#and I hope this helps y'all feel better after the *last* chapter

[harmonictechnicality]

Memory Log: Day 52

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 5 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)

After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.

He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).

Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.

He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.

Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.

“Steve… not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 

Yeah. Why does he care so much? 

She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”

They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.

They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.

So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.

He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:

“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”

He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.

“I’m doing it for them.”

Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.

Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.

“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”

“You know…” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”

“Right.”

This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.

Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.

But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.

He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 

So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.

Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.

“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.

So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 

Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.

That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.

Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.

“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.

“Never said he did.”

He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.

“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”

“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.

They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 

His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um… the… creepy guy.”

“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”

“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”

“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”

“Fine.”

Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.

“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:

Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.

“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”

Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).

Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.

Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.

The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 

He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 

Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?

Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.

The notes are still there. Fading, but there.

It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.

Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 

He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.

Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.

Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.

After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.

“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater…why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.

Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”

“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”

This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just… I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”

“Right. And what theory would that be?”

That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”

Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”

Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”

“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”

“Not all the time, but -”

“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”

Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”

“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”

Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s…”

“Genius?”

“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”

Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”

“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”

Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”

Memory Log: Day 53

Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.

“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.

“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”

“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”

That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.

Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know… you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”

Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).

“Yeah well… I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.

“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So… what’s on the brain agenda today?”

Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.

Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 

And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.

But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 

The payoff might be worth the weirdness.

“I actually wanted to contribute to your…” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.

Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”

“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.

“You think of something better then.”

Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”

“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.

“Better than yours.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”

“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”

“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”

Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.

“You sure are, Steve.”

Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.

“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.

“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”

Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.

“No, this one is actually…” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”

Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”

Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 

“Too late.”

Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”

“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.

Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.

“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look… that’s just -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”

Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”

He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.

“So you uh…” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or…”

God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 

“Got it.”

The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.

They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.

It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.

“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.

“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”

Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.

Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:

“I won’t forget, Eds.”

Day 56:

Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.

He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.

But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.

After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.

“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.

Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”

“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”

Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”

“With what insurance?”

“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”

“So?”

“Final conclusion?”

“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”

“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.

“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”

“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.

“Whatever you say, man.” 

“So did it…” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”

Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.

They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.

Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”

“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”

“It wasn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I…” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”

“Oh.”

“With you.”

The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.

The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.

It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.

Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.

But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?

Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’

But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’

Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.

“So… do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 

Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”

Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His monitor is ballad again.

One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.

The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 

Headaches…

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.

Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 

Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.

“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”

Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”

“Share with the class, please.”

Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”

“Not joking, no.”

Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie… that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”

Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.

“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”

Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.

So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.

“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part… not so much.”

“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”

“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”

They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.

Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”

And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 

This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.

He probably deserves it.

Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.

It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.

Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.

The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.

The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.

He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.

“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.

Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?

“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”

“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”

Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.

“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out… if that’s cool with you.”

He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 

Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’

But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”

Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”

Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.

And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.

Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.

“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”

She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“It’s pretty late… you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”

“Won’t I…” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”

“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”

Steve smirks. “Got it.”

“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”

Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.

He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.

Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when he���s cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.

Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.

And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.

Day 57:

It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.

He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 

His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.

They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 

The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. His squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.

Awake.

Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.

Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.

Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.

Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”

Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.

“Should I stop?”

Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.

Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.

“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”

Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.

“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.

“The sounds you’re making?”

Steve nods.

“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”

Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”

Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.

He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.

Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”

The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.

Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.

“Good.”

Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.

He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 

It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.

“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”

Right. It's the weekend.

Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”

Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”

“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”

She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.

Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.

Steve nervously whistles. “So…”

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”

Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”

Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”

Um. What?

Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”

“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”

This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”

“Get out of here already!”

Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 

Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.

Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.

If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.

And a kiss on the lips.

Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 

[agentstarkid]

MY THOUGHTS WILL ECHO YOUR NAME ✦ DR3

✦ PAIRINGS: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 1K words

✦ TRACK LIMITS: female!reader, latina!reader, fluff, there's a nine-year age gap. This is completely from Daniel's POV and what happened after he met Girlie, so it's pretty much him-centric.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: TA-DAAAAA!! y'all thought I'd leave you without Daniel simping over Girlie the night they met? Nah lol and btw, not my first language, sorry if there's any mistake <3

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

He watched her walk away with her friends, he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. The night had flown by, each moment with her more captivating than the last. Her laugh, her eyes, the way she listened so intently—it all felt effortless and real. He couldn't shake the memory of how nervous he'd been earlier in the night when he first saw her across the crowded room. It had been a long time since he felt that kind of anxiety—he hadn’t felt that way since the night he approached Jemma, his high school sweetheart, in that nightclub years ago. They had broken up in 2016, and since then, no one had made him feel quite as excited or uncertain.

He noticed how she sighed and smiled as she gently steadied her friend, showing her caring nature even amidst the chaos. When she glanced back at him, their eyes met, and he felt a giddiness he hadn't expected. He waved, hoping she saw the sincerity in his smile.

Lost in his thoughts, Daniel replayed the evening in his mind. He remembered how his palms had grown sweaty and his heart had raced when he decided to go talk to her. He had been drawn to her laugh, her smile, the way she exuded warmth, a presence that reached him even when he was standing far away. Approaching her felt like stepping into uncharted territory, a thrilling mix of fear and anticipation.

Just then, his friends came up behind him, breaking through his reverie with playful nudges and teasing grins. “Hey, Romeo,” one of his best mates, Blake Mills—a.k.a. Tall Blake—, called out, “you were pretty into her, huh?”

“Yeah, bro,” this time Blake Friend—a.k.a. Manager Blake—chimed in, “we've never seen you like this, bro. Must be something special.”

Daniel chuckled, trying to play it cool, but he couldn't hide the genuine smile spreading across his face. “Maybe she is,” he admitted, his gaze still lingering on the spot where she had disappeared.

As Daniel's friends continued to tease him, he couldn't help but smile, their light-hearted jabs contrasting with the seriousness of his thoughts. “Come on, guys, give me a break,” he said, though his grin betrayed how much he enjoyed their banter.

“Seriously, though,” Carlo—Rigolini, who, as well as Blake Mills and Baz Martino, was a childhood friend—said, sobering slightly, “you looked really happy talking to her. Haven't seen you like that since, well, you know…”

Daniel nodded, appreciating his friend's unspoken reference to Jemma without needing to delve into it. “Yeah, she was different,” he admitted, his mind drifting back to the brief, intense connection they'd shared. “I haven't felt like this in a long time.”

Baz clapped him on the back. “Well, you better hope she felt the same way. Maybe you'll get another chance.”

Daniel nodded, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. He knew he had to take the initiative if he wanted to see her again, and suddenly his phone felt invaluable with the new number saved on it. The memory of their laughter, the way her eyes sparkled under the lights, and the easy flow of their conversation all played over in his mind, making him more determined.

As they started to leave the party, Daniel's thoughts remained with her. The night had been a whirlwind, and he hadn't expected to feel this way again. The prospect of seeing her again filled him with a mix of nervousness and excitement, much like when he first approached Jemma all those years ago.

“Alright,” he said, turning to his friends with a renewed sense of determination, “let's get out of here. But mark my words, I'm definitely going to see her again.” His friends cheered, playfully encouraging him. 

As Daniel and his friends began to gather their things and head out, Martin approached them, his usual confident grin plastered across his face. “Hey, guys, had a good night?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with the afterglow of the party's success.

“Yeah, man, it's been great,” Daniel replied, still buzzing from his encounter. They chatted for a few minutes, exchanging stories and laughs about the night's events.

Finally, Daniel scratched the back of his head, looking slightly sheepish. “Listen, bro, I know you wanted to introduce me to someone tonight, but I ended up meeting an amazing girl on my own.”

Martin's grin widened, and he clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Dude,” he chuckled, “that was her!”

Daniel blinked in surprise. His brown eyes widened and his lips formed an "O". “Wait, what? That was her?” he whisper-screamed dumbfounded. 

“Yeah, man,” Martin said, laughing at Daniel's astonished expression. “I saw you two hitting it off and decided to let things play out naturally. Looks like it went pretty well, huh?”

Daniel shook his head, a smile spreading across his face as the pieces fell into place. “I can't believe it. She's incredible.”

Martin nodded. “I had a feeling you two would get along. Glad I was right.” The Dutchman then gave Daniel a playful nudge. “So, did she end up being your New Year's kiss?”

Daniel blushed slightly, making a face that showed both regret and disappointment. “Mate, I didn't kiss her, and I should have,” he admitted. “but I didn't want to come on too strong.”

At this point, Daniel's friends joined in the teasing. “We can't believe you even had the guts to go talk to her on your own,” One Blake said, giving him a playful shove.

“Yeah,” the other one chimed in, “you've been out of the game for a while, bro.”

Daniel chuckled, though the blush on his cheeks deepened. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys,” he said sarcastically, but he couldn't hide his grin.

As they wrapped up their conversation, Daniel felt a renewed sense of excitement. This unexpected twist only deepened his determination to see her again.

“Thanks, Martin,” he said earnestly, feeling grateful for his friend's matchmaking efforts.

“No problem,” Martin replied, waving them off with a knowing smile. “Good luck, man.”

As Daniel and his friends walked out into the cool night air, he couldn't stop thinking about her. The laughter and teasing from his friends continued, but his mind was already planning how he might see her again.

One thing was certain: this New Year's Eve had marked the beginning of something special. And as they made their way back to their hotel, Daniel couldn't help but feel that this was just the start of a new chapter in his life.

✦ may's radio: would you guys like to read about any other specific scene in the fic? 👀

[jillsandwhichs]

RE Character x Reader Smutshot Collection , Chap 6 , Time crunch

Masterlist

Pairing: F!reader x Ada Wong

Summary: Ada is about to leave from the extraction point in 10 minutes. That gives you just enough time to say goodbye

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Partners in crime

WC: 2.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: This is very vanilla, sorry y'all. Hookup, making out, slight dirty talk & oral sex (You receive)

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Silence.

It felt awkward.

The two of you just shared a very steamy kiss.

Yes, the two of you have fucked before, but never on the job, you kept it strictly professional when working, it was just a code you both lived by.

But knowing she'll be gone for awhile after these final ten minutes, neither of you can hold yourselves back, especially yourself. Ada, despite her many flaws, means a lot to you. You've both formed a bond due to your similar interests in life and work, even sexual interests. Ada is a mysterious lady, but that hasn't stopped her from allowing you to at least explore her body, in which you've done quite a bit.

You've been working together for a year now, exactly a year one month ago. Ever since, you two have always chosen each other for missions. You're both reliable and make sure the other escapes, even if your guy's selfishness begins to interfere. Ada has had to save your ass more than you have had to hers but either way, you both are there for each other. Ada was much more hardened when you first met, she's softened up somewhat now.

"How long?" "How long what?" "How long will you be gone for, Ada?" You wondered, crossing your arms and walking back and forth. You'd be alone from now on. Where was she even going and why? "Just a couple of months. I have some unfinished business to attend down in China, you understand?" Ada hummed to you. Ada was leaning against the brick wall, her thin arms at her slender sides. You do understand. She has work, and sometimes work requires you to travel.

Gazing at her, you thought about the kiss you two had just exchanged. It was hot. It was erotic. Kissing for you two is the ultimate form of intimacy. You two tend to get very touchy whenever you kiss or make out, you can't help yourselves. "I hate to say it, but, It'll be difficult without you." You admitted, your tone very low, almost as if you didn't want her to catch onto what you said. "I understand. If it makes you feel better, this won't be the last time you see me. I plan to even remain in contact with you while I am overseas." Ada also admitted something.

Her words meant a lot.

It's not like she owes you that though. You two aren't in a relationship. You two hookup, it feels good, it's nice, that's it, it isn't anything more. But, it almost seems hard to avoid one another. Ada is a drug, morphine to you. You need that woman in your system at least once within the day. Just being around her causes arousal to stir up inside of you. Every single time you both finish a mission, you guys meet up and fuck. It's a ritual at this point.

You stood there, your head tilted down, your eyes glancing at the muddy ground. It had rained not to long ago. You and Ada were slightly wet from it, but it's dried up for the most part - In some places... You looked back up at Ada, she was gazing at you with a soft look. You began to amble closer to her, your heart thumping repeatedly in your chest as you did. Oddly enough, you felt nervous this singular time when approaching her. "I want you... For one last time." You whispered, your front finally pressed up against hers.

"You may have me for one final time." Ada bit her lower lip, it was tinted a darker shade of red, her lipstick was always an attraction.

You cupped her face in your hands, aggressively, yet passionately, pressing your lips against hers. Your lips moved in sync, it was rather beautiful actually. Ada's miniscule hands encased around your back, making sure you weren't going nowhere. She held you, her hands stroking your entire time. Her touch felt like a thousand suns. You'd miss it so very much. You are sure it won't be the last time you feel her - It can't be the last time.

Ada licked your lower lip, desperately wanting to taste you. She couldn't live without kissing you, kissing you with her tongue. Your mouth is a safe haven for her. Your mouth went slightly agape, and her tongue slipped into your mouth, an honest moan coming from her when she pushed it in. "Fuck." You grunted, your bodies flipping so that you were now against the cold, hard, red brick wall. Both of you are switches at the end of the day.

"I wanna taste you." Ada mumbled, her lips finally detaching from yours. You were panting, trying to catch your breath. Her seductive tone was enough to have your panties soaked and your pussy wanting her even more. Ada has a way with words.

You smiled at her, your head diving into the crook of her neck. Your lips found her sweet spot, and you took advantage of that. You pecked all along her neck, your breath sharp as you breathed in. Her scent was lovely too, she smelt like Vanilla and that was very sexy to you. Maybe she knew that because anytime you hookup, its what she smells like. It drives you crazy. "You want to taste me?" You cooed on her throat. "You know I do, honey." Ada responded truthfully.

That just made you drip more.

Adas eyes locked with yours as she moderately lowered her body until her face was at an alignment with your core, a look of need was on her face. Disbanding the eye contact, she gandered at your jeans and the buttons on them as she began to undo them, wanting you terribly now. "We have to be quick." "I know." You replied. It seriously sucks that she'll be going away for some time. You'll miss the way her firm tongue feels on your pussy.

Her lean fingers pulled your pants down with haste, your damp panties directly in her face. "I can already smell you." She sighed softly, breathing it all in. You moaned softly. You didn't know where to set your hands, she hasn't eaten you out in this position before. "My shoulders baby." She cooed, as if she could read your mind. Obliging, you placed your hands on her slender, boney shoulders; The stability will come into use later.

With your hands on her shoulders, her hands went to your panties, tearing them off of you as quickly as she could. Your soaked cunt was revealed to her alas. The cold, windy air hit you like a bullet, causing you to shiver. "I'll warm you up." She teased right before she buried her face in your cunt, her tongue profusely lapping at your wet folds. "Oh." You whimpered in surprise, shocked that she so soonly began to eat you out like it was the last time she ever would.

Maybe it is.

Your head leaned back against the wall, your hair already becoming a mess. The brick wall was cold on your rear, the texture of it wasn't the best either but you'd endure it just for this. "Fucking hell..." You panted, her tongue was going mad on you. Adas eyes were closed. It seemed as though she was channeling everything inside of her to make you feel good, which was clearly worked. Your legs already felt wobbly. You felt like you could fall at any second, you held onto her tighter.

The lewd noises that were being made only enhanced the sexual pleasure Ada was making you feel. That extraordinary pit in your stomach - The one that lets you know your orgasm is about to rush over you, was slowly yet surely taking over.

As she continued, Ada began to adjust your legs to be sat on her shoulders. You helped, shifting them and blowing out deeply as you felt the comfortability of it. It felt way better this way. You began to moan much more loudly, Adas tongue causing your muscles to tighten inside of you. It was hard not to, but you began to practically ride her face. You grinded your pussy up against her mouth. She didn't seem to mind, if anything, she reveled in it.

"Faster." She spat out, her nails digging into your plump thighs. Another thing about Ada is that she worships your body, especially your thighs. She'll stare at you and get horny. There is just something about you that does that to her.

Listening, you began to ride her face quicker. Your movements were sloppy but you didn't care, just as long as she was licking you, tasting you and making you feel pleased. "Oh Ada..." You let out a sharp breath. Your hands ran through her jet black hair, it was soft, healthy, easy to tug on - Which you did. "Right there, that's it." You whined. Her tonuge on your clit was exactly what you needed. The sensitive bud needed to be focused on.

She suctioned your clit between her lips, slurping on it. You slammed your head back, your back arching too, you were going to cum on her tonuge.

"Oh..."

Your orgasm flew over you. Suddenly, the crisp air made your nipples hard and your body to shake slightly, that was due to it mixing with your climax. You rode her face for a few more seconds and then you pulled away, pushing yourself up against the wall. You were still dripping, your wetness with the mixture of your squirt dripped onto the ground. Ada stood up, maintaining her gaze on you as she did.

Wiping her mouth as well, Ada spoke up.

"You tasted amazing." She said softly, stumbling over to you. You just giggled, your vision still felt hazy, you were a bit out of it, that's for sure. You stared at her for a moment. You wish you two could have more time together, you wonder if you have enough time to at least eat her out as well. Probably not. She's a very coordinated lady, she'll want to get out of her the second the correct time strikes the clock.

You pulled your panties up and then your pants, you rebuttoned them up too. You didn't want to look like a mess when it is time to go, your boss will be concerned. "Do you think we'll have time to-" "No. Two minutes until I must leave." Ada interrupted you. She just didn't want you to get your hopes up for disappointment. For some reason, you're upset. You don't care for Ada a whole lot as a person, you guys are simply forced to team up. That doesn't mean you don't care at all. A part of you is going to miss her.

As Ada was letting her eyes roam around as she waited patiently, you grabbed onto her, pouncing your lips onto hers. She gasped but quickly melted at the gesture. She swathed her arms around your neck, her fingers messing with your tied back hair. "This is my goodbye to you." You hummed, your tongue slithering along hers; The texture of it turned you on once again. "This is a good farewell then." She smiled into the kiss. Not your average smile though, very small and barely noticeable.

You slid your hands down her back and onto her ass, holding it in both hands. You squeezed her, a sigh coming from her. "I won't be gone too long." "A couple months is long, Ada." You stated. You found it to be too damn long. No one will suffice like Ada does. "You'll be fine." She cupped your face, her thumbs caressing both sides of your cheeks before she finally had to pull away, her watch buzzing.

"Gotta go."

Her hands were in yours. You wanted to homd onto her as long as possible but she backed and backed away slowly til eventually, your hand dropped from hers.

"So long, beautiful." She winked as she tilted her head before she randomly used her grappling hook to sail away. You could hear what seemed to be a helicopter in the distance, most likely her getaway vehicle. You stood there in silence, all that could be heard was that motor and your soft, calm breathing. All you can think about is how much things will be different. You'll either be alone or with a new partner, both options don't sound pleasant whatsoever.

You blew out a deep breath, collecting yourself.

"Time to go home." You whispered before you began to run off, the events of tonight on repeat in your head.

[bitingcatshark]

BestFriendSimon Riley x Femreader

< Distance >

Chapter 3

Time for some MORE LORE BITCHES. Jk y'all are beautiful, don't be mean to yourself.

In the midst of night, you laid awake, scrolling through social media. Thoughts overflowed, scrolling mindlessly, helplessly even. Why was this app always giving you the most depressing videos in the middle of the night?? "If he does these things, he doesn't like you." "Accepting he'll never be yours." "The sunset is beautiful, isn't it?" Good, GOD, the algorithm is RELENTLESS. Fueling the fire, with every, single, damn, scroll. It drove you to tears, yet, you didn't stop. Perhaps, these videos and posts were true. Perhaps you felt comfort within this pain, these diminishing thoughts. Maybe it was better to be sad, than hopeful about something you weren't even too sure about. Even if..that happened last night.

"Simon..this guy that I like.."

He knew it was about him, undoubtedly. He knew speaking of him as "the guy you like" was the ONLY way for you to confess anything, so he didn't think of it as being weird in any way. "Go on."

"Sometimes I wonder, what if he doesn't like me back? He does things that seems like he likes me, at the same time, he isn't doing things that make it obvious he likes me. Maybe he does? But I don't know."

"Things take..time. Maybe he's unsure, still afraid. You don't always know what things people went through that cause them to..retract sometimes. You mentioned at some point you were scared too."

"Perhaps so..I just feel like he doesn't see me the way I see him."

"Believe me, I know that guy really well. He definitely likes you."

You covered your face halfway, not even facing into his direction. Simon chuckled, facing into the screen.

"Look at me, luv."

"I, I can't."

"Why? Just look at me."

"I really can't, Simon!" You hid your face even more. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. He looked down, chuckling as he rubbed something off his thigh, facing into the screen again. You kept your eyes off him, too embarrassed to even look at him.

...

Even after knowing he definitely likes you, you still found ways to fill your head with doubt. What if it's only for the moment? What if it's only because I'm the only one available at the time? What if he justs ghosts me, the hookup culture is insane nowadays!

Placing in your earbuds, and cranking up the volume on your phone, you listened to music. You'd curl into a ball, hands on your temples. The thoughts hurted you so much. But better safe than sorry, right? Rather experience the pain now, then later. Let it hurt now, and let it hurt less when the eventual truth came out.

Little did you know, how Simon would dream of you. He'd think so much of you, that if he didn't, he'd immediately notice and think of you again. He would wait, in anticipation, for every text. Simon was also scared. His bad past, the military, he wanted to look tough in front of you, yet sometimes he'd wish he could just crumble, bit by bit into your arms. He didn't want to come off too strong, in fears of scaring you. You were the one thing that helped him get up in the morning, to face his missions. Shooting his targets from behind a wall, you in the back of his mind. He was keeping you safe from these bad people. Every silent stab to the neck, it was you he was thinking of. He needed to keep you safe.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 9 - Southwark Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 8 Summary: Neil finally shows you what it is that does for a living. The answer is not something you are prepared for in the slightest. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language and a tiny teeny dose of angst because it's me. Author's Notes: Considering this one took just a little over a month to write, I think I should be proud. Especially if we consider the amount of pain that first sequence caused me to write. Let's reiterate - I hate descriptions. With passion. So I hope it's somewhat decent and is a not a terrible homage to good ol' Chris Nolan who made all this happen in the first place. This one is a bit unconventional, partially because Neil takes over the floor from the very first line, but also because it's the only point at which I'm dealing with the canon material. Yes, this is a reassurance to y'all ✨ This time, there'll be no Stalsk-12. Instead, there'll be human idiocy and feelings, terrifying as they can be. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Enjoy! Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

When TP not only agreed to Neil to telling Cupid about Tenet and inversion but also proposed he can make use of the headquarters for this purpose, he instantly decided that his friends’ idea was miles better than his half-devised plan, wherein the key equipment involved a piece of paper and a pen.

Neil knew from experience that practical demonstration always did the trick where words could hardly be enough, especially for a complete novice. And the last thing he wanted was to traumatise her so hard she would disappear from his life without further ado. No, that would not do.

So, with the green light from the boss himself, he set out to prepare everything for the event. After settling that Saturday morning was a relatively quiet time in the building with ample time for recovery on the following day, Neil texted Cupid with an invitation. Her enthusiastic reply sweetened the pains of facing Ives and Wheeler with their permanent smug grins and knowing looks. Rueing the fact that he needed their help with the plan, Neil convinced the pair to join him on Saturday and laid out the schemes. Simple as they were:

Lead her into the HQ.

Convince her he had not lost his mind as he introduced the concept of inversion.

If, by some miracle, she is still there, show her what it means through Ives and Wheeler doing a demo.

Answer multiple questions.

(Hopefully still have a friend).

Simple, right?

Nearly trembling from anxiety, Neil avoided coffee as he got ready and made his way to Canary Wharf an hour early. Having ensured his support was present and ready for whatever awaited, Neil made his way back to the station with ten minutes to spare.

Observing ducks from the docks could only take so much time after all.

Unsurprisingly, she was not late. At 9:00 AM sharp, Cupid ascended the stairs, her gaze scanning the people with the vigilance Neil was familiar with from every Wednesday morning aboard the Jubilee line. Her eyes would dart from face to face until she would locate him, often without Neil noticing he was observed. He had a feeling that was not something he should ever share with TP. The lack of awareness was glaring for someone who was supposed to be a part of an intelligence task force. Intelligence is the keyword.

This morning, however, he had the upper hand. His gaze swept over her before she had located him. An affectionate smile was a reflex, strengthened by the fact that this was the first time he had seen her since Thursday nightÔ. Another event which had earned the trademarked status in his head. Annoyingly so because, again, there was nothing special about it. Except for maybe another evening of memorable sex and unforgettable sensations. Yeah, just that.

When her eyes had finally found him, Neil was more than grateful. He pushed past the unhelpful recollections and stepped forward from his post by the wall, meeting her halfway. Before he could let himself overthink, Neil grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, gathering her in an embrace he suddenly needed. It only took her five seconds to reciprocate the hug, her arms wound tightly around his waist, slipping underneath the unzipped leather jacket. If he suppressed a shudder at the sensation, it was no one’s business but his own. As was the sigh Neil released into her hair, allowing himself to relax just a fraction.

Another beat had passed before Cupid let go of his, her hands sliding down his arms to take his hands into hers and squeeze them once. An impish smile on her face felt too much like home for Neil’s liking.

“Hello,” entangling her fingers with his, Cupid scanned his face, her eyes flitting between his, undoubtedly reading every thought he had ever had as if he were nothing but an open book. Neil supposed that, for her, he was one. For better or for worse, “Should I be worried that you look this nervous?” the question was asked with careful consideration, her piercing gaze still trained on his.

Yet Neil knew what it was that she was asking. Can I trust you? It was the one question he did not need to debate.

“No, not at all” he squeezed her hands back, offering a reassuring smile to make up for his internal turmoil.

Because this was the one thing Neil was sure of. Nothing would happen to her. Not on his watch. He knew Cupid understood, for she nodded and shot him a cheeky smile, clearly meaning to dissipate the remains of his uncertainty.

“Hmm. Very encouraging, Neil” the humour in her voice was enough to raise his spirits, always embarrassingly sensitive to everything she said or did. Slowly, she let go of one of his hands and started leading him out of the station entrance despite not knowing the direction. It was a clear signal where he was concerned – get over yourself, “I haven’t prepped my will, just so you know,” the quip was made with a familiar glimmer in her eyes, easily drawing out a laugh from Neil.

Too easily, perhaps. But who was he to judge? A light shake of the head had to do before Neil started leading her towards their destination, painfully aware of her curious looks. Still, somehow, he knew she would not ask questions; eager to understand but also conscious of his mind state. Aware of the fact that this would not be easy, even if she had no idea why. Or where they were going.

“That won’t be necessary” a glance sideways told Neil that Cupid was observing him with unwavering curiosity, a million questions multiplying in her mind.

“Very well” accepting his feeble attempt at reassurance, she added with confidence, “I trust you,”

The statement was strengthened by the look in her eyes and the firm hold over his hand. It was highlighted by the very fact that she did not question where they were heading or what he was about to reveal. She just followed without a protest. The weight of her trust settled comfortably on Neil’s shoulders, inspiring courage where before he would stutter. Suddenly, he needed to express this heady feeling in any way possible.

“And I treat that very seriously” he waited for her to meet his gaze before shooting an honest smile, reserved only for her. She mirrored the expression, an unexpected softness of affection making her eyes shine with something Neil did not understand well enough to name. Something hopeful “Come on, Cupid. Let’s go pray, shall we?” her answering laughter warranted a perfect response to cut short the worries.

At least for the present moment.

The light mood, filled with nonsensical conversations and multiplying reasons why it was probably a terrible idea to let her get that close, lasted as far as the first security checkpoint by the outer gates. When they approached the steel fencing, Neil could feel her tense up. The chatter ceased, replaced with silent consternation, millions of unasked questions visible in her wary gaze. Neil could only offer her a reassuring smile as he led her through the security check, signing his name under multiple white pages that outlined the severe consequences should things go awry. He could only hope they would be entirely unnecessary. Please.

Her silence lasted as far as the HQ lobby, which Neil strode into with all the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing. (He did not know what he was doing). Cupid stepped inside the high-ceilinged space and stopped, pulling him back instantly. One glance at her confused face told him there would be no more running away from that first dose of preliminary questions.

Blessing the quiet Saturday morning, Neil gently tugged at her hand to lead her over to the armchairs by the coffee table on the side and waited for her to sit down before he motioned for Cupid to speak:

“So, you are James Bond, huh?” the first question was not what Neil expected, yet it made all the sense in the world.

Her wide gaze roamed over the space, occasionally darting to his face with a palpable nervousness. She looked adorable in her skittishness, and Neil did not know what to do with this fact. He counted it a win that she was still present, waiting for the information.

“Not- Not quite” a crooked smile made it home on his face as Neil felt his hands twitch in his lap.

It felt strange not to hold her hand as he was about to share the groundbreaking knowledge which probably would change their relationship. But she needed the space. He could see her process every little piece of information with that thoughtful look in her eyes. The best he could offer was patience and answers.

“But you’re definitely not a priest” once her gaze wandered back to him, Cupid gave him another cursory glance and perfected it with a sardonic smile, “This doesn’t look like a church,” no matter how hard he looked, Neil could not find hints of distrust or anger in her eyes.

Instead, all he could see was curiosity, burning bright and strong. That he could work with.

“It’s not. Welcome to Tenet, Cupid” pointlessly opening his arms in an attempt at a grand gesture, Neil let his hands drop to his sides pathetically as he launched into a well-rehearsed speech, “We’re an independent intelligence agency. Kind of like MI5. But we’re more… specialised” with the easiest part out of the way, he paused and took a deep breath to organise his thoughts to provide a reply she would understand.

But before Neil could open his mouth to continue, she interrupted with a half-choked groan and covered her face with her hands with a curse ready on her tongue:

“Jesus… how the fuck-” he stared as she seemed to process it, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, just short of something resembling a panic attack. Leaning forward in his seat as if trying to get closer to her, Neil pondered reaching out, checking whether she was alright. Before he could decide, Cupid let out another deep sigh and raised her head, meeting his worried gaze with a shaky smile, “Okay, don’t mind me. Go on” the hysterical edge in her voice made his lips twitch in a bemused smile, an expression Neil soon wiped clean off his face.

It was no time to make fun of her. Surely. Instead, he took a deep breath, ever so grateful for the lack of company in their vicinity, and continued with the well-rehearsed explanation:

“We’re specialised in something called the inversion and the effects that has on our world. We’re basically protecting all of you innocent citizens from the inverted technology, warfare and the like. Only, the main thing is that most of these things, the conflicts we observe, haven’t happened yet from our point in time” as soon as the most significant part of his summary dropped, Neil could see her eyes widen.

As if on cue Cupid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, evidently looking for any signs that he was joking. That she understood it incorrectly. Despite the sudden desire to shoot her a smile in reassurance, Neil maintained a serious facial expression, hoping that would push the point forward. It was not a joke, unfortunately. As much as he sometimes wished it was. Especially when dodging inverted bullets, and trying to understand what was coming in the upcoming years. What the Algorithm meant for the world. What had he missed in all of it?

