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imaginespazzi · 4 months ago

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Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 15

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now- instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it.

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt.

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it.

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed.

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night.

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms.

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby.

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while.

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress.

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had.

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her.

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers.

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh.

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.”

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together.

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest.

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

***

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights.

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly.

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves.

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat.

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft.

And then it happened again.

And again.

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance.

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was.

It was fear.

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship.

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend.

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water.

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes.

But not like this.

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart.

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper.

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body.

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds.

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it.

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread.

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream.

“I can’t,” she says.

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls.

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean.

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air.

If I become your fiancé.

“I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement.

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life.

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly.

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop.

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue.

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows.

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal.

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved.

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence.

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence.

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night.

But Paige walks away.

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her.

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late.

***

June 2033

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama.

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life.

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces.

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family.

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be.

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter.

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement.

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues.

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby.

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken.

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully.

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York.

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines.

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it.

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time.

It’s Paige.

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Paige, who’s here.

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car.

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards.

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare.

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently.

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her.

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile.

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long.

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart.

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes.

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout.

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto.

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives.

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces.

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen.

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her.

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle.

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation.

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope.

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink.

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something.

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs.

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grasp, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her.

“Mama?” Stephie presses.

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple.

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman.

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly.

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches.

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her.

“What about New York?” she asks finally.

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly, “I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks.

“You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter.

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it.

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her.

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart.

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips.

“So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot.

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks.

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms.

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything.

Because now she finally has everything.

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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briefinquiries · 3 months ago

Text

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 16

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 16

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Tommy waits by your bedside in the hospital, wracked with guilt, blaming himself for every bruise, every wound, haunted by the possibility that he almost lost you. When you finally wake, the damage is done, and though you're alive, the injuries you’ve suffered may not fade so easily.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetaphobia.

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me this long. I'm actually going to be so sad when I finish up this story, this has been such a good escape for me lately. All your messages and replies have seriously been making my entire day, so it's all very much appreciated. Enjoy chapter 16 & all it's angst and fluff :)

(Also, a few people have asked to be added to a tag list, I don't really do a tag list when I post, but maybe that's something I can look to do at some point!)

The car skidded to a stop, the tires screeching against the wet pavement outside the hospital.

Tommy was out of the car before it had even fully stopped, his arms locked around you, unwilling to let go for even a second.

Your body was limp in his arms, your head lolling against his chest, skin burning with fever, clothes soaked with blood and filth. You had passed out on the way here, your body slumping against his chest, your breath shallow, uneven.

He’d said your name, shaken you gently, but you never stirred. Not when he spoke softly against your ear. Not when he tucked your face against his neck and told you he was getting you out of this. And now– now, you weren’t moving at all.

Arthur was already out of the car and shouting for help, his voice carrying over the storm of Tommy’s thoughts.

Within moments, nurses and orderlies rushed out, their expressions shifting from concern to alarm the second they saw you.

“She needs a doctor.” Tommy’s voice was low, sharp, commanding, but there was something wavering beneath it, something teetering on the edge of breaking.

A nurse stepped forward. “Sir,” she reached out carefully, gesturing towards the stretcher.

Tommy didn’t move. He didn’t loosen his grip– couldn’t. His heart pounded in his chest. They wanted him to let you go. To give you up. To trust them– when he had no trust left to give.

“Sir, please. Step back.” The voice was firm, urgent. But the words barely registered.

All Tommy could see was your face– drained of color, bruised, unconscious in his arms. And when the nurses moved in, hands reaching for you, he jerked his shoulder and knocked one away, his elbow nudging another aside as he twisted, keeping you tight against his chest.

The nurses stumbled back, startled. One of them raised their hands cautiously.

“Sir, if you want her to live, you have to let us do our jobs.”

Tommy grimaced. Because if he let go– if he let them take you, then he had nothing left but hope. And hope wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder, hard.

“Tom–” Arthur’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Let ‘em take her. They’re the only ones who can help her.”

Tommy’s breath hitched, his grip unwavering.

“I left her before– she needs me,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Arthur exhaled sharply, his hands digging into Tommy’s arms. “Right now, she needs a doctor, Tom. You’ll be waitin’ for her soon as they’re done. We all will.”

Tommy’s jaw locked, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“Christ sake– look at her,” Arthur pressed, his own voice cracking slightly. “You can’t fix this, Tom.”

The words cut deep. But they weren’t wrong. And Tommy knew it.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip. The second his arms unraveled from around you, the nurses took you, and the moment your body left his hands, it felt like something inside him ripped apart. The air vanished from his lungs. A sharp, visceral pain tore through him. Something he couldn’t name. Something he couldn’t stop. He staggered forward– instinct, refusal.

But Arthur was there in an instant, shoving him back. “Tommy, let her go. Let her go.” His brother’s voice was low, urgent.

Just then, another car pulled up. The familiar sound of tires skidded against the pavement. Tommy barely registered it, his mind still fixated on your disappearing form. The car door swung open, and John climbed out, his coat still damp from the rain. He took one look at Tommy, his shirt covered in dirt and blood. Then he looked at Arthur and the scene unfolding in front of them. “Jesus Christ.” His breath came sharp. “Is she– ?”

Arthur turned, exhaling hard through his nose. “They’ve got her. She’s inside.”

John’s jaw ticked, his eyes darkening.

And just like that, the waiting began.

…

Hours passed. Tommy wasn’t sure how many. Time felt irrelevant.

The hands of the clock on the hospital wall moved, but the world outside didn’t exist beyond the walls of the waiting room.

He sat unmoving, elbows on his knees, jaw ticked, staring at the floor. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, the smoke curling toward the ceiling, forgotten.

John and Arthur were still there, though their restless pacing had slowed. Polly had arrived not long after, her face like stone, her presence heavy with unspoken concern. Ada sat beside her, arms crossed, her leg bouncing restlessly.

Esme had shown up at some point, hovering near the back with John, arms folded tightly, expression unreadable. Conversations flickered between the others, low murmurs filling the space, though none of them spoke directly to Tommy.

“Doctors are taking too fucking long,” John muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Arthur exhaled sharply, restless, agitated. “Shoulda’ found our own doctor.”

“She was our bloody doctor,” Esme scoffed, arms still folded tightly, expression unreadable.

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. John’s jaw tightened, his shoulders tense. He didn’t look at Esme, but she wasn’t wrong.

Polly, sitting rigidly in her chair, pressed her fingers to her temple. “We wait. That’s all we can do.”

A beat of silence. Then Arthur let out a harsh exhale, pacing again, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck’s sake.”

Esme leaned forward. “Where was she?”

Arthur exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Old textile mill. Near the canal.” His voice was still raw, like saying it out loud made it real all over again.

Polly frowned, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s a fucking miracle we found her at all.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Stuffed in a basement. No light. No heat. No way out.” He huffed.

Esme shook her head. “Jesus. And Campbell?”

Arthur shrugged. “Where we left him.”

“Six feet under.” John rolled his neck, exhaling. “I’m glad that fucker’s dead. I hope he suffered.”

Arthur scoffed. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”

Esme arched her brow. “Not enough? What more do you want?’”

Arthur shook his head, but his lips twitched. “You didn’t see her, Esme,” he muttered, voice tight. His pacing slowed, and for the first time since they arrived, his anger dimmed, just slightly, not gone, just simmering beneath the surface. “You didn’t see what that bastard did to her.”

Esme’s arms were still folded tightly, but something shifted in her expression. She had seen plenty of violence. Plenty of cruelty. But there was something in Arthur’s tone, in the way his jaw clenched like he was grinding his teeth to dust, that made her pause.

John exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Well, at least it’s done. Campbell’s gone.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Still gotta deal with Moss, though.”

Arthur grunted. “Fuckin’ right, we do.”

Esme’s brow lifted. “Moss?”

John nodded. “He was the one who tipped Tommy off.”

Esme scoffed. “And what does he want for that favor?”

John smirked, but there was no real amusement behind it. “Just a nice bag of cash and protection from Campbell’s ghost.”

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms. “Like we needed another bloody deal on our hands.”

Polly, who had been silent, finally spoke. “We’ll deal with it,” she said, her tone flat.

John leaned back slightly, rubbing his jaw. “Doesn’t change the fact we owe the bastard.” He exhaled sharply.

Arthur grunted. “Right. And what we really need right now is another fucking problem.”

“That’s not what’s important right now,” Polly replied.

The conversation continued, their voices flickering between grumbling and reluctant acceptance.

But Tommy still hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even moved. His elbows were still braced against his knees, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

Ada noticed before the others. Quietly, she stood and moved to sit beside him– close, but not intrusive. His suit was stiff with dried blood, his hair unruly. His hands looked like they had been clenched into fists for hours.

Ada sighed softly. After a moment, her voice came soft, measured. “Tommy.”

He didn’t look at her– didn’t even acknowledge her.

Ada pressed her lips together, watching him carefully. “You need to eat,” she said quietly. “Change your clothes.”

Nothing.

Ada studied him for a long moment, her voice even softer now. “It’s been eight hours, Tommy.”

Still, he didn’t move. She swallowed, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled against his knees like he was holding himself together with sheer force of will.

“You need rest,” she murmured. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t react at all. But then, he inhaled sharply and held it. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to see it. She saw the way his jaw tensed harder, how the muscles in his throat tightened, and the smallest tremor rippled through his fingers.

And then, without a word, he put his head in his hands, not before Ada caught the faintest glisten in his eyes– gone before anyone else could notice. But she saw it. And she didn’t say anything. She just reached out, placed a gentle, steadying hand on his back, pretending she didn’t feel the way he silently trembled beneath her touch.

The hours stretched on, slow and suffocating.

Outside, the night bled into morning, the city stirring with the first signs of life, but inside the hospital, time felt frozen.

Tommy hadn’t moved. Ada stayed beside him.

Arthur and John had shifted between pacing and sitting, muttering under their breaths, then falling silent again. Polly had remained still as stone, unreadable, though her fingers occasionally twitched against her knee, betraying her tension. Esme had eventually left, tasked with checking in on Carl and Finn, who’d both been left with the maids.

The not knowing was unbearable.

Until finally, a nurse appeared in the doorway, her uniform crisp, her expression calm but focused. Every head in the room snapped up. Tommy was on his feet before she spoke.

“She’s stable.”

A breath, a collective exhale of tension, relief, fear still tangled within it.

“But,” the nurse continued, her gaze flicking between them, “her injuries are severe.”

Tommy’s jaw locked. “How bad?”

The nurse inhaled slowly, glancing at the clipboard in her hands.

“Several broken ribs, extensive bruising, and lacerations across her body.” She paused, looking up. “What we’re really worried about is the head injury. It’s significant, looks like blunt force trauma. There’s swelling. She regained consciousness briefly but was disoriented.”

Tommy’s fingers curled into fists.

“She’ll likely experience lots of confusion, dizziness, headaches, probably some nausea,” the nurse went on. “We’re monitoring her closely for any signs of further complications.”

John exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

Arthur rubbed his knuckles together, muttering, “Fucking bastard.”

Polly nodded once, her voice even. “And what now?”

The nurse adjusted her clipboard. “She needs rest. No sudden movement. Limited stress. We’ll keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours before making any further assessments. But as of right now, I’d say she needs to stay here for at least the next few days.”

Tommy swallowed. “Can we see her?”

The nurse hesitated. “One at a time.”

Ada exhaled through her nose, glancing at Tommy. “Go on, then.”

John nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll wait.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he moved, his strides purposeful, sharp, following the nurse down the corridor. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and old floors, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each step felt too slow– too far– too much distance between him and you.

Finally, the nurse stopped outside a door, her expression careful as she turned to him.

“She’s resting,” she said, lowering her voice. “She’s in and out, disoriented from the head trauma. But she’s stable.”

Tommy gave a curt nod, his jaw tight.

She held his gaze for a moment, as if considering whether to say something more. Then, finally, she stepped aside, pushing open the door.

And then, he saw you. Laid against white sheets, looking smaller than you should have been, bruised and broken but breathing.

The breath left his chest.

A heavy wrap covered the side of your head, darkened slightly from where the wound had bled through. The rise and fall of your chest was shallow but steady.

You were alive.

He barely registered the nurse slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with him.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, as if trying to grasp the reality of how close it had been. How close you had been to never waking up.

And how, if that had happened, it would have been his fucking fault.

The thought slammed into him with the force of a bullet, knocking the breath from his lungs. Because this, all of this– The blood. The pain. The bruises staining your skin. Every last bit of it was on him. Because he had been the one to drag you into his world. To put you in Campbell’s line of fire. To make you a pawn in a game that should have never involved you.

And if you had died in that basement, if you had taken your last breath alone, in the dark– Tommy wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to live with it.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his whole body tensed, burning.

Then, slowly, carefully, he took a step forward. The chair beside your bed scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent room. He sat down heavily, his body tired but too wound up to feel it.

For a moment, he just watched you– took you in. He studied the way your face, usually so full of life, was still and sunken, marred by bruising along your cheekbone– deep and dark from where Campbell and his men had struck you.

Your lips were cracked, dried blood at the corner of your mouth. There was discoloration along your throat, faint but there– a reminder that someone had pressed their hands where they never fucking should have been.

His jaw tightened. Slowly, carefully, Tommy reached for your hand and gathered it in his. Your fingers were cold, your knuckles scraped raw, bruising curling along your wrists from the cuffs.

The weight in his chest pressed harder.

He had done this. He had let this happen.

And now, all he could do was sit there, watching you, waiting, praying to whatever cruel God had spared you that you’d wake up.

…

The world swam in and out of darkness.

Shadows bled into light. Light bled into pain.

There was a throbbing sensation, searing pain that split your skull in two. Your head pounded so violently it felt like the walls were closing in– like something inside you was breaking apart.

You tried to breathe, tried to move, but everything was too much. Your body was too heavy. Your skin was too cold. Your stomach lurched.

A strangled gasp tore from your throat as your fingers searched blindly, reaching for something– anything– but all you found was air.

Suddenly, your hand flew to your head, clutching at it, desperate, trying to hold it together. Because it felt like it was splitting open. Like something inside your skull was cracking apart, splitting down the middle, a fault line giving way beneath unbearable pressure.

It was blinding, searing, suffocating. A hammer pounding behind your eyes. A blade carving through the base of your skull, dragging fire down the back of your neck. Every pulse of blood felt wrong, like it was trying to push through shattered bone, through bruised, swollen tissue.

The pressure built with every ragged breath, the world around you spinning so violently it felt like you were being dragged under, drowning in your own body.

A strangled whimper escaped before you could stop it. You squeezed your fingers tighter against your scalp, as if somehow, somehow, you could stop the way it felt like it was caving in.

It just kept building, climbing, twisting into something unbearable. And then, a wave of nausea crashed into you.

Violent. Overpowering.

Your stomach lurched so suddenly you barely had time to turn before your body gave in. Before you could even try to take a breath, you heaved and vomited, your body convulsing with the force of it, the sharp motion sending a fresh surge of agony tearing through your skull.

A deep, radiating pain that made you gasp, made your chest seize, made the world tilt even more.

It felt like you were falling.

Until suddenly, you felt a pair of cool hands.

Soft, firm, grounding. They found your temples first, brushing along the edges of your face, soothing, steadying.

And then, a hand cradled the back of your head– like it was holding your skull together for you. The touch was firm but careful, supporting your weight as you felt a forehead press against yours.

The smell of whiskey and smoke, of earth and something distinct filled your senses.

“I’m right here, love.” A rough, warm murmur, pulling you back from the edge. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

Your breath hitched– your chest rising too fast, too sharp, but his grip stayed firm.

In the distance, other voices flickered in and out.

“She needs something for the pain.”

“Someone get the doctor–”

The words were just background noise, muffled and far away.

But the sound of his voice was close, it was here. And the warm weight of his presence, settled the worst of the panic clawing at your ribs.

The pain was still there, it was fucking unbearable, but the fear? The fear lessened.

His forehead still pressed against yours, his grip firm, anchoring you.

You whimpered, your fingers weakly gripping at his shirt. You could hear him, but you couldn’t see him.

“Breathe, love.” His voice was warm, grounding. “Just breathe. That’s it.”

Your body trembled violently beneath his touch, but his hold didn’t waver.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I know.” He pulled you closer, just slightly, just enough. “You’re safe, yeah? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His breath was warm against your cheek, his words soft but firm.

You latched onto it all– let his presence consume you. So when the darkness came again, pulling you under yet again–

All you could hear was Tommy.

All you could smell was Tommy.

All you could feel was Tommy.

