#and now I’ve had to tell her what I’m doing and I feel like I just gave another piece of me away again

[street-smarts00]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your first Christmas with Spencer and you get his name for secret Santa. 

WC: 1.8k

Tags: Fluff, Secret Santa, friends to lovers, one use of Y/N I think A/N: Sorry I went MIA :( I got busy with school. I hope to push out many ideas while I’m on break tho. Here’s something cheesy and festive for the holiday season I hope you enjoy! (not beta read don't kill me)

Nothing was right. Nothing you found was the right present. 

This was your first secret Santa with the BAU and you picked Spencer's name out of penelope’s mug. At first you thought it would be easy to buy a present for him because you knew him so well. In almost a year of being with the BAU you grew the closest with Spencer. 

What you didn’t expect was your present ideas to not live up to your own expectations. Nothing you came up with could live up to your own standards. Of course your “slight” feelings for him definitely affected this, but you tried to tell yourself that wasn’t true. 

You ran through dozens of ideas. Clothing, a new scarf, tickets for a play, special edition of a book he loved. But nothing felt like the right present. 

You almost gave up in your search for the perfect present for him. The gift exchange was in less than a week and you still had nothing. Sitting at your desk in the bullpen you considered settling with one of your first ideas. 

While getting up to refill your coffee mug you noticed Spencer’s attention was focused on his computer. He sat there deep in thought with his brows furrowed and lips in a fine line. When you walked by his desk you saw he was playing an online chess game. 

“Working hard or hardly working?” you joked. 

He popped out of his focus from your presence. “I finished my files a little early,” he responded bashfully. 

“Are you at least winning?” 

He smirked, “I’ve won four times. But that’s not even the fun part. The fun is doing different plays every time and seeing what the computer comes up with as the best response.” 

That’s when it hit you. An idea for Spencer’s gift. 

Finally something that felt like a good gift for him. At the end of the day you rushed out of work to go to the craft store and get your supplies. You worked on the gift everyday after work. 

Soon the weekend rolled around and you found yourself at Rossi’s. His living room had the biggest Christmas tree you’d ever seen. Everyone’s gifts sat there for the evening. After dinner you all sat down to exchange gifts. 

“I want to go first!” Garcia exclaimed. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to the tree to grab her gift for JJ. 

JJ excitedly opened the gift bag to find a small black and grey purse with a colorful crochet keychain. The idea that Garcia also handmade part of her gift gave you a sense of relief. 

“Oh this is so pretty. Thank you so much,” she beamed, admiring the bag and twirling the keychain. Garcia squealed in happiness before JJ offered a hug to her. 

JJ then handed over her gift to Rossi, a bottle of scotch. He smiled and thanked her for the bottle saying how his collection needed a new addition. 

He stood up and brought his hands together looking at the tree. “My turn.” He grabbed a thin box wrapped in silver sparkly wrapping paper and walked over to you. 

“For you, my dear,” he handed you the box. 

Your eyes widened and lips perked up at the gift. It may be a little silly but, part of you wished that you were Spencer’s secret santa. You reminded yourself that the possibility of you both picking each other's names was unlikely. The possibility of some things being the same between the two of you was … unlikely. 

You ripped back the paper to reveal a large eyeshadow pallet. Upon opening it, you saw an array of beautiful shades you couldn’t wait to try out. 

“Rossi, this is so sweet. I love it,” You thanked with a bright smile. 

Now it was your turn. Everyone’s eyes only made the moment more stressful. You got up and grabbed the box with a nervous hand. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was too cheesy or corny? What if he thought it was useless as he already owned two of them?

You tried to quiet your thoughts as you handed him the box, but they had no intention of leaving.

“Merry Christmas Spence,” you said softly.

When you turned and walked back to your seat you neglected to see the rising blush on his face. 

Spencer glanced down at the white and red striped paper. He carefully peeled it off and opened the lid to reveal a chess set nestled in between red tissue paper. The board spaces were off-white and royal purple with corresponding chess pieces the same colors. When he picked up the wooden pieces and saw small leaves and flowers painted on them. The King and Queen specifically had crowns in a shimmering gold. 

“Wow look at that,” Emily admired.

Upon further inspection he noticed the small human imperfections in the details. The way not one leaf or flower looked exactly the same. Or how the clear coating over the paint was slightly streaky in some spots. 

“Did you paint this?” He asked.

You nodded your head and answered , “Yeah I did.” 

A faint “awe” could be heard across the room from Garcia. 

“Y/N,” Spencer started, his voice full of admiration. “This is … beautiful.” 

The butterflies in your stomach were getting restless. 

“Really?” you asked, not able to hide the smile spreading on your face. 

“Yes! It’s Perfect,” his eyes sparkled at you. “I love it. Nobody’s ever given me something like this.” He beamed at you with a smile that made you love sick. 

The realization that you both were not alone set in and Spencer cleared his throat before closing the box. The gift exchange continued as Spencer handed over a present to Morgan. 

The rest of the night was filled with catching glances and far away looks between you and Spencer. He seemed to feel more relaxed in a way after receiving your gift. Not that he was acting any differently. He just seemed more open. With the group and with you. 

You lived off that feeling the whole evening. The idea that you made him happy. You helped him see he was appreciated and loved. 

Not that he had to know you loved him. 

He didn’t know that. Right? 

As the hands on the clock passed you announced your departure and said your goodbyes. You stepped outside and felt a chill against your skin. 

You held tight onto your keys as you walked to your car. The snow had just started to fall. Occasional little flurries fell down from the sky. 

“Wait!” Someone yelled from behind. 

You turned to find Spencer trying his best to run but not slip on the icy parts of the driveway. When he got closer you noticed his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink. Probably from the cold weather you thought.

“I wanted to formally say thank you for the chess set,” he explained. 

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a smile. You stuffed your hands in your pockets away from the cold. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you’d find it cheesy.” 

He looked confused. “Why would I find it cheesy?” 

You shrugged, “because I hand painted it.”

“But that’s what makes it perfect,” he reassured. His voice is sincere and soft. “It’s personal and shows you care.”

His eyes widened. “Oh um-“ 

He suddenly remembered why he rushed outside and scrambled for something in his jacket pocket. It was a small cube shaped box wrapped in paper covered in snowflakes. Quite fitting for the weather.

“I know I technically wasn’t your secret Santa but I still wanted to get you something.”

You took the gift from him with a slack jaw. “Spence-“

“This isn’t because you were my secret Santa. I still wanted to get you a gift regardless,” he reassured. 

“I- Thank you,” you started unwrapping the gift. 

“It’s not homemade like yours but I hope you still like it.”

”It doesn’t have to be homemade for me to-“ the wind was stolen out of your lungs.  

The gift was a small gold and white music box you immediately recognized. You opened the lid to reveal a ballerina in a pink tutu spinning as Sleeping Beauty Waltz played. Your heart ached as you admired the tiny dancer.

”Is this the music box from that antique shop in Seattle?” 

While on a case in Seattle, you and Spencer went to an antique shop to ask the owner about evidence found at the crime scene that was purchased there. You fell in love with a beautiful music box in one of the aisles. 

“It is. I saw how you looked at it in the store and in the car you said it reminded you of when you used to do ballet. So before we left Seattle I went back to the store to get it for you. I thought it would make a great Christmas present.”

“But, that was three months ago.”

He sheepishly smiled and his cheeks only got more red. “Yeah, I had to keep it a secret for a while.”

Your heart rate started to pick up as the butterflies returned. “I can't believe you went back and bought this for me,” you muttered in disbelief. 

“Of course I would. You mean a lot to me and I knew this was something that would make you happy.” 

You admired the music box before carefully placing it in your purse. “Thank you so much. I love it.” 

His smile grew and reached his eyes. His eyes looked beautiful in this lighting. The Christmas lights from the house made them look practically golden. Even in the freezing cold you could melt from his eyes.

He shifted his weight and licked his lips. He seemed wrapped around the words in his head. “I also wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to go see The Nutcracker with me.” 

Your heart damn near stopped. 

“It’s playing at the theater downtown. I was thinking if we don’t get a case then we could go see the show on Friday. Maybe, if you want to, that is,” he rambled in nervousness. 

“I’d love to,” you beamed. 

His face brightened at your eagerness, but his nerves were still present. “But not as friends. As a date?” 

You chuckled, “Yes Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. I think the nutcracker is a perfect first date.”

“Great,” he said with relief. “And maybe afterwards we might have time for a game of chess with my new board.” 

God he was cute. 

“That sounds great.”

[lunajay33]

The Farmers Daughter

•🩷🪽🏹•

Summary: The group finds their way to the Greene families farm and the quiet daughter catches a certain archers attention in more ways than he’d like to admit

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Content: Age Gap, PinV, Praise, Sneaking around, Female receiving oral

•Masterlist•

The day the group came to the farm it felt like everything in me changed, they were nice and added a bit of drama to my families lives but they also helped us too

But when I laid eyes on Daryl, seeing him pull up infront of the house on his motorcycle ignited something deep in me that I’ve never felt before

They’ve been here a week already and it already felt like they were part of our family, daddy wasn’t too fond of them at first but he was slowly coming around

As the group went about their daily lives around their little camp I sat with Maggie cleaning some peaches we had just picked as I noticed Daryl walk by his eyes lingering on me the whole time he passed and it made my heart jolt and my legs weak

“He’s too old for you honey” Maggie said next to me as she nudged me with her arm breaking me out of the trance

I shrugged my shoulders not caring much for her input I’m 23 I’m not a child I can make my own decisions

I picked up a clean peach and made my way past the other towards his tent further out, not entirely sure what my plan was but I’m sick of this burning desire that aches for him

As I walk to his little camp I see him sat there around where he’d have fires at night, his eyes caught mine as he looked up at me

“What’re ya doin out here?” I wasn’t one for words much, ever since i was young I didn’t speak much but around him I wanted to tell him everything I was feeling

I bit into my peach and starting walking into the tree line as I wiggled a finger seductively for him to follow me

Not long after I hear his steps crunching leaves, my heart is hammer as I finally stop and lean back against a tree, as I look at him he’s mere inches away I can smell his godly scent that drives me crazy

“It’s dangerous tryna get me all to yerself out in the woods darlin” he groans as he grips my waist

“Maybe I like the danger” I whisper just wanting to taste his lips on mine

“Good ya do things ta me, never felt like this fer no one, just wanna take ya everywhere” his lips trail up my neck sending shivers down my spine

“Please Daryl, it hurts” he laughs

“Show me where Angel” I take his hand and lead it under my little skirt right to my soak panties hearing him groan

“Already wet and haven’t even done nothin”

“Help me” I grind against his hand as he starts rubbing against my clit

“Ya sure ya want this out in the woods?” He says between heated kisses

“I don’t care where I just need you Daryl, I wanna feel you”

“I’ll be gentle with ya”

He gets on his knees and drags down my little skirt as I threw my shirt to the side leaving me in only my tiny white panties with a pink bow on the front

He looks up at me like I hung the moon

“Fuck yer beautiful” he hooks his fingers in my panties and painful slowly pulls them down quickly his mouth is against me, his tongue flicking against my clit as his fingers gently pushed into me, the mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming but god so good

I run my hand through his hair gripping it as I try to contain my moans and whimpers

“So good oh my god, I’m gonna cum D” he groans and the vibrations send me over the edge as I scream out in bliss

“Taste so good peach” he praises as he whispers in my ear

“I’ve never felt that before” I huff exhausted

“Well I’ve got more in store for us, are ya gonna be a good girl and let me take ya here, right now, on the forest floor”

“Yes please I’ll be good”

He lifts me up and gently lays me down on the cool leaf covered earth and hovers over me

“Take it off” I whine as I push his vest back but he stiffens

“It’s okay if you don’t want to” I say gently and he nods as he slowly kisses me, the whole mood changed from rushed and rough to slow and meaningful

He pushes his pants and boxers down to his knees and leans back down over me, I feel him drag his dick up and down my folds making me crazy

“Please put it in” he grins as he slowly pushes in as I let out a whine, the stretch was exhilarating, he was all around me it was almost hard to focus

“God ya feel so good, ya doing okay” he sighs out as he finally bottoms out

“I’m okay, god we should’ve done this way before, it’s like you were made for me D” he was like an angel sent to me during these horrid times

His thrust start off slow but quickly get faster as he leans back and holds up my hips hitting the right spot to make me see stars

“Oh Daryl right there, oh god” his hand comes down and quickly rubs my clit and that’s when the damn bursts

“That’s its baby, squeeze me so tight, where do ya want me ta cum” he says hurried as he was near

“In me please I wanna feel all of it” soon his cum is deep in me warm as he slowly pulls out feeling that drip down my legs

“Mmmm look at ya yer mine now peach”

I finally had Daryl Dixon and I’m never letting him go

Everything Taglist: @bigbaldheadname @fluffy-dixon @imadisneyprincessiswear

[shrimpybbq]

thinking of how maybe high school gf probably pushed herself too hard after emmy was born because she kind of reverted back to when charlie was a baby and how she had no help and also taking care of rafe on her own. and rafe obviously doesn’t like that

this is similar to the last ask i answered, but she definitely did - especially as rafe was so busy with work and trying to rebuild the reputation of cameron development. she tried to do everything by herself, always doing her best to manage a bubbly and adventurous charlie with a brand new baby that couldn’t be left alone. she was constantly telling rafe,

“No it’s ok, you need to rest.”

“You have a big meeting tomorrow with the investors, don’t worry about this. I can take care of it.”

rafe was also off the drugs by that time, but when she noticed him start to drink more and more she began to do her best to help him. it didn’t really work, but he did promise her he would set a limit on his drinking. rafe didn’t realise how stressed and overwhelmed she was until he came home from a meeting one day, only to see her sobbing on the bed as she cradled emmy in her arms, the small baby crying non-stop.

“Hey, hey - baby! What’s going on? Are you ok?” he asked, watching her almost not even register his words.

“She won’t stop crying, Rafe! I’ve fed her, and I’ve changed her, and I sang to her and wore her and she just won’t stop and Charlie wants to play in the garden and I need to get your suit ready for tomorrow and the-“

rafe froze as he watched his wife cry, finally realising just how much she had been doing, and that maybe - despite her claims, she wasn’t coping. he felt awful and couldn’t believe he had been too blind to notice her struggling.

“Hey, give her to me, ok? Go take a nice bath, with all those salts and fragrances you like. I’m gonna look after the kids and get everything done,” rafe had commanded.

“No, but-”

“No, baby. You need to relax. You deserve it,” he continued, grabbing emmy from her arms as she looked up at him pitifully, “and ‘m sorry. I should’ve seen that you weren’t ok. I’m gonna do better and be here more often, m’kay? I’m not gonna be like my dad.”

rafe had practically dragged her into the bathroom and closed the door before walking down to the kitchen with his daughter. she had stopped crying after a few moments in her father’s arms (go figure),

“Hey, you’re not being very nice to your mother, you know that?”

rafe had carried out all the tasks he knew were on her list for the evening and even ordered take out for dinner that night, not wanting her to do any more work. he grinned as she wandered down the stairs after an hour, noticing her calmer demeanour,

“Feeling better, baby?”

she gave him a low hum in agreement and he had smiled once more, reaching down to kiss her. his hands ran over her hair, smoothing down the wet strands and admiring his wife.

“I meant what I said. You’re not doing this alone, and if I ever make you feel that way again, tell me. I gotta take care of you - you’re my wife. We’re partners in this shit.”

rafe and high school gf shared a smile and another kiss before turning to the gurgling baby girl in her high chair, her chubby cheeks now smushed full of food. she was the perfect mix of the two of them, and as the couple admired their baby girl, they shared a warm embrace.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hold My Hand, Part 2

TFW 2.0 & Winchester!sister

Requested by @casmustdiee and Anonymous

Synopsis: Jack tries to get you used to being back in the bunker, but things keep going wrong.

Warnings: angst, some torture, continuity errors, only half proofread

A/N: guys I’m still alive!

“You want anything to eat?”

You had been slowly emerging more and more from within yourself after the boys had brought you back from Asmodeus. Still, you rejected Dean’s offer of food with a tiny shake of your head.

“I’ll take a sandwich,” Jack piped up, and Dean was about to tell him to make his own sandwich when Jack gave him a hard stare. Dean had no clue what the look meant, but given that Jack had been the one to get you out of your room and talking, Dean had no choice but to trust that the kid knew what he was doing around you. So Dean made the sandwich, and he watched as Jack cut it in half, eating one half before very deliberately pushing the plate away—towards you—as if he didn’t want it anymore.

Dean caught on right away.

“What, you’re just gonna let that go to waste?” Dean asked.

Jack shrugged. “You can have it.”

Dean shook his head. “Your taste in sandwiches is crap, you and Y/N are the only ones I know that actually consider peanut butter and banana a delicacy.”

“They’re great, right Y/N?” Jack asked, earning a nod from you.

“Whatever.” Dean through his hands up. “I’m gonna make me a real sandwich.” He purposefully turned his back to you, not wanting you to feel stared at.

“I’m gonna go find Sam,” Jack said. “He might need help with research.” He hopped off his chair and left the room, leaving you almost alone with your half a sandwich.

By the time Dean had finished making his food and turned around, Jack’s sandwich was completely gone, and you looked a little brighter than you had a minute ago.

…

It was Jack’s turn to need help adjusting, and you were there every step of the way—or at least you tried to be. It was hard, since you were also trying to make sure Sam was ok after Michael disappeared, taking Dean with him.

“I thought you were training with Bobby,” you said when Jack all but stumbled into the kitchen.

“I was,” he huffed. “I just…I can’t seem to get it right. It was all so much easier with my powers.” Jack shook his head. “I just feel useless.”

“I know what you mean.” You swallowed.

“What?” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not useless.”

“Lately I am.” When Jack continued to stare at you with that questioning gaze, you seemed to freeze up, unable to finish your thought.

Jack stepped closer to you, taking your hand in his own and giving you a bright smile.

“You’re not useless,” he said again.

You seemed to draw strength from his hand in yours.

“Dean’s always been there for me,” you began. “Always. For anything I’ve ever needed. And now…now he’s being dragged around by some archangel, and I feel like I can’t do anything to help him.”

