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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Holy Ground - Chapter 4

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

"You want to tell me what exactly you apologised for?" Cassian demanded as they left Azriel's bedroom.

Azriel was curled around his mate like a tortoise shell and Cassian was quite sure that Azriel was going to slaughter everybody that would even try to get close to Irena.

Without even a second of hesitation.

He had never seen Azriel so protective before, had never seen him so...possessive. It was almost scary how strongly his brother was reacting to almost losing his mate, how tightly he was curling himself around her like a shield. Cassian knew that mating bonds were intense, that they could drive instincts wild…Fuck, he had felt that all compassing need to pretect and claim himself…but…

But Azriel…he was radiating raw fear and intensity.

Rhys grimaced. "I fucked up," he said frankly.

"Yeah, I agree, given that our brother preferred to keep his mate a secret for 2 years than to actually talk to us.” Cassian let out a low sigh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "What exactly did you do that made him keep this from us?" he asked sharply, his voice tinged with frustration.

He didn't want to judge his brother, didn't want to assume that Rhys was the reason for Azriel's secrecy. But he couldn't help but wonder what had caused Azriel to keep something so important from them. And he couldn't help but feel a little hurt that he had been left out of something so significant in his brother's life.

It was frustrating and confusing, and it left Cassian feeling like there was a gulf between him and his brother that he didn't know how to bridge. He just wanted to understand, wanted to make sure that he hadn't done anything to make Azriel feel like he couldn't trust Cassian…

He knew that Azriel was a private person, that he valued his solitude and his privacy. But he had never expected him to keep his mating bond a secret for so long.

It stung a little, that Azriel had been able to hide something so significant for so long without any of them suspecting a thing.

"Around two years ago...I warned Azriel off Elain," Rhys admitted with a grimace. "I was not...particularly...appropriate with my word choices."

Azriel and Elain?! Cassian's eyes widened at the admission, his jaw dropping open in shock. "Elain?! You warned Azriel off Elain?" he asked incrediously. "I didn't even know that there was..."

"There wasn't. Not after...They...they nearly kissed during Solstice once, even with Lucien in the house and it was...I stopped them." Rhys admitted. "It was a political clusterfuck."

Cassian felt another rush of disbelief and anger wash over him at that. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't believe that Rhys had interfered in Azriel's personal life like that. "You had no right," he growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You had no right to get involved in his love life like that, Rhys."

"I had every right," Rhys snapped. "Elain has a mate and so has Azriel, as we just found out."

"He didn't know that then," Cassian disagreed. "Elain and Azriel clearly had...something between them and yet you interfered. What exactly did you say to him?"

"I ordered him not to pursue her," Rhys admitted. "I told him to leave her alone. That if he needed to fuck somebody, he should go to a pleasure hall and pay for it."Cassian's eyes widened at the admission, his jaw clenching tight as he struggled to keep his temper in check.

"You...you ordered him?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You actually ordered him to stay away from a girl he clearly had feelings for? And then you...you told him to..." He trailed off, unable to even finish the sentence. He couldn't believe that Rhys had done something so callous and outright cruel to their brother. It was one thing to warn Azriel off of pursuing a girl who already had a mate. But to order him around like some kind of puppet and then insult him like that...it was beyond terrible. "Yeah. No fucking wonder, he didn't say a single word about Irena," Cassian growled under her breath. "You can probably consider yourself lucky that he didn't snap your neck for that, Rhys!"

Rhys winced at the words, his expression turning apologetic. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm...I don't really have an excuse. I was just...I thought I was doing what was best for him, for our Court. I didn't mean to..."

He trailed off, his voice shaking with emotion. Cassian could see how much his brother was struggling with this, how much the knowledge of what he had done was eating away at him. And he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Rhys, even as he was still seething with anger towards him.

He knew that Rhys had always tried to do what he thought was right, that he had always tried to protect their Court and their family. But sometimes...sometimes he made mistakes. And those mistakes had consequences, consequences that were often painful and devastating.

"I did apologise," Rhys said weakly.

"Oh, did you?" Cassian said with a snort. Rhys's apology did little to improve Cassian's temper, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. "And that makes it all better then?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "A simple apology fixes everything? Clearly it doesn't! Otherwise we would have known! Azriel would have told us that he met his mate!"

"What apology?" A voice behind them demanded, and Cassian should probably not be surprised to not only find his own mate there, but also Mor and his High Lady.

"Feyre Darling...Where is Nyx?" Rhys asked

"With Cerridwen. Don't change the topic," Feyre demanded. "What in the cauldron even happened?!"

Cassian let out a low sigh, shaking his head at the interruption. He couldn't help but feel a little grateful for the distraction, though. "Rhys told Azriel not to pursue Elain romantically three years ago.," he explained, his voice tight. "Ordered him to stay away, even. Azriel's been keeping his mate a secret from us for two years now."

He could see the shock and confusion on Feyre's face as he spoke, the disbelief that her mate could have done something so thoughtless and hurtful. He couldn't blame her, really. He was still struggling to wrap his head around it himself.

It didn't make any sense to him, how Rhys could have done something like that without realizing how much it would hurt their brother. How could someone who was supposed to be a High Lord, supposed to be their leader, be so blind to the pain of those he was supposed to protect? It was baffling and frustrating and it made Cassian's blood boil.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it, not right now. Not when they had bigger problems to worry about...like the fact that Azriel had a mate, a mate he had been hiding for two whole years. He knew what a mating bond felt like, knew how all-consuming and intense it could be.

The last thing he had expected was for Mor to start laughing."What?" Cassian snapped, his temper flaring up again. "What's so funny?"

Mor’s laughter continued, her body trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. "I'm sorry," she gasped, her voice choked with mirth as she grinned at him. "It's just...it's just so Azriel. Of course, he would keep his mate a secret for two whole years.”

Cassian stared at her in disbelief, his anger giving way to confusion. "That's what you find funny?" he asked incredulously. "That our brother kept his mate hidden for two bloody years?"

He couldn't understand why Mor would find that amusing, why she was laughing at something that was supposed to be a serious and painful secret. Didn't she know how much it must have hurt Azriel to keep his mate hidden for so long, to keep his feelings for her bottled up inside? Didn't she know how hard it must have been for him to keep up the facade of being fine, of being single and alone?

He couldn't wrap his head around it, couldn't make sense of Mor's humour in the situation. All he could feel was confusion and frustration, and a deep sadness for his brother who had to keep his mating bond a secret for so long.

He had always known that Azriel was a private person, that he didn't like to share his personal life with others. But he had never known that he could keep something like this a secret for so long. It was...it was almost scary, how good Azriel was at hiding his feelings and emotions.

“You find it funny, that Azriel didn’t trust any of us with her?” Nesta asked flatly.

Mor's laughter died down at Nesta's words, her expression turning somber. "No, of course not," she said quietly. "It's just...it's just typical Azriel. He's always been so careful about guarding his emotions, about keeping his love life hidden. I never would have guessed that he had a mate, let alone for two whole years."

“I am not surprised that he didn’t tell you,” Nesta bit out. “Not as you spend 500 years using his own feelings against him.

Mor flinched at Nesta's words, her expression turning pained. "Nesta, that's...that's not fair," she protested. "I never meant to hurt him. I never wanted to."

But Nesta wasn't finished, her eyes blazing with anger as she took a step towards Mor. "You spent five centuries playing with his heart, using him like some kind of toy. And now you're surprised that he didn't tell you about his mate? After everything you've put him through?"

Mor looked down, avoiding Nesta's gaze. "I...I know that I made mistakes," she said quietly. "But I never meant to hurt him."

Nesta scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please," she sneered. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew exactly how Azriel felt about you, and you used it to your advantage. You used him. And after the mating bond between you and Emerie snapped, you never tried to actually talk to him!“

Cassian nearly missed Rhys wincing. Nearly.

“You have anything to do with that too?” He asked darkly.

Rhys flinched at the accusation, his expression turning guilty. "I...I may have had something to do with it," he admitted quietly. "But I was just trying to help. I didn't mean..."

Cassian stared at his brother in disbelief, his anger rising up in him like a tidal wave. "You...you interfered? Again?" he hissed. “What did you tell Azriel?” He demanded.

Rhys sighed, picking a piece of invisible lint of his jacket. "I told him not to ruin this for Mor. That she went through enough.”

Cassian felt a wave of frustration wash over him at Rhys's words. "And you didn't think that maybe Azriel had enough as well?" he asked, his voice barely more than a growl.

He couldn't believe that Rhys had tried to interfere in Azriel's life again, that he had caused even more pain for their brother. And all for the sake of Mor, someone who had rejected Azriel time and time again. It was ridiculous and infuriating.