And what a wonderful thing to know.

…

They kept you asleep for two days.

The doctors said the head injury was worse than they thought– that you had swelling in your brain. You’d woken up days before, screaming. Thrashing. Vomiting. Sobbing.

The moment your eyes had snapped open, panic had ripped through you, wild and uncontrollable.

All he could do was hold you down– cup your face, and murmur that everything would be alright. He had no idea if that was true, or if he was lying through his teeth just to comfort you. But he had never felt more helpless in his entire fucking life.

He couldn’t take away the pain, couldn’t erase what had been done, couldn’t change a fucking thing. And for a man like him– that was worse than anything.

So, he did the only thing he could do: he stayed.

Because if you woke up again– if you woke up screaming, or crying, or terrified– He’d be there.

After a while, the nurses allowed more than one visitor. Tommy thought it was more for his own sanity than anything else, but he didn’t question it.

Polly was the first to visit. She entered quietly, her movements soft, deliberate.

She moved to your bedside, her keen eyes scanning over you, taking in every bruise, every bandage, every sign of the suffering you had endured.

A deep, quiet sigh left her lips. “My poor girl.”

Then, she reached out and took your hand.

Tommy watched from his chair in the corner as Polly held it gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, slow and steady. She murmured something, soft words, barely audible. A quiet prayer, maybe. She stayed like that for a while, her other hand patting yours lightly, a mother’s touch, something firm and grounding, even as you remained unconscious.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she released your hand. And then, she turned and walked over to Tommy.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know you’ve been sitting in this room, stewing for the last twenty-four hours. I understand you’re angry, I know you’re hurting. But this was not your fault, Thomas."

Tommy’s jaw tensed immediately. His fingers curled into his palms, but he didn’t say anything.

Polly waited. She wasn’t asking for a response. She was just stating the truth as she saw it. When the silence stretched too long, she sighed.

“Sometimes I think you forget I raised you. I know how you think.” Her gaze flickered toward you. “And I know what’s going through your head without you having to say it.”

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head, but Polly wasn’t finished.

“This happened because of Campbell. Because he was a sick, twisted bastard, not because of you.”

Tommy’s stare was dark, glassy with something unreadable.

“You can sit here and blame yourself, waste away in this chair, punish yourself for something that was never in your hands, or you can move on and focus on how you’ll help her when she wakes up.”

His throat tightened.

“Because she’s going to need you, Thomas,” Polly said, her voice softer now.

A beat of silence. Then, Tommy finally spoke.

“I should’ve stopped it.” His voice was hoarse, heavy with exhaustion and something deeper.

Polly shook her head. “You did. You stopped him from killing her.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against his knees. “I shouldn’t have let her work for me in the first place. I should’ve kept her away.”

Polly sighed. “I hate that she ended up caught in the middle of this mess. I hate that she ended up hurt. But you and I both know you couldn’t have kept her away, even if you tried.”

She reached over, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

“She loves you. Just as much as you love her. And she was meant to come into your life, and you were meant for hers.”

Tommy didn’t move.

Polly tilted her head as she studied him carefully, watching the war raging behind his eyes.. “You need to sleep, Thomas.”

He let out a short breath through his nose. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she murmured. Polly stood, smoothing down her skirt. “But you can’t keep going forever.”

She let her gaze drift to you one last time before giving Tommy’s shoulder a firm pat.

“I’ll be outside,” she said. “If you need anything.”

And then, she left. The door clicked shut, the quiet settling in around him like a heavy weight.

Tommy inhaled, slow, deep. He dragged a hand down his face before leaning back into the chair, exhaling.

The hours blurred.

Tommy wasn’t sure how long he sat there, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, waiting for some sign that you were coming back to him.

At some point, John and Arthur had come in. Neither of them stayed long. John had hovered at the door at first, arms crossed over his chest, before stepping closer, muttering something like, “You’re tougher than all of us put together, love. You’ll pull through.”

Arthur had been quieter. He’d stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets, looking at you for a long moment. Then, with a sharp exhale, he muttered, “We’ll take care of everything, Tom. You just focus on her, yeah?”

Tommy barely responded.

A nod. Maybe. A grunt at best.

Then they left him to it.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Ada came in next. He only realized she was there when the chair beside him scraped against the floor as she sat down.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to. She was quiet at first, just like Polly had been. Then, finally, “Tommy.”

Nothing.

She sighed. “You know she wouldn’t want this.”

His fingers curled against his knees. “Want what?”

Ada arched her brow. “You, sitting here, wasting away, waiting for her to wake up like that’ll somehow change things. They’re keeping her asleep on purpose. You can afford to slip home for an evening.”

His jaw ticked. “She might not wake up.”

Ada’s gaze softened. “She will.”

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“I know you, Tommy,” she continued. “And I know you’re blaming yourself.”

His throat felt tight.

“You think if you’d done something different, this wouldn’t have happened.”

He didn’t respond.

“But it did happen,” she said softly. “And you being here, tearing yourself apart over it, isn’t gonna change that.”

Tommy let his head dip, pressing his fingers to his temples, his exhaustion creeping into every inch of his body. Ada watched him carefully, her brows furrowed just slightly.

Then, she sighed. “Tommy, you need to go home.”

His fingers twitched, but he didn’t lift his head.

“Not forever, you stubborn bastard,” she continued. “Just long enough to change your clothes, maybe sleep for an hour– hell, take a fucking bath.”

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

Ada tilted hers. “You think she wants to wake up to you sitting here looking like a ghost? Smelling like a walking ashtray?”

Still, nothing.

She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Tom, if she wakes up and the first thing she smells is you right now, she’s gonna leave you.”

A small, tired huff of air left Tommy’s nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh. But it was close enough.

Ada caught it. Her lips twitched. “There it is. That’s the first reaction I’ve gotten out of you in two bloody days.”

Tommy finally lifted his head, rubbing his jaw, shaking his head.

At last, he sighed. “Fine.”

Ada looked surprised for half a second before she masked it with a smug grin.

“Me and Polly will stay with her the whole time.”

Tommy grumbled something under his breath as he pushed up from the chair.

“She’ll be fine, Tom. Go home.”

He hesitated, casting one last glance at you.

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

…

Consciousness came in slow waves.

It wasn’t violent like before, or a drowning, suffocating pull into agony.

Just… slow.

Your head still ached, a dull, steady throb behind your skull, but it wasn’t blinding, or even unbearable.

And when you blinked against the dim light of the room– you realized that you could see again.

A slow, shaky breath filled your lungs.

The blurry haze that had suffocated you before was gone.

Your vision wasn’t perfect– a little hazy at the edges, the room slightly too bright, but it was there. You exhaled softly, letting your gaze wander, taking in your surroundings.

You weren’t in the basement.

You were somewhere safe.

A hospital, maybe.

The sheets beneath your fingers were soft, clean. The air was cool, crisp, tinged faintly with antiseptic.

A sharp contrast to the damp, suffocating stench of blood and stone that had clung to you for days.

Your gaze shifted slightly. A figure sat in the chair beside your bed, her legs crossed, fingers idly fidgeting with a loose thread at the hem of her sleeve.

Ada’s dark hair was pulled into a loose, messy knot, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration as she twirled the thread between her fingers.

You swallowed, your throat dry, hoarse. The movement caught her attention.

Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. “Holy shit.”

She was on her feet in an instant, moving closer, eyes scanning your face.

Her voice softened. “You’re awake.”

You swallowed again, voice rough when you finally rasped out, “I think so.”

A small, shaky exhale left Ada’s lips. Then, her expression shifted, softer, but still firm. “How are you feeling?”

Ada’s voice was softer now, steady but careful, as if she was trying not to startle you. You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, grimacing slightly.

“Like I got hit by a train.”

Ada huffed out a short breath. “Yeah,” she muttered. “You look it, too.”

You gave a weak, tired smirk. Your body still felt heavy, weak, sore all over. Your ribs ached, deep bruises throbbing beneath the bandages. The dull throb in your head was still there, lingering behind your skull like an echo of something much worse.

Ada shifted beside you, reaching toward the bedside table.

“Here.” She grabbed a glass of water, guiding it toward you.

You tried to lift your arm, but the effort was exhausting. Your muscles trembled, too weak to hold the weight, and before you could drop it, Ada sighed and leaned in, pressing the glass lightly to your lips.

“Alright, alright. Just sip.”

Cool water touched your tongue, soothing the rawness in your throat. You sighed in relief. Ada pulled the glass away, setting it back on the table before looking at you again.

Her arms folded, her brow furrowed slightly. And then, her expression softened.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said quietly. “Everyone’s been so worried.”

Your chest tightened. There was something about hearing it– knowing that they had been waiting, that she had been waiting. That you had been missed.

You cleared your throat, voice quiet. “How long?”

She exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “Two days.”

Your stomach dropped as the weight of it settled in.

“Where’s Tommy?”

Ada scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Home, finally. Only because I convinced him that if you woke up to him smelling the way he did, you might leave him.”

Something small, warm flickered in your chest. For the first time in a long time, you managed a weak, tired smile.

Ada grinned. “He should be back soon. You alright if I go get Polly? She’s been waiting, too. Think she might kill me if I don’t go tell her you’re awake.”

You gave a small nod, but the movement made your head swim. Ada noticed immediately, her expression flickering with warning.

“Oi,” she leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Don’t go passing out on us again before I’m back, yeah?”

You huffed a breath, half amused, half exhausted. “I’ll do my best.”

Ada rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but there was relief in the gesture, in the teasing, in the fact that she could even joke with you at all.

She pushed up from the chair. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

You murmured something incoherent in response, exhaustion tugging at you again, but Ada was already moving toward the door.

As she slipped out, the room fell quiet again.

Your body still ached, your head still throbbed, but you hoped the worst of it had passed.

You were here.

You were safe.

And before you could dwell too much on any of it, the door opened again. And the second Polly’s eyes landed on you, her whole expression softened.

Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. “Oh, love.”

She hurried to your side, brushing your hair back, resting a hand against your cheek, checking you over like only Polly Gray could.

The second her fingers grazed against your cheek, something inside you uncoiled. Polly had that effect. She didn’t rush, didn’t overwhelm. Just watched you carefully, studying every inch of your face, her eyes sharp, assessing.

“You gave us all a fucking scare, love.”

You swallowed. “Sorry.”

Polly huffed, shaking her head. “Don’t be stupid.” She pulled the chair closer, settling into it like she’d done it a hundred times already.

And knowing Polly, she probably had.

Her fingers lingered against your temple, just barely ghosting over the bandages before she pulled away. “How’s your head?”

You shifted slightly, but the movement made your stomach churn. “It’s alright,” you lied.

Polly raised a suspicious and knowing brow.

You sighed. “Hurts like hell.”

Polly nodded like she’d already known the answer before she asked.

“They’re keeping a close eye on you,” she murmured. “You were out for a long time.”

You exhaled softly, closing your eyes for a moment.

“He wouldn’t leave,” she continued. “We had to force him to go home, just for a few hours.”

You swallowed hard. Something thick settled in your chest, pressing against your ribs. Polly must’ve seen it, because her expression softened.

“Won’t be long now,” she murmured. “He’ll be back soon.”

You nodded again, slower this time, realizing just how much you craved Tommy’s comfort.

Polly watched you carefully. She could see it, the way your shoulders tensed, the way you blinked a little too fast, the way your fingers curled weakly into the blanket.

She sighed, leaning forward slightly. “He just about tore the whole fucking town apart looking for you, love.”

Polly’s voice was soft, but there was weight behind it.

“Campbell was dead the second Tommy realized you were missing. He just didn’t know it yet.”

You swallowed, your throat tight.

Polly tilted her head, studying your face. “I know he doesn’t always show it,” she murmured. “Not the way you might want him to. But Thomas Shelby doesn’t tear the city apart for just anyone.”

Your fingers twitched. Polly reached over, patting your arm gently.

“He cares for you. More than you know.”

Your chest tightened as the guilt settled deep. Because for two days in that basement– you had let yourself wonder if Tommy had cared at all. You had let Campbell’s words sink their claws into you.

Before you could respond, the door was swinging open.

Polly glanced over her shoulder. Then, she turned back to you, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll give you two a minute.”

And with that, she stood, stepping aside for Tommy to step into the room.

Polly gave him a small nod as she passed.

Then, she was gone.

Your fingers curled into the blanket, grip weak but trembling. You wanted to say something. But before you could, Tommy moved.

Slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Then, all at once, like he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled the chair up right beside your bed. He sat down, leaned forward, his elbows bracing against his knees, and finally his eyes met yours.

And you saw everything: the rage. The exhaustion. The guilt. The relief.

Tommy’s eyes didn’t leave yours. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his hand absently rubbing at the edge of his jaw as he studied you.

Then, finally– his voice low, careful, steady. “How’s the pain?”

You swallowed, throat raw. “I’m fine.” Your voice came out hoarse, weak, unconvincing.

Tommy’s eyes didn’t move from yours. “Don’t lie.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t sharp. It was quiet. Steady. A simple truth.

Your breath caught, fingers curling into the blanket. “It hurts.”

Tommy nodded once. “Where?”

You hesitated, your chest feeling like it was caving in. “Everywhere.”

A slow, sharp exhale pushed through his nose. His jaw ticked, just slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee. “Your head?”

You gave a weak nod, trying to fight the tears burning behind your eyes. Tommy’s gaze flickered up toward the wrap along your temple, his expression darkening. His hand twitched, like he wanted to touch, to check, to fix it. But he didn’t.

“Your ribs?”

Another nod.

“They’ll keep you here another night. Maybe longer.” His voice was still calm, but there was something tighter underneath it now. “You need to rest. Let the doctors–”

You never heard the rest of his sentence. Because somewhere, deep in your chest, something cracked. Your ribs ached with the effort to breathe through it, to stay in control, to keep from falling apart. But the walls were crumbling.

The pressure, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of everything you had endured– it all caved in at once. Your shoulders tensed, then slowly, slowly, they collapsed altogether. Your spine curled, your body folding in on itself, like you could somehow physically contain everything building inside you. But you couldn’t.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, and then, the first tear spilled over. Once it started, you couldn’t stop it.

The dam broke.

A shudder wracked through you, and then another. You clenched your jaw, tried to hold back the sob, but it clawed its way free, raw and broken. Your hands shook violently, curling into the fabric of the blanket, clinging to something, anything.

Before you could even process it– before you could think, before you could be embarrassed, before you could try to pull yourself together– his hand was on your face. Warm, steady, thumb brushing away a tear as fast as it fell. His other hand wrapped gently around yours, his fingers curling tight, grounding you. You squeezed your eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the tears.

Every emotion you had buried, every moment of fear, every second spent in the dark, waiting for death– it all tore out of you at once.

You barely registered Tommy sliding onto the bed beside you, his shoes still on the ground, his arm slipping around your waist.

But when he pulled you close, when he tucked you against his chest, holding you tight, you moved without thinking. Your body curled into him, seeking warmth, seeking comfort, seeking the only thing that had ever made you feel safe.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, his fingers stroking slow, steady circles along your hip.

Tommy never moved– never loosened his grip. Not once.

He just held you.

And when the cries finally faded into weak, hiccuping breaths, when the exhaustion became heavier than the grief, you finally spoke.

Voice trembling, barely above a breath. “I was scared, Tommy.”

Tommy’s fingers froze. His grip on you tightened, just slightly. Then, he let out a quiet exhale. “I know, love. I know.”

You could still feel the ache in your ribs, the pulsing throb in your skull, the lingering, invisible grip of Campbell’s hands on your skin– But you also felt the warmth of Tommy’s body against yours. You felt the weight of his arms, solid, steady, unmoving and the soft, rhythmic push and pull of his breath against your temple.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, the last remnants of tension uncoiling from your muscles.

And finally, you let your eyes flutter shut.

…

Darkness.

Heavy, suffocating, endless.

You couldn’t move.

Couldn’t scream.

The weight of him was crushing, smothering, pinning you down.

Campbell’s breath was hot against your ear.

His voice– low, taunting, cruel. "I like it when you struggle."

You fought, thrashing, clawing, screaming–

You woke up screaming.

Your body jerked upright, ribs screaming in protest, lungs gasping for air. The room around you was dark. Too dark. Panic seized your chest.

No. No, no, no–

Blackness.

A sob ripped through you, shaking, broken.

Your breathing grew sharp, too quick, too shallow, and then, the pain hit.

White-hot, blinding.

Your head pounded, unbearable, relentless, splitting open like a hammer against bone.

You let out a strangled gasp, hands flying to your head, gripping, clutching, desperate to hold yourself together.

Everything spun.

Your stomach lurched violently.

You thought you might vomit, your chest heaving, body trembling, and then–

Hands.

