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jetii · 2 months

Text

Promises Made (pt. 3/3)

Part One | Part Two

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 10,651 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, mutual pining, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Okay yes so this chapter is almost half the entire word count, and yes it's because of the smut, but it's also because of love. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and shared this fic. I hope this is the satisfying ending you were hoping for. 💙

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Crosshair stood vigil while you moved dirt and silt, using the Force to finish smoothing over the makeshift grave. He remained quiet as you knelt beside the fresh patch of earth, placing the stone on top. And he watched as you bowed your head, saying a quiet prayer for the Jedi Master.

You did all you could, burying him deep under a layer of rocks and snow, a final resting place for the man you once thought of as a father. You weren't able to give him the funeral pyre he deserved, not with the storm raging around you, but at least he had a final resting place. And maybe, you could come back when the weather was better, and have a proper ceremony.

Now, you stand, your Master's lightsaber in your hand, the wind whipping at your face. You're chilled to the bone, but the pain is nothing compared to the grief in your chest. You stare at the ground, at the stone that marks his grave, and the tears are a welcome relief.

Crosshair remains a respectful distance away, and you can feel his gaze, his concern. His presence is a comfort, and you take a deep breath, your eyes slipping closed.

"We should head back," he says quietly.

You nod, and the tears sting your cheeks. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, the grief like a physical weight holding you in place.

"Hey."

Crosshair's voice is soft, and you feel his hand on your shoulder. The world comes back into sharp focus under his touch.

You turn to look at him, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you break down. He moves closer, his gaze sweeping slowly over you, and his other hand lifts, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. You want to say something, but the words die in your throat.

He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. The sudden movement surprises you, and you gasp, but his grip is strong, and you let yourself melt into his embrace.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "Let it out."

The small hiccups you allow yourself turn into sobs, the sound muffled by his armor as he rubs circles on your back. It's been a long time since anyone's held you like this, and you can't stop the tears.

"I've got you," he says quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear over the wind swirling around you.

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him like a lifeline. Crosshair is strong and solid and real, and you can feel the weight of his arm around your waist, can hear the beating of his heart through his chest. His fingers brush against the nape of your neck, and you shiver. He doesn't let go, doesn't loosen his grip, and you can feel the warmth of his touch spreading slowly throughout your body.

You're not sure how long he holds you, but you know the two of you can't stay out in the storm forever. You pull away, wiping the tears from your eyes.

You feel the embarrassment creeping in, and you hate the fact that he saw you like this, weak and vulnerable. It's why you wanted to do this on your own, yet you can't help but be grateful for Crosshair's company. You’re not sure if you would have been able to go through with it without him.

He pulls his arm away, his hand lingering on your shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I..." You look down at the lightsaber in your hands and back to the grave. Your throat feels tight, and your voice is rough.

"You should keep it," Crosshair says.

"I can't. It's his, I—"

"He would've wanted you to have it."

You shake your head, unable to respond. You're not worthy of the weapon, the honor, and you're not sure you'll ever be.

"Take it," he says, his voice soft. "It's the only thing you have left of him."

"But—"

"Take it," he says again. His voice is almost pleading. It makes you hesitate, and your fingers twitch.

He lifts his hand, covering your own. His touch is gentle, and his fingers curl around yours, his gloves pressing against your skin, molding your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Don't thank me," he says, his tone serious. "You deserve it."

Your heart swells, and your throat tightens.

"Okay," you say at last. You tuck the saber into your bag, the weight heavy against your hip.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head. "Let's get back to the ship."

You follow him, and the two of you trudge through the snow. It's nearly up to your knees now, and the wind is blowing hard, making your teeth chatter. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, your feet are freezing, and the temperature is dropping fast.

By the time the you're nearing the landing zone where you left the Marauder, you're shivering uncontrollably. Your limbs feel stiff and numb, your joints aching. Crosshair keeps pace beside you, and he doesn't say anything, but his hand is on your arm, supporting you.

The Marauder looms ahead, the ship's silhouette stark against the horizon. You can see the outline of the cockpit, and you try to pick up your pace, eager to get inside and away from the snow and wind. You're shivering violently, and you can feel the cold seeping into your bones.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Crosshair asks.

You're not sure if he's referring to the weather, or the loss, or both, but either way, you know the answer.

It’s not the one you give him, though.

"Yeah," you mutter. "I'll be fine."

He sighs. "Liar."

"I'll manage."

"No, you won't." He shakes his head, and the gesture is almost exasperated. You can't help but huff.

"Why, are you offering to cuddle?" You try to smirk, to deflect with humor, but his grip on your arm tightens.

"If it'll help."

Your heart skips a beat, and you stare at him. The cold is making you delirious, that's the only explanation for the words that leave his mouth.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah.” Crosshair avoids your gaze. "You can sleep in my bunk."

"Okay," you say after a moment, and his head snaps up, as though he can't believe the word came from your mouth. The grip on your arm tightens.

"Really?"

You shrug, trying to ignore the way your heart races at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You tell yourself that it's the cold, that he's offering comfort, and that the offer has nothing to do with any lingering feelings he may or may not have.

"Yeah," you say, and the word comes out a little too hoarse. "Why not?"

There's about a million reasons why not, but you don't say them. Instead, you wait, watching him carefully. He looks at you, and even though you can't see his expression, you can feel the intensity of his gaze.

"Alright," he says, his voice gruff, and the hand on your arm moves, sliding up to rest on your shoulder.

The two of you reach the ship, and the ramp opens, a blast of hot air hitting you in the face. Crosshair helps you up, and the warmth feels so good that you want to cry.

You immediately throw off your bag and kneel to brush the snow from your boots, and you're vaguely aware of him moving past you, toward the cockpit. He tugs off his helmet and tosses it aside, and it lands on the floor somewhere with a dull thump.

By the time you get your legs to cooperate and rise, Crosshair is already settled in the pilot's seat, running through the preflight checks. Despite being the better pilot of the two of you, you let him take control, not trusting yourself to fly right now. You're tired, and you're cold, and the grief is weighing heavy on your heart.

When you slide into the copilot's seat, he glances over at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You stare at each other, and you have the urge to say something, anything, to break the silence. But he's looking at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, and the words die in your throat. He turns away just as quickly, his attention returning to the console, and the moment passes.

You try to help him prep the ship, but the exhaustion is too much, and the adrenaline is wearing off. You can't stop shivering, and your muscles ache, the pain nearly unbearable. Crosshair pushes your hand away when you try to set the coordinates back to Pabu, and you can't find it in you to fight him.

He lifts off, the ship groaning in protest, and the wind howls outside. The Marauder shudders, buffeted by the harsh weather, and the engine whines as he navigates the ship into the atmosphere. He's tense, his fingers curled tightly around the controls.

He engages the hyperdrive once you break through the clouds into the atmosphere, and the ship hums, the stars stretching into hyperspace. You slump in your seat, exhaustion and grief taking their toll. You lean your head back, and your eyelids droop.

You're barely aware of him as he stands, and the next thing you know, you feel his arms scooping you up, lifting you easily. You blink, and his face is inches from yours. Your arms wrap around his neck instinctively, clinging to him as he walks.

"I can walk," you protest weakly.

"Shut up," he says, but you can hear the concern in his voice. "You're freezing."

You try to come up with a witty retort, but the words don't come, and you're too tired to care. Crosshair carries you through the ship, and you close your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder, the heat of his body a welcome relief.

He sets you on the edge of his bunk, and his hands are gentle, careful. You're not sure what to say. The moment is surreal, and the exhaustion is making it difficult to focus. Your eyes blink open, and he's kneeling in front of you, his face just inches away.

"Let's get these off," he says as he starts to pull at your soaked clothing.

"Cross, I can undress myself," you say, the embarrassment making you blush.

"Just let me help," he sighs, his voice oddly quiet.

"But I—"

"I'm not letting you freeze to death. Now shut up and let me take care of you."

"Cross, really—"

"Please," he says, and the word is so foreign to his vocabulary that it gives you pause. "Just...let me do this."

"Okay," you murmur, the sincerity in his tone almost enough to make you cry.

He starts with your socks, trailing puddles of water on the ground, and your jacket goes next. The fabric clings to your skin, and his hands are slow and careful as he pulls the material away.

You shiver, and the chill is still lingering. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your lower stomach. The contact sends a jolt of something through you, and you inhale sharply.

"Sorry," Crosshair mumbles, his voice hoarse.

"No, it's...it's fine," you manage.

"I won't look."

"Crosshair, I—"

"I'll just close my eyes, and—"

"No, it's fine," you say. You reach up, your hands grasping the hem of the shirt, and you lift it over your head before he can say another word.

Crosshair doesn't move, doesn't speak. His breath catches, and you're sure he's staring at you, but you're so focused on trying to get your arms untangled from the sleeves that you don't care.

You're in your bindings, and the material is damp, sticking to your skin. You fumble with the fabric, tugging at the straps. It takes a few attempts, but finally, it loosens, and you exhale in relief. It slides down your shoulders, revealing your breasts, and you drop it onto the floor. You shiver, the cold air hitting your skin, and your nipples harden.

You look up at Crosshair, and he's frozen, his gaze glued to your exposed skin. He's staring at the scar above your heart, the one that he gave you, the one that should have killed you. His expression is hard to read, but his hands are trembling, and his breathing is shallow.

The silence is suffocating, and you have the sudden urge to cover yourself. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. His gaze sweeps over you, and his fingers flex.

"You said you wouldn't look," you remind him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Crosshair blinks, as though coming out of a daze.

"Sorry, I..." he trails off, his voice thick. "You're—" He clears his throat. "Your pants."

"Oh, right." Your hands move to unbuckle your belt, but they're shaking, and your movements are clumsy. You fumble with the clasp, cursing under your breath.

"Here," he murmurs, and his hands move yours aside. His fingers brush against the skin of your stomach, and you suck in a sharp breath.

"Thanks," you manage, and the word comes out as a whisper.

His fingers work quickly despite the tremble of them, undoing the belt and sliding it free. Your pulse is racing, and your mouth is dry, and his touch sends a spark of electricity through you.

He tosses the belt aside, and his fingers find the button of your pants, and he pops it open.

"Up," he orders.

You do as he says, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pants. He drags them down, the fabric clinging to your thighs. His movements are slow and deliberate as he pulls the material free from your legs before they join the pile of clothing on the floor.

You sit before him, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, and the chill is still clinging to you, your skin pebbled with goosebumps. Crosshair kneels at your feet, his eyes boring into you as they rake over your exposed skin. His gaze lingers on the scar on your chest, his jaw clenching.

"It's not a big deal," you say, trying to reassure him.

"It is."

"What happened wasn't your fault."

He looks up at you, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. "Yes, it was," he says, his voice low and raspy. You reach for him, but he pulls away, your movements too slow and sluggish to catch him.

"I'm going to change," he mutters. "Try not to pass out."

"I'm fine," you protest.

"Your lips are blue," he says. "And your hands are shaking."

He reaches for your wrist, his grip gentle, and he lifts your hand, holding it up for inspection. You glance down, and sure enough, your fingers are trembling.

"F-fine, maybe I'm a little cold," you mumble.

"You're not cold. You're hypothermic." He lets go of your hand and stands, setting his rifle against the wall.

"It's just—"

"Hush."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and you fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself in an attempt to get warm. You watch quietly as he begins to take off his armor, the motions practiced and methodical, though more rushed than you’ve ever seen it.

The first piece comes off, followed by another, and another. He doesn't stop until he's standing before you in his blacks, and then he lifts his shirt over his head. The sight takes your breath away. He's muscular, lean and strong, and the desire to reach out and touch him is overwhelming. The only thing you can do is stare, and it takes all of your self-control not to gape at him like an idiot.

He slips past you, and the bed shifts beneath his weight. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he's lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. He's looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling evenly. Crosshair glances over at you, his brow furrowing.

"Lay down," he says, patting the mattress.

You hesitate. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Lay down," he repeats, his tone firm.

You obey, shifting onto the bed, and the mattress is warm, the sensation almost painful against your skin. He grabs a blanket from the end of the bed and wraps it around you, tucking it in. You curl up, the exhaustion is making your eyes heavy.

The bed is small, and you're close, too close. But it's warm, and he's warm, and it feels so good you want to cry. Still, you can't seem to relax, your limbs stiff. Your skin prickles, and your muscles are tense.

"I can move—"

"Stop talking," he growls. "Go to sleep."

"You're bossy."

"And you're a brat," he grumbles, and his hands slide over your bare skin, tugging the blanket tighter around you.

You smile, the words bringing a strange comfort. He moves closer, his body pressed against yours. You're acutely aware of him, the sound of his breathing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You shift so your back is flush with his chest. He hesitates, frozen, and then slowly his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him.

You sigh, the warmth from his skin seeping into yours, and you melt into his embrace. His breath fans against the back of your neck, and you can't remember the last time you were held like this. A strange feeling builds in your chest, one you can't name, but it's overwhelming. The pain of losing your Master is still fresh, but the grief is lessened somehow.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

Crosshair curls tighter around you, his arms like a vise. You're surrounded by him, the smell of blaster oil, the sound of his breathing, the heat of his skin. The exhaustion is taking its toll, the warmth of his body too soothing to resist. Your eyes flutter closed, and you let the darkness take you, his heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

You wake to the feeling of an arm draped over you, and a body pressed against yours. You blink, and the events of the last two days come rushing back. You're practically naked, and Crosshair's body is pressed against yours, nearly every inch of available skin touching. His chest is flush against your back, and his legs are tangled with yours.

His arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed against the softness of your stomach, and his breath is warm against the back of your neck. Your heart skips a beat as his fingers twitch against your skin. A rush of warmth floods you, and you swallow, your cheeks flushing.

For a moment, you can't remember how you got here, and what led to this. Then, you remember. You remember the way Crosshair helped you, the way he comforted you, the way he took care of you. And now, you're lying in his bed, and he's holding you, and it feels...nice.

You should get up, and the thought crosses your mind, but it's not the one you focus on. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, enjoying the warmth of his skin, and the way his body fits against yours.

Crosshair's arm tightens around you, and he lets out a sleepy groan, pulling you closer. He nuzzles your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, not daring to move.

"Hey," he rasps, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you whisper back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

And it's the truth. You're still tired, and your muscles are sore, but you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You're not sure if it's the fact that you were able to finally get the closure you needed or if it's because of the man holding you, but you're grateful for the relief.

You shift, and Crosshair's hand rests on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. He presses against you, his chest molding against your back.

"Don't," he mumbles.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go," he says, and there's an uncharacteristic note of pleading in his voice.

You roll over to face him, and his eyes are half-lidded, his gaze heavy. He's still wrapped around you, his arm snaked around your waist. His cheeks are flushed, and his jaw is stubbled, and he's even more handsome than you remember. Your stomach flutters, and your pulse quickens.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper.

He moves his hand to your face, cupping your cheek, and the gesture is so tender, so unexpected. He runs his thumb over your skin, his eyes locked with yours. You can feel his breath, hot and quick against your lips.

"Good," he breathes.

You're not sure who moves first, but his lips are on yours, his kiss urgent, demanding. Your body responds instinctively, and you melt into him, letting him consume you.

Crosshair's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour. He's rough, and he's hungry, and the way he kisses you makes you weak in the knees. You arch into him, and his kiss grows more heated, more desperate. You part your lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

Your hands hold tight to the back of his head, pulling him closer, and he moans against your lips, his fingers digging into your skin. The sound is needy, and it sends a rush of heat through you, a shiver running down your spine. You break away, panting, and he chases your mouth, his lips ghosting over yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Crosshair murmurs.