But the more he heard…the more he understood why Azriel had kept Irena a secret.

He had met his mate and had protected her fiercely, cossetted her away from any of them who could hurt them…had kept her to himself, so Rhys couldn’t say any other idiotic and harebrained thing…Had kept his mate to himself, because he adored her and hadn’t wanted to share. Which quite frankly, Cassian could absoltuely understand now.

And still… Cassian knew what a mating bond could do to someone, how intense and consuming it could be. And the thought that Azriel, their quiet and reserved brother, had had to keep that kind of intensity hidden for so long...it was almost too much for Cassian to fathom.

He didn't know how Azriel had managed it, how he had kept his mating bond a secret for so long without anyone else noticing. It must have been a monumental effort, a constant struggle to keep his emotions and instincts in check.

And the fact that he had done all of that alone, without any support or understanding from the rest of them...it broke Cassian's heart.

And Cassian himself had not made it better. How often had he teased his brother about his love life. Even, and maybe especially, when Azriel had told him to fuck off?

Too often, Cassian realized with a pang of guilt. He had never thought about how his teasing might have hurt Azriel, how it might have added to the burden of keeping his mating bond a secret.

He had always just assumed that they were all teasing each other in good fun, that it was harmless banter between siblings. But now...now he realized that maybe it hadn't been so harmless after all. Maybe it had been something much more cruel and damaging than he had ever intended.

He wished that he could take back every comment he had ever made about Azriel's love life, every joke he had ever made about his solitude. But he knew that he couldn't, that the damage had already been done.

Cassian could just hope that he could find a way to repair things with Azriel, to make amends for all of the hurt and pain that he had unintentionally caused. He just hoped that his brother would be able to forgive him, that they could move past this and build a stronger, more understanding relationship

But deep down, a nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that it might not be so easy. That the wounds inflicted by his words might run too deep to ever be fully healed.

And that thought scared him more than he cared to admit. It scared him to think that he might have forever damaged his relationship with his brother, that his careless words might have destroyed something that he had always taken for granted.

“I don’t even have the words right now,” Feyre said with a sigh.

Cassian glanced in her direction, seeing the pain and frustration written all over her face. He knew exactly what she meant. There were no words for this situation, for the hurt and confusion and betrayal that they were all feeling.

He could only imagine what Azriel must be going through right now, how much he must be struggling with his emotions and thoughts. And he had no idea how they were supposed to help him, how they could make things right again.

“I have no clue how we are supposed to fix this either,” Feyre continued.

Cassian nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over him. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Me neither."

“Leave him be,” Nesta said tightly. “He nearly lost his mate today.”

Cassian shot Nesta a sharp look, surprised by her words. "Leave him be?" he repeated. "You want to just leave him alone, after all of this?"

"He almost lost his mate today, Cassian," Nesta repeated, her voice tight with emotion. "Let him rest. Let him have some time, space. Let him have that without us bombarding him with questions and apologies."

Cassian considered her words for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of bombarding his brother with more questions right now. He already had, hadn’t he? He knew that Nesta was right, that Azriel needed space and time to process everything that had happened. And he knew that they had already done enough damage as it was.

So he nodded, reluctantly agreeing with her suggestion. "Alright," he said quietly. "We'll give him space. For now."

He could only hope that it would be enough, that it would give Azriel the time and space he needed to heal and process everything that had happened. And he hoped, more than anything, that it would be enough for them to repair the damage that they had done to their brother's heart.

But until then, all he could do was wait. Wait and hope that someday, somehow, they could make things right again.

And in the meantime, he would try his best to be there for Azriel, to offer him support and understanding without pushing too hard. Because that was all he could do right now.

That, and wait for a chance to finally make amends for the mistakes he had made.

Because he knew that he had a lot to make up for, and he was determined to do whatever it took to earn Azriel's forgiveness. And to be a better brother from this point forward.

***

She was warm. She was safe. Azriel was holding her...and still...in the moment she first opened her eyes, all she could remember where these last few moments before.

Irena's heart raced as the memories flooded back, of Merrill's office...of how her fellow Priestess, her friend had been sniping at her the moment she entered her office.

"We need to talk, Merrill," Irena had said.

"If Meera complained, it's her own fault," Merrill had seethed. "I don't need her help anyway, I am quicker and better on my own."

And only then Irena had realised that Merrill had already been casting that spell.

"Merrill! Stop!" she had snapped. "You can't do that! It's too..." dangerous. Dangerous was what she had wanted to say. But the word stuck in her throat as Merrill chanted that spell and then...then hell broke loose.

Then the only thing she remembered was quite a lot of pain."

There was no pain now.

There was only Azriel. Only safety and warmth and the smell of cedars...she blinked open her eyes tiredly.

"Azriel," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body weak and boneless. But still, she felt a sense of relief wash over her as she saw him there, his arms strong and comforting around her.

She wanted to say more, to ask him if he was alright, to apologize for putting him through all of this. But she couldn't find the strength to speak, the words getting stuck in her throat. All she could do was cling to him, grateful for his presence and warmth.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, clinging to her...and only a moment later she could feel his body shudder against her own. Shudder and the salty smell of tears

Irena's eyes widened in surprise as she realized that he was crying. She had never seen Azriel cry before, not once in all the time they had spent together. But now, he was crying, a quiet sob escaping him as he buried his face in her hair.

Her heart broke at the sound, at the vulnerability he was showing her. She raised a trembling hand to stroke his hair, her fingers tangling in the silky locks. "Azriel," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible. "It's alright. I'm here. I'm here."

She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that she never meant to hurt him like this. But the words just wouldn't come, her mouth dry and her head still spinning. All she could do was hold him, trying to provide him with the only comfort she had the strength to give.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clinging to each other in silence. But eventually, Azriel's tears seemed to dry up, his sobs turning into sniffles and then to deep, shaky breaths.

She felt him press another soft kiss against her forehead, his lips warm and gentle against her skin. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken murmur. "I thought..."

She could hear the pain and fear in his voice, and it broke her heart even more. "Shhh," she said, still stroking his hair gently. "I'm here now. I'm alright."

She could feel him nod against her, his body slowly relaxing as he held her close. "I was so scared," he whispered. "I was so scared."

She tightened her grip around him, trying to reassure him with her presence. "I know," she said softly. "But I'm here, alright? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

Never. Not when she had a single choice in that matter.

She felt him nod again, his body finally relaxing completely against hers.

But for now, this was enough. Just being able to hold him, to feel him pressed against her, was enough. And she hoped, with all her heart, that it was enough for him too.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. “Are you…”

She looked up at Azriel, seeing the concern etched onto his features. "My abdomen hurts a little…so does my bad leg" she admitted. "But other than that, I feel fine. A little weak, but fine."

Azriel nodded, his expression still tight with worry. "Madja said that it might take a few days for you to fully recover," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But she was confident that you'll be okay."

Irena nodded, trying to smile reassuringly at him. "I'll be fine, Azriel," she said softly. "I just need some rest and I'll be good as new."

And time. Time to wrap her mind around the fact that her friend had died.

“She didn’t deserve that,” she whispered. Azriel knew what she was talking about.

“She didn’t,” he agreed softly.

“Was anybody else hurt?” Irena whispered, already hating to even contemplate it..

“Just you.”

She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her. "It's all my fault," she murmured. "If I hadn't confronted her, if I hadn't..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. She could still remember the look on Merrill's face, the anger and hatred in her eyes. And she knew, deep down, that she had caused it.

Azriel's grip on her hand tightened, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her skin. "It wasn't your fault, Irena," he said firmly. "You didn't make her do what she did. You couldn't have known that she would lash out like that."

She wanted to believe him, to let herself off the hook. But the guilt was too heavy, too all-consuming. "I should have known," she whispered, her voice choked up with emotion. "I should have been more aware, more careful."

Azriel's expression softened, his eyes full of understanding. "You can't blame yourself for this, love," he said gently. "You can't control other people's actions, no matter how much you might want to."

She knew he was right, that she couldn't keep blaming herself for what had happened. But it was hard, so hard, to let go of that guilt. "I just...I never meant for any of this to happen," she said, tears filling her eyes.

Merrill had been brilliant. And yes, she had been snappy and cruel but she had also been funny and bright and…She hadn’t been horrible. Misunderstood maybe, not very nice sometimes but she wasn’t…she hadn’t deserved to die.

Azriel reached out, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "I know," he whispered, his voice full of tenderness. "I know you didn't."

She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of blame or anger. But all she saw was kindness and understanding, and it almost broke her heart. "How can you be so good to me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "After everything..."

He cupped her face gently, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "Because I love you," he said simply, his eyes never leaving hers. "And nothing you can ever do will ever change that. This wasn’t your fault."