“It doesn’t just fall on you,” Jack said. “We’re all going to find him. I just know it.”

…

“He’s gonna be ok, right?”

Your brothers couldn’t even look at you as you watched Rowena pack up her bag. You’d finally gotten Dean back, only for it to seem like you were now losing Jack.

“There’s nothing I can do.” Rowena glanced at you for a second before turning away. “I’m sorry.”

“But—but we have to do something—“ you started to follow Rowena as she turned to the door, but Sam stepped in your way. “We can’t let Jack die!” You tried to move around Sam, but he grabbed hold of your arms.

“I’ll talk to Rowena. I think you should stay with Jack,” he said.

A fit of coughing from Jack caught your attention, and you relented, going quickly to his side.

“You’re gonna be ok,” you promised. “We’re gonna fix you.”

Jack smiled at you and squeezed your hand, but he didn’t speak.

Dean followed Sam outside, unable to bear the scene any longer.

…

They couldn’t get you to leave Jack’s side. He’d been dead for hours, but you still wouldn’t leave.

Dean had seen you like this before—you’d been the exact same way when you were only three years old, and Sam had died for the first time.

Sam had seen it too, only a few short years ago, when Dean had died. He’d had to all but drag you away from the body.

“Hey, kid,” Dean began. You didn’t even look at him. “Kid, maybe you should—“

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Your voice was firm, and Dean noticed that your grip on Jack’s cold hand tightened. “He doesn’t like to be alone. I’m not leaving him alone.”

“Sweetheart—“

“Why couldn’t I—“ your voice caught. “Why couldn’t I save him? He needed me, and I couldn’t save him.”

Dean swallowed. “You…we did the best we could, kid.”

“But it wasn’t enough!” You finally tore your gaze away from your dead friend, and Dean’s heart broke all over again at the look in your eyes. “Jack saved me, and I let him die.”

“Hey.” Dean shook his head. “This is not your—“

“Dean.” Cas stepped into the room. “Sam just left. I don’t know why, but—“

“What?” Dean jumped to his feet. “We need to find him.”

He left with Cas on his heels. You could hear Dean arguing with him the whole way out of the bunker, but you still didn’t move.

“Jack—“ you took a deep breath, squeezing Jack’s hand and wishing he would squeeze back. “Jack, I just…I miss you. And I’m so sorry, and…and I just want you to come back, ok?

“I just want you to come back.”

…

You got your wish, even if it wasn’t in the way you expected. Jack was back, but he didn’t dare use his power at the risk of losing his soul.

You didn’t care. Power or no, Jack was your best friend. But things never stayed good for long. You guys still had to fight Michael.

And it wasn’t looking good.

“If I just had my powers, I could beat him. If I could use them—“

“Jack, if you use them you lose your soul.” You shook your head. “I just got you back. And I’ve seen what losing a soul does to people. I can’t go through that again. We don’t need you to fight all our battles, Jack.” You reached out and grabbed his hand. “We’re just glad you’re here with us again.”

Jack squeezed your hand, a fleeting smile crossing his face.

“Me too.”

…

“When I gave up Dean, you didn’t think to question why?”

Jack’s hand was firmly in yours, as if he knew your intentions. You’d just watched Dean go from your big brother back into the archangel that was stealing his body, and Jack knew you wouldn’t take it well. He was right. All you wanted to do was go to him, to shake him around until Dean came back, but Jack wouldn’t let go of your arm.

Michael and Sam were arguing, but Jack ignored them as he leaned forward and whispered in your ear.

“We’ll get Dean back,” he promised. “Just be patient.” Jack’s hand squeezed yours, and it felt like he was dragging you back down to earth and clearing your head from the clouds.

…

The fight was over quickly, although it left all of you bruised. But at least Michael was now in the angel cuffs and back in the bunker. He was surprisingly calm about being captured, but that didn’t keep him from threatening anyone near him.

It didn’t help that monsters would be banging down the door any minute, thanks to Michael’s control over them.

“I’ll watch him,” you told your brother. “You guys secure the bunker.”

“Be careful,” Sam said.

“With the chained up archangel?” You tried to look relaxed. “C’mon Sam, I’ve got the easy job here.”

It would’ve been easier if the archangel wasn’t wearing your brother.

…

“So they send their weakest link to watch the archangel.” Michael was doing your best to faze you, so you did your best to ignore him. “I think I should feel insulted.”

“And you think I care why?” You cursed the subtle way your voice shook, and hoped that Michael couldn’t hear it.

“If Dean was…here…I’m sure it would worry him.” Michael leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “He doesn’t think you’re a very good hunter.”

“And I should listen to you?” You scoffed, but you doubted your voice was as steady as you wanted it.

“Well, I am in Dean’s head. And he doesn’t think you can do it, he never did. After all, it’s not like you’re a real Winchester anyway.”

“Dean thinks that?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it.

A smile crept its way onto Michael’s lips, and he seemed suddenly more interested in you.

“What did you expect him to think? You’re not Mary’s daughter, you’re not his real sister. You’re not like Sam to him, you never have been.”

“I—“ your voice caught in your throat. You wanted to tell Michael that it wasn’t true. You wanted to say “screw you,” you wanted to say “Dean would never,” but your voice wouldn’t work.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice startled you, and his hand was suddenly on your shoulder. “That’s enough,” he barked at Michael. “Hey.” He looked back at you, his voice softening. “Why don’t you go hang out with Jack, I’ve got him for now.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Michael spoke up. “The plan has changed, and she’ll be going with me.”

“Excuse me?” Sam glared at Michael, unfazed. That is, he was unfazed…

Until Michael stood, dropping the angel cuffs to the ground.

“The rest of you I’ll leave to my friends outside.” Michael threw his hand out, sending Sam flying away from you. “But the girl…” Michael had a hold of your arm before you could back away. “You won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

…

In the blink of an eye, you had been taken from your home; you and Michael weren’t in the bunker anymore. You’d returned to the office building that he’d turned into his personal headquarters, only this time there were half a dozen monsters in the main room. You found yourself leaning away from them, until you realized that that meant you were leaning towards Michael. It was hard to see monsters and not natural gravitate towards Dean.

This isn’t Dean, you told yourself. And you can’t forget that for even a second.

“Sir.” A werewolf stepped closer to Michael. “I thought you were—“

“Just a little change in plans,” Michael said. “Your werewolves are still locked onto my previous location?”

“Yes sir,” he said. “They should be at the bunker any minute.”

“Good.” Michael nodded. “You may go. And take the rest of these—“ he gestured at the other monsters in the room “—with you. I have some things I need to take care of in here. Alone.”

“Is that a Winchester?” Another of the monsters was eyeing you hungrily. “Did you bring us a little snack?” He started to approach, but a single glare from Michael stopped him in his tracks.

“If I wanted you to eat her, I would’ve told you that. She’s mine, understand?” Once the monster nodded, Michael smiled sardonically. “Good. Now go.”

The monsters cleared out quickly, and soon you were left alone with the archangel that taunted you with your big brother’s face.

“What am I doing here?” You tried to force your voice to come out strong, but the self-satisfied smirk that came across Michael’s face as he looked down at you said that you’d done a horrible job at that.

“You know what I’m doing here, right?” Michael asked. You didn’t answer—you could tell it was a rhetorical question—but the pleased look in Michael’s eyes at your silence had you wishing you’d said something sarcastic, like Dean would have. “I’m building a better world,” Michael continued. “Humans have had their time in the sun, but they’ve never amounted to anything. It’s time they got knocked of their pedestal. That’s why I’m having my monsters kill and turn them.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you kept me alive,” you argued. Michael’s eyes flashed in anger at your interruption, but he continued anyway.

“You’re different than your brothers, and from the rest of those fools in the bunker. Jack is too powerful to bother with, and Cas and your brothers…they’re too stubborn. But you…you’re young. Moldable. I have a plan to make this world my own, with the monsters on top. But humans…I’m keeping a few alive. Some for the monsters to feed on. And some…some who I think could be useful to me. You could be useful, with some…modifications.”

“What modifi—“

Michael’s hand shot out and closed around your throat, and before you even knew it was there you felt your breath stop.

“The first improvement I plan to make is to shut. You. Up. You need to learn your place here.” The hand around your throat was pushing down, and you felt yourself fall to your knees under the pressure. “Your life is a privilege, not a right.” The vision of Michael above you was starting to go fuzzy, but you could still make out the coldness in his eyes. “And privileges can be taken away. Do you understand me?”

You nodded mutely, and the pressure on your throat disappeared.

“You are just an example of what all humans will be. Well, all the ones I allow to live. You exist to serve those greater than you. You exist to serve me.”

“My brothers—“ Michael glared at you, but he didn’t stop you, so you continued. “My brothers will stop you. And Cas and Jack, all of them, they can stop you.”

Michael smiled patiently. Mockingly.

“You don’t really believe that,” he said. “You know your little family back in the bunker is as good as dead. And Dean—“ Michael tapped his forehead “—is tucked away quietly. I have him under control.”

“They’re stronger than you think,” you snapped.

Michael smirked and patted your head. “That’s enough out of you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but when you tried to speak it felt like your lungs caught on fire. You curled in on yourself, rubbing at your chest while the pain slowly faded.

“As I told you,” Michael began. “You exist to serve me. If you use your abilities in a way I don’t like, I can take them away. And I will make it hurt. Every. Time.”

You stared up at Michael, until suddenly your eyes started to sting.

“Don’t look at me,” Michael snapped. “Keep your eyes down.”

You dropped your eyes down and whimpered as the pain slowly faded away, but Michael had already turned his attention to the opening door.

“Sir.” A vampire was standing in the doorway. “The bunker’s fortifications are stronger than we thought. It may take days to get through.”

Michael gritted his teeth. “Fine. Just get it done.”

Michael noticed the monster staring at you. “I see you’ve noticed my girl. This is how all humans who aren’t killed or turned should behave. Ever silent, ever obedient. Understand?”

The vampire licked his lips.

“Would you mind if I had a taste?” He stepped closer to you. “After all, a Winchester—“

“Yes, I would mind,” Michael snapped. “If you want a human, go get your own. I’ve given you the world as your oyster. But the girl is mine. Now leave me.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor as the door swung shut. You felt the toe of Michael’s boot push at your chin, tilting your head up and in Michael’s direction.

“You should be thanking me. It would be so easy for me to let them rip you to shreds.” Michael’s eyes flashed blue, and you felt your throat tighten up. “What do you say?”

“Thank…you…” you gasped, and Michael released his magic hold on your throat.

“You’re a fast learner,” he commended. “Keep it that way, and this will be a lot less painful for you.” Michael twisted his hand, and you felt as though your ribs were twisting around and stabbing your lungs, your heart, everything. “But it can’t be completely painless. If you want a good omelet, you have to crack a few eggs. And I’ve been looking forward to breaking you.”

…

You never thought that you’d associate the sight of your big brother with pain. It took less than two days with Michael to change that.

You didn’t know if your family was still alive. You didn’t know if you’d ever see them again. You didn’t even know if Dean was still around in Michael’s head, or if he could see what was happening to you. All you knew now was pain.

“What’s the situation at the bunker?” Michael was talking to one of his many monsters, but you didn’t dare look up; not even at the mention of your family. “Are they dead yet?”

“I’m afraid not sir. But my people have told me that they’re about to break through the door now that they’ve gotten through all the warding.”

“Good. Tell them to wait until I get there.” You felt Michael’s grace tugging at your neck—your cue to look at him. When you did, he grinned at you, flashing all thirty-two pearly white teeth in a way that Dean never would have. “You’re going to come with me to watch the show,” Michael said. “And then you’ll understand just how hopeless you really are.”

…

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice was the first thing you heard when the bunker door slammed shut behind you and Michael; he wanted to do the killing himself now that the monsters had broken in. It took every ounce of strength you had not to look up and run to your big brother. Instead, you stayed obediently by Michael’s side, your eyes trained on the back of his shoes.

“Oh, she’s mine now,” Michael chuckled. “But I’m a moment it won’t matter to any of you.”

“You had your chance to kill us.” Jack stepped suddenly out from the side hallway, effectively trapping Michael between him and Sam. “And you left. Why?”

“I wanted to get things settled with this sweet little sister of yours before the massacre began,” Michael said, a cocky smirk twisting his lips. “No need for her to get killed when she’s making such a good little slave.”

“Leave her alone!” Jack’s eyes flashed yellow as he took a step toward Michael.

“Jack don’t!” Sam shook his head, and Jack stopped.

“It doesn’t matter what you do at this point,” Michael said. “I told you the story ended with your deaths, and I meant it. You can’t stop me.”

A flicker of a smile crossed Sam’s face. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

You hit the ground hard when Jack tackled you out of the way. His place was immediately taken by Castiel, who rushed Michael. Michael, taken aback, rose his hands to fight Cas a split second too late. Cas grabbed hold of Michael’s wrist and slapped the angel cuffs on him.

“They’ve been re-warded,” Sam piped in. “They’re stronger than they’ve ever been. Oh, and that warding that your monsters thought they got through? Cas booted it up again the minute you stepped inside. Your cavalry isn’t coming. At least, not in time.”

Michael scoffed, “In time for what? You still have no way to kill me, or stop me.”

“Actually we do,” Cas said. “We’re gonna get inside your head, and Dean’s gonna kick you out.”

…

“We’re gonna get Dean back,” Sam tried to tell you as Cas started to hook Michael up to one of the Men of Letters’ machines, but you didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the ground.

You could practically feel Michael’s eyes boring into you, reminding you to do as you were told and keep quiet. You didn’t think he could do anything with the angel cuffs on, but you’d learned to never underestimate Michael’s ability to punish you.

And you’d learned to never disobey him.

Sam turned his attention back to Michael—he could only fight one battle at a time, and getting Dean back took precedence for now—but Cas’s attention was suddenly on you. He walked up to you, leaning down in a failed attempt to meet your eye.

“Are you alright little one?” He asked. No answer. “You’re safe now, he can’t use his powers with the cuffs on.” Nothing. Cas sighed. “As soon as we get Dean back, we’re gonna help you, ok? You won’t have to be scared anymore.” When you still didn’t reply, Cas hesitantly turned his back on you to return to Sam and Dean.

“Me and Cas are going in after him,” Sam said. “Jack, we need you to stay here in case those monsters come in. And—“ Sam glanced at you, but you barely seemed to register anything going on in the room. “And make sure she stays safe, understand?”

“Of course. I won’t let anything happen to her…to any of you,” Jack insisted.

…

“Y/N?” Jack waited until he was sure Michael was safely in his own mind with Sam and Cas before he turned his attention to you. “Y/N, you can hear me right?”

You didn’t nod, exactly, but your head noticeably twitched up, so Jack took that as a good sign.

“Ok, ok good. I just wanna make sure you know that you’re safe. Michael isn’t gonna hurt you ever again, ok? Sam and Cas have this plan—they’re gonna talk to Dean up there in his head, and he’s gonna kick Michael out. He’ll be back to regular Dean, just like I said. We’re gonna get him back, Y/N. I promise.” Jack reached forward and wrapped his hand around yours. Your hand was limp in his, your fingers unmoving.

Jack sighed. “I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be, I promise. Remember I helped you after Asmodeus hurt you? I just want to help you again. I want you to feel safe again.”

Jack waited, his breath stagnant as he watched you.

Nothing. Not a hint of movement in your eyes, not a twitch from the limp hand that was still resting in Jack’s. It was like you weren’t even in there.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Jack said. “I’m gonna help you come back.”

…

“I’ve got him.”

It was Michael’s voice, but it didn’t sound like Michael anymore. Could it be…

“Sammy, I’ve got him. He’s secure, he’s not going anywhere.” Dean. It was Dean. “Y/N?” The sound of that voice calling your name stopped your breath, even though you were almost sure it was your big brother now.

“Hey, wait—“ you heard the scuffling of feet and the sound of Sam’s voice. “Dean, don’t. Michael—he took her. He hurt her. I don’t really know how, or what happened, but…but just go slow with her.”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was gentle as he slowly stepped closer to you. “Y/N, it’s Dean. Would you look at me, please?”

This finally got a reaction. You tilted your chin up and lifted your eyes to Dean, but you still didn’t move or speak.

“Hey.” A relieved smile broke out on Dean’s face—at least he knew you were listening now. “Hey kiddo. You doin ok?”

The longer you stared at Dean, the more shallow your breathing became. Dean was just reaching for you, hoping to calm you down, when you suddenly turned on your heel and made a dash for your room.

“Y/N!” Sam called after you. The slam of your door was his answer.

…

You wouldn’t answer the door for anyone, even Jack.

“I’m gonna go in there,” Dean decided.

“Dean, maybe she just needs space,” Sam suggested.

“She’s been in there all day without a word.” Dean shook his head. “I’ve gotta at least check on her.”

‘’Maybe I should try,” Jack suggested.

“I’m doing this alone.” Dean’s voice didn’t leave much room for argument, but Jack tried anyway.

“You still don’t trust me around her?” Jack asked.

“It’s not about that,” Dean huffed. “I’m the one who did this, so I’m the one who needs to fix it.”

“Dean, it wasn’t your—“ Cas’s protests stopped when Dean held up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter. She still sees him every time she looks at me. I need to fix this.”

Sam was the first to relent, and he managed to get Jack and Cas to leave with him to give you and Dean some space.

“Kiddo?” Dean knocked softly, knowing you wouldn’t answer. He was right. “Kiddo, if you don’t say anything I’m just gonna open the door. You ok in there?” After a prolonged silence, Dean went on. “Ok, I’m coming in.” He twisted the handle, glad it wasn’t locked, and slipped through the door.

You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, your knees tucked up against your chest. Your whole body stiffened when Dean stepped into the room, but other than that there was no indication that you’d seen him enter; you didn’t look at him, you didn’t move.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. He sat next to you, and you didn’t react. “Would you look at me?”

Your eyes met Dean’s, and something scratched at the back of his mind.

“Are you just gonna do what I tell you to do?” Dean swallowed. “Is…is that what Michael made you do?” You stayed silent, so Dean prompted, “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Kid, you don’t have to do that. I’m not Michael, you know that right?”