“Time travel?” her unusually high tone immediately brought Neil back into the present. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Cupid launched across the space between the armchairs to grasp at his forearm, wrinkling the shirt with an iron-like grip as she barked out a question in his face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” plea in her eyes suggested what it was that she wanted to hear.

But it was not something he could give her. Gently, he covered her hand on his forearm with his palm and squeezed it until she relaxed the hold and allowed him to entangle their fingers together. It was much better that way.

“Wouldn’t dare, darling” allowing a soft smile to appear on his face, Neil tightened the hold over her hand before continuing. It was easier to get it all out of the way first, like ripping off the metaphorical band-aid, “The temporal nature of what we’re dealing with here means weapons and ammunition that have been manufactured in the future are streaming back at us. I’ll show you what I mean in the lab” he could see that utter lack of comprehension on her beautiful face.

But there was no judgement. Neil was prepared for that. The demonstration was prepped and ready to go as soon as he led them to the lab and the controlled environment inside. It was only fair that she was allowed to understand what he unveiled. Even if, currently, Cupid looked completely befuddled, a frown etched between her brows, mild panic in her eyes. The tight hold over his hand just short of crushing his bones. But that was alright. Neil could deal with that.

“Okay. I mean, not okay, but… yeah” as if waking from a daze, she nodded, a bewildered laugh slipping through her parted lips. Her gaze wandered over the space again, briefly glancing at the exit before she relaxed a fraction. Although Neil was not partial to her thoughts, he could tell a crucial internal conversation just took place within the pause. A conversation that determined she was staying to listen. When her eyes settled back on him, Neil suddenly felt breathless, “And what is it that you do? Because I doubt that you’re a nobody considering the level of security you have here” arching her eyebrow, Cupid glanced at the ID card attached to his lanyard.

Despite himself, Neil grinned. He already knew he would miss her attempts at guessing his profession during every Wednesday morning rendezvous. He only hoped the ‘priesthood’ banter was not going anywhere. Now, that would be a loss. 

“I’m one of the top agents, but my field is mainly in Physics” the strange uncertainty washed over him as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

That was another layer peeled back for her perusal. Another truth at her disposal. Another mystery gone and buried just to let her know all of him. Another thing he did not anticipate those months previously when he picked up her belongings from the carriage floor. For someone whose life’s work revolved around the future, he did not see her coming. Whether that was something worth boasting about was yet to be determined.

“Great, I’ve been shagging a nerd” Cupid’s groan acted like an alarm, blaring through the nonsense in his brain. Mostly because the indignation in her voice sounded almost like an endearment. Like a badge of honour. At least, Neil was sure about to treat it as one, “That’s just fantastic,” she rolled her eyes, briefly offering a peek at Cupid he knew and liked.

The unshakeable one, unbothered by anything in her path. The thought immediately brought a smile to his face despite an attempt at a stern glare directed her way:

“Very funny” squeezing her hand, Neil stood up from the armchair and pulled her up alongside him. It was time, “Are you ready to see an inverted bullet?” a cheeky smile seemed to be all she needed, for she begrudgingly squeezed back and sighed with pretend weariness.

“No,” grinning widely, Cupid stepped away from the chairs and the coffee table and looked at him pointedly, sending a signal Neil could not miss.

“Let’s go” mirroring her manic smile he led her towards one of the corridors at the far end of the lobby.

Cupid stayed silent as they entered the elevator and went to the second floor. Every now and then, Neil could feel her eyes staring and analysing, undoubtedly trying to understand how the fuck did she end up here with him on a Saturday morning. He could only hope that at the end of the visit, she had found at least some reasons to maintain their relationship. That this would not be the ultimate breaking point.

Only when he has opened the laboratory with the security code and a tap of the ID card against the reader, Cupid opened her mouth to let out a sound that can only be interpreted as an awed sigh. Whatever was to follow got lost between her head and her tongue, for his sidekicks took that exact moment to let their presence be known. In a truly typical fashion.

“Finally. I thought you two detoured to shag in the bathroom” Ives was heard much earlier than he was seen as the man strolled towards the lab entrance with a trademark smirk gracing his face.

“Ives, I swear-” Neil got as far as tightening his fists and taking one (hopefully menacing) step towards his ‘friend’ before Cupid interrupted the incoming promise of violent death and closed the gap with an unnatural pep in her step.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you two here” from a bystander’s perspective, there was no flaw in her smile or a fake note in her voice as she greeted Ives and Wheeler with a wide grin.

But Neil knew better now. He could see the shaken foundations underneath the smile, the panic flashing in her eyes, quickly disguised by another chuckle. It was more than mildly concerning. To be frank.

“Neil called us in for support” Wheeler (God bless her soul) stepped forward, answering the real question.

She glanced at him, clearly checking for the true status of the situation. Neil could only offer her a shrug, allowing his gaze to show the extent of worries crowding his mind. They had to proceed carefully. That much was clear.

“I’m grateful. My brain is already fucked” a heavy sigh from Cupid interrupted his thoughts as she ventured further into the room, her eyes coursing over the equipment with frightful caution, “But then I suppose this is only fair since I’ve just learnt that time travel is real” approaching the glass separating the workspace from the dangers of the shooting range, and the cement slab in place of a shooting target, she threw a pointed look at him.

It was as much a plea for help as a call for answers - any clarity he could offer.

“Not quite” shooting her a reassuring smile, Neil cracked a grin as he joined her by the glass partition and chanced a joke to relieve the tension, “Don’t expect the Tardis here” it felt like a victory when Cupid met his gaze and allowed her lips to twist into a wry smile.

For a beat, as always, he found it impossible to look away, drawn to her in this indescribable way that never failed to pick up his heart rate or make him question the self-preservation instincts all homo sapiens were supposed to have.

Except for Neil, apparently.

“Or a DeLorean,” Ives’s comment burst through the fragile bubble, forcing Neil to step away, instantly urging his mind to get back in the game.

Instead of whatever this was.

“That’s a shame. I was getting excited,” feigning disappointment in the slump of her shoulders and a sigh, Cupid leaned her back against the partition and looked back at Neil.

Acutely aware of the company, Neil steeled his spine and took a deep breath. It was time for the show. Faking confidence, he took out the key for one of the cabinets from his pocket and unlocked the storage, grabbing two sets of protective gloves and safety glasses. Setting them down on the lab counter, he met Cupid’s wary gaze with an easy smile:

“Come here. This is the important part” motioning for her to approach the counter, he pulled on the gloves and glasses and handed the equipment to her, patiently waiting until she was ready to open yet another case and grab two .243 WIN bullets. Placing them on the counter, he met Cupid’s wide gaze and explained “One of these bullets has been manufactured in the future and then inverted and streamed back at us” that was the easiest part, yet Neil was not surprised to see her trepidation deepen as she peered at the bullets, trying to see a difference between them.

The trick was that there was none.

“But they look the same?” her brows furrowed as she looked up, her face suggesting that Neil was an idiot for even trying to convince her the reality was different.

Yet again, he was struck with an inconvenient thought of how ridiculously adorable she was. And how that was not something he should have been thinking in the first place. Ever probably.

“Well, yes. Except for-” ignoring the idiocy of his heart, Neil gave the rounds a quick check.

He made sure they varied as intended and adjusted the gloves. Feeling the intensity of her gaze following his every move, he reached out towards the inverted bullet and grasped the round as it flew up into his hand, mimicking the move of a dropped light object. He did not have the time to turn his head towards Cupid before her exclamation pierced the silence:  

“Oh, fuck” during her stunned pause, Neil picked up the other bullet to ensure she noticed a difference and put them back down before turning to address her panicked glare and a simple question, “How?”

But before he could open his mouth to reply, Ives reminded him of his presence with the usual cheekiness:

“Inversion, love,” and if Neil frowned upon his friend’s typical term of endearment, then it was no one’s business but his own.

If even that.

Instead, he motioned for Cupid to have her go at handling the inverted round, wordlessly showing how to best pick it up from the surface. The tension radiated from her body as she approached the bullets and followed his instructions flawlessly. His eyes instantly searched hers, hoping to find traces of fascination there. But the only thing he could see was unease, highlighted by the shaking voice as she muttered under her breath:

“Whatever the fuck that means” Neil watched as she tested the bullet and then quickly deposited it back into his waiting palm as if yearning to be rid of it instantly.

The worry he had managed to push to the back of his mind was slowly creeping to the front again. This time harder to ignore.

“Are you okay?” unable to shake it off, Neil got rid of the rounds and gloves and approached her slowly, fully aware of the unusual softness of his tone and the two pairs of eyes trained on them.

For a split second, he considered asking Ives and Wheeler to leave so he could manage this alone, but even Neil could not deny their use in situations that needed tension de-escalation. And this moment felt much too charged for his liking.

“I don’t know” sighing shakily, Cupid tugged at her pair of gloves to take them off and met his gaze with uncertainty, “This is completely not what I expected. Who had even invented that?” when it came to questions he expected, that was not one of them.

Count on the only person ever to catch him unaware every goddamn day. Count on Neil liking her way too much, too.

Before he could collect the facts in his mind into something comprehensible, not endangering her life, and at least a bit logical, Ives stepped forward. His summary effortlessly encapsulated within a one-worded response:

“Russians,” it was delivered with a deadpan tone and expressionless face, undoubtedly showing Cupid that it was true.

In this instance, Neil was grateful for having been spared. For someone else offering the answers in a way he never would have thought of.

“Oh,” the startled pause following a gasp of realisation showed that it was effective. For a second, she did not seem panicked anymore, but instead, Cupid appeared pensive. Her brows furrowed further as if trying to make sense of that revelation before she offered a sober reflection, “That- that makes sense, actually” raising her head to look at all three of them, she nodded curtly, intending to show that there was one thing about it all that she could understand.

Neil was grateful for even that tiny bit of reassurance. But where normal people would abandon the subject and perhaps follow it with something more productive, like the demo they still needed to give her, Ives had other ideas.

“Doesn’t it?” mirroring her incredulity, the man grinned, his jovial tone almost out of place, “Bloody Russians,”

The best Neil could do was hope Cupid had no Russian roots in her ancestry. The second-best thing he could do was speak up:

“Ives, this is neither the time nor the place for anti-Russian sympathies” he could hear the tiredness in his voice, and for once, he did not try to mask it.

But, as expected, remorse was nowhere to be found on his friend’s face as the man shrugged and offered another annoying grin.

“Eh, I’d say any time and place is good for that” usually, Neil would very much agree.

But nothing about this Saturday morning was normal. And he was aware of the confusion in Cupid’s gaze and the tension radiating from her body as if she was poised to run at the next opportune moment. Neil did not even want to consider that she could disappear from his life for good.

“Well, yes, but-” for the umpteenth time, his attempt to offer some sensible rebuttal was cut short.

At least this time, it was another voice of reason. Wheeler approached the group with her stoic expression broken only by an arched eyebrow:

“Shall we give our lovely ballerina a demo?” the pointed glare at Ives increased Neil’s gratitude.

It was high time to tick off the final part of the checklist today. It seemed like Cupid was slowly reaching her limit, and the last thing he wanted was to cross that line.

Neil waited for her nod, accepting this next phase of introduction, before he motioned towards Ives and Wheeler for them to lead the way to the turnstile. With the short walk down a back staircase and a corridor, he did not have the time to check in properly. All he could do was steal a glance at her, which only highlighted what he already knew. Cupid was tense, confused and uncertain. So different from her usual confident self, striding through life with the pretence of someone in control. It was startling to notice. It did nothing to stifle the anxiety.

Once they entered the room with the turnstile, her face somehow more astonishing, bathed in the red light and backlit with blue from the other side, separated by a thick glass, Cupid gasped. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, her gaze pausing once it landed on the turnstile itself, and it did not budge until he explained the basics about the machine. Even then, though, she remained frozen in her spot close to the exit. Another nod to proceed was all Neil needed to proceed with the explanation.

It was simple, really. Ives and Wheeler were to enter the turnstile, equipped with oxygen masks, and they were to give her a demonstration of how things looked like when someone was inverted. A walk in the park for the duo. A brief conversation and show of the physics of the other side and back out again. Except Neil did not take into consideration just how jarring the sight was. How shocking it would be to see “duplicates” of the people standing next to her appear in the adjacent room, looking and behaving strangely. How the warbled speech could rattle the mind of someone not used to this. How this could be too much for her.

A shaky gasp was all the warning Neil received before Cupid breathed out one simple sentence:

“I’m sorry, I have to leave” her terrified face was the last thing he saw before she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

Fuck. Neil let out an impressive string of curses before he banged his head into the glass separating the room and closed his eyes. Yeah, that went splendidly.

Christ.

***

The late autumn sun shone into your eyes as you reclined on the wooden bench and sighed. Only within the past half hour, your heart rate had begun to slow down, and most of it you had spent getting lost on suspicious paths in the fields, wondering whether Neil’s message was a ruse to get you killed for having seen too much. You still considered that option. But that other traitorous part of your brain, once it has calmed down, could not possibly ignore his pleading message to meet. So, there you were – scared, tired, staring at the goats. And not in the Coen brothers’ meaning of the term.

For better or for worse.

Admittedly, the charity farm Neil has led you to was a peaceful, unexpected spot that soothed your brain with each subsequent breath. With the Canary Wharf skyscrapers visible in the distance and a couple of square kilometres of grass and trees, the place seemed like a perfect oasis for the farm animals lucky enough to end up there. In the background, you could just about make out less-favoured sounds of children, undoubtedly ecstatic at the prospect of spending the early Saturday afternoon feeding sheep.

You were less ecstatic at the prospect of hearing their screams.

“Cupid-” the unmistakable sound of your nickname, breathed out in relief somewhere behind your back, made you turn on the bench to see him approach.

Still so damn beautiful, even breathless and in a state of mild panic. Neil stopped a few paces away, catching his breath and watching you cautiously, almost as if worried you were about to get up and run away from him. Again.

A hot wave of shame coursed through your body as you swallowed hard and turned back towards the animals. Hoping Neil would understand that it was an invitation to come closer.

“Have you come to kill me? Now that I know everything?” an attempt at a joke fell flat as you struggled to keep the tension out of your voice.

Still, it must have worked, for you heard Neil’s approach. His footsteps stopped just a step away from the bench before you raised your head again and met his gaze with an uncertain smile.

“Honestly, I’d more be likely to kill myself,” chuckling mirthlessly, Neil shook his head slightly and measured you with an affectionate look that felt almost out of place, “I’m so happy you’re here,” you could tell he meant it.

That only now stood before you again Neil could breathe again. He could let go of the tension that seemed to permeate his soul by the turnstile. And for a good reason.

Anticipating another wave of guilt, you patted the free seat on the bench and shot him a timid smile as soon as Neil took the spot.

“I considered ignoring that text, but… This place is quite charming” it was not the real answer.

It did not disclose how you had spent at least an hour on a bench at the Canary Wharf station watching Jubilee line trains stop and pass, unable to get on and go home. You stared at his text the moment it came, contemplating ignoring it and cutting short this strange thing between you before it tangled any further. But you also knew that ignoring him was never an option. Not really.

None of that needed to be said. Neil understood what that shift in the conversation meant and what you needed him to do.

“I found it a couple of months ago when I went on a walk to clear my head. I thought that it’s a good spot to talk” his cursory look around the surroundings ended with another glance at you, a meaningful pause offering a space for you to decide the next step, “If you’d want to,”

Somehow, you did not have to ask Neil to know what it was that he wanted. It was written in a hopeful tone, and the sparks in his eyes inviting you to lean back into it. A tempting proposition you could not resist for much longer.

Letting out a bracing sigh, you stood up from the bench and extended your hand to pull him up. Upon Neil’s questioning gaze, you inclined your head at the animals in the pen and grinned:

“Sure, but first, let’s get some food for those darlings,” without waiting for Neil to catch up, you bravely started in the direction of wailing children and sheep bleating.

You knew he was following your shadow.

***

Shaking the bag with the feed to check how much you had left, your gaze scoured the horizon to find Neil among the children vying for the sheep’s attention. That was not a difficult feat, considering the height disparity. Still, his enthusiasm made him a worthy rival. Once you spotted him, you waded through the kids and tapped his shoulder, wordlessly asking him to join you aside. After a joyful half hour on the farm, you finally felt like talking.

You plopped down on another bench connected to a wooden picnic table, and waited for Neil to join you on the other side before meeting his gaze and letting the apology flow like it should. As silently practised in your head during that hour at the station.

“I’m sorry I bolted like that. It all caught up with me suddenly, and I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t understand what I was seeing back there… I genuinely thought you had some boring 9 to 5 job, not… this” your hands flailed aimlessly atop the table as you stared at Neil, yet again feeling almost too perceived.

Too understood.

There was not an ounce of frustration in Neil’s eyes as he leant forward, bracing his elbows on the table and turning the contrite smile for you to do with as you please:

“I’m only blaming myself for dropping this on you without a warning. None of this is your fault” you started shaking your head vehemently, trying to interject an undeniable fact that this was your fault. Undoubtedly. Yet it seemed that was not something he wanted to hear, “But believe me when I say that I waited this long to tell you the truth only because of how unusual this is” the earnestness in his eyes added weight to the statement, rendering you unable to do anything but believe him “Not out of the lack of trust” his hand flexed on the table, as if unsure whether he still had the right to reach out to you.

That was an issue you did not mind solving. You extended your hand to cover his and give Neil a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture strengthening the believability of your assurance.

“I know” raising your head to meet the blue of his eyes, you added, “I hope it goes without saying that I’m not going to share anything I’ve learnt today,” resisting the urge to do something idiotic like crossing your heart, you endured the eye contact and hoped it would be enough.

Because, truly, what would you even share? Who the fuck would believe you? There was no point in entertaining the idea, let alone acting upon it.

Yet, still, you were grateful that he told you. Neil’s enigma was no longer that impermeable. It added another layer to the person sitting before you now. A little more context to the scars littering his body and to the wit in his eyes. A little more understanding of who he was.

“I hope so. Then I would have to kill you” returning your earlier joke, the corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

It also marked the perfect opportunity to lighten the conversation, even just by a notch. Taking a beat to appreciate the man sitting in front of you with a selfish look, you allowed your eyes to skim over his body leisurely before mirroring the cheeky smile:

“Spoken like the real James Bond” his easy grin was the invitation you had been looking for, allowing you to let go of the apologies and shifting guilt that would never have a place to settle, “Granted, you’ve got the looks” without thinking about it, you picked up his hand from the table, flipping it to play with his fingers as the effortless complement was received with another bashful smile.

It was true, though.

“And the gun” arching his eyebrow, Neil captured your hand in his, loosely trapping your fingers.

You did not feel like tugging it free. Not yet. Feeling desperate to extend the banter for a little longer, you chanced a suggestive glance down his body and dropped your voice to a sultry tone:

“Oh yeah, you do” twisting your mouth into a smirk, you met Neil’s startled gaze and barely stifled a laugh at the look on his face.

Bewilderment did not quite catch it.

“Not th-” he sputtered, confusion blending into his voice as Neil stared at you with wide eyes and asked, “What sort of gun are you thinking about right now?” it was the sort of reaction you wanted from him.

The thrill you had been seeking for the past few hours, and yet also something you would never admit. Except that, now that you had it, the light of his awed smile shining upon you with just the right amount of disbelief at your existence, you did not know how you had survived so long without it.

“Take a guess” standing up from the bench before you could begin to feel even more things, you tugged at Neil’s hand and signalled that it was time to go.

Somehow, you knew that he would follow.

***

Over an hour later, when all the animals had been fed, and you worried you had caught permanent tinnitus from the proximity to screaming children, you took Neil’s hand in yours and allowed him to lead you back to the Isle of Dogs marina. With the early afternoon sun presenting a golden hue on the horizon, you slowed down your walk and asked a question that had been stewing in your mind since the morning:

“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you could not help the nervous tone that permeated your voice.

It could not be shaken off or ignored. It just was.

Much like your general, unspecified feelings towards Neil that were never acknowledged. Or even identified. They, too, just were.

You could feel Neil’s eyes on you as he seemed to think on an answer before replying:

“Yes, quite. I won’t go into details, but getting shot by an inverted bullet is worse than getting shot by a normal round. And there’s much more to this than weapons, but it’s… There’s been a few close calls through the years” the weariness in Neil’s voice did just enough to soften the blow caused by his honest words.

But the impact still hit. Ever since learning about Tenet this morning, you did not try to delude yourself into thinking that what he was doing was safe. Or that no harm could ever come to Neil because of his job. It was another thing to have those exact worries confirmed as not only probable but also inevitable. A shiver coursed through your body as you swallowed past the anxiety building in your gut.

The fear you could already feel crawling to the front of your brain was another reason why getting involved was a bad idea. Hookups were supposed to be just that. Not a friendship, spiced up with amazing sex and afternoon walks hand-in-hand along the Thames. And yet, you were already in too deep. Attached on an unprecedented level. There was nothing else to do but shut away the anxious thoughts and ask another pressing question.

“How long have you been doing this?” almost as if rebelling against your better judgement, your hand flexed in his hold and tightened the grip.

A betrayal of that sort was ridiculously predictable. Frowning at your hand for a split second, you directed your gaze back at the Canary Wharf. The pyramid atop the One Canada Square building reflected the sunlight straight into your eyes, the sharp sting of light hitting your retina and waking you up from the strange haze.

“Not that long. I think John recruited me two and a half years ago. Roughly,” Neil paused, his wistful tone painting the picture the way you hope it would – with facts and figures, “I didn’t think this is what I’d end up doing as I’ve picked up my Cambridge master’s degree in physics” the note of an apology hidden somewhere between the words made you grimace.

You did not like that he could feel somewhat guilty for doing what he did. That he could be looking for excuses instead of owning it like you knew he wanted. It took no genius to understand Neil was simply extraordinary.

But you could not exactly tell him that, at least not without a fight.

“God, you’re a nerd” rolling your eyes to show the extent of annoyance, you shot him a grin.

Yet you knew he could see the depths of affection and admiration in your eyes.

“It’s not like you haven’t noticed before” mirroring your faux exasperation, Neil returned the smile and squeezed your hand.

You have noticed, admittedly. Less admittedly, however, you liked that about him. The nerdiness hidden underneath beauty and wits. A heart so full of feelings, you often wondered how it had not yet burst. Someone you were grateful beyond measure to have met and got to know.

“No, but now I have proof” you did not need to add that you wanted to have even more proof.

You were looking forward to knowing more about him. Especially about that nerdy side.

“So?” as if reading your mind, Neil arched an eyebrow, the challenging gleam in his gaze luring you like the siren song.

It helped to set the stage for your bravery to take the lead. For what you wanted to do next.

“So… Tell me more about Tenet” halting your steps for a second, you pulled Neil to a stop and looked up to see his delighted gaze. The brightness in his eyes was one of the best sights you could think of, “And then buy me dinner” upon seeing his smile widen, you raised your joined hands to your lips and pressed a fleeting kiss on his knuckles to seal the deal “For the trouble” it already sounded like the perfect conclusion to the eventful day.

One that you did not expect when you ran out of the building with tears in your eyes and fear crawling up your throat. Nothing went as you expected it to. Yet you could not find it in yourself to regret what had occurred instead. You couldn’t. Because alongside the anxiety and shock that still ruled your mind and soul, the gratitude was there. And the dawning understanding that Neil trusted you with something this grand. You were important to him in a way that could not be easily dismissed.

You mattered enough. And that, perhaps of all things, was the prime reason you could not regret it. All that you wanted right now was to have more of him. Just for a couple of hours. It was impossible to say if Neil understood all you did not say, but still, he smiled and tightened the hold over your hand to offer an easy agreement.

“It’ll be my honour, sweetheart” his blue eyes searched your face a beat as the affectionate smile made its home on his face.

As always, it was impossible to look away. Impossible to do anything but stare back, hoping that you had the answers he was looking for.

After what felt like ages, Neil ended his scrutiny with a seemingly appraising nod and tugged at your hand to lead the way back to the station. You did not know what happened just then or why it felt monumental.

You only knew that something had changed, and things would never be the same ever again.

[gremlin-writes-angst]

Lets Get Food Chapter 2

A brothers best friend fic with Asher x darlin fic and angst

2385 words

id still say this is Pg 13 because it has heavy adult topics but i would not consider it descriptive. I try to be clear with my trigger warning so if you think I should raise my rating or add to the trigger warnings let me know

Tw for this chapter: Extreme exhaustion caused by blood loss, vampire feeding, mentions of rough sex, mentions of sleeping around, scars caused by rough sex, mentions of choking, mention of claustrophobia, mentions of non-consensual choking

i highly appreciate criticism on my writing ,spelling, grammar and story telling. Positive and constructive , so let me know what you think and i hope y'all enjoy : )

tagging @achios @professionallyyappinabtangst

The address attached was familiar.

Asher didn't know why at first, and he was hoping it wasn't someone he knew.

The whole drive, he pondered why he knew this address.

Even after parking and looking out at the place, nothing came to mind.

Until he messaged Darlin, he had arrived.

This is the same place he picked them up last time.

Which had never happened.

There were some places, or people, that they visited more than once, but never in a row.

This one was different.

Asher's mood took a fast dive.

But he didn't have time to think about it as Darlin was pulling on the locked door.

Taking a deep breath and putting on a smile as he unlocked the door

“Took you long enough.”

Darlin's tone made it seem like they had plenty of energy.

But Asher knew to look for other signs.

The shaky hands

Paler skin

The way their face looked like it had no muscles

The heavy breathing

The blinks that were closer to short naps

And of course the marked neck

Normally, Darlin hides a few symptoms at a time.

Today they had all of them.

Once the car door was closed and Darlin was safe in Asher's care, they let the exhaustion take over.

As sometimes needed, Ash leaned over to buckle Darlin in.

The smell of another empowered was strong.

It was abnormal.

Even with the activity and proximity of Darlin and their midnight friends. The scent was never this strong.

Whoever lived in that house wanted Darlin to smell like them.

And Asher had a feeling Darlin wasn't aware of it.

When he finished buckling Darlin in, he pulled up to see the marks on their necks.

It wasn't strange to see the marks; it was actually more weird if they didn't have marks.

But this person

They didn't leave anything to the imagination.

Asher knew Darlin liked it on the rough side.

Just from what he'd seen on their skin and the stories they shared

But this was still something different.

Extreme

There were more bites than needed.

If he didn't know better, he'd assume there was more than one vampire.

then The hickeys

It was hard to tell what was a hickey and what was a bruise.

That was what concerned Asher the most.

The finger bruises that indicated they'd been choked

Darlin was claustrophobic

Darlin doesn't like being trapped.

So it would make sense that Darlin doesn't like being choked.

“Would you stop staring?”

Their eyes weren't even open, but they could feel the intense eyes of Asher.

“Sorry”

He should have left it at that, but he couldn't.

“It's just that you have bruises from being choked.”

Keeping still and with their eyes closed, they replied

“Yeah, that happens when you get choked.”

They were clearly annoyed, but it wasn't enough warning for Asher.

“I know I just sort of thought.”

Then they snapped, at least with their voice, the rest of their body still resting.

“Ash, leave it be. Just drive.”

He whispers a sorry as he starts to drive aimlessly.

Typically that was the plan—drive around till Darlin chose the food that spoke to them.

Asher drove around longer than normal. Darlin kept dozing off, but Asher felt like sleeping after that much blood loss, so he kept shaking them awake.

Eventually, Darlin was able to stay up without Asher's help.

A few minutes later, Darlin said Taco Bell was the place to go today.

When Asher parked, Darlin was still pretty woozy.

“Where’s my sweater?”

Darlin kept an extra sweater in Ash's car, a hooded one to help hide their neck.

They moved their hands around searching with as much strength as they had.

“I've got it, Darlin.”

Then they giggled as Asher reached in the back for the sweater.

He almost didn't believe his ears.

He hadn't heard that laugh in years.

“What's so funny?”

They giggled more.

“That name, it makes me all silly.”

Ash was quite close to their ear when he said it again.

“Darlin”

Darlin closed their eyes, enjoying the sound and the way they could hear that grin.

When they opened their eyes again, Ash was no longer in the car.

He was opening the passenger door, unbuckling them.

They look at him.

Asher felt like a knight in shining armor with the way Darlin's eyes sparkled. At him

He helped Darlin out of the car.

When they got their own standing, Ash unfolded their sweater.

“Can I?”

Ash asked as he presented the sweater.

Darlin nodded and lifted their arms.

Asher pulled the sweater over them, covering the scent the vampire left.

Darlin smelled like them again.

They went into the lobby and ordered their food.

Asher ordered it all, making sure to order 3 times the amount Darlin would typically eat.

He always ordered twice, but he felt today they'd need more.

Darlin stayed silent for the whole thing; they just kept their heads down and ate.

It was around 3 when they finished eating.

Darlin was still clearly worn out.

“I'm going to be honest with you. There's no way we walk in, and David doesn't know something up.”

Darlin's face agreed.

“Maybe, I mean you could stay at my place for the night. Will can tell David we're going to the club. And then later we'll text him that we're too messed up to get to his place, a perfect excuse for us to sleep at my place. Oh, and I've got that whole room for you since Milo moved out.”

Asher was a little excited.

Darlin thought it was cute and mustered up a smile and nod.

And they were off to Ashers.

When they got there, Asher found some clothes for Darlin.

Once changed, Darlin took a nap, which helped them regain a lot of their energy.

While Darlin napped Asher to tidy the place up. His mom always taught him to have a place nice for guests, and he thought Darlin deserved that.

He also found some fuzzy blankets and nice pillows for Darlin, who fell asleep before he could get them anything.

When they woke up, they strolled out to the couch, grabbed one of the fuzzy blankets, and turned the TV on. They wanted to do something with practically no effort.

When Asher finished the dishes, he joined them.

If you could call it that, as he was seated 5 feet away.

They picked a movie and started watching

Asher even made popcorn for Darlin.

He wasn't a fan.

He has no idea why he even had popcorn in his apartment.

As they were watching TV, Asher's eyes gravitated to Darlin's face.

It's amazing what random colors can do.

The way the movie lights cast on their skin.

It was mesmerizing.

At some point, his eyes drifted down to their neck.

He now realized that the shirt he gave them had a wide collar, leaving Darlin's neck very exposed.

And even in the strange light, the marks and brushes on their skin burned in Asher's eyes.

Just as his eyes burned them

They could feel his eyes on them; it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; people used their eyes to judge them all the time.

It was unfamiliar to know those eyes belonged to Asher.

Asher was the one person they felt would never judge them.

With all that they've told him, he never made them feel wrong.

The most he'd do was cation them without judgment, which was a popular combo.

So feeling those eyes bare into their skin hurt more than ever.

And they weren't known for running away from pain.

“I can feel you staring at my neck.”

Asher choked at nothing, and as much as he knew he should look away, he couldn't.

“I'm—it's just the choke marks.”

Ash explained

“I thought we talked about this.”

Darlin said, but they weren't upset, so safely Asher continued.

“Well, I guess you just never mentioned you liked that stuff.”