She felt a lump form in her throat at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. No one had ever loved her like this before, no one had ever made her feel so safe and cherished.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she felt him press a soft kiss against her forehead. "I love you, too," she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion. "More than anything."

Laying in his arms, was the most peace she had ever known.

“They know…about us,” Azriel said, exhaling softly. “I am sorry. I couldn’t…I couldn’t let them take you back to your room.”

Irena looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "They know?" she repeated. "They know about us...together?"

He didn’t need to tell her who they was. They was everybody.

Azriel nodded, his expression serious. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I knew you didn't want anyone to know yet, but I couldn't risk them sending you back alone. You were barely conscious and..." He trailed off, his voice tight with emotion.

Irena reached out, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. "It's okay," she said softly. "I understand." And she did understand. She knew that he had only been trying to protect her, to keep her safe. And she loved him even more for it. And she had wanted to be with him. She had wanted to be held by him. It was worth it. The simple comfort of his presence was worth all the other bullshit they would need to deal with.

Irena smiled up at him, trying to reassure him with her expression. "It doesn't matter if they know," she said. "As long as I have you, nothing else matters."

“It’s gonna be…difficult,” Azriel warned her with a grimace.

“I can deal with your brothers,” she promised him simply. She could. She did deal with them. Well, at least with the High Lord on a monthly basis. She could handle him.

Azriel let out a laugh, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he warned her, but there was a slight smile playing on his lips.

She just smiled at him, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

She would deal with whatever she needed. Because Azriel was worth it.

“Madja should be back soon…do you want a bath?” He asked her softly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I can ask Gwyn or Roslin to come help you.“

Irena smiled gratefully. "Yes, a bath would be lovely," she said, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her. "But just a quick one."

Azriel nodded, his expression tender as he looked down at her. "I'll go get Gwyn," he said, brushing her hair away from her face. "You just rest for a moment."

“No,” Irena said softly. “You can help me.”

Azriel's expression softened at her words, his eyes filled with warmth. "Of course," he said gently. "Anything you need." He bent down, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her towards the bathroom. His touch was careful, his steps slow and steady, as if he was afraid of hurting her.

The shadows fluttered around, filling the bathtub, pouring something or other in there until it smelled amazing.

Irena breathed in deeply, feeling the tension in her body slowly begin to ease away. The warm, lavender-scented steam filled her nose, soothing her frayed nerves and calming her racing heart. "That smells amazing," she sighed, leaning against Azriel's chest. "What is it?"

“I have no clue,” he said drily. “I don’t get bubble baths,” he said with a pointed look at the shadows.

He put her down to sit on the edge of the enormous Bath Tub and then very carefully unwrapped the wrappings around her wounds, and her leg. The wounds were closed now, the upper layer knitted back together, but she could still feel them.

“Can you get out of the nightgown on your own?” Azriel asked her, hesitantly.

“Should be fine,” Irena promised.

She watched as he turned around, giving her some privacy. She was grateful for his consideration, but at the same time, she couldn't help feeling a little sad that he wasn't even going to sneak a peek. She shook the thought away, reaching out to tug off the nightgown and carefully lower herself into the tub.

The water was warm and soothing, and she let out a soft sigh as her body sank into it. Irena closed her eyes, feeling the tension slowly drain from her muscles. "This feels amazing," she murmured, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “You can come here,“ she said with some amusement, as he still stood at the doorway, presenting his back to her. His wings were flared as wide as they could get in the bathroom, rippling as muscles seemingly twitched beneath them.

Azriel turned back around, his expression a mix of amusement and relief. He stepped closer to the tub, kneeling down beside it. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice gentle. "I don't want to accidentally see something you don't want me to."

Irena laughed softly, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "You're too chivalrous for your own good," she teased. "But I appreciate the thought. And yes, I'm sure. Come here."

Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he moved closer to her. He gently ran his fingers through her wet hair, brushing it away from her face. The touch was tender, almost reverent, and Irena leaned into it with a contented sigh. "That feels good," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Want me to wash your hair?” he offered her, his voice hesitant.

Like she was ever going to turn down that offer. Irena opened her eyes, looking up at him with a smile. "Yes, please," she said, leaning back further into the water. "I don't think I have the energy to lift my arms right now."

Azriel chuckled softly, reaching for a bottle of shampoo. He squirted a small amount into his palm before carefully working it into her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow, soothing circles. The sensation was heavenly, and Irena closed her eyes again, simply enjoying the moment.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Azriel gently working the shampoo into her hair while Irena let herself relax completely. The warm water, the fragrant steam, and Azriel's gentle touch were all working together to ease away her aches and pains.

After a few more minutes, Azriel carefully rinsed her hair, his fingers tenderly brushing away any lingering soap suds. "All done," he said softly, his hands still buried in her hair. "Feeling better?"

She nodded, opening her eyes again and giving him a smile. "Much better," she said, feeling relaxed and drowsy. "Thank you."

Azriel returned the smile, his gaze full of affection. "You're very welcome, love" he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Let's get you out of here and back into bed before you fall asleep in the tub."

Irena laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "That's probably a good idea," she admitted. "I don't think falling asleep in the tub would do my injuries any favours."

He insisted on keeping his eyes closed again, but between him and the shadows, they had her dry and dressed in a nightgown quickly enough.

Azriel scooped her up again as soon as she was dressed, cradling her against his chest as he carried her back to the bed. He settled her gently onto the mattress, tucking the blankets around her before sitting down beside her.

“You know…next time…you should let me return the favour,” she said softly.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You want to wash my hair, huh?" he asked, his tone teasing. "Careful, I might take you up on that offer."

“You could join me in the tub,” she said softly, biting her lip.

Azriel's eyes darkened at her suggestion, his gaze intense as he looked down at her. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "I’ll have…some…bodily reaction to that,” he pointed out.

Her cheeks flushed but she kept a hold of his hand.

Irena swallowed, feeling a flutter of both nerves and excitement in her belly. But she didn't back down. "I'm sure," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want...I want to be close to you. Like that." She could see his hesitation and the faintest hint of doubt in his eyes.

But she knew that hesitation had nothing to do with lack of desire. It was simply that he was worried about her. Worried about hurting her, or pushing her too far. And she loved him all the more for it, but she also knew that she wanted this. Wanted him.

“Think about it. She said softly. “Maybe in a few weeeks?”

Azriel nodded, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. "In a few weeks," he agreed softly. "When you're healed." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Let's focus on getting you better first, hmm?"

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #Holy Ground

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alsofoundinpeas · 2 months ago

Text

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost.

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t.

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted?

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.”

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to.

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile.

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben.

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel.

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest.

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make.

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence.

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person.

Was.

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds.

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist.

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances.

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break.

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life.

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt.

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer.

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength.

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force.

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death.

After a year and one day, he was gone.

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free.

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years.

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers.

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips?

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?”

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go.

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone.

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went.

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up.

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.”

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often.

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.”

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again.

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.”

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds.

“Et tu, Y/N?”

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny.

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.”

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her.

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?”

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind.

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him?

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain.

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire.

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women.

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta.

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one.

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea.

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval.

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers.

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed.

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight.

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her.

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room.

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.”

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband.

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.”

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he?

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it.

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered.

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack.

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.”

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true.

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia.

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly.

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.”

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words.

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life.

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!”

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard.

“I— uh. Um...”

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again.

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.”

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.”

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more.

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here.

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him.

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her.

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth.

She was so tight. So wet. So warm.

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was.

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own.

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.”

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care.

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes.

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her.

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself.

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence.

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now.

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear.

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well…

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him.

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes.

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs.

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife.

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit?

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man.

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t.

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s.

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff.

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped.

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there.

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!”

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening.

“Get out of my fucking house.”

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!”

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses.

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

That’s his girl.

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face.

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.”

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could.

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch.

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death.

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up.

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?”

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room.

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.”

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf.

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.”

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them.

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her.

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her. Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg smut #virgin!Spencer reid #virgin!reader x virgin!Spencer reid

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k2ntoss · 8 months ago

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Like...

Jason makes love and just fuck rough just sometimes... but he loves making love, not just a thing to pleasure, but for the feeling, for loving his girl... it's a intimacy thing...

I don't he him as a abuser... a guy that don't ask for permission even if it's just a look in her eyes

Sorry for felling up ur inbox with my sad and horrified ass

Love u!