“I…” your voice faltered. You took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll—I’m trying.”

“I never wanted him to hurt you,” Dean sighed. “I never meant for—“

“It’s not your fault, De,” you interrupted. “You’re not Michael, and…and nothing he said or did meant anything about you.”

“Ok, I got it.” Dean put his hand on your shoulder. “Now you gotta remember that, too, and stop being so freaked around me. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I told you, I’ll try…Dean?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Are you sure he can’t get out?”

When he saw you shaking, Dean reached out and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sure. I’m never gonna let that guy hurt you again, ok? Never.”

You finally relaxed in your big brother’s arms.

“Ok.”

“Good. Now let’s go bother Sam and the angel gang.”

You laughed.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[lillmirey]

„The Weight of the Truth“

summary: in which Emily relays on her Girlfriend

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Season 17 plot line used. fluff

Word Count: 1,2k

The BAU was quiet that night, the kind of silence that rang louder than the chaos the team usually endured. Emily Prentiss sat at her desk, the warm glow of her desk lamp highlighting the exhaustion etched into her face. You, her long-time girlfriend, had promised to meet her at Quantico to help her unwind after a particularly grueling week. You often joked that dating the Unit Chief of the BAU meant being her second-in-command when it came to maintaining her sanity.

But tonight, you could tell something was different.

The moment you stepped into her office, Emily’s eyes lifted to meet yours, and you could see the storm brewing behind them. Her lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, closing the door behind you. You placed the takeout bag on her desk and walked over, your hands naturally finding her shoulders to knead out the tension. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world today.”

Emily leaned into your touch but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, savoring the fleeting comfort you offered.

“You always know,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Of course I know,” you replied. “I know you better than anyone, Em.”

For a while, she let you work on the knots in her shoulders, the room enveloped in a comfortable silence. But then she spoke, her tone unsteady.

“(Y/N)… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You stilled, sensing the shift in the air. You moved to sit in the chair across from her, reaching for her hands.

“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together,” you assured her.

She looked down at your joined hands, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “This week has been… complicated. The team found out some things about me that I’ve been keeping under wraps. Things I never wanted to come out.”

You frowned, your mind racing. “What do you mean?”

Emily’s gaze lifted, the vulnerability in her eyes cutting you to your core. “Before I joined the BAU—before I even met you—I was… recruited by an international organization. It was supposed to be temporary, just a few undercover missions. But those missions turned into something darker, something I’ve been trying to bury ever since.”

Your heart clenched at the weight of her words, but you didn’t interrupt.

“One of those missions involved planting false evidence,” she continued. “It was supposed to take down a dangerous criminal network, but the fallout… it ruined lives. And now, it’s come back to haunt me. Someone leaked my involvement, and the team—” She broke off, her voice cracking.

“They’re questioning you,” you finished for her.

She nodded, her jaw tight. “They say they understand, but I can see the doubt in their eyes. I’ve worked so hard to lead this team with integrity, and now it feels like everything I’ve built is falling apart.”

You let her words sink in, the gravity of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. Emily Prentiss was the strongest person you knew, but even she had her limits.

“Emily,” you said, your voice firm. “I don’t care about your past. I care about who you are now. And the woman I see in front of me is brave, compassionate, and willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people she loves.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You say that now, but what if—”

“No,” you interrupted, squeezing her hands. “I’m not going anywhere, no matter how messy things get. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Emily’s lips parted as if to argue, but the look in your eyes stopped her. For once, she allowed herself to lean on you, the walls she so carefully constructed crumbling just a little.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You stood, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to you, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Emily,” you murmured. “And we’re going to get through this. Together.”

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

The fallout from Emily’s past continued to loom over the team in the weeks that followed. Tension was high, and trust was strained. You could see how it weighed on her, the constant scrutiny taking its toll.

One evening, you found her sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, staring blankly at the wall. You slid in beside her, tucking yourself under her arm.

“Bad day?” you asked gently.

She let out a heavy sigh. “They caught the leak, but the damage is done. I can tell the team’s still wary. And maybe they should be. Maybe I’m not the leader they deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly. “You’ve saved more lives than I can count, Emily. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours for reassurance. “What if I can’t fix this? What if I lose everything I’ve worked for?”

“You won’t lose me,” you said softly.

That night, as you lay in bed together, you held her close, letting her feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. It was a silent promise—a reminder that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone.

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

Months passed, and Emily slowly began to rebuild the trust she thought she’d lost. The team rallied around her, proving that the bonds they shared were stronger than any shadow from her past.

And you were there every step of the way, reminding her of her worth, of the love that surrounded her.

One evening, as you stood in the kitchen cooking dinner, Emily walked in, a rare smile gracing her lips. She wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What’s this for?” you asked with a laugh.

“For being you,” she replied simply. “For sticking by me when I wasn’t sure I deserved it.”

You turned in her arms, cupping her face. “You deserve the world, Emily Prentiss. Don’t ever doubt that.”

In that moment, she realized that no matter how dark her past might be, the future was brighter because you were in it.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.

[eiightysixbaby]

a holiday meet-cute

robin buckley x fem!reader

another fic for @littlexdeaths 12 days of promptmas 😌 prompt: you need a last minute gift, but man that salesclerk sure is cute…

The mall is packed.

You can’t really be surprised, what with Christmas being in two short days. Turns out you aren’t the only person in town who waited until the last second to buy a gift.

You’d thought you had all of your gifts in order, until one of your friends decided to mention they got you an unexpected gift, and now you felt obligated to return the favor.

You loosen the scarf around your neck, unbuttoning your coat now that you’re safe from the elements. You glance around the mall somewhat aimlessly, letting your feet carry you. Your gaze snags on the bookstore, eyes lighting up at the sight.

Bingo.

Trailing inside, you’re met with shelf after shelf of books. You don’t really know where to begin looking, you just hope that you’ll know when you find the right one. You brush past other shoppers, eyes roaming over the spines and covers of various novels.

“Did you need help finding anything?” a voice asks, breaking you from your shopping trance.

You turn, fingers still gently grazing the spine of one of the books on the shelf before you, and when you meet the face of the salesperson, your heart skips a beat.

She’s gorgeous. Stunning, bright blue eyes and freckles sprinkled over her face. Dirty blonde hair with bangs that suit her well. She looks at you expectantly, but there’s an almost nervous edge to her demeanor. Your eyes catch her name tag. Robin is written in blue marker, squiggles and dots and other designs littering the blank space around her name.

“Oh, um, no,” you stammer awkwardly. “I’m just looking for a last minute gift for a friend,” you tell her, feeling your cheeks grow warm under her stare.

“That one is actually one of my favorites”, she says, motioning with a nod of her head to the book where your fingers rest.

You follow her gaze, looking back at the book to pull it off of the shelf, though you find you don’t really want to stop looking at her.

“I-I’ve recommended it to all of my friends,” the salesclerk continues. “My friend Steve — he literally never reads — finally read that a couple months ago and he loved it. Talked my ear off about it afterwards. I almost regretted recommending it in the first place,” she laughs kind of nervously, chewing at her lip as if to keep herself from saying more.

You find the personal anecdote adorable, taking her recommendation seriously.

“Hm,” you ponder, staring at the cover of the book now in your hands. “I think you’ve just convinced me,” you tell her, watching as her eyes visibly brighten.

“Really?” she asks, her voice suddenly so quiet.

“Mhm,” you nod. “My friend, the one I’m buying for, hasn’t read in a while and they’ve been looking for something to get them back in the groove.”

The girl lights up, smiling so big. It takes all you’ve got not to reach out and trace the little laugh lines on her face. Instead you smile back at her, and maybe you hold each other’s gaze for a minute too long, but maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I’m so glad I could help,” she says finally, cheeks turning pink as her eyes dart away. “Do you want me to check you out?” she asks, before her eyes go wide. “I mean, like, ring you out. Not check you out like, check you out. Oh, god,” she trails off, but her embarrassment only makes you more smitten with her.

“That would be great,” you tell her, giggling softly to yourself as she nods and turns, skittering away like a mouse.

You follow, weaving through the shelves and up to the checkout counter. She takes your book, scanning it for you, and you find yourself tracing the freckles on her cheeks as she works.

“So, are you excited for the holiday?” she asks you. The small talk is welcome — anything to keep you here longer.

“I’m more excited now that my shopping is all done,” you reply. “Do you have any plans?” you ask, handing her the money for your purchase.

“Ah,” she says, expression turning kind of sad. “Not this year. I usually go back home for the holidays, but I couldn’t swing it this year between work and school.”

“Oh,” you frown, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

There’s a pause, her pretty hands placing your book in a small paper bag, your eyes already on her when she looks up to meet them.

“You know, my friends and I are having a little get together. On— on Christmas Day,” you start. “Everyone always has a date and, well, I don’t have one.”

Her head tilts ever so slightly to the side, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth.

“I know we just met and you don’t even know my name or literally anything, but… if you wanted to come with me—” you stop yourself, suddenly self-conscious.

But the look in her eyes is so hopeful, it encourages you to go on.

“We’d love to have you. I’d— I’d love to help make your holiday less lonely. Since you helped me so much today, with the gift.”

“Am I attending this party as your date?” she asks, emphasizing the last word cutely, her voice gone so soft you have to lean forward to hear her.

Your face warms, fingers fidgeting on the countertop.

“If that’s okay with you, Robin,” you say, and the smile that crosses her face at the use of her name makes you certain you’ve made the right move.

The line of customers behind you grows, people in a hurry to get out and on their way. You both recognize this at the same time, and you shoot her an apologetic glance.

“I’d love to come,” Robin says, flipping your receipt over and scribbling something down. “That’s my number,” she says, handing you the slip of paper. “I’m off at 7 today, if you want to call. Or anything.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Yeah, okay. I will.”

With the receipt clutched in your hand and the book tucked under your arm, you give her a small wave before leaving the bookstore.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you look down at her writing, the glittery gel pen’s ink making each number sparkle.

Christmas can’t come fast enough.

[spotsandsocks]

Hiii Spotty 💕💕💕

🎅+Aurora

-❤️🪐

Hi! I’m sorry this one’s jumped the queue a bit cos I got inspired… hopefully in a surprising and fun way? It’s 900 words and will turn up on ao3 at some point. 🩷💙🩷💙🩷💙 it’s been written quick and messy so apologies for any errors (would love to know when you worked out what was happening, it’s probably very obvious)

Three days and he hasn’t let it go. Eddie had been sure he would but the man’s stubborn. More stubborn than he anticipated. Too late he sees Buck coming towards him, there’s no subtle way to avoid him so he squares his shoulder and faces his fate. There’s always the option that Buck won’t ask again.

“Eddie.”

“Buck.”

He returns the greeting smoothly. Buck stares him straight in the eye and jumps right in.

“You gonna tell me yet?

“I’ve already told you I don’t have an opinion on the subject.”

The look on Buck’s face is skeptical at best.

“Don’t believe you.”

The stand off continues, blue staring down brown.

“I’ll find out eventually.”

Eddie doesn’t see how to be honest but the determined way Buck pokes his chest with his middle finger puts doubt in his heart.

“Everyone has a favourite and I need to know yours.”

Buck narrows his eyes before he spins on his heel and walks away.

“Not everyone has a favourite.” Buck holds up a dismissive hand as he disappears. “Bet Bobby doesn’t.” Eddie yells after him.

Buck spins, starts walking backwards. “He does and at least he wasn’t too embarrassed to tell me.

He’s taken three steps closer before he realises what he’s done and stops.

“I’m not embarrassed! I just don’t have a favourite.”

Buck shakes his head sadly.

“Sure Eddie. Gonna find out in the end. I have ways. Ways Eddie!”

Then he’s turning away again and marching off leaving Eddie standing alone and feeling oddly guilty.

*

He lasts another day. Well one shift with Buck being polite and slightly cool, sitting at the other end of the couch not next to him, staring at him but not asking the question anymore. One lunch with Chim, Hen and even Bobby asking him to just tell him.

He doesn’t get why Buck needs to know anyway. Hen says it doesn’t matter why, he wants to know so tell him, Chim says to tell him before Buck phones his abelua to find out (which is a possibility that hadn’t occurred to him)l and Bobby says tell him before I have to order you to.

Eddie keeps telling the lie that he can’t tell Buck anything because he doesn’t have a favourite. He does, but he’s not supposed to so saying it out loud makes him feel weird. The others all told him their answer to Buck’s seemingly random and to Eddie deeply personal question.

He lasts one shift and a final look into sad blue eyes that look his way once before Buck says a general goodbye to the room and leaves.

Shit. Eddie rests his head on the locker with a deep sigh.

“It doesn’t make you any less of a man Eddie. It’s ok.”

Chimney’s voice is kind but has an undercurrent of amusement. It’s ok for him he wasn’t brought up in a toxic comp het environment.

“I know that, it’s just…. silly, isn’t it? I don’t see the point.”

“Do you have a favourite?”

Eddie sighs again and confesses.

“Yes.”

“Then just tell him. Who knows why he wants to know, he just does so make him happy and tell him.”

*

He knocks and waits. He hasn’t texted to say he’s coming over. He’s just turned up, that’s ok, they do that sometimes.

The door opens and Buck’s smile slides off his face when he realises who’s at his door.

“Eddie.” It’s a flat disappointed tone, Eddie can’t take it anymore. He blurts out the answer.

“The pink one,”

Buck frowns. “What?”

“The pink one is my favourite.”

“The pink one?”

“Yes.”

“The pink ones your favourite and you don’t even know her name?” Buck’s eyebrow cross examines him.

“Fine… Aurora. Sleeping Beauty. Briar Rose. She’s my favourite Disney Princess.”

Now he’s confessed Buck’s face has split into a giant grin. Maybe telling Buck something he’s never told anyone before is worth the embarrassment for a smile like that. Buck opens the door wider, clearly inviting him in.

“Thank you Eddie, was that so hard?”

As he walks past Buck adds.

“Mine is Ariel.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, very rude of you, but I have no problem sharing important information with friends, unlike some people.”

And with that pointed comment, they’ve made it to the kitchen island which is apparently covered by various princess related decorations stickers, ribbons and sparkly things.

“Anyway, now you’re here you can help me. I’m making Jee’s birthday present.”

Eddie’s heart melts a little at how soft Buck is for his niece.

“Kinda got caught up in a Disney Princess research spiral, quizzes and stuff, what Disney Princess are you, what your favourite princess says about you…you know.”

Not really, but it sounds very Buck to him.

“So you wanted to know our favourites…” Eddie nods understanding now, and when he’d had refused to say, Buck had been upset and suddenly needed to know desperately. Also very Buck.

“Sorry I was being stubborn about it but when I was a kid boys didn’t like Disney Princess.”

“It’s ok, still love ya.”

The words make Eddie’s cheeks flush but he ignores that and joins his best friend; the kindest man he knows and starts to help with his mission to make and it’s a direct quote from the man himself, “the best, most princessy princess castle that ever princessed for a princess.”

Buck grins happily at him from the other side of the island and Eddie wonders if the day will come when he’s ready to tell Buck another secret about himself. He hopes so. He really does.

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

20. Blame On Me

Series Masterlist

Maryse sat in the cozy dimly lit room, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She glanced around, taking in the bookshelf filled with self-help titles and the calming artwork on the walls, but none of it settled the nervous energy bubbling inside her. This was her first therapy session, and although she knew she needed it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was out of place.

The therapist, a kind-eyed woman with a warm smile, sat across from her, pen and notepad in hand. “Take your time,” she said gently. “We don’t have to dive in right away. This space is for you, at your own pace.”

Maryse nodded, her throat tightening as she tried to find her voice. “I’m not really sure where to start,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s okay,” the therapist assured her. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?”

Maryse hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her oversized sweatshirt. “Well… my partner—he suggested it,” she began. “He said I’ve been holding a lot in, especially after having the twins and, you know… the stalker incident last year.”

The therapist nodded, her expression encouraging but not intrusive. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. And it’s wonderful that you have someone in your life who cares so much about your well-being.”

A small smile tugged at Maryse’s lips. “He’s the best,” she said softly. “But… sometimes I feel like I’m letting everyone down if I’m not okay. Like I have to keep going, keep being strong, for him, for the kids, for my career.”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, and her voice cracked slightly at the end. She quickly looked away, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“It’s a lot to carry,” the therapist said gently. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. That’s what this space is for—so you can let some of it out and start to heal.”

Maryse nodded, exhaling shakily as the weight of her emotions began to surface. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she didn’t have to hold it all together. It was terrifying but also a little freeing.

As the session went on, she found herself opening up more, sharing pieces of her struggles and fears. By the time it ended, she felt lighter—not completely, but enough to make her realize that this might actually help.

Maryse left her first therapy session feeling nervous but hopeful. The therapist had encouraged her to take small steps in opening up to the people closest to her, especially Jack. “Start with something specific,” her therapist had said. “Talk about your mom guilt. Let him in.”

Later that evening, Maryse found Jack in the living room, slouched on the couch, flipping through TV channels aimlessly. His posture alone told her he’d had a rough day.

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting beside him. “You okay?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Not really. Studio was a mess today. Couldn’t get the sound right, producers kept switching things up, and I’m just over it.”

Maryse hesitated, the assignment from her therapist still fresh in her mind. She reached for his hand, trying to find the right moment. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she started cautiously.

“Can it wait?” he muttered, not looking at her. “I’m not really in the mood for anything heavy right now.”

Her heart sank, but she pressed on, her voice a little firmer this time. “It’s important. I’ve been feeling… I don’t know, overwhelmed, I guess. Like I’m not doing enough for the twins, or that I’m not a good mom because I’m away sometimes.”

Jack sighed again, this time louder, and leaned back on the couch. “Babe, you’re overthinking it. The kids are fine. You’re fine. Can we just not do this right now?”

The dismissive tone stung more than she expected. She bit her lip, fighting back tears, and nodded silently. “Okay. I’ll let you relax,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, before standing and walking toward the twins’ room.

Once inside, she found herself pacing, frustration bubbling up. She didn’t want to push him on a bad day, but it hurt to feel like her emotions were being brushed aside. 