Darlin stared at Asher.

He was the one feeling judged now.

making him talk more

“Well, you've been claustrophobic for as long as I've known you; choking seems like it'd be triggering. And like I said, I just didn't know you were into it.”

Not upset but also done with the conversation, Darlin throws a popcorn kernel at him.

“Well, you wouldn't know, because we've never slept together.”

A smirk was on their lips; their eyebrows were up.

Everything said, 'Let's change that.'

Except for their eyes

Hollow

If they let him look longer, he might find fear.

Fear that he realizes he was right

They didn't like being choked.

But it didn't matter; it already happened.

Asher looked into their eyes, Darlin turned away.

They sat and finished the movie.

Asher watched Darlin breathe throughout the rest of it.

Their breathing was only explained as being on the brink of panic.

But he didn't know what to do.

So when they got up to head to bed, he did nothing.

In the morning, Asher got up before Darlin.

Maybe he'd try making them breakfast.

Bad

Very bad idea.

Smoke was the smell that woke Darlin.

It wasn't enough to worry about a fire, but enough to check what was going on.

Emerging from the room, they stood in the open living room staring at a panicked Asher, trying, rushing a pan of, well, Darlin couldn't tell, but he took it to the sink, turning the Faust on before Darlin could stop him.

“What the fuck, Asher?”

He hadn't realized they had seen that.

He looked and smiled at them.

That damn smile

Everyone always said his smile was his best feature.

They weren't wrong.

Darlin walked into the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and turned the water off.

They opened a window and started fanning the pan.

“Go open more windows.”

They instructed Asher, laughing to themselves. Everyone knows Asher can't cook, so why did he even try?

When Asher returned, Darlin scolded him.

“Unless it's an active fire and not a grease fire. You don't need to put it under water, because now your place is full of even more smoke.”

He listened intently, probably because it was Darlin, which he preferred. Being scolded by Darlin over David any day

“Got it. But what's a grease fire?”

Darlin closed their eyes, needing Second to deal with him.

It was even harder because he was so honest and so cute.

Like a golden retriever

They wondered if maybe his relatives were dog-shifter golden retrievers.

After cleaning up and giving Asher a detailed guide on dealing with various fires, the two head out, first for food, then back to David's. Darlin lived there; it was David's place; Darlin didn't pay anything, and David was pretty cool for that.

They parked in the driveway, and Asher moved to get out, but Darlin grabbed his hand.

“These marks are still way too visible.”

They looked at the passenger mirror.

“Even with the hoodie.”

Worry was written all over their faces.

They couldn't find a solution and were actively getting worse.

Asher put his hand on their shoulder before flipping up the mirror.

“I've got it. I'll distract David; you'll rush to your room and apply some makeup; he'll never know.”

And once again, he smiled

There must be a calming agent in his smile because, with that simple plan, Darlin was calm and ready to face David.

Darlin put their hoodie up while Asher held the fast food bag; David couldn't stand it, and that was the distraction.

The two entered, and David was right at the door, probably about to go out.

Asher walked straight to him, holding the bag out to him.

David tried to talk to Darlin, but they were able to get past him as Asher lightly shoved the bag into David's chest.

“Hey buddy, I got you some breakfast.”

Instantly, David was distracted.

“This is not breakfast, Asher. Not to mention the fact that it's 11 am.”

Asher put on a puzzled face.

“so??”

David took a breath and sighed before answering.

“Breathing is a meal you have in the morning.”

“But it's 11 am before 12, making it the morning.”

David couldn't argue that even though 6 am was his breakfast time.

Asher was still holding the bag.

“Come on, David, I bought you food; the nice thing for you to do is at least put it in the fridge.”

David's stoic face stared at Asher's before he took the bag and walked to the kitchen.

As David did so, Asher's phone buzzed, a message from Darlin that his help was no longer needed.

David came out of the kitchen.

“Ash, I'm headed to the gym if you want to join me.”

“I don't have any plans for the day, so yeah, let's go.”

Then they stood there, both wondering why the other hadn't moved. David figured it out.

“Ash, your car is blocking mine.”

“Oh yeah, don't worry, I'll move it.”

Ash left to move his car as Darlin came back out.

Head toward the kitchen.

David called out to them

“Tank, would you grab me water from the fridge?”

Tank moved to do as he asked.

Opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle, and tossing it to him

“You got it, man. But David, why is there a bag of trash in the fridge?”

David came closer.

“What bag of trash?”

“This one”

They lifted the fast food bag out, the one David just put in there.

“What do you mean, 'a bag of trash?’ Are you making a joke about how bad fast food is?”

Darlin laughs as they open the bag.

“No, David, it's a literal bag of trash.”

Just as David saw the truth in the bag, Asher re-entered the house.

Though David didn't know yet

“Why would Asher tell me it was food?”

Darlin made a few goofy faces for Asher.

“I don't know David. You know, Asher is a weird guy.”

A gasp is what drew David's attention to Asher.

“I am not weird.”

David was already over this and decided he no longer needed an answer.

“Tank, please think that away, Ash, let's go. For the record, Ash, you're the weirdest guy I know.”

Asher defended himself as the two left the house.

[kmomof4]

To Sir Graham, With Love Ch. 9

We made it, y'all!!! It's the FINAL CHAPTER!!!! Sorry, not sorry for the first several scenes of this chapter... but y'all know me, the happy ending is GUARANTEED, and I have to admit, I'm pretty proud of this one!!!!

Thank you once again to @jrob64 and @whimsicallyenchantedrose for their outstanding beta services and to @motherkatereloyshipper for her BEAUTIFUL artwork above. I really can't stop staring at it!! It's so perfect!!!!

And also happy happy happiest of birthday's @snowbellewells!!!!! I'm BEYOND THRILLED that you loved this fic so much!!!! I hope this last chapter is the proverbial cherry on top of a huge ice cream sundae!!! I'm posting this ch a little early because Marta is home sick today, so I'm hoping this will help her feel better by putting a huge smile on her face!!!

Summary: After a year long secret correspondence, twenty-eight year old spinster Ruby Jones decides to accept Sir Graham Humbert's offer of a visit to see if they might suit for marriage. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he was the father of twins, and they are not thrilled with Ruby's appearance.

Rating: M (smut and mentions of physical abuse) There is a love scene in this ch, but according to @whimsicallyenchantedrose - who doesn't read or write smut - it's very mild, more smut adjacent than anything, so it is not sectioned off like the scenes in previous chs. If you still want to skip it, stop reading when Graham places Ruby on the bed and pick back up at the next scene change line.

Words: 8k of 68k

Tags: Red Hunter Fic, Birthday Fic, Inspired by Eloise Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite

@jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779

@kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

… I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

– from Ruby Jones to her mother, Alice, upon refusing her sixth offer of marriage

~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride to Killian and Emma’s was anything but comfortable and by the time Ruby arrived, her foul mood was even worse. And then when Graves opened the door and stared at her as if she was a madwoman, she nearly lost her temper completely. 

Until she noticed the look upon his face.

“Graves?” she asked, when it became clear that he was beyond speech.

“Are they expecting you?” he asked, finally gathering himself together.

“Uh, no,” she said, drawing out the final word. “But I hardly think…”

Graves stepped aside - belatedly remembering himself - finally allowing her entrance. “It’s Miss Alice,” he said, referring to Killian and Emma’s oldest child, only five years old. “She’s quite ill.”

Ruby gasped, something awful rising in her throat. “What is it?” she asked, not bothering to hide her urgency. “Is she…” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out, just letting the words dangle, her meaning quite clear.

“I’ll get Mrs. Jones,” he said, turning quickly and scurrying up the stairs.

“No, wait!” Ruby called, wanting to ask him more questions, but he was already gone.

She slumped into a chair, feeling positively sick with worry for her small niece but also rather disgusted with herself for coming here to complain to her sister-in-law about something that didn’t even signify when compared to this.

“Ruby!”

It was Killian, not Emma that came down the stairs. He looked awful - his eyes red-rimmed, his hair in complete disarray, his skin pale and pasty. Ruby didn’t bother asking how long it had been since he slept. The answer was blatantly obvious. He hadn’t closed his eyes in days.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I just came for a visit,” she explained. “Just to say hello. I had no idea! What’s wrong with her? She was fine last week!”

Killian took several moments to answer. “She has a fever. She woke up fine on Saturday, but by luncheon…” He sagged against the wall, unable to go on. “I don’t know what to do, Ruby.”

“What did the doctor say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Nothing useful anyway.”

“May I see her?”

Killian nodded, his eyes closed.

“You need to rest,” Ruby said.

“I can’t.”

“You must,” she insisted. “You’re no good to anyone like this. And I’d wager Emma is the same.”

“I made her sleep an hour ago,” he said. “She looked like death.”

“And you look no better,” Ruby said drily. She purposefully kept her tone no nonsense and business-like. Anything softer and Killian would break down completely. And if Killian broke down, she would break down and no one needed that at the moment. “You must go to bed,” she continued. “Now. I will care for Alice.”

He didn’t respond. He was literally asleep while still on his feet. Ruby took charge, directing Graves to get Killian into bed while she took over the sickroom, trying desperately to contain her gasp of dismay when she entered the room and saw her small niece. 

She was so tiny and pale on the bed, but her skin was flushed and her half-lidded eyes were glazed as she thrashed around, mumbling incoherently.

Ruby mopped her brow, turned her, and helped the maids change the sheets when they became drenched with sweat. So focussed was she on her charge, that she didn’t notice when the sun slipped below the horizon. She just thanked God that little Alice didn’t worsen under her care, because according to the servants, Killian and Emma hadn’t left her side for two days straight, and Ruby didn’t think she could survive having to wake them with bad news.

She sat next to the bed, read aloud from her niece's favorite book of Fairy Tales, and told her stories of when her father was a boy. She didn’t think Alice heard a word she said, but it kept her from sitting still and doing nothing. It wasn’t until Emma rose from her stupor around eight that evening and asked about Graham that it occurred to Ruby he might be worried about her. She immediately penned a hastily scribbled note and sent it on to Romney Hall before resuming her vigil. Graham would understand.

~*~*~

By eight o’clock, Graham was forced to the conclusion that one of two things had happened. Either his wife had left him, or she was dead on the side of the road in a carriage accident.

Neither prospect was terribly appealing.

He didn’t think she would leave him. The argument this afternoon notwithstanding, she seemed happy in their marriage and she hadn’t taken a bag with her, but then again, most of her belongings hadn’t yet arrived from London, so she wouldn’t be leaving much behind. Nothing but a husband and two children.

And good God, he’d just told them he thought she was here to stay.

No. She wouldn’t leave him. She didn’t possess a cowardly bone in her body and if she were truly unhappy in their marriage, she’d tell him to his face. Without mincing words and with great vehemence.

Which meant that he’d likely find her on the side of the road. It had been raining steadily all evening and the road between Romney Hall and My Cottage was not well tended to begin with.

Hell, it would be better if she had left him.

But as he strode up the front walk to the door of My Cottage, soaking wet and in a terrible mood, it was looking more like Ruby had decided to abandon him. Abandon them.

“Temper,” he mumbled to himself. Because he’d never been closer to losing his.

Perhaps there was a logical explanation, he thought as he slammed the knocker against the door. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to ride home in the rain. It wasn’t that bad, but it was more than a drizzle. 

Maybe her carriage had broken a wheel. No, Killian would have sent her home in his carriage then. He lifted the knocker again and banged it against the door multiple times.

Maybe…

Maybe…

He tried to think of something, anything, that might explain why Ruby was at the home of her brother instead of her own. He couldn’t think of a one. He reached for the knocker again, prepared to wrench it from the door and chuck it into the rain when the door finally opened. 

Graves stood there, his mouth hanging open in complete surprise.

“My wife,” Graham growled.

“Sir Graham!” Graves, exclaimed.

Graham didn’t move, simply wiped the rain from his face.

“My wife,” he ground out again.

“She’s here,” Graves informed him. “Come in.”

Graham finally stepped inside. “I want my wife,” he said again. “Now.”

“Let me take your coat.”

“I don’t give a damn about my coat!” Graham roared. “Get me my wife!”

“Did you not receive Lady Humbert’s note?” Graves asked.

“No,” Graham informed him. “I received no note.”

Graves nodded. “I thought you’d arrived rather quickly. You must have passed along the road. Let me take your coat,” he said again. “I believe you’ll be here for some time and you will want to be comfortable,” the man said softly. 

A fear he’d never known gripped Graham’s heart. Had something happened to Ruby? He’d just found his children, he couldn’t lose his wife. As he followed Graves up the stairs, his heart and lips murmured silent prayers.

~*~*~

Ruby sat by her niece’s beside, hands clutched in her lap, murmuring, “Please. Please.”

The doctor had left for the second time that day declaring it “in God’s hands.” And if He was the only One Who could do anything about this, then He was the One to Whom she would appeal. When she wasn’t placing cool cloths on Alice’s head, or spooning luke-warm broth between her niece’s lips, that was.

She heard a noise from the doorway and turned to see Graham. Her heart leapt to see him and she flung herself into his arms, heedless that he was soaked to the bone.

“Oh, Graham,” she sobbed, feeling his strong warm arms around her. She was safe and she could finally let go of all the emotions she’d bottled up inside in order to be the rock Killian and Emma needed.

“I thought it was you,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, drawing back and looking him in the face.

“Graves,” he explained. “He didn’t tell me anything as I was coming up. I thought something had happened to you,” he said, drawing her close again and kissing the crown of her head. “How is she?”

Ruby pulled back and turned toward the sickbed. “Not good,” she murmured.

Graham glanced at Killian and Emma, who’d risen to greet him. They both looked rather not good themselves.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

“Since Saturday morning,” Emma replied. Graham approached the bed and placed his large hand on Alice’s forehead.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell. I’m too cold from the rain.”

“She’s feverish,” Killian confirmed.

“What’s been done for her?” Graham asked.

Emma’s eyes widened with a desperate hope. “Do you know something of medicine?” she asked.

“We’ve kept cool cloths on her forehead, fed her broth, and warmed her when she grew too cold. Nothing seems to help,” Killian said hopelessly. Suddenly, Emma collapsed, crumpling to the floor sobbing.

“Emma!” Killian cried, falling down next to her and holding her as she cried. Graham and Ruby both looked away when they realized Killian was crying too.

“Willow bark tea,” Graham whispered to Ruby. “Has she had any?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Why?”

“It’s something I learned at Cambridge,” he said. “It used to be given for pain before laudanum became so popular, but one of my professors insisted that it also reduced fevers.”

Ruby nodded and turned to her brother and sister-in-law. She marched right over and shook Killian’s shoulder.

“Willow bark tea,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do you have any?”

Killian just stared at her blinking for a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Mrs. Miner might,” Emma said, referring to one half of the couple that had been caretakers of My Cottage for years. They had all but adopted her when she and Killian were here for nearly a fortnight while he recovered from his own fever after they’d been reunited. “She always has things like that. But they’re visiting their daughter and won’t be home for several more days.”

“Can you get into their house?” Graham asked. “I’ll recognize it if she has any. It won’t be a tea, just the bark. We’ll soak it in hot water. It might help bring down the fever.”

Emma wiped away her tears, her eyes bewildered. “You want to cure my daughter with the bark of a tree?” she asked.

“It certainly can’t hurt anything,” Killian said forcefully. “Come on, Humbert. I have a key to their house. I’ll take you myself.” Before they went out the front door, Killian stopped and looked hard at Graham. “Do you know what you’re about?” he asked quietly.

Graham looked him right in the eyes, and answered as honestly as he could. “I hope so.” He struggled not to squirm under Killian’s scrutiny. It was one thing to allow him to marry his sister, given the circumstances, but it was something altogether different to allow him to pour some concoction down his daughter’s throat.

But Graham understood. He had children, too.

Killian nodded decisively and led him out into the night. As they strode through the rain, Graham could only pray that Killian’s faith in him wasn’t misplaced. 

~*~*~

In the end, no one could really tell whether it was Ruby’s prayers, the willow bark tea, or just dumb luck, but by morning, little Alice’s fever had finally broken and while she was still pale and fatigued, she was without a doubt on the mend.

And by noon, it was clear that Ruby and Graham were no longer needed, and were in fact, just getting in the way, so they loaded into the carriage and began the journey home where they planned to fall into bed to simply sleep.

The first ten minutes of the ride was spent in silence. Surprisingly, Ruby found herself too exhausted to sleep and she couldn’t summon the energy to talk, so just looked out the window at the passing countryside.

It had finally stopped raining about the time Alice’s fever had broken, which may have spoken to the Divine intervention Ruby had prayed for, but as she looked at her husband, who sat with his back against the side of the carriage, his legs stretched out across the bench on the other side with his eyes closed - though Ruby was quite sure he wasn’t asleep - she knew without a doubt that it was the willow bark tea.

She didn’t know how she knew. But she did. And when she thought about the circumstances surrounding the entire situation - Ruby’s uneasiness about Nurse Ratched, the fight with Graham, her flight to My Cottage, Graham coming after her - young Alice Jones was quite the luckiest little girl in all of England.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?” Graham said, his eyes remaining firmly closed.

“For Alice.”

Graham opened his eyes then and met hers. He shrugged. “There’s no way to know. It might not have been willow bark.”

“I know,” she said, with certainty. “You were an answer to my prayers.”

Graham’s lips lifted in a tired smile. “You always do know.”

Ruby smiled back and thought to herself how wonderful it was. Just this. The easy comfort and familiarity of being with someone, that one just knew was right. Right where one belonged.

Ruby reached across and placed her hand on his. “It was so awful,” she said, surprised when she realized there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what Emma and Killian were going through.”

“Nor can I,” Graham whispered, squeezing her hand.

“If it had been one of our children…” Her voice trailed away as she realized. It was the first time she’d referred to Ava and Nicholas as theirs. 

Graham was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at her but continued staring out the window. “The entire time with Alice,” he whispered, “all I could think of was how grateful I was that it wasn’t Nicholas or Ava.” He looked at her then, guilt written all over his face. “But it shouldn’t be any child.”

“There’s nothing wrong with such feelings,” she assured him. “They make you a good father. A very good father, I think.”

He looked at her oddly for a moment and then looked down at where their hands were still clasped. “No, I’m not,” he said gravely. “But I hope to be better.”

Ruby’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were right,” he said, looking back up at her. “About Nurse Ratched. I didn’t want anything to be wrong, so I paid no attention, but you were right. She was beating them.”

“WHAT?!”

“With a book,” he continued, his voice perfectly level. “I walked in and she was beating Ava across the back with a book. She’d already finished with Nicholas.”

Tears of sorrow and anger filled Ruby’s eyes. “I never dreamed. I should have seen. I should have known.”

Graham scoffed. “If I didn’t see in the months she was living with us, how could you have seen when you’d only been there a fortnight?” he asked.

Ruby was silent for a few moments. “I assume you dismissed her,” she said.

Graham nodded. “I nearly threw her out the door myself when she wasn’t moving fast enough.”

Ruby snorted. “If you hadn’t, I would have,” she said.

“I told the children you’d help find a replacement,” he said.

“Of course!” she exclaimed.

“And I…” His voice trailed away for a moment and he looked out the window before he continued speaking. “I’m going to be a better father,” he whispered. “I’ve spent years pushing them away. Always afraid of becoming like my father.”

“Graham,” Ruby cajoled. “You couldn’t possibly be. You are so different from your father.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I thought I could. I got a whip once. I went out to the stable, blindingly angry, and got a whip.” He dropped his head in his hands and Ruby’s heart broke for him. 

“But you didn’t use it,” she said with certainty.

“But I wanted to,” he confessed.

“But you didn’t,” she repeated.

“I was so angry,” he said again, as if he didn’t even hear her, too lost in his own memory. But then he looked at her and something in his eyes was shattered and Ruby wanted nothing more than to gather him close and heal all those jagged edges inside him. To make him see himself as she saw him - a flawed man, yes, but a good and honorable one, too, who’d never hurt his children the way he had been. “Do you understand what it means to be frightened by your own anger?”

Ruby shook her head.

“I’m not a small man, Ruby,” he said. “I could hurt someone.”

“So could I,” she reasoned with him. He sent her a dry look and she shrugged. “Well, maybe not you, but I’m certainly big enough to hurt a child.”

He snorted and turned back to the window. “You would never do that.”

“And neither would you.”

He was silent and understanding dawned on Ruby. “Graham,” she began. “You said you were angry, but… who were you angry with?”

He stared at her, slightly dazed. “Ruby,” he said. “They glued their governess’ hair to the sheets.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him, “I’m quite certain I would have throttled them myself had I been around when it happened. But that wasn’t my question.” She stopped and waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she clarified. “Were you angry with them about the glue? Or were you angry with yourself because you couldn’t make them mind?”

He didn’t say anything, but that silence told her more than any words could.

“Graham, you are nothing like your father.”

“I know that now,” he said softly. “When I discovered what Nurse Ratched had done, you have no idea how much I wanted to rip her limb from limb.”

Ruby snorted. “I can imagine,” she said. “I would have wanted to do the same.”

Graham felt his lips twitch. There was something comforting and almost funny about their similar thoughts and feelings about the matter. It felt quite good. 

“She deserved nothing less,” Ruby continued. “But you didn’t touch her, did you?” 

“No,” he replied slowly in realization. “And if I could keep control of my temper with her, I could certainly keep control of it with my children.”

“Of course,” Ruby agreed. She patted his hand and then sat back, looking out the window.

She had such belief in him. It was an utterly foreign concept. She truly had faith in his inner goodness, in the quality of his soul, when he’d been wracked with guilt and worry for so many years.

“I’d thought you left me,” he blurted out.

She turned back to him, surprise written all over her face. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Perhaps it was because you left and didn’t come back.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at him. “It’s perfectly clear now why I was delayed, and besides, I’d never leave you. You should know that.”

He raised a brow at her. “Should I?”

“Of course you should!” she exclaimed, her green eyes beginning to flash. “I made a vow on our wedding day, and I can assure you, I don’t take that lightly.” She was silent for just a moment before she continued, her tone and indignation ramping up with each sentence. “And the children! They’ve already lost one mother, through no fault of their own. Did you really think I’d make them go through all of that a second time? You know me better than that.” She turned to him with a supremely irritated expression on her face. “I cannot believe you thought that of me!”

Graham was beginning to think the same thing himself. How could he have thought that of Ruby? He’d only known her… Dear God. Had it really only been two weeks? In many ways, it felt like a lifetime. Because, he was quite convinced, he did know her. Inside and out. And he should have known better than to think she’d abandon their marriage.

It was the panic. That was all. Panic that she might really have been killed somewhere on the road. If that had truly been the case… He wasn’t prepared for the stab of agony in his heart at the thought.

When had that happened? When had she come to mean so much to him? He’d told himself, and her as well, over and over again that he married her to be a mother to his children. But when she’d mentioned the vow and that her commitment to the children was too strong, he’d felt a stab of jealousy.

Jealous. Of his own children. 

He wanted her to want him. Not because she’d made a vow, but because she couldn’t live without him. Perhaps because she loved him. 

Somewhere in the passion - in the intoxication of the pleasure of her touch, the sounds of her moans and gasps, in the force of his own pleasure when he exploded inside of her - she’d touched his heart. And changed it. 

Changed him.

He loved her.

He hadn’t been looking for love. Hadn’t even given a thought to it, but there it was. And it was the most beautiful and precious thing imaginable.

He was at the dawn of a new day. A new chapter in his life. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He did not want to fail. He couldn’t. Not when he’d just found everything he needed. Ruby. His children. Himself.

It had been years since he’d felt comfortable in his own skin. When he could trust his own instincts. When he could look at himself in the mirror and not avoid his own gaze.

They were pulling up at Romney Hall. A footman appeared to help Ruby down. She turned to him and smiled gently.

“I’m exhausted, and you look the same,” she observed. “Shall we go up and take a nap?”

Graham looked up to the third floor nursery for a moment before turning back to his bride. 

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll be along in a bit. Right now, I think I want to go hug my children.”

Ruby smiled and turned to enter the house.

When she woke, many hours later, she was surprised to see that Graham’s side of the bed was undisturbed. He’d been just as exhausted as she was, but perhaps instead of sleep, he just needed time to himself to think after the difficulties of the last few days.

Just because she didn’t prefer solitude, didn’t mean that everyone agreed with her. It didn’t mean that Graham agreed with her. 

They were two very different people, and if she was going to live with him as his wife, she was going to have to make some concessions to his personality and temperament, just as he was doing the same for hers.

She didn’t see him the rest of the day. Not when she took tea in the afternoon, not when she tucked the twins into bed, not when she ate her lonely supper. After her obligatory two bites of pudding, she got up, not wishing to prolong her meal any longer, fully intending to retire to her bed. But as soon as she left the dining room, she knew she wasn’t ready to sleep yet. 

She walked, somewhat aimlessly, through the house until her feet carried her to the portrait gallery. She hadn’t been inside it since that first night after she’d arrived at Romney Hall. She opened the door and gasped in surprise to see Graham sitting in the chair, just staring up at the portrait of Jacinda with the children.

He gave no indication that he’d heard her. Just continued staring, the look on his face bleak and so full of sorrow that it nearly broke Ruby’s heart.

Had he lied to her when he said he’d never loved Jacinda? Never felt passion for her? No. He hadn’t lied. She knew it in her marrow. 

But what did it really matter? Jacinda was dead. She was in no way in competition for Graham’s affections. And it wasn’t as if Graham loved Ruby anyway. And she certainly didn’t lo…

But in one of those flashes of insight that might as well knock the breath out of one’s lungs, Ruby realized, she did. 

She thought back on the last two weeks - had it really only been two weeks? - wondering when it might have happened. Wondering how it happened. But this feeling she had for him, the affection and respect, had grown into something deeper. And oh, how she desperately wanted Graham to feel the same way.

He may need her - of that she was quite sure, both in the physical aspect of their marriage, but also in the caring for the household and the children - but she wanted him to love her the way she loved him.

She loved the way he smiled, the boyish grin that spoke of secrets and mischief, and as if he couldn’t quite believe in his own happiness. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved the way he actually listened to what she had to say and how he wouldn’t let her cow him. She even loved the way he told her she talked too much. Because he always said it with a smile on his face. And she loved the way he still listened to her after telling her she talked too much. 

She loved the way he loved his children. She loved his honor, his honesty, and his sly sense of humor. And she loved the way she fit into his life and the way he fit into hers.

It was comfortable. And it was right.

This was where she belonged.

She loved him. She needed him. Not a dead woman.

As she watched him looking at the portrait, his words from yesterday finally sank in. He’d said he hadn’t laid with a woman in eight years. 

Eight years.

Jacinda had only been gone fifteen months. If Graham had gone without a woman for eight years… Ruby did some mental math. They hadn’t shared any physical intimacy since the twins had been conceived. No, that wasn’t right. It would have been shortly after the twins were born. Just a little bit. 

It was possible that Graham was mistaken about the dates, but somehow, Ruby didn’t think so. She thought Graham knew exactly when the last time was, and now that she’d pinpointed it as well, she realized it must have been a terrible experience indeed. 

But he hadn’t betrayed her. Hadn’t betrayed her or his marriage vows. He’d remained faithful to a woman who’d banned him from her bed. Ruby wasn’t really surprised, given his honesty and integrity, but she wouldn’t have thought less of him for seeking physical comfort elsewhere.

But the fact that he hadn’t… It made her love him all the more.

Ruby stepped forward and cleared her throat. She was surprised when he quickly turned his attention upon her. She’d believed him so lost in thought that he wouldn’t realize he was no longer alone. He held out his hand to her and she stepped toward him and took it, turning with him to face Jacinda’s portrait.

“Did you love her?” she asked quietly.

“No.” And even though she’d asked the question before, and received the same answer, the relief she felt at the simple affirmation was profound.

“Do you miss her?”

“No.” He was silent for a few moments, just continued to stare at her portrait. “She was sad. Always so sad.” Another pause. “It was worse after the twins were born. The midwife said it was normal for women to cry after childbirth, but not to worry. It would disappear in a few weeks.”

“But it didn’t,” Ruby murmured. 

“It was like she sank even further into herself,” he said quietly. “Almost like she disappeared.” His throat worked and his eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to formulate the words he wanted - no, needed - to say. “She rarely left her bed. She never smiled. And she cried. A great deal.” He finally turned to Ruby and looked her square in the eyes. “I tried everything to make her happy. Everything in my power. Everything I knew. But it wasn’t enough.” His eyes filled with tears and Ruby cupped his jaw with her other hand. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ruby said. She may not have known Jacinda as an adult, but she knew Graham and she knew her words were true.

“Eventually I just gave up,” he admitted, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I was so sick and tired of beating my head against a wall. All I could do was try to keep the children away from her when she was really bad. They loved her so much.”

“I know,” she assured him.

“She was their mother. And she didn’t… she couldn’t…”

“But you were there,” Ruby said fervently. 

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “And a fat lot of good it did them. How terrible is it to have one bad parent? And my children were born with two…”

“You are not a bad father,” Ruby said, the vehemence in her words surprising even her.

“It hurt so much,” he whispered.

“What did?” 

“When she died,” he explained. “To try so damned hard for so many years and never succeed. To never be able to break through to her.” He turned and looked at her again. “I just needed someone who was happy. Who would be there for the children. Someone who wouldn’t…” He cut himself off and turned away.

“Someone who wouldn’t what?” she asked, sensing that his answer was very important, indeed.

“She didn’t fall in the lake by accident,” Graham whispered. Ruby gasped. He’d told her Jacinda had died in the lake, but she assumed it was an accident. She never thought that her cousin might take her own life. “She walked straight into the water. And I didn’t reach her in time.”

“Oh, Graham,” Ruby breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She was truly, even if Jacinda’s death had made her own happiness possible.

“You don’t understand,” Graham snapped. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped. Hopeless. Stuck. To try so hard and never, ever, break through. I tried. Every single day, I tried. I tried for me. I tried for her. I especially tried for Nicholas and Ava. Everything I knew. Everything everyone told me to do. Nothing worked. I’d try, and she’d cry. I’d try again and she’d do nothing but dig herself deeper into her damned bed and pull the covers over her head. She lived in complete darkness with her curtains drawn and then on the first sunny day in weeks,” he turned to her, eyes blazing, “she goes and kills herself.” He laughed, a short bitter thing. “After all of that, she had to ruin sunny days for me too.” He rose from the chair and looked at the portrait again. “I tried so hard,” his voice, filled with resignation and regret, trailed away for a moment. “And still, every day, I wished I was married to someone else. Anyone else.”

He turned to look at her again, and the tears were gone, replaced with a vehement passion that took Ruby’s breath away. 

“Yesterday you said we had a problem,” he said, taking her hand.

“No, that’s not what I meant…” she tried to interrupt, but he kept speaking as if he didn’t hear her.

“You said we have a problem,” he repeated. “But until you’ve lived through what I’ve lived through - until you’ve been trapped in a hopeless marriage, with a hopeless spouse, until you’ve gone to bed for years wanting nothing more than the touch of another human being…” He looked down at their joined hands and gently rubbed Ruby’s knuckles with his thumb. “Do not tell me that we have a problem. Because to me,” he choked on his words but kept on going, “to me, what we have, this - us, - is heaven.”