Warm, firm hands gripping your wrists.

“Hey, hey, hey–” a familiar voice rang out. You kept your eyes shut, clenched tight.

“It’s not real,” you cried.

But his grip was steady, strong. It felt real.

He was pulling your hands away from your head, prying your fingers loose.

“Look at me.” His voice was low, urgent.

You shook your head, whimpering.

“Open your eyes, love.”

A firm hand cradled your face. Thumbs skimming over your cheeks, grounding you.

Your breath hitched.

“You’re safe. Open your eyes.”

Finally, you did–

And there he was. Tommy.

His stormy, blue eyes were edged with worry and rimmed with exhaustion.

You let out a weak, shuddering sob. Your body trembled. “Tommy–”

Your voice broke. More tears streamed down your face.

“It hurts–”

Your hands weakly grasped at his arms, grounding yourself in the solid weight of him. He nodded quickly, his hands never leaving your skin.

“I know.” His voice was softer now, urgent but gentle. “I know, love. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The room was spinning. The pounding in your head grew worse.

More voices– somewhere distant.

A nurse, maybe. “She needs more pain medication,” she said.

You barely registered the pinch of the needle above the pulsating sensation in your skull.

Suddenly, Tommy was climbing into the bed beside you. He pulled you against his chest again, the same way you’d been laying when you first fell asleep. You cradled your head against him.

His fingers threaded into your hair, slow, gentle, rubbing soothing circles at your temple.

“Shh,” he cooed. “The meds will kick in soon. Breathe.”

Your body melted into him, trembling, exhausted.

“Don’t leave,” you whispered weakly, voice barely above a whisper. “Please– stay.”

Tommy’s hand never stopped moving, never stopped grounding you. His grip on you tightened, firm and unshakable.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmured. “Not going anywhere. I got you.”

His voice was low, steady, certain. It wasn’t a promise, nor a reassurance.

It was a fact.

Your breath hitched, but the sobs had faded. The pounding in your head was still there, but his touch softened the edges of it, dulled it into something manageable.

The warmth of him, the unwavering, solid presence of him, was enough to pull you back from the edge. Your fingers curled weakly into his shirt, gripping it like an anchor.

His lips pressed against your hair, just briefly, just enough. And slowly, finally, the tension in your body began to ease.

You exhaled.

And when your body began to surrender to exhaustion, when your eyes fluttered shut again, there was no more doubt.

You weren’t in the basement anymore.

You weren’t alone.

You weren’t lost.

Tommy was holding you. And he wasn’t letting go.

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#peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader fanfic #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction

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nobodygotyoulikehoshina · 27 days ago

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LOOK BACK | Hoshina Soshiro

Chapter II

➢Summary: You weren't one to stick to tradition. Never were you, and never will you be. And if it meant following Hoshina Soshiro even to the pits of hell, you wouldn't hesitate on breaking any custom or practice. Too bad he never bothered to look back, where you always were.

➢Content: romance, angst, friendship, humour, violence (cw: mentions of death, fighting, blood, injuries, alcohol, cursing, possible mental distress from the characters, some gender stereotypes). will expand with the story.

➢ Pairing: Vice-captain! Hoshina x Platoon Leader! Fem! Reader

➢Genre: childhood best friends to lovers

➢Wc: 4352

➢notes: y'all are amazing. the first chap got 150+ notes in a few weeks. thank you so much for all the good, and i'm sorry for the bad. i'll try to improve as i work on my first series ever, so thank you in advance if you decide to stick around for that. comments, likes, reblogs, and DMs are always appreciated

anyway, i hope you enjoy once again!!

Your father never really liked your friendship with Hoshina.

He was a conservative man, very tradition-bound. In his mind, the Hoshina family stood on a pedestal that was never meant for him to reach, and he advised you to never try as well. The Hoshinas were meant to lead, and your family to follow. They were in the front lines, you stood in the back. They are the Captains, and you the Vice-Captains. That was the natural order of things.

But your five year old self couldn’t comprehend that. How come you were never meant to play with the kid with the bowl-cut hair with training garments way more expensive than your clothes? Why was it forbidden for him to teach you the cool sword moves that he had learnt from his father and relatives? It just never made sense to you.

But your fifteen year old self did understand better your position in the clan. Despite that, you had remained friends with Soshiro despite the disapproval of your parents and continued mastering the art of the sword in spite of all the clan’s tradition. But your awareness is what prompted that conversation with your father on a hot July morning.

“(Y/N)” he called out to you as you both sat on the edge of the tatami floor, facing the small garden of your house. “Do you understand our way of life?”

It was a heavy question for a fifteen year old, but you still answered. “Yes…I do”.

“Then you understand why I don’t like your friendship with the Hoshina kid, right?” It wasn’t the first time he had told you this. In fact, it was a recurrent theme between the both of you. But he had never looked so serious.

“Yes, father. I understand”. You wanted to say more but he spoke before you could.

“I know you do.” Then why did he ask?. “You aren’t like your brother, (Y/N). You are very smart and driven, as well as excellent with the sword. That is why I want you to understand something; your future is better away from the Hoshina clan”.

That statement felt like a sledgehammer to the head. Up until that moment, you had never considered a future without the Hoshina name attached to it. Not when you and Soshiro had dreamt for so long for a life together, side by side.

“What…what do you mean, father?,” you asked, voice trembling slightly.

Your father, ever so stern, tightened his face a little as he faced the sight of tree leaves rocking with the wind. “The Hoshinas don’t care about us the same way we do for them. Our family is strong, that is why we have survived for this long, but they do not exist in the same way as us. They live the true path of the warrior, the firsts to arrive at the battlefield and the last ones standing. While we protect the back, they continue moving forward. And moving forward means not looking back. Not even at us, their allies”.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stood behind a thick wall of bulletproof glass. The buzzing of the Operations Room set up behind you was proof of the excitement this particular trial test brought to the Division. Since the Number 10 suit was developed for Hoshina to wear, along with Officer Ichikawa’s Number 6 weapon, the level of the Third Division’s subjugation proficiency had increased tenfold. Everytime Hoshina had to put on the suit for a programmed exercise, it produced great excitement among the Operation officers, but you had to admit it did worry you a little.

Platoon leaders were never called for this type of trials, but Hoshina had personally requested for you to be there for some reason. So here you were, surrounded by dozens of people in charge of collecting data or supervising the whole ordeal. You weren’t sure what to do, as Hoshina’s request had barely anything other than the requirement of your presence during the programmed exercise, so you just stood there, looking through the glass to the empty area below you.

“Security authorizations for Number 10 Numbers Weapon release” one of the officers shouted into the room.

“Authorizations, cleared,” Operations Leader Okonogi declared. “The suit is fully on. Release Vice-captain”.

From one of the walls of the enclosed training ground opened a door, letting a small figure clash with the bright gray walls. It was Hoshina clad in the purple and green suit of the Number 10 Numbers Weapon (simultaneously, his proudest achievement in his military career and the bane of his existence).

“Number 10, on field,” one of the officers announced.

“Vice-captain Hoshina, can you hear me?” Okonogi called out to Hoshina through the earpiece channel.

It took him a moment to answer. “Loud and clear, Okonogi dear”.

You started rolling your eyes at the pet name, but stopped yourself at the last second.

How unprofessional, you thought, unclear if it was directed towards yourself or your long time friend.

“How are you feeling, Vice-captain?,” Okonogi asked.

“Perfectly fine, Okonogi, if not for the fact that this monster brat won’t shuddup”.

You quietly chuckled from that statement. No matter how many times they had fought together, Hoshina and Number 10’s relationship remained the same.

“Vice-captain, please activate synchronization with the Number 10 suit,” Okonogi requested.

“Roger that”.

A load of numbers and metrics appeared on the large screens, way too fast for you to comprehend it. An image of Hoshina’s vitals showed everything in order, including the percentage of Unleashed Combat Power extracted from the suit.

81% synchronisation, a robotic voice announced to the room.

“Not a bad start,” you muttered to yourself.

“That is perfect for us to start with, Vice-captain,” Okonogi declared, typing away some data into her screen. “Allow me to explain today’s exercise, sir.”

More people started to move inside the Operations Room, polishing the last details of the experiment Hoshina was about to be subjected to. Being truthful, you felt a little awkward and a little useless there, just watching as everyone did their jobs.

“The present trial will consist of two exercises,” Okonogi began explaining. “The first one is to test the level of synchronisation we can achieve with Number 10 during simulated battle, so we’ve recreated a holographic replica of the kaiju captured with a 6.1 fortitude”.

You opened your eyes a little. 6.1 fortitude? That was a whole squadron with a platoon leader needed to defeat that monster.

“The second exercise will be testing the Vice-captains new combat abilities once we reach the desired synchronisation percentage. For that, we will be engaging in actual combat with the original captured kaiju”.

“What?” you couldn’t help but ask out loud. You clasped your hand over your mouth, hoping that no one had heard you. Unfortunately for you, the operations official besides you apparently did, so he turned to you.

“Don’t worry, ma’am” he assured you, “the room we are in is designed to withstand a 10.0 fortitude and there’s other officials on standby in case the Vice-captain needs it”.

“Is everything ready for the order, sir?” Okonogi asked.

“Ready if you are, dear Okonogi,” Hoshina answered with his usual happy tone. He turned to look directly into one of the cameras. “(L/N), please watch me with care”.

You scoffed at him, crossing your arms. “That’s why you called me here, didn’t you, sir?”

“Very well,” Leader Okonogi declared. “Vice-captain Hoshina in position. Cameras and sensors activated. Shields open. Initiate simulated combat”.

From behind the bulletproof glass, you could see a huge figure appear. It was a lizard-type kaiju of around six meters of height. Kaiju of its size was Hoshina’s specialty, but even 6.1 fortitude felt a little too harsh for a start.

“Vice-captain Hoshina and Number 10 Numbers Weapon initiating honju subjugation,” Hoshina announced through his mic, and you could hear Number 10 screaming a couple of things in the background.

Through intense battle, Hoshina began subjugating the fake kaiju. Well, Okonogi had called this simulated battle, but you could still feel and hear the rumbles of the training room from the intensity of the confrontation. No matter how many times Hoshina had slashed through the fake monster, it never died simply because the Operations Room kept reviving him to force the Vice-captain and the suit to synchronise.

“Okonogi, dear, I believe it’s a little cruel to keep us fighting like this, don’tcha think?” Hoshina commented while skillfully dodging an attack from the kaiju’s tail.

“I’m afraid we’ll need to keep you like this for a little more, sir” Okonogi sounded apologetic.

You observed your friend fight against the monster. With the Number 10 suit, he was faster than he already was with the regular suit, almost becoming a blur in the air. To the untrained eye, it looked like a piece of cake for Hoshina. A walk in the park even. But to you, who had been present for most of the time he spent crafting his seamless techniques, it didn’t seem that way. You could see the strain on his muscles and the heavy amount of concentration required to subjugate an enemy time and time again. The drive of victory gleamed on his focused eyes.

“Miss Okonogi,” one of the operations officers exclaimed, “Vice-captain has achieved 92% Unleashed Combat Power!”.

“No sign of extreme fatigue or strain on his vitals!” another one informed.

“Raise the body limiters!” their leader instructed. “Prepare for the second phase release! Do not let the Unleashed Combat Power drop below range.”

“Roger that!”

Okonogi grabbed the mic and spoke. “Vice-captain Hoshina, please retreat from the target. We have reached the desired synchronisation level and will be initiating phase two of the trial. Please take a few minutes of rest while the new target launches”.

Hoshina backed up to one of the room’s corners, although Number 10 didn’t seem too happy about that, shouting "Where did it go?”, "Where did it go?”. The holographic kaiju disappeared, leaving your friend alone once more. You could see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, waiting to continue with the battle.

“All vitals are stable and no significant injuries have been detected, sir,” Okonogi informed Hoshina. “How are you feeling, Vice-captain?”

“As great as I can be with this brat on me,” Hoshina flicked the eye on the center of the suit, eliciting a series of complaints from Number 10.

“That’s good to hear, because the next phase will start in about 30 seconds.”

From one side of the test room opened a huge door. A big shadow emerged from the opening, making the test site shake with each of its steps. Soon, a big lizard-type kaiju stood towering over your best friend, who, at that moment, looked like nothing more than an insect cornered against a wall.

“Second phase: activated,” Okonogi declared, “prepare shields in case of danger or malfunction. Deploy the special weapons”.

The word danger activated something in you. Watching Hoshina move and slash all around the kaiju made you miss the weight of your own weapon on your hip.

Minutes stretched long with the kaiju proving more difficult to subjugate than initially thought, especially with the bothersome acid it would spit in every direction. Nevertheless, your fearless Vice-captain dodged every attack coming his way, retaliating with a few of his own. Finally, when you thought the fight had gone on for way too long, Hoshina’s demeanor changed. His stance was no longer playful; he now looked ready for the kill. Taking hold of his dual blades as well as an extra katana for Number 10’s tail, he lunged forward in a deadly attack.

“Seventh Form: Twelve-layered Strike,” you heard him mutter.

The clash of blades slashing at one point filled the room. Then, the dull thud of a falling body. Hoshina had defeated the kaiju.

For one breath, the whole room stood silent, in awe of what they had witnessed. The prodigy of the Hoshina family had unveiled his ultimate technique; an attack only he was talented enough to achieve, far surpassing any warrior who had mastered the blade. Then, having processed that majestic ending, cheering exploded inside the Operations Room, momentarily forgetting the point of the job.

You mildly cheered on your friend, who was now struggling to make Number 10 let go of the katana. Laughing at the funny sight, your eyes wandered to the replays of the fight that the data analysis team was going through. For a couple of seconds, a video of that last move and a close-up of the dead kaiju popped up on the screen.

Oh.

“Well, how did it go?” Hoshina had finally freed the sword from Number 10’s tail and returned it to its corresponding capsule. “Anything worth tellin’ me?”

Okonogi’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Congratulations, Vice-captain! This has been our best trial yet. The metrics show an increase…”

She began explaining the numbers and statistics that certainly interested Hoshina, but not you. Moving from the corner you had occupied during the whole trial, you started making your way out of the room, figuring that you hadn’t been of much use.

I guess he just wanted to be a show-off, you thought, although you knew it didn’t fit Hoshina’s style.

A voice stopped you on your tracks. “Well, Platoon Leader (L/N), how was it?”

You were confused. Was he really asking you what you thought? You expressed your confusion. “Are you asking me, sir?”

“Yes, (L/N),” he clarified. “Whatcha think ‘bout my skills?”

That question brought you back many years to when you both used to train with smaller and much safer swords in the yard of his house.

You thought a little before answering. “Sloppy at best, sir”.

A couple of people behind you gasp. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a couple of degrees with the following silence. Hadn’t Operations Leader Okonogi said that this had been Hoshina’s best results so far? So who was this random Platoon Leader to contradict what the data clearly showed? Even Number 10 seemed offended by your comment, shouting “Sloppy? Sloppy? Where is this human who dares call us sloppy?”.

Well, I fucked up, you mentally slapped yourself.

Hoshina’s lighthearted laugh cut the tension in the room. “I know I could count on ya to be blunt about this! Go on, tell me more!”.

You cleared your throat, feeling more confident to speak. “Personally, sir, I don’t believe your technique is good enough to manage some of your skills, especially those involving the use of the Numbers Weapon limb. Your swordsmanship was not adequate, that’s why I considered your attempts sloppy”.

“Oh, how so?” Hoshina continued questioning you.

You paused for a moment before asking. “Sir, may I request permission to approach the target?”

Your friend seemed taken aback by your request. “Permission granted, come here”.

As quick as you could to avoid the stares from the Operations team, you got out of the room and climbed down the stairs as fast as you could. The brightness of the white light in the trial room blinded you at first, but soon enough you adjusted to the light. There stood Hoshina, clad in the armour made to suit him and no one else, along with the mangled corpse of the lizard kaiju. You approached both of them, feeling the piercing gaze of the wine-red eyes of your best friend.

“Well, little expert,” he teased you with no malicious intent, “where did ya say I went wrong?”

You pointed at the cuts that surrounded the damaged core of the beast. “Please look carefully at the wounds around this area, sir. If my vision is correct, we can observe four cuts that appear to be shallower and messier than the rest, indicating bad swordsmanship. These correspond to cuts number 3, 6, 9 and 12 in striking order of your ‘Twelve-layered strike’ attack. While watching your fight, I realized that these are made using the Numbers Weapon tail. The lack of strength and precision evident in the injuries are proof that the attack has not been brought to its most efficient form”.