She spotted London lying in her crib, wide awake but quiet, her big eyes staring at the mobile above her. Maryse scooped her up gently, holding her close and peppering her with soft kisses.

“Hey, baby girl,” she whispered, her voice shaky as she tried to soothe herself through London. “At least you’re always here for me, huh?”

London cooed softly, her tiny hands reaching for Maryse’s face, and Maryse let out a weak laugh, the weight of her frustration still pressing down on her chest.

Over the next few days, Maryse barely spoke to Jack. She went about her routine, caring for the twins and avoiding him as much as possible. When he tried to initiate small talk, she responded with short, curt answers. Meanwhile, she started packing a bag for herself and the twins bit by bit, trying not to make it obvious but unable to fully hide her intentions.

It wasn’t until the third evening that Jack noticed her pulling baby clothes from the dresser into a tote bag. “Yo, what’s your problem?” he asked, standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

She paused, her back still to him, then turned around slowly. “My problem? My problem is that when I tried to talk to you about something important, you brushed me off like I was annoying you,” she snapped.

Jack frowned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t brush you off. I just had a bad day! I’m doing my best here, but I’m not a mind reader, M. How am I supposed to know what you need if you don’t tell me?”

“You didn’t even try to listen!” she shot back, her voice rising. “I finally worked up the courage to talk to you about how I’ve been feeling, and you couldn’t even give me five minutes of your time. Instead, you made me feel like what I’m going through doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his voice defensive but softer now. “You know I care about you and the kids. I’m just trying to juggle everything too.”

“Well, congratulations, you’re juggling so well you’ve managed to drop me,” she said bitterly. “So, until you figure out how to actually listen and care about what I’m saying, I’m taking the twins to my parents’ house.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What? You’re overreacting—”

“Am I? Or am I just making sure I’m around people who actually notice when I’m drowning?” she interrupted. She zipped up the tote bag with a dramatic tug. 

She brushed past him, leaving him standing in stunned silence as she headed to the nursery to get the twins.

Maryse was in the nursery, gently dressing London while Noah sat in his bouncer, kicking his little feet. She moved methodically, her hands steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Jack followed her into the room, his voice firm but not harsh.

“Maryse, stop,” he said, “We need to talk about this.”

Without looking at him, she adjusted London’s tiny socks and shook her head. “No, I tried talking. You didn’t want to hear me then, so why should I believe you want to hear me now?”

He sighed and pushed off the doorframe, taking a few steps closer. “I wasn’t in the right headspace that day. I know I messed up, but walking out with the kids isn’t the answer.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes sharp. “You don’t get to decide what the answer is for me. You made it clear I was just another thing on your list of problems that day. I’m not going to beg you to care.”

Jack ran another hand through his hair in frustration. “You know I care. I’ve been here every step of the way, trying to support you and the twins. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.”

“Trying?” she repeated, her voice bitter. “Trying would’ve been sitting down with me when I told you I was struggling instead of brushing me off. Trying would’ve been hearing me when I needed you instead of making excuses.”

He crouched down to her level as she adjusted London’s tiny jacket as she placed her in her car seat, his tone softening. “I hear you now, though. Don’t leave, please. Let’s just talk.”

But she stood up, moving to get Noah. “No, Jack. I don’t want to talk anymore. You didn’t listen when it mattered. I’ll be at my mom’s. Maybe you can use the quiet to figure out what you want to say.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew there was no stopping her at that moment. As she buckled Noah in, she added quietly, “I’m not trying to punish you—I just can’t keep feeling like this in my own home.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, but said nothing as she lifted the car seats and walked past him. 

Jack eventually followed her to the front door, his voice sharper now, frustration bubbling over. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna take my kids and leave like this? You don’t think this is a little childish?”

Maryse spun around, her hand still gripping the car seat handle. Her eyes blazed as she snapped back, “They’re not just your kids, Jackman. They’re ours. And I’m doing what I think is best for my sanity and their well-being because clearly, staying here and feeling invisible isn’t working for me.”

“I feel like you’re trying to make me the bad guy.”

“You think this is about making you the bad guy?” she said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “This is about me needing to be heard, needing to feel like my feelings matter too. But every time I try, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

He clenched his jaw, his hands on his hips, trying to steady his tone. “You don’t have to run to your mom’s house to make a point.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “This isn’t about making a point. This is about me feeling like I’m not drowning for once. And if I have to leave to get that, then so be it.”

As she opened the door, she turned back one last time, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I love you.” knowing that he needed to hear her say it.

“I know.” Jack said and gave her a nod. Maryse sighed and with that, she stepped outside, the door closing behind her with a weight that lingered in the air.

***

Jack was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the house unbearably quiet without Maryse and the twins. He hadn’t heard from her since she left, and guilt was slowly sinking in.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he grabbed it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

Before he could say another word, his mom’s sharp voice cut through the line like a whip. “What the hell did you do, Jackman?”

He sat up straight, alarmed. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” she snapped. “Maryse called me crying—crying—and said she took my grandbabies to her mom’s house because she needed a break from you. A break from you, Jack! What did you do to her?”

Jack groaned, running a hand down his face. “Ma, it’s not that simple—”

“Not that simple? Let me tell you what’s simple, boy,” she cut him off, her voice heated. “You’ve got a woman who gave you two beautiful babies, and she’s trying to handle being a mom while still figuring out her own stuff, and instead of supporting her, you’re pushing her away! That’s what’s simple!”

“I’m not pushing her away!” he protested, though the defensiveness in his tone wasn’t helping his case.

“Oh, really?” she fired back. “Because from what I’m hearing, you encouraged her to go to therapy, and now that she’s trying to open up to you, you’re shutting her down! What kind of sense does that make?”

Jack froze at that, the truth of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t have a response, and his mom took the silence as her cue to keep going.

“She’s already feeling guilty and overwhelmed, and she’s trying to do what you suggested—trying to talk—and you pushed her away. How do you think that makes her feel? How do you think it makes me feel, knowing my grandbabies are caught in the middle because their parents are too stubborn to figure this out?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, guilt hitting him full force. “Ma, I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. I just… I had a bad day, and I didn’t handle it right. She tried to talk to me, and I didn’t… I didn’t give her what she needed.”

“Well, no kidding!” she huffed. “You think this is some kind of game? Relationships take work, Jack. You need to fix this before it gets worse. And don’t just show up empty-handed either—bring some damn flowers, apologize, and for heaven’s sake, listen to her.”

“I will,” he muttered, feeling about two inches tall.

“You better,” she warned. “Because if you let that girl slip through your fingers, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I hear you, Ma. I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“And don’t wait too long, you hear me?” she added, her tone softening slightly. “She loves you, Jack. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said quietly.

As the call ended, he stared at his phone for a moment, already planning how to make things right. His mom was right—he’d been stubborn, but it was time to own up to his mistakes.

****

Maryse was sitting in the rocking chair in the kids nursery that her parents put together when they decided to move to Kentucky to be closer to their grandkids, gently swaying back and forth with London in her arms. The baby was fussing, her little face scrunched up as she whimpered and refused to settle.

“Come on, London,” Maryse whispered, her voice soft but tired. “Mama’s got you. Just close those pretty eyes for me.”

London, however, had other plans. She let out another fussy cry, her tiny hands grabbing at Maryse’s shirt in protest.

Maryse sighed, resting her head against the back of the chair. “You’re really going to make this hard for me, huh? Is this because Daddy’s not here to do the bedtime dance?”

She tried humming a lullaby, but London wasn’t having it. Maryse adjusted her hold, gently bouncing her daughter in hopes of soothing her. “I know you love when Daddy sings to you, but Mama can sing too, you know,” she said, her tone teasing despite her exhaustion.

Her mom peeked her head into the room, holding a warm bottle. “Still not down?”

“Nope,” Maryse replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “She’s got her daddy wrapped around her little finger, and now she won’t nap without him.”

Her mom chuckled softly, walking in to place the bottle on the dresser. “That girl does love her daddy, but you’ve got that same magic touch, sweetheart. You just have to find it again.”

Maryse gave a weak smile. “Yeah, but he’s the one who does all the silly voices and bounces her in that special way that makes her laugh first, then fall asleep.”

“Maybe you can FaceTime him,” her mom suggested, giving her a knowing look.

Maryse sighed, staring down at London, who was still fighting sleep like it was her personal mission. “If I call him now, it’s going to feel like admitting defeat,” she joked, but her tone was weary.

Her mom touched her shoulder gently. “It’s not defeat, honey. It’s teamwork. And I’m sure he’d love to see her anyway.”

After a moment, Maryse relented. She pulled out her phone and hit the video call button. When Jack’s face popped up on the screen, looking a little disheveled but concerned, she felt a wave of relief.

“Hey,” he said, noticing her tired expression right away. “What’s going on?”

Maryse turned the camera to London, who perked up the moment she saw her dad on the screen, her little arms reaching toward the phone.

“Well, somebody won’t take a nap because you’re not here to do the magic,” Maryse said, her voice softening.

Jack chuckled, his voice warm. “Oh, is that right, London? You giving Mama a hard time?”

London babbled happily, her fussiness forgotten as she watched her dad’s face. Maryse rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, okay,” Jack said. “Put the phone near her ear. Let me do my thing.”

As Maryse held the phone near London’s ear, Jack’s soft singing worked its magic. London’s little body finally relaxed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Unbelievable,” Maryse muttered, more to herself than to him, as she gently laid London down in the crib.

Jack smiled at the screen. “Told you I had the magic touch,” he said playfully.

Maryse just shrugged, keeping her face neutral. “Guess so,” she replied, her tone flat. She didn’t even glance at the screen as she adjusted the baby blanket.

Jack frowned slightly, sensing her mood but deciding not to push. “You, uh… you coming home tonight?” he asked cautiously.

Maryse didn’t look up from where she was now tidying the nursery, giving a small shake of her head.

“No,” she said simply, her voice devoid of any emotion.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his voice softening. “Alright. Well, I love you.”

She paused for a split second, her hand hovering over London’s crib, then straightened up. “I know,” she said coolly, not meeting his eyes through the screen.

Before he could respond, she ended the call, setting the phone down on the dresser without another word.

Jack stared at the now-black screen in disbelief, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. For the first time, the weight of the distance between them felt heavier than ever.

Her mom had been standing just outside the nursery door, rocking Noah gently in her arms. She heard every word of the conversation and watched as Maryse stared at the blank phone screen with a clenched jaw.

“Baby,” her mom said softly, stepping into the room, “you need to go home and talk to him.”

Maryse sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed London’s pacifier from the dresser. “Why, Mom? When I wanted to talk, he didn’t want to listen,” she said bitterly, her tone sharp.

Her mom didn’t let her finish. “Stop it right there,” she said firmly, giving her daughter a knowing look. “Your father and I raised you better than this, and you know it. You’re upset, and you have every right to be, but shutting down like this isn’t the answer. You two are in a partnership. That man loves you, and I know you love him. You don’t fix things by running away every time it gets hard.”

Maryse crossed her arms defensively but didn’t respond, her mom’s words hitting too close to home.

Her mom continued, her voice softening. “He’s not perfect, and neither are you. But he’s trying. Don’t let your pride ruin something good. Those babies deserve two parents who work through their problems, not run from them.”

Maryse swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward London’s crib. Her mom placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been through so much, and I know it’s not easy. But don’t shut him out just because he didn’t respond the way you wanted the first time. Go home. Sit down. Talk to him like the woman I raised you to be.”

Maryse blinked back tears, her mom’s words sinking in, but she still hesitated. “What if he doesn’t understand, Mom? What if he doesn’t get it?”

Her mom smiled softly. “Then you explain it to him until he does. Relationships aren’t about who’s right or wrong. It’s about making the choice to try every single day. You’re stronger than this, baby. Go home.”

“I’ll think about it.” Maryse said with a sigh before turning to leave the room and head towards the bathroom to shower for the night. 

***

The next morning, Maryse’s mom was up earlier than usual, enjoying her coffee in the quiet of the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. She frowned, not expecting anyone, and pulled out her phone to check the ring camera.

There he was—Jack, standing on her porch in a hoodie, hands stuffed into his pockets, rocking nervously on his heels.

Her jaw dropped when she noticed the rest of the scene: the entire porch was covered in roses. Bouquets of every size, from deep crimson to soft pink, crowded every inch of space, leaving barely enough room for him to stand.

She sighed, setting her coffee down with a muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

Opening the door just enough to poke her head out, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Big Gesture himself.”

Jack looked up, giving a sheepish smile. “Morning, Ms. Monet. I, uh… I came to apologize.”

Her gaze flicked to the mountain of flowers spilling onto her porch. “And…all this?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to show her I’m serious. I messed up, and I need her to know I’m sorry.”

She looked him over for a moment before stepping out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “You can wait right here,” she said firmly.

“Outside?”

She folded her arms. “Yes, outside. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll come out. But I’m not letting you barge in here and force her into anything.”

Jack nodded, swallowing hard. “That’s fair.”

She softened just a bit, adding, “And for the record? Big gestures are cute, but they don’t fix everything, son. You’ve got to do better than flowers.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m ready to.”

“Good,” she said, turning back toward the door. “Now sit tight. I’ll go let her know you’re here.”

He watched her go, left standing on the porch surrounded by roses, the morning air cool against his skin as he rehearsed everything he wanted to say.

Her mom walked into the nursery where Maryse was playing on the floor with Noah. Arms crossed. “He’s outside. And he’s not leaving.”

Maryse frowned, glancing up from where she sat with Noah in her lap. “What do you mean, he’s outside?”

Her mom sighed and gestured toward the front door. “Check the camera.”

Reluctantly, Maryse picked up her phone and opened the app, her heart sinking as she saw Jack standing there. He looked nervous, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She hated how good he looked, even when he was clearly stressed out.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before deciding to press the intercom button on the camera. “What do you want?” her voice came through the speaker, flat and guarded.

Jack immediately perked up, looking straight at the camera. “Baby, can we talk? Please?”

Maryse tilted her head, her tone remaining cool. “Didn’t you say I was acting childish? Maybe I’m still too busy being childish to talk.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, I deserve that. But I’m not here to argue. I’m here to apologize. Can we please talk? Face to face?”

She crossed her arms and leaned back on the couch, debating her next move. “You seem fine talking to me through the camera.”

Jack chuckled softly, though it was tinged with frustration. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

Maryse smirked faintly but kept her voice steady. “You tell me, Mr. Mind Reader.”

Jack sighed again, looking directly into the camera. “You’re right, I messed up. But I miss you and the kids so much it hurts. Please, just give me a chance to fix this.”

Her mom, watching from the doorway, gave her an expectant look. Maryse hesitated, then sighed, standing up. “Stay there,” she said into the camera.

As she walked toward the door, her heart pounded in her chest. She wasn’t ready to let him off the hook completely, but seeing him out there, looking like a lovesick puppy, was softening her resolve.

Maryse unlocked the door and pulled it open, expecting to see just Jack standing there. Her breath hitched when she saw what was behind him.

The entire front porch was filled with roses—dozens upon dozens of bouquets in every shade of red, pink, and white. They spilled down the steps, clustered around the railing, and even lined the walkway.

“Are you serious?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jack gave her a sheepish smile, hands still shoved in his pockets. “I figured one bouquet wasn’t gonna cut it.”

She looked from him to the sea of roses, her lips parting in surprise. “This is… a lot,” she admitted, though she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He took a cautious step forward, his voice soft. “I meant it when I said I’d do whatever it takes to make this right. I just… I love you, and I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t care.”

Maryse’s fingers tightened around the edge of the door as she fought the lump rising in her throat. She wanted to stay mad, but seeing him standing there, nervous and vulnerable, surrounded by roses, made it nearly impossible.

Maryse sat down on the porch reluctantly, trying her hardest to look unimpressed as the sea of roses surrounded her. She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “You know, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still not forgiven.”

Jack, standing in front of her with his hands in his pockets, smirked just slightly. “But… these are your favorite flowers,” he teased, his voice soft but cocky, like he already knew the answer.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, though the corner of her mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “So? That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

He nodded, taking a small step closer and dropping the smirk. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m not here just to sweet-talk my way out of this.” He crouched down in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees so they were face-to-face. “I’m here because I messed up, and I need to own that.”

Maryse glanced away, her walls still up. “You’re right. You did.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings didn’t matter,” he continued, his voice earnest now. “I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me, especially when I wanted you to. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I look at you, and I see how you just do it. You’re this incredible mom. The twins love you. They’re obsessed with you. And sometimes, I feel like you’ve got it all figured out, and I’m just trying to keep up.”

Her eyes flicked back to him, her expression softening slightly.

“And instead of saying that… instead of listening to you, I pushed you away like an idiot,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But you were right. You tried to talk to me, and I didn’t listen. And I’m sorry, babe. You’re the best mom those babies could ever have, and you don’t have to carry all of this alone. I want to be better at showing you that.”

Maryse sighed softly, looking at him for a moment as he sat there waiting, his eyes full of guilt but also hope. “You really feel like you’re just ‘keeping up’?” she asked, her tone gentler now.

Jack nodded, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah. All the time.”

Her lips finally quirked into the faintest smile. “Well, you’re doing better than you think, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He smirked, relief washing over his face as he straightened up. “So, you’re saying there’s hope for me?”

Maryse exhaled, giving him a small eye roll but with a smile this time. “Maybe.”

Jack grinned, pulling her up from the seat on the porch, keeping his hands lightly on her waist. “I’ll take ‘maybe.’ It’s better than ‘get off my porch.’”

She let him pull her close, though she kept her voice stubborn. “Still not forgiven.”

“Okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll keep working on it. Just don’t make me bring more flowers. I don’t think there’s any left in Kentucky.”

Maryse couldn’t help but laugh, punching him lightly in the arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching his arm and pretending it actually hurt.

“Stop being such a baby,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her smile betrayed her.

He dropped the act and looked at her seriously, his voice soft. “But for real… are you coming home now? I really miss you. I miss the kids, too.”

Her teasing expression faltered, replaced by something softer. “You miss me?”

