fucking voice. i’ve had customers at my job make fun of me to my face when i let it slip. when i’m public speaking or even speaking in class with my peers it goes away completely because i’m so terrified of being perceived as a hick. just imagine opening your mouth and hearing a strangers’ voice come out. i can’t stress how viscerally upsetting it is to not know what the real you sounds like anymore. just think for two seconds before you yell about how you can’t take southern or appalachian dialects seriously or i will blow you up with this bombbbbb i swear to godddddd
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Beach Adventures
Pedro Pascal x fem!reader
Summary: Pedro takes the opportunity to fuck you at the beach.
Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni!, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, multiple orgasms (two), filthy talk, implied age gap (because, let's face it, we're all much younger than him), established relationship, porn without a plot
Word Count: 5.289
Authors Note: What. Did. I. Do. I don't know. But this video of Pedro? It sent me down a spiral I wasn't ready to be pushed down. This was living in my head rent-free since then, and i think it's time it does something for its stay! I hope you'll enjoy this. Never did anything for Pedro before, so this is kinda new. Also, it's been a while since I did smut, so, please, cut me some slack.
Enjoy!
You should have known he'd take that challenge - and succeed it.
Making you horny at the beach on your vacation? Yes.
Making you come on his fingers at the beach? Yes.
Fucking you at the public beach? Triple that yes.
Pedro sat in the reclined chair under the parasol at the beach, busy reading the book he had brought along for the Christmas holidays. You were sitting in a chair right beside his, bathing in the sun. He'd be lying if he said you weren't distracting him in your tiny swim suit.
You stretched a bit, the sun making you sleepy. "How's your book?" you asked, eyes still closed.
He chuckled softly at your comment, seeing as your eyes were still closed. Clearly you hadn't been paying attention to the world around you for a short moment. "It's alright. Very well written, but a little boring for my taste." he admitted, closing it for a brief moment just to admire the view of you in your swim suit. "How's... sun bathing going?"
You hummed. "Good." you said. "Though I'm sorry for the book. I know how excited you were about it."
He shook his head, waving it off almost immediately. He set the book to the side, turning his chair just a tiny bit to see you even better. "It's alright, babe. Can't like everything right?"
You hummed once more. "That's true."
His hand moved up onto your leg, running up and down your thigh absentmindedly. It was a very subtle move, but clearly, he was in need of some entertainment.
"Are you getting sun burnt yet? You've been laying there for a while - I'd hate for you to turn red later.” he mused.
You snorted under your breath. "I have some very good sunscreen." you told him. "Don't worry. I can still turn onto my front if you're scared, though."
He chuckled. Despite the fact he was enjoying the view of you lying there, he'd much rather see you on your stomach anyway. Less... distracting. "Oh yes, that would be much better. Don't wanna miss any spot while applying more sunscreen you know, gotta make sure everything is covered in SPF."
You hummed, turning onto your stomach. "You're absolutely right." you mumbled.
The sun felt so nice. It was a nice distraction from everything. Holidays meant no work, no events or galas to attend to. No dressing up, no socializing. Just Pedro, a couple friends, and you.
His eyes scanned you up and down, admiring your naked back and how the thin straps of your swim suit kept you from being completely exposed. Pedro didn't mind, he could easily pull those tiny strings...
He leaned forward, a small smirk forming on his face. His hand moved up and down your naked back, touching the smooth skin.
You sighed, relaxing into the chair.
He chuckled softly at your reaction, enjoying the fact he could get a reaction out of you just by touching your skin. He moved his fingers to the straps of your swim suit, pulling it a little.
"Would you mind if I took the straps off? So I could apply the sunscreen everywhere?" he wanted to know.
You repressed a snort. Right, for the sunscreen. "No, go ahead."
He smirked as you agreed. He was going to have a lot of fun here. His fingers moved around your body, pulling the straps off of it, exposing you almost completely. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking in every inch of it in the process.
He grabbed the lotion, squirting a bunch of it into his hand, before slowly spreading it across your soft skin, covering you in sunscreen from the top of your neck all the way down your back.
"Pedro?" you mumbled his name. "Are we gonna go to that little bar we saw yesterday, later? It looked really nice."
He raised an eyebrow absentmindedly, his hands continuing to move across your body. He was just getting to your lower back now, massaging the sunscreen into your skin, not realizing you were talking at first until he heard you say his name once more.
"Hm?" He hummed, snapping out of the trance he had been in for the past few minutes. "Bar? Yeah, we can do that. I could use a few drinks and some music."
"Everything okay?" you asked, though you already knew what was going through his head. Being an actor meant for him being very busy and on the run most of the time, which left little time for... other activities.
Chuckling, Pedro leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lower back, not caring about the sunscreen he’d just applied there. He couldn't help it, you just looked so good, completely exposed for him to see and touch...
"I'm perfect, baby. Just got a little... distracted. That's all." He moved up onto his knees a bit, his hands slipping a bit further down your body. "We should go somewhere a little more... private, though."
You snorted softly. "Why?" you asked. "The sun's feeling so nice."
He chuckled, continuing to spread the sunscreen across your body, until he was on your legs. Once on the tops of your legs, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to one thigh and then the other.
"You know exactly why, baby.” he mumbled into your skin. “You don't need your thighs exposed to the world, not when I can take my time with you in private..."
"Didn't you do that this morning already?" you mused. The morning had indeed been... busy, causing you and Pedro to miss breakfast.
He hummed. Yes, they did do some... things earlier that day, but that felt like ages ago, and not nearly enough to satisfy him completely.
"I don't need a reason to enjoy your body again.” he gave back. “Or an excuse, for that matter. You should know that by now, mi amor."
"Oh, I do." you sighed. "Why do you think I brought this swimsuit?"
Snickering, he ran his hands up and down every soft curve of your body. “You mean this little thing?" He tugged on the fabric of your top, enjoying how little it covered. "I do love it. Almost too much, darling...”
You chuckled quietly at his words. "Yeah?"
He nodded, his eyes traveling the length of your body once more. "It looks so... good.” he mumbled dreamily. “Really reveals your curves. I love it." His hands ran up and down your legs now, taking his time to caress your smooth skin. His touch on your thighs almost lingered just a bit longer than necessary.
"I'm glad." you mumbled. "Picked it just for you, mi amor."
He hummed happily as you called him that, his hands now moving to the inside of your thighs and then up to the tiny fabric strip of your swimsuit in the middle. He tugged on it a little as if testing your limits.
"You're trying to kill me here, aren't you?" he asked.
You grinned softly. "Only a bit."
He chuckled, continuing to tease you with his touch. His hand reached over, picking up the lotion again, before squeezing some onto your thighs, spreading it across your soft skin.
"You're gonna end up going to that bar with a little... problem, if you keep this up.“ Pedro murmured.
You huffed. "What problem?"
Chuckling again, he continued to spread the lotion, moving further and further up your legs, until his knuckles were brushing against your bikini bottoms.
"Oh, I think you're smart enough to figure that one out, mi vida. Unless, of course, you want me to explain myself?"
"Please do." you breathed out, though knowing exactly what he meant. "Wouldn't wanna risk a misunderstanding."
He smirked, his hand moving just a little higher up and around your body. Then, very subtly, he moved his finger against the front of your bikini bottoms, pressing it right against the sensitive area there, not doing much, just touching.
"I think you know exactly what's about to happen if you push me a little further, darling."
You swallowed, heat rising up your spine. "You sure?" you asked, keeping your voice steady. "‘Cause I'm not."
He chuckled. You were testing him, challenging him. It excited him, though, knowing you wanted to see how far he'd go. He didn't mind showing you one bit.
"You're a naughty little tease." he breathed out, slowly applying pressure to your sweet clit with his finger, rubbing it gently and teasingly through the fabric, just to see your reaction.
You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your hips from moving. "Am I?" you asked. "And here I thought that part was yours, old man."
He smirked at you calling him old, knowing fully well by now that was only for the purpose of riling him up. He loved it.
"Old man? That ain't very nice, darling." He mused, rubbing over your clit a little rougher. He was trying to find your limits, testing your patience.
"Ain't it?" you breathed out, the slightest bit of strain to your voice. "Just stating facts. You're older than me, I was told to show respect to my elders."
He snickered. "Elders aren't the same as old men, mi amor.“ he said. „I don't think you're showing much respect here. Not with the way you're teasing me, at least.“
"Not doing it on purpose." you tried to defend yourself, though it was a clear lie. "Maybe a little."
He smirked, continuing to rub your clit. Slowly, but surely, rubbing a little faster every time he moved his finger. He loved teasing you too, just to see when you'd give in.
"A little? You're doing it on purpose entirely, mi vida. You love to tease me, and you enjoy every second doing it." he gave back, brows furrowing slightly.
You bit your cheek, a strangled breath leaving your lips. "Just tryna test your durability." you said. "Fifteen years aren't nothing, baby."
Pedro chuckled, continuing is ministrations on your clit before moving his fingers across the edge of your bikini bottoms, teasing you with the idea of slipping them underneath them. He knew you couldn't last much longer, but you knew he was just as weak as you were.
"Hmm, you mean you doubt my durability, darling? Is that what you're trying to say here?" His voice was low, his words barely above a whisper.
You bit your lip. "I'm just tryna look out for you, Josè." you said. "Can't have you getting bored with me."
He chuckled and bit his lip, leaning down and whispering in your ear. "Oh, I could never get bored with you. Not after seeing you like this, mi amor. So beautiful, so... desirable." Moving his fingers back to your clit, he added a little more pressure, just enough to send a jolt through your body. "And that's why you won't ever have me get bored in the first place.“ he added.
"Hngh- that's good to know." you pressed out, inhaling shakily. "You're being mean, Pedro."
He chuckled, his touch getting more intense the longer he continued. He loved to tease you like this, loved the way you reacted to his touch. He knew he was close to breaking you. All he had to do was push you just a little bit further.
"Oh, I'm being mean, am I?“ he mused. „Well, maybe you should've thought about that before you decided to tease an old man like me, darling."
You scoffed. "That's not fair."
He smiled, leaning closer to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. "Not fair?“ he echoed, his hot breath fanning against your skin. „It's not fair that you tease me, knowing what it does to me. And it's not fair that you keep testing me, just to see where I break, when we both know damn well that you aren't lasting much longer either.“
You bit your cheek. "We're at the beach." you breathed out.
He smiled, whispering against your skin, his hand running the risk of pushing your bikini bottoms to the side once more, but not quite getting there yet. He loved the reactions he was getting out of you so far, he loved the way you breathed faster, the way you squirmed. He loved it.
"No one's nearby.“ he mumbled. „They're all more towards the entrance of the beach, mi vida. We've got the corner all to ourselves..."
You huffed quietly. "Still wanna go to that private place?"
Pedro pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hand moving across the crotch of your bikini bottoms. He was testing your limits.
"A private place would be nice, yes." he whispered to you. "Or we could stay right here, see how far you'll let me go...“
You swallowed, heat rising farther up your body. "That was the purpose of the question, Pedro.“ you gave back, doing your best not to squeeze your thighs together.
Pedro’s fingers found your clit again, slowly beginning to move them in circles once more. He whispered into your ear, his voice low, rough.
„I just want you to admit it, mi vida... Are you desperate for me, darling? Do you need me as much as I need you right now?"
"Always, Pedro." you breathed out. "You know that."
He chuckled, gently kissing your neck again. That admission from you was more than enough for him. He knew you needed him just as bad as he needed you. Without warning, his fingers moved the fabric of your bottoms to the side, his fingertips brushing against your bare, sensitive folds.
"How much do you want me, mi vida?” he whispered. “You need my touch? Need it so bad you're letting me do this right here in public?"
You swallowed thickly, the wetness pooling between your legs intensifying. "Yes, Pedro." you breathed out. "So much."
He hummed happily at your words, pleased with your response. He pushed a single finger inside of you, though not moving it yet.
"You'll need to stay quiet for me, mi amor.“ he murmured. „We wouldn't want anyone to see us, after all. Could you do that, darling?"
You bit your lip, leaning your forehead against the backrest as you let out a strangled breath. "Sure."
Pedro chuckled, moving his finger slowly in and out of you, eliciting a broken moan to spill from your lips. His movement was steady, but he didn't want to rush things just yet. You had time.
"Are you sure you can stay quiet?“ he wondered out loud. „Because you're not being all too quiet right now, mi amor. Just imagine what the others would think if they saw you right now... You're not as good at holding in your sweet little noises as you think you are."
You breathed shakily. "Yes, Pedro." you mumbled as your spine seemed to liquefy to lava. "I can.”
He smiled, chuckling softly in your ear. He knew you couldn't, he knew you would break eventually. But damn if it wasn't fun to tease you like this. He pressed a kiss to your neck.
"We shall see, mi amor. We shall see..."
His finger kept moving, steadily getting faster and rougher as he went along. Continuing to listen to you for now, he paid attention to any noise, any whimpers, or even the smallest of moans you let out.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing. White hot pleasure nipped at your nerve endings, want and desire swirling through you.
Pedro knew what he had to do. He moved his finger faster, pressing his lips to your neck, moving up and down the sensitive skin there.
„That’s it, mi vida. Just focus on your breathing.“ he whispered to you, his movements not stopping anytime soon. „Good, good. Just breathe…“
You squirmed, feeling lightheaded already. „Pedro.“ you breathed out. „You’re not helping.“
„I know.“ he whispered, his lips pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear. He was enjoying getting this reaction out of you, enjoying this game of his.
„But I want to see how bad you need Me. How bad you’re craving my touch.” He pressed a kiss to your neck again. „You’re holding out longer than I expected you to, mi amor. Maybe you deserve a little more?“
„Please, Pedro.“ you breathed out. For someone so innocent looking he clearly wasn’t.
He chuckled softly to your begging, amused by your submission to him. He hadn’t expected you to break that quickly. But now that he had you so desperate, begging him… Who was he to deny you, mi amor?
„You’re doing so good, mi vida. So good for me.“ he whispered to you, moving his finger inside of you faster for a second, before pulling it out and moving it up. He found your sweet nub again, rubbing against it before he started moving his fingertips in figure eights, adding pressure as he went.
You drew in a sharp breath, hips bucking almost automatically into his hand as more heat crept up your spine. You whimpered, desperately trying to keep quiet. Maybe it hadn’t been your best idea to do this out here.
He grinned against your neck, enjoying the reaction he got out of you. You were so perfect, so responsive to his touch. To him. He loved it, loved the way you bucked your hips into his hand, trying to get more, the way you whimpered so quietly, trying to keep it in.
„Shhh, mi amor. Remember you need to stay quiet. You don’t want the people nearby knowing what we’re doing.” he reminded you. As if he had to. “Do you?“
You huffed. Or the press. That’d be a headliner, though. Pedro Pascal fucking his younger girlfriend at the public beach. „I know...“ you groaned. Your hips already ached, the coil inside of you winding tighter and tighter.
„Don’t let out too much more noise, mi amor.” Pedro said, his tone almost a whine as his strong facade crumbled. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer if you keep whining and whimpering like that."
You whined on purpose, biting your lip, hard. Fuck! you thought. He was driving you right towards the edge of sweet bliss.
Pedro heard the whine, knowing that meant he was pushing you closer to the edge. He couldn’t hold back anymore, he was too excited and needed you just as bad as you needed him. He gently bit down on your exposed neck, hard enough to leave a mark, causing you to hiss.