You laugh, the sound breathless, light and airy. "I can tell."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he mutters, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Make me," you tease.

He's on top of you in a heartbeat, and his body is a delicious weight on top of yours. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in with a mischievous smirk on his lips. You can't help but smile back.

"You want to be like that, huh?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You smile sweetly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you let out a soft moan.

"What were you saying?" he says, his voice husky.

"Just that—" He bites down on your neck, and you let out a gasp, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

He kisses the spot he bit, his lips soft and tender, and his hands roam over your body. He trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, his touch leaving a burning trail in its wake.

It's overwhelming, his scent, his heat, his presence. Your senses are filled with him, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling. His lips are on your skin, his teeth scraping gently, and his hands are everywhere, exploring, mapping, memorizing. You don’t want it to stop, but it's starting to feel like too much, too fast.

"Cross," you murmur. He doesn’t respond, his lips dragging across your skin, and you try again, your voice tight. “Crosshair.”

He freezes, and his head snaps up. He looks at you, his dark eyes wide and worried. "What's wrong?"

"What are we doing?" you ask.

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"That's not what I mean."

Crosshair pulls away, and you feel a pang in your chest as you see the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks quietly.

"No, I..." Your voice trails off, and the words seem stuck in your throat. "I just... I'm not sure where this is going."

He sighs. "I don't know either."

"It's not that I don't want this," you say quickly. "I just..."

"What?"

You take a deep breath. It's a risk, admitting the feelings you've kept hidden for so long. But the desire is overwhelming, and the fear is stronger.

"Earlier, out there...I said a lot of things, some of them I didn’t mean," you begin. "I don’t want to hate you, and I don’t want you to have to work for my forgiveness. You already have it.”

You push yourself up so you're sitting, and he does the same. You both sit with your backs against the wall, the blanket pooling at your hips. He's quiet, watching you, his expression unreadable. His silence gives you courage, and you continue.

“What I want is a fresh start. What happened yesterday, it was a turning point. For both of us. I don't want to hold onto the past. I'm sick of all the anger and resentment."

"You deserve to be angry," he says quietly. "After everything I've done, you have every right."

"I am," you admit, and the words come out with a hint of a bitter laugh. “But I’m also so happy to have you back, Crosshair. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. It's not worth it, carrying the anger around. I care about you too much for that.”

He shakes his head, and his gaze drops. "I don't deserve you," he whispers. "I've done terrible things. You know that."

"It's in the past," you say, reaching out to cup his face. His stubble is rough under your fingertips, and his jaw is clenched hard underneath your hand. "You can't change it."

"I know." He sighs. The weight of the galaxy seems to settle on his shoulders, and to see it holding him down makes your chest hurt.

"I forgive you," you say, and the words are easier than you expected. "We all have. Maybe it’s time you forgive yourself too.”

Crosshair's gaze snaps up, his eyes locking with yours. There's a flash of something, and you see the way his lips tremble. His throat bobs, and he swallows. "You really mean that, don't you?"

You nod. "I do."

"How?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

You shrug. How can you explain it, the way your heart aches when he looks at you, the way his touch sets your skin on fire? How can you explain the way he makes you feel, the way you crave his attention, his approval? How can you explain the way your world feels whole again now that he's by your side?

The words don't come, and instead, you rub your thumb across his cheekbone. His breath catches, and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. When he opens his eyes, they're glassy, and there's a sheen of tears. You brush them away, your touch gentle, and he exhales.

You can't help but lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, and he leans into you, his hand finding your waist. The kiss is soft and sweet, the kind that takes your breath away, and when you pull away, you're left wanting more.

“I’m sorry I left you behind," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I should've stayed. I should've protected you."

"Cross, I left you behind. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." You take a deep breath. "I'm the one who abandoned you."

"I don't blame you for what happened." He shakes his head, and his jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He swallows hard, the sound is audible in your closeness.

You run your thumb over his cheek, and he closes his eyes, his body trembling under your touch. You pull him closer, and his head comes to rest on your shoulder. He's tense, and you can feel the way he's holding back, keeping himself from falling apart.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and the weight of it is suffocating. You've spent so long being angry, blaming him, that you never stopped to think about how he was dealing with his own feelings. How much pain has he carried since that day? How much guilt? You abandoned him, and he was alone, and there's a chance he could've been killed, and...

It's a lot. And the realization of it hits you all at once, your throat tightening, your vision blurring with tears. You've been so caught up in your own pain, in your own grief, that you didn't even stop to consider his. And the thought, the shame of it, is crushing.

Crosshair clings to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You can’t tell if you’re trembling, or if he is, or maybe it's both of you. The emotions are overwhelming, and you don't know what to do, how to comfort him, how to make it right.

All you can do is hold him, so you do. You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as possible. You rest your head against his, your cheek pressed against his temple as small tremors rack his body.

You don't say anything. You can't find the words, can't bring yourself to speak. So you stay there, holding him, giving him the time he needs.

It feels like hours before he speaks. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper.

"I should have been there," Crosshair says, and his voice cracks.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "I should have come back for you.”

He pulls away, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. There's a look on his face, a mixture of guilt and shame and regret. He shakes his head, and his fingers find your jaw, his touch feather-light. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away your tears.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, and you can feel his breath on your lips, your noses brushing.

You've missed this. The closeness, the intimacy. You've missed him.

Crosshair pulls you closer, and his lips ghost over yours, his movements hesitant, uncertain.

You've spent the last few weeks trying to bury these feelings, trying to pretend like they weren't there, and now, they're bubbling to the surface, and you can't fight them.

You don't want to.

You give in, kissing him, and his body reacts instantly. He's pressing against you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his grip almost bruising.

You let him pull you closer until your bodies are flush together. He's warm and solid, and his mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue teasing yours.

His hands are in your hair, his fingers tangled in the strands, and the kiss grows more heated, more urgent. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you moan into his mouth.

As soon as the kiss starts, it stops, and he leaves you breathless as he pulls away, gasping for air. You can't stop staring at him, the way his eyes are dark with desire, the way his pupils are blown wide.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over yours, and his voice is low, barely a whisper. “I don't deserve you."

You huff, barely stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. You're tired of hearing those words come from his mouth, and you can't stop the irritation from rising in you.

Crosshair's grip on you tightens, and his eyes are pleading. He's searching for an answer, for some sort of reassurance, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him like this, so unsure of himself.

Your irritation fades, and your anger melts away, and all you're left with is a deep ache, a longing for the man who holds your heart.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and your voice is soft, reassuring. "Yes, you do."

His expression is one of disbelief, as though he can't comprehend the idea that you would forgive him, that you would love him, that you would want him. He's always been the one to push people away, to keep his distance, and the fact that he's letting himself open up to you is a huge step. It's one you're grateful for, and you're determined to not take it for granted.

“You do, Cross," you murmur. "You deserve to be happy."

He closes his eyes, his brow furrowed. You watch him, and you can't help but wonder what's going on in his mind.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks, the words barely audible, “I don't want to hurt you again."

You smile sadly up at him. You understand the sentiment. The last year has been a constant battle, a constant struggle. It's a cycle, a vicious one, and you're tired of fighting.

The two of you have both made mistakes, and you're both haunted by them. You're both guilty, and you're both paying the price. But you're here now, together, and maybe that's all that matters.

You can't help but laugh, and it releases some of the pressure that's been building in your chest.

Crosshair's eyes snap open, and you shake your head to quell his concern, the laughter dying on your lips.

“We've spent the last year hurting each other, Crosshair. And for what? Why can't we just let go of the past, and move on?"

He hesitates, and you can see the doubt in his eyes, the fear. But you can also see the hope, the desire. He wants to move on, and he wants to be happy, and he wants it with you. The realization is a relief, and the weight on your chest is gone, the tension easing. You grin up at him, and his lips twitch, a small smile tugging at the corners.

“I think we've both suffered enough, don't you?" you murmur.

His lips part, as if he's about to say something, but the words don't come. You wait, watching him, and you can see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes.

Finally, he speaks, his voice is tentative and low. “Okay.”

"Okay," you say, and you lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away, and his gaze meets yours. He's still holding you, his grip tight, as though he's afraid you'll disappear, but the hand on your cheek is gentle.

Crosshair’s fingers run up through your hair, and his thumb brushes against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, his lips inches from yours. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time, his gaze filled with wonder.

"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head. "I'm just... I don't know how I got so lucky."

Your heart swells as much as it hurts. You’ll help him understand in time, help him see himself the way you do. But for now, you can’t help the teasing grin from forming.

"You're a real sap, you know that?"

He huffs, the sound a mix of a groan and a chuckle. "And you’re a brat.”

"Yeah," you say, a smile tugging at your lips before you press a kiss to his nose. "But you love it."

Crosshair hesitates for a moment, stiffening slightly. He clears his throat, and your heart skips a beat.

You can't tell if you've made a mistake, if you've crossed a line, but the words are out there now, and there's no taking them back. You search his expression, looking for a sign, any hint of what he's thinking.

He swallows hard, and his eyes dart away, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Yeah," he murmurs at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

He turns back to look at you and catches sight of the bright grin on your face, and his flush deepens.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, and then he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss.

You respond eagerly, and his hands slide up your body, caressing your skin. He's gentle, his touch almost reverent, and his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to commit the feel of your body to memory.

You run your fingers over his head, tugging him closer as you lie back against the pillow, and the action spurs him on. His hands explore every inch of your body, and his touch leaves a burning trail in its wake.

Crosshair breaks the kiss, his lips ghosting over your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck. His fingers trace the swell of your breasts, his touch light enough to send shivers down your spine. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you let out a gasp, your body arching into him.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your neck.

"Yes," you breathe, your voice thick with desire.

He takes a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, and his teeth graze the skin. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a quiet moan.

His fingers pinch your other nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh. Your hands grasp his shoulders, and his muscles are firm beneath your touch, his body taut with desire. You drag your nails down his back, and he groans, the sound sending a wave of heat straight to your core.

His hand moves lower, his fingers tracing a path down your abdomen, and he cups your mound, his touch gentle. He strokes your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear, his movements slow and deliberate. Your body responds instinctively, your hips bucking into his touch, pressing eagerly into his palm.

"Fuck," he growls as he feels how wet you are through the fabric of your underwear.

"Please," you whimper.

"Patience," he says, his voice thick.

His fingers slip inside underneath the waistband, and he dips a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance. You moan, your hips jerking as he ghosts over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you beg, your voice needy.

"Not yet," he murmurs.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to take my time," he says, a low growl that makes your stomach clench.

He continues his torture, and your breath catches in your throat as his fingers find your wetness, sliding up and down the length of your folds. He gently curls his fingers, watching you closely while rubbing his index pad against your entrance.

You shudder, and he presses his finger inside of you, the digit slick with your arousal. You whimper, and his free hand wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

"I'll give you what you want," he promises, his voice husky, "but first, I want to enjoy this."

"Cross," you whimper, your voice breaking.

He hushes you, and you whine. His movements are unhurried, and his thumb traces lazy circles over your clit, his touch agonizingly slow. Your breathing grows ragged, and your body is coiled tight, and the feeling is both sweet and frustrating.

You squirm, trying to increase the pressure, and he stops his movements, pulling his finger from you.

"Behave," he orders.

"I don't want to," you protest, your tone petulant.

He lets out a growl, and he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down. You help him remove the garment, and it joins the pile of clothing on the floor before he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight of you.

"Spread your legs," he commands.

You do as he says, and he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. He dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue flicks out, teasing your folds. You gasp as he licks a stripe up your wetness, his tongue exploring every inch of your sex.

He finds your clit, and his lips close around the sensitive bud, sucking and licking the small bundle of nerves. Your body writhes, and your fingers hold tight to his head, pulling him closer. His finger teases your entrance, and your breath hitches.

"Please," you whimper.

"What do you want?" he says, his voice rough.

"I want you, Cross. Please.”

He groans, and his finger enters you again, his touch firm. He crooks his finger, and he rubs the sensitive spot inside of you, his tongue lapping at your clit. The tension inside of you is building quickly, and you're teetering on the edge, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"I'm close," you breathe.

He adds a second finger, and you can feel the tremor in his hand, the strain of his muscles. He continues his assault, and your body trembles, your orgasm fast approaching. You grasp the sheets, and your body tenses, your back arching.

"Cross!" you cry out, and you come undone, the pleasure washing over you. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your clit. He continues his ministrations, his tongue and fingers drawing out your release until you're spent, and you collapse on the mattress, breathless.

You both moan as his fingers withdraw, and he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was..." you start, but the words die on your lips.

"Yeah," he agrees.

You reach up, cupping his face. He's flushed, his breathing labored, and his pupils are blown wide. The arm he’s using to hold himself up trembles at the effort.

"You're shaking," you say.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "So are you."

Crosshair shifts his weight, resting his elbow on the bed, and the movement brings his body closer. His eyes search yours, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.

"What are we doing?" he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," you say, your thumb brushing over his skin. "But I don't want it to stop."

"Neither do I."

He leans in, and his lips capture yours, his kiss hungry, desperate. You taste yourself on his tongue, and his hand roams over your body, touching and teasing every inch of your skin. You touch him back, exploring the hard planes of his muscles, and his body shudders beneath your fingertips.

He breaks the kiss, and his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"What is it?"

"I can't—" He takes a deep breath. "I can't stop thinking about all the time we wasted."

You swallow hard, and your chest aches. He's right. The last year has been hell, and the two of you have wasted so much time.

"We'll make up for it," you promise.

"I want to," he murmurs. "I need you."

His words send a thrill through you. He needs you. He wants you. You’ve waited so long to hear him say it.

"I need you too," you admit. You push yourself up and roll over, so you're on top of him, straddling his lap. You rock your hips, grinding against him, and his erection is hard and straining beneath his blacks.

He huffs a laugh as his hands come up to hold your hips. "I've wanted you for so long. I've wanted this."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You've wanted him too. And now that he's here, he's real, and he's in front of you, the feelings are almost too overwhelming.

"You have me," you whisper around the lump in your throat.

He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips are inches from yours, his eyes locked with yours. "Promise me."

"I promise." Your hand trails down to grab his, locking your little fingers together. You hold your hands up so he can see them, your mouth lifting up into a soft smile. "I pinky promise."

He snorts softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "That's a pretty serious promise."

"It's the most serious one I can make," you say solemnly.

He laughs. The sound is warm and genuine, and it lights up his entire face. Your chest aches, and it's almost too much, the way his expression changes, the way his features soften.

You're tired of holding back. Tired of being scared. You've wasted too much time already.

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands slide up your back, and he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. You melt into him, letting him consume you.

The kiss is intense and desperate. You pour everything you have into it, everything you've been holding back. Your body responds, and you press against him, your hips grinding against his erection. He groans, his body arching into yours, and the sound sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

He pulls away, his breathing ragged, and his eyes are dark with desire. His hands grip your hips, and he rolls over, pinning you beneath him. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he grinds against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his blacks.

He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit. You gasp as he circles the bundle of nerves. He's not gentle. His movements are quick and rough. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, and you buck against his hand, desperate for more.

His other hand grasps your wrist, and he pins it above your head. His grip is bruising. He continues his assault on your clit, his movements relentless.

"Come for me," he growls.

You can't hold back the moan that escapes your lips. Your body is on fire. Every nerve is alight with pleasure. The pressure builds within you, the tension coiling in your stomach. You're on the edge, teetering, and you can feel the release coming.

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

His hand leaves your wrist, and he grabs the waistband of his blacks. He pushes them down, and his erection springs free. You can't help but stare at him, at the way his body moves, the muscles rippling under his skin. His cock is hard and straining, bobbing against his stomach as he turns to kick his blacks away.