“Like crazy,” he admitted. “The house doesn’t feel right without you.”

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I miss you too,” she finally whispered.

“So… what do you say? Come home?” he asked, reaching out to gently take her hand in his.

She sighed, trying to act like she wasn’t already planning to say yes. “I guess so.”

Jack grinned, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Good. Because I don’t think I could’ve handled another night without you.”

Maryse gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go home.”

***

AN: tell me your thotssss

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[daddyscrubdeeznutz]

So I had this story in my drafts for a while and wasn’t able to finish it due to major writers block if any one want to finish it feel free to do so

Feel free to add smut if you like

“Unlikely Obsession”

The brothel was alive with its usual chaos: laughter, muffled arguments, and the clinking of glasses filled the air. You moved through the room gracefully, pouring drinks, smiling politely, and dodging wandering hands when necessary. You were used to it by now—playing the role of the perfect host without getting too involved. Babette had made it clear from the start that you didn’t have to do more than entertain, a kindness you still didn’t fully understand.

But tonight felt different. There was a weight in the air, a shift in the room’s atmosphere that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Then you saw her.

Sevika leaned against the bar, her coat draped over her broad shoulders and her metal arm glinting under the dim lights. Her eyes swept over the room with a casual confidence, but when they landed on you, they lingered. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the drink you were pouring, but you could feel her gaze, heavy and unrelenting.

You didn’t think much of it at the time. Powerful people like her didn’t pay attention to people like you.

A week later, Sevika was back.

She strode into the brothel like she owned it, ignoring the suggestive smiles and flirtatious greetings thrown her way. Babette intercepted her near the entrance, her usual charm on full display.

“Sevika,” Babette greeted warmly, “here to see Miguel again?”

“Not tonight.” Sevika’s voice was low and deliberate. “I’m here for someone else.”

Babette arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And who might that be?”

“The one from last week,” Sevika said, glancing toward the lounge. “Quiet. Pretty. Didn’t catch her name.”

Babette’s smile faltered for a moment before she understood who Sevika meant. “Ah, you mean Y/n.”

“Yeah. Her.” Sevika’s tone left no room for argument.

Babette hesitated. “She’s not available.”

Sevika’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“She’s a host, Sevika,” Babette explained. “Not a working girl. She’s here to entertain, pour drinks, maybe share a few laughs. That’s it.”

“I don’t care about the rules,” Sevika snapped, her mechanical arm flexing with an audible whir. “I’m not asking for her to work. I’m asking to talk to her. Alone.”

Babette sighed, knowing better than to argue. “I’ll ask her. But if she says no—”

“She won’t,” Sevika interrupted, her confidence unshaken.

When Babette pulled you aside later that evening, her expression was unusually serious.

“You’ve caught someone’s attention,” she began.

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of attention?”

“Sevika wants to meet you. In private.”

Your blood ran cold. “Sevika? As in Silco’s Sevika?”

Babette nodded. “The same. She says she just wants to talk, but I can tell she’s interested in more.”

You swallowed hard, your hands clenching at your sides. “Babette, I’ve heard stories about her. She’s dangerous. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Babette said quickly. “If she wanted to, she wouldn’t have asked. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll turn her down.”

You hesitated, torn between fear and curiosity. Finally, you nodded. “I’ll do it. But if I feel like something’s off, I’m leaving.”

“Fair enough,” Babette agreed, patting your shoulder. “Just be careful.”

The private room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension as you stepped inside. Sevika was already there, seated on the plush couch, her mechanical arm resting casually on the armrest.

“You came,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“I didn’t think I had much of a choice,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite your nerves.

Sevika chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Fair enough. Sit.”

You hesitated before perching on the edge of the seat opposite her, your hands folded tightly in your lap.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice firmer than you expected.

Sevika tilted her head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “Straight to the point. I like that.” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “I’ve been thinking about you. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

You frowned, confusion mingling with your unease. “Why me? You could have anyone here.”

Her smirk faded, replaced by something softer. “I don’t want anyone else.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off. “I’ve heard things about you,” you said carefully. “None of them good.”

“Good,” she replied with a shrug. “Keeps people in line. But I’m not here to scare you, sweetheart. I’m here because I like you.”

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “I don’t know what you expect from me.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Sevika said, her voice low and even. “I just want to get to know you. That’s all.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming at you to leave. But there was something in her eyes—something genuine—that made you stay.

“Fine,” you said, your voice softer now. “But if this is some kind of game—”

“It’s not,” Sevika interrupted firmly. “I don’t play games.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “Alright. Let’s talk.”

Sevika leaned back, a satisfied smile on her lips. “That’s more like it.”

For the first time that night, you felt a flicker of curiosity. Maybe there was more to Sevika than the rumors after all.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I’ve heard numerous times that there aren’t warm feelings between William and the Parker Bowles children.

I read the below on a twitter account around a week ago and thought it was interesting.

….

It has always been interesting that QC's friends only praise one person in the RF: KC. Never the Queen. This statement from Tom Parker Bowles explains why:

"Everyone thinks I knew the late Queen, but we only met twice. I was 8 and scared so I curtseyed rather than bow; and my mother’s wedding, my sister and I went for a cig and I heard her voice behind us ‘Are you lost?’"

"The relationship very much once-removed."🔥

Now if you contrast this distant relationship between The parker bowles and the Queen, to the warm one between the Middletons and the Queen, you will start understanding where a lot of the attacks on Catherine and her family stems from🔥

In "Meet Ella", James Middleton wrote:

"At Sandringham Christmases, we joined in the family gathering. Beatrice and Eugenie, whom I knew from school, would be there and we’d all go to church in the morning."❤️

"One year, the Queen and I sat down to do a jigsaw puzzle. It was the sort of activity I’d have enjoyed with my own grandparents, all four of whom had died in the space of three years when I was a teenager. So in a way, I felt the Queen was filling a granny-sized void in my life."❤️

"And there we were, engaged in this everyday pleasure, which was elevated to the extraordinary by the company I was in. It still feels surreal, the fact that I was there with the Queen: I look back on it with amazement."

"There were presents, too, modest but wrapped with care. Mine from Her Majesty was a pair of socks; I gave her a card with a photo of Ella on it and a few jars of my own honey, which I brought down to breakfast on Christmas morning."

"The Queen talked to me about beekeeping and I knew she appreciated the effort it takes for a colony of bees to produce enough honey for a jar. [...] So a jar of honey, a gift from a queen to the Queen, seemed fitting."❤️

James further tells of another heartwarming story with the Queen:

"Pippa and I were late for Catherine’s birthday party, which in the normal run of things wouldn’t have mattered too much, but this time the Queen had kindly offered to host the teatime gathering at Sandringham."😍

"We’d been on a late-night flight to Gatwick from France and arrived bleary-eyed and sleepless at the airport, then I’d driven us both to Bucklebury so we could pack. I was fretting about the standard of my ironing [...] and I could only find one cufflink.

‘Come on James, we’ve got to go now,’ urged Pippa as I filled up Ella’s water bottle for the journey."

"We arrived breathless and flustered with barely time to run upstairs and change. I bounded downstairs two at a time and into the room where everyone was assembled for tea, almost running smack into Her Majesty."🔥

"She and Prince Philip had got up to leave just as I blundered in with Pippa behind me. All the way up to Norfolk I’d been rehearsing my lines, muttering: ‘Your Majesty’ for the Queen; ‘Your Royal Highness’ for the Duke of Edinburgh.

But in my blind panic I blurted:

'I’m so sorry we’re late, Your Royal Majesty.’"😂

"I heard a snort of laughter and looked past the Queen to see everyone in the room stifling their giggles.

‘Oh, how lovely to see you, James,’ she smiled. "❤️

"I’d met her several times, notably at my sister’s wedding, and she was always welcoming.

‘You must be hungry. Make sure you have something to eat.’ she then said"❤️

What a contrast. The Queen and Prince Philip indeed welcomed the Middletons with open arms. The Queen was even seen driving Carole around in Balmoral.

Therefore, One can clearly see how, an aristocractic family like the Parker Bowles, being held at arms length despite their mother marrying the then-Prince of Wales for years; all the while the Queen welcomed openly and readily the Middletons in Balmoral, Windsor, sandrinham, all places dear to her; must have grated immensely🔥

Again, silence is golden in Royal circles because it is what one reveal unintentionaly that paint the picture clealry☕️2/2

Thanks for sharing! I hadn't read James's memoir yet - just what's been serialized by the Daily Mail - so these extra tidbits are lovely to read.

It's been long alleged that William and Tom PB don't get along. It was rumored earlier this season that William planned to boycott the royal Christmas at Sandringham if Tom was going to go. I've not been able to find a clear reason for this alleged animosity, but my personal theory is that it's to do with either Tom's history of addiction or Tom's chattiness with the press. Or a combination of both.

(Also speaking of Tom's history with addiction, my gut feeling has long been that if Harry could, he'd finger Tom PB for his addictions and substance abuse. Sometimes I kinda wish he would, just to knock Tom off this new pedestal he's gotten ahold of. But I don't think Tom and Harry ever hung out like that so it'd be immediately fishy...but it fits right into that 'William doesn't like Tom' narrative - because William blames Tom for Harry's substance abuse.)

[t-folklore13]

Curly hair - Eddie Munson

18+ MDNI

Warnings: insecurity, overthinking, ridiculous amount of fluff

Summary: you straighten your hair for the first time to impress Eddie

Not proofread!

Friends to lovers

~

I wake up in the morning and remember what Eddie had said to me the last time I saw him “your hair is so curly” I know it was supposed to be a compliment but for some reason that voice in my head was telling me all the worst things, that he actually meant it in a bad way like it’s too curly, too big

I look over at the time and see that it’s four am. I’m wide awake so might as well do something to get ready, as I get in the shower I stare at my mousse and my moms hair straightener

Contemplating the time I take a super fast shower making sure all the soap is out of my hair and blow dry, After an hour and a half it’s finally done my hair is straight and I feel excited to see Eddies reaction to it,

Going downstairs my mom shrieks “Omg honey! You straightened your hair!” I pour cereal and shrug “yeah I had the time and haven’t done it in a while” grabbing my hair she rakes her hands through it “oh it’s so beautiful I’m sure Eddie will love it” my eyebrows shoot up and I almost choke

“Eddie? What are you talking about” laughing she puts away the box and starts walking to the front door “I think you forget I was a teenager with curly hair too” I smile and grab my bag rushing to follow her

*

Getting out of the car I sling my bag over my shoulder and start waking to the entrance when I see robin “hey did you know we have a quiz tomorrow because-“ she stops and stares at me jaw dropped “Your hair is straight!” I laugh and she, like my mom grabs my hair “oooh eddies gonna freak” I roll my eyes and smile “why does everyone think I did this for Eddie maybe I just wanted a change”

“If you wanted a change you would’ve called me first and we would’ve been on the phone so long it would be too late for a change so this was a last minute decision made for a certain someone” I huff knowing she’s right and we start walking to Clicks class, “hey nice hair” I look back and see max rushing up to us

“Thanks red I did it-“ robin cuts in loudly “for Eddie she did it for Eddie” hitting her I scoff “what I was going to say was I did it this morning” max shakes her head “I was gonna say it looks sick but I gotta go talk to mike about el hanging with me I hope Eddie likes it�� my shoulders dropping I laugh yelling down the hall “that’s not why I did it!” She laughs yelling back “sure!”

Finally getting to clicks class me and rob sit down when I hear a bubbly voice behind us “Hey I love your hair today” I turn and see Chrissy Cunningham “oh uh thanks Chrissy I like yours too” she smiles and sits next to Jason “okay I know she’s nice but that was kinda weird don’t you think” I shrug “kinda but hey let’s see how many people actually notice”

Not even five minutes pass when I hear “hey robin oh my your hair is so pretty it must’ve taken ages!” I look up and see “strawberry” which is what robin calls Vicky when she rants about her “oh thanks Vic!” She smiles and robins jaw drops “okay I woke up extra early to not look stupid today and all she says is hi but you straighten your hair and she talks to you longer then she’s talked to me”

I rub her arm and smile “if it makes you feel better she ls staring at you right now” she smiles and turns bright red “shut up”

*

Four class periods and ten compliments from people I’ve never talked to which I guess is nice but the only person I want to hear it from is Eddie walking to lunch I see Dustin and Mike and they walk past me which is really weird till I hear there conversation stop, I turn around and so do they when they erupt with questions “Omg I didn’t even recognize you your hair looks so cool how did you do it? Did it take a long time?”

“Thank you dusty but I just straightened it” Mike interjects with pushing him to the side before he can ask anymore questions “woah eddies gonna freak” I laugh and touch my hair “everyone’s been saying that but what if he hates it”

“No way if we like it then he will too!” My nerves calm down with Dustin’s point when we see Will “Dude I didn’t even know that was you I thought some new girl that didn’t know any better was talking to these two” he gestures to them and laughs “it looks so cool but I’m starving so let’s go eat

Walking into the cafeteria I see Eddie but he’s reading some magazine probably about how d&d is for satinets, walking up he looks up for a second and is about to look back down when he snaps his head up, he looks confused almost sad but why would he? “Hey Ed’s watchu reading?”

“Oh um just something about d&d did you get food? It’s mystery meat today” I laugh but feel all the doubt rushing back and want to cry when Gareth and Lucas walk up “woah cool hair man are you tryna go popular on us?” I smile feeling a bit better at gareths comment “no I just felt like I need a change for a few days” Lucas smiles and nods understanding what I’m saying since Erica does it all the time

“It looks really pretty don’t you agree Eddie?” We all look at him and he smiles “oh uh yeah you look beautiful” he looks right back down and the boys look at each other confused, the way he said it made it sound like he was confused or he just genuinely didn’t care I start to spiral a bit and stand up “hey I um I gotta go” I smile at Lucas with tears in my eyes as I’m walking away I hear

“Dude what the hell you made her cry” a chair skidding across the floor is the last thing I hear when I close the door, trying to find the closet empty classroom, I find the hellfire room and rush in finally breaking down

I hear the door open and close looking up I see Eddie “hey sweetheart I’m so sorry” he sits down next to me on the floor and holds me “I’m so sorry your hair really is beautiful I really do like it” sniffling I wipe my eyes and look at him “then why are you acting like you don’t care I’ve gotten so many compliments today and I was most excited for your reaction but you didn’t even care”

“But I do care I care so much that’s why I had that reaction” now im really confused “I was thinking about it what i said yesterday about your hair I meant it in a good your really fucking beautiful way and when you came to school with your hair straight I thought maybe you did it because of what I said and I was quiet because I felt like such a dick” sighing really deep and wrap my arms around him

“I love you Eddie but that really hurt me” he kisses my forehead and rubs my back “I’m so sorry I just really love your natural hair I love the way it curls and how pretty it is because you looks so beautiful” I smile and look at him “do you really mean that?”

“Yes I do and please believe me when I say you are so beautiful right now as well” I sit up a bit and look at him then his lips “Eddie I think your pretty-“ he cuts me off with a kiss and holds the back of my head “so pretty” I smile and kiss him again a bit slower this time “is this the part where you ask me out and we skip school?”

“Yes” he grabs my hand pulling me up and we rush out the door before the lunch bell rings

*

As robin is helping me get ready for my date I look at myself and smile seeing my curly hair again “as much as I liked your straight hair this is so much more you” I hug her and hear the front door open “oh god my mom is gonna scare him away” we laugh and run downstairs

Eddie looks right at me and smiles “hey there’s my girl you all ready to go?” I hug him and nod “let’s go before my mom threatens you” he laughs and we walk to the van “I want her back eventually!”

“Okay robin will do!” He opens the door for me and I climb in laughing while he jogs around the van “hey sweetheart? I really love your hair” I smile and we drive away

[sturnswrites]

guarded hearts - pt.8

fratboy!chris x fem!reader

⤳ you meet chris while working on a class project, your personalities are very different but chris is determined to get you out of your shell.

⤳ resolving angst, fluff

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

The silence after Chris leaves your apartment is deafening. The door clicking shut feels final, like a chapter of your life closing. You don’t move from the bed for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood just moments ago. His voice, his pleading eyes—they’re burned into your memory, and no matter how much you want to push them away, you can’t.

You should feel relieved. You stood my ground. You told him to leave. But the second he walked out that door, the loneliness crept back in, stronger and heavier than before.

The nights that follow are endless. You toss and turn, the empty space next to you a cruel reminder of how many nights he stayed, holding you close, whispering things that made you believe you were safe with him. Now, the silence is unbearable, stretching across the room and settling in your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

You cry more than you want to admit. To yourself, to anyone. Your roommates try to distract you, dragging you out for coffee or insisting on movie nights, but nothing fills the void. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope it’s him—even though you were the one who told him to leave.

-

Chris’s Point of View

Leaving her room was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep begging her to let me fix this, to hold her until she believed I wouldn’t leave again. But the pain in her voice, the way her body was stiff even as she cried—it told me everything I needed to know. I had broken her.

The walk back to my apartment feels endless. My chest is tight, my hands trembling as I unlock the door and step into the darkness. I don’t bother turning on the lights; the darkness feels appropriate. I collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling, her words replaying in my head like a broken record.

“You broke me, Chris.”

I should’ve known this would happen. I thought I was doing the right thing by pulling back, by trying to protect her from me. But instead, I became the exact thing I was afraid of—a source of pain in her life.

The days blur together. I barely leave my apartment, ignoring texts from my friends, dodging questions about why I haven’t been at parties. The only thing I can think about is her—what she’s doing, if she’s okay, if she’s as miserable as I am.

-

It takes you days to muster the courage to even think about seeing him again. The hurt is still fresh, raw, but beneath it, there’s something else—an ache that won’t go away, a pull you can’t ignore.

You tell yourself you’re stupid, that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But no matter how much you try to convince yourself to let him go, you can’t.

When you finally decide to go to his apartment, your hands are shaking the entire walk there. Your mind is racing, every step filled with doubt and second-guessing. What if he slams the door in my face? What if he’s done with me? What if I’m making a mistake?

Before you can chicken out, you knock. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, and your heart pounds as you wait.