„Hush, mi amor.” he whispered, tongue brushing over the mark. “We’re still in public. Hold back the cute little noises you’re making and I promise, I give you whatever you want later.”
„Please, Pedro.“ you whimpered, squirming underneath him. „Need you now.“
He chuckled in your ear, enjoying your begging. He was getting close to losing control, losing any sense of decency. But he wanted to get you off before he took care of himself, wanting to see you finish first. Hearing you whimper had him losing his composure, so desperate to do it right then and there.
You whimpered as he picked up the pace, leaving you trembling as you teetered on the edge, gasping for air. „Pedro,“ you breathed out. „I- I’m-”
He smiled as he heard the desperate way you were begging for him, knowing you were close, and he didn’t dare stop now.
„Shhh, mi vida. I know… I know you’re close, mi amor.“ he whispered soothingly, wanting to send you over the edge. „Don’t hold it back, mi amor. I‘ve got you. Let go.“
You squirmed, drawing in a shaky breath before you squeezed your eyes shut, covering your mouth with your hand as you came, violently clenching around nothing. Your body trembled, hips bucking wildly.
He could still hear the sweet little whimpers leaving your throat as you came for him. Just hearing you like that almost sent him over the edge on its own, his own breathing heavy in your ear as he helped bring you back down from the high.
„That’s it, mi amor. Good, good. You did so good for me, mi amor.”
You gasped for air, trying to steady yourself. Fuck.
He pulled his hand away, letting you catch your breath for a bit., moving his hands back up to your thighs. He wasn’t done with you yet. „You did such a good job holding back your sweet litle moans, mi amor.“ he whispered to you, leaning down and pressing small kisses to your neck. „Now I think you deserve a little more.”
You swallowed, wanting nothing more than for him to just fuck you into oblivion already. „Please...“
He pressed more kisses to your neck, his hands moving back to the edge of your bikini bottoms, tugging at them. „Please what, mi amor?“ he teased. “You need to tell me, darling. Use your words.”
„Please fuck me, Pedro.“ you breathed out, not caring how desperate you sounded. You’d go crazy if he wouldn’t be inside of you soon.
„There you go, mi amor.“ he mumbled, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, fingers slowly pulling your bikini bottoms to the side once more, exposing you further to him. He loved the sight. He’d never get tired of it.
„That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.“ he mumbled, leaning down a bit, pressing a kiss to the top of your spine before moving his hands and cupping your ass, squeezing slightly.
Another sight he’d never grow tired of. He groaned quietly as you wiggled underneath him impatiently, your ass swaying with every movement. Yet he was just as impatient. Pulling his swimming trunks down enough to free his throbbing cock, he gave it a few pumps. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t already been leaking into his trunks as he’d taken care of you. “You gotta be quiet, baby.” he mumbled, using his precum to lubricate himself.
„I’ll be quiet.“ you gave back. „I promise.”
„Good girl.“ he mumbled, positioning himself, before slowly and gently beginning to rub his aching length against your glistening folds, letting the friction build up for a few moments.
You suppressed a moan, inhaling shakily. He was riling you up and you loved and hated it.
He smiled, moving his hips just a bit faster.
„You’re being very quiet, mi amor.” he mused. “Are you actually serious about keeping your promise?“
„Yes.“ you breathed out, eyes fluttering. „Yes, mi amor.“
Humming happily, he moved his hips again, a subtle hint that he was going to push in, if you were ready. You pushed your ass further up, as good as it was possible in your position.
„I’m going to hold you to that promise, darling.“ he whispered, his hand gripping onto your hip a bit tighter.
With one final movement, he finally pushed inside, stretching you oh so deliciously. He moved his fingers back onto your hip to steady you, whilst he sank further and further into your warmth, hissing as your velvety walls clenched and fluttered around him in response.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with a gasp as he split you open. Fuck, so big. You would never get used to his girth, no matter how often he’d fuck you.
He listened to your reaction, enjoying the way you gasped with a small grin. He always loved to hear you like this, cherishing the moment he’d sink into you. He rarely did it fast, too greedy for the way you reacted, nearly sucking him in.
„Pussy’s so good to me.” he mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. He wanted this to last for a while, but he didn’t know how long he could hold out.
You shivered at his words, clenching around him. He hissed in return, huffing a breathy chuckle. He knew you did it on purpose, and damn if he didn’t love it.
Slowly, he started moving his hips, trying to be gentle and not rock the chair – or worse, topple it over. It wouldn’t have been the first time, yet he didn’t need it to happen right here where everyone could see.
He moved slow, wanting to enjoy this, every gasp, every whimper that left your lips. „You're so good for me, mi vida.” he breathed out, hips rutting into you a bit faster. “Pussy’s been made for my cock, huh?”
You clenched around him, sighing his name. “Only for you, baby.”
A soft moan left his mouth as he felt you clench around him once more. „So sweet and eager for me.”
He thrust a little harder, faster, effectively fucking the thoughts of other people possibly seeing you out of your head. Leaning closer, his chest brushed your back as he angled his hips to push deeper.
You moaned quietly, his name leaving your parted lips. „More, please, Pedro.” you whimpered.
He pressed a kiss to your neck, grinning against your skin as he heard you moan his name again. As you asked for more, he moved a little faster, his hand slipping farther down your body.
„That’s it, mi amor… Moan my name for me.“ he whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. He could tell he was getting close already, but he wanted to be absolutely certain you were getting what you needed first. Not that he had any doubts that you were enjoying every second of this, considering your whimpers and sounds, but he wanted to make sure.
„Let me know when you’re close, mi amor. Want you to finish before me.“ he breathed into your ear, teeth tugging on it lightly.
You clenched around him once more at his words. Always so considerate. „I will“ you breathed out in a whimper. „Want you to come inside of me. Want your cum dripping outta me, Pedro.”
He moaned hearing your words. Hearing you telling him exactly what you wanted was just so damn exciting, so hot… it pushed him right towards the edge.
„Anything you want, mi amor.” he promised. “Will give you anything you want, mi vida. Anything you need.“
His movements were getting rougher now, not bothering to hold back from you anymore. He didn’t need to. He could trust you, he knew you wouldn’t give them away to anyone. He just knew. And that allowed him to forget about everything else, just focus on you and this moment right there.
„Do you need more, mi amor? Are you getting close, mi vida?“ he wanted to know.
You whimpered in return. „More, please?“ you asked. „Your fingers, please, Pedro. Can feel you twitching already.”
He growled against your skin, wrapping his arm around your chest, holding you firmly, so he could use his other hand for you. „That’s it. That’s my good, sweet girl. Asking for what you want, being so desperate for me. I like that, mi amor. I’Il give you what you need.“ he mumbled directly Into your ear, the words sending chills through your body as you listened to them.
„Move your lower half up for me a little, so I can take care of you, mi amor.“
You did as you were told, lifting your hips a little.
Pedro hummed happily feeling you move, giving him a better angle. He was pretty certain that nobody from the beach would be able to see anything from here, and he didn’t care either. All he cared about right now was you and that you needed him. His hand slid down your body, feeling down your stomach for a moment, until it was able to move the fabric of your bottoms aside once more. His fingertips found your sweet clit, rubbing over it in small, quick movements, wanting to please you. Sure, he could have taken his time, could have made you come on his cock alone, but he didn’t know how much time you had until someone would question what was going on under your parasol. He wanted to make sure you felt good, and make sure you’d reach your peek.
You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gasped, hoping no one would hear you.
„Shhh, mi amor, you’re being so good.” he praised you. “Being so quiet. Such a good girl for me. But I know you’re close.“ He moved his hips a little rougher, moving them in a steady, quick pace now, matching his fingers. He was getting close, and he was starting to get desperate, but he never forgot about your needs.
Moving his fingertips in quick, small circles, he knew it would almost certainly send you over the edge. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to last, but he didn’t care. It was all about you, about making you feel good.
The pleasure was mind numbing, the way he fucked you always so good. It didn't take long for you to teeter on the edge.
You stiffened slightly in his hold, hiding your face in the backrest of the chair as the coil tightened, and you fell apart, desperately trying to muffle any sounds.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he heard you finally let go, falling apart for him. It was an amazing sight when he was able to make you finish, and he loved it. Just then though, he was unable to hold back. You clenching around him, your noises you tried to keep quiet… He finally gave in, coming inside of you, gasping into your ear as he breathed your name over and over again.
You whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Perfect, just perfect.
He pressed kisses to your neck, trying to catch his breath, still holding you against his chest. He needed you close, he just needed to feel you against him, needed to be close to you right in that moment. You grounded him like no one else did.
„I love the way you sound when you come for me, darling.” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “It’s so sweet and perfect. The sounds you make... I love them. I love every part of you…”
You smiled, still trying to calm your breathing „I love you, Pedro.“ you breathed out, exhausted.
He chuckled softly into your neck, holding you close against his chest and kissing your neck a couple times. „I love you too, mi vida. So much. You’re perfect.“
He slowly pulled out, pulling your bottoms back into place. As much as he would have loved to just stay there with you, he knew they eventually had to move. He had no intention of leaving you anytime soon though. He was happy here on the beach.
You whimpered involuntarily when he pulled out, sighing deeply as you sank further into the chair. „You’re too good to me, Pedro.“ you mumbled. „Leaving me full of your cum.“
He chuckled into your neck, loving how you spoke to him. He was already addicted enough to you, but hearing you using such filthy words... He pressed another kiss to your neck, his own breathing still a little heavy. „I’II always take care of you, mi amor. And I love taking care of you, especially in this way… I can’t deny you what you need, especially when I’m getting something out of it too.“
You huffed a chuckle. „Sounds just fair.“
He smiled, holding you in his arms, just enjoying the moment before anything else. „It does sound fair, doesn’t it?“ he mumbled. „There is one disadvantage to this, though.“
You frowned, turning your head so your cheek rested against the backrest. „What is it?“
He moved his head a little bit, leaning it against yours, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. „I'm not going to be able to let you wander around this beach again wearing just this without thinking of what I’m going to do to you in this seat again.“
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hear me out… combat training with rival!caitlyn where she gets all mad n frowny when you shit talk her so she pins you down on the mat. i’ve been thinking about this for WEEKS.
this is what i'm talking about !
you should've known better really, shit talking caitlyn kiramman of all people. but she makes it hard to somewhat tolerate her to a certain degree when she parades around like she owns the fucking place, her lean figure pin straight (perfect posture of course, nothing less expected of a kiramman), head held high (cassandra made it a point to instill the objective into young caitlyn's mind that you never let people persevere you as weak), and a cocky smirk that for some reason stays glued to her face at all times. she had every reason to be cocky—full of her self when she's the best at everything, everyone is either intimidated by her or adores her, and no there is no in between. you feel neither towards her, having the same prideful air about you, and there's no way in hell you'd ever adore her, you hate her, but again, hate does no lie between intimidated and adoration, it's the rotten third, born from pure animosity you have for her. it's something sacred really what you and her have, something so foolish, childish about your rivalry, but still serious in its own way.
you should've known your words would've been whispered right back into the ear of the heiress, too deep in the pits of blinded hatred to realize that kiramman has ears everywhere. and you know she knows when the next time the two of you cross paths her stare is more daggered than usual, and if your words hadn't sent the blue haired beauty into a frenzy, the laugh in her face upon seeing her had lit the spark, setting her ablaze.
you should've know caitlyn would come marching up to you like the prissy person she is and demand a combat match immediately, rolling your eyes at her temper and the shrill in her accent, she annoys you immensely by thinking she can get anything at her beck and call.
"can't you see i'm eating, kiramman?"
"i do. and i don't care. you talk shit, you're going to back it up."
"you're really looking to get another ass beating already?"
your words stung like a fist full of salt in a wound. the last match you two had, you won by a sliver, a tiny one, but you took the victory nonetheless. and it sends a tingly sensation down your spine, to the tips of your fingers, and then your toes to see the ever so barely noticeable twitch in her eye. but, of course you notice, you love seeing how you're able to get under her skin.
you should've known better than to accept that damn match, because now caitlyn has you pinned on the mat, struggling to think quick and reach for her weak spots to get you out of this position. you hate it, you hate her. but more importantly you hate how quickly she was able to pin you down, the swiftness and pure skill and talent (you'd never mutter these words out loud, even with a gun to your head) it took for her to pull off that move. it's all that damn excessive training with ambessa, you'd wander pass this very room time and time again heading the hits and grunts, caitlyn always overworked herself to the bone until she was able to get something right, and do it better. and you hate that when you opened your eyes from being slammed against the barely soft surface you were met up and close with gleaming cerulean eyes and that fucking smirk; it was in the moment you realized how close the two of you were, you always get this close but you're always too caught up with your motive of defeating her that you never took into account the compromising positions you'd put each other in.
"am i supposed to be getting my ass beat right now?"
should've spit in her face, but instead you're too stunned, focused on the knee slotted between your legs, pressing up against your pulsing heat. too focused on the wispy blue hairs fallen from her bun and how the usual sweat trickling down her eyebrow isn't there; she didn't even break a sweat. it takes a lot of restraint in you to not squirm beneath her, you won't give the satisfaction of seeing that (no matter how badly you want to sooth ache she's caused), you'll figure away out of this, eyes darting around to find anything's she any opening to free yourself or flip over, but you're too slow;
one.
two.
three.
the grip on you lessens when she's done counting, un-slotting her knee, and standing to her feet, gaze raking over your unmoved body, eyes swirling with gloat.
"i won."
and with that she walks out the room, no outstretched of a hand to help you off the matt, leaving you to lie there. she plays dirty.
you hate caitlyn kiramman.
#i hope this feeds into your thoughts mel :) did my best!#𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 alice writes.#caitlynྀི txt.#arcane#arcane x you#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman x fem reader#caitlyn kiramman x you#league of legends#wlw#lesbian
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hi hi ! i saw your post about wanting some se-mi requests and i was wondering on how se-mi would react to having a s/o that tends to zone out / dissociates during the games whenever they're parted from se-mi / can't stay near her because it causes their separation anxiety </3 like it's a way for the reader to feel less anxious or stressed and the reader seems to lighten up whenever they're near se-mi or notices she's alive , sorry if that's alot ! 😭
✧₊⁺ we'll go home (together)
se-mi x fem!reader
✦ synopsis: as you try to survive the games with your girlfriend, you can't help but to dissociate when she's not nearby. lucky for you, she never wants to leave your side.
content: just a short fluff, reader usually zones out when she's not with se-mi
authors note: thank you for the request! it's rlly short because i'm writing this at my office bye i have dedication!!!!!! but i hope u like it!
✧₊⁺ first of all, your girlfriend would never leave you alone. like ever. i think she would die if that happened.
✧₊⁺ but there's this one situation in mingle where you guys were running along with min-su as a group of three and in the rush, someone pushed her.
✧₊⁺ when you saw her on the ground you almost choke yourself. what if she dies? what if that hurted her head? what if she can't move to run with a group? what if-
✧₊⁺ as you start to hyperventilate you try and run to your gilfriend, failing as min-su pushes you into a room with another guy and closes the door.
✧₊⁺ "hey, i saw her. she got up and ran with another group. she's okay" he said, touching your shoulder.
✧₊⁺ you won't believe him until you see her.
✧₊⁺ you start to dissociate. you can see min-su talking but you can't hear him. your mind filled with thoughts. 'i hope she's okay. she better be okay'.