“Oh, Graham,” she breathed and threw herself into his arms, her own tears soaking his shirt.

“I don’t want to fail again,” he choked out, burying his face in her neck. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“No, you won’t,” she assured him. “We won’t.”

“You have to be happy,” he said. “Please tell me…”

“I am. I promise,” she vowed.

He pulled back, cupping her chin with his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. Looking for the truth of her words.

“I am happy, Graham,” she repeated, covering his hands with her own. “More than I ever thought possible. And I am proud to be your wife.”

Graham’s lower lip began to tremble and the tears reappeared in his eyes again before they began streaming down his face.

“I love you, Ruby,” he breathed. “And I don’t even care that you don’t feel the same…”

“Oh, Graham,” she cried, cutting him off, and wiping his tears away, even as her own continued to fall. “I love you, too.”

Graham crushed Ruby to him, his lips meeting hers in a passionate dance of love felt and reciprocated. He picked her up, bridal style, his lips never leaving hers and carried her through the halls to their bedchamber.

He lowered her to the bed and pulled back, pulling off his clothes in haste as Ruby did the same.

“I need you, Ruby,” he said, laying down beside her. “I need you like I need to breathe. Like I need food, water.”

“Yes,” Ruby moaned. “I need you, too.” All she could do was reach for him and give herself to him with all that she was. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe as he touched her, kissed her, sending her higher and higher until her tears couldn’t be held back any longer.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, brushing one away.

“I can’t help it,” she cried, her voice shaking. “I just love you so much. I didn’t think… I’d hoped… but…”

“I know,” he assured her. “I never thought it would happen to me. I think I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

“I know I’ve waited my entire life for you,” she said cheekily. She rolled on her back, drawing her with him until he was nestled between her legs. “Don’t go slowly,” she urged.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said as he surged into her, filling her completely.

They moved together, but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. And a tempest. And total reckless abandon. Both of them reaching for that peak that seemed just out of reach, until they reached it together in a cascade of ecstasy that made Ruby arch, lifting them both from the bed with the power of her completion and Graham roar her name as he emptied himself into her.

Ruby collapsed back to the mattress, Graham’s weight pinning her down. Not that she minded in the least. She loved these moments, when they were both too spent to move. She loved the weight of him, the smell and taste of the sweat on his skin after their lovemaking. 

She loved him. 

It was that simple. She loved him and he loved her. And it was all she needed.

~*~*~

The next week would forever be remembered by Ruby as the most magical of her life. Nothing special happened - no birthdays, no unexpected guests, no extravagant gifts. 

But on the inside, everything changed.

The well of happiness was overflowing and seemingly without end. And she could sense the same thing inside of Graham as well. 

She woke one morning, pleasantly sore in all the right places, to see Graham, fully dressed, sitting at the foot of the bed simply watching her.

“Good morning,” she said, sitting up and tucking the sheet around her naked breasts. “What are you doing there?”

“Watching you,” he said, an indulgent smile on his face.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and she felt her cheeks heat. “That can’t possibly be very interesting.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I can’t think of anything that would hold my attention for so long.”

Her blush intensified and she wondered if perhaps she’d be able to convince him to join her in the bed again. But then she remembered he was already dressed and had probably done so for a reason.

“I brought you a muffin,” he said, holding it out to her. She thanked him and began eating when he spoke again. “I thought we might go on an outing today.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise. “You and me?”

“Actually, I thought maybe the four of us.”

Ruby froze, the muffin halfway to her mouth. To her knowledge, this was the first time Graham was reaching out to his children, rather than setting them aside and hoping someone else would see to them.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she breathed. 

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your morning routine and inform that poor housemaid that you bullied into being their nurse that we’ll be taking them for the day.”

“I didn’t bully her… exactly,” Ruby protested feebly. Mary hadn’t wanted to take the position of nursemaid, even on a temporary basis, none of the servants had. Ruby couldn’t really blame them after the debacle with their former governess, but for that reason, Ruby had extracted a promise from the twins that they would treat Mary with the respect due to the Queen, and so far they’d held up their side of the bargain. 

Ruby glanced up and saw Graham just standing in the doorway, not moving.

“Graham?” she asked. “What is it?”

He turned to her, his eyes a bit bewildered. “I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing going on in the village today, no fairs or events, I mean. What should we do?”

Ruby smiled gently at him. “Anything at all, Graham. All they want is you.”

Two hours later, Graham and Nicholas were standing outside the Larkin’s Fine Tailor and Dressmaker in the village of Tetbury, waiting somewhat impatiently while Ruby and Ava finalized their purchases inside.

“Did we have to go shopping?” Nicholas whined.

Graham chuckled. “It was what your mother wanted to do.”

“Next time, the men get to choose,” he grumbled. “If I’d known having a mother meant this…”

“We men must make sacrifices for the women we love,” his father informed him, patting him on the shoulder. He looked inside the shop window and saw that the ladies didn’t appear to be anywhere near finished. “But as to our next outing,” he whispered conspiratorially to his son, “I agree whole-heartedly.”

Just then, Ruby poked her head out. “Nicholas, would you like to come in?”

“No!” he said vehemently, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Allow me to rephrase,” Ruby replied, not missing a beat. “Nicholas, I would like you to come in please.”

Nicholas turned pleading eyes upon his father, making Graham chuckle. “I’m afraid you must do as she says.”

Nicholas grumbled under his breath as he climbed the steps, but just before he entered the door, he turned back to his father. “Aren’t you coming?”

Hell no, Graham almost said, but he bit his tongue just in time. “No,” he said instead, “I need to stay out here and watch the carriage.”

Nicholas’ eyes narrowed. “Why does the carriage need watching?”

“Yes, you need to come in as well, Graham,” Ruby said sweetly. Graham groaned. “You need new shirts.”

“Can’t the tailor just come out to the house?”

“Don’t you want to pick the fabric?” she asked.

“I trust you implicitly,” he said. Ruby frowned at him, and Graham sighed. “Very well, I’ll come in.”

“Thank you,” she said, leading them both inside. 

Graham found himself on the ladies side surrounded by bolts and yards of frilly and lacey, sparkly and shiny. He felt about as comfortable there as he did in formal wear.

Ruby kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “When Ava comes out, make a fuss.”

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” he said quietly.

She smiled up at him. “Learn,” she said just as quietly, then turned her attention to Nicholas. “And now for you, Master Humbert. Mrs. Larkin…”

“I want Mr. Larkin, like Father,” Nicholas protested. 

Ruby looked at him, surprised. “You want Mr. Larkin? The tailor?” she asked. Nicholas nodded. Ruby was silent for a moment, pondering his request and Graham could see Nicholas start to squirm with impatience and anxiety that she might deny him. “Very well then, off you go.”

Nicholas wasted no time at all and all but ran into the other side of the shop. Graham leaned over to his wife.

“You are good,” he praised, whispering in her ear.

A small smile pricked the corners of her lips. “Yes, I am,” she agreed.

Not a moment later, a blood curdling howl reached them and Nicholas ran back in. Straight to Ruby, which left Graham feeling a bit bereft. He wanted his children to run to him.

“He stuck me with a pin!” 

“Were you squirming?” Ruby asked, not bothered in the least.

“No!”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Maybe just a tiny bit,” he said, sheepishly.

“Right then. Don’t move next time,” Ruby said briskly. “I can assure you Mr. Larkin is very good at his job and if you don’t move, you won’t get stuck with a pin. It’s as simple as that.”

Nicholas looked up at his father with pleading eyes, and as nice as it was to be seen as an ally, he couldn’t contradict Ruby in front of his son like that. But then Nicholas surprised him. He walked back toward the other side without complaint and then turned back toward them for a moment.

“Father, will you come with me? Please?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but then had to stop, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He couldn’t speak. He was, quite simply, overcome. 

It wasn’t just the moment - the fact that his son wanted him to accompany him in this male right of passage - but it was the absolute confidence and assurance that if he followed his son to the other side, he’d know the exact right thing to say and do when they got there. He wasn’t his own father. He could never be. And with Ruby by his side, he knew he could do anything. Even manage the twins.

Graham laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’d be proud to go with you, son.” He cleared his throat of the hoarseness that had crept in, then bent down to his son’s ear. “The last thing we need is women on the men’s side.” Nicholas nodded in agreement. 

Graham rose back up, but before he could take a step, he heard Ruby clearing her throat behind him. He turned toward her, but his gaze came to a stop and his eyes widened as he saw his little girl all dressed up in a lovely lavender frock, showing just a hint of the woman she’d one day become.

For the second time in as many minutes, Graham’s eyes filled with tears. This is what he’d been missing. In his fear, in his self-doubt, he’d been missing this. His children, growing up without him.

Graham patted Nicholas’ shoulder, letting him know he’d be right back, and walked to Ava’s side. Without a word, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 

“You, Miss Ava Humbert,” he said, his heart in his words, in his smile, in his eyes, “are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

Ava gasped in surprise and blushed under his praise. “But what about Mother?” she asked.

Graham knelt by her side and looked over at his bride, whose own eyes were filled with tears. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, quietly. “We’ll say that your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you are the most beautiful girl. And someday, when you’re all grown up, you can believe that your mother is the most beautiful woman, and I’ll still say that you are.”

And later that night, when he kissed the children on their foreheads and tucked them into their beds, Ava whispered.

“Father?”

“Yes, Ava?”

“This was the best day ever.”

“Ever,” agreed Nicholas.

Graham smiled down at them. “For me as well.”

~*~*~

It started with a note.

Later that night, as Ruby finished her supper and her plate was cleared away, she realized there was a small folded note underneath. Graham had excused himself a few minutes earlier, claiming that he needed to locate a book of poetry they’d been discussing during the meal. So once she was alone, she unfolded the note and read the words contained within.

I have never been good with words.

And then, at the bottom of the paper,

Proceed to your office.

Puzzled, but intrigued, she rose and made her way to her office. There, she found another note in the center of her desk.

But it all started with a letter, did it not?

Then followed instructions to take herself to the sitting room, which she followed, being very conscious to keep a sedate pace instead of breaking into a thoroughly inelegant run. The next note was found on the center of the sofa.

And so if it started with words, it ought to continue with them, too.

This time she was directed to the front hall.

But there are no words to thank you for all you have given me, so I will use the only ones at my disposal, and I will tell you the only way I know how.

This time, she was to proceed to her bedchamber.

Ruby headed up the stairs, her heart thumping in excitement and anticipation. This was her final destination, she was sure. Graham would be waiting for her, to take her hand and lead her into their future.

It had all started with a note. A short, but heartfelt note of condolence, that had led her here. To a love so full and all-encompassing, Ruby had trouble containing it. She reached the upstairs hall and stepped forward toward her room, where the door was just slightly ajar.

She pushed it open with shaking hands and gasped.

For covering the bed were flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of blooms of every variety and color, some clearly out of season, from Graham’s special collection. And written in blossoms of red, against the backdrop of white and pink petals…

I Love You

“Words aren’t enough,” Graham said softly, stepping out of the shadows.

She turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Speechless?” he asked, with a smirk. “You? I must be better at this than I thought.”

“I love you,” she whispered, choking on the words. “I love you so much.”

His arms came around her, and as she rested her head on his chest, his heart beating under her cheek, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Tonight the twins said that today was the best day ever,” he said softly. “And I realized they were right.”

Ruby nodded in agreement.

“But then I realized they were wrong.”

Ruby pulled back, a question in her eyes.

“I couldn’t choose a day,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “Any day with you, Ruby. Any week, any month, any hour.” He tilted her chin up and brushed her lips with his gently, but with all the love in his soul. “Any moment,” he whispered. “As long as I’m with you.”

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me!!! I so hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought!!! Happy birthday, Marta!! Love you!!!

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red - Chapter III | 5k

chapter one | chapter two ao3 | masterlist

✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you’ll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won’t. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn; ✦ Chapter TW: trauma mentions as always, slight mention of obsessive behavior just again! bit of stalker!ghost

A/N: Hi girlies! I'm proud to say the story is finally about to begin for real and I'm hoping for some feedback on pacing, how you guys thing it's going so far and any tips on how to get better if there's any. Thank you for reading me and I love y'all ♥

taglist: @simpinginthecorner; @ghostlythots; @fine141; @dmitriene; @maviee

Chapter 03 - Foolish Girl

“Can you handle more, fecker? I’m pretty sure he can.” a voice asked, and he felt another kick hit his head; there was blood everywhere, he could barely feel his own mouth but the taste of metal that kept dripping through his teeth, the open wounds on his lips. 

He didn’t answer. Not a single word came out of his mouth, not a single whimper; it was like he was made of iron: he would flinch, but his sole skin seemed quite tough, hard; made of something other than human matter. It was impossible, they thought. Doesn’t this guy suffer? Is he dead?

No, he wasn’t dead. There were still heartbeats, he was still breathing. How was he breathing?

“Drown him.” the same voice ordered and they made a move around, three guys carrying him. He could think of nothing at all. How do you survive torture?

There’s a moment your body reaches complete numbness. You stop feeling pain, you stop feeling anything at all; it’s like it just awaits for you to give in. If a rookie asked Ghost how he manages to be unbeatable, to be beaten up fourteen times in a row and keep himself awake, he’d simply answer: refuse to give in.

When his body reaches complete numbness, he absorbs it. He does nothing. He resists, doesn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t deny he wanted, so badly, so many times to give up - but it wasn’t under his jurisdiction, to give up. 

It had been days. Eight, to be more precise. 

Eight days since you last saw or heard anything about Ghost or his squad. And also eight days since you finally decided to put some effort in yourself. 

Just throwing aside all of your insecurities, your fears and the emptiness that overcame you ever since the incident wasn’t the most clever decision, you knew it very well; but the government assigned a team of health professionals to look after you: a psychiatrist, a therapist and of course, Doris, the nurse - your most recent friend.

Things were starting to catch. You started talking a little more and now you could get out of bed with a wheelchair. Your leg was still looking like jelly - but that didn’t stop you from getting dressed up that day, tuck yourself in the wheelchair and all on your own for the very first time, ride through the hospital hall. There was someone you needed to talk to; didn’t know exactly how that would go: it had been time since you last saw this man. The situation wasn’t the very best on your side, too much trauma, too many memories, and now, facing something you avoided from day one.

You stopped in front of his office door. Getting the elevators without your legs wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, and there you were: your destination. Didn’t take you twenty minutes; that was good.

You took a deep breath and reached for the dark wooden door, big, beautiful: the type of office belonging to a very high pattern person. You knocked.

In not more than twenty seconds, the man’s form showed up in front of you; grey-ish hair, his white coat seeming to be perfectly cut and sewed to be his and his stethoscope hanging from his neck. A yellow smile awkwardly showed up on your face.

“Doctor Miller.” It was a mutter, almost inaudible. He seemed tired, sad, depressed. It’s how you expected him to be, if to be honest, and even so he had that tiny gentle smile printed on his lips.

“Well hello, little miss. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He admitted, before gesturing his hand towards you; you took it in a handshake. “I’m glad to see you’re getting better. Come in, please.”

“I’m trying.” You said, grabbing onto the wheelchair’s wheels and pushing yourself inside his office as he opened some space for you. The door was closed behind you, and your face gyrated, noticing the motion.

“I can imagine it’s not going to be so easy, right? I’ve been doing all efforts I can to push the media away from you, getting the best doctors I can involved in your treatment, et cetera.” He motioned with his hands as his hips laid back onto his wooden desk - same wood as the door - and crossed his arms. “Are they being nice to you?”

“Yes- god, yes. They are, I have nothing to complain about…” You responded quickly, feeling somewhat like a burden for hearing those words. “They’re great, yes.”

He nodded with his head, fixing his glasses from the tip of his nose and let out a sigh, finally. His eyes went down to the floor. “I’m glad then, missy. I’m glad.” 

Silence fell over the two of you like the big elephant living in the room was taking over all the space that should belong to your air. The air you had to breathe - it was caught up in your throat. You felt your heart sinking and your body tensing up a little, and closed your eyes.

“I’m here for another reason, as you can possibly imagine.” You muttered. 

Anthony interrupted you, “Please.” he closed his eyes, and his words got caught up in his throat. A lump there, you knew he was struggling to even think of a less painful way of doing this. “If you’re going to blame yourself then you should know that-”

“Anthony.” You said, your lips already trembling with the tears that formed in your eyes. “I’m really sorry.” You said simply and bluntly, not being able to hold back those painful grieving tears of yours. 

He kept silent, and his face turned aside, the stern look on it never leaving but you knew it: in his deepest mind, he could not possibly blame you, but in his heart, seeing you was seeing the only remaining thing of the incident that killed his only child, his daughter - your best friend. And sometimes you couldn’t blame yourself either. For the past eight days, you’ve been avoiding thinking about Amelie. She, who gave off all the opportunities you needed to succeed in med school. One of the best people you ever met, now, had her name written as one of the first ones in a list of 102 victims of a fatal terrorist attack. 

To his gut wrenching silence, you spoke again. “She didn’t deserve this.” you muttered, but didn’t dare talking about your own position on all this.

Nobody would like to hear someone else saying they should have died in place of your own child. Especially with this short spend of time - his grief was fresh as a recent stab in the heart.

“None of them did.” He said, and his voice was nothing but a wind whisper on a cold night. “It was a fatality. It’s nobody’s fault but those bastards who did this.” He kept on, swallowing dry and you could almost catch in the air the moment his feelings gravitated from sadness and sorrow to anger and hate, to pain; the glow in his eye changed and he didn’t dare to look at you. “So don’t blame yourself.”

You chewed in false, bite your tongue in an attempt to stop yourself from crying and speaking out everything in your mind. 

Silence.

“I’d like to go to the memorial today.” You raised your face to him now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ll drop it, Anthony. I just want to see her face again, say goodbye, and then I’ll vanish. I’m promising, I’ll vanish, I-” you tried to keep up, but Anthony turned to you abruptly and a gesture with his hand stopped your talking instantly.

“Drop it? No.” He shook his head, and his tone grew even more stern by the time he spoke. “Are you going insane, lass? Have you lost your senses, no! You won’t drop college because my daughter died.” He said in such a harsh tone it made you flinch a little. You didn’t expect such crude sincerity. “She would want you to continue.”

You shut your eyes tight, shook your head, trying to hold back the painful cry you had stuck in your throat, but this time no - you couldn’t.

“But it is not fair. It’s not fair.” You stuck your face between your hands and started gasping. It was impossible to hold back. The grief he felt was obviously stronger, harder than yours - of course losing a daughter wasn’t the same as losing a best friend.

Amelie had done for you more than anyone else in your life, but still, she was only a dear friend of yours. You didn’t have the right to cry this much, did you? 

He lost his daughter. You survived the attack, she was supposed to have gone buying those donuts that day. You offered to go in her place.

It was your fault, wasn’t it? 

Only survivor. The only survivor. 

Anthony hugged you, tears streaming down his face as he almost lifted you from the wheelchair just to be able to hold you a little tighter in his arms, a fatherly embrace, like he had the opportunity of hugging his own daughter one last time before seeing her slip through his hands like water, dying in such a cruel, vile way. You never had a father, he’d occupy this spot for you ever since you arrived for the first time in this damn country. 

He missed a daughter now; that was something else the two of you had in common now: grieving for Amelie.

━ ⟡ ━

There were way too many people there - more than he could ever count. Lots of pictures spread across the beautiful grass in the cemetery, the media recording every single movementation. The UK Intelligence leader was speaking, a speech - a coordinated, very planned and wisely written speech; one made to cause commotion, to stop spreading panic and to slightly criticize the media’s insistent attempts to make the population desperate.

Ghost took a look around, his eyes gleaming through the mask and scanning the surroundings of the immense park-cemetery. Wasn’t too hard finding you, standing with the help of two crutches in front of your wheelchair, siding with the podium in which the man spoke fluidly to the public. Your eyes were lost in the pictures by the floor, surrounded by flowers and candles, preaches for the peace of those who perished.

You were wearing a long white dress, covering your legs - he couldn’t tell the size of the scar but given the fact that you were standing, Ghost supposed it was getting better quickly. Good.

“I’ll walk a bit.” He stated, before giving his back to Gaz and starting to walk away. It was not that a man wearing military gear was precisely discrete among a big crowd of normally dressed civilians, but he for one was a very silent, smooth operator. He kept his distance from the inner part of the crowd, started walking through the surroundings. A slow walk, he kept looking at you, drinking in your emotions.

You were crying - nothing but silent tears, but substantial ones he could notice by the way the light moved and gleamed across your face. Thought to himself if that was only because of the awful colloquy, or if anything else happened in those eight days. 

Well, a person in your situation didn’t need a precise reason to cry. 

You wouldn’t notice, and in fact nobody else would - but the SWAT team designed to keep the area safe, that there was a man behind you. In distance, in long distance yes - but behind you .

He wore full dark clothes, a hoodie, his face was almost invisible from the distance the people in front of you were. And from even further behind them, Ghost noticed.

His posture changed by the moment he locked his breath on his lungs and tensed up; for a moment, he stopped listening to everyone around. The sounds went quiet, almost mute; the man in the podium had his mouth moving, but no sound coming out of it. Nothing.

In nature, a good predator approaches its prey from the blindspot. From the opposite direction where the cameras are, and if he further knows better - distant from the other animals as well. In the army, you get to learn that position, agility and attitude are three vital points to be considered before attempting an attack. Learning the enemy’s position and with a good aim, before he even tried to do any harm, Ghost could’ve had him on the floor, a bullet hole in his forehead and a crowd of horrified people around the man’s dead body.

Come on. You won’t get closer to her, will you, mate?

He was walking towards you. 

You won’t try something. Won’t give me a reason to cancel your bloody name.

Was he grabbing something from his shirt? Something from the pocket of his hoodie, a little something? 

Look at me.

He did. 

His eyes catched up with Ghost’s, and almost like he could read his own future or in simple lack of courage, he took a step back. And then another. And another, and within seconds, he had his hands stuck in his hoodie pockets again, a straight up posture and nothing on his face anymore. Seemed to be enjoying the ceremony.

Ghost didn’t buy it. He glanced over at the other squad members, trying to see if anyone else but him had noticed the movementation - apparently, not.

He thought of reaching for the man in the crowd; they’d have a interesting chat if he got to lay hands on that cheap looking disguise of his. But when his eyes got back to the place where he was, the man had vanished like thin air. 

━ ⟡ ━

Doris held up your wheelchair, folded, around one of her arms. You were walking towards the cemetery, and although you could simply let her push you around, you were enjoying walking by yourself with some help of your crutches. 

“At least there was a ceremony. They could have let that pass, like they do to thousands of attacks around the world.” Doris mentioned, while you were concentrating all your energy in your own walking.

“You’d be a fool if you thought they’d let that pass, Doris. Look at where we are.” You argued, conscient of the fact that if you weren’t in such a favored country, perhaps things would be different now. Perhaps you wouldn’t be receiving so much help and attention from the media, or from the government itself. Proof of their selective worry.

“You’re right.” She nodded in a sigh, and looked over at you. “Are you sure you don’t need any help, dear? I can hold your arm at least-”

“No. Thank you, I’m doing well here.” You replied quite fast, without opening space for her to insist much. Even so, you expected to hear her voice in a grumpy complainment about your stubbornness, but instead, a deep charged voice came out and startled you.

“Girl.” He said, looking at you. His stature so tall it startled Doris off a little, too, although she seemed a little less surprised than you for seeing him. “May we talk for a bit?” He looked at Doris, like he was asking for her to excuse the two of you.

You kept two seconds of silence looking into the masked man that now towered over you, before Doris spoke out.

“I’ll be waiting back there in the car, okay, dear?” She asked, and in a nod the woman walked away leaving you with Ghost.

He offered an arm to you, which you eyed and promptly refused, waving your clutches. 

“I’m fine with those.” 

“Alright.” He nodded and walked a bit, standing by your side and keeping pace with your slow walking.

It wasn’t weird that he was in that place; it was a big event, being televised nationally. A ceremony to the dead, a mere way the government found to redeem themselves for being unable to keep harm from its citizens. Ghost was involved in all that, he of course would be there - but you didn’t expect this conversation to happen.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again. Ever, actually.” You admitted, while your eyes seemed focused on your feet while you walked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” He replied, simply.

“That’s not what I said.” You quickly redeemed yourself, looking at him and stopping the walk. Ghost was looking at you too. “I just meant to say I thought you wouldn’t come back.” 

“We’ll hope you never need to see me again, won’t we, miss?” He reasoned, and you raised your eyebrows in agreement.

“Don’t think your company is entertaining?” You gave some other suffered steps through the dirt path between the cemetery’s tombstones, and so did he.

“That’s not what I said.” 

You smiled.

“Gotcha. So, should I suppose you have a reason to be here then?” you turned to him once again, holding your hair from flying away with the violent wind that took over the place in a matter of seconds. The clouds were moving - it seemed like it was about to rain.

“I’m here for the same reason as everyone else. The ceremony.” Ghost calmly replied. It seemed weird for you to not be able to read his reactions from the mask, but for some reason, you felt like he was being considerably less stern this particular day.

Maybe he felt bad for you.

“I mean talking to me, Simon. Not here in this place.”

You feared he’d correct you from calling him Simon. He didn’t.

“I know what you meant. Your answer is yes, girl, I have a reason.” He finally said, bluntly, and you kept silent waiting for the next sentences. “Did you receive any visits recently?”

“No one but you a week ago, and the doctors. Why?” 

He didn’t answer your question, he simply placed his hands behind his back and straightened his posture. Then, silence. 

“Simon?”

“No one. Are you sure?” He insisted.

You frowned your eyebrows slightly and stopped walking once again, putting yourself in front of him this time. You used your healthy leg as a support on the ground to pivot around yourself, and one of the clutches as the other support so you’d stand. 

Something in this very calculated and conscient motion failed and you felt your feet step in false; the leg that shouldn’t be carrying weight did, for a second, fast enough for you to feel yourself almost collapse.

Ghost’s hands were quick in grabbing your arms and supporting you against his chest as you almost fell against him, with a small ‘ba-dump’ sound, and your hands now palming the big waistcoat of his tactic gear. You cursed under your breath.

“I’m sorry. And yes, I am sure, why.” You asked a little less patiently this time. His eyes were looking down at you, his hands still swallowing your thin arms like he feared you could fall from the least movement now. 

You looked up at him only to meet his dark eyes through the mask and the black eyeshadow that surrounded his face around the eyes and nose, glaring at you. 

It occurred to you that if you could possibly live under Ghost’s watch, then you wouldn’t be scared of anything in the world. But it was a quick though that left with the wind that moved your hair and shivered your arms.

“You can let go now.” You murmured, assuring him that you wouldn’t fall now that you had the clutch's support. He did.

“You received suspicious calls, no? Nothing weird that comes to mind?” He kept with his questions that seemed to be turning into a small interrogation. 

“Why are you asking me those things?” You finally asked, with a confused shook of your head. “Should I be worried?”

“No. No, you shouldn’t.” He closed his eyes in a sigh, and took your arm around his. Before you could complain, he predicted you. “Don’t complain, I’m doing a courtesy here.” 

“I don’t need help, I’m doing well with the-” 

“Stubborn girl, aren’t you?” He said, and you could sense a smirk from his voice.

“Well you’re very stubborn yourself, gentleman.” You grumbled, using his help to walk a bit faster now. 

You couldn’t see the expression in his face and how amused he seemed to be by watching your movements, and how funny he actually found it that you were slightly mad at him for the time being. You wouldn’t notice the little sign of a laugh on his face, and you’d never suspect there was one - you thought the last thing you’d see him doing in the world was smiling. 

After giving you silence as a response, you kept quiet, silently accepting his help through the way. Your eyes scanned the surroundings for a bit like you were looking for a particular tombstone. 

“Who do you want to visit?” He risked asking, quietly. 

Silence, as you stopped in front of it. There she was. You found it. 

The candles were still burning and her face was happily smiling in the picture they chose to put over her gravestone; there were countless flowers, while you held one sole rose in your hand. Doris bought it for you earlier, as you asked.

“My roommate.” 

Silence. He was keeping himself a little behind you, his eyes drove from the gravestone to your back. The way the wind started blowing your hair and that white dress fell over your curves perfectly made you look like an angel. 

“The one you asked for, what was her name again? Amelie.” He muttered. You gave him a nod.

“Amelie.” You said, as you bend your body as much as you could just so you could reach the top of the beautiful granite that now, layed over her body, and deposit your only flower at the top of all the others already there.

Ghost didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to say anything, but before that could turn into overthinking for him, you spoke.

“She was my only friend in this place. The only true one.” You explained, even if unsolicited. Somehow, you felt like talking to Ghost was therapy to you; he would almost never answer, and hear it - truly hear it. Maybe you were being delusional to think with this level of detail about him, but so far, you haven’t spoken to someone who made you feel heard quite like him, so it was a win. “I only moved here because her family offered to pay for my expenses. She was in med school too, you know?” You glanced at him, as if he was supposed to know that already.

And he did. He knew every detail that was spoken about you on television. He knew you were in med school; he knew you were originally American, from a very poor family that basically got you living by yourself at a tender age and that you were here for a scholarship you achieved with merit, studying to become a doctor. To become a person, one very much better than him.

You were here to save people.

He had been killing people for quite his lifetime now.

How ironic.

“Do you feel guilty?” He asked. 

You thought he was some sort of fortune teller. There it was - the fear. The fear of that man, of his gazing eyes, of his capacity of reading through you like a good book; one he had read before, and he did. He did in his tender age, when he’d suffer at the hands of his father; furthermore, when he got into the army; once again, when he was caught… 

Can he take more? I’m sure he can.

Ghost knew guilt like his very own hands. At this point he could feel it no more - he only knew he was doing his job as he could, saving the lives he could and taking the others he needed. Choices have consequences.

“Everyday.” Your voice came out as a blow.

He closed his eyes. 

“Do you relate? Looks like you do.” You continued, your eyes locked on his now.

“If I were in your place,” he started, walking a bit closer to you. “I’d make the most of it. I won’t bullshit you with the ‘be grateful for being alive’ rubbish. But want it or not, you’re alive, aren’t you?” He looked over at you, and met your gaze once again.

“Simon’s pep talk… Another surprise for today’s day.” You raised an eyebrow jokingly trying to enlighten the mood even the slightest you could. 

“All I’m saying is, foolish girl, that you deserve no less than her to be alive. It’s not a matter of deserving. It’s a matter of luck, you were lucky and she was not.” He turned himself  to you, and you felt his eyes burning through your side although you weren’t looking back at him. “There’s no such thing as deserving. If anything, I’d deserve to be bombed twice as much as you.”

“Isn’t that such a cruel thing to say?” You asked with a sole, weak smile on your lips, knowing damn well he was right about every word and every positioning right now. Even though it hurts.