The door opens, and there he is—Chris, looking just as wrecked as you feel. His hair is messy, his eyes tired, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe you’re standing here.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice hoarse.

“I—can I come in?” you ask, your voice trembling.

He nods immediately, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment is dim, cluttered in a way that screams he’s been neglecting everything. Empty takeout containers sit on the counter, and a blanket is haphazardly thrown on the couch. The sight of it tugs at something inside you, a reminder that you’re not the only one who’s been falling apart.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to start. The air between you two is heavy, filled with everything left unsaid.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, his voice softer this time.

You let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I knocked on your door.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches. It’s unbearable, like it might crush you if you don’t fill it.

“I thought I could move on,” you say, your voice trembling. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it hasn’t stopped hurting, Chris. It just keeps getting worse.”

You glance up at him, and the look on his face—hopeful, broken, desperate—makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N…”

“No, let me finish,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I don’t know if this is a mistake. I don’t know if I’m setting myself up to get hurt again. But being without you—it’s killing me.”

His expression crumples, and he steps closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Every second of every day, Y/N. I’ve missed you so much it feels like I can’t breathe.”

You swallow hard, tears stinging your eyes. “Then why did you leave? Why did you make me feel like I wasn’t good enough? Like I wasn’t worth staying for?”

Chris flinches like you’ve slapped him, his face twisting in pain. “I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was so scared of messing things up, of hurting you, that I did the one thing I promised myself I’d never do. I hurt you anyway.”

“Yeah, you did,” you say, your voice cracking. “You hurt me more than anyone else ever has, Chris. Because I trusted you. I let you in, and you left.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I hate myself for it. But I’m here now, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you can trust me again.”

You stare at him, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “How am I supposed to believe that, Chris? How am I supposed to believe you won’t leave again the second things get hard?”

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” he says, stepping closer. “But let me show you. Let me prove it. Because I can’t lose you again, Y/N. I can’t.”

The tears spill over before you can stop them, and you wipe at your face angrily, hating how exposed you feel. “You broke me, Chris,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I can put myself back together for you.”

Chris’s voice breaks as he replies, “You don’t have to put yourself back together alone. Let me help you. Please, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Every instinct screams at you to protect yourself, to run before you get hurt again. But there’s a small, fragile part of you that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you can find your way back to each other.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of putting my trust in you and having it break me all over again. But being without you… it hurts more than the fear. It hurts more than anything.”

Chris moves closer, his hands reaching for yours but stopping just short, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never hurt you again. I swear. I know I messed up, and I know I don’t deserve this, but if you let me try—if you let me prove myself—I’ll spend every day showing you that you can trust me.”

His words wash over you, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest eases just a little.

“You have to mean it, Chris,” you say, your voice firm despite the tears in your eyes. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t handle it if you change your mind or decide I’m not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” he says immediately, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been worth it. I was just too stupid to see that I was pushing away the best thing in my life. But I see it now, Y/N. And I’m not going to mess this up again.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hint that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. But all you see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered.

“Okay,” you whisper finally, your voice barely audible.

“Okay?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“Okay,” you repeat, nodding. “But this is your last chance, Chris. If you break my heart again, that’s it.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice steady. “I won’t.”

When he pulls you into his arms, you let yourself believe him. Just this once, you let yourself hope.

-

Rebuilding with Chris feels like learning to walk again—hesitant, unsteady, but full of determination. Every step forward is deliberate, built on a foundation of late-night conversations and whispered reassurances.

He’s patient with you, more than you ever expected. There’s no rush, no pressure, just quiet understanding. The first time you hold hands again, it’s during a walk through the park. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

You spend nights talking until dawn, the words spilling out like they’ve been trapped for too long. Chris tells you stories from his childhood, his biggest fears, his dreams. You open up about your past, the parts of you you’ve always been afraid to share. He listens without judgment, his eyes soft and full of something you’re still learning to trust.

One night, the two of you make pancakes in your kitchen. They’re a disaster—burnt on one side and raw on the other—but Chris laughs so hard he almost drops the pan. “I think we’ve discovered a new low for culinary arts,” he says, grinning as he flips the pancake onto the counter instead of the plate.

You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. It feels good—light, unburdened.

“Maybe we should stick to cereal,” you reply, leaning against the counter.

He smirks, sliding an arm around your waist. “Or we could just keep burning pancakes together. Could be our thing.”

The intimacy of the moment makes your heart ache in the best way.

-

A few weeks later, Chris invites you to a party at his frat. This time, you feel different walking into the crowded house. His hand rests on the small of your back, steady and sure, guiding you through the chaos.

The music is loud, and the room is packed, but Chris stays close, always keeping you within arm’s reach. At one point, he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You doing okay?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You both make your way to the kitchen, where his friends are gathered around the makeshift bar. Chris greets them with his usual charm, his confidence infectious. But when he introduces you, there’s something different in his tone.

“This is Y/N,” he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. “My girlfriend.”

The word sends a rush of warmth through you, and you can’t help but smile. His friends greet you warmly, their jokes lighthearted and teasing. But it’s Chris’s hand in yours, his thumb brushing against your skin, that keeps me grounded.

Later, you both find a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Chris pulls you onto a worn couch, his arm draped over your shoulders. You sit there for a while, talking and laughing like it’s just the two of you.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” you ask, your voice soft.

Chris tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I hoped. Even when I thought I’d messed everything up, I hoped. I didn’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You almost did.”

He nods, his expression serious. “I know. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I never come close to that again.”

For the first time, you believe him completely.

As the night winds down, Chris leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of it settles deep in your chest, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking.

And as you leave the party together, his hand in yours, you know we’re not just rebuilding. You’re creating something entirely new. Something strong. Something real. Something worth guarding.

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

This is the last chapter! Ah I love the two of them so much and a little happy ending 

⭒ margot

@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94  @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 25

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: All We Were, All We Could Be.

Notes: Man, that chapter is getting awfully close. 😰

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  25/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You felt your blood’s pressure drop like a stone to ground, then rise like a flame to air. Charles expression changed immediately from irritation to genuine fear. This could not be happening… you could barely hold back the anger boiling up inside.

“Is that true?” Charles asked you, clearly feeling misled.

“I-” What could you even say? How could you even start to explain the real situation of this ‘arrangement’ that Father Carden had made?

When Lancelot looked at you, awaiting the answer, you glared up at him. Charles got up from the chair, apologized to Lancelot and walked away to clear his mind and avoid a possible confrontation.

You rose to your feet and got into Lancelot’s face. “Outside. Now!”

As you walked out the door, you didn’t even look if he was following, you were too concentrated on controlling your anger before it could risk waking up the entire inn if it bursted loose. When you were a little away from the inn’s entrance Lancelot stepped outside as well.

He could feel the storm in the air, it announced itself in the look you gave him now. It had not been his proudest moment, but after hearing what that man proposed he could not stop himself.

“How dare you?” You shook your head. “Does it make you feel good to humiliate me like that? To tell people what I was forced to be?!”

He pushed his feet to approach. “It was never my intention to humiliate you.”

“Then why did you just do that?!” you shouted it at him.

He tried to sound calm while he clearly wasn’t, “He was acting too familiar towards you.”

Your tone grew demanding as he stopped right in front of you. “Yes. And?”

A frown settled on his forehead. “It is not appropriate.”

“Why? Because we are wed in the Church’s eyes?” You confronted him. “I told you before, I never gave you my vows! You don’t get to act like a jilted lover!”

It silenced him, he looked off to the side, jaw tense. He let the storm come over his head.

“You do not get to control who I spend my time with!” you told him off. “I never took the vow you took. I’ve never let religion tell me that I can’t follow my desires.”

He looked your way again, trying to decipher where you were going with this.

“I am not a maiden anymore.” you informed him of the personal truth. “Maybe you thought I was. But I am not pure as you believed, or wanted, me to be. I’m not some innocent girl who needs someone to protect her virtue. And I most certainly do not need a husband, that I was forced to have, to lay claim on me!”

Lancelot was quite rattled, still his stubborn demeanor did not let it show well. He was quiet as your fury rained down on him, and you wished you knew why he didn’t say anything or even argued back.

You stepped away from him to walk back to the inn. “This union between us is based on a lie. Do not ever throw this arrangement in my face like that again! You may be my husband, but my heart is not yours to have. "

He did not move a muscle when you walked past and away from him. His eyes were unreadable and they never lifted from the grass.

        It took him a while to return to the inn as well, you were already back in the room and making a comfortable place for you and Percival to sleep with some linen that Amelia had kindly offered. The silence between you when he stepped into the room was heavy. You were upset, and he… well you didn’t know how to place his reaction. He was just as quiet as you were towards him now. Percival must have felt the tension, he took it upon himself to chat away the silence until it was time to sleep. Fortunately for the boy, he fell asleep easily. For you it was difficult, the sour encounter between you and Lancelot kept you awake. And even with your back facing the bed, you did not feel comfortable enough to sleep. Having to share a room with someone you had a falling out with was anything but pleasant. Perhaps it was wise to set a boundary after this, to create the distance that had not been there ever since Cassian had handed you over to him. The silent tension was just too heavy to bear, and when they had fallen asleep you wrote down a note for them to find on one of the pieces of parchment you had found in the drawers of the cabinet, grabbed your satchel and went out of the room.

Amelia proved to be a night owl, she was still awake and eating some of the stew from that evening. “Up so late?”

You put down a few coins in front of her on the bar. “I want to rent a second room for myself for the night.”

She looked down and hesitated to take the payment. “I saw you leave the inn earlier with the Weeping Monk. So he is not your lover. He’s just your husband.”

Your mouth fell open. “I-”

She smiled cheekily. “I knew it. The way he looks at you says it all.”

You ignored her imagination. “It was arranged for us. We didn’t choose to wed.”

She let it slip, “I bet he doesn’t mind one bit.”

She must have seen you enter just as upset as you were when you exited. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I just want to get some sleep.”

“Alright.” Amelia knew when her patrons needed to be left alone, she reached over to take the coins but her hand halted midway.

When she looked past your shoulder in the direction of the stairs, you knew who would be there if you turned around. You pressed your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself before you’d begin to cuss him out. He was standing right behind you, you could just feel it.

“I wish to speak with you.” Lancelot’s voice sounded. The caution in his tone was audible. He had been in a rush to find you, he was not wearing his jerkin and had put on the cloak haphazardly.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest to shield yourself because he was in close proximity. “Can it wait until morning?”

“No.” He would not let this simmer on. “Another room will not be necessary. If we cannot talk this through tonight, then I will sleep outside. You will not have to flee the room, that you paid for, for me.”

“I am not fleeing.” It came out defensive.

He arched a brow but did not challenge the statement. “Good. Then we can sit at that table and talk.”

You held up a hand to stop him when he tried to take you by the arm. “What if I don’t want to?”

For a moment he was trying to read your eyes, the strength in his voice had weakened when he spoke again. “I will not force you.”

After giving it some thought, you pointed at a table. “Over there?”

Relief washed over him. “Yes.”

You moved past him and took seat at the table that was at a convenient distance from the bar and the stairs. “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?”

He moved the other chair to sit a little more at your side instead of opposite of you. “There is a thorn between us, I know you are not telling me everything you have wished to say ever since I arrived here. I had hoped that you would speak to me about how you truly feel about me being here after what has happened between us. Holding back grievances is what lets hatred grow, I prefer you voice them.”

He let a silence fall, hoping it would encourage you to fill it. But you were quite for a little while, contemplating what or what not to say. He was after the truth, to hear what you had held back so long.

You started. “Tonight I felt like you believe that you own me.”

“That was never my intention.” he said, quite shocked.

That reaction told you that he was sincere about it. “It is how it felt.”

He folded his hands together on the table, and after a few seconds he spoke. “I offer my apologies for what I did earlier. You were right to confront me.”

You said not a word, just looked at the way his fingers were nervously moving over his thumb in a soothing manner. He was feeling vulnerable, that much was clear, it oddly helped you to stay calm and listen.

His gaze did not lift up from the table. “I confess that I was concerned when I heard the man proposition you. I thought you were uncomfortable.”

“You thought I needed help?” It had been a little uncomfortable to hear the proposition, but not so much that help was needed.

He gave a shallow nod. “Sometimes I forget how well you can handle yourself in difficult circumstances.”

You kept looking at how withdrawn he was, as if he feared you’d lash out at him all of a sudden. “You were just trying to protect me…?”

Finally his eyes locked on yours, their intensity burned right into you. “I meant what I said about protecting you. It may have started at the Hidden’s request, but I decided to continue with it.”

Now it was you who kept your eyes on the table. “I accept your apology.”

He gave the incentive to let your thoughts out about it all. “This was not all I had hoped that would be discussed.”

You knew what he wanted to hear about, the truth about the ice that was not yet broken between you after the friendship was frozen into it. “I can’t hide that I’m hurt and confused by what has happened between us.”

“Confused?” He found himself saying it out loud.

“I loved your company.” You bit your lip to keep your emotions down and locked away. “And when I heard what Father Carden discussed with you about gaining my trust, about forging weapons with my magic… it broke me.” A silent pause fell, recalling the feeling made it come back and hurt again. You couldn’t look at him. “I finally had someone that didn’t hurt me, that was kind to me, and then that hope was stolen away. I hated you, and missed you just as much, you rotten bastard.”

You only saw his shadow move a little, but your eyes never lifted from the table, if they did then your courage to speak of it would falter. “I wish it wasn’t like this. That I could just trust you without feeling like a fool for taking the risk again.”

He reached for your hand with so much caution that you believed he would give up half-way.

Still it came and his fingertips rested on top of your hand. “I cannot undo the harm I have done to you, I know this now. I owe you the life you deserved instead of the one you were forced to live, by me, by Father, by your family…” His hand curled around yours gently. “I should have told you of Father’s order. I should have told you everything. It was selfish to keep it from you out of fear that you would turn away from me, a desperate act to try and hold on to what was between us. Because our friendship brought me a comfort I had never found before.”

A silence fell, heavy as his words sank into you.

He quietly spoke, “You were right. I wanted it all. To see Father proud. To have you near…” There was a short pause. “You did well to fight me off and flee, you took control over your future. And in the forest I was still too blind to see how bringing you back to Father would have led to the destruction of your soul. I was too blind… I am sorry.”

You had heard his voice break and he was trying not to let it show. “When we were locked in that room to face the storm, you promised me that I would have my freedom back. Was that a lie?”

He shook his head. “I wanted you to have your freedom.”

“But only after Carden got what he wanted from me. Because you couldn’t stand disappointing him.” you confronted him.

A silence fell over him, you could tell that he was thinking about what you had just told him.

Your voice was wavering when asking for a truth you feared to learn of, “Would you truly have been able to stand aside and watch as he made me into a weapon and forced me to use my magic against the Fey. To see him destroy me?”

He took a few seconds before he answered.

“Lancelot?”

His eyes fell shut. His answer was heavy. “No.”

He had imagined the situation for a moment. How you would have been forced to endure Father’s treatment, how your conscience would so quickly have destroyed your soul and the ruins it would leave. Even seeing you broken in his imagination was unbearable. He would not have been able to bear witness of it in reality either, his response to it would have led to his execution.

Your instinct believed him to be truthful, you could sense the remorse in him. Regret was all over his expressions. “Even if our friendship is real, I wish it was not born from Father Carden’s plan to manipulate me.”

He opened his eyes and leaned a little forward. “Then let us start anew. From where we are here and now. I will earn your trust and be worthy of it, I swear it.”

“We can try.” Even if it was to see if that spark of hope was right or wrong. “But how do we go from here?”

He asked for clarification, “What troubles you?”

“There is the fact that we are wed.” you pointed out the most obvious obstacle.

His hand released yours as he leaned back against his chair. “I know you do not consider this marriage to be true. But to me it holds value, I was taught such a union is sacred.”

This truly was a matter that needed to be discussed clearly it seemed. “You cannot ask of me to be a true wife. I never made any vows. This was decided by Father Carden, not me. I decide who I spend my time with.”

“I will ask nothing of the sorts of you.” He ticked his finger against the edge of the table to release some of the tension he must have felt. “What I mean to say is that I will keep to the promise of this union. I cannot decide for you to do the same, and I will not.”

What it meant was not clear. “Keep to the promise?”

He cleared his throat, still his voice wavered just slightly. “To be faithful.”

That was not an answer you expected to hear, it stunned you even. “I do not ask that of you. You are free to do as you please.”

His reply came quick, “It would please me to respect this union.”

This was an argument you would not win, that much was clear. “So, if you meet someone and fall in love with them, then what? You’ll tell them you will stay with a wife you do not even love, because of an arrangement that was forced on us?”

He went quiet and rubbed his knee a few times slowly.

You got the feeling that it had upset him somehow. Maybe you were being too harsh. “Do not let the Church have that power over you, Lancelot. Let yourself experience what it is like to not have to abide by rules of the scriptures.”

There was a hint of caution in his voice. “Would it be possible to discuss this if such matters arise in the future?”

An open discussion felt far more comfortable to deal with it. “That is alright.”

A breath of relief passed his lips. “I do confess I prefer us speaking like this. Calm, and open to hear what the other wishes to say.”

“I agree.” You hummed.

The jest came unexpected. “Without one of use setting our surroundings on fire.”

“Did you have to bring that up?”

“Is this not a matter we should discuss?”

“No.”

His curiosity won. “Were you aware that you could conjure up Fey Fire without the presence of normal fire?”

You saw the hint of genuine interest in his eyes. “I would have told you if I had known, considering I trusted you before all that. But I don’t feel like discussing this tonight, another time?”

He gave a nod. “What that man suggested tonight…” he could barely voice it, “Would you have done so had I not interrupted?”

That was a very personal thing to ask. “Spend the night with him?”

His eyes flickered away and focused on the wall beside him. He hummed.

You shook your head. “No. I barely know him. And I am not in the mood to crawl into bed with someone. I just want some peace and quiet.”

He moved his chair to stand. “Then we should head back to our room.”

“‘Our’?” you raised a brow.

Almost did he think you took offense, then he smiled when realizing it had been a jest. “Do not fear, I am not asking what the baker asked for.”