✧₊⁺ tears start falling from your eyes because what kind of girlfriend are you? leaving her there? it was an accident but-
✧₊⁺ the doors unlock. you run outside as you stare everywhere.
✧₊⁺ she's not here. she's not here. she died. min-su lied-
✧₊⁺ you feel soft arms wrapping you, she deposits a kiss to your temple.
"i'm here baby" she says as you hug her back, your tears going down your cheeks.
"i'm-m so so sorry i'm so sorry...i tried but-" i sobbed against her, her hand caressing my hair to try and calm me.
"sh sh, baby i know. i told min-su to pull you away. i'm here okay? i'm never leaving you"
you believe her. she better not.
✧₊⁺ you're just so used to her, you kinda forgot how it is when she's not there.
✧₊⁺ like the first time you two sleep together, she wakes up first, smiling as she sees you all comfy. she kisses your entire face. when she's done, she gets up, heading to talk with the guys until you wake up. she thinks you'll wake up and follow her, after all you know that when she's not with you, she's with her friends.
until she thinks it's been a little too much time. she starts to worry, going back to your bed.
she finds you there, staring at a blank point on the wall.
"baby?"
you lift your head, she's back!
your face lightens up, a soft smile appearing.
"i missed you" you say as she smirks, getting closer to you. your face in her hands, softly kissing your lips.
"good morning princess, what's wrong? i was waiting until you wake up but i got worried. it's been a while." she frowned.
"i thought you.. left or something" i mumble as her face scans my features. a hint of worry through her eyes.
"baby, what?-" she says, shocking her head no. "no princess i'd never leave you, wherever i go, you come with"
i nod as she kisses my lips again and again.
"i love you"
"i love you princess"
✧₊⁺ of course, when the fourth game comes and it's an individual one, you're shaking.
✧₊⁺ she's too, she just doesn't want you to see it, or it'll make you more nervous.
✧₊⁺ "it's okay baby, this is our last game and then we vote to leave okay? its the last time you're gonna be appart from me. i swear" she says, hugging me as i return it, squeezing her.
it's hard to focus when you're not with her, but you try to get past it. after all, if your girlfriend comes out and you don't, she'll be heartbroken. you don't want that.
✧₊⁺ finally, you made it through. as you're out of the room, you sit there waiting for her.
of course she comes a few minutes later with a smug smirk. she's so cocky.
as she sees you, her face lightens up.
and as you see her, you get up to run to her arms.
✧₊⁺ she kisses you with a soft chuckle.
"what did i said? together. i bet you did so good, my pretty girl" she says smiling.
✧₊⁺ you think you might melt right there and then. you nod, never leaving her arms.
"can we go home now?" you say as she nods.
"let's vote and go home".
#player 380#player 380 x reader#se mi#se mi x reader#se-mi#se-mi x reader#lesbian#squid game#squid game 2#wlw
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CHAPTER SIX ━━ A Little Too Much
❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)
❀ ━ word count: 6.2K
❀ ━ warnings: like maybe an allusion to sex???
❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist
❀ ━ author’s note: paige bro lock in
PAIGE SINKS deeper into the couch, the familiarity of the apartment wrapping around her like a hug. It’s nice being back, the familiar scent of vanilla (Jo’s candles) filling the space. The TV is tuned to some random college football game—an SEC game that Paige really couldn’t care less about.
Aubrey’s sitting at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, her arm resting on the back cushion. A bag of chips is balanced precariously on her knee as she scrolls through her phone, glancing up at the screen every now and then to half heartedly comment on a play.
“Nah, ain’t no way Tennessee gets this one,” Aubrey says, tossing a chip into her mouth. “Georgia, no debate.”
Paige snorts, squinting at the game for a moment. “Ion know, the Vols are up.”
“They won’t be,” Aubrey insists, waving the bag of chips for emphasis.
Paige hadn’t realized how much she missed all of this until now. She’s spent the last month in LA, focusing on her rehab at a state-of-the-art facility her team insisted on. The work has been grueling—hours of physical therapy every day, pushing her body to its limits, trying to rebuild what she’s lost.
But being away from her teammates has been harder.
It’s the first week of October now and she hadn’t seen any of them since early September, right before she flew out. Sure, there were texts and FaceTimes—especially with Jo, who’s practically made it her mission to keep Paige from feeling too disconnected. But it isn’t the same as this: sitting on the couch, arguing over nothing, being in one of her best friend’s presence.
“You said Jo was working out with Yanna and Caroline, right?” Paige asks, glancing over at Aubrey. She’d be lying if she said she isn’t anxiously waiting for Jo to get her ass home.
“Yeah, they been at it all day. Jo’s on this whole new grind—something about gettin’ faster footwork or whatever. I dunno, think she just wants to be really prepared for the season, cause—” Aubrey nods to Paige’s knee and Paige nods—Jo is certainly gonna have a huge role for the team this season.
After a moment, though, Aubrey sends her a look, asking, “Why, though? You impatient?”
Paige just rolls her eyes, saying, “It’s just been a minute.”
Aubrey hums, though she doesn’t sound entirely too convinced.
Paige doesn’t much care. She cares more about the fact that she has to sit through nearly the entirety of this football game before she hears the door click open, her head snapping up instinctively. She can hear Jo before she sees her—her sneakers squeaking against the floor, her laugh that’s as bright and familiar as sunlight as she mutters something to—presumably—Ayanna or Caroline, who must still be in the hallway. For a second, everything else washes away—the announcers on the TV, Aubrey scrolling lazily on her phone. Paige’s focus narrows completely, landing squarely on the figure stepping into the apartment.
When Jo finally comes into view, it’s like Paige can breathe again. Except, maybe not, because Jo looks exactly the same and yet somehow better then Paige remembers. Her ponytail is a little messy, strands clinging to her forehead, and her tank top is soaked through with sweat, outlining the lean strength of her frame. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are sparkling with that post-workout adrenaline.
Paige feels her stomach plummet, a sudden, unwelcome realization inching into her mind. She thinks Jo looks beautiful like this.
“Oh my God, you’re here!” Jo’s voice breaks through Paige’s thoughts, light and high-pitched with excitement. Her smile is wide, open, and utterly disarming, like she’s been waiting for this moment for weeks. She drops her gym bag onto the floor without a second thought and breaks into a jog toward Paige, her arms already outstretched.
Paige stands automatically, her body moving before her brain catches up. And then Jo is there, colliding into her with so much force that Paige actually stumbles back half a step. Jo’s arms wrap around her shoulders, strong and unhesitating, and before Paige even knows what’s happening, she’s being pulling into the kind of hug that makes her feel like melting.
Jo smells like strawberry shampoo and a hint of sweat, a mix that should probably be unappealing but isn’t. Paige’s face ends up pressed against the side of Jo’s neck, and, for a moment, she lets herself completely sink into the embrace. Jo is warm and solid and so full of life, and Paige feels herself relax in a way she didn’t even realize she needed.
But there’s something else, too: a tangle of emotions she can’t—or maybe just doesn’t want—to name. Paige’s hands settle on Jo’s waist, and she pulls her closer, tighter, without even thinking. Her heartbeat picks up, thudding erratically in her chest. She tells herself it’s just the adrenaline of being nearly barreled into.
But then Jo’s laugh bubbles out, muffled against Paige’s shoulder, and Paige feels a little breathless.
“I missed you so much!” Jo squeals, her arms tightening around Paige like she’s never letting go.
Paige smiles, closing her eyes for just a second as her nose nudges Jo’s ponytail. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, and there’s a softness in her voice that surprises even her.
The warmth of Jo’s hug, the way her fingers curl slightly against Paige’s back, makes something twist low in Paige’s stomach. It’s almost too much, but at the same time, not enough. Paige doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to think about why this feels different than hugging Aubrey or Azzi earlier.
From behind them, Paige hears Aubrey mutter, “Yeah, maybe a little too much.”
Paige’s eyes snap open, heat rushing to her face. She freezes, her arms going stiff for just a second, but Jo doesn’t seem to notice. Paige’s heart pounds as she wills herself to stay calm, to keep her expression neutral as she pulls back, not too abruptly but enough to put some space between them.
Jo beams, her hands lingering on Paige’s shoulders as she grins up at her. Paige feels like she might die under the weight of it.
“Shit,” Jo says suddenly with realization, stepping back and gesturing to herself. “I’m disgusting right now. I should’ve warned you before jumping on you like that.”
“You’re fine,” Paige says quickly, and then, because she feels like she should say something normal, she adds, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you sweaty before.”
Jo laughs, the sound bubbling up effortlessly. “Still. Let me shower, and then we’re hanging out. No excuses. I missed you!”
Paige can’t help but smile back, even as her thoughts churn. Jo is grinning at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and Paige feels something warm and unsteady settle in her chest. She watches as Jo grabs her bag and heads toward the bathroom.
Once she’s out of view, Paige sits back down on the couch with a huff. She hates that her heart is still beating too fast.
Next to her, Aubrey hasn’t moved, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch as she watches Paige with a look that makes the blonde shift a little. The football game continues on, the last few minutes of the fourth quarter blaring, but Aubrey doesn’t seem the least bit interested in it anymore.
Paige finally breaks the silence, blurting out as she turns to Aubrey, “What did you mean by that?”
Aubrey raises an eyebrow. “By what?”
Paige frowns. “That comment you made. About me missin’ her too much.”
Aubrey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans forward, grabbing the remote and lowering the volume on the TV. When she settles back into her seat, she gives Paige a look—a knowing look that immediately puts Paige on edge.
“She has a boyfriend, bro,” Aubrey says simply, as if that explains everything.
“I know that,” Paige snaps, the words leaving her mouth too quickly. She feels a flush creeping up her neck and shifts in her position, trying to look casual, unbothered. “Obviously I know that.”
Aubrey’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Paige says, her voice sharper now. She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive without meaning to be. “’Course I do. What’s your point?”
Aubrey tilts her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. “My point is,” she says slowly, “you look at her like she’s the sun or sum. And don’t act like you don’t, ’cause I just saw it.”
Paige scoffs, but it’s weak, almost half-hearted. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” she says, though her tone wavers. “She’s, like, my best friend. I’m just—” She falters, trying to find the right words “I’m just happy to see her. It’s been a month, bro. I’d be like that with anyone.”
“Really?” Aubrey asks, raising her eyebrows. “Uh, you didn’t act like that when I picked you up from the airport. Or when Az came by earlier.”
“That’s different,” Paige says defensively. “You and Azzi—she’s—” She stumbles over the words, annoyed that she can’t articulate why it is different without making it sound worse.
Aubrey doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks entirely unimpressed. “Uh-huh,” she says, drawing the syllables out. “P, I warned you about this when you two first moved in together.”
Paige remembers. She remembers when they were moving her bed during the summer and Aubrey had told her seriously, “You cannot fuck Jo Jacobson.”
At the time, Paige had laughed it off. The idea seemed absurd then. Sure, Jo was beautiful, but she was also a freshman and just getting her feet wet here, and Paige would never do that. She would never do that. She still would never do that. But then, Paige hadn’t ever thought of her in that way.
Now—
“I don’t like her like that,” Paige says, her voice firmer than she feels. “I don’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Aubrey says again, in the same tone as before. “Look, I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose. But, bro, if you do have feelings for her—and I’m not saying you do—don’t let ’em mess with your head. Or the team.”
Paige bristles at that. “I don’t have feelings for her,” she insists. “And even if I did—which I don’t—it wouldn’t affect the team. I’m not that stupid.”
Aubrey shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just saying. Jo’s solid with Asher. Like, really solid. You don’t wanna go down that road.”
Paige feels her chest tighten, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she hates how Aubrey is talking to her or because some small, traitorous part of her knows Aubrey might be right.
“I’m not goin’ down any road,” Paige says, forcing her voice to stay even. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m just happy to see my best friend again. That’s it.”
Aubrey doesn’t press further, but her silence is heavy, loaded with unspoken skepticism. Paige tries to focus on the last few minutes of the football game, but the TV screen practically blurs in her vision as her thoughts spiral.
She tells herself Aubrey’s wrong. That her excitement to see Jo is completely normal. That the way her heart has leapt when Jo walked in the door was nothing more than relief after a long time apart.
But deep down, she can’t shake the way her stomach had flipped when Jo smiled at her. Or the way her chest felt too tight when Jo hugged her, like her ribs were trying to contain something that didn’t want to be contained.
Paige doesn’t know what to call it. She doesn’t want to know.
JO’S EYES remain glued to the screen, but she doesn’t even notice what’s happening in the episode anymore. She missed this—missed the nights spent lying next to Paige, the “sleepovers” which are really just code for one of them being too lazy to walk back into their own rooms and crawl into their own beds.
Jo’s massaging Paige’s knee, the rhythm comforting and almost mechanical now. It’s just what they do; she’s done it a thousand times over since her surgery, though it’s been a month since she’s done it now. She knows how much it helps Paige, and it’s not like it’s anything weird—just a friend doing something nice for another friend, a friend that’s gone through this same thing before and knows what can help.
She’s not thinking about the way Paige’s leg feels under her palm, how soft the skin is, how warm. She’s not. She’s not thinking about how close they are, how the smooth skin of Paige’s thigh rests under her cheek, or how the way Paige moves so naturally beside her makes her chest feel tight in a way that doesn’t make sense.
Paige lets out a soft sigh, and Jo doesn’t quite know why it sends a little flutter through her. She shakes it off quickly, adjusting her position to be more comfortable, still massaging her knee.
They’re almost at the end of first season of The Vampire Diaries now, and Jo’s surprised that Paige has stuck with it. She thought, with all the complaining, that Paige would have tapped out after a few episodes, but here they are, still going strong. Jo knows her well enough that she can tell that Paige has actually started to get into it. Maybe not as much as Jo, but enough to make comments and roll her eyes at the sometimes ridiculous drama.
“You can’t actually be Team Damon, P,” Jo says, shaking her head against Paige’s thigh, letting her fingers glide over the tender muscle beneath Paige’s knee. “Like, come on, girl. Stefan is clearly the better choice.”
Paige shifts slightly, and Jo glances up to see the blonde smirking down at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed and Jo can understand why—it’s hot in here. Maybe they should turn the heat down. “Ion know, JoJo. Damon’s a lot more interesting.”
Jo huffs, “Yeah, well, interesting isn’t always the best option. You need someone who’s steady, who’s good for you.”
“Who’s ‘boring,’ you mean?” Paige’s voice is light, a teasing edge to it.
Jo shakes her head again, laughing a little. As she does so, her lips lightly graze the top of Paige’s thigh. She doesn’t think anything of it. But then she feels Paige’s leg tense up. Jo stills her hand on her knee, thinking she might’ve done something wrong. But then, maybe a second later, Paige is relaxed again, and she doesn’t say anything, so Jo cautiously resumes the massage.
“Yeah, boring’s fine. It’s good. It’s better than all the shit Damon brings,” Jo says.
She can feel the subtle shift in Paige’s posture—she’s looking at Jo, eyes soft, gaze steady—and Jo quickly glances back at the TV, avoiding it. She doesn’t know why. Because it’s because if she lets herself look at Paige for too long, she’ll start thinking about things she’s not supposed to.
“Whatever,” Paige says after a pause. “I still think Damon’s cooler.”
Jo just snorts as she finishes working on the blonde’s knee, feeling the tension slowly melt away as her fingers work the muscles. A final press of her thumb into the joint elicits a soft sigh from Paige, and Jo grins slightly, the satisfaction of helping her best friend making it worth it.