“The world is a cruel place, and although many think, God doesn’t have his favorites… You were lucky. Do not feel guilty about something that didn’t depend on you.” He stated, sternly this time like his advice was a life rule to himself. 

For the rest of the way back to the car where Doris waited patiently for the two of you, you kept yourself silent. You wanted to ask more about him, about Simon. About that man you saw such a small flash, a little piece, today; unlike Ghost, Simon was an entirely different person and an entirely different idea to you. Somehow, the two of them seemed to be too attached for you to seek precise duality, and it went as far as to your feelings too: curiosity upon the mystery, fear of what you could learn from the unknown.

“Oh, there you are, finally.” Doris celebrated while opening the car door to you, and rushing fast to help you in. Simon kept himself on the back, watching the whole operation to get you inside the car, amused by how annoyed you got to the excessive help being offered to you.

“I can do things on my own.” You said in gritting teeth.

“I know, dear, but why do things on your own when you can have help” She argued, after tucking you in the car, and turning herself to Ghost. “Thank you for the help, sir.”

“It’s no problem.” He said gently, before nodding his head to you and closing the backdoor for both of you as Doris got in. The car started moving, and you started trailing your way back to the hospital.

In a sigh, you closed your eyes and rested a bit.

━ ⟡ ━

He pushed the mask off, threw it aside. The toned muscles of his back were pumped to the extreme, blood flowing through his veins as he stood, shirtless with a towel around his shoulders, hands by the sink sides, curved only enough so he could reach the mirror and stare at his face. One of his fingers ran through a big scar, almost a crack across his own cheek. Many stab scars ripping his back off, his belly, his stomach, his chest. There were scars everywhere. 

He pulled the towel off and poorly dried his hay blonde hair, threw the towel aside in the laundry basket, and fixed the one hanging around his waist; a few drops of the hot shower water still glowing through his body. 

He sat on his bed, and took a quick look at the notebook screen. The U.K intelligence system was open, of course he had access to it.

A part of himself was cursing under his name for doing this. The other one knew it was for the greater good; somewhat, deep inside, he knew that wasn’t all. There was more to it. Something almost personal, maybe something growing slowly inside of him. 

He didn’t get this sense of need from someone. It's been so long, it’s even weird for him now. No, he didn’t want to awake this monster, give it space, feed it, no.

But he needed to. Because if someone was after you, then he’d hunt it, and he’d put it down. 

He put on the password and typed; slowly, the screen started showing off your name, your files, your information, pictures. You.

And he started hunting.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Five)

Series Summary | Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn’t banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 5.2K (oooops, I got carried away)

Warnings | Descriptions of domestic abuse (not from our boi Javi), talk of injuries, infidelity, cheating, SMUT, oral (f receiving) and unprotected PiV sex (please don't do this, be smart and safe), mentions of alcohol, cigarettes, and pregnancy.

Authors Note | Thank you all for being so patience with me whilst I got my head back into writing this. This took me ages to figure out in my mind but I'm so proud of what I've managed to produce. I really appreciate hearing what y'all think of this series, comments and reblogs really do make my day with this - so if you enjoy it, let me know!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ethan is furious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry before. He’d arrived home late last night from his business trip, falling into bed sometime past midnight. He’d tossed and turned for a while as you pretended to be asleep next to him before he turned over, pulled at your arm to turn you onto your back and then crowded on top of you. You’d let him because it was easier than denying him, but when he pushed himself inside of you all you could think about was Javier. 

What would he do in this situation? You’d like to think he’d at least take some time to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Was he the type of man who would spend hours with his head between your thighs just because he liked the way his name fell from your mouth? You think he would be. Would he whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear in Spanish whilst he was buried deep inside you? God, you hoped so. By the time Ethan was spilling himself inside of you and rolling over, leaving you, as he always did, completely unsatisfied and feeling completely used, all your brain could focus on was the animalistic need to know exactly what Javier would do to you in bed. 

Now, as Ethan stands in the kitchen, fuming after he found the wads of cash from your farmer’s market sale, all you wanted to do was run. Run from this pathetic life and into whatever it was that Javier could give you. 

“I fucking told you I would get around to sorting it out!” He shouts at you, “And you had to go and completely disobey me! How does this make me look?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Ethan, it’s been pushing one hundred degrees the entire time you’ve been away, I need that new AC unit because otherwise I’m going to die in that shop, and I think a little bit of embarrassment is better than admitting to the town that I’m dead because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it.” 

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” He fumes, his skin flushing red, “I bet that asshole Peña had something to do with this.” 

“Because now every time I do something you don’t like it has to involve him?” You raged, “Newsflash Ethan, I’ve been doing things you don’t like since before we got married, and that certainly had nothing to do with Javier and everything to do with the fact you can’t stand me.” 

“Did he have anything to do with it?” 

You don’t know why you don’t lie in this moment. Maybe it would have been easier, less of an argument to deal with, but you can’t help yourself, “Maybe he did.” 

“I fucking knew it!” Ethan slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, “That asshole, trying to worm his way into my family, walking around this fucking town like he’s some sort of king because he took down Escobar,” You can’t help yourself but think that you might actually be able to see steam coming out of his ears soon, “And you!” He’s pointing a finger at you as he rounds the counter, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay the hell away from him, or are you just too fucking stupid to understand me?” 

It all happens at once. You’ve slapped him hard across the face and in this moment, you can’t tell which of you is more surprised. He’s stood inches away from your face with a look in his eyes that has panic settling in your stomach. He could kill you if he wanted to. It’s the first time you’ve thought he might, with his chest heaving and his eyes like daggers. You’re scared. 

“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” He spits out into your face, he’s got wide hands placed around the tops of your arms and before you know it your back is pressed against the wall, he’s squeezing the skin so hard that you’re crying out, “Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect.” 

If you weren’t so frightened, you’d have some stupid retort about the fact that it certainly couldn’t be him, because even with a ring around your finger you could never respect this man in front of you, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“Ethan please,” You whimper, “Please let me go, you’re hurting me.” 

“Oh, I’m hurting you, am I?” He jeers into your face, squeezing his hands around your arms even harder, “You should have thought about that before you fucking slapped me, stupid girl.”  

He pulls you back from the wall slightly before slamming you backwards again, the force of it causing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you, “You better lose the attitude or I will take us so far away from this place you’ll never see your stupid friends or your precious Javier Peña again, do you understand me?” 

You nod, sniveling through your tears, then he finally lets your arms go and steps away from you, “Get out of my fucking sight.” 

You don’t waste any time in doing just that, stopping just long enough to grab a thin cardigan and your car keys before your hurtling to your car with nowhere really to go. Your immediate thought is Javier, but it’s the middle of the day and he’ll be out helping Chucho on the ranch. You don’t think you can bare the heat of the shop, or the fact that you might have to interact with a customer, so that’s out too. There’s only one person left – Gabriela. There’s an internal battle you’re having with yourself, she’s so close to having her baby that you don’t want to intrude on her, but she’s the only person you can think of who will know what to do right now. 

You’re not really sure how you manage to make it to her house unscathed with the amount of tears that are dropping from your eyes and the way your hands are shaking, but you’re pulling up in front of her house in no time. 

“Good God alive, what on earth is the matter?!” She exclaims when she opens the door, pulling you into a hug, protruding belly crushed between you. 

“Oh Gabriela everything’s gone so wrong and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, sniffing into her shoulder, you pull away and briefly apologise for getting her shirt wet, to which she gives you a look that says ‘don’t be so fucking stupid’ before she’s ushering you inside. 

She waddles in front of you, clearly uncomfortable, and sternly tells you to sit at the breakfast bar whilst she boils some water to make tea. In no time at all there’s a steaming mug placed in front of you, and she’s sat herself down on the chair next to you with her own mug. 

“So, where do we start?” She’s coaxing you, hand holding your own. 

“I’m fucking miserable Gabs,” You speak softly, “And I don’t know what to do.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” She scoffs, “What’s he done this time?” 

“He found the money,” You’re looking into the amber liquid of the green tea in front of you, “Lost his mind that I’d done it without him, got cross because it was Javi’s idea and then told me to get out and leave him alone.” 

“Did he hurt you?” She asks, “And I swear if you lie to me once more about this, I’m actually going to lose my mind.” 

You nod, it’s small, but she catches it, and you can hear the inhalation of breath, “But it was my fault, I slapped him first.” 

“Did you slap him first all the other times he’s clearly hurt you?” You shake your head this time, “Show me.” She’s asking. 

You slowly slip the cardigan off your arms. You look down and there are perfect red welts on your skin where Ethan’s fingers had been digging into your arm earlier. No doubt in time they’d bruise, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Is Gabriela’s response. 

“I’m sorry Gabs, I didn’t wanna burden you with this I promise, but I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“You think this is a burden to me?” She’s imploring, catching your eyeline when you try to look away, “Cielito, this is nothing like a burden, it’s a bloody relief, I’ve been wanting you to tell me this for years.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, dumbass, all those times you cancelled on me last minute and disappeared for days? You had to be hiding something, and the longer you’ve been with him the longer I’ve known he’s a horrible man – doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” 

“What do I do, Gabs?” 

“Only you can answer that question, but that,” She points to your arms, “That’s assault, so you can go to the police, and then there’s always divorce.” 

“I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I can’t do this on my own Gabriela, I’m so fucking scared, he’s got everything, he’s going to take everything, I won’t have my shop anymore, I’ll be homeless, where do I even start?” 

Gabriela bites at her lip whilst she thinks, “You won’t have to do this alone, I promise you,” She’s got your hand clutched in hers again, “Can you give me a few weeks?” She’s asking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let me get this gremlin out of me first, and then I promise we’ll get you out, okay?” 

You nod in agreement because it’s more than you thought you’d get. The idea of freedom could surely see you through the next couple of weeks, “If it gets too bad then you let me know and we’ll sort something out, I promise, okay?” 

She’s hugging you then, the kind of bone crushing hug that only she would be capable of, and you can feel yourself crying again. What on earth had you done to deserve her? 

“I’ll get out of your hair soon, but can I borrow your phone really quickly?” You ask. 

“Of course, I need to use the bathroom again anyway, so I’ll give you some space.” 

Once she’s out of earshot, you’re dialing the number that you’d had memorized since high school, even with his years of absence. After a few rings someone picks up on the other end. 

“Hi, Chucho, it’s me.” 

“Ahhh Mija, how are you today?” 

“I’m well thank you, how about you?” 

“Not too bad thank you, just come inside to beat the midday heat for a while.” 

“Ah yes,” You smile, you’ve always loved the sound of Chucho’s voice, calm and stoic, reminding you of your own father, which is probably why you like it so much, “I hope you’ve got plenty of ice-cold lemonade,” You bite at the side of your thumbnail, “Is Javi there?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get rid of him too soon. 

“He is, let me just pass you over.” 

There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end of the phone and you can hear Chucho telling Javi it’s you on the other end, then there’s silence before he’s speaking. 

“Hola querida,” God his voice is like butter, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” You reply quietly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, I hope you don’t mind me calling in the middle of the day.” 

“I wouldn’t mind you calling in the middle of the night, querida, don’t worry,” You can hear him drinking someone on the other end of the phone, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks again. 

“I was wondering if I could see you tonight?” You ask meekly, not wanting to make yourself a burden to another person today. 

“You can,” He’s replying, “Where?” 

“Can I come to you?” 

You can hear him shuffling a little on the other end of the phone, you can hear the shifting of paper, he must be looking at the calendar that’s hanging near the phone – his mother had insisted on it when she was still alive, and Chucho makes sure there’s a new one there every January 1st. 

“Yes,” He replies softly, “Pops has a poker game in town tonight according to the calendar, he should be gone by seven, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m happy with whatever is best for you, I’ll see you then.” 

“Alright, querida, take care and I’ll see you later.” 

“See you later, Javi.” You whisper softly before you’re hanging up the phone. 

You put the phone back on the receiver and rub your hands over your face, trying to ignore the pooling of nerves in your tummy. If Gabriela could sense all these years that something was off, then there’s no doubt that Javi will know as well. He’s the most perceptive man you’ve ever met. The dull ache of Ethan’s fingerprints on your arms were ever-present now, there was no way you’d be able to hide them from him. 

“You can stay here for a while if you want,” Gabriela’s voice calls from the living room, “I would only be folding baby clothes on my own.” 

You spend the rest of the afternoon helping Gabriela like she suggested, folding baby clothes, setting out diapers and toiletries in the bathroom and eating her famous enchiladas for dinner. Diego comes home sometime after five, giving you a hug, before he’s pulling out two beers which you enjoy with your friends in their back garden. The sun is setting and it’s nearing six in the evening when you bid them both farewell. 

“Please let me know if you need us, okay?” Gabriela whispers into your hair as she hugs you goodbye, “There’s isn’t a thing in this world that would stop us from helping you.” 

You bite back tears before you nod your head, giving Diego a similar hug, before you’re hopping in your car and driving out of town towards the Peña ranch. 

It doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated but when you drive up you can see there’s only one truck parked outside which means Chucho must have already left for the evening. Javier is stood on the porch before you’ve stepped down from the truck. You make sure the cardigan you’d worn was buttoned up before you head over to him. 

“Evening, querida.” He speaks softly, dipping his head to kiss you on the cheek. 

Before he can fully pull away, you’ve got a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. His hands weave around your waist and you wrap your other arm around his neck to press your body more firmly to his own before you’re pulling away from him, breathless. 

“Evening to you too.” You smile, and it’s genuine. This man has done nothing but make you happy since he came back. 

“You want a drink?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze, “I bought that wine you used to like drinking, although thinking about it now we were young so your tastebuds have probably matured.” 

You giggle and follow him inside, “They definitely haven’t, is it the white one that we used to drink out of the bottle against the tree?” 

He nods as he leads you to the kitchen, dipping into the fridge to pull it out. It is indeed the exact same brand of wine you’d get drunk on together when he was still around, “You want a glass, or shall we drink it like old times?” 

“Old times,” You reply with a smile as he undoes the screw top, “Can we sit outside?” 

He’s taking the first swig from the wine, pulling the same face he used to all those years ago, as he motions for you to head out to the back porch. You always loved this ranch at dusk. The way the sun set and bathed everything in gentle orange light, the fact there was no noise from the town to distract you, the sound of the crickets chirping. It was peaceful. 

Javi settles onto the bench, and you sit across from him, he leans his arm across the back of the bench and moves his head to tell you he wants you closer, so you shift your body to lean against his chest, head placed on his shoulder. You hope he doesn’t catch the discomfort when you lean too hard onto your arm and shift slightly, but if he does, he’s not mentioned it, instead, he’s passing you the wine which you take a drink from. 

“You sounded upset on the phone, querida, are you sure you’re okay?” 

You take another drink before you pass it back to him, “Ethan came home last night,” You’re speaking as you look into the distance, “Guess I just realized how much I enjoy it when he’s away.” 

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, bringing his hand to your arm to squeeze him into his side, it’s stings as he grips to the sore skin from earlier, but you think you manage to play it off, “What can I do to help?” 

He takes a long drink of the wine and then hands it back to you, watching intently as you do the same before you place the half-empty bottle on the floor, “Just kiss me Javi,” You speak, “Make me forget about it for a while.”  

“You want me to just kiss you, querida?” He asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Or do you want more?” 

You shift to look him in the eye, “I want it all Javi,” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips pulling away before he can take more, “I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

He untangles himself from you and stands up before he stretches out his hand for you take, he must see the confusion on your face because he’s talking again, “If you’ve been waiting then I’m not going to fuck you on the porch, querida, come on.” 

You slip your hand into his and then he’s dragging you through the house and up the stairs. He opens the door to his room, which you don’t really take in, he’s motioning his hand for you to sit on the bed, which you do. 

He walks over to you and pushes your chin up with one of his fingers. He’s looming over you and if this was anyone else it would make you feel uncomfortable, but he’s looking at you like you were about to give him the world, before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips softly to your own. In the back of your mind you can feel him unbuttoning the front of your cardigan, it’s a relief because it’s so fucking warm in here, he’s pulling back from your mouth to push it off and then he stops. He’s not pulled it all the way off, the material bunching in the crook of your elbow because he’s seen. He’s seen the marks on your arms. Perfect red indentations of fingertips. 

He's kneeling in front of you now, between your thighs, as he takes one arm in his hand, “Did he do this to you?”  

“Javi please…” You beg him. 

“Did he do this to you?” He asks again, slower and with a register that tells you he isn’t messing around, you nod at him, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

He’s standing like he’s going to get in his car and do it. You grab at his wrist, “Javi please, don’t,” You pull him back to you, “It was my fault.” You say softly, just like you had to Gabriela. 

“This?!” He’s back on his knees again, clutching at your arm, “This is never your fault, do you understand me?” He’s looking into your eyes again, then he softens, “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve this.” 

“Please, will you just come back to me,” You plead, taking his face in your hands, “I need to forget him, just for tonight.” 

In the back of his mind he knows it’s not right, it’s just a distraction, and all he really wants is to know what’s going on, but the way your eyes are pleading with him, he can’t say no, “Only if you promise to talk to me after?” 

“I promise.” You reply almost immediately, and then he’s crowding you, he’s settling between your thighs but this time his lips are on yours and it’s overwhelming. 

You widen your legs as your mouth opens to him, tongues mixing together. You can taste the cheap wine and the cigarettes he swears he’s trying to give up on. He can taste a sweetness he’s never felt before when he’s kissed a woman. It fast and it’s messy, and you don’t understand why you’re moaning into his mouth when he’s not really touched you. Without breaking the kiss, he’s moving, you’re pushed back onto the bed and he’s settled between your thighs, and then he’s pulling his mouth from yours to trail hot, wet kisses over your throat. 

God, he wants to sink his teeth into your skin. Wants to mark you so that when you go home, he knows, knows that there’s someone out there who’s going to cherish you until his dying breath, going to protect you from men like him. He knows better, knows that you’ll be going home alone and any mark on your body would mean more marks from him, and Javi doesn’t think he can bare the fact that it’ll be his fault, so he sticks to kisses. He can feel your hands on his shoulders, sinking in through the material of his shirt and he wants more. 

He's pushing himself back from you, taking a moment to take his shirt off before his attention is back at you. You’re spread out on his bed, hair splayed out underneath you and the look in your eyes almost makes him cry. It’s admiration, that he’s sure of, but there’s something else in your eyes too, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s happiness, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him like that. 

“God you’re beautiful, Javi.” You whisper as he leans back down to you. 

The feeling of your cool hands on his hot skin electrifies him, and he can feel his hands working your tank top up to expose the skin of your tummy. You lift yourself up a little so he can take it all the way off before he continues the trail of his lips over your collarbone and down between the dip in your breasts. He’s gently moving the straps of your bra down and takes the opportunity to undo the clasp at the back when you arch up into him. It’s discarded to the floor without a second thought and then his mouth is on you again. 

He uses the flat of his tongue to run hot stripes over your peaked nipple, whilst his fingers take the other peaked bud and starts rolling it between them. A whine drops from your lips, and you can feel him smiling into your skin and you arch up into him. He’s taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking and then using the tip of his tongue to run circle around it and all your head can think is how much you want his mouth doing just this further down your body. 

“You tell me what you like, querida,” He mumbles into your skin, “Wanna make you feel good.” 

“Your mouth,” You breathe out, head thrown back as he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth, “I need… fuck… I need it lower, Javi.” 

He’s lifted his lips from your tits and you’re moving your head to meet his eyes and he genuinely looks hungry. Like a man starved, with a smirk splayed across his lips, “You want me to eat your pussy, hmm?” 

He’s pushed himself back on his knees and for a split second before he’s pulling at your shorts to take them off, you can see he’s half-hard under his own denim. You’ve barely touched him, and this is how he is? It’s got pride swelling in your chest. 

He makes quick work of your shorts, throwing them to the ground along with your underwear. He takes a second to look at you, spread out and bare for him, and he thinks that if he died right now, he would die a happy man having seen you like this. He takes his thumb and runs it gently along the seam of your pussy, watching as your eyes close and you let out a breath. 

Javi stands briefly before he’s dropping to his knees on his floor. His hands are on either side of your hips, dragging you forward. He pulls you with such force that you bump your thigh into his face, but he’s not complaining. You expect him to tease you, but it turns out that he’s been waiting just as long as you have for this. He wastes no time in using the entire flat of his tongue to lick a hot, wet stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the top, which has an obscene moan dropping from your lips. He could listen to you make those noises for him all fucking day. 

One of his hands moves from your hips, he uses it to spread your pussy before he makes the same motion with his tongue as before but focusing its entirety on your clit. You think you might see stars. Once he’d started, he doesn’t stop. Spurred on by the obscenity dropping from your lips like, fuckjavi that’s so fucking good, and please don’t stop, he’s eating your pussy like it’s his death row meal. He’s lapping at the slick that gathers at your entrance, he’s suckling on your clit, or flicking it with the tip of his tongue, but it’s when he pushes two of his thick fingers inside you that you’re truly coming undone. 

You’re bucking your hips up into his mouth, grinding down on his fingers and then it’s all coming undone with that bright burst of pleasure you hadn’t felt in years. You can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, and you can hear him suckling your clit through the aftershocks as your legs shake around his head. He slips his fingers out of you and finishes with one chaste kiss to your clit before he’s pulling at your arm to sit you up. 

You’re jelly until he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth, sweet and sour with the mix of his cigarettes and it’s intoxicating. You can feel his slick fingers on your thigh as he uses it as a crutch to push himself off the floor. When he stands, his groin is right in your eyeline and now he’s not half-hard. Fuck, he’s bulging. You watch as his hands undo his belt and tear it through the loops of his jeans before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans right in front of your face. He steps back a little to let the remainder of his clothes pool on the floor, but then he’s stepping out of them and back towards you and you can’t help but reach out and take his cock in your hand. 

You look up at him, head thrown back with his eyes closed in pleasure. Your name drops from his lips as you continue working him with your hand, you’re just about to take him into your mouth when he speaks, “How do you want me?” 

It’s a crime that he’s making you choose because fuck, you want him in every way. You want him to fold you in half and pound into you, you want him to take you from behind whilst he uses his fingers on your clit, you want him to wake you up in the morning with kisses to your neck whilst he buries himself inside you from the side. 

“Can I ride you?” You ask quietly. 

“Querida, there’s a gun downstairs,” He speaks, settling himself down on his bed on his back, before he’s guiding you to straddle his hips, “If I ever say no to that, I want you to use it on me, okay?” 

You’re laughing, because it’s dramatic, but it cuts the tension with a knife. You’re both still laughing to each other when you’re shifting your hips and using your hand to line him up with your tight heat. He’s big, there’s no beating around the bush here, and as you sink down slowly onto him, his hands on your hips to guide you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so full. 

You’re throwing your head back and breathing out his name as he bottoms out, hearing a similar moan from him as you start grinding your hips. He’s using his hands on your hips to guide you and the friction inside of you in addictive. You think if you could spend the rest of your days like this then you would give up everything to do so. 

“Fuck, hermosa, you look fucking incredible like this.” Javi purrs from underneath you, it makes your heart swell because no-one ever said things like this to you before. 

You continue to grind against him until he’s holding your hips still and bringing his knees up, settling them against your backside. He lifts you up a little off his cock, with a strength you’d never witnessed before, and then he’s fucking up into you, cock punching as deep into you as you think you can take it, his balls slapping against your ass. 

“Ohmygod, fuck Javi,” You’re squealing, putting your hands on top of his knees to keep you steady, “I think you’re… oh god… I think you’re gonna make me cum again.” 

You look down and he’s looking up at you, grinning like a devil, because he’s got you so close to the edge, cock hitting a spot within you that feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, “Go on, querida, come for me.” 

His husky voice is what does it. You’re clenching down on him as you call out his name. His hands on your hips keeping you upright as dark spots cloud your vision, “God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that every second of the day.” He groans as he flips you onto your back in one smooth move. 

He’s still buried deep inside you, one hand brushing sweat-soaked hair from you face, the other gripping to your ass as he lifts your hips to meet him. He’s slowed but you can tell from the way his hips stutter into your own that he’s close. 

“Where do you want me?” He whispers into your ear. 

Everywhere, is what you want to say. Paint me, cover me, mark me as yours, is all you can think. What you say is, “Wherever you want.” 

You think you see his mouth open to answer you, but it’s too late. He’s pulling out of you, fisting his cock two, three times, and then he’s painting your skin with his spend. Thick ropes of cum cover your tummy as he's growling into your ear, collapsing next to you when he’s given you everything he’s got. 

When you lie there next to him, his cum drying on your abdomen, his mouth still kissing at the skin of your neck, you think you should feel guilty. Guilty that you broke your vows, guilty that you’ve let a man other than your husband touch you. Guilty that you did so without a second thought. Guilty that he didn't once cross your mind. There isn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You lean into his kisses and thank the Lord for bringing him back, for bringing him back to you, because you know this right here? This is happiness. 

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[mentauxx]

⚠️ Spoilers for Shinrei tantei Yakumo volume 11 - file 01 ⚠️

Part 1 starts with the first victim of the four supernatural phenomena/the nasty things that'll be occuring later on in this book.

Rereading this really makes me appreciate how good Kaminaga-sensei is at building up the tension and picking your curiosity.

Especially in this form since one chapter is translated per month (or two I think (?))

Waiting every two months for a chapter is WAY better than reading the whole thing in one sitting if you ask me.

The emptiness I felt after reading this in 2019 and that major cliff hanger was just too much to handle.

Part 2 jumps to Yakumo's POV A.K.A the best POV of the series.

Now I have a lot to say on this one, so I'll be making a separate post later.

But, omg the way he smiled just thinking about her? Boy is the standard FR

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3

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It's good to see Gotou doing well after his accident in volume 10. I do wonder how he'll handle the events that are about to occur in this volume tho.

The hug between Gotou and Nao is just too precious, and the fact that Atsuko referred to him as dad. Blood relation? Who needs that?

Unfortunately, Eishin just HAD to end his momentary happiness.

He'll never escape Eishin. Not even in Shin • Yakumo haha.

“I never wanted that”

This sure reminds me of when Ayaka was begging Kinoshita to “Stop already”.

Eishin is so unserious lmao.

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4

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Love the Ishii and Miyagawa duo. Ngl I do miss when Gotou and Ishii used to investigate together, but this duo isn't bad either.

You can tell Miyagawa's respect for Ishii definitely increased, ESPECIALLY since volume 9.

The head poke is so funny. Gotou could NEVER.

I don't blame Ishii for being scared. Not even one bit.

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5

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Yaharu my beloveds~

I'm definitely making a another separate post about the drastic changes in their relationship.

But for now I'll try to focus on the plot.

If I gained enough credits and landed my dream job MONTHS before I graduate, you won't stop hearing me brag about it.

Lol Haruka acting like a proud mother when Yakumo told her HE was the one picking up trouble this time.

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6

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I love how it said This box shouldn't be opened and then they proceeded to open it lol

I mean, I would've done the same 😂

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7

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STOP THE WAY HE PUTS HIS HAND ON HER HEAD

Mission: Stop putting your hand on Haruka's head.

Difficulty level: impossible

”Spread… what are you saying?”

Oh my god Yakumo 😂

The way Haruka finds Yakumo's glare adorable is just so cute.

“What a boring era.”

Lol

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8

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The Kumakichi joke will NEVER get old.

So Sana is a high schooler, huh.

I don't know why I imagined her a middle schooler while reading the prologue.

Maybe because the ghost she saw was a middle schooler I guess?

I feel bad Like how tf do you expect a human being to stay sane when a drenched ghost is approaching them every day?

Gotou and Ishii bumping into each other is hilarious.

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9

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Do NOT listen to her. It won't end pretty for you.

I understand why he would tho. Humans will cling to their last hope even if their brains scream that it's a bad idea.

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10

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I just LOVE the friendship between Haruka and Makoto, and them having girls talk in front of Yakumo is just hilarious.

Haruka offered her seat and sat next to Yakumo. Happened many times. Will I stop screaming about it? No.

Haruka, Yakumo, and Makoto trio? I support.

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11

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Oh, fun fact: Meisei university is actually a real university.

Nooo Yakumo are you ok? I hope he doesn't experience what happened in Aokigahara's sea of trees again :(

I love how we're learning more about ghosts in this volume.

“Stop it. Don’t you dare go and confirm it even if unintentionally.”

There's a limit to how wholesome a couple be, is Kaminaga-sensei perhaps not aware of this?

THE HEAD PAT Y'ALL

Makoto is so me lol

When I first read this volume in 2019 I didn't find it odd that Yakumo made up a lie and tricked the student affairs to get a key to the warehouse, but now that I'm rereading it, will Mizukawa REALLY believe that Yakumo decided to help out voluntarily just like that? Not to mention that Mizukawa isn't the only student affairs member Yakumo was involved with.

I wonder if this little detail will change in the complete version?

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12

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Keiko did point that out before to which Haruka replied that she “doesn't understand how someone can act spoiled in front of the person they like.” I relate so bad.

Yakumo supporting Haruka when she was about to fall is so cute.

Human experimentation? Are you kidding me rn?

The chapter ends with them discovering Unkai's corpse. I think I'm starting to understand the direction Kaminaga-sensei is going for. I've ALWAYS been interested in the circumstances regarding Unkai's death.

Overall, an excellent intro to the tragic incident that shocked Japan.

[andreafmn]

Speak | Chapter 13

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf.

A/N: I know I didn't post anything last week, but I wasn't feeling the best or very inspired. But I am posting this long awaited chapter early 😬😬 and y'all should know, we are getting closer to the long awaited truth reveal 🫣🫣 TAGLIST CLOSED check notes below as to why

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Paul didn’t know what his plan was. Storming into the Black house and wolfing out would not have been the most ideal situation, but he needed to do something. Jacob had done an unforgivable thing, and Paul would make sure he knew he had.

But anger was running through him too fast to be contained. As much control as he had mustered with (Y/N), Paul could feel it running out. And he knew the worse thing he could do was reveal the long-kept secret of the reservation to Jacob before his time. As much as he wanted the wolf inside him to rip the other boy to shreds, he knew better now than to let that kind of anger control him.

Still, he found himself putting his car in park on the long dirt road that led to the red cabin, his body shaking as he tried to keep the wolf at bay. He knocked on the front door harder than he had anticipated. The sound reverberated deep inside his ears, echoing the quick beat of his heart. If Jacob was the one to open the door, it was more than likely that his fist would collide with the boy’s jaw.

“Mr. Lahote,” Billy smiled, opening the door wide. “What a surprise to see you here. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Is Jacob around?”

“He is not,” the man responded. “He is most likely with his friend Quil still. But if there is anything I could help you with, please let me know.”

“I don’t think this is something you should know,” Paul struggled. “It’s… I don’t know. I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“Try me, Paul.”

The boy kept quiet for a second, mulling over whether telling Billy was the right thing to do. It was stupid and juvenile to speak of the problems between two people that –technically—had no business with him. It was not his place to air their quarrels out. “I think you need to talk to your son, Billy,” he sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but he can’t keep doing what he’s doing.”