You scoffed but couldn’t hold in a soft laugh. “Good. Because I do not intend to ever consummate this marriage.”

His wit was sharp, “I thought I was the one who took the vow of celibacy.”

You got up from your chair too when he stood, too tempted not to get him a little flustered now that he opened that conversation. “I wonder if you have ever considered breaking that vow.”

It distracted him, he accidentally knocked his leg against the corner of the table and buckled over a little from the sharp pain that shot through his leg for a few seconds. Ouch.

You took hold of his elbow to support him. “That’s going to bruise.”

He nodded in agreement.

“Sorry. Did I distract you with my sinful question?” You bit back a grin.

“Yes.” he blurted out the truth.

It was to distract him from the pain. “Can I still expect an answer?”

He sounded mildly amused, “Why do you and Percival have so many questions for me?”

Was that not obvious? “Because when does a Fey ever get to stick their nose in a monk’s private matters?”

The pain lessened and he was able to start walking towards the stairs. It caught Amelia’s attention right away.

“Are you sure you do not need another room?” she called out after you.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” You politely declined. “We’ll share the room we have.”

She hummed, a grin on her face, her offer came out so casual, “I can rent you another room for an hour or so, if you need a moment away from that young one.”

Your friendly smile turned into a look of embarrassment at what she had meant. It took Lancelot a few seconds longer, and seeing your reaction, to realize the true meaning behind Amelia’s offer.

You fired back. “Like I said earlier, you can write books with that much imagination.”

Her thoughts were on her tongue. “I barely need to use my imagination. Look at how close you’re standing.”

Right away you and Lancelot looked to the gap there was barely present between you, he was the one who took a step to the side. Her boldness outmatched yours this time.

“Goodnight, Amelia.”

“Goodnight.” She waved a little, an arrogant gesture that suited her quite well.

When Lancelot did not move yet, you grabbed him by the arm and yanked at it until he followed. As you walked up the stairs and towards the room he questioned you on Amelia’s reaction.

“Do you speak of me to her?” he wondered out loud.

“Sometimes.” you admitted.

A corner of his mouth curved up. “What do you tell her?”

You hoped your honesty would scare away further questions he might have. “I have been trying to convince her that I am not bedding you.”

He let out something that sounded in between a scoff and a chuckle. “I suppose it is odd to see us here together. A monk sharing a room with a woman in an inn is prone to raise questions. And there is a child with us, there is enough seed for rumors to sprout.”

Your voice lowered the closer you got to the room. “Still, I hope she believes it. I don’t like it when people stare at me and I can just tell that they are forming opinions about me.”

He hoped to sooth that fear. “People will always form opinions, it is not our fault if they form the wrong ones. We should only concern ourselves over our own path and try to do the best that we can.”

Lancelot opened the door to the room quietly, Percival was snoring the night away as you stepped into the room with him. Wordlessly you exchanged looks with the Ash Man, he was trying not to laugh at how to boy laid sprawled out onto the bed of linen you had made for him. You returned to the heap of linen that you had made your own bed from on the ground. Speaking openly about your feelings had brought a great sense of relief, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. It was worth it to try and see if this friendship could be saved, you certainly wanted to try.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Being up so late last night gave you it’s punishment for it the next morning, you were not aware that the sun had been up for quite some time already. Lancelot gently nudging you was what finally woke you up.

He smiled down at you. “I was starting to wonder when you would ever wake again.”

You grumbled something incoherent in your drowsy state, it only made him nudge you more. Even half-awake, you still registered just how unafraid he was to touch you. A squeeze to your shoulder, a few brushes of his hand over your arm and a risque pat to your hip.

He didn’t stop bothering you, knowing you’d fall asleep right away again. “You will have trouble sleeping tonight if you sleep longer. Come, up.”

It didn’t help when you tried to swat his hand away. He was persistent. “Ugh, gods! FINE!”

He chuckled and rose to stand. “I went and got us breakfast. Bread and a mixture of baked vegetables.”

The scent of the food in the room made you get up faster, you stumbled to the table to sit and eat. It was Percival who shoved your plate under your nose.

“Can I ask you something?” The boy eyed you curiously.

“Of course.” You took a bite of the bread.

Percival took a sip of water from one of the tankards on the table to flush down his breakfast. “Have you always known that you were a bit Fey?”

A bit Fey? It was endearing to hear how he worded that. That was quite a question to start your day. “I didn’t know for a while. I was five years of age when I first learned that I did inherit my mother’s Feyblood. I fell in the forest, a leaf of an ash tree touched my skin and I saw the marks appear under my eyes in a puddle of rain.”

Lancelot stood against the wall, drinking from a tankard of water whilst listening. This had been something you had not shared with either of them before.

“I hid it from everyone, you see… my family was not so good to me, I didn’t want them to know.” You tried your best to leave out the fact that you risked being sold at that age, or beaten to death. “When my half-brother, Cassian, found out I was part Fey, he traded me to Father Carden in exchange for his own life.”

“But that’s awful!” Percival uttered his dismay. “Your brother gave you to the paladins?”

You saw Lancelot grow a bit uncomfortable, but the boy had a right to know more about you. “Yes. And Father Carden ordered Lancelot to watch over me. We spend a lot of time together. Father Carden feared others would learn that Lancelot was Fey if they ever saw my markings appear, to prevent that from happening, he made us share a tent. And when my markings appeared no one else but Lancelot saw.”

Percival turned his head to look at the Ash Man. “They didn’t know you are Fey?”

“No. Only Father knew.” he admitted.

You continued explaining it. “The paladins thought I was Sky Folk. Father Carden lied to everyone to hide that Lancelot was Fey, because he knew the Church would see it as betrayal.”

Percival understood why and spoke to Lancelot. “He was using you to find our people… that is why he didn’t want anyone to know.”

Lancelot gave a nod, silently impressed with the boy’s ability to understand the situation so quick and well. “She kept my secret.” He took in a deep breath. “The day I decided to help you, something happened between her and I.”

Your eyes widened at him, and Percival looked at him with great suspicion.

It did not make him take it back. “I had upset her, and she lost her trust in me. Last night we discussed the matter and I hope to rebuild the trust between us. You have a right to know this, Percival. So you may understand that if at times she does not feel like speaking to me, she is not at fault. By allowing me to be here, and having helped me, she has shown a great amount of grace. For which I am very grateful.”

“What did you do?” Percival demanded to know.

You hadn’t expected the boy to react so fierce on your behalf and reached over to touch his hand to calm him. It did not help.

The boy was staring him down. “Well?”

Lancelot swallowed hard. “I was given the order to manipulate her into trusting me. Because she possesses the ability to create Fey Fire…. And I lied to her when I told her why Father Carden was interested in Fey Fire.”

“You what?!” Percival was dismayed and disappointed at the revelation, blinked and then looked at you. “Wait… what?!”

You send Lancelot a scolding look for being a little too honest towards the boy. The discussion that followed took a long time. Percival’s questions darted between you and the Ash Man. You got the Fey Fire questions and the ones about the Hidden, Lancelot received a scolding from the boy and tried to explain the situation as he had done to you. It was a heavy conversation, especially because both you and Lancelot tried to maneuver around certain parts that Percival might have been too young for to hear.

“Your father send sellswords after you?” Percival asked, elbows on the table and head resting in his hands.

“Paying them for it is perhaps the most coin he has ever spend on me.” you said bitterly. Even as you tried to make light of it, it still hurt, and Percival must have read it right from your face that it did.

The boy got up from his chair and wrapped his arms around you, it was what let your tears break free from the chains you had put on them. It felt freeing to let go of them, to acknowledge the pain they had held on to for so many years.

“My papa didn’t like me either.” Percival muttered against your shoulder. “He always wanted me to be stronger.”

You embraced the boy tightly, feeling Lancelot’s eyes on you from across the room. “We have each other now.”

Percival squeezed you a litter tighter, then let go. “So I can stay with you?”

Your eyes widened, as did Lancelot’s. “Wha-… of course. Were you worried about that?”

Percival gave a small nod. Lancelot looked troubled by it, he hadn’t been aware that the boy feared to be abandoned or send away by him.

“Percival.” He approached the boy. “I owe my life to your bravery, you do not have to be concerned that either of us will send you away.”

“He’s right. You’re stuck with us I’m afraid.” You grinned at Percival.

A careful smile formed on the boy’s face, he was not one to easily show his emotions to others. He took the moment to ask Lancelot, “If we stay together, will you show me how to fight like you did against the masked paladins?”

He immediately looked at you for permission, he was raised to fight but was this good for the boy to be taught too? With a nod you gave your opinion on the matter.

“I suppose I can demonstrate a few matters.” he carefully told the boy.

Percival was up on his feet not a second later. “Now?”

The amount of self-consciousness he suddenly felt was ridiculous. He was used to keeping in the shadows and was now asked to show what he could do.

You got up from the chair. “I’d love to stay and watch, but I need to go and fetch those herbs. Do try not to get wounded while I’m gone, I’ll still have to make that ointment.” As you passed Lancelot, you curled a hand around his arm. “Hey, when you feel strong enough and up for it, Amelia could use some help with the firewood outside the inn. She has asked if you could bring some of it inside the inn, but only if you feel well enough for it. Otherwise I’ll do it. Just let me know?”

He leaned into the touch. “I will do it.”

“Only when you feel well.” You were firm on that. “Don’t tear your stitches.”

His voice reached a warmth that not even he knew it could reach. “I am in good hands if they do tear.”

You let go of his arm, trying to understand the reaction in you at his words. Was it your imagination or had that truly bordered on being flirtatious? Surely it was just him teasing about it. “You won’t like my hands when I have to do all that work again.”

A dashing smirk curved his lips at the threat, he let you walk past him and to the door, ignoring how Percival was eyeing him with great suspicion. Then you were out of the room before one of them could offer to come along, and by the time you reached the stairs you could hear the sound of steel being drawn. With hope that Lancelot was careful enough not to accidentally harm the boy, you left the inn to search the woods for the herbs.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had walked the distance to the woods, being on horseback would have been easier for paladins to spot you. Searching for the herbs was a good form of practise to train your nose to pick up vague scents. Not all herbs however had vague scents, some of them smelled strong enough that you barely had to bother using your sense of smell. After stashing your satchel full of them, you started to head back to the village. After only a few steps, you heard the warning whispers of the Hidden in your ear, a chill ran down your spine. With caution you kept walking, pretending that you were not alarmed by the feeling of being followed. You moved your hand to wrap it around the pommel of your sword. With each step, you tried to recall all you had learned from Lancelot to defend yourself. Leaves ruffled behind you and you started to run without looking back. The Hidden spoke the same thing over and over again.

    ~“Run. Run. Run…”~

    And you knew better than to question ancient deities when they were trying to warn you. Branches smacked into your arms and chest, bushes with thorns threatened to slow your legs down. But it was the sudden hit to your stomach with a thick branch, just as you ran past a tree, that made it all come to a halt. You stumbled and fell, grasping your abdomen as a dull pain seared through it. Nausea hit almost instantly, but there was no time to pay it any mind. The man attacking you was already trying to grab you. You kicked at his groin, missing it just barely, it was still enough to send him back a little. Up of the ground, you drew your sword just in time to defend yourself against his own.

“Your father is expecting you, Lady of Ravenwick.” he spoke in a threatening way and tried to disarm you.

For you it was the incentive to punch him in the face. The only thing he would be taking back to your father was your rotting corpse because he wasn’t going to take you back alive. Being struck made him ruthless, you struggled to keep your footing, then his sword cut through your sleeve and a sharp burning pain began on your arm. There was no time to inspect the damage, you were fighting for your life. He grabbed you by your other sleeve, again trying to steal your sword. A plan formed fast in your mind and you pretended to struggle and fail to keep hold of your sword. He grabbed your sword, believing he had won and you were defenseless. His victorious smile was wiped away when you sank your dagger into his neck. Blood poured out onto your hands and it came out even quicker when you pulled the dagger out again. Stumbling back from him, you watched him fall to the grass and choke on his own blood. A minute had passed before you realized you had not moved at all anymore. When you began to move again and picked up your sword, a heavy tiredness came over your body. Right away you knew it wasn’t good, there must have been something on the sellsword’s sword. Poison? The feeling increased with each step, your heart was hammering in your chest. It was as if you were in a strange dream, nothing felt real anymore. All you could do was go ahead on the familiar path and hope the feeling would pass soon.

Once you finally stumbled up the stairs in the inn, you realized you could not recall the walk to the inn nor arriving there. How much time had passed? It was a frightening feeling to experience. Your hand dragged along the wall for support whilst walking to the room. Fear had you in it’s hold. You opened the door, praying that it was the right one, and found Percival and Lancelot sitting at the table having a normal conversation. All you could hear were your own heavy deep breaths through your nose, still not enough air seemed to get into your lungs. Percival looked up at you shocked.

Lancelot whipped his head around to look at you, he was on his feet and getting closer not a second later. Distress filled his voice. “What happened?!”

Your tongue felt too heavy, your head too light. It wasn’t until he moved your cloak aside and touched your arm that you realized that blood had completely soaked the sleeve and it was dripping unto the floor. Everything felt so slow and so fast all at once. He was asking questions. Percival was asking questions. Somehow you were sitting on the bed all of a sudden, your sleeve was being cut off by Lancelot while Percival was hurrying around to get what Lancelot was asking him to fetch. Needle, thread, water… your mind failed to connect the items to their functions. You had started to lean forward a little too much, why else did the Ash Man move an arm around you to stop you from getting closer to the floor. You registered hooking your arm around his for support, holding on to it as if it was the only thing to hang onto in a rowdy sea. Your eyes closed for just a moment to avoid seeing the room sway. And it was the poison that decided not to let them open again.

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[heylittleriotact]

I completed mortuary school and worked in a funeral home between 2018-2022 and ultimately left the profession because Covid burned me the fuck out and there just aren’t the appropriate supports in place for funeral workers tbh. It’s a profession that’s 20 years behind where it needs to be in a lot of ways.

Anyway, after months of anxiety attacks, insomnia, socially withdrawing from friends and family, and spending what little free time i had basically staring at a wall while drinking and chain-smoking, I decided I’d had enough after I was interrogated on a daily basis over the phone and told I can’t possibly be too sick to come back to work when i had Covid (after having called in sick twice in the entire 4 years I’d worked there).

It seemed questionable to expect me to return to work with Covid when it was very much still a day-to-day concern (and I was sick as shit to boot): I didn’t want to be responsible for bumping off an 80 year old widow who’d come in to make arrangements for her husband and caught Covid because of me.

It was the last fucking straw: I knew going into it that this profession was one of service and that I would be sacrificing holidays and weekends and time with my friends and family. I knew I wasn’t going to make $150k/year. I knew it was thankless, misunderstood work, but it was vital. But over those four years I watched decent, well-meaning, hard working people get bullied and humiliated out of their jobs because they didn’t fit in with the “right” people at the firm. I watched amazing professionals with decades of experience quit en masse because of the patronizing, condescending, unscrupulous way that ownership treated them. I watched standards that were incredibly high when I started, plummet to the point where I was pushing back on ownership about the ethics of selling flawed product to grieving families knowing full well that it was of poor quality. I went to school for this. I gave up weekends and holidays and important family milestones for this.

I wanted to help people, but I couldn’t continue setting myself on fire to do it.

So I said fuck it and tossed a hastily drafted resume and cover letter to a law firm whose posting I saw online while I was still at home, sick as hell. I didn’t actually think they’d call me back - it just felt like by submitting the application I’d made some sort of step in the direction of getting the fuck out of dodge like so many other colleagues had.

But then they actually did. And I had two interviews, and they hired me as a receptionist, because to be honest after working at an unhinged funeral home DURING a global pandemic, I needed a fucking ✨nothing✨ job where I just had to show up every day, look cute, answer phones, and show rich lawyers how to work the Keurig machine from time to time. It was the perfect job for me to get over the burn-out. Even stressful shit was not really stressful when compared to what I’ve already dealt with (my mantra around the office has become: “Okay but has anyone died?” Seriously. I get that your brief is due in 2 hours and all the tabs are fucked, but has an attendant just called you to tell you that they accidentally showed the WRONG dead person to a grieving family and now they’re traumatized?)

ANYWAY. A very nice partner who recently left the firm because he was appointed a Provincial Court Judge, remarked to another partner prior to his departure that maybe they should ask if I had any interest in going down the legal assistant -> paralegal pipeline, because I seemed smart, and uh… overqualified for my current role.

So anyway, that’s what my new year looks like. It took an entire two years to get my feet back under me and start feeling like a person again after I burned out: I started writing again this year. Started dance lessons again this year. Actively pursued life again this year because I had the energy to do it. I’m ready for a new challenge.

I miss funerals a fucking lot. If you follow me here that’s probably obvious by how much I go off about death and nerd out over Emmrich. I truly believe it was my calling, and just based on the way the timing and the way the cards fell, it didn’t work out for me. I’ll always be a bit sad about that, but I’m so, so excited for where I’m going next. It was officially announced to the team today, so I guess it feels real now?

Phew.

I’m going to fucking nail it, I think.

[yourebeingsobrave]

Bucky x Female Reader (NSFW)

“Longing.”

“Rusted.”

“Seventeen.”

“Daybreak.”

“Furnace.”

“Nine.”

“Benign.”

“Homecoming.”

“One.”

“Freight Car.”

Bucky shot up from the floor. It was a dream. Another god damn nightmare. Bucky always slept on the floor. A bed was too… soft.

The bedroom door creaked open. There she was. Y/N. He had woken her. She looked tired. Damn it Barnes.

“Hey, you okay?” Y/N asked gently, walking towards his spot on the floor carefully. Y/N was sort of Bucky’s… caretaker. After his rehabilitation on Wakanda he needed someone to watch him, make sure he wasn’t doing anything illegal. So they sent in Y/N, a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent.

“I’m fine.” Bucky grumbled, attempting to wave her off with his vibranium arm. He could barely make eye contact with her. There was something about her- it made him want to run away from her and run towards her all at once. She never shared anything about her personal life and it only made Bucky more curious about her.