You had gotten carried away by your expression, so it shook you off balance to see Hoshina smiling widely at you when you turned to look back at him. It wasn’t a kind smile but a teasing one, almost making fun of you. But with Hoshina, nothing felt like mockery. No, with him, it was his way of expressing proudness in a weird but endearing way.

“I am impressed by the depth of yer analysis, Platoon Leader,” he congratulated you, hands behind his back, “and ya did that merely by watchin’. Now, do you have any suggestions for improvement, (L/N)?”.

Your eyes gleamed at the question. You could never pass on an opportunity to speak about blades. “Yes, sir, I do”.

You started your explanation, analysing the pros and cons of Hoshina’s blade technique. You had seen it hundreds, no, thousands of times. It felt as familiar as your own, so it was easy to spot the defects that even experts of the Operations team could never pinpoint. When you finished giving your recommendations, Hoshina’s smile widened. He took a couple of steps in your direction, and threw an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to himself.

“I knew I could count on ya, (L/N)” he slightly ruffled your hair.

You tried to push yourself away from him. You felt your skin burn even though he barely touched any of it. From your distance, you could smell his natural scent mingling with the stench of sweat and metal from the suit.

“Please refrain from unprofessional contact, Vice-captain,” you finally distanced yourself from him. Hoshina didn’t seem to take your actions personally.

“Yes, yes,” he admitted in defeat. Hoshina turned back to the observation glass above. “Okonogi dear, I guess this concludes the trial, doesn’t it?”.

Okonogi’s voice came through both of your in-ears. “Yes, Vice-captain. We have collected the data we needed. Thank you for your service”.

“My, my,” he answered, “it’s not me ya have to thank. Let’s wrap this up quickly and go take a rest”.

“Roger that!”.

Sensing that your duty was now completely fulfilled, you saluted at your Vice-captain and dismissed yourself. He didn’t say anything, worried about something being said over his in-ear. He just half-heartedly saluted back and left you to your devices. On your way out, you met a clean-up crew waiting to take away the corpse to wherever they took dead kaiju for disposal. You looked at your wristwatch.

It’s still early afternoon, you thought, I still have time to catch up on training.

That way, you busied yourself for the rest of the day, trying to forget about the faint feeling of Hoshina’s arm on your shoulder and his intoxicating smell.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Shoot, it's late.

That’s what you thought as you scurried away through the halls of the base. It was late at night and lights would be shutting off soon. You had lost track of time during your training session by yourself, so now you had just an hour to take a bath and do a couple things in your room before going to sleep.

You were leaving some training area when you saw that the lights of a room were still on.

“These rookies never learn…,” you muttered to yourself. Going out of your way to turn the lights on, you heard some noises coming from inside. Ready to scold some newbie for staying late, you poked your head through the door.

“Hey…” you started saying, but suddenly your mouth went dry.

Standing in the middle of the training room, Hoshina was a sight to behold. His black compression shirt and dark training pants proved to be more deadly than the twin blades in his hands. Every single muscle in his body had been sculpted to perfection, witness to the hard work your best friend put into his training. His closed eyes allowed you to admire how lethal his face card was, every single feature looking like it had been created with care and love.

On the count of two focused breaths, Hoshina started moving. Calculated slashes of his blades against the air were part of the image training he liked to practice on his own. He was meticulous like that. Watching Hoshina fight was always one of your biggest pleasures. He was a real warrior but, unlike most people, he didn’t treat the sword like just a weapon. No, to him it was more than just a slab of metal. Hoshina held his blade like an artist would hold their brush. With confidence and practiced reverence.

You sat down on your knees at the far edge of the tatami, watching him just like you had done thousands of times back at the Hoshina estate. You observed the deadly dance carried out by your friend’s mind, captivated by every move and gesture. Not daring to break his concentration by uttering a word, you remained in silence.

It didn’t take long for him to notice your presence. Finally ending his mental simulation of the battle–which you recognised as his earlier fight during the test–he turned to the door, catching you waiting for him.

“Oh, (Y/N)” he stopped on his tracks, “didn’t hear ya comin’ in”.

You raised from your kneeling position, now sitting criss-cross applesauce. “You were deeply focused and I tried to not make silence, sir”.

“I see,” he replied while putting away his blades. “And what brings ya here?”

“I thought some newbie was still in here and came to scold him”.

He chuckled at your answer. “What a diligent leader, thank ya for yer service. It is pretty late though”.

You sat in silence. If this conversation kept on, you would have to take an express cold shower instead of your nice warm bath.

Fuck it, I don’t care.

“So,” you broke the silence, “why are you also here so late, sir?”.

“I could ask ya the same,” he shot back teasingly.

You looked down at your training clothes. “I had to push back my personal practice time to attend the programmed exercise this morning, sir”.

“Oh right. Sorry ‘bout that”.

“It’s okay,” you shrugged your shoulders. “But you didn’t give me an answer, sir”.

Hoshina’s playful smile crept up to his face. “Ya ask as if ya didn’t grill my sword technique just earlier, huh”.

You shot an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir”.

You truly were. Your words must’ve had a deep effect on Hoshina if he had started working on improving his form right away. Although, being the perfectionist he was, it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

“Ya didn’t look an ounce of sorry back then, didn’cha?” he continued teasing you. “But it’s okay, that was why I called ya up there”.

You gulped. “I think you would’ve been fine without my input, sir”.

“Nah,” he dismissed your claim, “Okonogi and the others are good at their job, but sometimes ya really need someone who knows what they’re talkin’ ‘bout. A real pro.”.

“That is very kind of you to say, sir,” you bowed slightly in gratitude, “but I’m nothing compared to a master of the Hoshina blade style. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish with a sword if you learn it properly”.

Hoshina waved his hand in dismissal. “Nonsense, (Y/N). Ya could beat anyone’s ass with a blade any day of the week. That’s why ya are my Platoon Leader”.

Even though it was pretty late, Hoshina didn’t appear any tired. Quite the contrary. He fidgeted around the room, grabbing and moving training gear, putting away towels, and even changing the bottle on the water dispenser. You looked at him with amusement, although he didn’t seem to notice.

“Now that ya mentioned blade techniques,” he turned back at you with his arms crossed over his chest. You willed yourself to focus on his face and not on his muscles, “as far as I remember, yer family also comes from a long line of warriors. Don’t cha also have your own fighting style?”

You took a couple of seconds to answer. “Yes, we do”.

“Then why have I never seen it?!” he questioned you.

“Because it is not as refined as the Hoshina style and a little outdated to be honest”.

Hoshina gave you a puzzled look. “And why does that matter? I want you to show it to me”.

“Nop,” you replied to his request, “no need for that”.

The Vice-captain became whiny. “But why? Aren’t best friends supposed to tell everything to each other”.

“Well, you said it, Hoshina-kun. I told you about it, but I don’t have to show it to you”.

“Ugh, fine” he conceded, “that’s lame but I accept it for now, but one day I’ll make you show it to me”.

“Sure, sure”.

This time, you both finally wrapped up whatever you had been doing in the training room and headed for the showers. You continued your conversation with Hoshina, which consisted of him mostly speaking and you listening. You appreciated these little moments with your friend, which lately had been more scarce due to your busy agendas. Finally reaching the communal baths, where your dreaded cold shower awaited you, you turned to each other to wave each other goodbye.

“So,” he started, “did ya forget your promise?”

You looked confused for a sec before it clicked. “Drinks at my place?”. He nodded. “Of course I haven’t, but that won’t be until a couple of weeks”.

“I know,” a smile adorned his lips, “but I wanted to make sure ya had added it to yer calendar”.

You rolled your eyes at him. “How could I forget, sir?”

“Shuddup.” He brought you closer to himself, and started ruffling your head like a little kid. After a little struggle, you managed to free yourself from his grip and scurried off to the showers, praying he didn’t catch the deep blush on your face.

next chapter ➢

taglist: @hana-patata @kokoiinuts @floweringdaisie @saru-93

#nobodygotyoulikehoshina #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina #soshiro hoshina #gen #narumi gen #kaiju no. 8 fanfic #hoshina x reader #kn8 x reader #narumi x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #narumi gen x reader #hoshina smut #hoshina fluff #hoshina angst #hoshina fanfic

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scottxlogan · 21 days ago

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The down side to being a fanfic author/fan artist

Look, I know we've all heard it before but since fandom is slowly fading away to things like AI and people simply not leaving likes/comments it's getting to the point that it's turning away people behind fan works simply because there is no engagement anymore. Each one of us has our own process, so I can't speak for everyone, but with me when I create a fanfic for example, I get an idea, get excited about an idea, write out the idea/chapter and then go through an editing process that used to be a one time thing where I detail something and change things around, but often I find myself editing a few times to make the work the best it can be. This is a very time consuming process that often has me shying away from being super social when it comes to chatting because I'm trying to put together something that I'm not only excited about, but I'm also excited to share with others.

After all that work is done, I post it, then make sure to let everyone know it's there, taking the time to share it on Tumblr, discord, etc. and then I find myself filled with a sense of accomplishment and excitement hoping that people love the work as much as I do. I know it's silly but that moment of posting if filled with excitement/nervousness because you never know how something will land, but you're hoping it does well.

Then 24 hours pass and you see there are views, but minimal to no likes/kudos or comments and then you think "well maybe I posted it at the wrong time and it just didn't hit the right audience." Or maybe I should put out a regular schedule or that maybe I shouldn't post WIPs until they are complete since I know a lot of people WON'T READ a story until it's complete, which hey I get it. Books are like that. You get the whole experience and you don't want to be left hanging. I mean sure it makes sense but for me as a fanfic author (who isn't a paid professional author) sometimes in the past I'd do WIPs and it was the feedback that I received from readers that shaped and formed the story itself beyond my idea because it gave me even more food for thought to create. Now that kind of feedback simply isn't there. There's no reaction and it's quite frankly disheartening.

Case in point I had people BEG ME to write a sequel to a one shot I wrote recently and I told myself if I got 4 comments (just 4 which really isn't much) on the story I would do it. Fortunately, as luck would have it I got more than four comments and a bunch of people excited by the possibility of a story. So then I wrote it, posted the first couple chapters of a sequel and by chapter 2 there is one amazing reader (who is honestly the best and a reason why I continue to write in that particular fandom) who left an awesome comment/feedback but beyond that NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING and like this is a story that I've already written 4 and 1/2 chapters on because people were so excited for it, yet when I post there's nothing. I get people are busy and life is busy but when it's getting over a lot of hits and people are seeing it, it makes me question what's going on here? Like are people just turned off by the idea of an unfinished WIP or just turned off by something longer than 1000 words? It's hard to sort it all out and a bit frustrating that no one is trying to make an effort to let writers (not just me) know how much they like the work.

TBH I just don't get it and for those who are lucky enough to get engagement I'm happy for you, but I don't for the life of me understand why no one wants to get involved with fandom anymore. If I make a post on Tumblr about a story even though I have THOUSANDS of followers on this blog alone it gets like 4-10 notes most of the time (if I'm lucky) and it's usually my closest friends just trying to show support for my efforts. This also applies to if I make an art piece, which by the way takes just as much time to create if not more, and it's starting to really depress me in general. I see so many fan arts out there and I would NEVER claim to be one of the best as there are so many beautiful artists, but I know my art isn't complete trash either. Sure, I'm a WIP myself as an artist, but when I reblog other people's art it gets them a LOT of notes and reblogs because, well, as I mentioned before I have THOUSANDS of followers who do look at art and do see what I post, so I'm not quite clear on why anything I post never lands with the audience when it's the same subject. I mean honestly it can't be that bad people. My art is just as valid as anyone else's (as is my fanfic for that matter) and the fact that I'm not getting any engagement is so disheartening. It doesn't matter what fandom I'm doing art or fanfic for I'm getting little to no engagement and I simply don't get it.

Again I'm not trying to whine, but I just sit back and see people praising other authors/artists and how great their works are and both of mine slip under the radar after hours of effort. I even got to the point that I told my sister today that I've set a number for myself in terms of feedback I receive this month and if I don't find myself getting that quota (which tbh is so ridiculously low that given all my fanfics I have written it shouldn't be an issue) that I'm going to quit writing and doing fandom art because it's clear no one really cares whether it's out there or not. if they did, I feel as if they'd let me know it and no one is, so at this point I feel like I'm very close to being done beyond the obligations I still have because while sure I do it for myself, I also did it for the community and if the community isn't interested in what I have to contribute and makes me feel like my contributions are invalid and unimportant, then what's the point? I mean really it's just sad in general and I'm well aware no one is going to probably read all of this either but it's just where I'm at.

#rant #personal #writing #fanfic #fan art #frustrated artist #frustrated author #where did the fandom go #off topic #personal rant

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avatatewrites · 1 month ago

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Thankyou thankyou and congrats on the WCBF chapter!! I hope you are already digging into your TBR list! I was wondering, what’s on it?

(pls note that currently, your Daine x Sloane ship is ranking higher than the OG Xaden x Violet and this fic keeps taking re-read precedence over my entire tbr list…which has now promptly been abandoned now I’m back at work anyway 🥲)

If you keep flattering me like this, my ego will need its own post code. I cannot possibly thank you adequately for your comment, but... THANK YOU!

Ok, turning to my TBR... Currently, it's about 79 pgs long, so I'm just going to give you a fraction of the Empyrean fanfics currently on it, presented in no particular order. As you can see, there's a lot I plan to cram into the next week!

Lights, Camera, Bitch, Smile by @ellebellewritesfic and @curlyhairedkatniss: I actually just finished reading this, but I immediately wanted to read it again, so I'm counting it. It was quick, fun and PERFECT. I read it while I drank wine and ate cookies, and at the end, my cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. I would not change a single thing, and I truly cannot recommend enough if you're in the market for something lighthearted.

The Underpants Heist by yams77: I don't have words for how much I love this concept, and I have heard it's INCREDIBLE. I'm so, so, so excited to read this, and I wish I had something more poignant to say than that, but I don't.

Stay Your Pretty Eyes on Course by theoneiam2277 (@theoppositequeens): This is Slain omegaverse. Slain. Omegaverse. 'nuff said. A ship isn't a true ship until it has an omegaverse fic, and I'm pretty sure (?) this is the Slain ship's first/only? I just started the first chapter of this (with a glass of pinot grig in hand sitting by the fire pit), and I'm having the absolute best time. 11/10, no notes.

I love you, I'm sorry by mierelsorren: I very nearly broke my 'no reading while I'm in active writing mode' rule for this one, because SO MANY people are talking about it on the RQ discord. I have heard it's exquisite agony, and I cannot wait to sob, weep, bawl my fucking eyes out.

Flirting With Death (and Possibly Brennan) by wedonotsharekills: I'm so intrigued by this concept that my skin itches, and I'm nearly frothing at the mouth bc I just saw the second story in the series was Slain. SIGN ME UP.

Just Ask by @suebswrites: I went to start reading this the day I posted my first chapter of WCBF, then realised it was excellent about two sentences in, then realised I simply had to wait to read it because it was so good that it was going to influence my writing if I didn't. I wasn't a huge fan of how canon Halden panned out, so I feel like I'll be a sucker for any story that has a compelling/interesting Halden, which I have heard this story has! Also, Suebs is a wonder, and a rockstar, and I'm about to be the single most annoying/prolific commenter on and live reactor to her work until I go back into writing/hermit mode. Sorry in advance, Suebs!

Zihnal's Two by @june-s-pumpkins: In the spirit of full disclosure, June is actually one of my fav people on the internet (I don't know if I've told her yet, so this might be a very grand gesture), BUT that's not why this story is on my TBR. I was robbed - robbed, I say! - of a heist in Onyx Storm, and I demand justice. This is a canon compliant take on the research heist, and a lot of people who I think are incred love it, so I cannot WAIT to read it.

The Alchemy by @pretty-pleaseee: This is a modern medical AU with Violet/Xaden, Imogen/Garrick and Dain/Sloane. Please sign me all the way the fuck up. A lot of people say this is one of their fav comfort fics (and I'm ready to be one of the people who says that). ALSO, I already peeked at chapter 1 and IT'S SO GOOD.

I've probably missed some important ones, so if I think of more later that are high on my TBR, I'll add them in the comments!

#dain x sloane #dain aetos x sloane mairi #fanfiction

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starsreminisce · 11 days ago

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For Sarah, writing about the couple is about writing the romance on the pages.

If Elucien hadn't happened, I'm absolutely sure Vassa would still be with Jurian.

Vassa and Jurian are on the same journey and Lucien won't leave the fae world to follow any human Queen.

I hate the cliché of leaving everything for love and that's what I see this Vassa and Lucien ship about, being about a consolation prize and about one person giving up on love.

If Elucien already loved and cared for each other, there's no reason for a book.