“What has he done, Paul?” Billy asked sternly, his fist gripping at the sides of his chair. “Something tells me this has to do with (Y/N) Swan. And I know my boy has not been the kind of person I raised him to be. So, please, do not sugarcoat things for my sake.”

“I really wish I could say that it is not my place to speak about this, but I can’t just stand by and let him hurt her.” Paul took a steadying breath, the coldness in the air stinging his lungs as it filled them. “Jacob went by to see her today, to get her to find a way to get Embry back into his group. But we both know why he has felt the need to take a break when it comes to their friendship. Now, I don’t know how he came to the conclusion that (Y/N) would be able to do anything, but he basically told her that if Embry didn’t come back, that he would break up with her. For good. And maybe it was an accident like she says, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. But he either pushed her, or he let her go, and she got hurt, Billy. The skin on the palms of her hands is completely broken, and she has a massive bruise that covers her entire hip. So, I am hoping that it was an accident and he didn’t see her. Because if I find out that he drove away after she got hurt and left her there, I might just take matters into my own hands.”

Something like a mix of anger and disappointment flashed across Billy’s face. A gaze that chilled even Paul. “I can’t believe this,” Billy scoffed. “That boy has truly lost his mind. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Paul. Believe me when I tell you that the wrath of the gods will rain down on him. But I do want to ask you one thing, and I hope you answer truthfully.”

“Uh, sure. Anything.”

“Did you imprint on the girl?”

Paul felt his throat tighten at the mention of the bond. He had managed to get the pack to stop pestering him over telling her, and in two weeks, they had yet to mention the supernatural link that tied him to (Y/N). But, for some reason, he didn’t think that he was that easy to read.

He could have lied to the man. Tell him that (Y/N) was nothing more than a friend. That he didn’t want anything more than to make sure she was safe.  “I did,” he confessed. “But I haven’t told her about it.”

“I gathered as much,” he chuckled. “Would you care to indulge this old man for a quick chat?”

“I should be heading back,” Paul said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Patrol and everything.”

“Sam will excuse you for being late just this once,” the man smiled. “Please?”

“Uh, sure. I guess I can spare a few minutes. I'm already late as it is.”

He followed Billy inside, his steps tentative behind him. The elder pointed at his couch, inviting the boy to sit and listen. Something he was not good at. Listening to things he didn’t want to hear.

“First thing’s first, why haven’t you told (Y/N) about the bond? I figure it would make it a lot easier on everyone if she did.”

“I just…” Paul stammered, running his hands up and down his thighs to calm himself down. I don’t want her to be in the middle of this screwed-up world. I couldn’t live with myself if she ever got hurt because of our secrets. Much less because of me.”

“Doesn’t it hurt her more to keep her shielded from things that involve her?” Billy retorted. “(Y/N) is a special girl, and she has been stuck in the shadow of her sister for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately an afterthought to the Swans. I thought that my son would be the one to help her see her worth. That he would care for her in a way I don’t think she believes she deserves.” He took a second to sigh deeply, calming the anger that was bubbling inside him. “I will admit that I had hope that those two would work out because –between you and me—I’ve always had a soft spot for the girl. Having her be a part of my family in a more permanent way would have been great. But I can see that I was wrong about that. Now I understand that the affinity I thought she held for this land was because of you.”

“Getting closer to her will only hurt her in the end,” Paul said, his gaze dropping to the hands on his lap. “She needs someone that can be good for her. Good to her. I don’t think I am that person.”

“And yet the universe believes you are,” he offered. “I can’t say I felt the effects of the imprint bond. I didn’t even shift. But I’ve known love. And when things are meant to be, the universe finds a way to make it rightfully so. (Y/N) deserves to know there is someone out there that is on her side. Someone that will care for her unconditionally. Someone that only wants the best for her, even if it hurts them. She has a right to know about the things happening around her. Because at the end of the day, she is already in this world. Her sister ran with the Cullens and is friends with my son, who –given his behavior—might be getting closer to his shift; she is your imprint; she is still my Jacob’s girlfriend. This world is already happening to her. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“What if that just pushes her away?” Paul worried. “It has been hard enough to build a friendship with her. I can’t lose that. I won’t lose her.”

“And what if it doesn’t? What if it brings her closer? She deserves the truth, Paul. And you know it can only come from you. I wouldn’t like to see what would happen if she was made aware by anyone else.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” he said, trying to convince himself that he would. Because everything Billy had said was true. She deserved everything and more, and maybe he could be the one to give it to her. At least a fraction. “But I do have to go now. Sam will probably have my head if I am another minute late.”

“I’ll give that boy a call,” Billy chuckled. “But I do hope you decide to tell (Y/N) the truth. It might open roads neither of you thought to walk down.”

Paul felt his head buzz with the words Billy spoke. As they joined the endless talks given to him by Jared and Sam, he knew avoiding the topic could only hurt them both in the long run. But the demons that breathed down his neck were too close for his liking. They held him in their grasp, their claws sinking into his skin every day that passed. He wasn’t sure if he could keep them at bay or even fight them out before they could make their way to (Y/N).

When he got to the Young cabin, he felt exhausted. Definitely not in the best shape to run around the woods in search of nothing. All he wanted to do was lay down and be done for the day. Or better yet, to run back to Forks and hold (Y/N) once again. For the first time since he had shifted, he wanted to avoid his responsibilities and put someone else first.

“Paul,” Sam’s voice broke through the silence of the night, surprisingly startling him. “I just received a call from Billy Black. Seems like you two had a talk.” 

The alpha joined Paul on the bench he sat on, not a single drop of anger in his demeanor. “I’m sorry for being so late tonight,” he sighed. “I’ll go on watch now.” 

“No need for that. Embry took your shift,” he said. “You should thank him for his beginner’s can-do attitude.” 

“I will,” he sighed. “Thanks.” 

“So, what happened?”

“(Y/N) got hurt, and she called me,” he shrugged. “We actually… well, we were together when you called. And then my anger took me to the Black residence.”

“I already knew all of that, Paul,” Sam reminded him. “I’m asking about all the things that happened that I don’t know about.”

“I don’t…”

“So, you’re all talked out for tonight? Or do you think you’ve heard enough?” 

Paul’s gaze fell onto the night sky, staring at the twinkling stars above. “I don’t think there is anything else to say about the matter,” he sighed. “It’s just me and my messed-up head to work through.”

“Well, I know a thing or two about messed-up heads,” Sam chuckled softly. “And there’s always something more to talk about, Pauly-boy. But only if you’re ready to confront those things that you fear so much.”

“I… I don’t think I am, Sam. Not right now.”

“Well then, can I ask the same question I have been for almost two months?”

“I haven’t decided yet on telling (Y/N) the truth. I just need a bit more time to think. To make the best decision for her. At the end of the day, all I want is the best for her. Even if it doesn't include me, Sam.”

Jacob walked into the house late that night, as carefree and nonchalant as ever. He was ready to shower off the day and lay down to rest, hoping that when he woke up the next morning, everything that had gone wrong would resolve itself. But he wasn’t expecting to find his enraged father waiting for him in the living room.

“Dad?”

“Sit down, Jacob,” he said sternly, his tone sharp and pointed. “Now.”

“What’s going on, dad? Why are you so mad?”

“I think you can guess, son. But I won’t make it too hard on you. This is in regard to (Y/N). The girl you claim is your girlfriend.”

“What about her, dad?”

“Acting dumb is not a good look on you, Jacob,” Billy said through gritted teeth, his cheeks growing red in anger. “But since that is how you want to play this. I’ll let you know that it had come to my attention that you have physically hurt her.”

“Look, I don't know what you think you know, but I didn’t do anything to her, dad. All I did was talk.” 

“Let’s say it was an accident, then. That she did slip on the ice, and you didn’t notice that she was hurt –which is a very unlikely scenario, boy. But you dangled your relationship in front of her like it meant nothing. You wavered it like a bargaining chip over something she had no control over. I don’t know who this is sat before me, but I can say this is not the son I raised.”

“And you’re gonna believe her over me, dad? I didn’t do anything like that,” Jacob whined. “All I did was go over to my girlfriend’s house to rant about my best friend avoiding me. Anything else is a complete fabrication. I…” 

“Enough!” Billy exclaimed. The man rubbed at his temples, his anger settling into his head, creating a pounding headache. “(Y/N) didn’t tell me anything. But I know a lie when I hear it, son. And I know that you have been dragging that poor girl along in hopes that something might happen with Bella. I turned a blind eye because I hoped you would fall for her in the same way she had fallen for you. But you have done nothing but break her down. That girl loves you, boy. And you don’t deserve that.”

“How can you say that? I’m your son.”

“My son would have never treated her that way. My son would have stayed to make sure she was okay when she fell. My son would not have used that poor girl’s feelings against her,” he reprimanded. “I told you to let her go if this was what you were planning. You have hurt (Y/N) enough, and I will need you to man up and tell the truth.”

Jake was at a loss for words. He was sure he had never seen his father with so much anger running through his eyes. But he couldn’t admit the mess he had made of everything. How things had gotten out of hand and had blown up in a way that he never expected them to. He couldn’t admit that everything he had done was wrong.

“I didn’t hurt anyone, dad,” he said instead of the truth. “Why don’t you believe me?” 

“I think it’s best if you head to bed now, son. I’ve heard all that I needed to hear.”

“Dad?”

“I need some time to cool down, Jacob. So, whenever you feel the urge, to tell the truth, you know where to find me,” his father said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Back in the Swan residence, (Y/N) was finding it hard to fall asleep. Her hip felt like it was on fire, and her hands pulsed in pain. But it was the warmth that had been rushing inside her since Paul had been there that kept her up. She decided to tire herself with the TV, but it was the images in her head that she had been paying attention to. Her fingers were on her lips, trying to imagine just what would have happened if that call hadn’t come in.

She was back in the bathroom. Paul’s hands were still warm on her skin, her heart hammering on her chest. He’s right there. Only centimeters away from her. She can almost feel his lips on hers. She could already feel the warmness of his breath. Only this time, she does kiss him, and it makes sense. Kissing him feels right.

“(Y/N)?” Her father’s voice startles her out of her dreaming. A live representation of how much time had already passed. “What’re you doing still up?” 

“I couldn’t seem to find sleep,” she shrugged. “Figured the TV would fry my eyes into slumber as it seems to do for you but no such luck.”

“Very funny, kid,” he chuckled. Until his laughter died when he saw his daughter’s bandaged hands. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“I lost my balance on the driveway after Jake left and crashed onto the pavement,” she said. “I tried to catch myself with my hands, but I forgot I have Swan blood running through my veins, and clumsiness is in our genes. I scratched them up good, so I covered them up.” 

“Why didn’t you call me, kid? Are you hurt anywhere else? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“God, dad, no,” she chuckled awkwardly. “I’m okay now. It’s all taken care of.”

“Are you sure? You know the hospital is open twenty-four hours.”

“I am sure, dad. I’m okay. Just a little banged up.”

Charlie slumped onto the armchair in defeat, exhaustion taking over his body. “Sometimes I feel like I am failing you girls,” he sighed. “I’m so over my head with this whole parenting thing, and you two are the ones paying the price.”

“No, dad…”

“You don’t have to guard my feelings, (Y/N). I know I’m not father of the year. I’m sure there are so many things I’ve missed since the time you’ve been here, just like there were so many things that I missed with Bella. And I can’t help but wonder if it would have been better if you had gone back home with your mom like it was originally planned.”

“As much as I love and miss mom, I don’t regret for a second coming here, dad. In the short time I’ve been here, Forks became home. It’s not perfect, much like no place could ever be, but it is home. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

(Y/N) didn’t understand her feelings. She didn’t understand wanting Paul to kiss her. The complexity of liking to people at once hadn’t even crossed her mind because she didn’t think it was possible. Not in its entirety. And for the first time, she felt an ounce of relief at the prospect of Jacob leaving her. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to confront these confusing feelings and she could follow what felt right.

But it was only an ounce.

Next ->

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[milkywaydrabbles]

He who was found in chains, set free. | VII.

A/N: Another chapter ahead of us, and it's starting to get more to the plot of S4! Things will still continue to change, of course. And now I'm going to have to watch each episode as I write this to make sure it stays true RIP to me. Not as long as I would like it to be but more drama to come in the coming chapters

Hope y'all like it mwuah.

Can be found on AO3 here!

It’s been a month. The most excruciating month you’ve lived to date. Not the month that you were assaulted nearly every day in the damned house back in Gresit. Not the first month in particular that you were out alone in the woods fighting for your life against being found by the night creatures. Not even the month that you actually got caught by the night creatures. 

Nothing could prepare you for the absolute loneliness and misery you felt after being with Adrian for the last month. For the first week you cried every night, going as far as sneaking into his room (which took a while to figure out which one was his) and started sleeping on his bed, on his sheets. Now, you still sleep there, but you’ve learned to manage a bit better without him. It’s still hard, however it might have helped you prepare more for the outside world. Since he’s been gone you’ve had to  fend for yourself, and not in the normal way you normally would. You’ve had to go to the village alone to for fresh herbs and vegetables. On more than one occasion you’ve had to leave in the middle of shopping because your chest grew tight and you began to panic. You tried to console yourself in the same way Adrian would. Tell yourself it was okay, no one would touch you. Just like he did the time he came into your room. Like he did when he cradled your face in his hands. Like he did when your foreheads touched and he filled all of your senses. 

And now you were alone.

You continued to push the thoughts behind you, and went out to try and catch fish for dinner, which was fairly easy for you to do. You got very good and being on your own in the woods. You’ve grown so accustomed for cooking for two that sometimes you make too much, and you sigh frustrated with yourself. I’m wasting food you chastised yourself. But it was hard to break the habit, always wishing he would come back home. It never dawned on you what to call the feelings you’ve been having. You assumed it’s because he was protecting you from the outside world. And that he would always teach you how to read or teach you magic. Hell, you assumed you felt miserable because now you have to go out on your own to the market.

You wouldn’t think overwise. Even if you knew better.

Frustrated, you went back to the library like you have every night since he left to study more magic. 

-

Another month, and Alucard still wasn’t back. There’s no sign of his return, and you couldn’t help but feel nauseous. Maybe something happened to him, maybe he was terribly injured and he couldn’t make it back. Maybe he’s gone forever. 

Or, maybe he’s fallen in love, and ran away with his soulmate. 

That thought hurt you most of all.

You’d gotten quite good at magic now, within the two solid months of studying, along with the first month spent with Alucard. You started growing more out in the homestead, practically refusing to continue to go to the market. The herbology you’ve learned, infused with magic, has come in handy. You’ve been able to recreate certain plants for your benefit, being more self-sufficient than before. You’re also learned how to almost entirely heal the lacerations on your body. Some remained, deemed too deep for your restorative magic to do the trick without you passing out. And you’ve tried, wanting to get rid of any and all markings of the wretched man in Gresit. You’ve also grown some flowers just for the decoration of it all. 

Along with your loneliness came productivity. You started tidying up the castle as best you could. The large holes weren’t something you could ever dream of patching up on your own, but for the most part you did take care of any debris, dusting that needed to be done around the rooms, and organizing the cellar as best you could. There were many broken bottles strewn about, but you wanted more than anything for Alucard to return to a clean home. Your heart still aches every time you think of him, but it was more bearable. 

One day you’ve decided to traverse to the Belmont Hold, looking on all the knowledge of killing monsters and whatever else bumps in the night. It was centuries of books, tips and tricks, even more magic of different variety. You’re not sure why it took you so long to explore down there, almost as if it was an invasion of privacy. It was Trevor’s things, you mused, why would you feel comfortable going down there? But as time went on, you wanted to learn more, so you continued to go down and read up on monster killing knowledge. Some things were easy to read, others difficult, some downright impossible for you. You had even found some books in different languages, and other books to help translate those books. Overall you became a sponge, passing the time with your studies and notetaking (you had run out of paper in the first four journals Alucard had gotten you, only one left). You felt more comfortable than ever knowing you can defend yourself a bit better, if you ever had to. 

You hoped you never had to. 

But in any case, you could. 

-

“Hello? Earth to Alucard?” 

Alucard blinked, looking over to Trevor as if he hadn’t just been daydreaming about lord knows what? “What is it, Belmont?” He already sounded disgruntled. Pay more attention.

“You haven’t heard a single damn word I’ve said, have you?” He deadpanned. 

“No, I usually don’t, since you never have anything good to say anyways.”

The two men stare at each other for a moment, before breaking out in small chuckles. Sypha sighed, shaking her head with a smile.

“I think that wraps up as much as we needed...we can continue on our own after tonight. You can get back to your friend in the morning.” Sypha mused, sneaking a glance over to Alucard to see if she’s gotten a rise out of him. 

His brow twitched, and a slight curve of the lips to a frown. But otherwise, he stayed stoic as always. 

But of course Trevor wouldn’t let it go. 

“Seriously who is she? And why does she call you Adrian?” 

“Outside of the obvious reason that it is my name?” Alucard rebutted. “She...she was escaping from the night creatures one night. Came across the castle, passed out on my doorstep. She’s been there since.”

“And you didn’t kick her out?” An elbow from Sypha to Trevor’s ribs and an oof following.

“No...I didn’t.” He didn’t continue.

The last two months have been just as excruciating for him as it’s been for you. He wanted nothing more than to return home to you, whatever that meant he wasn’t ready to digest yet. He wondered if you’ve been doing alright. He wondered if you’ve gone out to the market or if you completely gave up and started starving yourself, or going back to eating the same way you did before you showed up at his door. He frowned to himself at the thought.

He wondered if you were still there at all. Wondered if you stopped waiting for him. 

He thought of you throughout his sleepless nights. Thought of you as he fought night creatures. He thought of you...just because. He didn’t want to talk about you with the others, didn’t feel comfortable doing so. He didn’t know how he felt, or what he was feeling -- and Trevor would be more insufferable than normal if he ever caught wind of anything. He just knew that after tonight he’d be able to go back home to you.

Or, just to be back home. Because it was his castle.

--

The morning came, and he bid his friends farewell, wishing them all the best on their travels (Sypha) along with a middle finger (Trevor) before he set off on his own. It was a long travel, perhaps a few days on foot. Easier if he could get his hands on a horse. But until then he’d simply go along, stopping at any towns for shelter if needed. But by the time the third night came, and he was so close to being back, he found a horse trotting along in the same direction of the castle with a dead rider. He took the horse by the reigns, and saw a letter in the hands of the rider. It was directed at him. Well, The Alucard. Hate that. Alucard read it over, and gripped tightly.

He was needed at Danesti. 

He wanted to be selfish, he really did. He wanted to wish them good luck on their own and simply go back home and see how you’ve been all this time. But he just...couldn’t. It went against all the good in him, and as agonizing as it was for him, he took himself back into the direction of Danesti.

I’ll be back home soon, I promise.

-

He had made it to Danesti in the knick of time, saving the villagers from a terrible fate with the night creatures that had made their way to the village. Alucard had rode into battle until he lunged off the back of the horse, practically flying through the air with shield in hand and magical sword by his side, landing on the back of the monster and ripping back its head until there was a crunch of bone snapping, breaking its neck while his sword plunged into the back of another. He unsheathed his sword from the now very dead monster and continued to steadily fight the third, fourth, and fight night creatures. With the first one in his sights down, he glanced over to the other two that had started making their way to the villagers armed with pitchforks. One had turned its back on them, attacking Alucard with all its might. It turned out to be a strong opponent, almost boxing Alucard with its sharpened claws. He maneuvered around it fairly easily, although it was avoiding each sword thrust Alucard had attempted. Finally, he was able to get a clear shot and sliced half its head off, brain exposed and plopping on the ground.

Now just one left.

Alucard plunged his sword into the heart of the creature he had just defeated and stepped up on it, using all his might to smash the head of the last night creature with his shield ending the fight. He walked over to the townspeople.

“You sent me a letter?”

A woman smiled at him. “Yes, welcome to Danesti.”

“I presume it’s seen better days.”

“Quieter ones. I’m Greta, the village headwoman.”

“Call me Alucard. No ‘the’.”

He continued on to inform Greta that ‘Marius’, the rider, in fact did not survive the trip. “He was attacked en route and bled out from his wounds. His horse carried him the rest of the way with your message in his hand.”

They continued on with the conversation on what’s been happening to the village, how they’ve barely been surviving, how Alucard happened to be the only advantage Greta could think of. Even though he ‘reeks of wine’. After her what he would deem dramatic speech, Alucard spoke.

“All done?”

“Did it work?”

“Yes.”

Greta smirked. “Then I'm all done. Thank you. And that was one hell of an entrance.”

-

Conversations continued, along with quite the annoying man known by the name Saint Germaine. It was a back and forth of what would happen with the village, as more survivors from different towns along the way poured in. And then Saint Germaine opened is fucking mouth again.

“Perhaps, just until we all find out what’s going on, perhaps the remaining persons in your charge might be moved to a more secure location, like, uhm... your castle.”

Alucard gasped, and then turned to him with practically a growl. And then he stopped to think about it again. And groaned. 

“And God shits in my dinner once again. Oh, no, I really am turning into Belmont. Is life even worth living now?” Dramatic.

And then he thought of you. How would you take to having entirely too many strangers in your presence once again? He couldn’t imagine you’d be very happy with him. But...he couldn’t leave them all defenseless like this. 

Oh Goddamn it.

[pedroscurls]

chance encounters | pt. 4

character(s): we got all the Triple Frontier boys in this chapter (obvi except Tom). Benny Miller, Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, fem!Reader summary: You've won the last four of your fights and now you're undefeated. With Benny and the rest of the guys helping you through your grief, you start to believe that things are getting better... you start to feel like you can live your life. Until one day brings you back to square one and you demand a title fight that you're not ready for.  word count: 3.1k  a/n: Grief isn't linear... I feel like every chapter is a special one to me, but this one... It hits close to home more so than the other chapters. Hope y'all enjoy. warnings: grief series masterlist | ultimate masterlist

Since Frankie and the guys surprised you at the beach, things seemed to be getting better. You feel hopeful that you’re able to move forward and continue to live your life, even with the absence of your best friend. Sure, there are still days where your grief cripples you, but you’re able to pull yourself out of it much more quickly. It helps that you’re now able to allow people in to help you. 

It’s been a couple of months since that day on the beach and you’re much lighter. You don’t feel a heaviness that sits on your chest at every waking moment of the day. Even when you go to train with Benny, you allow yourself to actually have fun, to smile and laugh. It’s been such a long time since you felt like this and you weren’t sure that you ever would. 

You and Frankie talk almost every day. If it’s not over the phone or through text, he arrives at the gym with the rest of the guys at the tail end of your training session with Benny. It’s almost like you settle into a routine with him and you would be lying to yourself if you said that his presence provided a calmness that you haven’t felt in so long and a calmness that you didn’t realize you were yearning for since losing your best friend. 

He sometimes gives you a kiss on the cheek when he greets you, hand on your lower back. Frankie will usually pull away slowly and look at you through the tops of his eyelashes, nose brushing against yours. You know there’s a mutual attraction, but you’re not there yet. You aren’t sure if you can ever get there, but he doesn’t ever pressure you. Frankie silently acknowledges it, acknowledges the fact that you aren’t ready for more than just friends, and instead, he just gives you a small smile and a single nod as if to say, I know. I’ll be here when you are ready. 

And truthfully, you’re thankful. You’re thankful for Frankie, you’re thankful for Benny, for Will, for Santiago. When you found out that your best friend died about nine months ago, you didn’t think that moving on with your life was possible. Though, part of you is still afraid. You do your best to be open, to rely on Frankie and the rest of the guys, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re afraid to get too close to any of them even though it feels like you can’t even imagine life without any of them anymore. The possibility of losing any of them sits uneasily in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s highly unlikely that anything bad would happen, but at the same time, you’ve gotten used to being on edge after losing your best friend. You never thought that you would ever lose him this early; you always imagined that he would be right there next to you as you both grow old, your own families just as close as you were with him. 

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were going to grow old. Without him. And it still hurts. To know that when you get married and walk down the aisle, he won’t be there. To know that when you may become a mother, he won’t be there. 

And it seems like all of those things seem so out of reach, like it isn’t what you want anymore. 

Even getting close to Frankie as you are now, it’s scary. You know that you have feelings for him and you’re aware that he has feelings for you, but you can’t bring yourself to get there… To lean in to kiss him, to have him spend the night because that means opening up your heart again and allowing him to settle into it with the possibility of losing him. 

And you aren’t sure if you can handle that kind of pain again. 

—

“Undefeated,” Benny grins proudly. “Four fights in and you’ve won every single one of them.” 

“Helps to have a good coach,” you smile, leaning back against the cage. Your training session just ended, always a dripping mess of sweat at the end of it. Benny pushes you to your limit every time you train with him, never allowing you to ease up even if it is only training. And you’re grateful because it transcends into every fight you’ve had so far. Even when you get rocked, even when you want to give up, Benny always reminds you that you’re just not wired like that. Your fighter name is The Warrior for a reason.

“You know I love compliments,” Benny winks. “Keep ‘em coming.” 

You roll your eyes and lie back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling as you continue to cool down and catch your breath. “You and the guys heading out tonight?” 

“I think they’re actually gonna bring dinner here. Wanna stay?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” 

Benny smiles. “I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “I know losing someone isn’t ever easy, but–”

“Frankie told me you guys were all former military,” you interrupt. 

“We’ve lost people,” Benny nods. “Lost someone very close to us. There used to actually be five of us.”

“Frankie mentioned that, yeah.” 

“You and Frankie talk a lot, hm?”

You look over at Benny and see him grinning in your direction. You know where his mind went and you reach over to gently slap his leg. “It’s nothing like that.”

Benny scoffs. “I have eyes. We have eyes. Plus, he talks a lot about you.”

“He does?” you ask, brow arching. “I just like being around him.”

“Well, good. He’s a good guy. Been through a lot. We all have, but him especially.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open myself up to him,” you admit quietly. “I’m scared, Benny.” 

He sighs and hears the front door open, followed by quiet chatter and laughter from Will, Santiago, and Frankie. Then, Benny looks over at you and helps you to your feet. “Don’t force it. Frankie’s a patient man. And I know he likes you a lot.”

“What if he waits around and I just never get there? I don’t want him waiting around for me.” you whisper. 

Benny shrugs, hearing his name being called. “You’ll get there.”

“But how do you know?” 

“I just do.” He smiles, leading you out of the cage. “Just take it day by day.” 

When you get closer to the rest of the guys, Frankie’s the first one to pull you in for a hug. He doesn’t even mind that you’re sweaty; he just loves feeling your body against him, feeling your arms wrap around him. “Hey,” he whispers, pulling away and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Hi,” you look up at him, letting the corner of your lips lift slightly. “I’m all sweaty and you just hugged me.”

Frankie chuckles, putting his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You blush slightly and then turn your attention to greet Santiago and Will, who also pull you into a hug. “Okay, I’m gonna take a quick shower since being sweaty is only bothering me.”

You grab your duffle bag and head to the locker room and showers in the back of the gym, faintly hearing the rest of the guys begin to talk. It takes only fifteen minutes before you walk back out to see the rest of the guys sitting on the mats. Your hair is damp and you’re now dressed in shorts and an oversized crewneck. You move to sit next to Frankie, who leans his body closer to yours. 

“You hungry?” he asks. 

“Starving,” you grin, taking a slice of pizza and lifting it to your lips. You subconsciously lean against Frankie, head resting on his shoulder and you’re so focused on eating that you don’t realize that the rest of the guys are staring at the both of you with a grin on their faces.

You’re so calm, so at ease with Frankie next to you and the rest of the guys nearby. When you look up, you furrow a brow and finish eating your slice of pizza. “What?” you ask, grabbing a napkin and quickly wiping your lips. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Santiago chuckles. “It’s nothing.” 

“Right,” you say slowly, realizing that you were so close to Frankie that you pull away and clear your throat. “So, Benny, when’s my next fight?” 

Benny chuckles. “You’ve been pretty active these last six months. We should take it easy for a bit, at least until the end of the year.” 

“But I want to fight.”

“I know you do, but if your goal is to get the belt, you also gotta take some rest.” 

“I have good momentum. I’m undefeated. If I take a break now, I might–”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Benny sighs. 

“Okay,” you say. You trust Benny and you know that he has your best interests in mind, so you don’t push it any further. “Okay, Benny,” you repeat. “But we can still train, right?” 

Will smiles. “You’re probably the most dedicated person I know,” he says. 

“I made a commitment,” you reply. “And I promised Benny I’d work my ass off. No matter what.” 

“Maybe we should all take a break,” Santiago says with a grin. “Maybe we should take a week-long trip or something.” 

“You know, that doesn’t actually sound too bad.” Frankie says, gently nudging you with his shoulder. “What do you think, hermosa?”

“Where would we go?” you ask.

“Anywhere,” Santiago shrugs. 

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Maybe.” 

—

The following day, you take a break from training. Benny’s actually surprised, especially since he was going to give you a call that morning to tell you that he wouldn't be able to come in due to some errands he needed to run. 

You’re sitting in your car, waiting to go into the grocery store when something - no, someone - catches your eye. It’s a side profile of a stranger, but it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s such a similar walk, such a similar profile of your best friend. Even the way this man dresses reminds you of him. You’re gripping the steering wheel, unable to move as your eyes never leave this man who’s walking across the parking lot. You whisper your best friend’s name and when the man turns around, your world comes crashing down. 

For a brief moment, the reality of losing your best friend didn’t seem real. This man, this stranger, resembled your best friend so much that you were sure this was your best friend. But when he turns around and you manage to get a full view of his face, you realize that he isn’t your best friend. 

Your best friend is gone. 

Even the way this man smiles and talks animatedly to his friend reminds you of the best friend you lost. Your best friend who is no longer in this world. Your best friend who promised to always be there for you, but is no longer here. And when his eye catches yours, he gives you a nod with a furrowed brow before he climbs into his car. 

You’re back to square one. You can’t move. Your mind is filled with thoughts of your best friend. You’re reliving the moment when you found out about his death, experiencing the same dreadful feeling that settles into the pit of your stomach. And just like before, you’re filled with so much anger and so much guilt and regret. 

The last couple of months were just a distraction. It gave you a glimpse that things could get better, but you were naive in thinking that it was possible. There is just no way that you can move forward with your life, not without your best friend here. 

Your mind briefly drifts to Frankie, to Benny, Will, and Santiago. You know you should call them, know you should tell them that you’re stuck and you can’t seem to bring yourself out of it, but you don’t. It isn’t their problem. You are not their problem. 

So, instead, you send a text to Benny. Simple. Short. And straight to the point. 

Get me a title fight. I’m ready. 

Benny responds almost immediately. You’re not ready. We already talked about you taking a break. End of discussion.

Your jaw tightens. You want to scream. You want to hit something. If you’re not gonna get me a title fight, then I’m going to go to someone else that will. 

You signed a contract. What’s going on? Are you okay? Benny replies. 

I’m fine. Get me my title fight, Benny. 

Get to the gym. We can talk more about it then. 

Without replying, you peel out of the grocery store and make your way to Benny’s gym. You had plans to make dinner, to invite Frankie over, but that is no longer the priority. You’re pulling away and you realize that it’s best for everyone if you keep your distance from all of them. 