Then he’s back on top of you, your skin flush against his. He's hot and heavy against you, his body a welcome weight, and his length presses against your stomach. He grinds his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your folds.

The sensation is too much. The feeling is too good. You're on the edge again, the pressure building.

His fingers tease your folds, and he finds the wetness pooled at your entrance. He gathers the liquid on his digits, his touch featherlight, and you whimper. He pulls away, and his hand wraps around the base of his cock. He slowly pumps his length a few times, coating it with your wetness. You can’t help but watch, your mouth parting slightly.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," you breathe.

He positions the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing into you. Your walls stretch to accommodate his length, and he groans, his body shuddering.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, and when he bottoms out, his pelvis grinding against your clit, you cry out, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His hand comes up to cradle your head.

"I'm going to move," he murmurs.

"Yes," you breathe, unable to hide the relief in your voice.

He pulls out and thrusts back in. The slow drag of his cock is maddening, stoking the fire that he’d ignited. His movements are deliberate and steady, each one calculated and controlled. It’s almost too much. You want him to let go, to lose control, to ravage you.

"Harder," you beg.

"No."

You huff, frustration rising in you.

"Please."

He lifts his head to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, the black nearly eclipsing the honey-brown, and his expression is one of determination, his jaw clenched. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"I don't want to rush this," he murmurs. "I want to enjoy it."

His words are sweet and earnest, but the effect is lost in the desperation, in the need. You can't help but groan in frustration.

"I need you," you plead. "I need all of you."

His lips twitch into a smirk. "Be patient."

"You're such a tease," you complain.

"And you're impatient."

He leans forward and kisses you. His mouth is hot and insistent against yours. His tongue swipes across your lips, seeking entrance, and you grant it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and your arms wind around his shoulders.

His hand moves down to your clit, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan, and the sound is swallowed by his kiss. His movements are slow and deliberate, his touch gentle. He's taking his time, and you're not sure if you love him or hate him for it.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and his lips move down, trailing kisses across your jaw, your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, nipping at the flesh, and you cry out, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

His movements speed up, and the fire inside of you burns hotter, the pressure building. His fingers continue their ministrations, his pace unrelenting.

"Cross," you moan. "I'm so close."

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. "I know."

His mouth finds yours again. His tongue teases yours as his fingers continue their assault. Your body tenses, the release almost within reach.

When his fingers pinch your clit, your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clench around his cock, and you cry out as the pleasure floods your veins. Your body shakes with the intensity of the orgasm. It's a wave that washes over you. It's pure ecstasy.

His cock is still buried deep inside you. He’s slowed his thrusts to a gentle rocking motion, the movements soothing, allowing you to ride out your high.

When you come down, the aftershocks still coursing through you, his hips speed up. You’re so sensitive, it’s almost too much, but he feels so good, filling you, stretching you. You can't help but moan.

"Fuck," he groans. “You’re so tight.”

You can tell he's close. His thrusts are faster and deeper. He's chasing his own release. You tighten around him, trying to push him over the edge. His eyes fly open, his gaze meeting yours.

"I want you to come," you whisper.

"Not yet."

"Please."

"I'm not finished with you," he says, his voice rough.

He pulls out, and the sudden emptiness is almost painful. His fingers thrust back into you, and the pleasure is sharp and intense, the pressure building.

He fucks you with his fingers, his movements rough and quick. You moan and writhe beneath him, the sensation almost overwhelming. Your walls are still sensitive from your orgasm, and the feeling is almost too much.

"I can't," you whimper. "I'm so sensitive."

"Shhh," he hushes.

Crosshair curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't stop the scream that escapes your lips. The tension coils in your stomach. You're on the edge again. Your body is shaking.

You nearly scream as his fingers leave you, your walls clenching around nothing. He leans down and captures your mouth with his, muffling your cry. His kiss is bruising, his tongue demanding. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, and the sensation is overwhelming, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing. Your body is on fire, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

His hand slides down to cup your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh. You cry out, and he uses his grip to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. His other hand moves to his length, pumping it a few times, coating it with your wetness.

He pulls his lips away, his breathing labored, and he looks at you, his gaze filled with hunger and longing.

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whisper.

His grip on your ass tightens, and he pulls you closer. His cock teases your folds, sliding between them, and the sensation is agonizing. You whimper, the need for him growing, the need for release.

"Please," you beg.

He pushes into you, the head of his cock stretching your entrance. He feels thicker than before, his length harder. Your walls are still sensitive, but the feeling is too good. You want more. You need more.

He groans, and the sound is raw and primal. His hips buck, and his cock fills you completely, his length buried to the hilt. The pace he sets is punishing, the feeling intense.

"Cross," you gasp.

"You're so tight," he groans. "So perfect."

"You feel so good," you moan. "Fuck."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and his other hand wraps around the back of your neck. His grip is bruising, but you don't care. You like the way his hands feel on your skin.

You lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy and messy. He's lost in his own pleasure, his movements rough and uncoordinated. You can't get enough, and you moan into his mouth as he finds the right spot.

"I'm close," he rasps.

“Me too,” you manage.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you cling to him as he brings you both closer and closer to the edge. Your walls flutter around him, the tension in your stomach tightening. His movements become erratic, and his body tenses. You know he's close. You can feel the tremors running through him.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm—“

“Inside me," you moan. "Please."

The words are barely out of your mouth when he stills, his cock pulsing inside you. You can feel the hot spurts of his release filling you. The sensation is overwhelming, and you scream his name.

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, and you clench around him, your walls milking him. Your body shakes with the force of the pleasure, and your ears ring.

When the aftershocks finally subside, he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged. You can feel his heart racing. Your arms wrap around him, holding him close. You never want to let him go.

You're still trying to make sense of what just happened when Crosshair's hand comes to rest on your hip, his fingers tracing slow circles. The sensation brings you back to reality, and you open your eyes to find him staring at you, his expression filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you say, your voice hoarse. "That was..."

"Intense," he finishes, and he flashes you a crooked smile.

You laugh softly. "That's one word for it."

His smile fades, and he shifts his weight, pulling away from you. He slips out of you, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your lips. You can already feel the soreness setting in.

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. "I'll be right back."

He slides off the bed and disappears into the fresher. You roll onto your side and press your thighs together, the action doing more to soothe the ache than you'd expected. When Crosshair returns, he has a warm, wet washcloth in hand, and you can't help but smile.

"Thanks," you murmur, reaching out to take the cloth from him. He pulls his hand away.

"Let me," he says softly.

Your breath catches in your throat. He climbs back on the bed and gently pushes your legs apart. His movements are careful as he wipes the cloth over your sex. He's gentle and thorough. You can't help but feel like his touch is more intimate than anything else the two of you have done tonight.

When he's satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside. He lays down next to you, his head propped up on his hand, and his eyes are soft, filled with affection.

"Hi," you say shyly.

"Hey," he murmurs. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Your heart swells. You can't believe this is happening. It all feels like a dream. You never thought he'd ever be like this with you. You never thought you'd have the chance to be with him again.

You feel tears start to prick the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away, choosing instead to reach out and trace the contours of his face with your fingers. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, his expression relaxed.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Admiring you," you murmur. You can’t keep the affection out of your tone, and you don’t try.

Crosshair snorts, and if you weren't so close, you wouldn't have noticed the hint of redness that spreads across his cheeks. You shake your head and chuckle at the sight. He's adorable.

"You just fucked me so hard I can’t feel my legs, and now you're embarrassed by a little compliment?" you tease.

His eyes open, and he gives you a look. "I hate you," he grumbles.

You grin. "No, you don't."

"You're right," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I don't."

Crosshair pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you press your body against his, enjoying the closeness. Your hands roam over his skin, your fingers tracing the scars that litter his body. You can't help but wonder how he got each and every one of them.

His hand comes up to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"For what?"

"For letting me in. And for forgiving me.”

You swallow hard. His words are so simple, but they mean so much. You know it hasn't been easy for him. You know he's been struggling. You've seen the guilt and the pain. And despite all of that, he's here.

You lean in and press a kiss to his chest. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not—"

"I am," you say firmly.

He swallows hard and nods. It’s obvious the words are difficult for him to hear, and you can’t help but wonder the last time someone told him those words. If they ever did.

You reach up and brush your thumb against his cheek. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

His lips part, and his eyes search yours. He looks overwhelmed, his emotions written plainly on his face.

"I'm starting to," he murmurs. "But I—"

"I love you," you blurt out. "And not just because of this. I've loved you for so long. And I've wanted this for so long."

He blinks at you, his eyes widening slightly. Your heart leaps to your throat.

"Sorry," you apologize sheepishly. "Too much?"

He shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath. "No," he says softly. "It's not."

"Oh," you say.

He leans forward and kisses you, his lips soft and gentle. Your body relaxes, the tension seeping out of you. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too," Crosshair whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "So much."

He takes a deep breath and leans back against the pillow, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the bunk above you. "I…had a lot of time to think about things while I was…away. And I realized a lot of things. About myself. About us. I realized that I didn't know what I had until it was gone."

You watch him. His jaw is tense. His brow is furrowed. He's still struggling with his emotions.

"Cross," you murmur.

"I'm not good with words," he admits.

"It's okay," you say.

He takes a deep breath. "I missed you," he says. "I missed everything about you. And I regretted so many things. I thought about what we could have had if I had let myself have it. And I... I don't want to waste any more time."

You can't help the tears that roll down your cheeks. He's so sincere, and his words are so heartfelt. It's overwhelming. You lean in and kiss him, pouring every bit of emotion into the kiss. You want him to know just how much you care. How much he means to you.

"I'm glad we didn't waste any more time," you say.

"Me too.” He clears his throat, his gaze searching yours. “I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," you say slowly, hesitantly.

Crosshair shifts underneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbow, watching him curiously. He sits up, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch gentle. "I'm... not really sure how to do this."

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and your heartbeat quickens. "Just ask.”

"I was wondering," he says, his voice soft. "If you wanted to make this, us, official."

He takes a deep breath, and you can feel his nerves, his anxiety. You stare at him, stunned to silence. You're not sure how to respond. You hadn't expected this, not yet at least. Maybe not ever. You never really allowed yourself to hope.

"I know it's complicated, and I know it's going to be hard. But I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, and his eyes snap to yours.

He blinks at you. "What?"

"Yes," you say again. "I would love that."

"Really?"

You laugh softly. "Did you think I'd say no?"

You can't keep the amusement out of your tone. His nervousness is so endearing. You never thought you'd get to see him like this.

"No, I just…huh,” he breathes. His brow furrows, his expression thoughtful.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting you to agree so quickly.” Crosshair smirks, his gaze meeting yours. "I was ready to make a case. Give you some time to think it over."

His hand moves from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, and his eyebrows lift. "You must really like me."

“Shut up.” You huff and roll your eyes. "I love you, you asshole.”

"I love you too," he says, his voice is warm, and his words are sincere. You lean in and kiss him, your hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him close. You can't get enough of him. You're not sure if you ever will.

When you finally break apart, he lets out a contented sigh and pulls you back down, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, and his expression softens.

"I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that I'll always be there for you. No matter what happens. Even if things go to shit, even if we get separated. Even if...”

He swallows and looks away, his expression darkening. You know what he's thinking, what he's trying not to say.

"Cross," you murmur. "I'm not going anywhere." You cup his face, your gaze meeting his. "And neither are you."

He nods, and his mouth lifts up into a soft smile. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

"That's a lot of promises," you tease.

He huffs. "Yeah, well, I'm full of them lately."

You press another kiss to his lips, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence. He pulls you closer, his grip tightening. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a deep, contented sigh. “Now let’s go back to sleep. You wore me out."

You chuckle and close your eyes, nestling your head against Crosshair's chest. The sound of his heartbeat is soothing, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is calming.

You never imagined this would happen, but here you are, wrapped up in his arms. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

You feel safe, and you feel loved. And as sleep pulls you under, you realize that this is exactly where you belong. You're home.

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@arctrooper69 @heidnspeak @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @cw80831

@lovelytech9902 @etod @lordofthenerds97 @umekohiganbana @chocolatewastelandtriumph

@frozenreptile @somewhere-on-kamino @lightwise @dontyoufeelitangel @hobbititties

@studio--celeste @winchesters-girl @tentakelspektakel @aynavaano @tech-aficionado

@dindjarins1ut @resistantecho

#tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch crosshair #clone x reader #the bad batch x reader #roy writes #it’s finally done!#I rewrote the smut 3 times #but I think I like this one best #even though there's a lot of talking lol

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whoistartaglia · 1 year

Note

not necessarily a request but in response to your “i’ll save you a seat” post, i’d like to imagine scenerios where you (reader) gets to the door before xiao and open it and he just—malfuctions—error error!! and he silently closes the door infront of you only to open it again for you!! maybe this even turns into some strange competition where you and xiao fight to open the door for one another lol (xiao will always win because he just closes the door again and then opens it)

ANON DKSOEMLSLS I DIDNT EVEN THINK OF THIS BUT HE TOTALLY WOULD

spiritual successor to this (i suggest reading first)

as for the rest of them…

wanderer puts his hand over the edge of the table only to accidentally smack you in the head. hey, it’s not his fault! at least, that’s what he tells you when you’re rubbing the welt on your forehead. you bent down so suddently that he had no choice to move quickly. should you mention that he probably did more harm than the table, he’ll grumble that he would have picked whatever you dropped up for you.

diluc double flips over your pillow. you left to get up, he flipped it over as a sleeping diluc does and then he does it. again. maybe he was extra tired or thought you got up again. to be honest, you didn’t really know of this habit of his until the mistake. you come back to a warm pillow and snoring diluc, and turn it over yourself. this may or not may wake up diluc, and he may or may not flip it over onto the warm side yet again.

kaveh reminds you if you have everything but he should honestly save a reminder for himself. once or twice or three times he’s left the house without his keys, his work, his shoes (that was a strange occasion and he still didn’t realize for a solid ten minutes). you’ll have everything you need to get through the day, but kaveh will have to make a pit stop back at the house to pick up his own forgotten items.

childe makes you too many snacks at once. when he brought over the first one, you thanked him with a genuine smile. the second time, you still had some of the first snack left, but thanked him anyways. the third time you got a little concerned; the fourth… well, you at least finished the first snack by now. you have to tell him that it’s okay! you don’t need a fifth right now! (he already has it ready to go—you’ll find him eating it alone in the kitchen).

zhongli goes into debt. listen, he’s still getting used to this whole mortal thing, and honestly, not having access to infinite mora definitely blows. he’ll find some gift he absolutely must buy for you only to realize he has only one golden coin left on him. later that night, he’ll still give you that gift, and if his smile looks somewhat strained, it’s because he had to get a certain someone to pay for it.

kaeya’s brain kind of short stops when he sees you get to the tavern before him. oh, you’re already sitting down, look at that. that’s fine and all, he wants to be the one to save you a seat. so you’ll look over when kaeya still hasn’t joined you and find him sitting at another table alone. that’s strange, what’s he doing there? you walk over to him and he pulls out the chair for you, and so your seat for the night as once again been saved.

alhaitham will get annoyed if you fall asleep during a good part of the story. like, yeah, that’s point of him reading to you but, really, did you have to fall asleep during the best part? he has two options: gently shake you awake to finish the chapter, or let you sleep like intended. his choice will depend on what book he’s reading, but if he wakes you because it’s a research paper and you just got to the oh-so important findings, feel free to take the paper of his hands, drop it on the floor, and go back to sleep. he can continue in the morning.

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sukunarii · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader Warning: (Spoiler from chapter 216!)