MORE THAN YOU KNOW !! JASON TODD

request for this pretty girl and for me happy 3 months after my concert i'm emotional and too attached to that event i'm not even sorry!!!

t/w ⭒ SMUT!!! a little bit of angst and so but mostly some kind of fluffy smut and also... john constantine's sidekick!reader, i'm not even sorry but i have to do this

word count ⭒ don't know i've slept like 4 hours in two days so here you have this made with love and pouring my raw feelings on it

song ⭒ more than you know - blink-182

things had always been a little harder for jason, after all that's what he always expects from life so the punches sometimes hurt less but there's always something or someone that holds the power to make everything hurt worse than hell. how can he explain it? if he has always struggled with his feelings, after being left down over and over again he built walls to protect himself and pushed away whoever tried to come closer.

he didn't knew if he had to curse or thank for the day he met you. little cocky bastard that somehow connected with him from the very start, that understood him on a level that scared jason to death but he would never say it out loud, that would let you grip his throat and leave him helpless because his heart was open wide for you.

it was sad you didn't knew it and he didn't knew either if you felt the same things for him. he knew you would be there for him and so would he do for you, jason knew he had everything he lacked in your presence. you made him feel things he had never voiced because he didn't knew why and the day you started to find the way to voice the things you had bottled up he felt a little left behind.

"i- look, it's hard but i have to grow a pair and say it, jay... i want us to be different, to work a little more on whatever we are because i feel like i need more and more from you and honestly it scares me more than anything" the sudden confession feels alien for you, jason feels like he has been kicked in the face because this is not what he had expected. you always hid yourself underneath halfhearted confessions, never your real deep feelings.

"what do you mean?" the question slips past his lips before he can really think about it and the small flash of disappointment that crosses your face makes his chest ache. how can he put his words out for you? it's almost impossible to see himself saying it outloud, it was a sickening need to protect himself even if he knew you could never hurt him.

"i mean... i don't really feel like i know what you feel for me, i feel like i've been left with nothing at it freaks me out to feel you can leave me to die if i ever lose you" the words from your mouth now sound strained and realization downs on him. it's heavy, the knowledge that you felt the same fear he felt, the way you had let him hold youe life on his hands until the point that losing him would shatter you to pieces.

the lump on his throat subsided, the way you had finally voiced your fear made jason find his own grasp on what he felt. he felt like he had been cursed, his life was a constant fall as if he was sinking like a rock but there was also something else when you were around and even if neither of you had ever said it the feeling was there, deep and rooted in your hearts and it was too hard to say it out loud, love wasn't something you had ever experienced in conventional ways during life.

"why do you poison yourself with the thought i won't love you to death?" the question slip with an ease he had never felt before and the surprise in your face made it all worthy. it wasn't just giving you the power to burn him to ashes, it was giving himself the permission to lean on you, to indulge him to have a ray of light even if he sunk down further "i know i've never said it before, i've never told you how i really feel but trust me it's more than you'd ever know"

he had reached to you, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face as he leaned closer to press a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. the contact was so simple and light but yet so intimate it made you close your eyes, his hand hovering over your jaw before settling on the side of your neck as you closed your eyes.

"i feel like i shouldn't be trying at all, jay... but i just know i need you with me" your whisper made him sigh and it was all he needed to hear. his lips pressed against yours in a slow and deep kiss, jason cupping your face tenderly as you held onto his shoulders while leaning in across the distance between you in the small couch on jason's safe house.

the tender touch of his calloused hands against your face was a stark contrast, to wounded souls merging into one as he caressed your sides slowly pulling you closer to him. drinking you in like a man starving because he was giving in to you. the weight of your body making him aware of the fact that he had pulled you into his lap and breaking the kiss he looked up at you with adoration.

"can i...?" he asked, trailing off as he saw the same resolve in your eyes. you were just giving in to him, letting yourself be totally vulnerable for him to either take care of you or destroy you completely. that same resolve and trust made jason decide he would always protect you, even from himself even if it meant changing his whole being because he knew it was the least he could do for the person that was willing to do the same for him.

a silent nod from you was enough. his hands wandering across your body to free your figure from the fabric of your clothes, his eyes taking in every detail as his hands caressed every dip and curve of your body, your hands doing the very same on him as your lips lavished his neck, jaw and shoulders with tender and lingering kisses.

jason held your waist, slowly picking you up as he kissed your neck while walking to his room in long strides filled with purpose until he was able to lay you down, placing you gently on his bed and looking down at you with adoration and need. he knelt on the bed, his large frame hovering over yours as he leaned in to kiss a trail from your neck down to the middle of your chest, feeling your hands on the back of his head.

words weren't needed, the way jason looked at you as he settled between your legs was everything you needed to know what he felt and thought, the absolute trust he was putting on you mirroing yours. it was the first time he felt sure he wouldn't be betrayed or disappointed by someone he felt he needed as much as he needed air.

"jay..." the murmured call of his name that left your lips made jason shudder and he looked up as his hands caressed your waist and stomach softly, soothing and worshipping you.

"y/n..." he whispered back, moving until his face was next to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple "are you sure?" the question was soft and even if he felt like he couldn't resist it another second without feeling you around him he held back. wanting to make this as special as he could.

"i'm sure" you whispered against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin and with that confirmation he kissed your lips firmly as he sunk into you, a slow and steady stroke to settle between your warm walls. the overwhelming feeling stronger because of all the feelings poured in your words.

a low growl escaped his throat, his face hidden against your neck as you held onto his shoulders, face nuzzled into his hair as a low and soft moan escaped your lips at the first jerk of his hips. the pace was gentle and passionate, his lips peppering your shoulders in kisses and soft nibbles as your nails drew patterns on his back.

the breathless moans and grunst filling the room slowly turned into needy whimpers and low groans as jason picked up the pace, his hands gripping your waist and even if everything got more heated there was still that look of adoration on jason as he looked down at you.

and just like before. words weren't needed, all the feelings that had been poured at the start were loud and clear in the way jason let go off your wais to hold your hands, your legs wrapped around his hips as your fingers intertwined, gasps and soft kisses between each stroke that made his hips snap against yours until your body tensed.

he looked down at you again, leaning in to press a kiss to each of your closed eyes and then on your forehead and one deep thrust made you crumble apart underneath him. your body clenching around his as you moaned loudly made jason groan "jason!" and the sound of your voice was enough, his grip on your hands tightening.

a low growl of your name was all you heard in the moment he reached his own peak, his release spilled inside you in a jerk of his hips against you and the intensity of it all made you whimper silently against his chest.

"i love you, jay..." you whispered as he released your hands, his arms moving to wrap around your waist as you hugged his neck tightly and he chuckled tenderly.

"i love you too..." he muttered. days ago he would have said he didn't had highs but he had some lows but having you was definetly a high. he belonged there, right into your arms.

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ladydeatharcheron · 8 months ago

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Nesta's trauma

Saw a comment saying "Feyre died, Rhys was raped, Az was set on fire, Amren was in a prison, Mor was beaten and used like a pin board and Nesta became poor in her youth lol"

Let's review the things Nesta went through for the illiterate ones who jump at any chance to dismiss a woman's trauma, shall we?

had her palms beaten raw by her grandmother at the age of seven for missteps in her dancing lessons

groomed by her mother as a child to seduce elder men and was led to believe she was only as worthy as the title she married

was almost raped by Tomas Mandray and physically assaulted when she attempted to fight back.

neglected by her father, the man who was supposed to take care of them and bring food to the table

was put in a position where she wanted to starve to death just so her father would get up and provide for them

was shoved into the cauldron against her will (which she described as having molten ore poured into her veins and her human blood boiling) had her bodily autonomy stripped from her, and died as a human

watched her father's neck being snapped right after he told her he loved her

she became depressed and reclusive, "feeling nothing" after the war ended

she couldn't take baths from her trauma of the cauldron, she had to wash herself using buckets

she couldn't endure small spaces due to the cauldron

had to endure the cold in her apartment because the sound of cracking logs reminded her of her father's neck being snapped

was locked up in the HoW because men once again think they know what's best for women against her will

was SAed by the kelpie, monsters known for raping women before they eat them

Hope this helps! Read carefully next time :)

#pro nesta #nesta stan #nesta archeron #acosf #acotar #stop dismissing trauma just because someone lives it differently than you or your favs

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moody-alcoholic · 28 days ago

Text

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 10 - They Say the Truth Set's You Free

CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, suicidal thoughts, vomit, mentions of injury's, near death experience.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

It’s like a dream.

You wake, your body dragged into the room, strapped to the table or the chair. It’s always Graves and one of his shadows. You’ve stopped listening to them, you just sob or scream. Anything to get your energy out, you’re scared you might slip up, say something just to get them to stop. You tried begging when it was John and Simon, they didn’t listen to you, they didn’t believe you. Why would Graves be any different?

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

‘What do you think Riley would think of you now?’

‘141 left days ago. Left you here to suffer and you still keep your mouth closed?’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, at this point you’re just delaying the inevitable.’