You park your car and walk into Benny’s gym, seeing Frankie, Will, and Santiago on the mats drenched in sweat. You know they had just finished their workout. They all stand to greet you, but notice the look on your face. You don’t even spare another glance in their direction before you’re walking towards Benny’s office in the back. 

You don’t even knock. You open the door and see him sitting at his desk.

“You aren’t ready,” Benny begins. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Benny. Get me my fucking title fight.” 

“You are not ready!” he yells. “What the hell has gotten into you?” 

“Nothing. I don’t want to take a break. I want to fight.”

“I know you do,” he sighs. “But you’re going to get burnt out and you’re going to be more prone to injury. Please, I’m only looking out for y–”

“No, you’re not!” you interrupt, voice raising and hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Like I said, if you can’t get me a title fight, I’ll find someone else who can. Fuck our contract.” 

Benny stands abruptly, chair screeching on the floor as he does. He can tell you’re fuming, can tell that you’re on the verge of tears and whatever happened from last night to today, he’s sure it’s the reason why you’re in his office, threatening him.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you yell. “Get me my fight, Benny.” You’re walking out of his office with your fists still clenched so tightly at your sides. Benny’s calling your name, walking after you, but you don’t listen. You ignore him and ultimately ignore the rest of the guys’ pleas to get you to stop walking. 

It isn’t until you hear Frankie’s voice that you stop to look at him. His deep, brown eyes are staring at you with concern in them. For a moment, you falter and you want to burst into tears right then and there, but you’re so angry and so hurt over the loss of your best friend that it prevents you from asking for help. 

“What’s going on?” Santiago asks. 

“She’s asking for a title fight and she’s not ready.” Benny sighs. 

“I thought you were gonna take a break?” Will says, seeing the way your body is slightly trembling. 

“No.” You respond, your eyes finally moving away from Frankie. “Benny, get me my fight or I’m breaking our contract and going to a gym and coach that will get me what I want.” 

“You’re gonna get hurt,” Benny says. “I’m not going to put you in a cage where you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

“So, you don’t believe in me?” you laugh bitterly, sarcastically. “I thought I was your little warrior.”

“You are,” Benny sighs. “Please, I’m just–”

“Hermosa,” Frankie says softly. “Just talk to us.”

“Nothing to talk about. I want my title fight.” Then, you storm out of the gym and walk back into your car. Once inside, tears begin to stroll down your face and you hit your steering wheel plenty of times that your knuckles begin to bruise. Then, you scream and when you shut your eyes, all you see is your best friend. And it’s not even the good times you see, instead, behind closed eyelids all you see is him lying in the casket during his viewing. 

Then, you hear a quiet knock on your window and you turn to see Frankie. His eyes are filled with worry and concern, but instead, you start your car and pull out of your parking spot. He doesn’t even try to rush after you. Instead, he stays in the parking lot and watches you drive away. He knows something happened, he just isn’t sure exactly what. 

Benny, Santiago, and Will join him outside and they all watch your car drive further away from the gym. 

“You’re not thinking about getting her that fight, are you?” Frankie asks. 

“I have to,” Benny sighs. 

“You said it yourself, she’ll get hurt. Why would you even entertain the idea of getting her that fight?” Santiago asks. 

Will’s the one who speaks up. “Benny can keep an eye on her during the fight. If she goes somewhere else, do you think that gym or that coach has her best interests at heart?” 

Frankie shakes her head. “She’s fucking upset. She’s hurting and you’re going to put her in a cage with someone who can hurt her? Are you insane?”

“What else am I supposed to do?! Will’s right. She will go to another gym and another coach will see her potential and overwork her, put her in fights that she isn’t ready for.” Benny yells. “Do you think I want to give her what she wants?”

“Something happened today,” Santiago sighs. “I think we should give her time to cool down. Maybe she’ll come to her senses…”

“She won’t.” Frankie says. 

Benny nods in agreement. “Frankie’s right. She won’t change her mind. You didn’t–” he sighs, “You didn’t see the look on her face, the look in her eyes. The last time I saw that look was the first day I met her.”

“What do we do?” Frankie asks quietly. 

“We can’t do anything,” Will says. “She has to want the help, Frankie. You know that.” 

“So, we just let her suffer? Let her deal with this grief by herself?”

“Hermano,” Santiago sighs. “We can’t force her to come to us. It’s just going to push her away.”

“She’s already pushing away!” 

“If anyone can get through to her, it’s you, Fish,” Benny says. “But if you want my advice? Give her space. She came to you once. She’ll do it again.”

[reidslovely]

Loves Never Lost (If Your Love is in Trouble Rewrite)

The Prologue

Chapter Warning: Death. Literally everywhere.

Glass crunched around his feet as he landed, the web that brought him down snapping and dissipating into thin air almost how the oxygen left in his lungs. His breath was rigid and tight as he watched her dangling there. Head back, her back arched as the web held her up, there was something pale and ghostly about her. He reached his hand out to touch her, taking the fallen girl into his arms as Peter cradled her as tenderly as he could. Gentle as if she was fine china he’s placed behind glass for a special occasion. He dropped to his knees the woman he loved laying across his lap as he pushed hair from her face. Blood trickled from her nose, slowly over her cheek and onto his suit.

There was no movement as he shook her, whimpering out a soft “No..no. Hey..hey.” 

His gloved hand patted at her cheek waiting for her to stir. 

A loud, hyena type laugh could be heard from above him. It was followed by a loud intake of air and a whimper of pain. 

“Oh Peter.” The voice taunted, tired and worn out. “What have you done?” 

Months earlier…

Peter’s back pressed against the siding of the house, a tough and worn brick scratching into the freshly abused skin on his back. He hissed to himself, out of both boredom and pain, tossing the biochem book he’d picked up from campus earlier to the side. Sitting up on the old brownstone gave him a whole view of the Queens’ neighborhood, and an even better view of a certain window on the left side of the house across the street. Peter would have noticed those sheer blue curtains anywhere. A scent of salted caramel and vanilla that was nothing but a memory danced around him as he watched her pad across the floor of her childhood room. A room he knew like the back of his hand and every freckle on her body, a room he’d found himself in far too many times. 

It was like watching a ghost wonder around a haunted house. Though when thinking about a ghost you think of soft movements, quiet and quick. Not hers. She was clumsy and in a rush. Her hair, seemingly freshly dyed a bright red, clipped up as she dug through her clothes. Her soft white robe slipped from her shoulder as she dug. Peter stared for far too long, watching her with his head perched on his knees. 

He was the ghost. 

That fact was evident when he saw the way her face contorted into all the stages of grief as she caught his eye. He’d felt like a kid who’d been caught in the middle of stealing sweets before dinner. His hand turned up in a nervous wave as he watched her. His first acknowledgement of her in almost two years. The simple motion set off the drill in the center of his brain, however, she waved back. Drawing her curtains shut after a few seconds. He wondered if that was it. That was the start of the stranger phase. 

“Peter!” The sudden appearance of May’s voice drew his eyes downward. His aunt stood on the sidewalk, grocery bags in her arms, the trunk of the car open. “A little help please.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Be right down.” 

Peter crawled back into his window, taking a quick look across the street seeing her glancing between the curtains, eyes searching for something she might have lost. Peter drew in a soft breath and in return drew his black out curtain closed. 

Writing has been hard the last couple months. I have wanted to have an ongoing fic, and I wanted to continue the plot for my 'If You Love is in Trouble" fic I stopped writing a few months back. I have had a lot of mental health problems pop up within the last few months and it has been very hard for me to write and feel like I have a space. So I'm back with a rewrite of a fic I was originally very excited to write.

Let's hope I can finish this one out- please have patience as I am finding my footing again. Thank you, love y'all.

Taglist: @someblessedmonster @juhdoche @nososhortbee @moonyslove78 @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @tarzinnia @a-lumos-in-the-nox @adhdhufflepuff @messymissy @hollandweather @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn @ateliefloredeprimavera @liz-allyn @ainsley-official

[fadingdaggerr]

home

part one | part two | part three | part four

pairing: brienne of tarth x gn!reader

summary: every journey ends with you coming home | 8.1k

warnings: got s8 spoilers, canon-typical violence, angst, mentions of death/dead bodies (non-descriptive), injury, lesbians being lil gay creatures, making out, mini-epilogue-ish ending :)

note: tada, tis the end the the home series! thank you so much for the love on this little series, i enjoyed writing it so much. brienne holds a special place in my heart, and so does the skyforth now. god i gave it so much lore on accident. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this last chapter. love ya

the battle of the bastards had resulted in tremendous loss for every side of the battle, but lady sansa was determined to get her home back. with her will alone, she brought the knights of the vale, littlefinger still willing to do anything and everything to keep her loyalty. sansa’s soldiers were still late, hundreds were dead, gone. rickon, her own kin. nearly one hundred skyforth, and wildlings too. the boltons lost more, sansa saw to that. you couldn’t help but admire her strength, she had grown from the ‘little bird’ as the hound called her into a bird of prey.

the move from castle black to the lands around winterfell had allowed for better hunting, as well as more space to spread out the village. the battle has left you with varying injuries, broken ribs and arm, lacerations across your entire body, but this meant nothing when it came to the loss of your men. larkin and brienne hovered over you for weeks, bringing things to you, taking things you held, offering arms to help you walk. my ribs are broken, not my legs! you had finally shouted at brienne, quickly muttering an apology. she was just happy to see your personality return after weeks of conversations that were meek and quiet from your pain.

brienne had felt selfish for missing you while you recovered. she missed your fireside conversations, your compliments, your voice, you. gods, you had several broken bones, injuries galore, and you were grieving the loss of so many friends, and here she was missing hers. she missed you and you were just outside the castle. she could only bear so many nights of this until she had forced you to leave your bed and walk around with her. you spent most of your time in your tent, not letting anyone in and only leaving when no one was around. this had been the first time she had seen you again.

sitting together at the fire, there was a comfortable silence. you had leaned your head against her shoulder, and she was sure nothing was better.

—

preparation for the long night was starting to feel like a lost cause, it felt like the only saving grace were daenerys's dragons, but you couldn’t admit this. no matter how many daggers landed in the bullseye, or how many arrows split into one another, it hadn’t felt like enough. larkin was training for hours on end, practicing with podrick and the others as much as possible, but brienne knew. she saw the look in your eyes every time he’d trained as of late.

“he’s not going to fight, is he?” she asks you quietly, keeping her gaze on the training in front of you both. the sun was coming down now, meaning the night training would begin soon, but larkin was an overachiever much like you.

“no. i intend to keep my promise to his mother, i’m not letting him get himself killed. he’ll stay in the catacombs with the others,” you reply, you’re stern in your tone but your rapid blinking gives you away. she knows that you’re going to feel bad when he finds out. you love him and hate to disappoint him, but you’re not sacrificing him, not a chance. she only nods in response.

you nod to the right, silently asking her to follow and she does, she always does. she can tell there was more you wanted to say, something you didn’t want anyone else to hear. when you stop next to a fire, she feels happiness bloom in her chest. this was your spot. you and her next to the fire, discussing anything and everything. it was a welcome pattern in her world, and one in yours as well.

you exhale deep breath, “i don’t want him to have to watch me die.” brienne’s eyes dart to you, she can see the tears in your eyes threatening to glide down your cheeks, but your face remains cold, unphased. she doesn’t know what to say to you. she didn’t have a child, she couldn’t imagine what you were feeling.

“you don’t know that you will,” she says, mostly for herself. the thought of you dying is not a welcome one. she thinks that she would kill death if he came for you.

“you’re right, i don’t know that i will, but i do know that it’s likely. he doesn’t need to see another parent die, once was well more than enough.” brienne almost smiled, she hadn’t heard you refer to larkin as your son, or you as his parent before. perhaps it was the impending doom that softened you to the title, but more likely you just stopped lying to yourself and accepted that you were a parent. something that you hadn’t thought you’d be or dreamt of, but something that you had accepted. 

“then you’ll just have to survive then,” brienne finally smiles once she says this. 

you turn to her, returning the smile with a faint one before replying, “i’ve got a reason to try.” your lips form a tightline, forcing you to keep whatever you wanted to say back into your mind. brienne pretends not to notice.

—

tormund giantsbane was a massive walking headache that seemed to follow you around. when the tents had been set up, extra tents were given to the free-folk. this worked well for everyone, except for you it seemed. being friends with brienne only meant that talking to you about her was all the man seemed capable of. he commented on her body, her skill, her eyes, her height, for hours and hours. was he wrong in what he saw? no, not at all. were you glad someone else saw her beauty? of course! but was the fact that someone else wanted her making you dream of cutting him limb-by-limb? oh, absolutely. he had yet to talk down upon her, so you were forced to listen to him until your ears bled.

“i wish to make babies with her,” tormund says bluntly. all conversation halts, everyone either looking at you in fear or at him in humor. larkin fake gags next to you, making ragnall chuckle. you elbow the boy while staring at your plate, biting your tongue to keep the venom from spitting.

“you were thinking it too,” larkin whispers.

“which part?” ragnall says with a quiet laugh. your arm reaches around to smack him upside the head, motherfucker muttered under your breath.

you hurry the rest of your food into your mouth, before standing to leave. you could not bear to listen to another second, killing him was getting too tempting. larkin asked where you were going, only to be met with a grumbled outside. you make your way through the snow to the targets, hoping you could channel your aggression elsewhere.

my woman, you’ve returned to me. center target. my blonde beauty. center target. do you think she’d like to know why my name is giant? center target. you pictured his face in each one. his comments made her uncomfortable, she didn’t have to say anything for you to know that. you lied to yourself and told yourself that was the only reason he angered you, you also tried this lie on ragnall who promptly told you he wouldn’t “work for liars and fools.”

“did that post do something of offense?”

you nearly jump out of your skin, hand over your heart, “fucking hell woman! warn me next time.”

brienne laughs lightly, “i tried, but it seems you were too heavy into quite the assault on those targets. what’s wrong?”

“i respect the free-folk, but god damn would muzzling that red one do the world some good,” you sigh out, it’s as close to the truth that you can offer, “he’s lucky he isn’t harmful in his words, that’s about the only thing saving his ginger ass right now.” brienne nearly cackles at your word choice.

“are you starting to regret having them move into the village?”

you shake your head, “not at all, maybe just him. the rest are normal people who don’t talk about who they want to ‘make babies with’ while i’m eating. cultural differences or not, who needs to listen to that over and over again?”

brienne’s eyes are wide as ever as she blurts, “making babies?”

“you’re biggest fan apparently has very big plans for your future together, it’s all i hear about these days,” you say as brienne’s face screws up in disgust and embarrassment. you can’t help but smile at her, finding the face she was making to be quite cute. she groans to herself, a muttered fucking gods under her breath. “i take it you don’t share his appreciation?” you joke, earning a smack to the arm in response.

“i’m only joking, no need for violence,” you both laugh, “what brings you to my humble and irritating abode?”

“i was going to get a drink, but you weren’t there. i was not in the mood to deal with all of them alone,” you chuckle and nod in agreement at her statement, “feeling even more proud of my decision knowing the topic of conversation.”

you cringe, hearing tormund’s words in your head again, “men have seemed to have only mastered cruel words and incredibly uncomfortable ones. unfortunately, i think your groupie may take the top prize for the second one.”

brienne’s face goes from playful to thoughtful, almost insecure, “i thought something other than callous words would feel better, but it still feels like mockery all the same. It’s just mockery with a goal of a quick fuck.”

you can only nod at her words, you hadn’t experienced her life. even as a noble woman of a respected house, she had been belittled, only her father saw her potential for so long. others only saw her as a fighter, the great brienne of tarth, the very same they would sing horrible songs about.

you take a deep breath before asking, “do you remember what i said the first time we met?”

“those suitors were fools?” she offers, “the whole lot of them, if i remember correctly.”

you smile to yourself, “yes. i’d like to amend my statement and say that men are fools, every last one. especially the ones who don’t see you, actually see you.” these words seem to render brienne speechless. she silently thanks the night’s darkness for covering her warmed cheeks, a part of her wanted to ask what you saw. her bravery seems to fold when it comes to you, and her question dies in her throat, waiting for another day.

—

rangers come back with news that the night king will be upon winterfell by sunrise. jon snow delivers this information to everyone with clenched fists and teeth. the king of the north spoke of preparations, orders given to each faction of his army, he spoke with house and group leaders to give direction for troops. brienne stood behind sansa, facing you. she watched as you listened to jon, eyebrows furrowed, eyes fixed on the man. she had never truly seen you in commander mode, only ever being with you in the calm between storms until now. she noted larkin’s presence, you had finally told him he would not be fighting once the rangers returned.

“skyforth archers will join the wall, swordsmen and riders will be on the ground. our climbers are archers and dagger throwers, they’ll be best suited in towers and high points,” you relay to jon, “i’ll stay on the wall as well, i’ll have access to my archers and climbers from there, section leaders can handle the others.” he agrees with your plan, glad he had waited for your eyes to stop scanning the air as you painted the layout of the troops in your mind.

“maybe this one is a real commander after all,” tormund jests.

“exactly, the commander, not the placeholder. unlike yourself for mance rayder,” you snap back as you rise from the table, a “follow-me” motion sent over your shoulder to ragnall. he follows with a silent laugh and a shake of his head. he looks back at brienne as he leaves the room, raising his brows before stepping out to follow you.

some hours later, a rider approaching winterfell was announced. no one else was expected, making everyone’s hands subconsciously hover over their weapons. a brown stead with a single rider comes through the doors, dismounting the horse and lowering his hood, his face finally comes into view. jaime fucking lannister.

you just about groan when brienne vouches jaime at the hearing. she trusted him, would fight with him, the same she said about you. what felt like a personal nod of trust, and for you, devotion, was stripped away of any real meaning. larkin stepped back slightly and held the crook of your elbow, “breathe slowly, commander.”

at his words, you realize your breathing was erratic at best. your mind finally came back to your body, clammy palms and ears ringing. you kept a straight face the best you could, looking more angry than calm, but it was better than the anguish that bubbled up within you. a moment you had held onto for months, one that comforted you in dark nights, ripped away. ripped away by the very person who gave you the memory. you hear the murmurs of bullshit and is she fucking mad? from the men behind you. the slightest turn of your head silenced them, the sharp stare told them all they needed to know. no fucking around tonight.

when the meeting was dismissed, you turned immediately, ale was the only thing on your mind now. you told oskar you were going to be alone, and to tell men to enjoy what would be a last night for many. you roamed the halls of winterfell, finding a quiet room with a hearth and some lounge chairs. a grateful smile for the inviting quarters passes your lips as you start a fire and sit on a couch while cradling your drink. this wouldn’t be a bad last night, you’d be warm at least. you couldn't tell how much time had passed, only snapping out of your comforting dazeat the door creaking. opening one eye, you turn to see ser davos in the doorway.

“apologies, i was just looking for a quiet place. i’ll leave you,” he says kindly as he turns to leave.

“don’t be foolish, ser. you can join me in my silence,” you say with a little waving motion. he smiles a little, coming to sit across from you.

“not one for the larger festivities down stairs?” he asks.

“we can celebrate when we win, i’d rather a more relaxed night if it’s to be my last,” you say calmly, death was not a foe. it was an inevitable force, the least you could do was greet him with slightly less malice. ser davos nods in understanding, he’d known death’s door, he was as well acquainted as you were.

another finds your small, warm sanctuary. this time, there’s no apology, no leaving. looking back you see blonde hair slicked back, blue eyes looking between you and davos. you nod to the seat next to you, and she moves over to sit there. she looks into the fire for a moment, eyes scanning the flames for answers to an unknown question before looking back to you.

“larkin was looking for you. i told him i would find you for him. did i, or will you find him later?” she asks, knowing that you’re still grappling with leaving him.

“he’ll find me, if he doesn’t podrick will find you, and here i’ll be,” you say, tilting your head towards her. she huffs a small laugh, and this makes you smile slightly. your prediction seems to come to fruition as podrick steps in the room, eyes landing on you. he steps back out and you hear a muffled told you they’d be in here before larkin comes in.

he perches himself on the arm of couch, leaning into you with an arm around your shoulders, “i’m sorry i was a dick earlier.” he didn’t need to say more, you knew why he had exploded on you. you’d never been yelled at like that before, let alone by him.

“it’s forgotten. thank you for coming back,” you respond, leaning into him as well. he wasn’t your son by blood, but by the gods would you love and protect him as if he were. you smack his hand as it reaches for ale, “one, one singular, cup. hear me, fool?”

you miss how brienne smiles at the scene, how your love for the boy was stronger than any need to uphold your image as a mighty commander. she saw how there were very few things that had lowered your guard, she had observed them all over the last few months you’d spent in winterfell together. larkin was always a soft spot, and most children at that. you would always squat to their heights, you spoke to them all like they were adults. you had an odd soft spot for lyanna mormont, who had said she thought you were one of the few decent leaders left in westeros. brienne liked to think you had a sort of soft spot for her. you never joked about her appearance, or anything she talked about. you always looked her in the eyes when she spoke, full attention, like nothing else mattered.

loud voices disrupt the peace you both found in this moment, only now noticing that both lannister brothers and tormund were now in the room. brienne notices now larkin looks at you, then her very briefly, before muttering something to you. whatever he says makes you swat him away, making him slightly topple off his perch.

as the night carries on, happier chatter turns to reminiscing on journeys and triumphs. you talk about your first victory in skyforth, then the first when you became commander. upon podrick’s request you spoke of how you went from fighter to strategist to commander, and the fates of the two men who thought they could easily disrespect you. brienne chuckles as she watches all the men in the room gawk and sit a little straighter in their seats, you just look at her, appreciating the sight.

tyrion discusses the victories of ser davos, podrick, and jaime. his eyes freeze on brienne, “ser brienne of tarth, defeated the hound- pardon me, lady brienne.”

“she’s not a ser?” tormund turns to her, “you’re not a knight?”

“women can’t be knights, it's tradition,” she responds dejectedly.

the wildling quickly says, “fuck tradition.”

you raise your glass, “that has got to be the most intelligent thing i have ever heard you say, tormund. damn right, fuck tradition.” tormund clinks his horn against your cup with a loud laugh.

brienne rolls her eyes, “i didn’t even want to be a knight.” you and podrick both look at her, faces screaming liar!

tormund leans into brienne’s space, you grip your cup tighter. “i’m no king, but if i were i’d knight you ten times over.” the intelligence apparently leaped out the window after one comment.

“aye!” larkin says quickly, “respect for the lady, you moron.”

you shove back a chuckle, “meathead is right, watch yourself,” you ignore brienne’s gaze, “and any knight can make another knight, it’s not just the king. is that correct or am i making that up, tyrion?” you point your question to the man next to davos.

before he can answer, jaime turns around, “no, you’re right. i’ll prove it.”

he unsheaths his sword, commanding brienne to the center of the room. she’s apprehensive, her eyes move to you without much thought. you’re already looking at her, your eyes in hers. she watches you with shaking breath as you mouth go. 

you watch as brienne bends to one knee in front of jaime. her head rises to face him, azurite eyes looking towards him. her left shoulder, “in the name of the warrior, i charge you to be brave,” her right, “in the name of the father, i charge you to be just,” her left once more, “in the name of the mother, i charge you to defend the innocent.” brienne’s tears are visible from your seat, your own forming in your eyes because gods, they’re finally starting to see her. “arise, brienne of tarth,” jaime’s words feel golden, “a knight of the seven kingdoms.”

you can’t contain the joy inside of you that overflows as you see brienne become who she truly is, a real knight, the truest. you clap quickly and loudly, the others joining. she looks at you with watery eyes, and in this moment you can’t be angry anymore. she’s smiling, a real, big, toothy grin, nothing else matters now. you raise your glass, “ser brienne of tarth!” and a chorus follows, a sea of congratulations go towards her.

you go to fill your cup, eyes closing as you rest against the wall. you brienne look around, eyes following her path until she found you. she walks up to you, her eyes now on the floor. “ser brienne, fancy meeting you here.’

she laughs shyly before asking, “can we talk? away from all of them?”

you grab her arm and start walking, “of course.”

—

you reach her quarters after following her quiet directions she gives along the way. she immediately goes to start the fire, and you sit on the edge of her bed as you watch. you watch as the flames grow, and the light warms her face, the orange hue on her pale skin was one of the few wonders in your world.

once she’s satisfied with the fire, she sits next to you, “i have a question.”

you smile faintly as you look at her, “i’ll answer anything you ask me.”

brienne desperately tries to calm her frenzied heart as she asks what had been on her mind for weeks now, “what do you see? when you say they don’t actually see me, what do you see that they don’t?”

she watches as your face drops, eyes going to your hands that were now clenched in your lap. you swallow the cowardice that rose in your throat, telling you to just say she was a great fighter and leave it at that, but lying to her wasn’t an option, not when you’d likely never get the chance to tell her by the time the sun rises. you tear your gaze from your lap and bring them back to her big, blue eyes, shimmering sapphires begging for an answer.

she deserves to know. you swallow your pride, turning to face her properly, knees knocking into hers. “i see grace, in your nobility and your movement. i see strength in too many ways to count, but i see it the most in your honor. you are the most honorable person in westeros, as i said before, oathkeeper is a name fitting of both you and the blade,” you grab her hand, forcing her to look you in the eyes, “but i see more than just an honorable knight,” you smile at her title.

“and what’s that?” she says quietly, nearly a whisper.

“the most enchanting and gracious being, one so much so that it follows my dreams. you are my dream, brienne,” her hand grips yours tightly as you continue, “when i told you that you were beautiful, i meant every word. in my eyes, there is nothing in the world or beyond more fitting for the title,” brienne is looking into you with an intensity that tells you she’s deciding whether she believes you or not. you take a deep breath, “that is what i see.”

the knight’s mouth opens and closes, not words able to find their way out. never had you seen her so flustered, you could only take this shyness as confirmation of her belief, if she hadn’t she would have already been yelling at you. you release one hand from her grasp, with a slight struggle, but a quick squeeze and a brush over her knuckles finally frees you. a hooked index finger rests under her chin, the tip of your thumb hovering just under her bottom lip.

pulling her face in, you place a soft kiss to her blushing cheek, barely a centimeter away from her wanting lips. you linger for a moment, “if we survive this war, i will spend the rest of my days telling you everything i see. i swear it.”

before brienne can respond, horns begin sounding loudly. the night king had arrived.

—

everything was a blur. fire and smoke clouded the air. blood saturated your clothes, some yours, some not. men and women, dead and gone, littered the ground, but no tears fell for them. you ran across the wall, pulling a bow and quiver with you and you found a half-way decent vantage point. the dead climbed the walls, so you could only go higher and higher, firing as you climbed. your aim was rough, adrenaline and dirt making you miss vital shots.

a cold hand grips your calf, pulling you down with sharp nails ripping your skin. you scream in anger and pain, grabbing a dagger from your back and blindly stabbing at the walker’s hands. it was nothing to it, it kept it’s assault and you thrashed and kicked powerfully, nearly knocking the grip loose.

your eyes close as the pain grows, at least i had one hell of a last night, passes your thoughts. and just as you nearly take matters into your own hands, the walker drops, and your hands frantically grip the wall so as to not fall with him. you scan around, other walkers dropped to the ground, littering the ground along with your own dead. shaking hands and legs move on their own to carry you down the tower at a controlled pace, landing you on the wall. you peer over the edge, every wight was slumped against the castle, unmoving, truly dead at last. it’s over, it’s fucking over.

a firm grip on your arm shakes you from your mind, you turn to see a now one-armed dorin. you swiftly grab him, pulling him into your arms, one hand gripping his torn jacket, the other soothing his hair. you whisper questions to him, his arm, other injuries, but he’s too tired to give you real answers, so you just hold him.

his head rises from your shoulder, “the wights… they got into the catacombs. i don’t know how many remain.” your face falls, he knows what your thinking and is already ahead of you, “go, find him.” and by the gods you run, you had never run with so much purpose. you jumped over boxes and weapons and bodies, jumping over the railing, using it to climb down and drop to the ground. larkin was the only thing that mattered, your son, your boy.

you run to the catacombs, skipping stairs and hurdled in. but it was empty of life, only walkers and victims left. not a single body was the curly haired teenager with the scar across his cheek from his own dagger. you sprint back to the yard, desperately scanning for him. “larkin! LARKIN!” you scream as you run, “BOY!” you yell again with cupped hands. the tears that had been building since you saw dorin’s face were falling freely now, your sobs were choking you as you searched.

red hair catches your attention, sansa, by the gods she was alive. you sprint to her, a hand coming to her shoulder. she turns to you, placing her hand on yours, “he’s alive.” your sigh of relief makes another sob rip from you, your hands come to cover your face.

“he ran to find you i presume, the second the wights fell, he bolted,” tyrion speaks from beside the stark girl, your hands leave your face. you nod his way, passing him with a pat on the shoulder in thanks.

you continue searching until you hear a loud cry of your name from behind you, only three people  truly knew it. you turned, eyes landing on curly hair and big brown eyes that were filled with held back tears. bodies colliding with a thud and nearly toppling over, you cradle the boy to you, kissing his head repeatedly, muttering i’m here, we’re alive, i love you. he’s shaking against you, bloodied hands seizing your shirt like you could disappear at any moment.

“where were you? why didn’t you stay with sansa? are you hurt?” you pull away from him, inspecting his hands, “what did you do? where else are you hurt?” you grab his face, his face clouded from tears that had yet to stop falling from your eyes.

“i had to stop them from getting to her, i couldn’t leave sansa undefended. i was beating it back just as they fell, i’m okay. are you?”

you chuckle, “i’m alive, and mostly intact. you didn’t answer me, where were you, why weren’t you with sansa and tyrion?”

“i was looking for you, or podrick, or brienne. i needed to know you were alive, had to see for myself,” he answers through a tear-clogged voice. you pull him in, rubbing his back, silently asking for an answer, “i found them, they’re alive. she’s alive.” a choked sob leaves you again, holding your son tighter to you before pulling away.

—

turning the corner into the great hall the next night fills your senses. boisterous laughter and conversation, the clinking of glasses, the smell of ale, wine, and smoldering fire. you watched as people laughed, threw their arms around one another, kissed cheeks and lips. all of it quickly faded, all the voices sounded like they were underwater, you couldn’t see anyone. it all evaporates, and all you can see is blonde hair and a black tunic, a cup in her hand, a smile on her lips. it’s as if a spotlight was upon her, drawing you to her like a moth to a flame. 

podrick sees you before the rest, knocking brienne’s knee with his own. she looks at his with a questioning expression, only answered by his head cocking to whatever was behind him. brienne turns with a grunt, annoyed with the lack of straight-forward answer. her world stops, similarly to yours. the second your eyes meet, her mouth drops open, then forms into a huge, toothy smile. you’re quick to return it and pick up your pace, already having a place next to her and podrick circled the table and sat next to jaime instead.

“you’re here,” brienne says quietly, but her happiness is evident.