For me, Sarah talking about Az's journey already says that the story will be about him and Elain's Journey will revolve around him and Lucien still has a lot of history.

In short: If it was about rejecting a partnership, Lucien and Nesta would still be soul mates.

I've always wondered why change if the idea was not to end up together?

So every day Elucien convinces us that it will be the end of the game and I just hope there won't be a 10 year wait to finish Acotar.

The thing that gets me about Vassien being endgame is that it would be the third time SJM shifted Lucien’s endgame back to someone who shares Feyre’s archetype.

Lucien, to me, always felt more developed than Tamlin. That becomes even more apparent when you consider how SJM has talked about him. She modeled him after Jamie from Outlander, called him her love, and said he has someone special coming to him.

From the start, it seemed like Tamlin and Feyre were never meant to last. But Lucien had depth, pain and growth. It would not be surprising if he was originally meant to be Feyre’s true match.

At one point, SJM said she imagined Lucien with Nesta, who like Feyre is a sharp-edged character, until she realized they would destroy each other. So why pair him with Vassa, who is described as having a foul temper and a fouler mouth and someone who would get along just fine with Feyre? That does not feel like a meaningful shift.

If a successful or even amicable rejection of the bond was part of Elucien’s arc, we would have seen it already.

Instead, ACOFAS set up three clear storylines. Nesta needing to begin her training with Cassian to heal. Azriel was being positioned to confront his Illyrian heritage. And Elain and Lucien were both set on a path to work through their separate issues before meeting in the middle.

You’re right that if Elain and Lucien were already in love and just waiting for their book to make it official, there would be no tension or growth. Feyre’s bond with Rhys appeared at the end of ACOTAR but she still went back to Tamlin. If she had gone to Rhys immediately, ACOMAF and especially Chapter 54 would not have landed the same way. Even in ACOSF, Nesta and Cassian’s bond snapped early, but it still took months and a major confrontation for Nesta to finally face it. The delay makes the acceptance more powerful.

In ACOTAR, we’re told the mating bond is always present, waiting for both sides to be ready before it snaps. Lucien was always Elain’s mate. Before she was born, before she became fae, and even if she were to reject it.

SJM has treated the bond as something sacred. HOFAS made it clear that it comes from a divine source. She dismissed the idea that it could be fake. And we know Elucien’s bond is real, not fake, because we got his POV. He felt it instinctively the moment he met Elain again, away from the chaos of Hybern. That moment was so powerful it brought guilt over Jesminda, and he literally had to fight off his instincts. That is not something shallow or convenient. That is not something she would casually undo.

Elucien already has the call and response that the bond seems to demand. And we’ve seen glimpses of that dynamic as early as ACOWAR.

In her podcast interview with Jenna Bush, SJM said she had four books planned in her head. In HOFAS, she introduced the possibility of interworld travel through Nesta. Previously, she also said the next arc would focus on multiple couples with a bigger story in the background.

That setup makes more sense with Nessian, Elucien and Gwynriel. Vassa has no connection to the Dread Trove since she is not Made like Briallyn and wouldn’t be able to control it. She fits better as a foil for Elain than as a romantic lead. Gwyn’s interest about Merrill’s theory of connected worlds already positions her to take on that kind of arc. And Azriel has made it clear that Elain should not be near the Trove, which makes it hard to place her alongside him if his storyline revolves around it.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #gwynriel #nessian #feysand #acotar mating bonds #mating bonds #hofas spoilers #hofas

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mybworlds · 25 days ago

Text

Chapter 6

Paring: Joel x F!Reader (NO Y/N)

Warnings: pre!outbreak and post!outbreak, AU (there will be some characters, Joel's backstory is different), no Sarah, no Ellie (maybe!), a lot of flashback (at least in the first chapters!), age gap (reader is approx. 10 yrs younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, SMUT, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), language, attempted SA, trauma, death and violence, abortion.

Rating: M

Masterlist

W.C. 2.9k

Summary: You work in the Millers' company, you are their friend, you have a job you love, your coworkers esteem and love you. Your life is perfect. Suddenly, one day, you wake up in the hospital, you are alone surrounded by silence and strange noises, your door is barricaded, but what happened? And what happened to the world out there?

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Thanks @saradika for the divider and the banner. Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner.

Taglist @harriedandharassed

SEPTEMBER 2012

You and Kyle broke up, and it's not because you don't get along, on the contrary. You just realized that you don't feel that attraction, that feeling that should really bind two people; you look good together, you have a lot in common, you love each other a lot, but it's not love. You're sure of it.

You confided this only to Tommy who was happy that your story was over so there was still hope, to quote his words. You shook your head and told him that his brother sees you as a friend and therefore not to count too much on a possible flame between you and Joel. He shrugged and hugged you and said, "Hope is always the last to die."

"Let's forget it, I'm going to work." You tell him. "You can't live on hope." You add, winking at him.

MARCH 2014

You open your eyes with a start, waking up with the phrase, "You can't live on hope," echoing in your head. You are in the middle of nowhere, Joel prepared a fire with your help where he then remained on guard, while you went to sleep in the back seat of a jeep you found abandoned on the side of a road.

It's very cold despite your coat and the blankets you brought with you from that house. For a while you stay under the covers watching the man who is adding more wood to the fire, you close your eyes and for a few moments you seem to see him wearing a blue suit, you can almost hear him thundering orders. Who knows if the Joel of some time ago was really like this, if something is coming back to your memory or if it’s just all in your head!

There are so many things that are still not at all clear to you in his tone of voice, in his looks, in his words. It's as if he were hiding something from you. You don't know exactly what it is, whether it's more bad news that he doesn't have the courage to tell you or whether you're losing your mind trying to remember something that doesn't seem to be in your head anymore.

You decide to stop wondering for now, you don't know if you're really ready to know the truth. A part of you fears it. You don't know what you can really expect from your past, you feel that they are not just good memories.

You get out of the car being careful not to make too much noise with the car door, as soon as you put your feet in the mud under your feet, Joel turns to you, he looks very tired and has a slight pallor on his cheeks. Without saying much, you pass him your blanket, placing it over his shoulders. He gives you an initially annoyed look, but slowly becomes grateful for your gesture.

“How are you?” you ask, sitting down next to him.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that." He states with a slight huff. "Well, anyway. It was just a scratch." He adds, "And you?"

"My head doesn't hurt anymore. I just feel a little dizzy, but it's less frequent." You answer him, rubbing your hands together near the crackling fire.

He nods, "And memory?" he asks, looking at your face.

You sigh, "Part of me wants to remember, wants to do so with all my heart, but there's another part that thinks it's probably best to leave things as they are. I mean, we live in an already broken world and I don't want to have to endure further trauma and pain." you answer almost in one breath, then look down "The truth is I'm scared." you admit staring into the flames "I don't know what's waiting for me."

Joel lingers on your face for a while before returning to the flames, "Not all memories are necessarily bad, you know?" you look at his face and observe his tanned skin turned orange by the flames "You, me and my brother worked together. We were inseparable. I was almost.." for a moment Joel doesn't speak, you don't know whether to press him or wait, you decide not to insist and wait for him to continue "jealous." finally he says and then moves his eyes to you who instead makes them wander towards the woods surrounding you.

You're scared. You are afraid of the world you live in, of never being able to find yourself again and reconcile who you were with who you are today, you are afraid of never finding a purpose again, nothing that can make you feel better.

You decide to push him a little despite your fears, "Why were you jealous? I mean, we were... Um, was there something going on between us that I don't remember?" your heart is in your throat when you look up at his face and meet his dark eyes that seem to be clouded with sadness.

You see him tighten his lips and look down at the fire, with an indecipherable expression on his face as if he were fighting a silent war with himself.

"Joel?" you get his attention. "Please answer me. I deserve to know. It’s my past too."

You see his nostrils flare and then narrow as he breathes deeply, "We were together." he finally answers you and you don't know what to think or what to ask him "Until I ruined everything." he adds leaving you completely speechless and empty-headed.

Were you two together?! Did he ruin everything? But all what? How, why?

You can't put any order to the questions that suddenly compete to be asked, but then there's something else that holds you back: fear. Fear of not knowing the full extent of what drove you to separate, fear of learning something that right now you wouldn't even know how to handle, fear of feeling lost before the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me right away that we were together?" you ask him, now having trouble looking at him.

"If I hadn't told you, maybe... we could both forget what happened." He answers you in a low voice.

You can't comment on his words. You think it's something really serious and terrible if Joel himself wants to forget what happened. You suddenly wonder who the man is with whom you are traveling. You think that he's probably also telling you a lie about the destination you are going to. If you hadn't seen those monstrous creatures yourself and hadn't seen the world as it is now, perhaps you would have even doubted his words.

You're cold, you have a strange anguish gripping your stomach.

Now, more than before, you are afraid to remember.

From that point on, you and Joel barely spoke to each other, mostly answering him in monosyllables or with fleeting nods.

You continued on foot passing through a forest invaded by ferns, the trees are tall and their tops thick, the sun filters through only in that place making it extremely cold and humid. The man looked at you and asked if you were cold, but without even looking at him you replied, "'m fine." and continued on past him.

A part of you struggles to put aside some of the truth that Joel finally revealed to you, but the other part of you wonders what could have happened to end your relationship.

Were you happy before? Have you made love? Were you planning something together as a family, a house together?

You're cold now, but you keep going. Head down, you keep walking, you have no idea why you feel so dizzy. You just know that maybe you should know the whole truth and not just the end.

Are you ready to listen to it? No, but you're tired of not knowing.

"Joel?" you call him when you've been silent for almost a couple of hours. He looks tired, his expression strained, his eyes darkened, his beard longer, "I want to know the reason why we broke up."

He shakes his head, "No." He replies, stopping and looking straight into your eyes. "I'll tell you about the good times before and then... the end. I can't tell you everything from the end of the story."

You swallow, but then find yourself simply saying, "Okay. I'm listening."

At that moment a shot pierces the air making you jump, you don't know exactly where that noise comes from, but it's followed by others, your heart is pounding in your chest and for the first time in hours you look up at Joel but he doesn't look back at you, instead he grabs your hand and drags you with him. You run as fast as your muscles can, when you catch sight of a small group of houses, "There! Look over there!" you shout, pointing out some villas.

"Come on, move!" he urges you, pointing with his chin to the first house with a sloping roof.

When you arrive, the first thing you notice is the extremely unkempt grass and the trees surrounding it are bare and unfruitful, then you notice the fences typical of construction sites that warn you to be careful of falling materials from above and therefore to stay away from the scaffolding. So, you notice that there are some tiles missing from the roof and therefore it's likely that it has also rained inside. The windows were broken from the inside as there are pieces of glass on the outside.

You look for Joel's gaze but he looks around cautiously, he's not worried about the conditions of the house but about your safety and survival. It's not safe to venture in there, but apparently it's not safe to stay out either.

With some hesitation, you climb over the barriers and continue on. The door has been torn off so only the jamb remains. Joel squeezes your hand lightly as if to help you recover from that state of agitation and fear, you know he has it too, but he manages to hide it much better than you. You nod as if to reassure him that you're there and ready for anything, even if, actually, you're not.

You cross the door and immediately the very unpleasant smell of humidity combined with that of paint invades your nostrils, almost causing you to feel nauseous, you cough as you lean forward toward an unfinished wall whose bricks are still clearly visible.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joel says, holding your shoulder and wrapping his other arm around your hip.

"I'm fine. I just ran too much and then... this smell bothers me." you say closing your eyes and swallowing back the bile.

"The paint, I know." he says. "You've always been amazing at designing, but when you came to the construction site..." you hear him chuckle "you barely stayed there five minutes and as soon as you entered you put on a mask to cover your nose and mouth." he almost smiles at those memories.

“Really?” you ask, noticing his reaction to memories you no longer have.

"Yes." he sighs. "Listen, I'll tell you everything, but not now, not under these circumstances, little one." He continues, stroking your back.

Little one.. was that what he called you?

Did he use this sweet nickname with you?

Did you like it?

Did you have one for him too?

And did he like it?

You nod, taking small breaths and then taking small sips of water, which helps control the nausea you feel. Once you've regained control, you stand up straight and look around, "Well, let's see if any rooms are finished or if we should move on." you say in a low voice, turning on the flashlight, as does the man next to you. In the room there are pieces of furniture such as chairs, tables, sofas covered with white tarpaulins, as if someone had started living there despite the ongoing construction work.

Joel discovers a couch, raising a cloud of dust, "Well, this looks like it's comfy!" he exclaims.

You grumble as you continue on, you find the kitchen, it's fully furnished, but you find nothing but a bottle of water and some packets of crackers that you promptly put in your backpack.

Joel is just behind you, he too is looking around, "I hope this isn't a house from my company!" he exclaims.

"Your company?!" you ask, turning your head towards him.

"Yes, my brother and I had a business together." he replies.

“Did we get along?” you ask him again.

He nods, "You were very good. You always knew how to make something happen, even after sleepless nights, the next day you were able to bring great projects to life." you find yourself smiling "Charlotte hated you for that too!"

"Charlotte?" you repeat, but her name doesn't sound new to you at all when it comes from your lips.

"Oh, fuck." Joel blurts out, pointing the flashlight a short distance away from you. You turn around and see fresh blood on the ground. Joel quickly reaches you, passing you and pointing his rifle forward.

“What are we doing?” you whisper under your breath.

"Let's go away, in silence."

When you're about to turn around, you hear something slithering and then it makes those noises. Your blood freezes in your veins and you become paralyzed, Joel pulls you away by the arm making you hide just in time behind a kitchen cabinet when one of those things appears from the darkness. You just lift your head to see them and you realize that it's one of those things you've already seen in the hospital, now what do you do?

You're both on all fours and hiding back there, but you have to get out somehow. Joel gets your attention with his eyes and mouths they're blind, you nod even though the news doesn't reassure you in the least. He makes the gesture with the flashlight and you slowly sneak out of the room, you're almost back in the entry room when you place your hand on a piece of glass and let out a little scream, Joel turns with a terrified expression behind you, as you hear the sound of that thing approaching. You cut yourself, but this is not the time to think about it, you know you are about to die because that monster is approaching and you don't know how to escape it except by running, but your body seems not to respond to your will. Joel picks up a rock from a short distance away and, before you get face to face with that monster, throws it in a direction diametrically opposite to yours. The hideous creature stops a couple of steps away from you and then heads towards the stone Joel threw.

You can breathe a sigh of relief, you get up and can silently walk away, you are almost outside when something else catches your attention: the corpse of a man. He's dead, he has a gun in his hand, his shirt full of blood, his mouth twisted into a grotesque expression.

"Let's go." Joel says, moving to walk away, but you remain there. It's not the man's expression that troubles you, but his shirt. Blood dripped profusely across it.

"I'm scared." You can almost hear yourself say, "Joel! Joel! Help!"

Joel pulls you away this time and succeeds, you are out now and you quickly climb over the fence, moving away from that house again and returning to the woods. You are troubled, you are cold and a new terrible question is making its way inside you. Your path is fortunately calm, but that question is creeping deep inside you. It's almost dusk when you take refuge in a heavily looted gas station, there's no one there and no one has been there for a long, long time so at least for tonight you're safe.

After you make sure that nothing and no one is around, you sit down to rest a bit and at that time, Joel disinfects your wound. Your eyes often meet, you wonder how or what you will do from tomorrow, you wonder who you were in the past and if you will ever be able to reconcile who you were with who you are today.

Everything seems calm. However, you decide not to light any fires to avoid attracting the attention of anyone nearby, you are both wrapped in blankets. You try not to chatter your teeth, but at a certain point it becomes unavoidable and Joel approaches you, surrounding you and him with another blanket, now you are next to each other.

"Joel?"

"Mh?"

"Were we happy before... before it all ended? Before you and I broke up?" you ask him "I know it's stupid because... you know, usually when you break up with someone it's because you're not happy, but I'd like to know more," you add, sniffling in the cold.

"We were. So much. I was very happy with you. And you with me. We had everything." He sighs, "We could have had it."

"But then why?" you ask him.

He looks at you with eyes full of sadness and regret, "I cheated on you."

You stare into space before you then look up at him with a puzzled expression, "Why?" you should feel anger, pain, but the truth is you don't feel anything, you don't know how to feel. You're just so confused.

He nervously clenches his hands and you, as if moved by invisible threads of a distant and perhaps not entirely erased memory, reach out and slip your hand between his. You frown in surprise at the gesture and Joel also seems shocked because he looks up at you with his lips parted in amazement.

"I - I dunno - I don't know why I did it." You say, pulling your hand away from his.

Instead he holds it back, warming your cold hand, "It's something we always did." He says in a low, bitter tone of voice. "It was your way of calming my nerves after a hard day at work. You sat next to me and, you didn't even have to ask me if I had a good or bad day, you rested your head on my shoulder in silence." he tells you.