What is the inevitable? Death? You used to be scared of death, you don’t fear it anymore, now you know there is someone waiting on the other side.

When Graves comes back you don’t bother holding your breath anymore while water is poured over your face. By the time they’re finished and pulling the rag away you can barely breathe.

It’s one of those days again, you’re shivering water drenched over your body. Your throat is raw and your stomach is heavy with water.

“Price trained you well.” Graves says as he dunks the rag back in the water. You can barely focus on him, you can’t think straight. you‘re worried if you open your mouth you might say something you don’t mean, admit something that’s not true then it would be over.

He presses the rag over your nose and mouth. There's no water this time, just his palm over your mouth and his thumb and forefinger pinching your nose.

Your body involuntarily squirms. Your lungs burn, your head swims. He’s not letting go, maybe this is it.

You hope there's a heaven you would like to see Simon again.

…

“It’s been 3 days, this has to be enough.” Kyle says, slamming a folder down.

“We get one shot, we should collect everything we can. Leave no room for error.” John says he agrees with Kyle but rushing in could do more harm than good. “Laswell will be here in a few hours, we’ll go then.”

“That’s a few hours too long.” Johnny says. He’s been the most quiet, sitting behind a laptop or stacks of paperwork. It’s not the same, he’s not the same, none of them are.

“Why don’t you go check on Simon, get something to eat.” John suggests.

“Not hungry.”

“Coffee then.” Johnny looks over at John. It’s less of a suggestion and more of an order. He sighs, getting up, closing the laptop and walking over to the door. When Johnny opens the door he almost jumps. The doctor from the hospital is standing there, his fist clenched like he was ready to knock.

“I wanted to speak to Captain Price.” He says, Johnny frowns moving to the side. John stands up nodding him in.

“I want to help. I had no idea this was going to happen. I thought it was because you took the helo. I told her it was supposed to stay.” he says, Johnny stands behind him crossing his arms.

“I didn't know he was going to torture her. She’s not a traitor, I can vouch for her.” The doctor says, he seems genuine. John sighs, sitting back down. He’s fidgeting, seems like he really didn’t know how fucked things were. His word isn’t worth much but at least there’s more people in your corner and he can definitely get access to the hospital computers. At least then that makes it easier to prove your movements. The doctor's pager goes off and he turns his body to look.

“Can I?” He asks, pointing at the phone on the table. Price nods, rubbing his chin. Anything to get you out quicker, Johnny was right making you wait a few more hours is a few hours too long.

“Is she breathing?”

Something makes the hairs stand up on the back of John’s neck, he looks at the doctor, something feels wrong.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” The doctor puts the phone down.

“It’s the custody wing. You might want to come.” The doctor says. John is on his feet in an instant, he doesn't need to order Kyle or Johnny. He knows they’re following.

…

You wake to pain on your chest. You cough, spluttering as someone grips your face forcing your mouth open. Bile rises in your stomach and before you can stop yourself you vomit. Someone pulls your body on its side. Your vision is still blurry, as your heave emptying your stomach of all the water you’ve ingested.

‘What the fuck were you thinking!?’

‘Your job was to get intel, you almost killed her!’

Your body shakes hands run over you. You blink trying to clear your vision, it's not working.

‘Christ! What’s going on!?’

You recognise the voice. It’s John. Graves said they’d left you. You force your body to turn on your stomach, someone is trying to stop you. You groan out trying to drag yourself to the open door.

“Hey, don’t move okay?” It’s Dr. Sand's hands trying to stop you from moving.

“John?” You call out your throat raw as you reach out to the door. There's movement in the doorway, you squeeze your eyes closed again.

Warm hands press on your face, you open your eyes looking up at John bent down in front of you. You look up into his deep blue eyes. His thumb rubs your cheek.

He didn't leave you. He’s still here, you try to smile but you don't think you can.

“Captain, I can explain.” That’s the General’s voice.

His hands leave your face and your head slumps on the floor.

“Soap, Gaz stay with her. The General and I need to have a chat.” There's hostility in his voice. He’s angry.

Johnny bends down by your head. His arm comes round your back.

“Don’t move her too much, medics are on their way.”

“Hear that lass, we’re getting you out of here.” Johnny says.

“Simon.” Your voice is barely a whisper. Johnny frowns at you.

“General-”

“Stand down Graves.”

“Sir-”

“Did you not hear him? Back off.” There’s a scuffle, boots dragging on the floor, you keep looking up at Johnny, he’s trying to keep your attention on him. Tears are streaming down your face. Your whole body hurts your chest is the worst.

“Gaz! Leave it, stay with Soap.”

“Johnny..”

“You’re okay lass, just relax.”

You don't know what happened, the last thing you remember was Grave’s hand over your face. You hear more commotion it makes your head spin. They’re trying to move you onto your back but it hurts.

Your eyes droop closed before you can stop them, going limp in Johnny's arms.

“No, none of that lass. C’mon.” He shakes you forcing your eyes to snap open. You can feel fresh tears run down your cheeks. You try to keep your eyes open but you can’t, it’s just too hard.

______________________

“Obviously we can both agree that Commander Graves has gone too far.” The General says lacing his fingers together and leaning forward on the desk. John doesn’t say anything, he keeps his arms crossed. Too far is putting it lightly.

The General swallows, blowing out a breath. Clearly John is not giving the reaction he wanted.

“I think that we’re both in agreement that we can put this all behind us.” He picks up one of the folders John slammed down in front of him. He had read them in silence, scanning his eyes over every piece of paper that exonerated you. “You have done a thorough job Captain, I don’t think there is any further need to suspect her.”

Price just hums pressing his lips together. He doesn’t take his eyes off him, staring him down. He’s scared, Graves almost killed you, he did kill you for over a minute. If you died Graves could have lost everything. The General would be making frantic phone calls to whoever he needs to, you were tortured and died on his watch he let it happen. There’s a knock at the door interrupting John’s thought process.

The General calls in whoever it is leaning back in his chair. John knows who it is, he stands up moving to the side so Laswell can walk in. The General frowns, tipping his head to the side.

“Good to see you again.” She says walking up to his desk, John moves out the way for her. “Torturing an innocent army medic.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“For 3 days?” John says, it’s a low blow, he doesn’t care. She puts down a piece of paper.

“The DOD will cover your ass, you’ll be dishonorably discharged but you won’t face prison time. No one ever needs to know what happened.” She explains. He scoffs, like he has a choice.

“Or, there’s a British General a few hours away who would love to sit down and have a chat with you. After John of course.” The General's eyes flick to him standing at the back of the room, there’s a faint smile on his lips. There won’t be much talking.

He sighs looking down at the paper.

“C’mon, let’s give him some time to think.” John says walking to the door. Laswell follows silently, she did good, as always. He lets her walk out first before taking one look back then closes the door behind him.

“Think he’ll take the deal?” She asks as they walk away.

“If he’s smart.” He replies. His tone is short, his words laced with anger. It’s not over yet.

“What now?” She asks stopping outside the room he commandeered as his office.

“Now I'm going after Graves.”

______________________

You smell the familiar scent of disinfectant and alcohol wash before you open your eyes. The repetitive beeping of machines behind your head, the dulled pain. It almost feels wrong being back in a safe sterile environment after what you’ve been through.

You look round, the lights are low, it’s dark out. Johnny is asleep in the chair next to the bed, his head slumped over on your arm, his fingers laced with yours. So that’s why your arm is numb. You reach over with your other hand, you push your fingers through his hair.

He jolts awake, like he’s just been electrocuted, his hand squeezing yours. “Hey lass, I’m so sorry it took us so long.” He’s on his feet wrapping his arms around you. A stabbing pain shoots through your chest, your head is still swimming.

“Ouch,” you wince.

“Sorry, sorry. You’ve got a broken rib.” he says, helping lay back down. You try to think back to what happened. It’s still foggy, you don’t even know how long it’s been.

“Simon.” You say before you can stop yourself. It brings tears, tears you can’t stop as you think about him being dead.

“He’s fine, woke up yesterday. Being his usual demanding self.” Johnny smiles. You frown almost not believing the words out his mouth. Maybe this is still a dream, he raises his eyebrow as you gawk at him.

“Graves-” his name catches in your throat, your voice is hoarse. “He said Simon was dead.” Johnny lets out a breath bringing your hand up to kiss it.

“Want to see him?” He asks. You nod, a bit too enthusiastically. Johnny insists you take a wheelchair, you don’t care, you just want to see him, feel him. Tell him you’re sorry. It feels like the short trip across to the ward is taking forever. When you turn into the room and see him sitting up in bed talking with Kyle.

When he sees you he stops talking, Kyle turns to see you too. He smiles and comes over, throwing his arms round you as you groan.