Synopsis: (Name) was kidnapped by Yorozu

A/N: It's been a while oops, but I was suddenly inspired to write this fanfic after rereading all the Sukuna scenes. Everything that Sukuna has done lately in the manga and Shibuya in anime coming soon too, no words can express how happy I am 😍😍

“Oh dear, you’ve switched skins? Why don’t you change your face back?”

Sukuna was unamused and ignored her, “Yorozu, where is (Name)?”

“How cruel Sukuna, you’re finally reunited with your future wife after a thousand years and you’re asking about another girl?”, Yorozu taunts back but clearly bitter by the King of Curses’s reaction.

Sukuna was starting to grow impatient, he has no interest in Yorozu’s antics and without a warning, he attacks Yorozu. With his incredible speed, he appears right before her in a split second and lands a solid kick on her torso which sends her flying backwards but she manages to stay on her feet.

“What do you want, Yorozu”, he calls out to her.

Yorozu appears barely affected by the kick and sticks her tongue out, “Bleh, You know what I want. I want to be the one who kills you and I want you to be the one who kills me. This is true love. And if you’re alive after I win, you will let me be your wife.”

“Whatever you want,” Sukuna says, “If I lose that means I am dead and didn’t protect (Name). If that happens it doesn’t matter what you do with a corpse.”

“I heard you say it!” Yorozu’s lips twitches up in an evil smile, “I’ll be your true wife, you will marry me then I will dispose of that annoying girl, maybe cut her up bit by bit and make her unrecognizable later.”

“Later? Do you really think you’ll still be around?”, Sukuna says, rage clearly in his eyes. No one talks about his (Name) like this, especially not to his face. But the King of Curses keeps his composure and despite his anger, a smirk finds its way on his face. Sukuna bends down and makes the hand sign of a dog “Divine dog” he summons.

From the shadows, the shape of multiple dogs takes form and charges towards Yorozu. Yorozu dodges them and tries to counterattack Sukuna but her attack fails to reach him.

“What is this?” Yorozu shouts with anger, “This isn’t your cursed technique! You think you can beat me without Malevolent Shrine?”

“No I won’t use that. I won’t need it,” Sukuna replies.

Yorozu was pissed, “Fine. I will give you (Name).”

Yorozu effortlessly jumps up to the top of a light pole to distance herself from Sukuna. She pulls out a cube from her robe and makes the hand signs to unseal it. Suddenly the cube emits a shadow and (Name) appears. Yorozu holds (Name) by her neck, hanging her mid air and her feet frantically kicks trying to get herself free, “Still not going to use Shrine?”, Yorozu calls out to Sukuna while her grip on (Name)’s neck tightens.

In a quick motion, Sukuna lunges towards Yorozu and punches her but Yorozu jumps off from the light pole while hands still gripping (Name). However, she notices that Sukuna has already summoned Round Deer which is waiting to attack Yorozu from the ground. Swiftly she let’s go of (Name), and the girl screams as she falls. Yorozu sends a wave of attack, aiming it to where (Name) will land to ensure that the girl will be finished.

(Name) closes her eyes, readying herself for the fall but instead, she falls into a warm and familiar embrace.

“(Name), I’m sorry I was late,” Sukuna says.

(Name) opens her eyes to see that she is safe in Sukuna’s arms. However, it seems that the last attack Yorozu sent hit Sukuna as there’s a deep wound on his shoulder, he used himself to shield (Name). But Sukuna was not concerned by it at all.

“You have a cut on your beautiful face,” he says while looking at (Name) and he passes his hands over the cut and uses reverse curse technique to easily heal it up.

“Sukuna, I’m sorry I was careless,” (Name) starts.

“Shhh,” Sukuna shushes her, “Let’s go home.”

Behind them, Yorozu interrupts the couple, clearly jealous, “Where do you think you’re going Sukuna? This fight isn’t over yet. I am going to be your wife, I am going to be the one who will show you what love is. Who is she to you anyways?”

Sukuna doesn’t bother turning back to look at Yorozu. His eyes are fixed on (Name) in his arms, “She is my queen.”

“Haa?”, Yorozu calls out, pissed, “I’m gonna fucking kill her then kill you, I won't allow any mistresses in this marriage,” Yorozu shouts as she charges at them.

Sukuna doesn't seem to care. His attention is already removed from Yorozu. With (Name) still his arms, she is the only person in his world. He has no interest in giving any more of his time to Yorozu.

Sukuna, mumbles, “With this treasure, I summon…”

Mahoraga appears from the shadows and towers in front of Yorozu. "You're gonna use this to finish me off? How dare you Sukuna!" Yorozu shouts at him as she engages in battle with the Shikigami but she is no match for Mahoraga's powers. She screams and pleads while getting defeated by Mahoraga but it all fell to deaf ears.

(Name) still in Sukuna's arms, quietly says “You don't have to carry me Sukuna, I can still walk.”

“My queen should rest,” Sukuna replies and gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, “I’m never letting you go.”

Being the King of Curses, Sukuna has attracted a lot of admirers. But he was indifferent to all of them. The only person he cares about other than himself is (Name), his queen.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #im a little rusty ngl

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whisper-in-the-night · 2 months

Text

Undesirable

Plot: Thomas is omega who will never find his true mate. Or no?

Warnings: omegavers; deviation from the canon; omega!Thomas Hewitt, alpha!male!reader / Y/N; mention of murdering, cannibalism, blood, little angst.

Note: hey everyone. I finally finished this chapter :) Thanks for reading this, don't forget to eat properly and drink water, love ya

•••

Part 4 || Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

After a while, you got along quite well with this unusual family. At first it was a little difficult, they had their own rules in household management and home life, but you quickly adapted to this and began to help. It was good for the family that another strong man appeared in the house, which greatly facilitated Thomas's life.

Besides, you were still working. Early in the morning you left for another city, and in the evening you returned, even brought groceries with you, for which Luda was immensely grateful to you, considering that her shop did not pay off much. The meat in this family really bothered you, because you had never eaten such a slightly bitter and tough meat, but you put it down to unsuitable storage conditions, after all, it was always hot during the day, and even the darkened cabinets did not create cold meat. You offered your family to buy meat as well, but no one supported your idea. It's probably a matter of habit.

And yet, you decided to try cooking with this meat. One evening, you made something like a quick marinade for meat from apples and garlic that you bought earlier after work, and left the meat like that until the next dinner. In the evening, you used your favorite seasonings and cooked a very tasty soup. It was the easiest and fastest dish, and you knew how to cook it well. And the whole family really liked your culinary skills. Especially for Hoyt, who is tired of eating solid hard meat and small potatoes in broth. The meat has softened a little, and the apples have removed this strange bitterness. In general, you have found a solution to the problem, for the most part. Luda also appreciated that there was another person in the family who could literally feed the family, so now it was your unspoken duty. And you were only there once to help this tired woman.

You've become very close to Thomas. He turned out to be a very nice and kind person. Just a giant with a kind heart. Something about him made your heart beat faster every time. Maybe it's his skillful hands, able to sew various little things, if necessary. Or maybe it's his strength: this man is able to lift you up in the blink of an eye with one hand and not even sweat. Although he was mute, you were still able to find a language of communication. Body language, head shaking, or facial expressions on the exposed part of his face. You mentally cursed yourself for giving up extracurricular sign language lessons at a young age. And yet, little by little, Thomas taught you sign language himself, which made communication much easier. Other family members wondered how you could understand each other so easily. It made you very angry when Hoyt treated Tommy like some dumb dog. On days like these, Thomas would come to your bedroom late at night, he knew you were still awake. Already clean after a hard day (you taught him the basics of hygiene, it just didn't make sense for the guy to follow them very much before), he lay his head on your lap, and you gently fingered his dark wet stripes. You could have sworn Thomas was making a little purr. There was a slight sweet scent of peaches in the room, which you liked so much now. Who would have thought that this big guy was an omega? You thanked yourself for your foresight and for having drunk your dose of suppressants earlier in the day. This man was too cute. He even started you.. Do you like it? Maybe. Before that, you weren't particularly attracted to representatives of both the opposite and your own sex. As a child, when you were still in elementary school, relatives often asked if you liked any 'bride', pointing to pictures of girls in a shared photo. You just shrugged your shoulders. Were you wrong? Is it bad that you don't like anyone? Then why did your heart yearn tenderly at the sight of this big boy?

Thomas wandered absently up the stairs, loosening the ropes of his work apron along the way. He was tired. All those screams and screams of the victims, and then Hoyt's complaints about his sluggishness and slowness. The man hastily took a shower and changed his work clothes for more comfortable ones: a loose short-sleeve shirt and light sleeping shorts. His feet were already automatically leading him to the cherished room. The click of a door handle and the creak of an old door. He climbed onto your lap and let out a relaxed sigh. My head was buzzing with unpleasant thoughts. All he wanted was to melt into your arms. Your hips were soft and comfortable, his personal pillow to rest on. Your gentle, strong fingers immediately found their way to his hair, massaging his skin. His hair was a little unpleasantly tangled, and small drops of water dripping from his dark hair soaked the fabric of your clothes. But you didn't seem to mind. You were humming softly to yourself, and it caused Thomas a strange pleasure in his chest. No one had ever been so kind to him. But that will surely change if you see his real face under the mask, won't it? This is only a temporary pleasure and peace of mind, when you see his real one, you will definitely want to leave him. Closing his eyes, Tommy instinctively leaned towards your touch, relaxing with his eyes closed. It was good. You're so gentle and caring. You always meet him with a warm dinner after work, bring him sweets, give him a massage and comb his hair. Thomas liked it, very much. You were so good, like he.. liked you.

When you finished helping Luda with cooking dinner, you wiped your hands with a towel, listening to the sounds in the house. Hoyt and Monty went somewhere not so long ago, before handing out 'tasks' to all the remaining household members. You smiled while watching Luda work. In the last three weeks, she's become like a real mother to you.

"Mom, where's Thomas?" You asked with a slight smile. You liked to address her that way, and the woman herself didn't seem to mind, on the contrary, she was glad to have another child in her house.

"Tommy is sorting things out in the barn, dear. Go and tell him that dinner is coming soon, okay?"

You nodded curtly and left the house. The sun was baking, shining unpleasantly into my eyes. Beads of sweat instantly appeared on your forehead, which you hastened to remove with the back of your hand. It's been even hotter than usual lately. Although the nights were cool. And yet, this did not cancel out the heat of the day, which burned the lungs unpleasantly.

The wooden door of the barn creaked open, unpleasantly jarring to the ear. It was dusty and hot inside. There was dust and old hay everywhere, in some places you could see old parts from disassembled cars, and somewhere there were children's things, as you assumed, that belonged to Thomas.

The man was standing almost in the middle of the barn and sorting out old boxes. His dark hair was tied carelessly in a ponytail, and his shirt had been taken off and was lying on one of the old shelves, so now you had a view of Tommy's muscular chest and his beautiful ass. Strong muscles flexed beautifully under his tanned skin with every movement.

You slowly approached the man from behind, putting your hand on his hip, and pulled him towards you, attracting attention. Your nose is filled with the smell of sweat mixed with a little dust and the already favorite peach sensation on your lips. Your mouth curled into a grin when Thomas turned in your direction.

"Hey, handsome," you said softly, enticing Thomas's lips into a wet, clumsy kiss. It was hard to kiss his bitten lips through the mask, but you didn't complain. After a couple of minutes, the man let out a light sigh and closed his eyes, awkwardly responding to the kiss. You've already kissed a few times, but he still didn't do very well. Thomas's hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he turned around in your arms. He backed away and sat down on one of the boxes, pulling you onto his lap. This guy was too fond of using his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his damp, night-black hair. Finally breaking away from the sweet lips of your lover, you smiled. "Mom asked me to said to you that dinner is ready, y'know." Thomas muttered something indistinctly, but nodded, squeezing your hips in his hands. You could have sworn that something big was pressed against your body.

•••

And yet, you had a strange feeling. On the first day of your arrival here, you were going to go back to Luda's store to take that boy and his friends to the city they needed, but Hoyt immediately stopped you, saying that when he returned home, no guys were there. It seemed strange to you, because there was hardly frequent transport in this place. Although, perhaps some friend picked them up?

Sometimes you heard strange sounds, it seems, from the basement. It's like a dog whining or even gnashing. You tried not to make a big deal out of it, but the sound was getting too intrusive. It got on your nerves.

Nothing bad will happen if you just check on the poor animal, right?

The night was quite bright, the full moon shone brightly in the starry sky, reflecting on the screen of your phone. In only pajama pants and a light shirt, you slowly descended to the first floor, trying not to wake anyone from home. The floor creaked unpleasantly underfoot, but no one in the house seemed to hear it. Your hand was on the cold cellar door. A high-pitched squeak filled your ears, causing your body to shrink in slight fear. Goosebumps ran down my spine. You shone your flashlight on the stone steps, which were flooded with water for a couple of inches.

Step.

Plop.

Your feet touched the cold water, and you let out a soft sigh. It wasn't so hot at night to enjoy this coolness. You slowly picked up the phone, shining your flashlight on the walls. The basement was damp and dirty, smelled of dust and the acrid smell of metal. The light from your phone was slowly sliding along the stone walls. There were a lot of tools, meat hooks and other things.

A chill ran down your spine.

You pointed the flashlight at the center of the room, and your stomach clenched. On a table in the center of the basement lay something that looked like a man. An almost gnawed skeleton without a pair of limbs and with a bald spot in some places on the head. Long dirty hair was lying on the table, and the body was covered with dirt, blood and something else. The eyes were missing, as were the internal organs under the ribs. It was.. creepy.

Clang.

You jumped slightly, pointing the flashlight in the opposite direction from the table. God. There, against the wall, in a pile of boxes.. the boy you were driving was sitting there. His face was disfigured and his jaw was visibly broken. His leg was amputated to the knee, and there were strange stitches on the side. He looked very pale and weak, scared. His broken mouth made whining noises, but it seemed that he had already resigned himself to his fate.

You slowly stepped back. Your gaze darted between the poor half-dead boy and the body on the table. There wasn't so much meat, it looked like they were being eate-

Your stomach clenched painfully, and your throat burned. Your entire dinner immediately ended up on one of the stone steps. Suddenly it became so difficult and painful to breathe, it seemed that your heart was tearing in your chest. It hurts, it hurts so much, like it's beating in your head. Panic has gripped your mind. Did you live in a cannibal house?

Your movements were fast. You ran out of the basement without even bothering to close the door behind you, and grabbed your car keys from the housekeeper in the hallway. The front door slammed hard, and you could hear the grumbling in the house. The lights started to turn on immediately. You quickly reached the car, inserting the key into the ignition with shaking hands. My eyes burned, but there were no tears. It seemed like a primal fear for your own life filled your body, wanting every breath to be very painful.

Finally, the car started up, and you jerked the steering wheel sharply, pulling out to the road.

You drove as fast as you could. The heart was beating wildly in your chest, forcing you to turn around so that there would be no pursuers behind you. You would have been eaten too, wouldn't you? Where should you go now? Home? Police? You gripped the steering wheel harder, trying to bring yourself to your senses. God...

•••

"Fuck, I knew that! I knew that this boy was just like them! What should we do now? He's gonna tell the cops!" Hoyt screamed, clutching his gray hair with his fingers.