"You could see it all over your face what you were feeling." It's meant to be a question, but it comes out of your mouth like a fact, like something you're sure of.

He nods rubbing your hand between his to warm it, both of you looking at your joined hands for a while.

"Did we always do this too?"

He smiles, nods weakly, "I'd like to tell you everything... do you want to listen?"

You swallow, “Okay.”

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candycandy00 · 9 months ago

Text

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 10

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

When morning came, you sat up in bed and stretched, for once glancing at the clock without fear. It was your day off, and you intended to enjoy it as much as you could, starting with sleeping in.

You climbed lazily out of bed and walked into the kitchen for breakfast. Vartan was standing by the table, fully dressed. You blinked and tried to focus your vision. "This is unusual," you commented, eyeing his uniform.

"I would like to leave the apartment today."

The words came bluntly, steadily, like someone banging a sharp rhythm on a drum. You heard them, could not possibly mistake them, but still you leaned against the counter and said, "What?"

"I would like to leave today," he repeated, seeming somewhat confused by the need to say it again.

You stared at him for a second, then crossed your arms over your chest. "Alright. Go on. I'm not making you stay or anything. You barged in here to begin with." At some point you realized your hands were balled into fists. Why were you so angry?

He looked at you blankly. "Am I troubling you?"

You frowned. "No, but you're standing here acting like you're asking for my permission to leave. What do you want me to do? Beg you to stay?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you should watch your tongue, that arguing with a half-breed was never a good idea, but you just couldn't stop yourself.

He still looked rather confused. "I thought I did need your permission. I am living in your home. You still have the right to make me return to the Tower."

It was your turn to look confused. "Wait, what are you talking about? How can I make you return to the Tower if you're going back there today anyway?"

"But... I am not going back to the Tower today," Vartan said.

"You just said you want to leave today!"

"Yes, I would like to leave the apartment for a short while. There is a place I would like to visit."

You immediately reddened. "Oh! Sorry! I totally misunderstood you. Yeah, you can go out for a while. Just don't let any of my neighbors see you."

"Of course," he replied, seemingly oblivious to your embarrassment. He walked toward the door, then stopped and looked back. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Uh, that kinda depends on where you're going," you said.

"Don't worry. I will not be seeing any of my kind."

You smiled. "Okay, then. Just give me a minute to get dressed." You left him to wait in the kitchen while you went to your room to pull on some jeans and a white cotton shirt. The neckline was a little low, with small, thin lace trim. You had been told by Terrian and Anna, on separate occasions, that you looked especially nice in white. You fixed your hair then looked in the mirror. You smiled to yourself, satisfied with your looks.

Would Vartan be satisfied? Why did you even think that question?

You met him in the kitchen, and he nodded to you without a word. You felt a tinge of disappointment. He didn't even seem to notice that you looked better than usual.

He opened the front door, and you edged past him so you could look both ways, making sure no one was in the hall. When the way seemed clear, you headed toward the stairs and motioned for him to follow. You did the same thing on the ground floor, thankful that your apartment building was never very crowded to begin with.

Once you were outside on the street, Vartan took the lead. You followed nervously behind him as he walked along the pavement. You tried to keep a small distance between the two of you, so that you could easily separate from him if he ran into any of the other half-breeds. You were unsure how they would react to seeing him with a human, and you didn't want him to get into any more trouble than he already had.

Luckily, the walk through town was uneventful, and soon the two of you were standing in front of an incredibly tall, crumbling building. You looked up toward the top, squinting your eyes against the red haze of the sky. It was probably the tallest building in Gallica, aside from the Tower.

"Is this it?" You asked, hoping you didn't sound disappointed.

He nodded and stepped through the open doorway. You followed, and together you and Vartan climbed several flights of stairs. They were steep, and in such disrepair that you occasionally had to skip a step that looked unsafe. The walls were cracked and filthy, covered in long faded graffiti. There had been a handrail at one point, apparently, but it was mostly in broken pieces now.

After reaching the sixth floor, you grabbed his arm from behind, signaling him to wait. You sat down on the steps and panted. "Sorry, I need a little break."

He sat down beside you and watched you patiently. There wasn't so much as a drop of sweat on his face, and his breathing was completely even. "Take as long as you need," he told you.

"You half-breeds are pretty amazing. Do you ever get tired?"

"Sometimes," he replied, looking away from you.

"So what's at the top?" you asked, pointing toward the roof that looked so very far away.

"Nothing important. You will see."

You stared at him curiously, wondering what he wanted to show you. He met your gaze and you blinked. "Um, how many stairs do we have to climb?" you asked quickly.

He stood up. "I will carry you."

"What?"

"I will carry you the rest of the way. Stand up."

You got to your feet slowly and he turned his back to you, squatting slightly. You stared at his back, a wave of heat spreading through your face, under your skin. Your heart raced. It was such a silly thing, getting a piggyback ride from him, but you had never really touched him before. Not outside of sewing up his wound or helping him to a cot.

He looked at you over his shoulder. "Get on," he said flatly.

You carefully reached forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressed your body against his back, and lifted your knees until he took hold of them and stood up straight. You were immediately surprised by how effortless he made it seem. He didn't so much as grunt as he climbed the rest of the stairs with you on his back.

The whole way up, you couldn’t shake the bizarre feeling of familiarity. Like a phantom memory that was too hazy to remember clearly.

When he reached the door to the roof, he eased you back to your feet. You looked at the floor, red creeping into your cheeks. "Thanks," you said.

He gave no response as he opened the door and walked out onto the roof. You followed him to the ragged fence at the northern edge and stood beside him as he looked out over the city. Not too terribly far away, you could see the Tower, and at this height, you could make out more of its details than ever before.

As you had thought, the top of the tower was connected to the very center of the dome, like a support beam. What you didn't expect to see, however, was a large mechanical device protruding from the top of the tower. It resembled some kind of cannon pointing upwards, and a gazebo-like room surrounded it. You could barely make out a single half-breed standing near the device, like a soldier standing guard.

"What is that?" you asked.

Vartan followed your gaze to the device. "It is the machine that operates the dome."

"Well, I kinda guessed that. How does it work?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he responded. "I know that the Pagoda's technology powers it, and every three years we must recharge it."

"And why is it being guarded?"

"In the past, humans have tried to reach the machine and destroy it, believing they could escape the city if the dome was removed."

Your jaw dropped. "That's crazy! Everything's frozen outside! If they turned the dome off, we'd all die!"

"Yes, and that is why we guard it. Even we half-breeds could not survive for very long without the dome. I believe some humans think we are lying about the outside, to keep them from trying to escape."

You were quiet then. For the very first time, you understood why there might be a need for the half-breeds. Still, their ruthless behavior couldn't be overlooked. You glanced at Vartan, whose eyes were fixed on another section of the Tower, slightly lower down.

"Do you see those vehicles?" he asked you, pointing to an open floor a third of the way down the Tower. On it, you could see several things that you could only describe as misshapen cars with no wheels and far fewer windows. You nodded and he went on.

"Those are called Flyers by the half-breeds. They are capable of traveling through space. The Pagoda use them occasionally to visit the mother ship. Half-breeds are not allowed to touch them, but we do see them being flown from time to time."

You were listening intently. This was the most Vartan had said in the entire time you’d known him.

He paused to look at you, then turned his eyes back toward the Flyers. "I... often think about... climbing into a Flyer and leaving this world."

Your eyes widened. You watched Vartan's face as he continued to stare at the Flyers, and you saw a hint of longing there, a hint of despair. You didn't know what to say to him. You were terrified of saying the wrong thing, something that would make him regret sharing such a private thought with you.

He looked at you again, and there was still a shade of sadness in his usually unreadable eyes. "I do not know why I wanted to bring you here, but thank you for coming with me."

"I'm glad you brought me here," you said. "I'm glad I got to know a little more about you."

He looked mildly surprised. "You want to know about me?"

You felt the familiar blush heating up your face. "Well, yeah. You're living with me and all."

"I see," he said. "I will tell you anything you want to know."

"Anything?" you asked, somewhat skeptical. He nodded, and your mind flew into a frenzy as you tried to decide what you most wanted to know. A million questions popped into your head, and you struggled to quickly sort them out. Suddenly you remembered Nariah's story about her mother. "Do you know anything about your human parent?"

Vartan's face seemed to freeze instantly, and you winced, certain you had asked the wrong thing. He looked back toward the Tower. "My mother was human," he started, speaking slowly as if carefully choosing his words. "Half-breeds are kept away from their human parents, because the Pagoda do not want us to be influenced by our human sides. Most human parents are killed anyway."

You nodded, having already heard most of this from Nariah. You said nothing and waited, making it clear that you wanted him to go on.

"My mother was kept alive for several years after I was born. I have a younger brother. He lives in a different domed city, and I only see him every so often. It’s been two years since we last met. We share both a mother and a father, which is rare among us."

You continued to remain silent, eagerly waiting for more.

Vartan's eyes were still fixed on the Tower. "I did meet my mother, if that is what you want to know. On the day she was scheduled to be executed, she somehow escaped from her cell and ran through the Tower, searching for me. She found me by spotting my father walking into my room. When she reached me, she wrapped her arms around me and began crying. She said she had to see me at least once before dying."

You were struck by the difference in Vartan's tone compared to Nariah's. Something about his voice seemed calm, almost nostalgic, as he recounted the story.

He finally turned his face to you as he finished. "I do not know why, but my father did nothing to stop her as my mother held me. She whispered many things into my ear, telling me that I am human, that I should never forget my humanity, that this is my world too. My father only spoke when she asked him where my brother was. The Pagoda guards rushed in after that and pulled her away from me. They dragged her out of the room, to be executed. As she disappeared into the hall, she screamed to my father, 'Please take care of our child!' and they were the last words I heard from her."

You waited for a moment, to be sure he was done talking, before speaking. "It sounds like your mother was very brave."

Vartan nodded his head slightly. "I find my memory of her... comforting. That is strange, isn't it?" he asked you. "A human would be troubled by such a memory, of watching their mother be dragged away to death. A Pagoda would not feel anything at all. I feel I am... different."

It occurred to you that it was that brief meeting with his mother that made Vartan different. In those small moments in which his mother had held him in her arms, she had managed to awaken something in him - something human. "Maybe you find it comforting because it reminds you that you were loved," you told him gently. "Your mother must have loved you a lot, even before seeing you, to go to those lengths to meet you."

Vartan lowered his eyes. "I could not return her love. I didn’t know how. I never even spoke to her. I was motionless the whole time she was there."

"I'm sure she understood. She loved you, no matter what. She told your father to take care of you, right? Speaking of which, isn't it strange for your father to allow her to hold you?"

Vartan's expression changed slightly, from a flicker of sadness to a flicker of something like pride. "My father is strange among the Pagoda. He is often criticized by the others for being eccentric. There was a rumor among the half-breeds that my father is not one hundred percent pure Pagoda, that his distant ancestors had mated with another race. I do not know if this is true or not. There were also rumors that his relationship with my mother was viewed as inappropriate somehow."

You smiled, amused by the fact that Vartan seemed pleased with his "eccentric" father. Perhaps Vartan's human-like behavior was a result of his parents, both of whom seemed rather extraordinary themselves. "He sounds like the only Pagoda I'd ever want to meet," you said. "What do they look like, by the way?"

"They look much like half-breeds," Vartan said, "but they are taller, with longer arms and legs. Their eyes have many colors, all on each eye. They wear dark robes, and keep their hair very long."

You found yourself trying to picture Vartan's father, a tall man with long black hair and rainbow eyes. The image just looked silly, so you changed the subject. "There is one more thing I'd like to ask. Is that okay?"

"Yes," he answered, eyes on yours.

You tried to think of a way to word your question. You had been wondering for some time now about how many women Vartan had been with. As Terrian had said before, a half-breed with a willing human was rare, but you had difficulty imagining Vartan raping someone. Then again, you would have had trouble imagining him tearing a man's head off if you hadn't seen it first hand. You took a deep breath and looked him in the face. "Have you had sex with lots of women?"

He quickly looked away, as if embarrassed, and you dreaded his answer. He kept his eyes on the ground as he opened his mouth to speak. "No, not 'lots'. One."

"One?"

"I have been with one girl."

"Why only one?" you asked, the question popping out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. Half-breeds were known for their carnal exploits. They seemed to be far more hormonal than humans, and that was saying something.

He seemed highly uncomfortable with the topic, but he answered you anyway. "I did not find it to be a pleasant experience. The girl... was crying. I was very young, younger than her, but she probably thought I was older. The other half-breeds told me what to do, and I followed their directions. I did not know why she was crying. Just before it was over, I realized that she was crying because she did not want to..." He stopped talking there, unable to finish the sentence. He paused, then continued. "I did not enjoy it, doing such a thing to that crying girl, so I did not do it again."

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. Vartan had been just as much a victim as the girl, he'd been a child manipulated into doing something he would feel guilty over for the rest of his life. You reached out and placed a hand lightly on his arm. "You can't be blamed for that. You didn't know what you were doing."

He looked at your hand. "Is there anything else you would like to know?"

You reddened. "Um, have you ever thought about trying it with a human who wants to do it?”

He looked at your face. "I have experienced physical desire, yes. And I have wondered what it would be like, with a girl who is not crying."

Your face burned a little more as you asked the next question. "Have you felt any, uh, desire for me?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Really? When?"

His voice was still mechanical. "When I woke up in the clinic and saw you in your underwear. When you looked straight at me in the alley and told me I owed you. When you came out of your room the morning after I came to your house. When I woke up that evening to find you standing over me."

You were shocked. All those times, he'd given no indication that he felt any attraction to you at all. He must have been holding himself back because of his past experience with sex. You couldn't resist smiling. You felt a surge of confidence. "If you thought I wanted to, would you want to be with me?"

He seemed surprised by the question, his eyebrows raising as he looked at her. "Yes."

That was all you needed to hear. You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your toes, pressing your lips to his. He slowly lifted his hands and placed them on your back, carefully and gently, obviously unsure of the action. For several seconds, he remained rigid and still, to the point that you began to feel embarrassed. Then, as if he had simply been waiting to be certain you really did want this, he suddenly pressed himself against you, his hands moving over your body, his mouth hungry on yours. It was like a dam had broken, and all the desires and needs and aches came pouring out, washing over you.

Half-breeds were supremely hormonal creatures. Vartan, you discovered, wasn't quite as different from the others as you first thought.

He peeled off your clothes in a hurry, as if waiting even one moment to see your body was agony for him. When you were stripped bare, you stood before him, blushing and crossing one arm over your chest. You’d seen him naked before, so you knew. He was perfection, and you… you were human.

But when you worked up the nerve to look at his face, you found him staring at you with an expression of awe, a look you’d never seen a half breed wear before. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you drop your arm to your side. He looked as if he wanted to take you immediately, but he stood rooted to the spot as he asked, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, but then quickly held one hand up to signal for him to wait. “First, take your clothes off too.”

It was too embarrassing to be the only one naked.

“Okay,” he said, pulling off his uniform and leaving it in a neat pile on the cracked concrete. When he turned to face you, you were surprised to find him already hard. He was much bigger erect than he was when you saw him naked before, and seeing his arousal made your face flush with heat.

You’d never done anything like this before, so you were uncertain of how to proceed. Vartan’s experience was severely lacking, but his own desire seemed to be spurring him on. He stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling your naked body against his. Ahh, his skin felt so smooth and warm. His hands slid down your back, to your ass, where they squeezed lightly.

You tilted your face up and kissed him again as his hands roamed over you, aggressive yet gentle. You remembered a time when the thought of a half breed touching you was the most terrifying thing you could imagine. But Vartan’s touch was warm and careful.

He paused to get his long jacket from the pile of clothes and spread it out like a blanket. Then the two of you sank down onto it, him on top of you. He hovered over you for a moment, then said, “I’d like to try something I read in one of your books. Can I?”

Your mind raced to try to imagine what he read. Those books were full of ridiculously unrealistic sex scenes. But he seemed excited to try whatever it was, so you nodded.

He slid down, parting your legs before leaning forward and licking a stripe up your wet slit. You shivered, rising up on your elbows to look down at him in shock. From what you’d heard, half breeds were usually far too preoccupied with their own pleasure to put much effort into pleasing a human partner. Of course Vartan would be different.

His tongue slipped between your folds, and you don’t know if he intended it or not, but he licked right over your clit, making you gasp. He looked up at you then, his bi-colored eyes watching your face. “The book was right,” he said, “it is delicious.”

This made you blush furiously, instinctively covering your face with your hands as you muttered, “Oh my god.”