“Shit sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” Kyle says. You smile at him. Johnny pushes you round to the side of the bed. Simon watches you the whole way in silence, his eyes dark. You don’t know what to say, you don’t think he does either.

You reach out and take his hand, you’re moving slow almost like you’re not trying to spook him. You lace your fingers with his and he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing yours. This time it’s happy tears that fall. You look up at him, you could swear you see his eyes welling up too.

You stand up out the chair, your legs feel like jelly but you don’t care leaning against his bed.

“I forgive you Simon.” You look right in his eyes, it’s almost just saying that forces him to relax. You don’t let him talk, just lean over and kiss him. His hand slips out yours and goes to your waist holding you steady. You break from the kiss taking a breath in.

It feels like a weight has been lifted. You thought he was dead and you were ready to die with him. He’s here, he’s real and he’s safe. Johnny’s hands come up to support you.

“Shift over LT let her get in with you.” Johnny says. Simon doesn’t hesitate shifting his body over and pulling the bedding back. You slip in beside him, he reaches his arm around you pulling you up against his chest. You don’t care about the stabbing pain where your rib is broken.

You relax against him as he gently squeezes you.

“Had to get shot too huh? Couldn’t let Johnny have all the glory.” You say, he hums kissing the top of your head. It feels right being back in his arms, Johnny and Kyle nearby.

“Can’t have that ego of his getting any bigger.”

“Na, he just wants a matching scar.” Johnny says scoffing. You smile, closing your eyes and breathing Simon in. You can feel it, in the back of your head. The memories, the pain, graves face bending over you. The water, holding your breath until your lungs burn and you’re forced suck in air only to have water fill your mouth and nose.

It’s different this time, you’re not alone. It wasn’t the people you love who hurt you, now you can heal together you hope. You open your eyes, you’re safe. You’re in Simon’s arms, he’s okay he’s not dead.

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“Beating Graves to a pulp probably.” Kyle says. You smile at him as he reaches over to pull the blanket further up your chest. “He’ll be here soon. You should get some rest. I’ll go find him, tell him you’re awake.”

“I’ll join you, could use a coffee.” Johnny says. You smile as you watch them leave the room. Simon holds you tighter in his arms, his hand running up and down your side. You’ve missed this, missed him.

You close your eyes, relaxing against him. “I love you Simon.”

“I love you too.” He says kissing the top of your head. “This will never ever happen again. I promise.”

“Make that promise once Makarov is dead.”

“Only if you promise to come back and help us put a bullet in his head.” You chuckle, like he’s in any position to haggle you.

“Promise.”

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moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon · 5 months ago

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IN DEFENSE OF TRAVIS MARTINEZ:

Because I’m sick and tired of seeing travis hate everywhere I go.

“Travis was sexist.”

Did he spout some sexist rhetoric in the beginning of the show? Sure. But it’s important to recognize that: A) he changed, and by season 2 he completely stopped, B) he was a teenage boy in the 1990s, and that kind of rhetoric was normal at the time, C) most of his sexist macho tough guy attitude was a complete act that he likely put on to compensate for his insecurity about his own masculinity, and internalized homophobia. (More on that later.)

(Also let’s be real, Travis is basically one of the girls anyway and I’m tired of pretending he’s not.)

2. “Travis didn’t care about Javi.”

Did we watch the same show??? Granted Travis may have had trouble expressing his feelings (also related to his insecurities about masculinity, likely learned from his father, as well as growing up in a patriarchal and homophobic society), but he cared deeply about Javi. In S1E4, Travis literally DUG UP HIS DAD’S GRAVE, through horror, tears, and vomit, in order to retrieve his ring to give to Javi. When Javi disappeared, Travis kept looking for him every day for months, and never gave up, even when logically it would have seemed impossible for him to still be alive. He comforted and reassured Javi when neither of them drew the card. He cradled Javi’s dead body and ate a bite of his raw heart (which was a metaphor for how much he loved him, and a parallel to Shauna eating Jackie’s raw ear.) Maybe Travis wasn’t always there for Javi in the way he needed, but he absolutely loved him, and it’s important to remember that Travis was also a traumatized, grieving, kid who just lost his dad.

3. “Travis slut-shamed Nat.”

As we are literally shown in the show, Travis was not trying to slut shame her, he asked how many times she had done it because he was embarrassed about the fact that he was a virgin, and worried that she would judge him, or that he wouldn’t measure up because he was more inexperienced than her. When she told him she hooked up with Bobby Farleigh, he did not get mad at her because she slept with another guy (he already knew about that, and was fine with it), he got mad because she hooked up with his bully, and then lied to him about it. I don’t blame Nat for this, she didn’t know about it at the time, and didn’t want him to get mad once she found out, but I also don’t blame Travis for being hurt and embarrassed and upset with her for lying about it.

4. “Travis was just kind of a dick.”

Sure, but so were all of them. He acted like kind of a jerk in the first season. So what? Shauna had an affair with her best friend’s boyfriend, lied to her about it for months, and refused to apologize. Misty tried to drug Coach Ben. Nat faked his brother’s death to him (yeah, she was trying to help him move on, but still not cool). All of them called him “Flex” (y’know, the nickname that was used to bully him for years). None of them are perfect or nice or likable all the time, and that’s ok; that’s the whole point. They’re realistic, complex, flawed, morally gray and sometimes unlikable people. They’ve all done bad things, but nothing Travis did is worse than what anyone else on that show has done. He was a traumatized teen whose dad literally just died. Also, me personally, if everyone around me was constantly calling me the mean nickname that was used to bully me since middle school, I would also probably act like a little bit of a dick.

5. “Travis is a straight man.”

Wrong. (Also not really a valid reason to hate someone… But most importantly, just wrong.)

Travis Martinez is clearly a bisexual.

So many of his issues: the insecurity, the bullying, the macho tough guy act, the whole weird complex about his masculinity, all of it stems (at least partly) from the fact that he’s bisexual and has internalized homophobia. The whole “Flex” thing is just thinly veiled homophobia. The main reason why he got bullied is because Bobby Farleigh spread a rumor about him getting back surgery to better suck his own dick. The unsaid implication there is that he’s a man who sucks dick, which is inherently queer, even if it is his own. If you look even slightly past the most surface level interpretation, it’s pretty obvious that Travis was bullied because of homophobia. His performance of stereotypical toxic masculinity was clearly over compensation for the fact that he doesn’t fit into the box of traditional straight masculinity, and was a reaction to the bullying from his peers, abuse from his dad, and internalized homophobia from growing up in a homophobic and patriarchal society. As the show progresses he starts to unlearn that toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia, and he allows himself to be more vulnerable, emotional, and feminine, and as a result, he becomes stronger, more confident, and more respectful of the people around him.

As for Travis being a man… Is he though???

In season 1, Travis is a man (narratively speaking); there is a clear distinction between Travis/Coach Ben and the girls. However, in season 2, we see a stark shift in how Travis is depicted. The separation between Travis and the girls pretty much ceases to exist. Narratively speaking, there is no distinction made between Travis and the other girls; they are one entity—one hive mind. Instead, the emphasis is now placed on the distinction between Coach Ben and the girls/Travis. When Coach Ben watches the Yellowjackets eat Jackie in horror and disbelief, Travis is right there with them, dressed in ancient greek robes along with the rest of them. In season 2, Coach Ben is the only real Man of the group (Travis has narratively become one of the girls, and Javi is just a boy, not a man) and he is shown staying separate from the rest of the group, and growing more and more uncomfortable with the cultish dynamics, while Travis, on the other hand, becomes more and more integrated with the group, as he falls deeper and deeper into cult beliefs, until he is a full-blown devout Lottie worshipper. Of the three males on the show, he is the only one who actually participates in cannibalism with the other Yellowjackets. Also he lost his virginity to a lesbian.

Whether or not you choose to believe that Travis is transfem (I do) you cannot deny that, at least narratively speaking, Travis is literally just a girl.

6. Travis is a victim.

I don’t know why nobody in this fandom seems to acknowledge this, but Travis is a sexual assault victim and I’m tired of people constantly overlooking and ignoring that fact. In Doomcoming, the girls (excluding Jackie, Nat, Tai, and Van) chased him down, sexually assaulted him, and then tried to kill him. That’s not something that’s up for debate or denial, that is literally canon. Stop pretending it didn’t happen. Stop pretending it wasn’t assault. Stop shaming him and making fun of him for struggling with sex, or not always being able to get it up. That’s a normal trauma response after being assaulted/raped. You guys are literally proving the point. This kind of treatment from society towards masculinity and male victims is just playing into the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, and is exactly what made him act the way he did in season 1 in the first place!