Thomas stared absently after the departing car. Hoyt was growling menacingly behind him, but the man didn't care. He was.. sadly. Painfully. My heart screamed unpleasantly, watching you drive away without even telling him yet. Did he do something wrong? Or did you know that boy? Did you love that boy? His heart ached uncomfortably at the very thought of it. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails leaving red crescents on his palms.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt x male reader #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #slashers x male reader #slashers x you #slasher x you #slasher x reader #thomas brown hewitt imagine #thomas hewitt imagine

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skbeaumont · 5 months

Text

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader Series

Chapter 3 - Coffee and Confessions

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job. Later, things heat up when Joel drops round to pick up Sarah. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot, a lot of sexual tension in this chapter. Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @mysterialee @amyispxnk

You wake late the next morning, head filled with half-remembered dreams about warm arms and a solid, broad chest. The mid-morning sun is already streaming through the bedroom curtains, and you can hear Connie downstairs, pots and pans clashing together as she finishes making breakfast.

You’re halfway down the stairs when she appears at the bottom, clutching a torn-out sheet of note paper which she holds out to you.

“I know you mentioned you’d like to get a part time job,” she says as you reach the bottom step, “so I called around a few places. There’s a coffee shop in town who are looking for new staff. This is the number, if you’re interested.”

She hands you the paper and beckons you into the kitchen, where there are fresh eggs and toast and a stack of steaming hot pancakes. You load up your plate with food and slide onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Connie whistles as she starts washing the dishes. You’re halfway through your breakfast when she turns back to you and wags a finger as though she’s just remembered something.

“The Cuthberts are having a barbeque this weekend, for the neighbourhood,” she says, “they live a few houses down. You’re invited, of course.”

“Sounds good,” You say, immediately wondering if Joel will be there.

“They’ve got a pool, so make sure you’ve got some swimwear.” Connie adds, and, like a teenager with a crush, you can’t help the blush that settles in your cheeks at the thought of Joel in swimwear, wet hair swept back off his forehead and curling at his ears.

Trying to distract yourself, you examine the number for the café Connie gave you. The job sounds good, so when you’ve finished your breakfast, you pull out your phone and call them.

*****

Three hours later and you’re hopping off a bus in Cedar Park, trying to remember the directions Connie gave you. You find your way, eventually; the coffee shop is a couple of blocks from the bus stop. It’s a pretty nice area, sun-bleached grass lining the wide streets made up of modern shops and restaurants opposite a community college. Inside, welcomed by the dark wood floor and familiar smell of coffee, you feel instantly at home; you’ve done barista work before back in England, in between classes and during the summer.

“Aha,” a woman behind the counter says as you introduce yourself, “fresh meat.”

She’s attractive; mid-forties, maybe, with thick blonde hair tied up in a spotless bun and a pristinely made-up face. A badge on her polo shirt tells you she’s Gina, the manager. She hands you an apron and tells you to make her a coffee. A younger girl – probably twenty, twenty-one, with a name badge that says ‘Diana’ in bubble writing – gives you a grin and offers to help.

And so the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of grinding and brewing and steaming. The café is busy throughout the day thanks to its prime position opposite the community college. You get to meet an array of students and professors, and although you feel a pang of envy as you watch younger, fresh-faced students settle themselves at tables to sit and write papers, you enjoy the routine and hum of the barista work.

You’re just finishing up when the bell above the door tinkles. Gina’s voice immediately greets the newcomer, and you almost splutter at the sudden enthusiasm lacing every one of her words, the slightly over-the-top, sickly sweet quality that has entered her previously no-nonsense tone. Curious about who is causing your new manager to turn into a simpering dolt, you look up.

It’s Joel, of course.

Joel, in his toolbelt and faded jeans and tight t-shirt. His hair is slicked back with sweat, and there are flecks of plaster on his tanned skin and splatted down his toned arms. Your heart stutters – actually stutters – as though this is a cheap cheesy romcom and he’s the romantic lead. Gina’s batting her eyelashes at him and he’s grinning lopsidedly at her, all southern charm and polite gentleman. Diana shoots you a look from where she’s cleaning tables in the corner, grinning.

Joel doesn’t see you immediately – you’re mostly hidden from his view by the coffee machine you’d been cleaning when he came in – but jealously rises up in your chest when he laughs at something Gina says, at the way he leans against the counter to talk to her, knee popped out, one hand resting on the top of his toolbelt. It’s maddeningly attractive – he’s maddeningly attractive – and you think of how he looked standing so close to you yesterday, the way the heat of his body rolled off him and his scent: wood chippings and soap and something uniquely him.

Finally, Gina stops flirting for long enough to take his order, and his eyes flick up as she passes the receipt with the coffee order to you (americano, no cream). You step out from behind the machine, smiling at him politely, and he does something of a double take.

“Hey.” You say as you crank ground coffee into the filter basket.

“Hi.” He gives you a smile – warmer than the one he offered Gina, you think smugly – and asks, “what’re you doin’ here?”

You point at the apron you’re wearing, at the handwritten name tag, “As of about three hours ago, I work here.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

It’s almost criminal how he can make such a simple, inoffensive question sound so intimate, so flirtatious.

“It picked up significantly in the last few minutes,” You say, holding his warm gaze and biting the side of your mouth to suppress a grin.

He flushes a little, caught off guard, and you push on, not wanting to leave the sentence hanging awkwardly between you, aware of Gina’s presence a few feet away, “How about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

He points vaguely behind him to where the community college is, “’m working on a project across the road at the moment. Big expansion.”

You try to eke out making the coffee for as long as you can, taking care to clean the filter after each shot fills the cup, keeping your eyes on Joel as he explains about the job. He’s easy to talk to. He asks how you’re finding the job, if you’ve done barista work before, and when you answer he really listens, leans in and keeps his eyes right on yours, like you’re the only person in the world who’s interesting. It’s dizzying and electrifying. The fact that Gina is hovering in the background – clearly keen to butt in and join the conversation but not getting a chance as Joel asks you question after question – makes it all the more intoxicating.

After several minutes you push the finished coffee across the counter to him. He wraps a hand around it, his thick fingers and large palm making the cup look tiny.

“Thanks, darlin’” He says, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “I’d better head back, but I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” You say, then, remembering, ask, “oh – are you going to the Cuthbert’s barbeque this weekend?”

“S’long as I can get this plastering finished by Friday.” He replies, and then he’s taking long strides away from you, pushing the door open and stepping through it.

Immediately, Gina is all over you.

“You know him?” She asks, sidling up to you and leaning on the counter conspiratorially.

“He lives next door,” You explain, wiping down the coffee machine absentmindedly, still watching Joel’s broad back as he jogs across the road back towards the college.

“You lucky thing!” Gina exclaims. “He’s been coming in regularly the last couple of weeks, but I’ve never managed to get his name. Or his number.” She gives you an over-the-top wink with this last and you force a polite smile, wiping the milk steamer perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“Can we agree,” Diana says later that evening, as you both wind your way to the bus stop from the café, “that Gina is gagging for it.”

You laugh and Diana bumps against your shoulder, her own laugh high and clear against the hum of the traffic. It feels nice to be hanging out with someone who’s not related to you or thirteen years old or the object of an intense crush. And Diana is quick to laugh and easy to talk to. Her company makes the homesickness for your friends dull a little.

“No but seriously,” she says as you reach the bus stop, “I’m gay and even I can tell that Joel guy is hot. You sleeping with him?”

“What? No.” A pause as Diana raises a single eyebrow at you, and then you add, “I mean, I want to, but I haven’t. As of yet.”

This sends you both into another round of giggles as you flop down onto a bench.

“You think he’s into you too?” Diana asks when you’ve got your breath back.

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell. A couple of times I’ve thought he’s flirting with me, but then I’ll say something back or he realises what’s happening and it’s like he… panics.”

You tell her about last night, about how he looked at you in the half-light of the living room doorway, about the way he suddenly backed off but then sent a text asking you to come back again next week.

Diana shrugs, “Maybe he’s just shy?” “Yeah, maybe.” You let your gaze drift to the row of shops opposite the bus stop, think about Joel’s face earlier when you told him he’d made your day better, about the blush that coloured his tanned face.

“You know what you’ve got to do, right?” Diana says then, her blue hair almost purple in the fading sunlight.

You roll your eyes, grin, ask, “What?”

“Well, if he turns up at this barbeque you mentioned in the café, you’re gonna have to flirt your ass off.”

“Oh, God.”

Diana cackles as the bus pulls up, and you bury your face in your hands.

*****

Joel works late the next two nights. You know because Sarah comes round both evenings and leaves only when his work truck pulls up onto their drive, at gone nine both Thursday and Friday. You help her out with maths homework, show her how to do differential equations without having to resort to tears, which proves popular.

“Usually,” she declares on Friday, as you sit at the kitchen bench while Danny feeds Nana in the lounge and Connie takes the trash out, “it’s very boring here. But since you came, it’s about a million times better. Even with the math.”

“Especially with the maths.” You reply, grinning, and she rolls her eyes.

Connie bustles back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I think your daddy’s home, Sarah.” She says as she comes in.

There’s a tap on the front door as she says it. You rise from the bench, brush cookie crumbs from your jeans and make your way down the hall. The silhouette framed by the glass of the door is broad and tall, and your stomach does a strange little jolt as you step towards it.

Joel’s face is drawn when you open the door, the bags under his eyes accentuated by the porch lights, the lines on his tanned forehead deep. He’s in his work clothes, as usual. The tool belt is off, though, which is strangely a disappointment.

“Hey,” you say grinning, and he smiles back, his tired eyes creasing at the corners.

“Hi, darlin’. Is my kid here, by any chance?”

“She is indeed. She’s just packing up her things.”

He nods, and you take in the sag in his shoulders, the yawn that suddenly stretches his mouth.

“You’re working too hard.” You say, and he chuckles.

“Been tryna finish this plastering, because someone wants me to go to a barbeque.” He quips, grinning, and you feel yourself blushing.

“Did you finish it?”

He holds his hands out to his sides, lets you take in the beige splodges that cover his jeans, the dust that coats his t-shirt, the caked soles of his large work boots.

“Reckon most of it’s on me, but there’s enough on the walls to do the job too.”

“I assume you’ll be wearing this outfit tomorrow, too?” You say, laughing as he tries and fails to brush off a particularly well-dried patch of plaster from the leg of his jeans.

“Oh, ‘course.”

Sarah appears at your side, Connie behind her. She tucks an arm around your waist and you slip yours over her shoulder.

“We did differential equations.” She says proudly, and Joel smiles at her.

“Might as well have done Greek for all that means to me, baby girl.” He says, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh, your lawn mower’s in the garage, Joel.” Connie says, as Sarah hops out of the front door and starts down the porch steps. “I wouldn’t ask you to move it now, only Danny wants the space for the beer cooler for tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Joel says, “I’ll get it. Sarah, go on home and open the garage up.” He tosses her a bunch of keys.

“I can open up our garage,” You offer, taking the keys from Connie as she scrabbles to change her slippers, gripping the door handle and wobbling precariously.

“Thank you, dear.” She says, sighing and straightening up.

Outside, you press the key into the garage door and let it swing open. Joel stands by, grabs the top of the door as it swings open, lets it gently rise the last couple of inches. The movement pulls the top of his shirt up, revealing his stomach, the dark hairs the trace a path down below the waistband of his jeans. You swallow, avert your eyes a few seconds too late, straight up into his face. He’s smiling cockily, hand still up on the open garage door.

“Concentrate, darlin’,” He says, and the Southern drawl of it goes straight to you core, has you pressing your thighs together, heat building in your belly.

“I think the mower is just over- ugh, what the fuck!” You bat at the cobweb that you’ve just walked straight into, spluttering and clawing at it, dragging it off of your face.

Joel lurches forward in a split second, panicked by your outburst, then, realising what’s happened, falls back and starts laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” You say, pulling long silky threads from your face. “It’s all over me!”

“Here,” Joel steps toward you again, raises a hand, brushes a single fingertip over your forehead, pulling one of the web’s tendrils away from your skin.

“Thanks,” You say, suddenly stilling, letting your own hands fall, leaning into his touch.

“There’s some in your hair.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches up, threads a hand into the front of you hair and combs through it. He’s so gentle it almost makes you whimper, his fingertips just brushing your scalp, side of his thumb barely tracing the side of your jaw, down to your neck. You feel goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hand. He’s looking at you – at your hair, his eyes wide and serious, mouth slightly open. You watch his arm, watch the muscles shift in his bicep as he moves his hand back through your hair, pulling the last of the cobweb out. He slows as he reaches the ends, lets his little finger glide almost imperceptibly under your chin, lifting your face delicately so that you’re looking right at him.

His pupils are blown wide in the dim light of the garage, that same look on his face as he had in the doorway of the lounge a few nights ago. He moves his hand from your face, hesitates, closes it into a fist by your shoulder and then sighs, a resigned, drawn out sigh. Before you can speak he’s pushing his hand back into your hair, caressing your jaw, drawing your face up, towards his lips, which are parted slightly, plump and beautiful. You’re inches from him, your breath mingling, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he leans down to meet you in the middle.

“Dad?”

You spring apart at the sudden sound of Sarah’s voice. You’re both flustered; Joel’s cheeks are ruddy and you can feel your own burning scarlet.

“Coming, we’re coming.” He says, turning from you to Sarah, who steps round the driveway into the entrance of the garage.

Joel steps past you to the mower, lifts it up easily in one arm and carries it back towards his daughter. He turns as he reaches her, looks you up and down in a way that makes you suddenly hot all over, his eyes sparkling with something deliciously dark.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He says, and then he’s gone again, and you’re left alone with a thumping heart and a deep, unsatiated hunger.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #AU!no outbreak #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic

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whynot-tryit · 1 year

Text

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

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“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.”

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.”

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Fine. You pick ‘em.”

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity.

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly.

First up was Kyle Garrick.

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top.

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind.

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm.

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone.

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?”

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?”

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation.

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be..

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?”

Shit, you’re good.

---------------------

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you.

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you.

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.”

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.”

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.”

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.”

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile.

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far.

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.”

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.”

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms.

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?”

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

“I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it.

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.”

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man.

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow.

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side.

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here.

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his.

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears.

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot.

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit.

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone.

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.”

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter.

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.”

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so.

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin.

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.”

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain.

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?”

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

“Cigars?”

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment.

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his.

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face.

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.”

“Alright, love.”

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.”

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you.

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too.

“Deluxe package?”

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.”

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.”

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of.

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck.

“Okay, John.”

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot.

---------------------

Taglist: @sharkiestory

#john price #john price x reader #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod men #x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #slow burn

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supernovafics · 3 months

Text

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k words

warnings: explicit language, brief mention of alcohol/drinking, pining, a little angst

summary: steve meets you at eddie’s show and even though you’re feeling a little weird and nervous about what you two are doing, you ultimately decide that there’s a first time for everything

CHAPTER THREE | ❝𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅❞

Fall Semester 2015

Eddie was good. Like, really good.

So good that you had to keep reminding yourself to not ogle at his hands on the guitar, seamlessly moving from chord to chord, or focus too hard on the almost too pretty sound of his voice.

You silently wondered— as he and his band finished out the last few moments of the song they were rehearsing— if you would be feeling this way as you watched him practice if you didn’t have the biggest crush on him. Or maybe this would’ve ended up being the moment you realized everything, instead of that moment happening in his dorm room just a few weeks ago.

You still hadn’t decided how to tell him, you also still weren’t sure if you even wanted to tell him at all. If you said something and he didn’t feel the same way, you had a feeling that it would mess everything up between you and him, and ultimately ruin this friendship that felt so important to you.

Therefore, you were leaning more toward never telling him how you felt, or at least waiting for the perfect moment to do so. However, you didn’t know what would necessarily deem a moment as “perfect.” Maybe one day it would just feel right to finally utter the words to him? You weren’t entirely sure.