Her fingers ache slightly from the pressure, but it’s nothing really. She looks at Paige briefly before flopping down beside her, her legs splaying out on the bed as she turns onto her stomach. The weight of the day and the long workout is starting to press in on her, and the soft, quiet room feels soothing. “My turn,” she says with a little grin, throwing a look over at Paige as she gestures to her back. It’s a deal they became accustomed to before Paige went off to LA—Jo massages Paige’s knee, and Paige takes care of the horrendous knots in Jo’s back. Simple.
Paige stares at her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, before moving over to straddle Jo’s hips and starting to knead into her back. Jo tries to relax, exhaling deeply as Paige’s hands work their way over her tense muscles. It’s familiar and comfortable, and God, is Jo glad Paige is back in Storrs.
Paige’s fingers press into a particularly stubborn knot, right between Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo winces, just a little. It’s the one knot that never seems to go away, no matter how much she tries to stretch or work it out. It’s been there for years, a stubborn thing.
“Still there?” Paige’s voice is soft, but Jo can hear the hint of concern.
The younger girl nods into the pillows. “Mmm, yeah, it never goes away.”
Paige hums in acknowledgement, and Jo hears her shift slightly. For a moment, she wonders if Paige is just going to stay where she is and work the knot from the outside, but then, to her surprise, she feels Paige’s hands move to the bottom of her t-shirt, sliding under the fabric carefully.
“Lemme get in there,” Paige murmurs lowly.
The words and the cool air against her skin sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, but she doesn’t pull away. Paige’s touch is so familiar, so comforting, that even the shift in how they’ve positioned doesn’t feel strange—at least, it shouldn’t. She can feel Paige’s fingers move under the fabric, creeping up her spine near her shoulder blade, right where she can press deeper into the knot. The pressure is sudden but not unwelcome. It’s exactly what Jo needs.
“Mmm, that’s better,” Paige says softly, her voice closer now, almost against Jo’s back, as she works the knot precisely. Her fingertips press firmly into the spot, working the muscle, easing the tendon.
The warmth from Paige’s fingers against her skin sends a wave of heat through Jo’s body, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The knot is finally loosening, and for a brief moment, she’s too focused on the sensation to even process anything else. Paige’s hands move with ease, like she’s done this a thousand times. And she has. Or, well, at least a few.
“You good?” Paige asks, voice soft but steady, like she’s concerned, and Jo feels a strange pull in her chest.
Jo hums in response, though it comes out softer than she intended. “Yeah, that feels perfect.”
For a moment, there’s silence between them, and all Jo can focus on is the steady rhythm of Paige’s hands as they move over her back, the weight of her stomach settling into Jo’s muscles. The room is even warmer now—they really should turn down the heat. Even if it’s Connecticut, it’s only October. That, or maybe it’s just the proximity, the closeness of Paige’s body to here. Jo doesn’t know what it is, but her heart’s not beating the way it usually does.
Paige’s hands slide back up, pressing into the tender spots along Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo bites her lip, trying to ignore how good it feels.
And then, without thinking, Jo shifts slightly, a small motion that presses her chest just a little closer to the bed. With the movement, her body aligns a bit more with Paige’s, and suddenly the space between them feels too small, too close. She can feel Paige’s breath against her back, steady and warm, and Jo’s pulse quickens despite herself.
“God,” Jo mutters. “You’re good at this.”
Paige’s fingers stop their movements for a moment, as if processing the words. “It’s nothing,” she says, but there’s something different in her voice. Maybe it’s just how close they are, or maybe it’s the weight of the silence hanging between them, but Jo’s pretty sure she hears a shift in the way Paige speaks. A slight tension in her voice that Jo can’t explain.
Eventually, Paige finishes working the knot, her hands pulling away slowly. Jo almost feels a pang of disappointment, but she can’t place why. She’s just relaxing, just letting herself unwind. It’s nothing.
Paige lies back down next to her, the space between them still feeling a little smaller than it should be. Jo turns her head to meet Paige’s gaze, their faces just inches apart.
“Better?” Paige asks, her voice soft and almost too quiet. Her fingers trail lightly down Jo’s spine, slipping out from under her shirt with a gentle touch that sends a small shiver through Jo.
Jo smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”
Paige nods, her lips lifting at the corners a little before Jo turns her gaze back to the TV. She tucks her hands under her cheek as she lays on her side, eyes lazily watching the screen. Damon and Elena are fighting over something—per usual.
She doesn’t even notice at first when Paige shifts, her leg brushing against Jo’s under the covers. And then she slides a little closer, her shoulder brushing against Jo’s arm. Her face is even closer now, and Jo’s aware of that. She can feel her breath against her skin. It catches her a little off guard, but it’s not weird. It’s just how they always seem to end up—close.
“I missed you, Joey.” Paige’s voice, so soft, echoes through the room.
Jo glances up, meeting her gaze. It makes her smile. “I missed you too.”
And she did—she got so used to being so close to her that it was terrible when she was gone for so long. So bad it felt like Jo was going through withdrawal or something. And it only makes it worse that she’s flying back out in a couple days and Jo is going to have the apartment to herself again.
Paige’s face is still close, her eyes searching Jo’s for something. They’re so blue, even in the dim lighting of the room, and they feel like an ocean Jo could easily drown in.
She doesn’t know why she does it, but she presses herself closer still, their chests touching now, Jo’s nose brushing against Paige’s neck. Their legs tangle more under the sheets, and Jo feels Paige wrap her arm around her waist gently, letting it rest there. Jo doesn’t mind.
It’s just them. It’s just how they are.
PAIGE WAKES slowly, the soft morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds casting stripes across the bed. Her body feels heavy, warm, and there’s a comforting weight against her arm. Blinking her eyes open, she shifts her head on the pillow and glances down. Jo is still asleep beside her, her face soft in the pale light, her features slack with peace.
Jo looks… pretty, Paige thinks, her thoughts still hazy with sleep. Her hair is tousled, sticking up slightly at the crown from no doubt a restless turn in the night, but it only makes her look softer, less put together in a way that feels intimate. Paige is half aware of the fact that her own arm is tucked under Jo’s, her hand resting near Jo’s waist. Their legs are tangled together, too, her calf brushing Jo’s under the covers.
Paige doesn’t move immediately. She doesn’t want to. It’s warm like this, comfortable, and even though the logical part of her brain tells her to pull away, to avoid making it weird, she stays where she is.
Her gaze lingers on Jo’s face, on the slight curve of her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose that are barely visible. There’s something unguarded about Jo in the morning, something vulnerable and even sweeter than she is when she’s awake.
Last night drifts back to Paige’s mind. The massages, the feel of Jo’s hands on her knee, the feel of Jo’s back under her hands. The way Jo told her she missed her, too. Paige had meant it when she told her—she’d missed Jo more then she thought she would during her time in LA. But it’s not just that. There had been something else in the air last night.
Maybe it’s just the shift of being apart for a month, she tells herself. That’s all. It’s just the way things feel different when you come back to someone after being away. Things will settle back into place eventually. They always do.
Jo stirs slightly in her sleep, her brow twitching, and Paige instinctively stills, not wanting to wake her. The younger girl murmurs something unintelligible and shifts closer, her head tilting toward Paige’s shoulder, and Paige’s breath catches for half a second.
The buzz of a phone breaks the quiet, cutting through the gentle hum of the morning. Paige blinks, her thoughts scattering, and she glances toward the nightstand. The phone buzzes again. She assumes its hers—she gets texts at odd hours from basically everyone. Without thinking, she reaches out, fumbling for the phone blindly without lifting her head.
Her fingers close around the cool device, and she squints at the screen as she opens it, not wearing her glasses yet. By the lockscreen, she immediately can tell that this is not her phone, though—it’s Jo’s. She’s about to close it and put it back when the name at the top of the screen makes her freeze. Ash.
Her stomach twists. She knows that name and she knows it well. Asher. Jo’s boyfriend.
Maybe she doesn’t mean to look, maybe she does. Either way, the messages are right there, impossible to ignore.
Ash 💓
Hi baby I know it’s early
Just wanted to say I miss you
and love you
And I can’t wait to see the media day flicks you better send me them all
Paige stares at the screen for a long moment, her chest tightening in a way she doesn’t—but also might—understand. She knows she should stop looking, that this is a complete violation of Jo’s privacy, but her eyes tracy the words again. Baby. I miss you. I love you. They feel like a slap.
She exhales sharply, locking the phone and setting it back on the nightstand. Her case flicks back to Jo, still fast asleep. Her face is serene and peaceful and Paige feels an overwhelming rush of emotions. It’s not jealousy. It’s not. She’s not jealous. She has no right to be jealous of two high school sweethearts that literally grew up next door together that are probably soulmates and are someday going to get married and have babies.
She’s not jealous of that.
But, nonetheless, the knot in her stomach doesn’t go away.
She unentangles herself carefully, shifting her leg and arm away from Jo’s, mindful not to wake her. Jo murmurs something again, soft and sleepy, and Paige pauses for a second before slipping off the bed entirely. She needs space. Air.
She pads to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. Her hands grip the edge of the sink, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, her face slightly puffy from sleep.
She shakes her head, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on her face. It doesn’t help much.
Paige forces herself to focus, to push away the strange feelings clawing at her. Jo is her roommate, her freshie, and, yeah, basically her best friend now. And that’s all this is. That’s all it will ever be. She needs to stop overthinking. She needs to get ready for the day.
But even as she brushes her teeth and begins to brush through her hair, her thoughts keep circling back to those texts. To Asher. To Jo. And to the way Jo’s body had felt so warm and close and right against hers just minutes ago.
PAIGE STANDS in front of the mirror in the locker room, adjusting her uniform and smoothing her jersey. The bold, navy #5 stitched on the front catches her eye, and for a moment, she lingers. It feels almost strange, wearing the jersey she won’t be able to play in this season.
Not that she hasn’t come to terms with it. Paige is good at keeping herself together now, even if the pang of frustration hasn’t entirely disappeared—and won’t, she knows, until she gets to play again. But she’s learned to deal with it, to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t be on the court, she can still be here—still lead, still help her team in every way she can.
Her hair is perfectly straightened, sleek and sharp, the way she likes it. Her makeup looks good, too—just enough to emphasize her sharp cheekbones and blue eyes, but nothing overdone. The uniform ties it all together, making her look just like the player she’s supposed to be, the one she still is even if she’s stuck on the sidelines.
She takes a couple mirror pics—her annual media day mirror pics. They come out well, and she posts them to Instagram with the caption “5’ll be back soon,” because it will. She will.
By the time the day is in full effect, Paige knows the drill: photos, videos, soundbites for promos. She takes a few solo shots first, her expression switching between serious and smiles for the camera. Then it’s duo photos—first with Azzi, then with Nika and Aaliyah, her classmates. They laugh and joke between snaps, Nika managing to pinch Paige and Aaliyah during one, probably getting a perfect reaction picture.
Whilst Jo is getting her photos done, Paige is off to the side, hyping her up. When she makes Jo laugh—loud and sudden, the kind that makes her throw her head back—Paige is the one who catches the photographer’s eye. He gestures for her to join Jo, saying how he likes their energy together. Paige does as he asks, coming into view of the camera.
They stand side by side, first posed with their arms crossed, meant to look tough and intimidating. Then, the photographer tells Jo to lean her arm casually on Paige’s shoulder. Jo does, and it feels so normal, so them, that Paige doesn’t even notice how close they are until the photos pop up on the photographer’s screen.
“Yo,” Paige says, leaning in closer to the preview image. “We look good.”
Jo grins, nudging the blonde with her elbow. “Yeah, we do.”
And they do. There’s something about the way they look together—Jo’s darker features contrasting with Paige’s lighter ones, their postures balanced between playful and powerful—that feels striking.
When the photographer tells them they’re done, Jo taps Paige on the back lightly, her touch lingering for a half-second too long. Paige pretends not to notice.
They continue on through a mix of photos, promo videos, and shorter interviews. Paige’s role as “Coach P,” as everyone’s begun calling her, doesn’t go unnoticed.
Nika, of course, has to chime in. “That girl ain’t my coach,” she mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking her head while she stirs a few laughs from their teammates and some of the media coordinators.
Paige rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Jo cuts in, throwing her arms around Paige’s shoulders from behind and resting her chin right by Paige’s neck. “You’re right, Nik,” Jo says, her voice teasing as her arms tighten slightly around Paige. “She’s not your coach. She’s mine.”
Nika hisses at her in mock annoyance, making Jo laugh loudly as she lets go of Paige—though not before making sure to squeeze Paige’s shoulders fondly.
Paige hardly notices the way Nika flicks at Jo’s arm afterwards, or the way Jo sticks her tongue out at her. Instead, her brain replays the words—she’s mine.
Mine, mine, mine, mine.
It’s not like that, though. And, goddamn, she has to get herself together.
Luckily, she has an interview waiting for her, so she doesn’t have long to continue dwelling on it. Except, actually, she thinks she might be unlucky, because when she spots Celeste Sinclair waiting for her with that soft little smirk and a glint in her eyes, Paige almost groans aloud.
She supposes she did this to herself, though. It’s not like she didn’t know Celeste was one of their media girls when she started fucking her—it’s literally how they met.
As Paige approaches, Celeste’s eyes sweep over her, lingering just a fraction too long on the way her uniform fits. Paige notices it immediately, and begins to steel herself.
“Paige,” the redhead greets, her tone syrupy and professional, but there’s a flicker of something else underneath. Something Paige is very familiar with.
“Celeste,” Paige replies evenly, keeping her expression neutral. She folds her hands in front of her, trying not to let her irritation show. She doesn’t have time for this—doesn’t have the patience or willpower to handle another girl turned obsessed—but media day is about appearances, so she plasters on a polite smile and takes the mini mic Celeste offers her.
The questions start predictably enough. Celeste asks about her recovery, her plans for the future, how she’s adjusting. Paige answers each question with the kind of practiced ease she’s managed to master over the years. She talks about her rehab process, about staying focused, about how the comeback will be stronger than the setback. The words feel automatic now, almost rehearsed.
Still, it stings a little. Every time she’s reminded that she won’t touch the court this season, that she’ll have to watch from the bench while her teammates fight for another championship, there’s a flicker of frustration she can’t quite extinguish.
But she doesn’t let it show. Obviously.
Celeste presses on, asking something about how Paige is adapting to her new role as a leader from the bench, and Paige forces herself to smile through it. She talks about embracing the role of “Coach P,” about how it’s just as important to support the team off the court as it is on it. She doesn’t let her voice waver, doesn’t let any of the bitterness slip through.
When the interview finally wraps, Paige exhales quietly, ready to walk away—but Celeste steps closer, cutting her off.
“So,” Celeste says, her voice dropping just enough to make it clear this part isn’t for the cameras. “You’ve been busy out west, yeah? I—you haven’t been back at all lately.”
Paige sighs a little. “Yeah, well. Rehab and stuff. You know how it is.”
Celeste tilts her head. “I do. Still, I thought you might text or call or something. I left you a few messages, but you never answered.”
Paige resists the urge to roll her eyes. Celeste’s persistence is both flattering and annoying. Yeah, the sex had been good—but was it genuinely good enough for Celeste to continuously run after Paige when she’s made it more than obvious that she doesn’t really want her? Paige doesn’t think so.