#yellowjackets #travis martinez #travis yellowjackets #travnat #natalie scatorccio #natalie x travis #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #misty quigley #yellowjackets s2 #yellowjackets season 2 #natalie yellowjackets #javi martinez #javi yellowjackets #doomcoming #transfem travis martinez #bi4bi travnat #yj

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frownyalfred · 5 months ago

Note

I came across a post where someone mentioned that Martha Wayne’s pearls were actually her teeth, but Bruce misremembered or blocked it out…

This has to be one of the most heartbreaking and gut-wrenching headcanons I’ve ever encountered about Martha and Bruce. Just imagine the scene—her teeth falling out instead of the pearls, either from the impact of the bullet or from the way she fell and hit her mouth.

The imagery is so disturbing and visceral. It adds a whole new layer of trauma to Bruce’s memory, making his recollection of that night even more tragic.

Also— I feel like we don’t talk enough about what the Waynes’ deaths must have really been like…

The thought that Bruce might have been splattered with his parents’ blood, or even brain matter, from the impact. .. I feel like the writers never really specified where exactly they were shot or what kind of gun was used, which could have made the injuries even more horrifying depending on the weapon. The unease in his father’s voice—something foreign that Bruce had probably never heard before—from a man who was usually so optimistic and confident, might have been the first time Bruce saw his father truly scared. And then there’s his mother’s screams. In Christopher Nolan’s movies, Martha’s screams still haunt me to this day. The actress did an incredible job capturing that raw terror.

But what really gets me is the time. How long did Bruce stand there, in the pool of his parents’ blood, waiting for someone to come and help him? Did he try to pick up his mother’s pearls, or maybe try to stop the blood from pouring out of their wounds? That time must have felt like an eternity for him—standing there, powerless, with his parents’ blood on his hands, the smell of rot from the nearby trash, the powder of the gunshot lingering in the air, the city’s humidity, and the iron tang of blood.

And another chilling thought: what if his parents died with their eyes open? The idea of Thomas Wayne’s lifeless eyes staring up at his now-traumatized, orphaned son is just devastating.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble… I would love to hear your thoughts !!!

oh my god. yeah…..I mean, yeah. I’m getting smacked speechless by some of these anons today.

I actually saw someone knock all their teeth out once like you’re describing and it is gruesome. seeing teeth where they aren’t supposed to be is horrifying.

I think comics and movie adaptations letting the Waynes get shot somewhere in center mass, away from their faces, by low caliber bullets so they bleed out with last words is a mercy, in some ways.

modern guns could make that scene could look very, very different. I won’t go into them here but…yeah. there’s a reason they die with their faces intact in the comics and most movies, in my opinion. and with a few words or screams, maybe, before they fully die.

but yeah. there’s a world where they both get hit point blank in the head, brain and blood go everywhere, and Bruce has to sit there caked in for a while. until the cops show up, and even then, he probably doesn’t get clean for a while, since he’s covered in the decade’s most haunting crime scene.

#tw injuries #tw guns #tw death mention #tw character death mention #tw firearms #tw gunshot injuries #bruce wayne #batman #dc #asks #anon #Martha wayne #Thomas Wayne

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

next | ending

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer:

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot.

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right.

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him.

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her.

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her.

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this.

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate.

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

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southern-fried-simpin · 5 months ago

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We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

#hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #tw hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader

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imagine-you · 3 months ago

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I Will Avenge My Ghost [Bucky Barnes/Reader]

Summary: Your sacrifice on Vormir was meant to be your end. You did it for love. You did it for family. And you had no regrets in your decision to be the one to jump instead of Steve. But you never expected to wake up in Wakanda and you certainly never thought that you would still lose Steve and your sister in the years since your death. While you can't get Steve back, you're determined to figure out what happened to your sister and you end up dragging Bucky along for the ride. Your questions lead you to Westview, a sleepy little town harboring a dark past, and a witch named Agatha Harkness. Will you find what you truly seek down, down, down the Witches' Road or will Death finally come to claim you?

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: I was going to hold off on this, but I watched episode seven and I had so many feelings I literally wrote this last night. If you enjoy this and would like to see this continue, please let me know!

Read On AO3

When you jumped off the cliff at Vormir, the decision had been easy. It had been a long five years without your sister and you would have given anything for Wanda. You would also give anything for Steve, and if this brought you closer to winning the war against Thanos and bringing all the lost back, then you would do it.

A sacrifice of love was needed and you had nothing but love to give for those two. You couldn't live in a world without Steve and while he wanted to do the noble thing, you knew you would never be able to go on without him. So, you used your power one last time to push Steve far away from the edge of the cliff and then threw yourself over it.

As you fell, you could hear Steve crying out for you. You always assumed your life would flash before your eyes like everyone claimed it would. But all you saw was Vormir's sky eclipsed by Steve reaching over the cliff's edge, as if he could still reach you. And then you saw nothing at all.

You didn't remember hitting the rocks below, but the only people on your mind as death rushed to meet you were Steve and Wanda. Steve, selfless and sacrificing, and how much he yearned for his best friend, the person who truly understood him above all else, Bucky. And your sister, who had drifted away into dust and oblivion after losing the love of her life. Wanda, who had been forced to kill Vision, only to have it all be for nothing. Her grief had sent shockwaves through you and you would never forget the raw pain that had radiated off her after losing Vis. You couldn't bring Pietro back, and while his death would always weigh on your mind, you knew that you could bring Wanda back into the land of the living.

You would make it right. You had to. Even if this was your end, then at least it meant something. At least it was used to save countless others.

Death flowed endlessly around you in glimpses of life and snatches of memories, remembered and forgotten. They fell right through your grasp, never yours to begin with, but a tether to the world you longed to revisit. You fought and struggled, pulling at strands and words, willing them to materialize. You followed a lead, a road, that appeared before you and at the end, you expected to find Death.

No one will ever be tempted by the darkhold again.

I miss you. God, I miss you so much.

I got my dance. I owed her that. I owed myself that.

I can't feel you.

We can't reverse death.

You're gonna need me.

Immortality never meant anything to me before, but I suppose you’re not mine after all. Not yet, at least. Don’t say I never did you any favors.

You didn't expect to wake up.

You felt breath expand your lungs and you sat up with a gasp. You didn't know where you were or what had happened to you, but all you could think was that you failed. You had traded your life for the billions of others that had been snapped away by Thanos. If you were here, alive, then it had all been for nothing.

"Hey, hey," someone was saying, and you could feel hands on your shoulders, but you didn't want to lift your head to try to see who was attempting to talk to you. "She's freaking out here. Don't you think you should do something, Shuri?"

"And what would you have me do, Bucky? This might not even really be her. I thought her magic was blue."

"It was," someone said. Bucky, you realized. It was Bucky who had you by the shoulders. "Hey, doll," Bucky tried, bringing a finger up to tuck under your chin and force your head up.

You met Bucky's eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. He hadn’t been wrong. You were freaking out, but it wasn’t going to do you any good now. You needed to figure out what the fuck was going on.

"Bucky?" You tried, your words coming out as a rasp. "Am I alive?"

Bucky looked like he was torn between relief and confusion. "Yeah, you're here with us." He gestured at the other two people in the room. You recognized one as King T'Challa's sister and you had already known Sam.

"How did I get here? I died on Vormir. Or...I thought I did. I don't remember dying," you told them, trying to remember what happened. Death hadn't felt like an end, more like a journey. You had felt, all the while, like you were being lead somewhere. Maybe, you couldn't help but think, it was bringing you here.

"We don't know how you got here," Sam interjected. His arms were crossed and he was wearing a new suit. It wasn't his usual Falcon getup. It was more reminiscent of Steve's, showcasing red, white, and blue with a star on the chest. The shield was strapped to his back, and you started to panic again.

"Where's Steve?" You quickly let your gaze shift from Sam to Bucky again. “Bucky, where’s Steve? Did he make it? God, I gave up everything for him and if he still died...,” you trailed off, letting the thought go unfinished. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Bucky turned to throw a look over his shoulder at Sam. You couldn't see Bucky's expression, but you could sure as hell see Sam's.

Grief. Remorse. Apology. Pain.

"No," you denied with a quick shake of your head. "I jumped so he would live. I jumped so he would get to have a life." You could feel a strange new energy thrumming along your limbs, and you didn't know how to contain it. You felt restless, an urgency rising within you that you didn't know how to quell.

"He did," Bucky assured you, finally looking at you again. You felt like his hands on you was the only thing keeping you together, so when he made to draw away, you latched onto his shirt, pulling him closer. "Okay, okay," he soothed, moving to sit on the edge of the examination you realized you were lying on.