For the time being, you pushed those confusing thoughts to the side, and in this moment you simply focused on the final notes of the song being played out, marking its end, and then Eddie placing his guitar down.

“You guys are really good,” You said from where you sat barely five feet away because of how small the garage was; you couldn’t remember if this was Gareth’s place, Jeff’s, or Doug’s. “Like, really, really good. It’s actually kind of insane.”

Eddie smiled at you. “I think you’re our number one fan now.”

“I feel honored to hold that title.”

He walked over to where you were sitting. “You wanna come with me to get the pizza?”

His question was one that you didn’t need to outwardly respond to because the answer was obvious. You simply nodded as you stood up from your chair and walked with him to his van.

You’d go anywhere with Eddie— and that fact was the main reason why you were currently spending your Saturday in his hometown two hours away from your guys’ college, instead of holed up in the library studying for midterms.

“I think I get it,” You said, gazing out the window as he drove and watching the small empty fields and random houses pass by in a blur.

“Get what?”

“Why you wanted to leave here,” You answered, turning to look at him even though his eyes were focused on the road. “It’s so small and quiet. I honestly can’t even imagine you growing up here.”

“There was a record store across town that I really loved, and it was probably the only thing that kept me sane growing up,” He briefly explained and you nodded. “And my uncle. And the guys too. We’ve been doing the whole band thing since middle school.”

The thought of an eleven year old Eddie singing and playing guitar sounded quite adorable to you.

“That’s so cute.”

Eddie laughed. “Cute was not what we were going for.”

“Sorry, what I meant to say was, that’s so cool and rock ‘n roll.”

“Solid save.”

“Thank you.”

“You have to take me to your hometown next,” He said, taking a brief look over at you as he kept driving.

You shook your head. “Definitely not gonna happen, and not just because we’d have to take a two hour plane ride to get there.”

“Come on, I brought you here.”

Just for a second, you let yourself think about the suburban town you grew up in states away; a town that you also couldn’t wait to get out of because, just like Eddie’s, it felt way too quiet and small. You tried to briefly imagine him walking down the streets you used to walk to get to school or the park that you had liked to spend most of your free time at reading, but you couldn’t see it. You could barely even see yourself doing any of that anymore.

“This is different. You want to come here,” You told him. “Aside from my parents, and that’s only sometimes, there’s nothing that makes me wanna go back to my hometown.”

You tried your hardest not to think about how actually saying that out loud made you feel a little sad.

“So, no band with old friends that makes you wanna go back most weekends?” Eddie asked, purposefully trying to lighten the mood, which you were grateful for.

You gave him a small smile. “Nope, none of that.”

That was why you liked him, he read you well and knew the right moments to shift any conversation.

There was a part of you that wanted to just admit to him how you felt right there in his van. Let the words leave your lips and simply see what would happen.

But then he was pulling into the parking lot of the pizza place and the moment felt effectively over. And a part of you was glad for that.

It wasn’t that difficult to pretend that nothing had changed for you and that you still only saw him as your best friend. You honestly found pretending to be the easiest thing to do.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

“Robin just texted me saying, “Tell Eds I’m there in spirit. When in actuality my spirit is dead because this essay is killing me.” So yeah, she’s not coming tonight.”

“Damn, so that means I won’t hear her overenthusiastic “woo’s” after we finish every song.”

You playfully smiled at Eddie. “I can take over that job for the night if you want.”

“That would be great,” He responded, smiling back. “We need to prove that we have at least one excited fan.”

“Okay, then I’ll make sure to take my job as your number one fan very seriously tonight,” You told him before taking a sip from your drink and then placing it back atop the high wooden table you two were standing on opposite sides of that was a bit wobbly. “I swear we always somehow end up at this specific table.”

“Either that, or they’re all fucked up.”

“True,” You said and nodded, but you had a feeling that it was probably the same one because you and everyone always ended up occupying the same cluster of tables that were to the right of the small stage— a stage that was currently set up because he was performing in less than twenty minutes.

You had shown up with Eddie and the rest of the band an hour earlier; which was pretty much a routine when it came to the biweekly gig Corroded Coffin had here. Aces was one of the few bars in town that was actually not frequented by college kids because they were really strict about their carding policies and could spot a fake ID from a mile away. However, Rick, the owner, loved Eddie and the band, so exceptions were made for them; and by extension you and your other friends too.

You texted Robin back “Your screaming will be missed<3,” and then got a notification for a text from Steve that said, “Just parked.”

“Um, Steve just got here, so I’m gonna go out and grab him.”

“Okay,” Eddie said and then shook his head in what seemed like both disbelief and surprise. “I still can’t believe how good Friday night went for you two.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised too. I didn’t expect this to happen,” You told him, which technically wasn’t that much of a lie. You really hadn’t expected that night to lead to you fake dating Steve barely a day later.

The cold night air immediately hit you when you walked outside, even the jacket you were wearing wasn’t enough to keep you warm, so you crossed your arms over your chest as you waited for Steve. You were suddenly glad that you opted against wearing a skirt tonight and decided to settle on a pair of jeans.

It was a solid three minutes of you looking both ways down the street and waiting for Steve to eventually come into view. And when he finally did, you met him halfway.

“Jesus, how far did you park?”

“Way too far.”

Steve fell into step with you as you walked back to the front door. You noticed him look up at the faded sign that had the bar’s name on it and then it seemed as if he realized or remembered something. “Aren’t they really strict at this place?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” You answered with a quick shrug before grabbing his hand to keep him close to you as you walked past the small-ish line of people waiting to get their ID checked and get into the bar. You gave a quick smile to Jacob, the bouncer and also Rick’s brother, who was letting you through with no hesitation. “Thanks, Jacob.”

Steve let out a breath of a laugh once you two were fully inside the small and darkly lit bar. “Okay, that was actually pretty cool.”

You were about to respond to him with some playful joke about how getting into this place both for free and without an ID was probably the coolest thing about you, but then your eyes were on Eddie. He was saying something to the guys as they headed over to the packed bar and then he was left alone at the haphazardly pushed-together tables. Suddenly, you felt nervous and also a bunch of other things that were entirely indecipherable at the moment.

You turned to look at Steve. “Okay, so, um, how thick are we laying it on right now?”

Instead of answering your question, he seemed to sense your nervousness, so he gave your hand that was still holding his a quick squeeze. “Just chill. Don’t worry.”

That honestly didn’t do anything to calm your nerves or make you not worried about what you two were about to do. But, it was also weird because even though you were nervous, you didn’t want to back out of doing it.

“Where is he?” Steve asked.

You simply nodded in the direction of the table Eddie was standing at.

“Okay, come on,” He said and as you two walked over to the table, he readjusted your hands so that they were intertwined, which made holding hands with him feel a thousand times more intimate. And that was probably exactly why he did it, you realized.

“Hey,” He greeted Eddie with a smile.

“Hey, man,” Eddie responded. “Cool seeing you here.”

“Yeah, glad I can finally catch a show.”

You stopped paying attention to what they were saying, and it wasn’t really on purpose, it was just that all you could focus on right then was Steve’s subtle movements— his hand pulling away from yours and him shifting closer to you so that he could drape his arm around your shoulders instead. He was so smooth and easy with it, meanwhile you were contemplating if you seemed too tense or if your face looked uncomfortable.

Maybe some practicing would’ve been good before jumping into the deep end of this whole thing. But, what would practicing have even entailed? Steve holding your hand or keeping his arm around you until you felt completely normal about it? That sounded almost too embarrassingly stupid.

He had done pretty much the same things Friday night on your date— you remembered him holding your hand and wrapping an arm around you during the movie and feeling entirely okay about it; he had even kissed you that night and initially, you had been completely okay before you got too in your head about everything— but this, for obvious reasons, felt entirely different. The point now was to look super into it, and you felt yourself slowly folding under the pressure.

“Did you tell him about game night?”

It took you a second to realize Eddie was talking to you because your mind was in an entirely different place right then. You barely even heard the question he asked you.

“Yeah, she did,” Steve said, saving you. “I’ll be there.”

“Great, we’ll actually have even teams for once,” Eddie said to you.

“Talia’s gonna hate that. She loves being referee,” You responded, finally finding your voice and actually managing to feel the tiniest bit normal for a moment.

“No, she won’t because she’s gonna have the best Pictionary player on her team.”

You rolled your eyes at that because you knew he was referring to himself. “Vickie is the best at Pictionary, actually.”

“Okay. Second best.”

“I think Robin’s second, but you’re definitely third because me and Talia are equally bad at that game.”

“Fine, I’ll take third,” Eddie responded. “Unless Harrington here has a secret talent?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m terrible at drawing.”

Eddie smiled at that. “You two will make a great team then.”

“I think our bad drawing skills will cancel each other out and we’ll actually end up being really good,” You said, mostly kidding with your words.

“Or we’ll be worse,” Steve said.

“It’s very sad to see that you have no faith in us,” You joked, looking up at him, and he only laughed in response.

He and Eddie went into talking about an assignment for the class they had together, and you attempted to pay attention to their conversation, but your mind went right back to overthinking everything. You wondered whether or not things looked real or if it all seemed entirely forced and out of place.

Steve was doing pretty much all of the work right then at making this newfound relationship look believable, and your only job was to pretend that you were happy to lean into his touch and to make it seem like you were at least a little enamored by him, which was easier said than done. You were now discovering that acting wasn’t your strong suit.

They continued talking for the next minute or two before Eddie was saying that he needed to head on stage. “I’ll see you guys after.”

You nodded and said a simple “Good luck,” and then he walked away, joining Gareth, Jeff, and Doug on stage. You let out a breath that you didn’t even know you’d been holding.

“You okay?” Steve asked once Eddie was out of earshot. His arm dropped from around you, but he still stayed close. “I know we shook hands on it and everything, but we really don’t have to do this. It’s fine if you wanna back out.”

“No, I’m okay. I just didn’t expect this to feel so weird? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but yeah… I swear I’m fine, though, I’ll get better at,” You briefly gestured between you and him. “This whole thing.”

The last time you were so outwardly physically affectionate with someone was years ago; a high school relationship that ended just as quickly as it had started. You weren’t used to this anymore, and maybe it was dumb to think that it would be easy to do it, especially with someone you didn’t really even know that well.

“We don’t have to do this,” Steve reminded you.

“No, I want to. Honestly,” You assured him, and surprisingly that still felt mostly true.

“When’s game night?”

“Tomorrow,” You answered, forgetting that that had been brought up in the conversation with Eddie. “It’s a once-a-month thing we do at the apartment.”

“Got it,” He said with a nod.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t wanna. It’s mainly just three hours of all of us screaming at each other,” You briefly explained. “That’s the reason why we only do it once a month. Friendships would be ruined if we made it a weekly thing.”

“Sounds deadly.”

“Very much so.”

“Also, sounds fun.”

You let out a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for a masochist, Steven.”

He ignored that. “Do you want me to come tomorrow?”

You took a moment to actually consider his question. Everyone else was gonna have to meet him eventually, especially if you wanted to make it seem like you “really liked him,” so maybe it would be best to just rip off the band-aid and do the introductions sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, I do,” You ultimately answered. “You should come. I think it’ll be good.”

Before he could even say anything in response, the band started playing and every conversation happening in the small bar became drowned out by the music. You bopped your head and softly sang along to the songs you knew, which were pretty much all of them aside from a few new covers they decided to do. And you, of course, loudly applauded and excitedly shouted after every song, just like you told Eddie you would.

“Wow,” Steve said at one point, mouth close to your ear so that you could hear him over the music. “It’s so obvious that you like him. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to witness heart eyes in real life.”

You playfully nudged him. “Shut up.”

You had a feeling that he was mostly joking with his words, but still, you couldn’t help but think, Did it really look that obvious?

You turned to look at Steve and were about to ask him what exactly looked so obvious and how was he so easily able to notice something that Eddie somehow never had.

However, you immediately noticed that his attention was on a girl across the bar who was looking right back at him with a matching smile on her face.

“Keep it in your pants tonight, Harrington,” You told him, elbow bumping his side again. “And until the end of February too.”

“I know. Sorry,” Steve said, looking away from the girl and back at the stage.

“Y’know, I was mostly joking last night when I said that not dating anyone this month would probably be hard for you. But, now seeing that it actually is hard for you, I’m just concerned. There are tons of support groups that you can join to help with this problem,” You said, trying your hardest to keep a straight face as you said your words, but ending up smiling the entire time.

“Ha ha,” He said sarcastically, which only made you smile more.

You focused back on Eddie, listening as he said that he was about to perform what would be the last song of the night. You shouted happily in anticipation and smiled at him when his eyes met yours.

Once again, you couldn’t help but wonder, Was it obvious?

At some point during that final song, Steve placed an arm around you again, and it surprisingly didn’t feel all too weird that time around.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson series #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things fic

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artdolliewishes · 7 months

Text

Something I’ve seen a few times before is the idea that, to contrast the NRC crew, the students of RSA have nice facades but are secretly condescending, arrogant, rude, etc. The reasoning for this is pretty solid: the students at NRC are villains with secret good sides, so the students of RSA should be heroes with secret bad sides.

But the problem with this - at least in my humble opinion - is that it’s just wrong in a major way.

There’s no doubt that the NRC students, especially the Dorm Leaders, are complex characters. They’re people who have been greatly hurt in some fundamental way and have thus developed a hardened exterior, shunning away that softer part of themself.

And after their respective chapters, each character is allowed to become better, make better choices, do nicer things, and just improve as people in general.

But let’s not kid ourselves, these characters are still fucking assholes.

When we finished Chapter 2, Leona rude and lazy nature didn’t instantly melt away to reveal that he was a sweetheart this entire time, he was still rude and lazy even if he was slowly improving. And the same goes for Azul’s scheming nature and Riddle’s strictness, etc; they aren’t as one dimensional as their facade would suggest, but it’s not like their bad attitude is skin deep.

So, why can’t the RSA students be genuinely kind if the NRC students are genuinely mean?

But on the other hand, it also doesn’t make sense for them to be one dimensional, non complex heroes who’ve never don’t anything wrong in their life. So I have a solution.

If the NRC students are arrogant little dickheads who have been hurt in the past in a way that shaped them into what they are now, then maybe the RSA students are genuinely kind people who have been crushed by the weight of expectations and the pressure to be “perfect.”

They can’t be rude, or selfish, or mean, or anything that would paint them as being less than the golden child the world expects them to be. They are good people at heart, but they’ve suppressed their “bad” side like how the NRC gang has suppressed their good side.

Anyways, these are just my thoughts.

#twisted wonderland #twst #royal sword academy #night raven college #twst rsa #twst nrc #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #my rambles

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reallyromealone · 7 months

Note

Maybe a part 3 to resilient?

Resilient chapter 3

Eddie Munson x male reader

Stranger things

Warnings: omegaverse, male reader, angst, Omega male reader, implied mpreg, Eddie feels like Dookie

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(sons name) excitedly ate his pancakes, (name) looking fondly at his kid as Hopp drank his coffee while reading the morning paper "so ducky, you are gonna hang out with grandpa today, isn't that fun?" (Name) Gently cleaned the pups face as they moved on to their bacon, extra crispy just like (sons name) liked it.

(Sons name) Looked giddy before glancing at his grandpa "what we doin!?" He asked with an aggressive level of excitement and Hopp chuckled "you gotta see bud" his eyes holding a glimmer of excitement as he finished his coffee "now finish your food"

Eddie stood infront of the apartment door, nerves invading his mind as he hesitated to knock, pulling back when he was about to and pacing slightly in a small circle.