But, then again, Paige is better with her tongue and fingers than Celeste is.
“Been busy,” Paige says again, brushing her off.
The red-haired girl doesn’t seem deterred, though. She leans in just slightly, murmuring, “Well, if you’re not too busy tonight or even later this week… ?”
Paige starts to shake her head, ready to shut it down. She has enough girls in her bed back in LA that she doesn’t need to make up for it here while she’s only back for a few days.
But then—her mind flashes to this morning. To Jo. To the messages from Asher. The pit that settles in her stomach when she saw the I love you and I miss you and the baby. Something about it still lingers, sharp and annoying, and Paige can’t quite shake it.
Before she really thinks about what she’s doing, she hears herself saying, “Actually, I am free tonight.”
Celeste’s face lights up, her smile widening. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Paige echoes, her tone casual, like she isn’t committing to something she’s already dreading a little. “I fly back to LA in a couple days, so tonight works.”
Celeste doesn’t bother hiding her excitement. “Perfect. Come over later?”
Paige nods and Celeste looks almost giddy as she finally walks away.
As Paige rejoins her teammates, sitting next to Jo, the brunette smirks at her a little, judging her arm and asking, “Again?”
Paige feels heat rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. “Stop, it’s nothing,” she says quickly.
Jo doesn’t press or tease her much like anyone else would, just letting out a little laugh under her breath before getting up for one of her own interviews.
Paige can’t help but watch her during it. And think.
Jo, asleep in her bed this morning, soft and peaceful and pretty. Jo, laughing loudly during their photoshoot. Jo, whose phone had lit up with messages from a boyfriend that Paige can’t stand to think about.
Her jaw tightens slightly, and she shoves the thoughts aside. She’s going to Celeste’s tonight. At least she’ll be doing something.
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#paige bueckers fic#uconn huskies#wcbb#wbb#uconn#paige bueckers angst#paige bueckers fluff#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers series#paige bueckers x reader#paige bueckers smut#ncaa wbb#wcbb x reader#nobody gets me#wlw#lgbtq
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Hi OTNF and everyone,
I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.
In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.
I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.
Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?
I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)
Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).
I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*
I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!
So, uh. Anyone here with me?
--
Yes.
I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.
Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.
Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.
I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.
It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.
I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."
Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.
Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.
--
The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.
If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.
Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.
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Helloooooooo my love. First of all, happy new year! (although it's coming a week late, sorry about that) I hope this year is filled with love and joy for you!!
Secondly, piggybacking off your last reblog, yes desi weddings are so elaborate ahhh!!! I loved the whole experience despite how exhausting and stressful it was as the sister of the bride. there's pre-wedding events, a week long wedding and then the post-wedding events so yeah nearly two months of dedicated wedding festivities lmfao but it was SOOO fun and I'm moving overseas in a few weeks so I definitely had a winter for the books.
NOWWWWWWW, I'm going to be honest, I couldn't help myself and I gave myself some sneak peeks from all the chapters uploaded because every time I get the notification I get SO excited and lemme just say - YOU COOKED AND I HAVE MASSIVE THOUGHTS
You thought you finally found Daemon when you heard Caraxes was in the dragon pit, and so you run there, run, much to the protest of Arryk, who was hot on your heels. He managed to convince you to slow down by telling you that you would eventually get to the dragon pit if you walked, but you would never get there if you pass out.
Oh god, breaking my heart already. Daemon, I can't stand you at times ughhhhhh. What will it take for my poor girl to not have to beg for someone to love her and be considerate to her.
You nod, placing a hand on your chest. You do a walking motion with your fingers towards Caraxes.
This is either going to end horribly or wonderfully and I don't know how to feel about either.
...while he is distracted from trying to figure out what you were doing, you circle behind your knight and sneak past both, making a beeline towards Caraxes.
GIRL NO!!!!!!!!!
PLEASE STOP TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF EVERY OTHER CHAPTER FOR THE SAKE OF MY WELLBEING
Amidst the peril of it all, you are calm as you look up at Daemon's companion. It stems from the truth that it would be far less complicated and less painful to be eaten by a dragon than to tell your husband you are with child and deliver it.
And there goes my heart again...I'm so mad at Daemon and the chapter has only just begun. I can't get over just how scared she is of telling Daemon about the baby because he will probably accuse her of incest (which would be so fucking ironic HAH) even though deep down he knows she never did any of that he's just emotionally constipated AS HELL. Even Caraxes is going to be done with his ass
In truth, you think your heart might be impaired, because it doesn't race at all as the beast seemingly imposes upon you. He cannot seem to stop pacing around you, as if he was restless, anxious even.
Alexa play "I Think He Knows" by Taylor Swift
You feel bad, for it seems... you've upset him, "apologies... I was hoping you'd eat me."
😭😭😭 STOPPPPP PLEASE SPARE ME
"HEY!" Arryk screams, thinking he can distract Caraxes. He can't, and he is losing his mind. Hoes not know what to do but to shout your name in terror. He can't help but draw his sword and immediately the dragon keeper is yelling something, motioning that he stop.
Help, I know this is a deeply serious moment but I can't help but laugh at the fact that Arryk whipped out his sword to defend himself against CARAXES
"Gods be good," you mumble as you gaze upon the creatures scales, "you can smell him, can't you? Daemon?"
OH MY GOD CARAXES CAN SENSE DAEMONS BABY IN HER TUMMY WE'VE GOT MEDIEVAL DNA TEST SOMEBODY GET DAEMON HERE
"It would have been better if you made me a snack," you mumble against him, feeling your tears drip.
caraxes and reader's bestie arc better start NOW
"He shoved her back and she fell!" he explains, "that's why her nose is bloody."
Oh my god Arryk stop tattling on my boy Caraxes like that. He was just trying to show some affection and protectiveness!!! It's not his fault that years of bonding with daemon also turned him a little dense and emotionally constipated like his master
"Perhaps she might get strong enough to grant you a child," he clenches his jaw, "maybe once the gods have granted you a boy or girl, you will understand my grief." Viserys motions with a nod, "you are to return to your lady wife with no quarrel. Take him out of my sight."
The way I 100% believe that the foundation of the brothers' relationship is that daemon will ALWAYS do the exact opposite of viserys tells him so the fact that he told daemon to return to his lady wife, it will lead him to run as far away from her as possible (aka stepstones)
Daemon seals you into an embrace and the warmth of his body quickly seeps onto your much colder one. A shiver runs down your spine. You immediately wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his chest. He mimics you, brushing his cheek against your hair, taking in the faint smell of citrus. He remembers what his brother said and repeats it, "ñuha mijegindita ābrazȳrys." My poor wife.
THIS SCENE MAKES ME WANT TO CRADLE MY HEAD IN MY HANDS AND WEEP BECAUSE WHAT THEY COULDVE BEEN IF DAEMON WASNT SO DENSE AND THICK AND STUPID AND UGHHHHHHH
Daemon sighs, "he must have smelled me on you and got excited."
you're so stupid
The voice of his brother rings in his mind. Do you carry such low regard of him just as he? "Why can't it be me?" he snaps, "you think I will be of no help?"
Daemon "I can never comprehend someone being genuinely concerned for me because I never had a mother, I don't remember my father's love and my brother was an even bigger emotionally constipated idiot who can't show me love so I'm going to mistake your love for you doubting my capabilities" targaryen
You cut him off by reaching for his legs. He is frozen in place as you embrace him from where you knelt on the floor.
This is so tragic I've started crying again...
Cannot leave you? He does not like the way you imply he would be unable to if he wanted. Daemon watches you as you slowly bring yourself up to a stand. He does not help you as you pull yourself up using his legs and waist.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THIS FUCKER TO RECEIVE THERAPY FROM BRAAVOS OR WHATEVER BECAUSE HIS UNRESOLVED CHILDHOOD TRAUMA AND THE LACK OF PARENTAL LOVE HE RECEIVED IS GOING TO DESTROY THE MC AND I CANNOT STAND FOR IT I WILL DIE
"because I love you."
and im dead. im gone.
"you are mistaken."
"I love you" "It'll pass"
"I do not feel the same," he mutters.
FUCK YOU FUCK THE WHOLE TSRGARYEN DYNASTY YOU FILTHY LYING WHORE OF A DRAGON RIDER GO FUCK MYSARIA IN A WIG AND CALL OUT YOUR WIFES NAME AND TELL HER YOU WANT HER BECAUSE YOURE TOO SCARED TO SAY IT TO YOUR WIFE AND GO TO THE SHITTY STEPSTONES SURROUNDED BY NOTHING BUT UGLY LOOKING PIRATES FOR THREE WHOLE YEARS WITH SHITTY FOOD AND SHITTY WINE KJHGRRYVHBEBN LTLV
You nod, "I know."
Author, did you reach inside my brain and find the worst ways to hurt me? BECAUSE THIS HURTS OKAY
BUT IT ALSO FEELS SO GOOD??? WHYS THE ANGST YOU WRITE SO FUCKING GOOD??? IM IN LITERAL TEARS OVER THESE TWO, THE WAY DAEMON MADE HER BEG FOR HIM TO STAY AND IT WAS STILL NOT ENOUGH THE PARALLELS OF HER SAYING IT NEVER SERVES HER WELL ASKING SOMEONE TO STAY
If you're wondering how I'm doing at the end of this, then imagine this - IM IN TEARS and contemplating my existence. But I cannot atop praising you for how GOOD this chapter was. It hit right the spot. Thank youuuuu for yet another masterpiece <3
Tormented Spirit | 10
Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN T_T blah blah canon stuff/high valyrian inaccurate blah. please please leave comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones
Daemon does not come home to you that night. When you awaken, you feel sick to your stomach. The thought of food repulsive though, so you spend the morning looking for your husband, until your body betrays you and feels sick because of not having eaten. You realize that your state is not borne simply from worrying about the prince, but probably also because of this supposed life you carried within you.
You try to deny it though, chalking it up to your mind playing tricks on you. After all, it's laughable that you suddenly experienced these symptoms just after all the fuss of learning you were with child.
You thought you finally found Daemon when you heard Caraxes was in the dragon pit, and so you run there, run, much to the protest of Arryk, who was hot on your heels. He managed to convince you to slow down by telling you that you would eventually get to the dragon pit if you walked, but you would never get there if you pass out.
You'd never been so happy to see the blood wyrm.
"Daemon?" you call out, searching for him.
Caraxes is busy feasting on meat and Arryk is busy watching him, body tense and senses on high alert.
The dragon keeper comes to you, shaking his head, "se dārilaros iksis daor kesīr dombo." The prince is not here anymore.
You understood nothing, save dārilaros, which you knew meant prince, and figure he's probably telling you he is not here, which you could gather from simple observation.
You turn to Caraxes and point, "zaldrīzes." Dragon.
The man brightens, as he understands, "Caraxes."
You nod, placing a hand on your chest. You do a walking motion with your fingers towards Caraxes.
His eyes widen and he shakes his head and hands.
You clench your jaw and turn to Caraxes, nodding your head in understanding.
The dragon keeper relaxes.
He mistakes you.
"Arryk," you turn to your ward, "can you come here please?"
Arryk's eyes linger on the dragon a moment before turning to you. You settle him in front of the dragon keeper, and while he is distracted from trying to figure out what you were doing, you circle behind your knight and sneak past both, making a beeline towards Caraxes.
The dragon notices you immediately and watches you near. He lifts his head and sniffs the air, and only then do the two men realize what's happening.
"PRINCESS!" Arryk shouts, sprinting towards you before coming to an abrupt stop.
Enraged, Caraxes cranes his long neck, roaring at Arryk, making him topple back on his bum.
The dragon keeper screams a command and raises his hands.
Amidst the peril of it all, you are calm as you look up at Daemon's companion. It stems from the truth that it would be far less complicated and less painful to be eaten by a dragon than to tell your husband you are with child and deliver it.
The red creature screeches as snaps his teeth at the two men, causing his keeper to step back and Arryk to crawl back with him.
Caraxes then averts his attention, shaking his head as he circles around you, effectively blocking the two from seeing anything other than his massive, scaly body.
In truth, you think your heart might be impaired, because it doesn't race at all as the beast seemingly imposes upon you. He cannot seem to stop pacing around you, as if he was restless, anxious even.
Your face contorts at the bleating sound it makes. He lowers his head slightly inhaling and exhaling deeply. He makes another noise and you swear to yourself, the creature looks like he's fidgeting.
You feel bad, for it seems... you've upset him, "apologies... I was hoping you'd eat me."
Caraxes screams loudly again when he spots two other dragon keepers come to you from the other side. He threatens them with a snap of his teeth.
"Daor!" they scream in unison. No.
Caraxes seethes and screeches, as if saying, 'do not tell me what to do'.
He circles around you again, and this time, he shoves you forward with his wing. You yelp as you are knocked to the ground with a thud. You manage to brace yourself, grazing your hands as you did, but your chest still hurts at the impact.
The keepers scream in horror because of this, fearing that you would soon be eaten.
"HEY!" Arryk screams, thinking he can distract Caraxes. He can't, and he is losing his mind. Hoes not know what to do but to shout your name in terror. He can't help but draw his sword and immediately the dragon keeper is yelling something, motioning that he stop.
You whine as you roll on your side. Caraxes growls as he bites your arm. The fear finally sets in as he does this, and his powerful maw pulls you up to sitting position.
The dragon keeper, who ran to retrieve you, shrieks out upon witnessing this.
You gasp when Caraxes roars back, and you squeal when his wing comes over you. The strangest thing occurs to you in that moment, and your heart finally begins to race— not because it sinks in how much danger you were in, but because, suddenly, you knew you were not.
You come to a stand, and with no regard for your safety, you reach out for the dragon's skin, somehow shocked by how warm and hard it is. "Caraxes."
He hears you, though you barely raised your voice. He is sensitive to the sound of his name. Caraxes moves back, pulling away enough to be able to coil his neck and look at you.
The dragon keepers, who were so on edge, altogether fall silent when they see you in the midst of the blood wrym.
Arryk nearly broke into a other sprint upon finally seeing you, but he manages to hold back and lowers his sword, unwilling to sheathe it.
Caraxes produces a sound you think is akin to a mewl, as much as a mewl a ten foot beast could make. You huff and feel your breath hitch. You close your eyes and reach out to him, ready to accept whichever fate awaits you, companionship or death.
You gasp, eyes instantly opening when you feel the wetness on your hands. Caraxes presses his snout to your palms, and you squeak, quickly pulling back at the heat of his huff.
He lifts his head and begins to pace around again. You are certain now that the beast was, in fact, restless.
"Paez ilagon!" you exclaim, raising your hands at him.
Caraxes huffs, debating if he should heed your command.
"Paez ilagon," slow down, you repeat as the dragon fully faces you.
You, and everyone else who witnesses it, are shocked that Caraxes listens. He quits his pacing and slowly comes to a halt, looming over you.
Your lips wobble, humbled by the idea such a fearsome creature would obey the commands of such a pathetic being. You begin to weep, as Caraxes lowers his head, sniffing you. Your hands dart out to him when he gets too close. You slightly topple when he nudges you with his snout. You feel the warmth of his breath seeping through your dress as he brushes against you. You can tell he is trying his best to be gentle, but even then he is too strong that you have to repel him. He makes the faintest of sounds.
"Gods be good," you mumble as you gaze upon the creatures scales, "you can smell him, can't you? Daemon?"