You heard Vartan’s voice, soft and uncertain. “I’m sorry, is this unpleasant for you? The woman in the book enjoyed it very much.”

Moving your hands, you looked down at him. “It feels really good. It’s just kind of embarrassing.”

He was looking back at you with concern. “Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes!” you said, a little too enthusiastically. He smiled, then went back to work pleasuring you with his mouth. You laid back, trying to relax despite your nerves being on fire. A gorgeous half breed was between your legs, gently licking your clit, acting as if you were bestowing some wonderful privilege upon him for allowing it. Oh god, it felt too good! Your legs quivered, your back arched, and your hands gripped fistfuls of his jacket beneath you.

You climaxed with a moan, your body trembling as he pulled back and watched you, enraptured by the sight of your orgasm. You panted to catch your breath, then he moved closer, pushing your legs up, bending them at the knees. You felt his tip brush against your entrance, and found him staring at your face, as if waiting for one more confirmation. Given his history, you understood. You smiled up at him and put your hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer.

When he finally pushed into you, it was a slow and careful motion. He didn’t want to hurt you, but your own desire was reaching its peak. You wanted him all the way inside you, and you wanted it now. You bucked your hips against him, urging him to go deeper, faster. You wanted to feel every inch of him.

And he complied, thrusting in, over and over, his breaths hitching in his throat and his eyes sliding closed. You moaned and twitched beneath him, your arms around his neck, trying to pull him even closer.

His cock pulsed inside you, throbbing with pleasure, hitting a spot deep within you that had you gasping. His face hovered above yours, and he looked so beautiful, like angel.

When you came again, clutching him ever tighter, he buried his face in your neck, kissing your throat as his own climax hit. You felt his seed shoot deep into your core, and you felt content. At that moment, the Pagoda, Gallica, the entire world dissolved into the distance. For you, all that existed were you, Vartan, and the red sky looming over your heads.

Tag List:

@scrumptiouslampwobblercop

#alien x reader #alien x human #alien x you #x reader #original fiction #original x reader #reader insert #x reader smut #scifi x reader

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roguishcat · 5 months ago

Text

Conversations with a vampire - part 7/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter summary: Having brought Tav home, Astarion has a conversation with a member of her family.

Tav surprises Astarion by coming up with an unusual way to keep her promise.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated this story, I've been trying to work on my writing. Hope you like this chapter! ❤️

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest. The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalisingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go with an inaudible sigh.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a long look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully. “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past two hundred years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow the woman through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots, and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume and incense mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs, and groans revibrated in near unison, creating an atmosphere where inhibition was replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms, if one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where one would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit. Let me have a look at you.” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet. She did not offer him any.

“We have been watching you, vampire. Oh, yes. I know what you are.” Mamzell Amira did not seem to be fazed by his scowl and the hard, hostile look shot in her direction. “And if you were any less careful than you have been, you would have been dead in a ditch somewhere,” she took a sip and hummed, apparently pleased with the taste.

“Is it a threat?” Astarion bristled, his hackles raised.

“A threat? Oh, no, my dear, dear frightened boy,” she said with mock concern, her fingers casually dancing over the rim of the goblet. “We all have to watch ourselves, really. This one comes from a very prominent family. An illegitimate child, of course. But potentially an important chess piece. And with no official heir still and Tav turning sixteen soon, her worth just keeps going up!”

Mamzell Amira took another sip of her wine, letting the silence stretch. It was surprisingly quiet in her quarters, considering all the activity that was going on at Sharess’. There was most definitely an enchantment of some sort. He supposed a woman as rich as her could afford the services of a good mage.

“Why hide her in a brothel, of all places?” Astarion was the first to break the silence. “Why not send her somewhere in the countryside? Somewhere far away from the vultures?”

Amira scoffed, as if she had never heard something so ridiculous.

“Oh? And have her turn out a sweet, unassuming country bumpkin? How short-sighted would that be! If she is to run with the wolves, she must know how to show her teeth. Her killing that merchant came as a surprise; I would never have guessed that she had it in her,” she said, sounding proud rather than concerned.

“Besides,” she went on, looking away from him with an unreadable expression, “her father was one of the favourites at Sharess’. Shame about what happened to him, really. Such potential simply wasted. But these things happen when one is careless and gets mixed up with powerful people.”

So, a child of a prostitute and a noble. It wasn’t unheard of, although they had plenty of potions and spells to make sure there were no accidents. This meant that Tav’s mother wanted to have a child enough for her to choose to conceive. The fact that her father was now dead, he presumed, possibly meant that the decision was not well met. Either her mother was foolish and naïve, or wanted to get something out of it. Either way, lovers were disposable. Children could serve a greater purpose down the line. Therefore, there was a very strong possibility that Tav’s family had her father killed. Possibly an accident, a carefully orchestrated charade of an investigation, and then nothing.

“There is not much that the child is fit for, unfortunately. Absolutely talentless. Quite useless. The head of the family was most disappointed by her daughter. Yet, this one may have her uses still. Or just turn out to be the goose that lays the golden eggs,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were discussing inconsequential nothings rather than a child broken by the power games that the patriar families of Baldur’s Gate were playing.

Mamzell lifted herself up higher on the chaise longue, crossing her long, lean legs as she poured herself more wine and popped a grape into her mouth.

“She is still a child,” Astarion spat, incensed at her words about Tav. Was there really no limit to how vile the world could be? “What kind of family allows one of their own to get hurt in such a way? Are they prepared for the scars that this would leave?”

“Life lessons always leave scars. Life is pain. Life is loss. I have no reason to stop her from making mistakes, not when they burn so profoundly, so horribly.” Her smile turned wicked, making a chill run down his spine.

“You are not Mamzell Amira, are you?” He flinched as she barked a laugh.

“Oh, so the spawn can think! Bravo! Yes, the real Mamzell is asleep. She is useful but quite simple. Though that is true of most, of course,” she gave a longsuffering sigh. “Don’t expect me to snap my fingers and show my true form. To reveal myself to the likes of you, to what end?”

She seemed to be finished with the conversation, rising gracefully and walking towards the door.

“Consider this conversation as me sizing you up and finding you lacking. Then again, my disappointment of a granddaughter could not have found herself a more fitting friend. You may leave, spawn.”

“I’m assuming you are going to tell me to stop conversing with Tav, aren’t you?”

“Whatever for? As I said, life lessons always leave scars. The ones that she will get from choosing you for a friend are going to be beautiful, I’m certain.”

Astarion rose stiffly, ruby eyes trained on the woman in front of him. He was not an expert when it came to family relations, yet he was sure that perhaps Tav was better off having no family at all rather than being under the tutelage of this monster who masqueraded as a woman. Tav had a heart. This villain certainly did not.

“Tav. Such a strange name. I wonder why she picked it?” She said more to herself than to Astarion. In any case, the woman seemed to be quite finished with him.

“Grab that man on your way out, won’t you? You have to deliver someone to that Cazador. And seeing as you are still useful, I have no reason for wanting you to be locked up. Off you go,” she dismissed Astarion with a wave, facing away from him as she looked out of the window. Leaving one’s back unprotected in this way whilst in close quarters with a vampire would be considered foolish or borderline suicidal, if it wasn’t for the fact that they both knew that he wouldn’t be able to take a step in her direction without being crushed. There was so much magic in the room that it made his fangs itch and his insides twist. He was no threat to this creature, who was apparently related to Tav.

And so Astarion hoisted whatever soul was unfortunate enough to be captured on this night up on his shoulder and left without another word. After all, what else was there to be said?

Astarion did not see Tav for several months after that. Not that he ever sought her out specifically in the past, but he did find himself glancing in the direction of the brothel as he passed by, looking up at the roofs of the houses that hugged the streets of Rivington in case he would see her perched somewhere on an upper floor.

Astarion rarely noticed change; timeless creatures stuck trudging through the years rarely did. Yet even he soon noticed that the days were growing shorter, the first whispers of autumn filling the air. As the city was shrouded in red, gold, and orange, Astarion and his siblings haunted its streets, plucking victims like overripe fruit. Still, there was no sign of the child that used to follow him around. Astarion was not sure how to feel about it.

The earthy smells of autumn soon gave way to the first chills of winter, its cold breath making streets clear of anyone idling the hours away. Clutching their collars closed, Baldurians hurried down slippery streets to seek shelter in taverns, where Astarion and the other spawn waited for them with warm wine and heated promises.

And just like many times before, it was Tav that found him, surprisingly by Elfsong, so far from where she was previously able to go. Astarion quirked an eyebrow as he walked out of the tavern to see her leaning against the wall. For whatever reason, the enchanted band round Tav's ankle no longer shackled her to the streets of Rivington.

“Hi,” Tav said timidly, running her fingers through her blonde hair. “I- I am sorry about what happened when I saw you last. It’s quite embarrassing, really.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting to look at anything but his face.

It was strange that most of all she was worried what he would think.

Tav was dressed in layers of black with shimmering red and gold hexagon patterns. The fur-trimmed collar was high, buttoned up to the very top, and the clothes would be almost shapeless if not for the cleverly hidden buttons and ties that held the structure in place. Cloth rustled softly against cloth as she moved. Unlike the clothes that she wore before, this outfit made her look older. Or perhaps that was not it. Perhaps there were some other imperceptible changes that one could not immediately put a finger on.

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asked, walking away but not so fast that she couldn’t follow.

Tav shrugged and scrunched her nose, as if it hadn’t occurred to her to analyse how she felt until he asked.

“I think I’m okay. I don’t know. They brought a healer, and I guess I feel better. I can still remember what happened vividly, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Weird, right?”

“At least I can pick my own clothes out now. Apparently, you have to literally kill someone round here to get someone to respect you,” she joked weakly.

“Anyway," she cleared her throat, "I wanted to thank you. Thank you for looking after me then, I mean.”

“Well,” he huffed, “your debts just keep stacking up. I suppose you would have no choice but to follow me around long enough to repay them.”

“It would seem so.” Tav smiled a little. It was a weak attempt, but it was better than blank looks or tears. Astarion was pleased that she was holding it together much better than he thought she would.

“Also, I found this in my bag.”

Tav stuck her hand into her brocade bag, once again making Astarion wonder what sort of enchantment would make for such a useful accessory and where one would learn it. Rummaging about, she produced a handkerchief. It was a little crumpled, squashed, and full of untidy creases and folds. Tav straightened it with utmost care, revealing the all-too-familiar embroidery.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Astarion stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

She didn’t bother to pretend to believe him.

“I never get Midwinter presents. Or any presents for that matter. Not even once.”

“I mean,” she sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes, “I get things for me to use delivered, and the tailor now comes to Sharess’ for me to choose my own clothes. And I get plenty of money to spend, but I- I never actually-” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that this means a lot. It’s beautiful.” She gulped when she found that her fingers were shaking and squeezed the handkerchief to her chest.

Astarion found that he was quite unprepared for such genuine gratitude. It wasn’t that special, not compared to the extravagant ensembles and jewellery she wore. He simply had a bit of time on his hands and needed a distraction. So, he embroidered her name and a pretty, delicate butterfly perched on a flower using some red thread.

The handkerchief was dreadfully plain, but Tav looked at it with such open adoration that he felt his shoulders relax a touch.

“I love red. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Well, that is simply a coincidence.” Astarion turned away with a huff. “I had no intention of choosing red, just something I had rattling about in my drawer.” Children were ridiculous creatures. Showing their emotions so freely. Someone really ought to teach Tav not to wear her heart on her sleeve like that.

“Still, I love it. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Well, when one’s standards are so low, it is not difficult to surpass expectations,” he shot over his shoulder.

“By the way, don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal. In fact, as you stopped accepting the potions, I’ve got something else that’s even better.”

She took a scroll out of her bag.

Circling him, Tav grasped his hand tightly. She curled her pinky finger around his, stated that it was perfectly safe, and then proceeded to mutter something he couldn’t make out. The scroll glowed warmly and disappeared, specks of power settling over their hands and then seeping under skin.

“What in the hells was that?” Astarion slapped her hand away with a hiss and took a step back. It didn’t hurt in the least, but he did not know what Tav’s definition of ‘perfectly safe’ was.

“A promise spell,” Tav said breezily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Beg pardon?” he questioned incredulously. Because surely she did not just make him a ‘pinky promise’ out of all things! How very juvenile and how very Tav.

“I promised to set you free and get rid of Cazador, but words just ring a little hollow. And the spell creates a magic bond between the caster and another willing creature-"

“Well now, I don’t recall being asked!” Astarion all but hissed. “Surely you could have thought this through for five minutes! Or at least have given me a warning!”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she scrunched her nose and frowned, as if the thought hadn’t really occurred to her.

“Well, what’s done is done, I suppose,” Astarion gave a longsuffering sigh at her visibly chastened look and commended himself on having the patience of a saint. “Besides, if I am to bear your company, I might as well know that it is all for a worthy cause.”

Tav’s mouth quirked into a smile. Seeing as Astarion didn’t look angry anymore, it wouldn’t hurt to show off a little.

“By the way, look what I can do now.”

She waved her hand, and all lights in the streets wavered, the colour cooling and turning purple, bathing the street in a pretty, if eerie, glow.

“How’s that for a fun party trick?” Tav boasted, clearly very pleased with herself.

“Cute,” he scoffed. “But hardly useful.”

He had to admit, for a child that seemed to take pride in the fact that she slept through most of her spellcasting lessons, she seemed to have performed the trick easily enough.

“I can do all sorts of things now. Not sure why, but doing magic has become much easier since- since that merchant died,” she finished weakly and swallowed.

Astarion supposed this was the part when he was meant to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and impart some words of wisdom. Except he was not the type to do either, so his silence would have to do. Luckily, Tav seemed to snap back to reality quickly enough.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! I got Ebony back!”

One had to admire how easily Tav bounced between emotions. Although keeping up with her changing moods would be enough to give one a headache.

“Dare I ask who is Ebony?” He drawled with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched some drunks stumble past them. He ought to follow the two humans; they seemed the type that could be coaxed to come with him with nothing but promises of free wine and a straw mattress to sleep on. Yet, he stayed to listen to childish prattle.

“Ebony is my dog. Used to ride her around when I was about five.”

“And why would I be interested in some mangy, flea-bitten animal?” Astarion let out with a smirk still on his lips.

“Hey! Ebony is a beauty! For your sake, I will tell her that you were joking when you called her that.”

Ah, there she was. No trace of sadness in her blue eyes. A useless victory that warmed his undead heart.

“And where is that dog of yours?”

“Oh, somewhere about. She comes and goes as she pleases, unless I actually call her. She likes her independence.”

Just wonderful. A potentially mad child followed about by an apparently invisible dog. He sure knew how to pick his acquaintances.

“Whatever is happening to me, I think it is a good change. I can feel myself growing stronger. So just wait a little longer, Astarion. We will be free.”

She blended into the shadows, making him blink in confusion as it became hard to focus on her. It was as if she became one with darkness, making him once again wonder. Wonder if by some unimaginable stroke of luck he actually managed to find himself a half-useful ally.

The pale elf looked down at his hand, noting that if he focused on his fingers, he could see the faint glow around the smallest digit.

“A promise spell,” he mumbled to himself softly.

He hadn’t heard of anything like it. Which made him wonder, what exactly was this mystical pact that he found himself a part of? And what set of circumstances could possibly lead to this promise being fulfilled?

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #fanfic #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfiction #bg3 tav #Conversations with a vampire #roguish cat

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honeyjars-sims · 2 months ago

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Part 2 1.21 Ladies Who Launch

10 Years Ago

Cece and Ben had a few days in between stops on their tour, so they decided to come into town to help Chantal celebrate the launch of her fitness company, Chaka.

They'd bought an RV so they could travel easily, and park at Dad and Pops' place whenever they were in town. It was starting to warm up, so we all decided to go for a swim in the pool.

"I'm really glad it worked out for the two of you to visit," Chantal told Cece and Ben.

"Of course!" Cece responded. "We wouldn't dream of missing your launch! What do you have planned for the big day?"

"Well, the main event is a fashion show, of course," Chantal explained. "But the thing I'm most excited about is announcing that we plan to donate a portion of our profits to help fund education for lower-income children."

"That's amazing, Chan!" Pops exclaimed.

"We're very proud of you!" Dad chimed in. "We're proud of all of you."

"But mostly me, right?" I joked. Just then, I felt a splash of water hit me and I saw Pops laughing gleefully.

"Hey!" I yelled, kicking water in Pops' direction.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist!" He apologized with a sly grin.

"Okay, I guess I kind of deserved that," I admitted. "Anyway, Chantal, how are you feeling about the launch? Are you nervous at all?"