“so are you,” you respond with a smile, placing a hand on her knee and giving it a quick squeeze under the table before grabbing a cup and pouring some ale for yourself.

brienne’s eyes never leave you, knowing that your words and actions mean more now, she can’t seem to find it in herself to look away. she watches as you talk with the others, notes how you don’t really look them in the eyes and mess with your cup when you speak, how you close your eyes when you laugh, bump shoulders with her when she was the one to make you chuckle. she especially liked how you’d look at her when she’d laugh and your gaze would linger for a few seconds before turning back to the group. she came to the conclusion that nothing could ever be as exquisite as you smiling with your eyes looking into hers, nothing would ever be as warm and inviting as your touch.

after an hour, you silently chugged the rest of your cup, then slid from your seat, “i’ll be seeing myself out. i’m glad to have you all still here with us, truly. have a good rest of your night, gentlemen,” you turn and bow your head slightly, “ser brienne.” she stares silently as you spin on your heel and leave, a small smile thrown over your shoulder. a cough pulls her from your frame.

“you gonna do something about that or should we just give you a rag for the drool on your chin?” jaime says from across the table, an amused look across his face. podrick snorts at the joke, but brienne’s glare has him covering it with a fake cough, making tyrion snicker.

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says as she takes a large sip from her own ale, “so drop it.”

a loud laugh leaves jaime’s mouth, “sure, you’re just staring longingly into the distance daydreaming about… nothing? i didn’t take you for a coward and a liar, interesting how time has changed you.”

she promptly stands from the table, “i’m not going to listen to this. goodnight, gentlemen.” and with that she leaves, not wanting to hear what they had to say about you, or how she was leaving the same way you did, not the way that would bring her to her own quarters.

she reaches your tent within a few minutes, she wasn’t long behind you anyways. she shook away her insecurities, knocking on the post outside the tent. her heart rate picked up when she heard a gentle come in from the other side of the curtain. she steps in, knocking the snow from her boots behind her. you’re sitting up in your bed, untying your own shoes, your cloak was resting on the back of a chair in the corner. you looked smaller, less imposing, but she knew better. her own cloak was stripped from her shoulders as she moved to sit next to you, joining you in removing her own boots. she didn’t plan on leaving soon unless you asked her, and gods she hoped you wouldn’t. 

“i was wondering when you’d show up, i figured i’d see you in the morning,” you say as you pull off your last boot with a rough, man-handling grip. brienne chuckles and the grunt that escapes you and you reel back a bit from the force.

“i would much rather be here than in the hall with a bunch of drunk idiots,” she replies, removing her final boot with more ease than you had.

“i’m flattered, kind ser. you abandoned a many drunk idiots for a singular, much-less-drunk idiot, i should be thankful a knight of the seven kingdoms appreciates my company,” you laugh, laughing harder when she bumps your shoulder as she tries not to burst out as well.

she shakes her head, “i’d always prefer your company over others.”

her statement ceases your laughter, your affect becoming more serious, “i’d choose you, over all of them.” she turns to you now, eyes full of something that you can’t place, almost wonder, almost disbelief, “surely you know that by now?”

brienne’s long lashes flutter in front of her eyes a few times, you’re speaking so honestly, so truly. she has thousands of things to say and none of them were enough to describe the feeling growing in her chest as she looks at you. “i’d choose you too, no matter the cause.”

the air was so thick, you couldn’t move. her own gravitational force keeping you in her orbit, seas of aquamarine holding you close. your hand rises, pushing a lock of blonde hair back in formation, gently smoothing it down. your hand traces down, fingers tracing her left ear, gliding with a barely-there touch over the scar from your first encounter. brienne closes her eyes, bathing in the silent affection with a small smile on her lips. your fingers continue the dance over her features, hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing over her skin. this prompts her eyes to open again.

your jaw clenches as you try to get the courage to say something to her. brienne notices, hand coming up to yours on her cheek, resting on your wrist with a gentle grip. she was so gentle, so beautiful. you decided in this very moment there were no words in any languages that could capture the sight in front of you, and you selfishly loved the fact that no one would ever get to experience this moment the way you do. her whisper of your name pulled you from your daydreaming.

deep breath in, deep breath out, “i have no loyalties to any lands. not the north, certainly not king’s landing, i was torn from tarth before i could ever truly experience it, i barely travel to the stormlands as it is,” you pause, anxiety filling your throat, but brienne’s fingers tracing up and down your wrist sooth your rapid heart. “it has taken me most of my life to realize that all these places do not matter in the slightest. they are just flora and earth, we certainly don’t care about that, we care about the concept of home, family. i haven’t a relative left, yet i have all these ridiculous brothers,” brienne laughs breathily at your words, “and though he is not of my blood, i have a son of nearly sixteen. i have the family bit, but i realize after five and a half fucking years, that i finally found my home and i foolishly let her walk away, so i decided i would follow her to my death, if that is what the fates had in store for me.”

you didn’t realize tears had escaped your eyes until brienne’s hand moved to wipe them away, before letting it fall to the curve where your neck meets your shoulders. “you… you are utterly mad,” she says, but you can feel the adoration in her words, making you grin and sniffle away your tears. “gods, you are utterly mad and irrational and impulsive, and apparently have a death wish,” she takes a deep breath, “all this, yet every single night i dreamt of finding you again and never leaving. i dreamt of having a different oath all together, one that swore me to you until my heart stopped beating.”

your free hand rises to brienne’s jaw, hers rests on your thigh. time seems to for you both, taking in each other’s words. she fills your senses, her touch was so inviting, her eyes were hypnotic and deep, pulling you in like tidal waves to the sea. telling her you loved her would never suffice, it was enough, it didn’t quite reach the depth of your devotion. only one thing seemed fitting.

you move from your seat on the bed, her hands fall from your skin. lowering yourself to one knee, looking into her confused eyes. one arm behind your back, one resting on her knee, “ser brienne of tarth, i swear by the old gods and the new to stay by your side, no matter what may happen in our world or in rest of it. i will defend your honor and self, and with complete devotion i will pledge my life to yours, if you will have me.”

her hands go from her lap to cradle your face, moving to kneel on the floor beside you, “only if you’ll allow me to do the same for you. i swear by the old gods and the new, i will protect and defend you, you and your boy. devote myself to you, heart and mind.” heart and mind, heart and mind.

you instantly pull her in, lips crashing together. nearly six years of longing, dancing around each other, gone the second she kisses you back. your lips move frantically together, all desire and love. you grip the front of her tunic, keeping her flush against you as her hands hold your face closer. she’s so soft, her lips, her hands, and her gods her tongue. she was addicting, but nothing compared to the noises that came from her as you ran your hands over her stomach under her tunic. you wanted, needed more of her. she had become your life source, the hole in your chest had completely disappeared, filled with only brienne.

the knight was on cloud nine. she felt drunk off of your lips, more than alcohol had ever affected her. your hands against the skin of her abdomen had her reeling, nearly moaning at your touch alone. she had dreamed of this more than she could say, imagined the feel of your lips, how they’d feel against her own, her neck, her chest. she can only pull you in closer, toppling you both over onto the floor, but she doesn’t let this deter her. she pulls you back in, feeling you smile against her lips as you straddle her waist, one arm holding you up a bit as the other holds her face. she greedily lets her hands run down your body, lightly squeezing your thighs and hips over your clothes, running her hands along your frame. you’re real.

oxygen is less important than you and your hot mouth, much less than your tongue tracing the scar on her lip. your kisses slow much to her displeasure, you pull away but keep your eyes closed. you place a feather light kiss to her lips before pulling away, dropping to hide your face in her shoulder. you hear her breath hitch when you place a gentle kiss to the skin of her neck, only allowing yourself the one for now. her arms wrap around your waist, holding you close, loving the weight of you on top of her. it was warm, grounding.

you speak into her, “you realize you’re stuck with me now, right?”

she chuckles, the vibration of her chest making you smile, “you say it as if that wasn’t my intention.” your head rises from her shoulder to press a sound kiss to her lips, as you pull away she speaks, “are we going to stay laying on the ground?”

it’s your turn to laugh, “depends. if we get up, are you staying with or leaving me?”

brienne’s hips lift and turn, switching your position so she’s now on top of you, strong arms hold her just above you, “how foolish would i be to leave you?” she dips down to kiss you again, and again, then once more for good measure, “we won’t find out.”

you find that laying in your bed with brienne is now your new favorite experience. you lay against her side, her hand drawing invisible patterns on your lower back under your shirt. your own fingers were gently tracing her neck and down to her collarbones, following patterns of faint freckles that lost their vibrance in the cold climate and low sunlight of the north. the string up her tunic was right there, begging you to untie the top of her shirt to follow the freckles of her chest. twirling one of the laces in your hand, you look at her with a silent question, only receiving a silent nod with wide eyes in return.

brienne’s mind felt like it was stuck in a trance, your soft touch was mesmerizing, the occasional soft kisses to her cheek and jaw were clouding her every thought. your fingers slowly, gently untied the top laces of her tunic, permission-seeking eyes looking into hers with each pull of the string. when you had gotten to her sternum, you ceased your movements, then slowly dragged your finger back up to her face. she grabs your hand, bringing it to her kiss-swollen lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. your eyes sparkle at her action, and you can feel your face warming.

brienne’s overwhelmed by the blatant love for her that swirls in your eyes, her hand drops yours to grab your face, pulling you to her lips once again. she couldn’t get enough of your lips against hers, arms wrapped around you to keep you close. she whines as you suddenly pull away from her, but she immediately takes it back as soft kisses dance down her cheek, over her jaw, dipping to her neck. these weren’t kisses of lust, she was sure of it, but ones to let her know how much you cared. she was lost in her bliss, that she barely hears your mumblings through the fog. so beautiful as you pass over her collarbones, gods i adore you before you press a kiss at the center of her chest. you quickly kiss your way back up to her lips, greeted welcomingly by her tongue and smile. she surprises even herself by pulling away first this time.

her words tumble from her mouth, “you are mine, and i am yours.”

your smile grows quick and wide, her words going straight to your heart and into your soul. “there’s nothing i’d rather be,” you whisper, cuddling your face into her neck once again. 

—

the following weeks had resulted in the death of daenerys targaryen, first of her name. jaime had left two days after the long night, riding to king’s landing for cersei, both lost beneath the rubble of the red keep. brienne said nothing, anger of his betrayal and the sadness of his death battled each other until she sobbed in your arms after a couple days of holding it all in. the leaders of the remaining houses elected bran stark as the king of the seven, now six kingdoms. the north was her own kingdom, as it had long fought to return to.

the small council was formed, tyrion remained hand of the king as punishment for the conspiracy to kill daenerys. samwell tarly was grand maester, lord bronn the master of coin, your friend ser davos as master of ships. your brienne was appointed as the lord commander of the king’s guard, which you had expected, but still kissed her excitedly when you were alone after hearing the news.

today, she had you walking with her, side-by-side in her golden armor. she had only told you that your presence had been requested by the king, nothing more. larkin was trailing behind you both, watching the way you interacted, he most definitely noted the lack of awkwardness that had previously surrounded you both.

entering the council room, you bow to bran, “good morning, your grace.”

“good morning, commander. lord commander,” he nods to each of you, “larkin.”

the boy’s head pops up, curly bouncing, “hello, your grace.”

“has ser brienne told you the reason for your summons?” bran asks.

“no, your grace. she’s been quite tight-lipped despite my pestering,” you jest.

“in the formation of my small council, i seem to have three seats available. from what i’ve been told, you have quite the number of little spies around the kingdoms,” your eyes shoot to brienne at the king’s words, “completely unnoticed, well-managed. not even varys detected their presence, which is no small feat.”

you clear your throat, “thank you, your grace. they were only here to alert me of any major changes so that we could move accordingly, stay out of battle areas.”

“they’ve done well,” bran rests his hands on the table, “i’d like to offer you a seat at this council, as my master of whispers. i trust you’ll be honest and loyal in what is reported to you, i have been told in great detail of your leadership.” brienne closes her eyes momentarily, already knowing you’ll have something to say about this later. 

through wide eyes and a shaky voice you respond, “i’d be honored to accept your offer, your grace. thank you, i will serve you loyally.” 

“i know you will, you’re all dismissed.”

walking out, larkin is practically bouncing off the walls, “master of whispers, the master of whispers. this is insane, this is so amazing. can i go tell everyone?”

you laugh at him, “please do, i have something i have to do here.” he’s already gone before you’re fully done speaking, you shake your head laughing more.

brienne speaks up from beside you, “what is it that you have to do here?”

you scan the hall before grabbing her arm and bringing her down a corridor. you push her against a wall out of sight from the world, and tug her to your lip hurriedly. pulling away, you breathily say, “i love you.” she tries to pull you back in but you push her back, “uh-uh, that’s all you get. price for not preparing me for that, you ass.”

she laughs heartily, “i wasn’t supposed to tell you, it was the king’s orders!” she kisses your cheek as you roll your eyes at her, “i love you too, by the way,” another peck to the cheek, “incredibly so.”

you lean into her lips, not being able to stay away. you mumble against her, “i’m holding you to that.”

let me know if you guys would be interested in more skyforth!reader, i actually really love writing about it! feedback is appreciated as always my little queers

tag list: @lord6-6fandom @fishyikes @soulflame6 @machi-avelli @thoroughly--confused @the-bagel24 @one-pining-queer @naraly0808 @camilapc08 @senzafine6 @slightlymalicedme @another-unoriginal-username @eliscannotdance @jodie-in-a-box @yuilesbn @friskyfisher

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, The wedding night part 2 (The smut)

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: Drunk sex, Condoms

AN: we made it to the end. I'll see y'all in the fall for book two!

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

Tom pressed Mia against the hotel door. His hand was large and firm against her waist, holding her right where he wanted her. Fumbling, he struggled to pull his wallet from his pocket with one very distracted hand. His pants were tight around his hips and his current state of mind didn’t help matters in the slightest. 

Mia’s nails scratched at the hair at the back of his neck as she clung to him as if he was giving her life. It felt like she was floating, swimming through a sea of desire and alcohol. 

She needed him. She wanted him. She begged for him, “Hurry,” 

“Got it.” The wallet slipped out. It was a struggle to flip it open with one hand, then find the hotel keycard. In the process of getting the card out, he dropped the leather wallet to the floor by his shoe. 

His breath was hot in her ear. Lips worked, leaving harsh kisses along her neck. As he worked the card into the slot, he moved his hand from her waist to her breast, stopping for a firm squeeze that had a soft moan slip from her lips. 

“I need you.” She whimpered as the door beeped, denying entry to the distracted couple. 

“Who do you need?” Tom asked as he flipped the card around, trying different sides again and again, hoping one would work.

“My husband.” That set fire to him. 

The door beeped the correct tune this time, granting them entry. Tom hooked the door handle with his hand, slapping it down clumsily after yanking the card from the door. The door swung open, no longer providing a solid surface to support their weight. 

Tom held her up with an arm flung around her waist as they stumbled in. He kicked blindly, relying on feel alone to help him ensure he kicked his wallet somewhere into the room.

“My wife.” Tom breathed as he kicked the door shut behind them. Alone at last. 

He hiked her dress high around her thighs as he held her against the wall, body pressed against body. She could feel his member straining against his pants as he held her in place with his pelvis pressed into her. 

Warm, wet kisses and soft nips worked at her neck and shoulders as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders. First one arm, then the other left her and shed the jacket sleeves. It fell to the floor behind Tom without a care. 

His large hand gripped at her thigh as he yanked at the heels she had put back on her feet in the hall. As he freed them, he threw them blindly behind him, one hitting the wall with a thump. Then searing hot hands pushed their way up her thighs, gripping her hips under the skirt. 

Lifting her from the wall, his lips found hers as he carried her. He groaned into her mouth as his thigh rammed into the corner of the dresser, sending pain flaring and causing him to stumble for a moment. 

The springs in the bed squeaked as Tom all but threw her onto it. He loomed over her, admiring the way her brown hair fanned out around her, contrasting with the cream bedding and the white of her dress. Her face was flushed. It had been all night, but now it looked even better now, looking up at him from where she lay, waiting for him.

His wife.

There was something intoxicating about standing over a flushed woman laying on his bed. Her dress bunched around her thighs, exposing her long legs to his greedy eyes. It had long been one of Tom’s favorite sights. 

This, though, her being his bride, made the sight oh so much better. Tom couldn’t help but run his fingertips up the soft flesh of her thighs, marveling at the fact that she was really there, and that this was really happening. 

He traced the tan line that marked where shorts had cut the sun’s harsh power. It had been a while since he had seen something as simple as a unintentional tan line on the body of another. 

She was so beautifully normal and he loved her for it.

As she rose on her elbows, he admired how the change of position pushed her breasts up, how they moved naturally with each breath she took and the pull of gravity. 

“Something wrong?” She asked. 

“Not even a little.” Tom planted his hands on either side of her waist and leaned forward and into her. 

Using one arm to support herself, she ran her other hand up his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his neck and pulled him to her. The kiss started sweetly, a reminder of romance she had thought was only for storybooks and movies. 

It quickly became fierce, however. These were the kisses that she knew existed, but damn, it had been so long since she had kissed someone who was so good at it. She wanted more. Craved it. Needed it. 

Tom rolled them, pulling her to straddle him. Just as he had appreciated how she looked sprawled out on the bed, she found herself caught in a moment of admiration as well. 

Never in her life had she slept with a man as good looking as Tom. Now he was hers, and this was her reality. He belonged to her now and she to him. She won the Vegas jackpot. 

She could feel how much he wanted her as she rested on his hips. Though that was exciting, just having a man as strong and successful as him under her was enough of a rush in itself. He was beautiful and somehow he was hers. 

Tom rather enjoyed having his wife straddling his lap, looking down at him with her hair falling down her back and shoulders. This was something he hadn’t thought he could ever have, but it was here. She was here. It was his wedding night, and she wore a beautiful white dress just for him. 

He wanted to see on the floor. 

Sitting up, he kissed her neck and chest as his arms wrapped around her. Her skin was so soft under his lips. While he worked along her collarbone, she ran her nails through his hair.

She smelled like sunshine, flowers, and summer. She smelled like sunflowers. What a strange, unique choice. What a beautifully her choice. 

When he found just the right spot, she couldn’t stop the moan that fell from her lips. That was a sound he wanted to hear her make again and again. Tom was painfully hard in his trousers and she pressed against him. 

Each shift she made in his lap sending a wave of pleasure through him. She felt good against him, held against his chest, wrapped in his arms, neck against his lips.

He wanted to feel more of her against him. Never in his life had he wanted to delve into a woman more than he did at that moment. Not once in his life. 

Not once. 

Tom gripped her ass under the skirt of her dress. The silky panties she wore were smooth under his hands, but not nearly as smooth as her skin would be. He wanted to tease her and savor her, but with how much he had drank, he feared quicker would be better.

Fingers struggled with buttons. It felt like the back of the dress was fastened with every fastening at the same time, designed by the devil to hamper men from sealing the marriage. He would swear he felt cords and buttons and a zipper track. What he wanted was the dress off of her. 

“Sorry, Darling.” Tom mumbled the words into the swell of her breast he had been kissing. 

With both hands, he ripped the back open. It was harder than he expected, taking a few yanks to rip the fabric to the small of her back. With the tension that had been holding her breasts in place gone, they sank slightly into a more relaxed, natural position.

Mia was self conscious for a moment. Her body had been through stresses and showed the wear from a life lived. Though she had never been uncomfortable with the size of her breasts, she knew they lacked the fullness of many women in their twenties. 

Her breasts were natural, and that excited him. Pulling the bodice down, he was rewarded for his efforts with a warm palmful of soft flesh. He took a pink nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue over the nub. 

He needed her and he needed her now. 

Tom flipped her onto her back, and he hovered above her, drinking in the sight for a moment longer. Gripping the fabric of the dress, he carelessly yanked at it as he stood up, pulling it harshly down her body. 

The dress caught on her hips. Tom hadn’t ripped it far enough down for it to slip past her waist. Tom didn’t know if the dress was designed to go on from above or if the maze of fastenings simply extended far below where he had torn, but he didn’t care. 

Leaning down, he placed soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach as he grabbed fistfuls of the dress again. With a great effort, he ripped the dress further down. As soon as he had the slack to do so, he pulled the dress down her body and threw it on the ground behind him, just where he wanted to see it most. 

Her panties were plain, simple and not what one would expect to find under a wedding dress. They hadn’t stopped long enough to worry about shopping for such things. That was alright, he had a lifetime to see her in lingerie.

Standing over her, he worked his shirt buttons free after yanking his tie down until it was hanging loose, nearly undone, around his neck. Sprawled out before him, naked breasts on full display for his hungry eyes, she was a vision. 

He enjoyed the view. There were little scars and marks on her body showing a life well lived. She had marks where her body and grown quickly at one point. Her belly curved and swelled ever so slightly, soft and inviting to the touch. 

Growing impatient, she leaned up and eagerly assisted with the buttons on his shirt. The way her breasts moved with her body was mesmerizing, distracting to him as his fingers fumbled and stilled with his brain. 

His fingers yearned to touch them instead of the buttons of his shirt. He all but ripped the shirt off as soon as it was sagging around his body, eager to feel her flesh against his. She pushed the fabric down his shoulders. He leaned back, pulling his arms free and tossing the fabric to the side. 

Tom folded over her as she ran her fingers up his chest, taking in the feeling of his muscles as they moved. His head swam as he took her nipple into his mouth again. Tugging, pulling and licking, he teased delicate moans from her throat. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he kissed his way up to her neck.

Her back arched under him as he ran his fingers up and down her sides. Each breath she took caused her nipples to brush against his chest. 

“I want you.” She pleaded as she blindly worked his buckle open. “Please.” 

She was like an animal pawing to get to some vital resource. It took far longer than she wanted to get the belt free. Tom grew impatient and uncomfortable with waiting and yanked it free himself, whipping it from the loops. 

As he tossed it behind him, she palmed him through his pants. She moaned at the feeling and it would be a lie to say he didn’t take satisfaction in that. He wasn’t a poorly endowed man by any means; he knew that, but having a woman moan at the feel alone was a great complement. 

“Please.” Oh, he enjoyed hearing her beg for him. 

He also liked the feeling of her fingers wrapping around him. He hadn’t noticed when she had gotten his trousers unbuttoned, let alone unzipped, but good god, her fingers felt good wrapped around his shaft. 

“Let me get these off.” His voice was thick with desire. 

Tom stood, shucking his trowsers off his legs, doing his best not to fall over in the process as the ground felt like it shifted under him. A champagne bottle sat in a partially melted bucket of ice on the dresser. Grabbing it, he popped the top with an experienced hand and scooped up the two long-stemmed glasses next to it as she waited, nearly naked for her husband to rejoin her. 

The hotel had provided the bottle as a gift for their marriage, likely arranged as soon as they booked the wedding chapel. Tom poured the glasses and set the bottle back down, nearly missing the dresser.

She had sat up while she waited for him. There was a blush on her cheeks as she greedily took in his naked form. That was a view he promised himself he would never forget, regardless of how drunk he was. 

Tom downed his glass shamelessly after handing her the other. He didn’t give her a chance to finish her glass as he crashed his lips into hers. She kissed him fiercely back, not sparing a thought to the liquid in her glass or how it spilled on her and the bed. 

Tom had her on her back and the glass was long forgotten. His hands were on her, taking in everything he could feel. It felt like he was everywhere;, he surrounded her. She was drowning in her need for him. 

“Condom.” She struggled to have the breath to speak, trying to cling to some sort of sense through her need. “We need a condom.”

Tom groped in his nightstand for a condom, knocking things from the table. Focus was scarce as she caressed his member, hand working down his length and fingers caressing the tip, smearing pre-cum around with her thumb. He knew he had a condom in the nightstand drawer somewhere. He had them just in case, though he hadn’t planned on needing them. 

“Found it.” He was reckless as he ripped it open. 

She took it from him and rolled the thin plastic sleeve down his shaft slowly. They needed to hurry;, he wasn’t in a position to take his time. Stamina was never something he had really needed to worry about before, but with how drunk he was, he knew his ability to perform could die at any moment. 

Tom rolled over onto her swiftly, kissing her as if she had the secrets of the world hidden in her mouth. Reaching down between them, he ran his fingers up and down her slit.

She was soaking wet and ready for him. That was good, he didn’t have much reason to wait than. 

“My darling Sunflower, are you ready for me?” 

“Please,” she begged, pulling him into her. 

She kissed him as soon as she could reach his lips as they laid back. His large hands caressed her thighs as he positioned himself between them, kneeling on the bed. His head slipped through her slit as they kissed and then, with little thought beyond need, he sank inside slowly.

She accepted him into her greedily. His size was more than she was used to, but she wanted him all. She wasn’t an untouched flower by any means, but the fit made her feel virginal as he filled her slowly, sinking in inch by inch. 

She moaned as he sank deeper into her; the feeling seeming to go on forever. The sound was cut off with his lips on hers. She had no choice but to swallow his moan along with her own as their tongues danced. 

He only paused for a moment as he adjusted his position above her. Then he was thrusting. Slow and deep, the speed built with each thrust. Her legs hooked around his thighs as she tried to pull him closer, wanting to surround herself with him as she surrounded him. 

The sounds of her moans as he moved were sweeter than any wine he had ever drank. She was surrounded by him and him, by her, the feeling intoxicating. The scent of her shampoo was thick as he rested his head against her shoulder for a moment, feeling her hair tickle his face. 

He was panting as he focused on staying upright as he rocked into her. This wouldn’t be his best performance, he knew that, but he hoped it would be good enough for her. Later, he would make it up to her. Now he was chasing his need and just hoping he hit the right spots along the way. 

He peppered her shoulder with wet kisses as he reached down to hook her leg with his arm, pulling it higher and changing the angle of her pelvis.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned as a deeper moan poured from her throat. Whatever he did, it was good for them both. 

They moved together at an ever-increasing pace, chasing the release they both so desperately needed. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room. The bed springs sang a song of primal lust for anyone in the rooms next to their’s to hear. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t care if someone knew who was in this room or that it was him. He didn’t care if someone recorded the sounds of their lust and spread it around the internet. He was just a man with his wife, sealing the marriage. 

Tom’s fingers bunched into a fist, catching her hand along with the blanket in the process. 

Close. He was so close now. He could only hope that she was there with him as she gasped in pleasure, arching against him. 

She was his. His wife. His new life. His new everything. 

She was his. 

Finally, he had someone. Finally, he was enough for someone. 

Finally. 

She was breathing him in. He was everywhere. He surrounded her, arms on either side of her. She was wrapped around him, her leg clinging to his hips. He supported her, arm holding one thigh up and open. He was inside her, being welcomed into her most inner core and yet she still wanted more. His hand held hers, grounding her. 

Through half-lidded eyes, she struggled to focus on anything. The room spun thanks in part to the vast amount she had drank. Her brain felt like it was resting on a cloud, being pushed and pulled with every thrust into her.

He was in the very air she breathed. He was everywhere and everything. 

The soft panting moans falling from his parted lips were the most erotic sound she had heard in a very long time. They sent excitement through her veins. 

“More,” She whispered, wrapping her arm around him.

Her fingers ran through the short curls on the back of his head, nails lightly scratching his scalp. Arching into him, she ran her hands along his sides and back as he hit the spot she needed.

“More,” she begged even as the orgasm ran through her, weakened by how drunk she was, but sweet just the same. 

He clung to her, spilling his seed into the condom, panting as aftershocks rocked through him. Her lips found his neck as she caressed his back without a care for the sheen of sweat on his skin. With limbs that felt weighted down by lead, he rolled off of her. 

She curled into his side. That had to be a good sign. God, he hoped it had been as good for her as it had been for him. 

“That’s just the first time.” He said, catching his breath. 

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” She asked, nuzzled into his arm. It was clear she was very relaxed, perhaps even beginning to doze off. He hoped that was a sign of her post orgasmic bliss, a sign that he had delivered for her more than just his own release. 

“I do,” Tom mused. “That’s how I knew I wanted to marry you. Do you?”

“Yeah,” The words were mumbled.

Tom looked down at her. His wife. Her eyes were hardly more than slits, and sleep was quickly claiming her. She was beautiful. There was a softness to every curve of her. Her hair was wild from their lovemaking and his hands. 

The imperfections on her body made her more real under his fingertips as he caressed her naked skin. 

“Do you want some water, dear?” Tom asked, only getting a mumbled response that may have been a word.

The world shifted and spun under his feet as he stood up. Bracing himself against the furniture, he made his way to the trashcan to discard the condom. From the sink, he downed three glasses of tap water and a few pain pills he found in a packet by the sink, cringing slightly at the taste of the hotel’s tap water and the way it made his stomach roll. 

Navigating back to the bed with what had started as a full glass, he left a trail of splashes behind him. His hand and leg was wet with spilled water as he brought the rest to her. 

His wife. 

“Here,” He held the water out to her but she didn’t move. “Asleep already?” 

Setting the glass on the tabletop, he stood there and admired her. Long legs were tucked up slightly toward her chest, highlighting the curve of her ass. Soft was the best way he could think of to describe her. She was nothing but soft, sweeping curves. 

Tom wanted to sleep. The alcohol weighed on his brain, lulling him. He needed to sleep. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish as he pulled the banket down on one side of the bed. It was a struggle between the heavy limbs, fuzzy fingers and the hotel staff having tucked the bedding under the mattress, but eventually he got it free.

Lifting her from the bed, he smiled at the feeling of having her naked body in his arms against his naked chest. This was his first night as a husband. He had a wife to hold and damned if he didn’t enjoy it.

It took a few tries before he could tuck her feet under the bedding he hadn’t been able to free. She had hardly stirred during the process, drunken sleep having claimed her firmly. Then he nestled her down on the mattress. She tucked her arms against her chest in her sleep and he admired the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist.

He wanted her again. He wanted to bury himself deep in her. He longed to be surrounded by her again, seeking the pleasure only a woman could give him. 

He also longed for sleep. 

Tom suspected even if she was awake, his ability to perform a second round was significantly compromised at best. It was better to sleep. He could take her again in the morning. 

She was his wife now. They could indulge in eachother as often as they wanted. He had a partner to love for the rest of his life. He had a partner to love him for the rest of his life. 

He didn’t want to give up the view of her naked body, but he did, reluctantly. While he made his way around the bed, he stumbled over his heavy feet. Sleep was defiantly a need. 

Tom grabbed the champagne bottle off the tabletop and took a long pull from it as he stood naked in the dim room. He did it, he thought. This was the beginning of his life as a married man. 

He stumbled into the bed and wiggled his way under the blankets. The swimming in his head became much worse as soon as he laid down. It took everything in him to slap off the lamp. Tom turned into her and snaked his arm around her naked waist. 

Holding her against his body, he was asleep nearly instantly, holding his most prized achievement in his arms. 

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, they had said “I Do.” Those two words echoed around his mind as he was lulled to sleep by his wife’s steady breathing and the warmth of her naked body against his. 

“I do.” he wispered into the darkness as sleep claimed him. “I do.”

~~~~~<3

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