Caraxes remains pressed against you a moment longer.
You sniffle and momentarily fantasize about the child growing within you. You lean into him in defeat, "you silly thing."
His throat emits a low rumble.
"It would have been better if you made me a snack," you mumble against him, feeling your tears drip.
Caraxes slowly lowers his head until he is laid on the floor. You remain leaned on him for a moment, and then you pull away with a sigh. You look upon the dragon, thinking he is so much like his rider, and stroke his cheek one last time before pulling away.
You walk towards the dragon keeper you had blindsided and lower your head in shame, speaking the word you had learned for Daemon, "usōvegon." Apologies.
He stares at you for a moment, taking in your now messy hair and dirtied face, and replies with something you do not understand.
You nod at him without meeting his eyes then hurriedly walk off. Arryk is quick to follow after you, and his skidding makes Caraxes screech at him. He flinches at the sound, looking behind him warily. You do not.
When Arryk finally catches up to you, he takes your arm and calls out your name. He is alarmed by the red smeared down your philtrum and cheek.
"Forgive me," you mutter, unable to meet his gaze. You do not stop walking, "I- I was overcome... I did not think of anything but myself. I did not mean to cause anyone such immense distress."
"What were you trying to do?" Arryk quips, taking in your dirtied face. He did not know if it would be appropriate to wipe it with his cloak.
You shake your head, still unable to look at him.
"Princess," Arryk speaks like a plea, "did you know Caraxes would not hurt you?"
You gulp, quickening you pace.
Arryk huffs in frustration, calling out your name.
He forces you to stop by dashing forward, coming in front of you. You look up at him, eyes teary and mouth parted.
"I beg you," he clenches his fists, before succumbing to his urges. He grabs his cloak and wipes your face, brushing the dirt and blood as neatly as he can, "please tell me you did not knowingly put yourself in danger."
The tears running down your face help him clean you off. You honestly say, "I don't know if I should tell you."
Arryk is heart broken. He clenches his jaw tightly and releases his hold on you. He steps aside and you begin walking again.
You feel awful as you look at him. He is sullen as he walks beside you. You wipe your nose on your sleeve, "apologies, Arryk."
He shakes his head and opens his mouth. His jaw hangs for a moment, but then he closes his mouth, saying nothing.
You turn to your side when you hear your name called.
Alicent, who was making her way to the king's quarters, runs up you, eyes widening at the blood on your face. The red had spread as it mixed with your tears. She quickly pulls out her handkerchief, "your nose is bleeding!"
Your eyes widen, as you did not know this, but you quickly take her wrist and slowly pull away, "it is nothing."
"What happened to her, ser?" Alicent turns to Arryk.
Arryk is eager to tattle, "she was at the dragon pit and-"
"I fell," you cut him off, blocking your sister's gaze upon your ward, "I-"
"You fell in the dragon pit?!" she bristles further. Your feigning backfired. "What did Daemon do?!"
"The prince is nowhere to be seen," Arryk scoffs.
"I was- am looking for him!" you blurt
"Caraxes nearly attacked her," Arryk adds.
"Arryk!" you whip your head to him then back to your sister, "he did not!"
"He shoved her back and she fell!" he explains, "that's why her nose is bloody."
Alicent calls your name as you call Arryk's.
Your sister takes your shoulders, eyes immediately watering, "did you want to get hurt, sister?"
Your jaw slacks, "I- I-"
"Does Daemon posses you to do such things?" your baby sister begins to cry.
You shake your head rapidly, "no! No. I swear to you, this has nothing to do with him."
"Then what?" Alicent asks with a broken voice.
You gasp for air and feel a shiver run down your spine. You cannot tell her the truth, so you explain instead, "my nose already bled yesterday, which is why it's bleeding now."
"What?!"
"I already fainted yesterday and fell quite hard, which is why my nose is bleeding again."
"Mother, please," Alicent whispers.
"Alicent, I swear to you, you need not-"
"How could you let this happen to her twice?" Alicent turns to Arryk.
Arryk lowers his head, "I have failed-"
"I snuck behind him," you blurt, "do not fault him for my impulsiveness."
Alicent's heart is crush as she watches you wipe your face.
"It is not Arryk's fault that my nose is bloody. It is neither Caraxes fault for shoving me. It is mine. My body is weak and I have spent all day looking for my husband, against the behest of my maester."
Alicent clenches her jaw. It is Daemon's fault.
"I will go to the maesters' ward and submit to whatever is prescribed to me," you place a hand on her shoulder. You sniffle, "do not speak to father of this."
"Make sure to go to the maester's then," you sister warns.
Dejected, you look away and walk off.
Alicent takes in a breath before grabbing her skirts, marching over to the king's quarters.
Viserys is in the middle of gluing his diorama of King's Landing when he hears a knock on the door, "come in."
Alicent enters, sighing deeply before pulling a smile.
"Alicent," his blank expression slightly lightens.
She curtsies, "your highness," and walks over to him. She turns her attention to whatever it was the king was building.
Viserys shows raises a block, "a new tower."
Alicent smiles softly, "pretty."
The king raises a brow upon noticing the stiffness to her demeanor, "is everything alright?"
Alicent betrays herself on purpose by nodding her head too quickly.
Viserys puts the tower down. He reaches for her arm, "what's wrong, my girl."
She takes a sharp breath, "my sister—"
He furrows his brows.
"—she... she has a bloody nose from falling."
"She fell?"
"Twice," Alicent fidgets with her hands, honest agitation for her sister taking over her, "because she's been looking for Daemon."
His reaction to the name is instant. Viserys' jaw clenches and his fists ball in anger, "Daemon."
Daemon struts down the great hall, making his way towards the Iron Throne. The night was now deep and the few candles lit in the room only increased the tension between the brothers.
The prince looks up at the king. The king and two kingsguard stationed on either side of the throne look down at him. Viserys clenches his sword, "and where have you been?"
Daemon scoffs, aimlessly looking around, "have you summoned me to nag?" He clasps his hand in front of him, leaning on one foot, "I already have a wife for that."
His brother laughs, hard. It echoes across the hall, but it is by no means genuine, "I would not have ever known with all the time you waste in brothels."
Daemon grinds his teeth, face contorting, "so you've summoned me to reb-"
"Did you say it?" Viserys snaps.
"... what?"
"An heir for a day— did you say it?!"
"..."
The king's nostrils flare.
"... we must all mourn in our own way, your grace."
Viserys sighs, lowering his head in defeat for a second, then erupts, "MY FAMILY HAS BEEN DESTROYED!" He seethes, "and instead of staying at mine, or Rhaenyra's side you celebrate your own rise with your whores and your lickspittles!
"And wife," he scoffs, "your poor wife... do you even know that your mount has injured her?"
Daemon stiffens.
"She came to the pit looking for you and the beast caused her a bloody nose."
"What?"
"You chose her Daemon. And in choosing her you prove time and time again, I bend to your desires only to be repaid with disrespect. You have no other allies in court but me, yet-"
"You do nothing but distance me from court! From the City Watch, even with- with her... you do nothing but heed the whispers of that leaching old man."
"Leaching old man?" Viserys raises his brows.
Daemon nearly vibrates in anger.
"You mean Otto Hightower?" the king's lips curl, "the man who begged me—"
He laughs dryly.
"—over and back to spare her sickly daughter from enduring a lifetime with a the likes of you!"
Daemon is wounded, "I am your brother."
"Then why do you cut me so deep?"
"I see that man for what he is."
Viserys huffs, "a loyal and faithful-"
"A cunt!"
The king leans back. His kingsguard are ready to draw their steel. Viserys realizes there is no getting through to him. He looks away then turns back to glare at him, "jiōragon hen ñuha laehurlion." Get out of my face.
"Lēkia," Daemon steps forward, muttering the word that meant older brother.
The kingsguards step forward, showing a glimmer of their swords as a warning.
"I hear it is the first time your Hightower bride has been separated from her twin. It would do her health good to visit Oldtown."
He clenches his fists tightly.
"Perhaps she might get strong enough to grant you a child," he clenches his jaw, "maybe once the gods have granted you a boy or girl, you will understand my grief." Viserys motions with a nod, "you are to return to your lady wife with no quarrel. Take him out of my sight."
Daemon does not wait to be apprehended and storms out of the room. He is bristling as he gets out.
"Mazeman bona ziry gōntan daor jikagon sȳrī." I take that it did not go well.
Daemon turns and sees Corlys standing by the door, hands clasped in front of him.
"I wanted to speak to you of something important earlier today. I hope your mood is not too bad foul-"
"Ȳdragon se sagon gaomagon lēda bisa jenigon," Daemon snaps. Speak and be done with this bother.
Corlys straightens his back and motions with hand, "it is regarding the Stepstones, your grace."
Daemon furrows his brows, vaguely recalling this topic being broached during one of the council meetings. The two of them discuss this as they walk down the hall. By the time the prince reaches your shared quarters, he's agreed to help the Seasnake with his concern.
You leap from your bed when the door opens. Daemon freezes as you scurry to the door, hastily running to him without even putting on your slippers. You stand before him barefoot, heaving as you clutch your nightgown. He stares at you, hands clenching into fists.
"Usōvegon," your lips tremble.
Daemon's face falls a fraction as he watches your eyes water.
"Usōvegon," apologies, you repeat. "Please..." you slowly reach for him.
He watches your palms press against his chest. He makes no attempt to move.
"Do not be cross with me any longer."
A deep breath flares through his nostrils. He realizes then that he is exhausted and shuts his eyes. He leans his forehead on yours and takes your wrists. He huffs at your feel, "you are freezing."
"I-"
Daemon seals you into an embrace and the warmth of his body quickly seeps onto your much colder one. A shiver runs down your spine. You immediately wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his chest. He mimics you, brushing his cheek against your hair, taking in the faint smell of citrus. He remembers what his brother said and repeats it, "ñuha mijegindita ābrazȳrys." My poor wife.
You don't know what he says, so you make sure to tell him what wants to hear— what you think he wants to hear, "I will not defy you ever again."
He does not care about that. He pulls back and looks at you. He wipes the tears off your face and a line forms between his brows, "Caraxes attacked you?"
One of your hands instinctively comes to your philtrum, "no. I-" you shake your head, "I fell."
You don't know why you think Daemon would be satisfied with your answer. He presses, "tell me exactly what happened."
You huff, "I was... yesterday, I fainted—"
"Fainted?"
"—then I fell."
He shakes his head, "this happened in the dragon pit?"
"... no. When... when I was chasing after you."
Daemon brushes your hair back.
You cannot hold his gaze, "I went to the pit, hoping you'd be there and-" you realize you cannot tell him what happened. You cannot tell him you walked to his mount and his mount did not attack you because he could smell part of him in you. You huff, "-and Caraxes got close and knocked me over."
"Did he try to bite you?"
You debate for a second before shaking your head.
Daemon sighs, "he must have smelled me on you and got excited."
Your throat tightens. Goosebumps form on your arm when Daemon traces your nose with his thumb.
"And your nose bled?"
You do not want to answer.
He sighs, "I will reintroduce you to him, so that he does not act so-"
"It's not his fault!" you blurt, "not really."
He knits his brows.
"When I fainted and fell, my nose already bled, so..." you motion with a finger, "Caraxes simply... set off a previous injury."
He says absolutely nothing.
"My body is weak," you mumble, hoping to explain it better, "I've had worse injuries."
"Do you tell me this so that I will not bring you to Caraxes?"
"No," you shake your head, "no. Just... so you do not..." worry, you almost say, but then the idea feels presumptuous.
"Not fault my beast for acting like one?" Daemon asks, as he heads for his cabinet.
You look at him for a moment then follow. You decide to hum and proceed to help him get undressed.
Your husband examines your face. The moonlight mixed with candlelight makes your skin glow. He is loathe to think your tears add to it, but it's unfortunately true. Your being glistens because of all these things. He interrupts your unbuttoning by taking your cheeks and slowly wiping off the tears on your lashes.
You blink at him, "better?"
"Gevie," he says, brushing your throat with his thumbs.
You nod, though you still did not know what that meant. You push his doublet past his shoulders and once his dress shirt remained, he is quick to remove his shoes as you bring his clothes to the hamper. When you walk back to him, he is picking out clothes from his closet. You are deeply confused when he hands you a stack of shirts.
Daemon moves to his other cabinet and says, "pack those in my trunk for me."
You freeze and blink rapidly, "I-" you turn to his truck, which was atop his closet. Your heart races, "I cannot reach it."
Daemon pulls out more clothing before looking at you. You watch him closely as he stands and reaches for the trunk. He places it on the floor and opens it.
You slowly kneel on the floor beside it, doing your best to keep calm in this moment. Are you leaving? You nearly ask him, but you don't because he clearly is. You begin to fold his clothes, but you cannot hold your peace, "where are you going?"
Daemon stuffs his clothes into his trunk and sighs before crouching down to fix them, "the Stepstones."
"W-what?"
"The Seasnake needs help with the Crabfeeder, so I will help him."
"Why?" you blurt all too quickly.
Daemon straightens up. He looks down at you as you shake your head and quickly finish folding his clothes.
"Why must it be you?"
The voice of his brother rings in his mind. Do you carry such low regard of him just as he? "Why can't it be me?" he snaps, "you think I will be of no help?"
He is taken aback by how you chuck his clothes into his trunk rather aggressively. His face begins to harden with anger but then you make a noise and lean into the trunk, heaving deeply in and out.
"Wha-"
You cut him off by reaching for his legs. He is frozen in place as you embrace him from where you knelt on the floor.
Whatever choler was building in him quickly dissipates and morphs into... fear, or rather, worry. He calls out your name, reaching for your head.
"You cannot leave me," you shudder, gripping his calves for dear life. You look up at him, face wholly distraught but not teary. You find yourself too tired to shed a tear.
Cannot leave you? He does not like the way you imply he would be unable to if he wanted. Daemon watches you as you slowly bring yourself up to a stand. He does not help you as you pull yourself up using his legs and waist.
Your hands remain gripping the sides of his shirt as you stare at him. You take in his stoic expression as you gather the nerve to repeat, "you cannot leave m-"
"And why can't I?" he quips as his insecurity gets ahead of himself.
You hear it in his voice. You hear how he thinks you're challenging him. You shake your head and correct yourself, "n-no," you shudder, "no, Daemon, no. I- I want you to stay." You brush your palms up his chest.
He can feel the tremble of your hands as they come to his cheeks. He knit his brows at your confession. He has to ask, "why?"
You could tell him many reasons. The one possibly most relevant to him is that of the fact you were carrying his unborn child. A shiver runs down your spine; you are not foolish enough to believe this would be something that would make him want to stay. You could always tell him you needed him, your health needed him, because it was true. As much as he clawed your fragile heart, he made it soar in ways you've never experienced. But there was a rather simpler truth to that need, though attached to a very complicated feeling, "because I love you."
Daemon's expression falls. Though his lips barely part, you can tell that he is gobsmacked. You release a shaky breath as you swipe his chin and jaw with the pads of your thumbs.
Should he be so shocked? Love in a marriage is not so uncommon, even if it is arranged, even if it felt opposite in the beginning.
So, what?
What was your love to him? It would wax and wane like his brother's— and his brother, his fucking brother. He could not grant him the satisfaction. Daemon takes you by the wrists and slowly pries you off, "you are mistaken."
You take a deep breath at his words. You are perfectly still.
"I do not feel the same," he mutters.