"Stop being a bitch munson... Just knock on the door" he took a deep breath and knocked on the door, waiting anxiously for ten minutes before knocking once more "he's not there" a withered old voice said as Eddie turned to see an elderly woman at the door across the hall "do you know where he went?" Eddie asked anxiously and the woman sighed "moved to his dad's or whatever... Good kid, gonna miss 'em" Eddie thanked the woman and left the building, a shuttered sigh escaping his lips as she toyed with his car keys, thankful that no one really cared about him as he got inside his mustang and just rested his head on the wheel.

"Fuck" he was at Hopps? That was practically a death wish for Eddie... Hopp had zero qualms for shooting people off his property and added bonus of Sheriff... Yeah he wasn't going there.

He drove around town, aimlessly looking for any sign of the Omega as he tried not to let anxiety flood him as well as avoid anyone he may know, especially Robin and Steve... The two were a danger within themselves.

(Name) Was happy as he ended his shift, walking to the local toy store to get his toddler a few gifts as he had a fair more amount to work with now that he didn't pay rent, already having decorations hidden in his closet for the party in just a few weeks.

(Name) Looked at the toys his son would like, large building blocks and paw patrol were big contenders as he looked at his options carefully "I am not getting that... To many parts" parts he and his dad will definitely step on eventually and frankly that's not what they needed.

(Name) Was excited as he left the store with a few bags of toys, giddy he got to splurge on his little sunshine.

He wasn't expecting to lock eyes with Eddie... He always thought of this day... The day he would eventually see him, have something witty to say or maybe be cool and put together and make Eddie regret hurting him like he did...

But all he did was stare, throat tight and body suddenly freezing cold as Eddie looked like a sad puppy "can... Can we talk?" Eddie said softly, (name)s breathing uneven as he felt himself grow dizzy with anxiety... Suddenly he felt like the helpless teen he was almost four years ago.

It was extremely tense as they sat before one another in the back of a small diner, coffees infront of both of them, neither speaking for a solid ten minutes.

"So... You're back" (name) whispered as he fidgeted with his fingers, Eddie wanted so badly to reach out to him but he knew that would be a terrible idea "I am... Wayne showed me the letters... I-I didn't know" (name) just stared at him coldly, anger flooding through him "yet you still did what you did" (name) whispered, voice shaking with anger as he looked Eddie in the eye "never did you think to believe me, to listen to me... But now suddenly I matter? I don't care if you didn't know, I will never forgive you" (name) seethed, a strength rushing through his veins that he didn't know he had and Eddie looked gutted at his words. Good.

"You sent me a cease and desist, I don't understand why you are talking to me since you clearly despsie me" (name) was more confident as he leaned back "after all, I'm just a gold digger and a whore who wants to earn THE Eddie munsons favor again" paraphrasing Eddie and his band mates + parts of the gangs words and Eddie looked like he was killed over and over again "I am so sorry... I'll cancel the cease and desist! I-I just wanted to make amends... Meet my son..."

"You can meet him but know I will never forgive you..." (Name) Said coldly "you can even do a DNA test if you want... Make sure you are actually the father of a whores pup" (name) knew he was the dad, (sons name) was literally a mini Eddie down to his smile but god did he want to rub salt in the wounds.

"I have to go, I have things I need to go do, I'll let you know when he and myself are ready to see you" the Alpha shakily handed (name) his number, he watched as (name) lifted bags up "goodbye, Munson" (name) said coldly and left Eddie in the diner, coffees untouched.

(Name) Rushed to his car, his dad giving him his old truck to drive and drove off, unsure where as he reeled at what just happened, god he was shaking.

He got home, sitting in the driveway as he felt anger and anxiety flow through him, he avoided ANYTHING Eddie related for almost four years and bam! There he was with a shitty apology and god (name) felt like he vindicated his past self for telling off his ex, fuck Eddie Munson frankly.

(Name) Left the toys in the car, unsure if his kid and dad were home, not wanting to risk it as he unlocked the door "YOU HOME!" (sons name) Squealed as he ran towards his dad, (name) smiling as he lifted the pup in his arms "so are you my little firecracker!" (Sons name) Gently bonking his forehead against his dams, having learned cats do it do it was his new favorite thing "how was your day with grandpa?" (Name) Asked as he walked into the kitchen area where he saw cookies and Joyce along with his siblings "what are you two doing here?" He knew Joyce had gone to go see them but... "Mom got us, we can't miss our favorite nephews birth" will said softly and (name) smiled stupidly before looking at his son "they came just to see you!"

When (sons name) went down for his nap, (name) spoke of the meeting with Eddie to his family as he nibbled on a cookie "he apologized to me and all that but god I just wanted to beat him with the mug... How dare he act remorseful when he was so cruel to me" how dare he expect that sympathy and empathy when he denied (name) it all those years ago, (name) crushed the cookie in his hand as he grew more angry, thankfully wearing scent blockers so no one had to smell the death stench of an angry Omega.

"So are you going to let him meet (sons name)?" Joyce would support anything (name) decided as her step son sighed "...I- I will let him meet him but on my terms... I plan on meeting him again and maybe bring Steve when bringing my terms... Everything is about (sons name)s comfort"

(Name) Spent the night putting the terms together, thinking of anything needed.

Then he sent off the text for a meeting to set boundaries with a deep sigh.

He didn't know if he wanted his son to have Eddie in his life but he knew it wasn't fair to his pup... Didn't mean he liked it though.

#stranger things x reader #stranger things x male reader #omega male reader #omegaverse #male reader #stranger things angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie Munson x male reader

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stusbunker · 1 month

Text

Spotless: Obbligato

Chapter Twenty Nine

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Tiny, Crowley, and Sera the venue lady, both bands in the background, faceless fans

Word Count: 3162

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mention of past Dean/Annie, friends who do not have the whole picture and are therefore quicker to judge each other aka drama

Series Masterlist

You exhaled and put your phone in your back pocket. Donna was dancing on the side of the stage closest to you, swaying with her guitar, ruby red lips smiling bright. It was a stark difference to the mindset the two bands had been in only an hour ago. God, everyone had been so scared. You felt like you should be doing damage control, but with investors and who’s-who’s brushing elbows in the VIP you had to save face. No one could know Dean had been missing.

Not even Bela.

Naturally, she found that moment to reappear. “Everything alright?”

You shook your head to clear your thoughts and smiled. “‘Course. Find anything good?”

She smiled wickedly at you and handed you a proper martini from the bar. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Once you had a good handle on your cup, she held hers up and you clinked the glasses together. “Cheers.”

You took a big gulp and winced at the amount of olive juice, but the burn of the Gin more than made up for it. “Uh, yeah, cheers.”

Bela giggled and turned to watch as SPS finished their set. They were slowly wedging their ways into PT’s fans’ hearts and playlists. You had seen some chatter from the fan pages, plus Becky had posted a lot of supportive tweets about them once it was announced they would be along for the whole tour. It was easy to see them keeping in touch after this tour, they already felt like family.

It was only the second night and this tour was shaping up to be something memorable, something pivotal, maybe even historic.

“They’re killer,” Bela seemed to be reading your thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“You said they’re Canadian?”

“Well, mostly. They’re based in Vancouver, but Patience and Jody are from the U.S.”

“Huh. And it was Dean’s call to have them join on?” Bela played with her cocktail spear as she spoke, the stadium around you moved as a whole in the intermission.

“Well, he suggested ‘em. The suits make all the real calls.” You took another sip, feeling like she was going somewhere with this.

“Naturally. Well, that was— progressive of him.”

You felt your face drop in surprise.

“What?!” She asked like you were the one being rude.

“Why did you say that like that?” You felt oddly defensive of SPS all of the sudden.

“I didn’t mean anything bad— I wasn’t disparaging the other band, Y/N. I was just saying— that it was a good mark of his character. It was meant to be a compliment— I swear.”

You exhaled.

She reached over and squeezed your forearm. “You need to relax, love.”

You nodded, still a little dazed by the dred that had crept out of her best intentions. “I need a fucking nap, but this’ll do for now.”

Bela hummed in agreement.

The VIP attendees doubled the closer Phantom Traveler’s set loomed. You made sure to stay close to the edges and to keep Bela within Tiny’s range. The amount of gawkers that had needed to be escorted along were weighing at the back of your worries. But you trusted security to do their job, you had enough to monitor as it was.

You and Bela took a few selfies with the stage in the background while you waited, both of you falling into the trap of your phones until the lights signaled it was time for the show to start. From somewhere backstage Lee’s voice reached across the stadium and welcomed everybody for the night. The opening bars of ‘Black’ started, which meant Dean and Sam were starting this one off together and then everyone started to scream over the first verse and Dean’s husky opening. But between the love of the song and the dramatics of Charlie’s lighting you couldn’t blame them.

They were solid. Though Dean was ultra focused, less playful than the show the night before.

You weren’t the only one who noticed the change. “Looks a little pale up there, doesn’t he?”

You spun on your heels and smiled brightly at Crowley. “Hello! Sorry I didn’t see you come up. Bela, this is Mr. Crowley from the label.”

“Charmed,” Crowley replied, leaning down to kiss Bela’s outstretched knuckles. “Dick said you were lovely and you’d be sticking around, but I just had to see it for myself.”

“Did he? Well I’m glad to hear Mr. Roman is on Team Tal-chester,” Bela snarked back.

“Aren’t we all?” Crowley deadpanned.

Oh, this was going to give you a migraine. Dean’s voice spoke to the crowd, but you couldn’t spare the attention to hear the introduction to the next song. You had to be focused on what was happening in front of you.

Bela asked about Gavin, who she had met in passing the night before. Crowley was as smug as ever, and gave little besides slight jabs and open ended questions back.

“How are things looking now that the tour has started?” You jumped on the first business notion that came to mind.

Crowley’s dark eyes danced from you and back to Bela, almost chagrined to talk shop. “Pre-orders of the album are up twelve percent since last week. But, uh, let’s talk ticket sales and press junkets on Monday, shall we? Don’t want to miss the rest of the show that we’ve all been waiting so patiently for.”

You gave him the grace to step away, maybe too easily. “Of course, I’ll be on the call from the hotel in San Diego.”

“Right. Well, goodnight ladies, I hope it is— fruitful for you both.”

You and Bela both plastered on your best smiles and waved nervously until he was out of sight.

“What a git,” Bela muttered.

You couldn’t disagree, but suddenly you were hit with a burst of applause. Dean’s voice was crooning, holding a note from one of the new songs and then everyone stomped on the last note.

“‘Pushing Through’ everybody,” Dean said simply and pulled back to let Lee take the front of the stage.

Kicking yourself for missing the live premiere, you nodded Bela closer to the ledge to get a better view of the stage, while hopefully minimizing your distractions. Tiny followed four paces back, large and lurking, ever present and professional.

Lee chatted the crowd up and then they slid into ‘Breakdown’ from their third album which was about a tour bus’ flat tire and also about how they first started noticing Sam’s struggle with the harder stuff. Pam kept the drums going as they moved into ‘Lost and Found’, their first ever single. The song that got them noticed by Crossroads in the first place.

By the time they dove into ‘No Regerts’, a tongue-in-cheek song that only made it on the same album as ‘Breakdown’ as a hidden crack track, Dean was looking more alive on stage. That irresistible smile was noticeable even from two levels up. Pam and Kevin walked them out of that song with an almost marching fanfare, spirits were up.

You tried to breathe and forget about Crowley.

‘Twigs and Twine’ set up nicely into a cover of ‘Funk 49’ by the James Gang, which everyone really had fun with. Dean ended up practically jiving with Pamela as she rocked out with the blocks. Lee added his own little drawls to the familiar riffs, which you knew meant he was having a blast. You slowly let go of the panic Dean’s absence had caused, but the knowing glint in Crowley’s eyes was harder to shake. The energy on stage was even drawing in the uppity-ups in VIP.

You were so proud how the band had come together, yet again to give it their all.

For some reason, Bela continued to hit each of your raw nerves. Nothing she said or did was actually offensive, but somehow her very presence felt like a burden. When she gestured that she was going to go mingle during ‘Damned’ from their third album you just rolled your eyes, but nodded that you’d be okay where you were. Tiny was keeping her in his sights anyway, no reason you had to abandon the show to socialize with people you never fit in with in the first place.

Sam burst through the tail end of ‘Damned’ with a line both funky and familiar and the way Dean and Lee whipped their heads around you would have thought it was a shock. But you also knew that Sam knew better than to fuck with his brother’s setlists. They were just playing it up that Sam went from a song off the album that marked his darkest days to a feel good number from their first album. ‘So Co in So Cal’ was laid back and celebratory, a summer drinking song at its finest.

You raised your glass and danced in place, feeling the rhythm and loving the way the band slipped into the emotions of each song. Two songs later and before you realized it, they were welcoming Annie onto the stage for the last official number.

Bela returned as Annie was greeting the crowd, while effortlessly teasing Dean just like the night before.

“They’ve got quite the chemistry, don’t you think?” Bela’s voice appeared beside you.

“Yeah, but nobody can call your bullshit like family,” you agreed.

Bela smirked. “I know chemistry like that, Y/N, especially amongst performers. And those two have seen each other naked, nobody looks at each other with that kind of devilish mirth without having done the deed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, that was ridiculous. She was like their aunt! But then the conversation the teens at the animal shelter had way back when popped into your mind about Sam and Annie having a fling. And as pissy as Cas’ niece was, she wasn’t a liar. Something like dread washed down your back and settled traitorously in your stomach.

Bela just gave you a ‘I told you so’ look and turned to watch the duet.

You felt like you didn’t know Dean at all. Not that it mattered who he slept with, that really wasn’t your business. But Annie married Bobby. It was weird to set up your surrogate uncle with an old fling, wasn’t it?

Not to mention Sam. Wait which one went first? Did they share? Your brain spiraled into chaos scenarios and you needed air. You figured there was twenty minutes of encores to come, so you bowed out of the VIP and told Bela you were going to make sure the signing room was set up.

Smiling at the venue security as you went, the agenda for the rest of the night took over inside your mind. Autos and afterparty, the real private afterparty with the band’s inner circle. Making sure everyone knew when check out was and when to meet at the busses. Touring was like riding a bike, this time you just had to keep Bela on your radar and make sure her and Dean made nice with the fans. Everyone else you trusted. Not that you didn’t trust Bela, or Dean, for that matter, it was just the focal point. Their relationship’s success held your professional reputation in its grasp.

And Crowley knew it.

The venue had done a better job creating a flowing line for that night’s autographs. So you just carefully counted chairs and security guards to kill time. Sera burst in just as you heard the heavy thunder of stomping feet signal the true end of the show. You smiled at her and made small talk. She seemed ready to be rid of you, and the band, more than accommodating, but you didn’t take it personally. You knew how stressful it was coordinating these things. That she, too, had people she had to answer to.

The winners from the local radio station were escorted in first, followed by some of the higher ups in the fanclub, and people who paid through the nose for the opportunity. You smiled and nodded at the few who waved at you. Some of the fan club recognized you from a spotlight Becky did on you for her newsletter before the last tour.

It was odd to have such an active and loyal group of fans in the social media age, but somehow PT inspired it more than most.

Then a wave of cheering and clapping broke you out of your thoughtful appreciation. Kevin led the way as the band smiled and high fived their way behind the row of tables. Sam must have just put on a tank top, though sweat dampened even the fresh fabric where it clung to his abs and between his shoulder blades. Pamela rocked a pair of shades that she probably grabbed off one of the security guards. A signature move of hers that she adapted after the one tour when Cas almost blinded her with the old shaving cream prank.

God, you missed him and all his pierced glory.

Shaking your head, you waited as Lee posed for quick selfies with the group at the front of the line. That only left Dean. Spotting Bobby rounding the corner you made a beeline behind the band’s chairs.