“Well, I’m already awake if you wanna talk about it. I’m not just your babysitter you know. I have a little empathy.” Y/N chuckled dryly and sat down by him on the floor.

There was an awkward tension surrounding them, their lack of knowledge on each other was painfully clear in this moment.

Y/N was quiet for a moment, giving Bucky her full attention with her body language and eyes. Almost like she was commanding him to tell her what he dreamt of… yet her face was still so gentle too.

“It’s all the same, these damn dreams. A replay of the people I’ve killed.” Bucky said in a non-chalant tone, as if it was nothing.

“None of that is your fault, you know that right? I’m sure it doesn’t stop the dreams but…” Y/N’s eyes darted all over Bucky’s face. He could feel her studying him, trying to understand.

“It doesn’t change that I did it.” Bucky said, feeling his own voice coming out more vulnerable now.

“But you can’t blame yourself.” Y/N insisted, her hand unconsciously reaching out over his. The touch replaced the uneasy tension with a different feeling. Comfort? Desire? Maybe a mix of both.

Bucky just grunted in response. She didn’t have the right to tell him what he could or couldn’t blame himself for. Although, the sentiment was sweet, she was wrong.

“Don’t be stubborn Mr. Barnes.” Y/N said, her eyes looking into his own with an intimidating intensity.

“Bucky.” Bucky corrected.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“It’s just Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky. You need to go easier on yourself, understood?” Y/N spoke in almost a motherly tone, gentle yet firm. Making sure Bucky knew she was serious.

“Alright Y/N, alright.” Bucky said, his tone submissive. He knew she was stubborn, and it wasn’t worth trying to convince her that he was a bad man.

“Good.” Y/N said with satisfaction, her voice coming out more sultry than intended. She gave Bucky’s hand another squeeze before letting it go.

Bucky felt an emptiness in him the second her hand left his. He reached back out to grab her wrist as she was getting up.

“Please don’t go Y/N.” Bucky practically whimpered it out. He didn’t mean to, but something in that moment had him desperate for her.

Y/N face scrunched together in confusion. Bucky let go of her wrist immediately, what had come over him?

But to his surprise, she nodded and sat back down next to him.

“Come here.” She commanded softly, holding her arms out to him. Bucky listened and scooted closer into her hug. Y/N wrapped her arms around him gently and rested her chin on the top of his head.

Not a word from either of them. Just the two of them soaking in each others energy. Bucky wanted more of her. Her soft touch was something he hadn’t experienced in over 80 years. Sure, Steve had hugged him from time to time, but this was different. A woman’s touch was always different.

“Y/N?” Bucky whispered.

“What is it?” Y/N said, pulling her head away from his so she could look at him.

Bucky was silent for a moment.

“I want to kiss you.” He finally said softly.

Y/N cupped his cheek in her hand, a small smile growing on her face.

“I can arrange that.” And with that Y/N leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on his lips, but breaking away just as quickly.

Her lips were so warm and wet… Bucky was willing to bet the rest of her was too.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath.

Y/N looked at him with satisfaction and desire. Like she had gotten the best of him or something. She then leaned in to kiss Bucky again. Her hand went to the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly to keep him close. This kiss was longer, ending with Y/N biting at Bucky’s bottom lip as she pulled away.

“C’mon Bucky, you’re sleeping with me tonight.” Y/N ordered. She stood, offering her hand out to Bucky, leading him to her bedroom quickly.

Bucky followed, feeling his hand get clammy in hers. He was nervous, scared even… but he excited. God he hoped she would fuck him, he hadn’t had his dick in someone since the 40s.

As soon as they were in the room, Y/N pushed him to sit on the bed and crawled on his lap. Bucky let her. He knew he was stronger than her but he wanted her to take control. He hardly knew what he was doing with this kind of stuff anymore, he needed help.

And Y/N was going to help him.

Y/N moved Bucky’s semi-long hair away from his neck so she could kiss him there, lick him there, bite him there.

The feeling of her teeth on the thin skin of his next drove Bucky wild. His breathing was getting heavier now, and his hands searched her back carefully, as if he was afraid of being scolded for touching her.

Y/N grabbed Bucky’s face, squeezing his cheeks together. “You grab me where you need to grab me Bucky.” Y/N ordered before letting his face go and crashing her lips into him yet again.

Bucky held her tighter now, his metal arm sliding up her back. He was sure to send shivers down her spine, but the quiet giggle Y/N let out ensured Bucky that she liked it.

Y/N was hasty, her hands went down to his waistline, he was only wearing underwear, it was the middle of the night after all. She slid them down with expertise. On her way down to his ankles she paused- right at his very hard cock.

Bucky watched as the drool traveled down from her lips to his cock. He could swear it was happening in slow motion, this was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Then Y/N finished, pulling his underwear off his ankles and tossing them to the side.

“I want you to take mine off now, can you do that for me?” Y/N asked softly, but she wasn’t really asking.

Bucky nodded, getting on his knees in front of her. His hands were shaky as they went for Y/N’s panties. He slid them down slowly, taking in every inch of her as more was revealed, as if she was a piece of artwork.

“Bucky, you’re doing amazing. Now lay down.”

Bucky did so, laying down with his arms propping up his torso, he had to keep his eyes on her. She was just too damn beautiful.

Y/N followed, straddling her legs around his waist. She leaned her body forward so her lips were against his ear and whispered.

“You’re going to put your cock inside me now.”

Bucky was silent, his eyes full of hesitation. Y/N pulled back, looking at him softly.

“Do you want me?” She asked. A stupid question truly.

“I do Y/N, it’s just-“ He was nervous, so damn scared.

Y/N covered his mouth before he could finish. “Then put your dick inside of me. You’ll do amazing, I know you will.” Y/N spoke slowly and quietly. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want.”

“Cmon, give me what I want.” Y/N said, more demanding this time.

“Okay Y/N.” Bucky said lowly. He gulped as he grabbed himself and steadied his tip at her entrance.

Before Bucky could push himself in, Y/N had pushed herself down.

Fuck she felt so good. Bucky gasped, and so did she. Y/N was kind enough to wait a moment, to let him process what was happening.

“How’s that?” Y/N teased, a sweet smile on her face as she looked down at him.

“Mhm.” Bucky whimpered.

“Use your words Bucky.”

“You feel so damn good.” Bucky groaned out. A smile grew on Y/N’s face at the comment. From there, she started moving her hips up and down, engulfing his cock with every movement.

Every so often she would switch up her hip movements into little swirls around him, and Bucky was finding it harder and harder to keep quiet.

“F-fuck-“ Bucky stuttered, the feeling over around him… wet… tight. He couldn��t contain himself. He hadn’t felt this good since… well- ever. Girls in the 40s never had the confidence to ride him like Y/N was now. It was incredible.

Bucky could feel himself getting close, frankly way too soon for his liking. His hands reached out to Y/N’s hips, not sure if he was steadying her or himself.

And just then, Y/N stopped. Stopped moving entirely. Bucky found himself thrusting his own hips, like an animal that only had one goal in mind.

“No Bucky, I need you to last a little longer, can you do that?” Y/N reached out to hold his face gently, her eyes darting over him- studying.

Bucky couldn’t respond, he was trying to steady himself, his hands gripped her hips tighter. The metal arm honestly holding her a little too tight- but he didn’t notice. Bucky took in a deep breath as he looked up at her, his eyes desperate and practically begging for Y/N.

“Can you do that?” Y/N repeated.

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky whispered.

Y/N smiled. They were both still for a moment. Then Y/N started moving again. She was soaking now, Bucky could feel it. Regardless of the pause they just took, Bucky was still throbbing, ready to cum the moment she let him. But he had to wait. He needed to please her.

Y/N leaned her body forward so she could embrace Bucky, making the fucking feel more like love making. He could feel her breasts pushed up against his chest. Fuck.

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from thrusting anymore, he had to, he needed to. He pounded his cock up in her as deep as he could. He swore he could draw out a map of the inside of her pussy just by feeling it. A feeling that would be engraved in his brain forever.

“Fuck Bucky, that’s good. Keep doing that.” Y/N whispered, biting her lip as she looked down at him… proudly? Whatever it was- Bucky liked it- and it made him want to listen to her even more.

He kept thrusting into her, his lips trembling as he felt himself- and her- getting closer.

“Y/N-“ Bucky whimpered, stuttered a little bit- as he tried to get her name off his lips.

“You’re doing so good Bucky.” Y/N assured, her pussy clenching around him. “You’re making me feel so good. Just a little bit longer until you can cum, okay?”

“Mhm.” Bucky’s face scrunched up, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Not from sadness or frustration- but pure anticipation. His hands gripped her back now, holding Y/N close in desperation- praying that she would let him cum soon.

“Oh god Bucky, right there baby- that feels so good.” Y/N said, her voice getting higher, softer. He felt her clenching him tighter than ever.

“Please Y/N, please let me cum.” Bucky whimpered out. His voice came out like a slut. Begging for her. Begging for his release.

Y/N came, her body spazzing forward, gripping Bucky with her nails as she finished. With her lips near his ear she finally gave him what he wanted.

“Cum. Now.”

Within a fraction of a second Bucky came, his body practically going into a seizure from the pleasure.

“F-f-fuck Y/N.” Bucky whimpered as he finished. Bucky hugged her torso tightly as he felt himself fill her. She was so warm and wet, he wanted to leave his cock in her even now that he’d came.

Y/N giggled quietly, with satisfaction over anything else. “You did really good.” Y/N praised.

Bucky was silent for a moment, his dick still soaking in her as he looked at her pretty face.

“Y/N?” He whispered. Bucky wanted to say he loved her. Fuck- that was stupid. He would sound like a teenage girl who just lost her virginity. He can’t tell her he loves her. Not when this was the only intimate thing they’ve done.

“Yes Bucky?”

“Thank you.” He said instead, saving himself from a whole lot of potential embarrassment.

“Anytime, Buck.” Y/N gave him a little kiss before pulling herself up and forcing Bucky to slip out of her.

She walked away from her own bedroom to the kitchen, leaving him to lie there as if nothing had happened. No after care, nothing. It only made Bucky want more of her.

“You’re welcome to sleep in bed, but only tonight. There is another bedroom you know. That has a bed and not just a floor.” Y/N shouted from the other room.

“No, floor is good.” Bucky responded.

“Suit yourself.” Y/N followed Bucky with her eyes as he walked out of the bedroom, placing himself in that same spot on the floor in the living room.

Y/N only laughed. She understood, it was hard for him to fall asleep on something so soft. She finished her glass of water and walked over to him on the floor.

“Goodnight Bucky.” She said softly. Y/N lifted his head up by his chin and planted a kiss on his forehead. Then walked back to the bedroom.

“Goodnight Y/N.” Bucky called out softly as she walked down the hall. He could feel his face getting red.

As Bucky laid down and fell asleep, it was the first night in years he didn’t have a single nightmare. He was going to need more of Y/N.

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

eleven.

[ten] [eleven] [twelve]

faithful to its nature, its power never diminished.

Arms wrap around you sweetly, you lean into it. Wanting nothing more but to stay in the moment. “you’re so pretty.” And you look over to see Viktor. You smile, going in to place a kiss on his lips. It was perfect. The room was dark, only dimly lit by the laptop screen that played…

That played um… What is it playing? You pull away from the kiss, to look over at the device that was beginning to look weird. “What the-” “[Name]?” You look back over to Viktor who was now replaced by Powder. Your best friend. You furrow your eyebrows, slightly in disgust. You blink a few times.

“What?” You rasp and you hear Powder laugh, her arm rested on your waist as the two of you lay together on your bed watching a show. “Dude, you passed out.” She announces. “We’ve only watched one episode.” She tells you and you scrunch your face. Trying to register what was happening. “Sorry.” 

She raises a brow at you. “Have a nightmare or something?” Powder sits up, her arm going back to her own side. You frown momentarily at the loss of her warmth. “No, I- it was stupid.” You shrug your shoulders, sitting up as well. Staring down at your fingers as your face grows flustered. “Tell me about it.” 

You think back to the short, painfully short dream. “It was about Viktor. For the hundredth time.” You sigh, annoyed with your own brain. Creating such imagery in your own head that you now have to think about when you’re conscious. “Mm, not surprised.” Powder huffs out a laugh, leaning into you as she also pauses the show. “Thanks.” You scoff, sliding off the bed to stretch out your limbs. 

“No problem, but seriously I have a question.” Your best friend follows suit, jumping on the ground. Surely to give you guys another complaint by the people underneath you. “What?” You ask, heading over to your desk, plopping down on the rolly chair.

“Do you love him or something?” The question catches you off guard and your eyes almost pop out of your own head. “Love?” You repeat.

“Yeah, if I’m wrong you can tell me but I only ask because this is like a heartbreak [Name]. I’ve never seen you this… disheveled over any break ups you’ve had.” Powder explains her reasoning. 

And thinking back to it, she’s right. With your past relationships, that was official, you’ve never really given it another thought when it ended. It was over and yeah you were sad for a little bit but this is different.

Your chest ached with the mention of Viktor. In most dreams there he existed, holding and loving you, and each time you pleaded it was real when you wake up. Only to be left with the harsh reality that you ruined that chance of being tangible.

You beat yourself up every second you're alone. 

“I don’t know. It had only been two-three weeks of getting to know one another. I feel love is a strong word for that.” You tell her truthfully. “Did you love him when he was your online friend?” She inquires and your eyes travel over to your phone. “I had love for him. He was a close friend but can you fall in love with someone you technically never met?” You question, it was something you asked yourself quite a lot. Did you love Ma? Could you fall for someone you never saw face to face. Was that possible? And if it was, is it pathetic? 

“I think so, I mean you know who he is now. Is the feeling the same for both?” 

“Why are you interrogating me?” You ignore the last sentence, now feeling on edge on how deep this was getting. “Just curious.” She hums. “I don’t know the answer.” And truthfully you didn’t. 

Love? You don’t even know if you’ve ever truly loved someone. As time passed you believed you weren’t capable of loving someone more than a friend. With your exes it never felt right. In those relationships you were honestly miserable. No motivation, putting on a mask, and not being true to yourself. 

You couldn’t enjoy your interests. Your art is forgotten about.

With Ma… or Viktor. Both. That never happened. If anything you were more motivated.

In high school you stayed up until ungodly hours, painting, sketching out sculptures based on the sound of Ma’s voice. The colors you saw, the feelings you felt all put into your art. 

Specifically the crowd paintings you created. Crowds of people. Crowds of familiar faces but not the one you wanted to see. A face that you hadn’t gotten the chance to meet blurred out but facing you in each painting. Only one figure that stood there, staring back at you. No features attainable to recognize.

And you hated it. You wanted to know who it was.

“Wonderful ideas, wonderful models. I don’t think I’ve had such intelligent and creative students as I do this year. Take this time to inspect others' projects and mingle with one another.” Your biology professor tells the class, everyone of you standing up to his directions. 

Viktor and you stick together, unintentionally throughout the room. No words said between either of you.

You admire your fellow classmates' work, clicking through the slides on each laptop. Reading thoroughly through their slides. Silently gushing at the way they decorated their boards. Viktor observes you the entire time. 

The words of his friends stick in his mind. You don’t entirely seem upset? But if they had seen it themselves, surely they’re not lying to him. His eyes scanned your face closely. A hardened gaze, his jaw clenching subconsciously.

Did he want to see you upset? Why would he want that? To know you’re hurting just as much as he is? Would he wish that pain on someone he lo- he respects? 

No, he wouldn’t.

You look back at him with a polite smile. “Right?” His eyebrows furrow, confused. “What?” He asks hesitantly, his cheeks fell warm as he is put on the spot by you. You snicker. “I said, their work is so organized, maybe the two of you would hit it off.” You repeat, your breath now caught in your throat. Wondering if that was too friendly too soon. He glances over to the people’s work. 

It had no color, monotonous and tidy. Is that what you think of him? Bland, tasteless and… boring? 

His head bows down, a ghost of a nod. “Sure.” He dryly replies, unfortunately feeding into your worries. “Did I say something wrong?” You quietly inquire as you guys head to the next board. A clique of students pushing past you. 

“No?” He averts your eye contact. Was he actually upset that you think of him like that? 

“Oh.” You puff out your cheeks, not knowing what else to say.

The voices of others cover the awkward beats of silence between the two of you.

“Am I that mundane to you?” He was almost inaudible when he asked the sudden question. You cock your head to the side. Your mouth opens to answer but he lets out a scoff shaking his head.

“Don’t answer that.” He walks ahead of you. 

Mundane? Why would he think that? You pointed out the person’s tidiness because of how put together Viktor is. You admired that.

He preferred things a certain way, his room showed that. He still had a personality outside of that. His energy drew you in. The way he held himself, the enigmatic essence but also the familiarity you felt.

And now you know the familiarity was Ma. They were the same person.

Ma used to tell you about the moon and constellations for hours. He enjoyed star gazing. He enjoyed reading and learning about living beings. Their struggles. But also their potential to be more than who they were raised to be. 

He was far from mundane. Viktor was more than who he thought himself to be. In your eyes he was far better than perfect. There wasn’t a word for how you perceived him. Because every word seemed minimal in comparison to what you felt.  

“You found your muse?” You hear your professor behind you. You glare down at your paper then up to them. “What? No, look at this.” You express, lifting up the sketch and shaking it dramatically. “I am. It seems you found it.” They place a gentle hand upon your shoulder. 

You drew a crowd. Just like your millions upon millions of paintings posted on your instagram. How is a crowd of people your muse? Your eyebrows knit together and you look up to Dr. Shoola once more. “This is just a random sketch?” You say in more of a question. You were confused. You drew this often, but it’s not your muse. 

“You’re a silly one, [Name].” They pat your shoulder, moving onto Ekko’s sketch in front of you. Your eyes land back at the sheet of paper. Found your muse? Where?

You observed your own drawing. What are you not seeing?

This is short, I did it on purpose because twelve and thirteen are going to be longer. :) And honestly I do have a concussion and this took me hours. I probably shouldn't have been on my laptop the way I was but I had to post thisssss.

Two more chapters left.

Taglist: @policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @xx-siren-sings-xx @donnie-is-here @urmommt