Daemon was not one to lie, convinced such an act was beneath him, reserved for incapable, lesser men; half-wits, and yellow-bellies. The only reason he could say this was because the cup in which you held your love for him was far deeper than the one he had for you, and he was aware of it. He loved himself far more than he could ever bring himself to love anyone; he would always be first.
Still, he was not an incapable, lesser man, nor was he a half-witted yellow-belly. He knew of the cup he held, which oft overflowed. The mere thought of you triggered a smell in the air, and at the mention of your name, his bones ignited. You were his, and you held his regard, his affection, his lust, and, yes, his love.
All of this, he was about to explain, but then your reaction blind-sided him.
You nod, "I know."
How terrible it was to hear it. He knew his words where callous. He knew wuch an admission is a gash from a jagged blade— to not be loved by who you loved. Yet your casual resignation to this information stung, nay, scorched his heart.
Is it cold? Is his love so dry you cannot even feel it?
His grip on you falters.
You bring your hands to his shoulders. You rub his bicep and smile softly in reassurance, "I do not mind."
"What?"
Your smile widens a fraction, "I know you enjoy the... delicateness of my body, both intimately and-" you motion to yourself, "-regarding my affliction."
He knits his brows.
"It is wholly contrary to yours, and it is mirthful to you," you nod again, "I understand."
"Do you?" he raises his furrowed brows.
You slowly loosen your hold on him. You pull away to fidget with your fingers, "do I not?"
"No," he scoffs under his breath, chest tightening far too much he has to move past you, "I don't think you do."
You are quick to grab him but it slips, "then make me understand."
Daemon stops in his tracks, turning back to you as his breathing picks up.
Your own does the same, but your gasps get shorter and shorter, so much so, you feel yourself get lightheaded. Your husband has to grab you to keep you upright, but you want to show him you have the will to overcome this, that you aren't dead weight, so push him away and mutter, "I- I can do it, Daemon."
He misinterprets you. You scorch him again. He squeezes your arms, "you don't want my help now?"
"No," you say as try to catch your breath, "I- I just-" you cannot continue.
Daemon has to sit you down to help calm you down. He tried to keep you upright, but then he realizes you were consciously trying to lean into his chest, so he lets you. You press your cheek against his warm muscles and sigh at the beat of his heart. You wrap your arms around him, "I want this."
He stares at your brown hair for a moment.
"I want all of this," you sigh, "which is why I want to be what you want me to be."
He finally lets himself embrace you, but just then, you pull away to look at him.
"I can do it," you nod as you take a final deep breath, "I can be a dutiful wife— I will be a dutiful wife. I will not defy you. I will do as you please. I will not expect more than I ought."
"You cannot do everything for me," Daemon says with slight contempt, a line between his brows.
"I-" you shake your head, "... I know," you shake your head faster, taking his hands, "but can I make you stay?"
He looks at how you hold him. He feels sick.
"What can I do to ma-"
"You do not understand," he pulls his hand away, "my brother wants me to leave. He is sick of me and prays for my riddance."
You watch as Daemon stands and paces around.
"He told me to bring you to your twin in Oldtown, and I would sooner eat Caraxes' shit than be tossed aside to the fucking Reach."
You shake your head, "why does he want you to leave?"
"He is weepy over the drunken words I spoke."
"Well, what did you-"
"Does it matter?!" he snaps, raising his hands, "I must leave!"
He is clearly upset. You nod your head and come to a stand, "then I will speak to the k-"
"No!" he shouts, "I will not have my wife act on my behalf, as though I rolled my belly."
"You are not rolling your belly, I am."
"You think there is a fucking difference?!" he quips, marching in front of you, "no! I am to leave in the dawn, so pack my fucking things, woman!"
You grit your teeth in an attempt to steel yourself away. It does not prevent the tears from running down your cheeks.
Daemon's nostrils flare as you go back to his trunk and sort out his clothes. He hears your soft whimpers and slowly begins to deflate. He wipes his face, slowly turning to you. He watches tears drop onto his garbs, "have you nothing to say?"
You sniffle and shake your head rapidly.
"No?!" his expression pinches.
You stand and grab the rest of this clothes. You sniffle with difficulty then sigh deeply. Your voice is shaky, "I want only to please you."
Daemon chuckles dryly, aimlessly looking around, "you think this pleases me?"
"Then tell me what will!" you whip your head around, clutching his clothes tightly in your arms, "I implore you." You step forward and haphazardly drop everything to his trunk, "I cannot please you if you refuse to tell me what you want."
"I want to go to the fucking Stepstones!" he points to nowhere.
You are shattered. How terrible of him to make it so painfully clear that what he wants does not even involve you. He does not want you, or even if he did, you cannot be enough. You lower your gaze.
"I want you to beg me to stay."
You look up at him. You chuckle dryly under your breath when you realize he's being serious. Your sorrow is not enough, it seems, now he wants even your shame.
Daemon tenses when you get on your knees.
You grip the fabric of his trousers as tightly as possible in an attempt to steel yourself, but it does not prevent your tears from falling. You shudder, "please."
"..."
"Stay. I beg you."
Your prince gazes upon your bitterness. He brushes your cheek and feels the coldness of your tears. He sighs because this does not affect him the way he had hoped.
It is not enough.
Dawn breaks, and Caraxes is restless. Daemon's things were being secured on his dragon, but that is not why so many dragon keepers had to keep him in check.
There, by the entrance, you stood with your hands clasped together and your head hung low. Both your wards behind you, eyeing your prince, who was doing his best to calm his ride as the last of his things were readied. Daemon did not know Caraxes was acting this way because of your distress, but the keepers slowly began to realize this was the case.
One of the keepers call out, "ñuha dārilaros, aōha ābrazȳrys." My prince, your wife.
"Rȳbagon, Caraxes!" Daemon snaps at his dragon to listen. Caraxes shakes his head and the prince spares the dragon keeper a glance, "skoros hen zirȳla?" What of her?
"Aōha zaldrīzes kostagon yknagon zirȳla boter." Your dragon can smell her suffering.
The prince turns to you, back to Caraxes, "iksis ziry zirȳla, Caraxes?" Is it her, Caraxes.
You lift your gaze when you hear Daemon call for you. He beckons you over and before you can move, Arryk grabs your arm and whispers, "I do not think this wise."
You slightly turn to him, "he will not harm me. You saw how Caraxes acted yesterday."
"It is not the dragon I worry about."
You look at the man, seeing how his jaw is clenched. You place a hand on his shoulder plate before walking towards your husband.
Rather immediately, there is a shift in Caraxes's demeanor. He huffs and screeches, neck coiling so his head could come near you. Daemon barks out multiple commands and his mount finally obeys.
The prince knits his brows then turns to you, reaching out a hand. You take it and find yourself pulled into your husband's arms. Your skin pricks with goosebumps when he whispers in your ear, "he wants you."
You sigh and close your eyes, resigning yourself to Daemon. He links his fingers into yours and places it atop his dragon's snout.
Caraxes sighs and slightly leans in.
Daemon is astounded by this, "I did not know he could possibly care for someone more than his rider."
You slowly open your eyes and look at the creatures ruby scales. "He does not," you mutter, rubbing one hand on your belly.
He does not hear this. When he turns you around, he catches you rubbing your stomach. He sighs and takes your hand, "do not weep so bitterly."
You cannot do anything but the opposite. Tears stream down your cheeks, "do not be so cruel then."
Daemon watches how your lips wobble. A line forms between his brows, "do not make this harder than it should."
You pull away from him and lower your gaze, "then just leave me now, and spare me the slow torture."
He tenses at your words. His expression hardens, "I did not ask you to see me off."
"Shall I leave then?" you snap, eyes red as you look back at him.
"Yes!"
You grab your skirt and walk towards the twins.
Daemon is stunned. He turns around and watches as you storm off. He calls your name, once, twice, and then he is sobered by the scream of Caraxes. You do not even stop by the entrance anymore, and walk past your kingsguards, who are quick to follow after you.
Here you were doing his bidding, following his wishes, yet there was no satisfaction. All there was... was less of you, less of your strength, your light, your fire.
Daemon turns to Caraxes, who was restless again. He pushes past the dragon keepers and saddles up. He orders Caraxes to start walking, so he does. The blood wrym begins to crawl towards you and the prince has to reel him back, barking out orders of obedience far too loudly.
Caraxes gives a loud screech before following the order. He huffs so deeply that the wind it produces makes you topple.
Your knights are quick to keep you upright, and though you so badly want to turn around, you remind yourself that your husband has done nothing but all he wants since you've wed. If he wanted you to stay, he would have told you.
You wouldn't know then that Daemon made Caraxes stop in his tracks. You wouldn't know that as he watched you walk off, he was mumbling under his breath that you turn around. You just kept walking yet he still waited for you to turn back, even after your figure had disappeared.
He would also never know that you headed down to the docks near the Keep, just to watch Caraxes fly away one last time. He would never know how your skin pricked with gooseflesh at the sight of the red winged beast soaring above. He would never know how hard it became for you to breathe.
"Gods, please," you mumble as your eyes endlessly watered, "swiftly return him to me."
Arryk and Erryk, stood on either side of you, glared at the sky as they heard your broken voice. They were on high alert as the docks were busy at this hour, and yet, it was necessary to convey their contempt, even if the person it was meant for could not see.
"Give me back my husband," you look at your reflection in the water, "or take me to my mother."
Before your words even register to either of the twins, you've already jumped into the water. Erryk nearly jumps in with you before realizing his armor would surely make him sink. "PRINCESS!" he screams as he undoes his armor.
"THE PRINCESS!" Arryk screams to the fisherman, "SHE'S FALLEN INTO THE WATER!"
The commotion is great. It is loud and frantic, yet as your body plunges and slowly begins to float, you care little. You feel someone fish you out of the water by the arm, and you want nothing more than to break free and swim towards your demise. But then, you hear your wards calling out your name, and you realize you cannot.
You say nothing once you are on land.
Both Cargylls has a hand on your arm, and each of them are worriedly questioning you, "are you alrigh- what happe- what were you thinki- are you faint- my princess-"
"I need to see him," you say.
Arryk and Erryk freeze. The look at each other, not knowing what to say. Arryk offers, "my princess. I fear you cannot see Dae-"
"Not him," you look between them as you gather your skirts. It is arduous, as it is soaking wet.
Otto was on his way back from the scrolls room when hears the shout from across the hall. He tenses like a rock at the recognition of his daughter's voice.
You hadn't realized how tired you were until you saw him. Your knees immediately buckle and you fall to the floor as you call out, "papa!"
The Lord Hand dashes to you, dropping the scrolls he had along the way. He gets on his knees and picks you up. He is aghast by your dripping state, and his anger is soon turned on your incompetent guards, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY GIRL?"
"Papa," you mutter once you are in his arms.
Otto cradles you, looking down at your sorry form. A deep line is between his brows.
"He left me," you whisper, tears wetting your already wet cheeks.
Daemon. Lord Hightower clenches his jaw. It's always fucking him. "Come, my girl," he mutters, trying to bring you to your feet, "let's get you-"
Your voice is soft, yet it still cuts him off, "you must not leave me."
Otto is frozen. Arryk and Erryk are frozen too.
"If you leave me too, I do not think I will survive."
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(Arcane Meta) Zaun Died with Silco
I want to open this by saying I understand people who are upset that there isn't more Piltover/Zaun conflict and resolution in S2 of Arcane. However, I'm going to argue here that the reason it's not in S2 after 2.03 is because the conflict is over. Piltover won. There is no more Zaun anymore as a potential political player and, ultimately, this comes back to haunt Piltover in their hour of need.
Overall, while I am invested in the Piltover/Zaun conflict, especially in S1, I'm less focused on Caitlyn and Vi's story which is our main lens for the conflict, or rather the end of the conflict, in S2. Still, I hope to offer my more Arcane worldbuilding-focused perspective. And just to get it out of the way, here are a few things I had trouble with:
I too was puzzled that anyone from the Undercity would join Piltover in the defense of the city.
I also thought it was strange to have Jayce focus on the threat that Viktor posed with his robots while soliciting help from the undercity, instead of on Ambessa, the more clear and understandable threat that would have made a better rallying point and allowed for a final discussion about the Noxian occupation of the undercity and how Noxus turning on Piltover was just them reaping what they sowed.
I was certainly taken aback when everyone was given Enforcer uniforms for the final fight.
That said, I believe there are answers to all three of these. From there, I want to dive into what exactly happened in S2 with Piltover vs. Zaun, to my eyes. Short version: there is no more "Zaun" as a potential nation or political player by 2.03 when the Chem Barons are taken out by Cait's forces, but it really died before that with Silco, who was already in a precarious negotiating situation himself and he knew it.
Very few people from the Undercity joined Piltover's defense of the city. Maybe a half dozen. I felt that was our moment of "you reap what you sow" for Piltover. A few passionate idealists who could see the bigger picture that saving Piltover does mean saving the undercity joined, but there were no hordes of volunteers. Piltover had lost the right to them and was substantially weakened for it.
Jayce choosing to focus on Viktor as the threat makes sense for him, but it was a poor political move and probably lost him volunteers he would have otherwise gained. The robot army threat is too esoteric and fantastical. "The Noxians turned on us and plan to conquer the city," is a threat that would have been better for rallying the troops, Jayce is just too single-minded to think of it. He's a bad politician.
The Enforcer uniforms are an odd sour note, but they do make sense as protective gear. Piltover doesn't have an army. There are no uniforms to give people. All they have is Enforcer uniforms. It is an odd note symbolically, but practically speaking it shows how little time Piltover had to prepare. Piltover is a civilian city going up against a military force like Noxus. They are woefully underprepared and really only have their status as defender in urban fighting to give them a prayer of even stalling the Noxian forces. Ironically, Piltover's only hope against Noxus mirrors Zaun's only hope against Piltover if they had gone to war: the difficult nature of urban fighting against an entrenched, motivated opponent on their home turf.
Now, to get into, "What happened to the overall Piltover vs. Zaun fight?" I get why people think it's lacking in S2, and I get why people find it horrifying that there is no independent Zaun at the end, all we've got is Sevika with one seat on the Council, as far as we can tell but I would point out:
Zaun is dead at this point. It's been dead since 2.03. Arguably, it really died with Silco.
As Jinx said, she didn't just destroy her own family, she cursed an entire society when she launched that rocket into the Council Chamber.
Here's the thing, Jayce was actually right when he said Zaun wouldn't stand a chance in an outright war with Piltover.
Yes, Zaun has a lot of brawlers. They have Shimmer and the Shimmer berserkers.
But Zaun doesn't have any sort of organized fighting force beyond the guards of individual Chem Barons and their factories.
What Zaun has is the fissures. It has ugly, difficult urban fighting in dangerous spaces. But as a counter to that, we have the fact that their ventilation is controlled from Piltover. In a true all-out war, Piltover could in theory just flush out the entire undercity using the Gray. Having your infrastructure entirely dependent on an enemy oppressor is what I would call a "fatal flaw" in any defensive military strategy, particularly when what they can cut off is the air you breathe. That's easily game over right there unless Silco has a way to circumvent that.
In a guerilla war, Zaun could probably hold out for a long, grinding, ugly civil war made up of mostly guerrilla attacks, in which a great number of innocent civilians will die, even in an all-out conflict with Piltover. But it would suffer catastrophic losses and probably still lose in the end.