“Where is he this time?” you demanded.

Bobby huffed. “Your bestie asked for a ‘quick mo’.”

You groaned. “Of course she did.”

But before you rifled up the nerve to go interrupt whatever they were up to, Dean appeared from the opposite direction of the dressing rooms with Donna and the rest of SPS behind him. He smiled at you like a petulant child and squeezed your shoulder as he slid past the fans and down to his seat at the far end of the row.

You exhaled and tried to keep your face optimistic as the opening band also gave you apologetic faces. The meet and greet passed in a blur. Just before the mingling portion was set to wrap up, Bela slinked in with a fresh wave of perfume and a killer’s glint in her eyes. You grabbed her by the elbow before she could interrupt Dean and Sam making nice with a set of four college-aged girls in matching PT swag.

“Hey, just give them a few more minutes and we can all head to the afterparty together.”

“It is so dull waiting around, can’t I just pop in for some photos, too?”

You tried not to make a face, but Bela knew you too well to hide your annoyance from her.

“Come on, Y/N. It’ll be alright. Guards at every exit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about the fans, I’m worried you’ll make a scene. Dean’s not the only member of the band, they all like time with the fans.”

“Make a scene? You do not want to challenge me to cause a ruckus, dear.”

You closed your eyes and bowed your head, releasing your hold on her arm. “That’s not what I meant, just leave him be for a few more minutes. Okay?”

Bela seemed to weigh her options and conceded. “Fine, but we’re taking my driver to the hotel and not bothering with the hired muscle.”

“We or you two?” you clarified.

“The happy couple,” she said with all teeth.

You nodded and gestured for her to head back the way she came, probably the dressing room, since the VIP had probably been cleared out by the venue staff at that point. Once the fans were escorted out of the space, you reminded the band to clear out the dressing room. Benny had a platform dolly waiting for their concert baggage and gear.

You needed some air, so you decided to wait for everyone outside, which was better than trying to navigate the parking garage like a civilian. Naturally, Bela and Tiny spotted you as they stood on the curb beside a freshly detailed limo.

“Is he coming?” Bela bellowed, her words were surprisingly slightly foggy from the late night chill.

“Gotta clear out the dressing room,” you said as you approached, arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm.

Groups of people still littered the sidewalk and walked by, trying to decipher which car that was double parked was their ride.

“You know you baby him too much, he doesn’t need a nanny. He’s a grown man,” Bela said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“It’s kind of my job, so—.” You shrugged it off.

“No, it isn’t,” she said firmly.

Christ, you were so over tagging along and it was only the second show she was scheduled to make an appearance.

“Listen, you know what’s been going on, it’s better for me to be ahead of anything than to play clean up.”

“Or you just like to be in everybody’s pocket.”

Your head snapped up to glare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Y/N. I’ve been around awhile and it’s not with everybody, all the time.--- I don’t know if it’s leftover guilt or what, but you literally insert yourself into every minute of Dean’s life. Even when you’re not there, you’re there. And no matter what you do, how hard you work, or how much you care it’s not going to bring Jo back.”

You recoiled like she slapped you across the face.

There were no words for how far she had taken it, how much it hit every single one of your insecurities. You were a busybody, a hanger-on. Nothing could fix the past. You had taken away any chance for Dean to be happy. You had killed your best friend.

But she hadn’t said what the worst of it. The dirty little secret that you weren’t able to keep from the likes of Cas or Bobby, the people who truly knew Dean. And that was how you felt about him, how much you wanted him to look at you the way Bela claimed he looked at Annie.

You tried to dispute it, but the words caught in your throat as the tears burned in your eyes. Tiny approached and cleared his throat, warning you of an approaching crowd. The nearest exit burst open and a rush of photographers appeared around the corner, as the band and their crew made a beeline for their waiting vehicles. Dean had thrown on a jacket, collar popped high as he kept the paps at arm’s length.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t know what your problem is, but we put a lid on it for the rest of the night, got it?”

“Happily,” Bela replied, not looking at you but at the wave of reporters and flashing cameras as they followed Dean’s progress to the curb.

You watched dumbfounded as he kissed her hello, nodded over her shoulder at you, then held the door of the limo open for her to crawl inside. Tiny kept the vultures at bay and you followed him to a discreet SUV around the corner where Annie, Bobby, and Victor waited.

At least somebody cared that you had a ride.

Tagging:

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Chapter 30: Larghetto

#spotless series #dean winchester fanfiction #dean/reader #dean/bela #rockstar au #fake dating #slow burn #dean angst #spn au #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x you #rockstar!Dean

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redfoxwritesstuff · 2 months

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 5) Human!Alastor x Reader)

Banner Alastors done by @blobin456drawz, Banner done by @redvexillum<3 Rated Adult Chapter Trigger Warnings: Alastor is a little shit.

AN: Reminder- Double update this week, See you Friday. Updates will now be every Friday!

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Now with Audio by Nyx Productions, read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis. Want to revisit the land of Misdemeanor but don't have time to sit and read? Maybe it's your first visit and you want the whole experience? Let Nyx read you a story: Part 1, Part 2

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“It’s just up here,” Laurence said, glancing over his shoulder to find his dinner guest lagging behind. He needed this loan and yet dinner wasn’t wasn’t off to a great start if he couldn’t at least keep the man’s attention long enough to get to his office. He just needed you to not fuck up somehow when bringing ice up or finishing dinner.

“A lovely wife you have, Laurence. It’s a shame for her to be married to a man so eager to offer her as collateral,” Alastor said, as the stairs creaked with each step he took.

“Nothing but a jest, Mr. Moreau.”

“Of course,” Alastor said, doing nothing to cover the fact that he didn’t believe Laurence had said it in jest for a minute.

“We’ll let her finish up fixing dinner while we-”

“See to business. Yes, yes, that’s fine.”

Laurence shut the office door as Alastor stepped inside, sealing them off from the wonderful aroma of fresh bread that permeated the lower level of the home. What a shame, Alastor thought.

You had invited Alastor to make himself at home when he came into the house, so he did just that. Rather than sit in one of the overstuffed chairs across from Laurence’s desk, Alastor walked around the small office, eyes taking in little details as they ran over trinkets and notes.

“Is Emma a pet name for your darling wife? Such an illogical choice.” Alastor turns from the calendar, eyes running over the desk.

Laurence laughed nervously. It was clear to Alastor that he didn’t enjoy having someone he couldn’t control in his space. “Oh well, you know how men are.”

“And how is that?” Alastor asked, cataloguing every bit of information he could about who Laurence was and what kind of man he really was.

Laurence gaped, fishing for the correct answer in his small brain. Alastor wasn’t playing by the typical male script he was used to dealing with. Dreadfully dull, Alastor thought. He couldn’t come up with a slight excuse to cover his affair? Men’s desire to run around on their partners never made sense to him.

“Was there a reason we must abandon the hostess?” Alastor finally settled into a chair, leaning back and crossing his legs. This may be Laurence’s home ground but Alastor made it clear who really had the power at the moment.

“This is men’s business…” Laurence tailed off at the soft tap tap at the door.

You did not enter this space, Alastor filed that away as well. He turned, watching you as you passed Laurence the tray with ice-filled glasses, hands trembling.

Were you terrified of your husband? Or was it pain? Perhaps illness? No, not illness. You flinched too much for it to be something as simple as poor health. Plus, there were the marks on your wrist. Did you think you were clever with the bracelets and the sleeves?

“It’ll be just a few moments while I draft up the contract,” Laurence makes a show of pulling out a large typewriter case from the shelf to the left of his desk. It was clearly expensive, just as many other items in this insufferable office.

Alastor finished his glass of whiskey in one quick drink before setting the glass down directly on the solid wood desk. When Laurance frowned at the glass set exactly two inches to the left of the coaster he had ever so blatantly requested Alastor use to protect the desk surface, Alastor simply smiles back at him.

“While you set to that task, please do excuse me.”

“Is something the matter?” Laurence stood slowly.

“Not at all! I’m simply off to the washroom.”

Alastor let out the breath he felt like he had been holding forever as the door clicked shut behind him. The washroom was lit by gas, Alastor noticed, not electricity like the office and living room had been.

Why would the Latimer household only update part of the house when adding electricity? Looking around the washroom, he saw new pipes. The home was plumbed. Upgrades had been started but stopped. Why?

Humming as he went, Alastor continued exploring the small room. Everything was bright white, and he hated it all. The warm wood tones of the rest of the house were far better suited to his own taste.

Spotting the small glass vial on the sink, Alastor picked it up and opened it. The smell made him cringe. Medicinal and strong. Laudanum, if he had to guess though, the label was ripped from the bottle in places. Who did it belong to and who were they hiding the contents of the bottle from?

Alastor had taken it before and never been a fan of how it had made his head feel.

Sure, he had a bottle on hand in his own medicine cabinet but his was covered in dust and nearly new. This vial was clean, fresh and nearly half empty. Who took it? Was it you or Laurence that took it often enough for the vial to be fresh?

Stepping out of the washroom, Alastor looked first at the closed office door. The click click click of the typewriter behind the door gave away how slow of a typist Laurence was. At the rate he was going, Alastor could type the contract four times over before Laurence would finish the first copy.

Hell, he could draft it by hand faster than the keystrokes were coming from beside the door.

Instead of rejoining Laurence in the office, Alastor kept walking down the hall. He was mindful of each step as he descended the stairs, avoiding those he had noticed squeaked under weight.

Laurence was eager to offer his wife as collateral, but clearly didn’t enjoy it when Alastor paid her any attention. Though Alastor shot down the offer at Mimzy’s, it surprised him that Laurence didn’t offer those same terms again. Instead, it was his car Laurence was drafting the contract for.

Alastor had no trouble finding the kitchen. He moved through the house silently, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you work. Your back was to him, allowing him the freedom to watch you without reservation.

If Mimzy was here, she would tell him how he could have this, whatever this was. He wasn’t so sure that it was something he ever wanted. He knew it was something he could have, and he likewise knew it was something he didn’t need. But did he want the domestic life?

It hadn’t worked out so well for his mother. If people were talking about him, though, that wasn’t in his favor. Could he trust a meek little woman in his space, keep her happy and entertained enough that she wouldn’t run around town being a gossip? Would he be able to find someone who would look the other way and believe it was animal blood that stained his clothes?

As he watched you in his thoughts, you worked the loaf of bread out of the pan. Thinking you were alone, you held your injured shoulder stiffly, using your body to brace it as you moved. When you shifted it wrong, you gasped softly in pain, muttering softly under your breath a reminder that the meal needed to be perfect.

You dropped the loaf into the bread slicer contraption, then braced the end of the box against your apron covered front and slowly sliced through the loaf again and again until the loaf was leaning forward, sliced into neat sheets of bread sitting in a sea of crumbs. The rich smell of beef gravy was thick in the kitchen, hearty and welcoming.

You were humming to yourself as you worked. It was a pleasant sound that Alastor found he enjoyed. As you turned to put the sliced bread into the basket, he stepped back out of what would be your line of sight. From where he stood, he could see you as you stepped up to the oven, but you were unlikely to see him.

He watched as you rubbed your wrist, pushing the bracelets up and running your hand over the dark bruise. Though his eyes were not the best, Alastor could see the clear definition marking where fingers had wrapped around your wrist with more force than was ever justifiable.

Why did you stay? Did you like being thrown around? He doubted it. You hardly looked like you loved your husband. It was clear as day that you were uncomfortable with him every time his hands touched you. The farce was better executed in public than he had seen in your home, but he saw nothing that told him you held anything close to affection for the man you were married to.

Carefully, you reached out with the towel draped over both hands and grabbed the handles of the kettle. Hesitation had you standing in that position as heat seeped into the fabric for longer than Alastor expected. Surely your hands were getting close to burning.

Then you lifted. The kettle didn’t make it any more than an inch off the iron burners before clattering back down as you cried out softly. Alastor watched as your shoulders sagged and you sniffled.

You wouldn’t be able to lift the kettle. You wouldn’t be able to pull the meat out of it and put it in the serving dish. Dinner would be ruined, and you were convinced it would be your fault.

“Allow me,” Alastor’s voice came from the doorway, startling you.

“Oh, no- It’s fine.” You looked around for Laurence. The last thing you needed was for him to see you inconveniencing his guest.

“He’s in his office, drafting the contract at the pace of a schoolboy,” Alastor’s long strides took him into your kitchen and to your side before you had a chance to protest more. “You’re clearly struggling to lift it.”

He took the towel from you as if the kitchen was his. It looked easy as he lifted the kettle from the stove, as if it weighed nothing. You watched dumbly as he looked around to find where you had the trivets set up. The sound of the kettle setting down on the counter snapped you out of the daze.

“Can I help you with anything, Mr. Moreau?” you ask, trying to remind him of propriety as he scooped the pot roast from the kettle and set the crumbling hunk of meat into the serving dish for you.

“Alastor,” his eyes flick up to you for a moment before returning to his self-assigned task. “I simply needed a moment of more agreeable company. I find your husband rather dull. however do you put up with him?”

You were not sure what you could say to such a confession. It was improper to speak to a woman about her husband in such a manner. It was improper to be alone together, doing something as intimate as household tasks together.

Arguing with the guest was improper, but it was also not something you could agree with while remaining proper. You were not even sure if you agreed with it. Laurence was a part of your life. It wasn’t optional, so you had never thought about it.

Instead of thinking about it, you needed to set the table in the dining room. The dishes were in an overhead cabinet. Reaching up, you opened it easily enough. Plucking up the shallow bowls was something you expected to be doing in private.

Your shoulder ached, you needed to take a few more pain pills and lift the delicate bowls one at a time to ensure you didn’t drop them. With him there, you couldn’t do that though. It would look suspiciously like you were avoiding using your arm.

You’d already given away too much with the kettle.

You tried to keep a smile on your face as you reached up with both hands. Finger tips trembled in front of your eyes. No matter how hard you tried to stop them from doing so, they continued to tremble.

Grab the dishes in one neat stack. Put them on the counter. Do not drop them. Rest a moment. Carry them to the dining room. How hard could that be? You could do it. You needed to do it. You had to do it.

“Let me get it for you,” Alastor’s voice was soft and low in your ear.

You hadn’t heard him move, but when you jerked back from him only to have your hip strike his arm. Without you noticing, he had come up behind you and caged you in, resting his palm against the counter on your other side.

He reached up with his other hand, leaning forward as he picked up a stack of three dishes. Your breath froze in your lungs as his chest brushed against your good shoulder and back. For a moment, you told yourself that he didn’t know. He was just being helpful until he leaned more into you.

You gaped up at him. Too close. You had never been so close to a man you were not related to outside of Laurence. Sure, you’d bumped into men and let Alastor provide you support as you got up off the floor at the butcher, but this was different.

It was a second really, long enough for you to register the warmth of him. He leaned forward a bit more, smirking down at you as his chest and side pressed firmer against you.

Torso to torso, you couldn’t feel any of the give that Laurence’s body had but before you could even form a thought about what that meant for Alastor’s body, he stepped back and held the fragile china in his large hands.

“There you are.” Your heart dropped at the sound of Laurence’s voice. Had he seen? You did nothing wrong, but women rarely escaped the blame when it came to impropriety.

“I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the lovely aromas of your wife’s cooking.” Alastor laughed, bowls in hand as he carried them to the dining room.

Tag list: @xalygatorx, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @rainydaysmut, @nyx91, @kaylopolis, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @goyablogsstuff, @honestlyshamelesskid, @lilith-jae, @yui-onnero, @charlottemorningstarsdarling, @diffidentphantom, @lunarmango @uhhhimbored @loveameripanshipperlove, @redvexillum

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