"Believe it or not, I actually am," Chantal replied. "I'm mostly worried that it won't take off as fast as I'd like. I wish I could get someone with a higher profile involved to do some promo."

"That would be cool, but I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do," I assured her.

"I hope so. It's too bad Hollis hasn't come back yet. I think she'd be the perfect person to help draw attention to Chaka."

"Hollis?" I scrunched up my face. "I don't know about that. I'm not sure she even wants to be in the public eye anymore."

"Maybe not, but if she does, I think it would be a great opportunity for her to get involved with a company with a philanthrophic mission. It could really help steer her reputation in the right direction."

"Well, I suppose you can ask her about it when she comes back."

"I will. So what's going on with you? Anything exciting?"

"Not really." I hadn't mentioned to anyone that I might possibly have feelings for Paul. It was silly; of course, I knew no one would have a problem with it, but I was still nervous at the idea of changing everyone's perception of me. Or maybe changing my perception of myself.

"Same old, same old," I lied.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims storytelling #ts4 story #simblr #sims story #simlit #sims community #show us your story #safeharborstory #sh:part2 #sh:part2chapter1 #sh:johnny #sh:chantal #sh:cece #sh:ben #sh:david #sh:solomon

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bunnydolllies016 · 1 year ago

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Lab of the Damned

Chapter 1: Welcome Mc, to A.M.L!

(This is the first chapter of the main story of the Obey Me! Dark lab au! Be warned that future installments will include more gore and violence. The mc/reader is GN, so it'll be Obey me x Gn! reader. TW: Blood, dark themes mentioned, describes some violence.) Chp. 1 (you are here), Chp. 2(Coming soon)

"Greetings Mc!

We are sending you this letter regarding your application to work at Angel's Medicine Laboratory. We are so happy to welcome you to the A.M.L family! Please come into our main building as soon as possible through the hours of 8 A.M to 10 P.M for a tour and to sign your work contract. We'll provide you with your own living space as well so please bring your dear belongings.

We here at A.M.L. can't wait to meet you in person! We hope you'll love becoming part of our family.

Hope to see you soon,

Simeon Angel."

You couldn't believe it, even as you continued to hold the letter in your hands you couldn't believe it was real. You squealed happily and hugged the letter close to your chest, you can finally help make the world a better place! All the struggle throughout high school and a four-year college would finally be worth it. Also, you won't have to live with your parents anymore! You waste no time texting your parents the news, receiving congrats and support in a matter of minutes as you begin to pack up your more important items. Different outfits, some family photos, and anything else you held dear and wanted to keep with you. In the end, you had a backpack and gym bag full of stuff as you began to head out. By now your parents had rushed home to see you off and say their goodbyes. You got in your car and were off, it took you thirty minutes to finally reach the main building and it was around 1 P.M now. You sped-walked into the main building with your bags in hand, stopping to face the lady at the reception desk who seemed to be drawing something out, looked like some elaborate trap. You coughed to get their attention. The woman faced you, their pink rooted hair bounced a bit, and the blue in it looked like a good contrast to the pink. Their green eyes stared at you as they began to speak.

"Good Evening, Welcome to A.M.L., who are you and what do you need?" Their tone sounded slightly annoyed. 'Rude much?' you had thought to yourself.

"Hello, My name is Mc. I'm here for my tour and to sign my contract. Do I sign it here or?...." You say as you wait for their response. Instead, their neon green eyes look you up and down before they pick up their phone and dial a number. You hear them mumble your name over it before the person on the other line hangs up first.

"He'll be down here to get you and greet you shortly, please stay still and wait." They say before going back to drawing whatever they had been before you interrupted them. You decide to look at their name tag, 'Thirteen', what a weird name. Before you know it you see him, your eyes lighting up with recognition. Simeon Angel himself has come to greet you!

"Ah! You must be Mc!" He had begun to speak before a small bark sounded from his bag. You looked down at it just to be greeted by a light blonde chihuahua in a white hat. 'cute..' you thought to yourself. Simeon coughed before he chuckled. "Don't mind Luke, let's go to my office so we can get your papers signed," he says before motioning you to follow him into a nearby elevator. "Just leave your bags here, they'll be taken to your new living quarters by some fellow employees," Simeon states as he steps into the open elevator.

"Of course sir!" You say and do as told, dropping your bags in a nearby chair, and watching as they're taken by two mysterious people before you follow the slim male into the elevator. Eventually, you find yourself sitting at a desk, Simeon Angel behind the desk and in front of you.

"Well Mc, I'm happy to congratulate you in person! I have your contract right here, please do sign it." The man says with a smile as he hands you a clipboard, your contract on it. You briefly read it, not really paying attention to the details, he definitely wouldn't be hiding anything dark in this contract, right? You sign the contract and hand it back to Simeon, who smiles at you and stamps it, confirming you signed it. Simeon speaks up as he takes Luke out of his bag to roam his office, "Thank you! You're the most perfect person for this role! Here take this." The male before you hands you a watch, it looks... weird, you put it on anyway, and once on your wrist, it locked around it. "Don't worry about that! It's just waterproof." Simeon says, his smile still kind and bright as he stands up and motions you to follow. He leads you out of his office, leaving Luke in it as he takes you to go get your uniform and badge. You take the bag containing your clothes and ID, smiling at Simeon before you speak up,

"Thank you, sir!" You begin with a soft smile, "Which part of the lab will I be working?" You miss it but a dark look crosses Simeon's face as he softly smirks.

"I'll take you down there now!" Simeon responds as he motions you to follow again. As you walk with him, you notice he's taking you to a darker part of the building, it somewhat looks hardly used. He stops you at an elevator and digs out a badge, using it to call the elevator. "Your department is top secret, as stated in your contract you can not talk about this work with anyone at all, we'll know if you do." He says, his voice having a somewhat dark undertone despite the soft smile on his face. "Now come along, the tour begins now!" Simeon states as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, you waste no time in following him.

You feel nervous the lower the elevator goes and decide to speak up, "So, why is the department I'm in on such a low floor?" You ask nervously with a small smile, trying to think of what kind of work you could be doing down here. You jump as the elevator stops with a thunk, not expecting the elevator to sound like, especially when the rest of the building is so modern and well-built.

"Well Mc, you will be a caretaker of sorts for our... subjects... I know it won't be too much for you to handle! They're sure to love you..." Simeon says as the dark look on his face is still present, but he still is smiling. You raise a brow, didn't A.M.L claim to not use animals as product and medicine testers? "This is the entrance hall, where you'll use your watch against that machine to clock in." He speaks softly as he points to a machine in front of the both of you. He walks forward and expects you to follow of course. Your eyes widened as you entered the next area; It was a long hallway of some sort, different testing chambers on either side. As you walk beside Simeon you aren't listening as he speaks about each room. Your heart is full of fear and dread as you see what, no, who they are testing on. In the testing room, before you stands a man with white hair in a lab coat, a sinister and sadistic look on his face as he uses a cattle prod to poke and taze a much taller man with black hair, his red eyes showing displeasure and disgust for the man prodding at him, he doesn't even flinch as he is tazed, no spasming or reaction at all came from him, his clothes were disheveled from the prodding though. That wasn't the weirdest part of the man, no it was the very pointy ears, the black horns coming from his head and the four wings coming from his back, all pitch black and some feathers clearly missing, whether it be from this kind of abuse or stress you can't tell.

"W-what the fuck?" You stuttered out as you stepped away from the glass on the testing chamber, not seeing the amused expression Simeon flashed your way.

"That is one of the nine subjects you will be looking after! His name is Lucifer, he is one of the best "demons" we have!" Simeon states as if he is just talking about the weather and not a fully grown man he's having his employees test on.

You stare at the dark-skinned male before you, a look of shock and fear across your face as you speak up in a confused but fearful voice, "Nine? Demons? Huh?" Just as you were about to continue before loud crashing, low growls, and yelling interrupted you; they came from down the hallway. Looking over revealed more "demons", specifically two certain ones fighting. One was a dark-tanned male, with slightly pointed ears, a full head of white hair, and blue eyes that had a golden-yellow gradient. He has horns that look somewhat like spirals atop his head, large bat-like wings come from his back and they flap violently. He's on top of the other male, throwing punches as different scientists try to pry him off the man below him. The male below him has pale skin, and what seems to be scales on it in certain places, he, like the two before him, has pointed ears, but his seemed to have two different pointed ends, somewhat like fish fins. His hair is a blueish-purple color and his eyes are a glowing orange with a purple gradient, the whites of his eyes seem to be a slight grey color. His horns look like coral and are a black color but have a hint of blue to them, he also seems to have a long lizard-like tail.

"Ah, Mammon and Leviathan are at it again. We'll have to punish them...again..." Simeon says, his tone showing distaste but amusement at the chaos around him as he ignores your comment. A door behind you opens and you turn to check it out, you are horrified at the man who stood behind you. He had to be about 7'5 in height alone, he was so muscular and well-built, with a muzzle around his mouth and his hands cuffed in front of him as he looked down at you with interest; he was sniffing you through the muzzle. His hair is a bright orange, his ears pointed but droopy, and he has purple eyes that seem to fade into magenta and then red, one of the whites of his eyes isn't white, but rather an inky black color. Scars litter across his body, along with weird black markings, he has black horns that curve and almost crown his head, fly-like wings coming from his back buzz softly as he continues to stare down at you. "Beelzebub! Now, Now, stop drooling into your muzzle at your new caretaker's scent! Mc this is Beelzebub, Beelzebub this is Mc, your new caretaker!" Simeon says to the towering male standing before them, who looks at Simeon with a somewhat blank expression, you can see some fear and pain in his purple eyes as he stares at Simeon.

"Wait a damn minute please!" You cry out to Simeon, finally catching his attention, and now Beelzebub, who watches you closely but with clear hesitance. "I can't possibly work here after seeing all of this! This is s-so.. so.. fucked up!" You said as you took several steps away from Simeon.

Simeon stopped smiling, his expression dark and serious as he spoke, "You don't have a choice, you signed a two-year contract with us. You're stuck here...unless you'd rather face certain consequences for trying to go against your contract." As he spoke the watch around your wrist tightened and its screen flashed red. By the look on Simeon's face, you knew the consequence of going against him would either be death or the same fate as the subjects you'll be in charge of.

"B-but- I-" You tried to protest but Simeon put a finger to your lips to hush you, a sinister smile on his own lips.

"Shhh, Mc. You already signed away your life to me." Simeon began to speak softly, but his eyes showed sadistic amusement at your internal conflict about all of this. "If this really had bothered you..." Simeon begins again, Beelzebub looks at you sadly and with pity as a guard begins to walk him back to his containment chamber, he can tell you're a good person who just got caught up in a bad situation, he can only hope you stay a good person in here. "Then you should have read the fine print." Simeon finished speaking with a cold smile as he looked down at you. Dread filled you completely, these two years weren't going to end well.

"Welcome to A.M.L, Mc. I can't wait to see all the good work you'll do."

(Well I'm not sure when I'll be able to work on chapter 2, I just started my psychology class, so I'll try my best to work on it when I can. Hope you enjoyed it! This is also posted on my AO3 account and shouldn't be anywhere else but here and there.)

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aylacavebear · 1 year ago

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The Traveler Masterlist

You're from a specific dimension, Solaris Eclipse. It was a dimension of magic. When your kind, the Eldrathiren, turned fifteen, your unique power would awaken within you. Most times, it was something small, levitation, teleportation, creation, elemental manipulation, and things like that. Once in a while, a fifteen-year-old would just disappear, and those were called Travelers. None of them had ever returned. Your parents had told you stories about them, and you hoped that wouldn't happen to you.

Each Chapter will have its warnings. Pairing Eventually Dean Winchester x OC Reader & Sam Winchester x OC Reader.

A/N: If you'd like to get in on the Dimensional Traveling, go to this link and leave me with a comment, or several, with as much or as little detail about the dimension you'd like the Traveler to end up in. If you'd like to have something specific happen, share that too. I'll make sure that you get credit for the idea you shared in the chapter in which your dimension is featured. I'd love to have as many readers involved as possible. I think this could be a lot of fun.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list.

A/N: 3/31/24 - have to edit the tags a bit, as this one is writing itself in a way I hadn't seen, nor meant for it to go.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 - Earth, 1997 Pt. 1 Chapter 3 - Earth, 1997 Pt. 2 Chapter 4 - Twilight Veil Chapter 5 - Crystalis Canopy Chapter 6 - The Shadowed Abyss Chapter 7 - Earth, 2013 Pt. 1 Chapter 8 - Earth, 2013 Pt. 2 Chapter 9 - Aqualumina Chapter 10 - Levithar Labyrinth Chapter 11 - Earth, 1999 pt 1 Chapter 12 - Earth, 1999 pt 2 Chapter 13 - Earth, 1999 pt 3 Chapter 14 - Wonderland pt. 1 Chapter 15 - Wonderland pt. 2 Chapter 16 - Wonderland pt. 3 Chapter 17 - Wonderland pt. 4 Chapter 18 - Mechoria pt. 1 Chapter 19 - Mechoria pt. 2 Chapter 20 - Mechoria pt. 3 Chapter 21 - Mechoria pt. 4 Chapter 22 - Earth, 1999 & Mechoria Chapter 23 - A World Between Worlds Chapter 24 - Earth, End of January 2002

(There will be more, and I'll be posting these again as soon as I'm done with Wonderland, which has been a joy to write.)

Tag List: @littlemadamred @mxltifxnd0m @foxyjwls007 @supernaturalfreakout @roseblue373

@flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @hobby27 @megs-gadom

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wingedcupcaketimemachine · 8 months ago

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The Mystery of the Barnet Clan Harry Potter x Reader Series

First Year Chapter 9: The Mirror of Erised

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Harry discovers a mirror that shows his deepest desire.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,796

Story Starts Below Cut

Chapter 1

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find. itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying,too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. (Y/N) had decided to stay as well since her parents would be busy working at the Ministry of Magic.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him --"

“Don’t be stupid, Ron,” said (Y/N), shaking her head, “He’s not worth the trouble.”

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh -- drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said (Y/N), and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on -- out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, (Y/N), Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other three had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks. Five minutes later, (Y/N), Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads.

They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron, "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows -- and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly likeMuggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family -- in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him." On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" he said, “What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mum. I told her you didn't expect any presents and -- oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next two presents also contained candy -- a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione, and a large package of Treacle Tart from (Y/N).

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is -- they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is -- try it on."

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in, with (Y/N) trailing behind.. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He would tell (Y/N) later, but didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look -- Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. (Y/N)’s sweater was the same emerald green as Harry’s with her initial on it.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

“Come on, Ron,” said (Y/N) teasingly, “Maroon brings out your eyes.”

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all this noise?” Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."

"I -- don't -- want,” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George, "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non expandable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry, (Y/N), and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back -- his father's cloak -- he felt that this time -- the first time -- he wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence -- the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside -- stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him -- the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket -- but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him. But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes -- her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

“You two could have at least told me about the cloak,” said (Y/N) irritably.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror,” said Harry.

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

“Ron may be right,” said (Y/N) thoughtfully, “I can’t imagine that there’d be a mirror with the sole purpose of showing people’s families. It must do something else.”

"Are you all right, Harry?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron and (Y/N) covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed. I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here -- just here -- yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything," said Ron.

"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them...."

"We can only see you, Harry," said (Y/N).

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" asked Harry.

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head boy!"

"What?"

"I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too.”

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at (Y/N) and Harry.

“Let me look,” said (Y/N), switching places with Ron.

“What do you see?” asked Ron, “Are you on the Quidditch team too?”

“Yes,” said (Y/N), “But my parents are there too.”

(Y/N) gazed into her reflection in the mirror. She had won the Quidditch cup, like Ron, but, for some reason, she wasn’t alone. Her parents stood on either side of her looking proud as she beamed.

“Maybe it means your parents will watch you win the Quidditch cup next year,” said Ron moving back in front of the mirror, "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?” asked Harry, “All my family are dead -- let me have another look --"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me --"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron, (Y/N), and Harry stood quite still, all thinking the same thing -- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe,” said (Y/N), “She might have gone for Filch. I bet she heard us. Come on."

And she and Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?" asked (Y/N).

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror,” said Ron, “Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

“He is right though, Harry,” said (Y/N), “We already had a really close call last night. Do you really want to risk it again?”

"I'm serious, Harry,” said Ron, “Don't go."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron and (Y/N) weren’t going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except --

"So -- back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

" -- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It -- well -- it shows me my family --"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy, and your friend (Y/N) sharing her accomplishments with her parents."

"How did you know --?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently, "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. (Y/N) Barnet, who never sees her parents as much as she likes, seeks their validation and praise. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore

might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

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