Now, Jayce is I think somewhat naive in his claim Zaun doesn't stand a chance. Maybe Zaun wouldn't stand a chance in the long run, but they'd make Piltover pay for every inch with blood. They'd grind Piltover down into a shadow of its former self, force them to sacrifice all of their principles. To some extent, I think Jayce gets that, he gets that he doesn't want more kids to die, but I think even he underestimates just how ugly that war would be and how long it would go and how unrecognizable his Piltover would be by then.
The moment that gives Silco pause in Jayce's assessment of how easily Zaun would be crushed isn't the fighting. Silco is pretty confident that they could make Piltover pay and he's arguably looking forward to the chance on some level.
What gives him pause is when Jayce says the Council doesn't care.
To some extent, Silco like any revolutionary against an oppressive "civilized" society (heavy, heavy emphasis on the air quotes there) is that a certain point, Piltover is so soft-hearted they will get tired of the bloodshed.
What Jayce just told Silco is that the Council is more barbaric than even Silco maybe appreciated, for all their vaunted principles. There isn't necessarily a limit to how many Zaunite children will die before Piltover decides to cease hostilities. Knowing what Silco knows of Piltover's brutality, I think that is a sobering moment for Silco. That's when he decides this really is the best time to negotiate.
(Aside, this is by the way where Vi is wrong about Silco, driven by her emotions. Silco is willing to set aside the feud to get his nation of Zaun, he can be negotiated with. He's just not willing to give up his daughter (something Vi can't possibly understand at this point).)
Here's why it's the best time for Silco to negotiate and it ties into everything else:
Without Shimmer, which has been severely hampered by the raid on the factory, Zaun doesn't have anything to counter Hextech.
Jinx's wild attacks against Piltover has helped put the pressure on them that Silco capitalizes on. But it is a paper-thin threat. She is a lone albeit devastating terrorist. She makes Zaun appear more dangerous than it is but that can't last forever. Silco has leveraged her attacks into a pressure campaign against Piltover, but a serious response from Piltover (as seen in 2.03 with the strike team corners and very nearly captures her) could reveal just how fragile that threat is.
Basically, Zaun has some champions, arguably a league of legends lol, but it doesn't have an army. It doesn't even have Enforcers of its own. It doesn't have a concerted force of any kind.
The money is running out. As "Sucker" shows us in 2.02, each Chem Baron that gets taken out means less money on the table, and we're down 2 by the beginning of S2 with Silco and Finn, who arguably both fell to internal fighting.
As the Chem Barons say in 2.02, even if they got total unity in Zaun, they're outnumbered.
However, they don't have total unity in Zaun. They can't even get the Chem Barons to agree on what to do on one topic, with Jinx.
Silco basically has to accept the deal with Jayce when he does, while Zaun appears to be at its strongest. Because if he had waited any longer, the fact that they don't have the strength or money to back it up would have become apparent.
Furthermore, once Jayce resigns from the Council, which he was planning to do anyway regardless of Jinx's attack, would mean Zaun would lose its one champion with the political capital to give them independence. The window for Zaun independence is actually extremely narrow.
With Silco's death and Jinx's attack on the Council, then the subsequent eradication of the other Chem Barons, their resources, their money, including Shimmer which was the only thing Zaun really had to match them against Hextech in that arms race, there really isn't a Zaun anymore.
There's no one to negotiate with. No one to hand power to. No force that can govern itself. Zaun is completely fractured with the eradication of the Chem Barons. By taking them out, Cait removed the need for Piltover to negotiate with Zaun. And the reason Piltover chose not to was because of Jinx's rocket and then the attack on the memorial, which was orchestrated by Ambessa.
This is all according to Ambessa's design, by the way. She divides Piltover/Zaun against themselves by capitalizing on Jinx's attack. She leaves both severely weakened to make it easier for her to take over, and Piltover walks right into the trap. They would have fallen to Noxus if not for Mel's love of the city, even if you remove Viktor and Jayce's plotline entirely.
TL;DR Zaun is gone, guys. It's a distant dream. Sevika is the only person with an interest in making it happen anymore and she can't even get the Jinxers to listen to her. All the factions are easily arrested at the rally. Piltover has no reason to negotiate with any of these people. As the lone torchbearer for that cause, it makes sense for Sevika to be on the Council but beyond her, there is literally no one else to give a voice to (since Ekko doesn't appear to have an interest).
At least, until the Noxians turn on them, and then there's an interest in Piltover and the undercity joining forces, but as I referenced at the beginning of this, Piltover has now lost the right to the undercity's help AND lacks the undercity's resources too. Now Noxus has Shimmer instead of Piltover or Zaun, in addition to their sophisticated and expertly trained military force. As Jayce said, they were meant to lose this fight. Arguably, they never had a chance of winning if not for Mel claiming the loyalty of the Noxians in the wake of her mother's death and everything Jayce did to stop Viktor and the Hexcore.
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Thanks for ur answers on the dbf!rafe asks, I’m loving them sm 😍😍 ur so talented!! How do u think reader’s dad would eventually react if he found out abt rafe and reader? 😳😳 not like I would want that to happen but I’m just so curious abt what would happen, I know he’d be pissed but like how would he react specifically
a/n— you’re so messy for this and thank you for the kind words <3
You knew it was only a matter of time before your secret with Rafe came out. The stolen glances, the way he lingered just a bit too long at family gatherings, and the late night “errands” you claimed to be running together, it was all bound to unravel eventually. But you hadn’t expected it to happen like this.
Your dad’s voice thundered through the house, shaking the very walls. “You’re what with Rafe?!”
You flinched at the volume, but Rafe stood his ground beside you, calm and composed as ever. His hand rested lightly on your lower back, a silent reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Dad, calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Calm down?!” your dad repeated, his face heated with disbelief. “My little girl? Really, Rafe?” His gaze turned to Rafe, livid. “You’re supposed to be family, and this is what you do? You go behind my back, with my daughter?”
“Look, I understand how this looks—” Rake spoke, his tone measured but firm.
“How this looks?!” your dad barked, stepping closer to him. “This is disgusting! She’s half your age. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Dad,” you interrupted, stepping between them. “It’s not like that. He didn’t take advantage of me. I’m an adult, and I wanted this too.”
Your dad’s eyes darted to you, betrayal etched across his face. “You’re defending him? You’ve been sneaking around with my best friend, and you think I’m just going to be okay with this?”
Rafe’s jaw clenched, but he kept his tone steady. “I’m not here to cause problems. I care about her. This isn’t some fling. I’m serious about her.”
“Serious? With my daughter? You’ve known her since she was a kid, Rafe. Do you even hear yourself?” your dad said, letting out a bitter laugh.
“I know how it sounds,” Rafe admitted, his voice low. “But she’s not a kid anymore, and my feelings for her are real. I’d never hurt her.”
“Your feelings?” your dad spat. “You’re my best friend. How long has this been going on? How long have you been fucking my daughter behind my back?”
“Dad, stop!” you said, your voice shaking. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me and Rafe. I love him.”
Your dad’s expression twisted with disbelief and anger. “Love? You think this is love? He’s taking advantage of you, and you’re too blind to see it.”
“I would never take advantage of her, you know that’s not me. I care about her more than anything, and I’d do whatever it takes to prove that to you,” Rafe said as he stepped forward, his calm demeanor cracking slightly
“Prove it?” your dad snapped, his voice rising again. “You already betrayed me, Rafe. There’s no coming back from this. I should kill you.”
There was a tense silence before your dad sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Dad,” you started softly, stepping closer to him, “I know this is hard for you, but Rafe isn’t what you’re making him out to be. He’s good to me. He makes me happier than anyone else ever has.”
Your dad looked between you and Rafe, his anger simmering under the surface. Finally, he pointed a shaking finger at Rafe. “You’d better take care of her, because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it. I’ll fucking kill you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Rafe said firmly, his gaze unwavering.
Your dad shook his head, his face a mixture of hurt and fury. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, walking out of the room.
The silence that followed was deafening. Rafe turned to you, his hand brushing against your arm. “That could’ve gone worse,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
You gave him a small, shaky smile. “Much worse.”
“You’re worth every risk,” he murmured, tilting your chin to his lips.
“And you’re worth every argument,” you whispered, leaning into his kiss.
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Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞
(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)
First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.
What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.
honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍
lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙
my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍
I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞
now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️🩹
I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️🩹❤️🩹
this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.
And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.
everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3
It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓
a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖
Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕
I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞
Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.
This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞
(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)
Smoke Eater - Part 11
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.
Part 11: “Heart of the Home”
You sat very still.
Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.
You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.
But your life had never been quite that easy.
“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.
He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.
The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.
George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.
“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”
George thanked him.
And you sat very still.
A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.
His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.
“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”
You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.
Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.
Your fault.
When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.
“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.
“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”
George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.
“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”
“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”
George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.
You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.
“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.
“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.
He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”
“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”
“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.
“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.
You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”
“Is there something going on?” he pressed.
You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.
“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.
You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.
“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.
Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”
You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.
You could no longer be still.
Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.
Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.
He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.
“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.
“Normally?” you echoed.
“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”
“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.
George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”
“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”
At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.
Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”
“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.
Benton met the other man’s gaze.
“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”
Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.
Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.
“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.”
You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.
“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.
Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”
And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.
He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.
“Okay,” you breathed.
“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.
“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.
“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”
“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”
“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”
Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.
“That you do, Lieutenant.”
You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.
Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.
“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.
“Come ‘ere a sec.”
Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.
“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.
George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.
“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”
Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.
Dean’s lips quirked.
“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”
Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”
George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.
She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.
“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”
Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.
“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”
He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.
Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.
Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.
Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.
“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”
“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”
“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”
“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”
“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”
Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”
“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”
Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.
“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Cas.”
Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.
Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.
So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.
Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.
However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.
While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.
“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.
“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.
“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.
It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.
On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast.
“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.
However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.
“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”
She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.
“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”
You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.
“Nothing.”
Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”
“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.
“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.
Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.
“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.
“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”
Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.
“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”
“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”
By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”
“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”
You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.
Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.
All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.
She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.
But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.
By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.
Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.
He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.
“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”
Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.
“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.
“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.
“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”
That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.
Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.
George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.
“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.
“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.
“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.
“Just some water,” the older man replied.
“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”
“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.
“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.
When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.
“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”
Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.
“Tell me,” he said.
“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”
Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.
That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.
But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…
He realized that he only had one answer.
“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.
George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”
And that night, an agreement was made.
In the morning, your grandfather was gone.
Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.
In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.
This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.
But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry.
He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.
So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.
And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.
“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.
He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.
Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”
You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.
“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”
Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”
You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.
“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.
“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”
“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”
Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.
“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”
You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.
“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.
Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.
Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.
“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.
You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.
You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.
“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”
“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part.
“I’m not leaving you with this.”
Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat.
“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.
For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes.
He’s not leaving you.
Not like everyone else in your life.
You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.
When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.
It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.
“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”
Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.
“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”
“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart.
“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”
You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.
Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.
Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.
He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.
Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.
But he couldn’t leave you.
I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”
A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.
“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”
You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.
Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”
With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.
“That matters to me,” he told you.
You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”
Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.
“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”
You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.
“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand.
“For what?” he asked.
“For staying.”
AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.
But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.
Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙
Next Time:
The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...
You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.”
Dean smiled.
“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”
You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.
Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.
“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.
Keep Reading: PART 12
Dean Winchester Masterlist
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I really like analyzing Varigo, one thing I've noticed recently is how different their approach to romance (and human connections in general) really is, but also how they're pretty much the perfect foils in this regard.
Varian grew up sheltered away in their mansion. He didn't have much clue about socializing, so when Rapunzel came to him, he gives all of them proper respect (calling Rapunzel "Princess", Eugene "Flynn Rider", as in the full name). You could assume it's because of his dad; later when the two confronted each other, Varian called him "Sir". Probably because Quiring taught him to be respectful of others, and they both clearly take this social rule rather seriously.
So then Cassandra comes in and saves Varian, for apparently no selfish reasons. She likely just didn't want to have a child get crushed when she could've prevented it, but to Varian, this changes his view on people. Cassandra isn't just a distant figure to respect; instead, someone he could have a connection with. And this is where one of Varian's most essential traits come to light: when comfortable, he treats situations like an experiment. He immediately starts calling her by a nickname, "Cassie", to see how she would react. At the day of the expo, he keeps trying out different tactics, trying to essentially just get close to Cassandra. One could Interpret this romantically, but I personally like to think he just really wanted a friend. A lonely kid, seeing someone cool show any kind of affection for him immediately made him go "there could be something here! I need to find out!", and so he does. In his own, nerdy way.
Hugo, on the other hand. He, unlike Varian, grew up having to socialize all the time. Having to talk his way out of situations constantly, he learned to put up walls so that the most desirable results come out, benefiting him and his missions. When he weasels his way into the Team, he also calls them nicknames. In his case, it stems from a need to distance himself from people, so that he doesn't get attached. One slight exception though is Varian, as Hugo seemingly not only uses nicknames on him to keep up built-up walls, but to get a reaction out of him. This is very similar to how Varian approached Cassandra when he was younger. He's interested in Varian from early on, and he handles this in his good old Hugo fashion, because he finds Varian entertaining. Varian at first doesn't trust Hugo, but when he proves himself trustworthy, he gives in. He's willing to reach out, making Hugo more than a means to an end. Eventually, the two become friends! Then more than friends!
And then, their approaches change.
I'd like to think that it was Hugo, who fell first. Or at the very least, he's the first to realize it, and he HATES THIS. His flight or flight is activated, and he really wants to flee. He's the type to ignore his feelings, try to bury them. That's all he knows how to do, really. Especially because for what could be the first time in his life, he's actually falling for someone who is his friend. Someone who means a lot to him! He wouldn't want to ruin things, especially because he knows that betraying Variant will break the guy's heart, once he finds out. Therefore, the less pain, the better.
Varian is the exact opposite of this. It takes him a long time to figure out what he feels, and that it could be romantic (he didn't exactly have the history with romance before. The "puppy crush" on Cassandra could have easily been more of an obsession with the possibility of someone showing affection towards him). But once he realizes that there's a chance that the two could be a thing? He doesn't have to think hard about what his next step should be: he likes Hugo, and he's a scientist. Trial and error is practically in his blood at this point, so if there's even a small possibility of them getting together? That Hugo likes him back? Varian will do anything to find out how probable his theory is. And so, once again, he treats the situation like an experiment. Wasting no time, he tries to confess or bring up the idea as quickly as possible. And Hugo FREAKS OUT. He's not ready!
Varian's other big trait is his stubbornness. He's not satisfied with an uncertain answer. He wants to know Hugo's view on them, as clearly as possible. So he keeps poking around, trying to find an approach that brings out different reactions, different answers as to why Hugo would be scared of them being together. Again. Really similar to how he treated Cassandra at the expo back then. This is the only way he knows how, though. And he needs clear answers.
He gets one at the last trial. Boom. Heartbreak. This isn't about angst though, so I'll end it here.
I find them so interesting. How their upbringing influenced their view and approach to people, to friendship, to romance. To each other. They are both scientists, but one is more afraid of the results than the other.
So it all boils down to the importance of clear communication: another big theme in Vat7k, what with Ulla and Donella setting an example as what not to do.
I could ramble about these characters for ages, but yeah. This is my view on them, I loooove reading different Interpretations in fan fiction though!
#vat7k#varian and the seven kingdoms#tangled the series#tts#tts varian#Varigo#hugo vat7k#varian and the 7 kingdoms
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