He was treating you like a frightened animal, and you didn’t know how to feel about that. You were torn between seeking comfort in the familiarity of him and lashing out for letting you be so vulnerable. It wasn’t his fault. He was only doing what he could for you, but you were caught between anger and fear, and nothing good ever came out of that particular combination.

"Then what happened? Where is he?" You demanded, looking from Sam to Shuri and back to Bucky again.

"He...," Sam paused at another look from Bucky. "Well, she's gonna find out eventually."

"What?" You snapped, hating that everyone in the room knew something you didn't. "What happened after I jumped?"

"We defeated Thanos and the people he snapped away came back," Bucky told you, giving you the tiniest hint of a smile when your shoulders began to slump with relief. Before he started talking, his lips twisted to the side in a grimace and you knew he was about to throw you back into the deep end. "But, you've gotta realize that winning that war nearly destroyed Steve. He told me what happened on Vormir and he told me what he wanted to do."

You were briefly distracted by a shimmer in the air around Bucky. You hadn't realized it before, but the air around him seemed to faintly glow red. As he spoke, it shifted to a light blue, and you were so distracted by the sight that you missed his next words.

"You alright there, Maximoff?" Sam called, breaking you out of your fascination. The air around Sam seemed to glow just the slightest hint of green while Shuri had a purple aura around her.

"I don't know?" You answered, ducking your hand to look at your hands. You felt off, somehow. You had never really been the same, not since losing your parents at a young age and having to look out for your younger brother and sister. After being subjected to experiments by sadistic scientists and coming out the other side with superpowers, you figured you would never lead a normal life. Steve had been the closest thing you had ever gotten to a fairytale ending and now he was gone.

You felt unmoored, adrift, in this new reality and you were waiting to crash down again. You only hoped you would be given the opportunity to brace for impact when the time came.

A light danced across your fingers, your magic beginning to flare up with your frustration. You had never been anywhere on your sister's level, your magic blue where hers was red and chaotic. But you had also been able to tame a flame and throw objects around with just a thought. She would always be the more powerful of the two of you, but you had held your own well enough in a fight.

The magic that pushed up beneath your skin to pool in your palm was no longer blue, but orange.

"Huh," you breathed, no longer able to accept that you were rooted in reality. "This is the weirdest dream ever." You finally looked back up at Bucky, catching his worried expression. "You think this is what I'm seeing before I die?"

"Doll, that's what I've been trying to tell you. You did die," he stressed, tightening his grip on your shoulders. "There was never a body. Steve wanted to bring you back, but you just weren't there."

"The soul stone must have claimed her. It did require a sacrifice," Shuri observed with a thoughtful noise. "I could tell something was happening. There was just too much energy and while I thought it was your sister, it turned out to be you swirling around in the air like a ghost. I still have no idea how you corporealized and got here from Vormir, but you're living and breathing," she assured you, gesturing towards a monitor you realized was showing your heartbeat, oxygen levels, and other vitals.

There were too many worries crowding your mind and you tried to sort them out. You thought if you could just focus, then maybe something would start to make sense.

"Steve?" You tried again, not able to accept that he might be gone.

"He passed on," Sam said, his tone somber and apologetic. “Wasn’t that long ago, but I’m sorry to tell you, he’s no longer with us.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but you shook your head.

"No, tell me," you demanded, trying to force yourself to breathe. “I’m not going to get anywhere with you hiding things from me.” You wanted to scream and rage, but you weren't sure what your magic would do if you gave into the instinct. It was new, something you had to relearn, and you didn't want to hurt Bucky, Sam, or Shuri because you couldn't control it.

"He, uh, well," Bucky started with a wince. "He had to bring the stones back to their original homes. He told me before he left that he was never going to be able to save you. Your death was tied to the fate of billions and there was nothing he could do to get you back. The soul stone wouldn't return you, but the time stone could still give him a life. It could help him right some past wrongs and regrets."

Bucky stopped talking, but you didn't need him to continue. You could almost see it playing out like a movie in your mind. Steve searching for you one last time on Vormir only to be informed that you were no longer there. Steve leaving and finding Peggy. Steve finally getting his dance. Steve getting his happy ending.

Without you.

You pulled away from Bucky, your hands curling into themselves as you felt your power build up. A brilliant, blinding orange light caressed your skin and you threw your hands out to the sides, releasing everything that had been building up.

You let out a scream, throwing your head back as you attempted to claw back control from the wild impulse of your magic. It was untamed, no longer held under your will, and you felt like it would tear you apart. It was lighting you up from the inside and you were distantly aware of the smell of smoke and flame.

Someone was shouting your name, attempting to bring you back to yourself. But all you could feel was pain and the agony of losing Steve after all was almost too much for you to take.

Someone wrapped their arms around you, trapping your arms at your sides. It was enough to pull you out of your grief, the surprise of being so fully embraced while you were feeling like a bomb that had finally gone off shocked you into finally reeling your magic back in and storing it away.

Bucky had you in a tight hold, but it wasn't restricting. It was comfort and reassurance and understanding.

“You couldn’t have done that before she burned a hole through the floor?” Shuri wondered, sounding exasperated.

“Where do you keep your fire extinguisher?” Sam wondered, his voice drifting away as he searched for something to put out the fire that was still raging on the floor.

"I know," he was whispering, ignoring all the alarms you had accidentally set off. You could hear Shuri cursing and Sam rifling through a cabinet. "I know, alright? It hurts. It hurts me too," Bucky confided in you, keeping his voice low enough so only you could hear him. “But you’ve gotta keep it in right now. Just for now. And then I’ll get you someplace where you can let it all go. Once we know you’re okay,” he added after a moment.

You let your arms wrap around Bucky's waist, resting your head on his shoulder. He brought a hand up, letting it curl around the back of your neck, holding you in place. You could feel tears tracking down your cheeks, but you no longer wanted to cry. You had gotten your answer, and while it wasn't what you wanted, you couldn't begrudge Steve a happy ending. Not after everything he had given up to save the world time and again.

You absentmindedly reached a hand out, drawing on the flames and letting the fire fall into your hand. You closed your hand into a fist, letting it die.

“Neat trick you’ve got there. You couldn’t have done that sooner?” Sam asked, finally brandishing a fire extinguisher that was no longer needed.

“Perhaps we should give them a moment,” Shuri suggested to Sam. “Why don’t you come look at these readouts with me?”

“I’m not a toddler. You don’t have to distract me,” Sam grumbled, but he dutifully followed Shuri to the other side of the room, leaving you and Bucky with a small measure of privacy.

"I'm sorry," you muttered into Bucky's shoulder, letting yourself only focus on him. "I'm sorry he left you. He really loved you, you know."

"Yeah," Bucky huffed out on a humorless laugh. "He really loved you too."

You stayed like that for a while, soaking up Bucky's presence while everything fell apart around you.

"Sam's Cap now?" You checked, knowing that if Sam wielded the shield, then he had taken on the mantle. “He’s good for it.” You knew that if Steve had passed on the shield to Sam, then it was with very good reason. You had always assumed that if Steve retired, then Bucky would take on the role of Captain America, but looking at him now, Bucky just seemed tired. Maybe he didn’t so much want to play hero as he wanted to simply stop looking over his shoulder at every turn waiting for his past to resurface.

"Yeah," Bucky answered, finally pulling away enough to look at you. "You missed a lot while you were gone, you know."

"How long has it been since I died, Bucky?" Steve was gone and Sam was Captain America and Bucky seemed less constrained, but still wary. It was a monumental change, but you had a sinking feeling it was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Years." Bucky watched you in silence for a long, drawn-out moment. You heard the door open, but didn't bother to see if it was admitting someone new or if Shuri and Sam had finally had enough of pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on your conversation with Bucky. "Look, there's something I should tell you, but after how you reacted to Steve, I don't know how you're gonna take this."

"What are you--"

"I almost didn't believe it," someone interrupted, and you finally looked over to see Stephen Strange standing in the doorway. "It's miraculous is what it is," he continued, not aware of the way you tensed at his presence.

There was something dark in the air around him. It looked as if something had latched on to him and was content to be a passenger. You didn't know why you were literally seeing people in a new light, but you knew that whatever had happened with Stephen wasn't good. It was like it had left a stain on his soul.

"Stephen," you greeted with a nod of your head. "What the hell happened to you? You’re...different," you decided, watching how the inky wisps attached to his aura pulsed at your words. You couldn’t tell if it was something separate or if it was simply a part of Strange now.

Stephen's brow furrowed in confusion. He shot Bucky a look and then Sam and Shuri. "Did you--?" He let the question hang, waiting for them to answer.

"No," Shuri told him, watching you in interest. "She's changed. Her power has evolved with her death."

You swung your legs over the side of the table and let yourself stand. Bucky reached out to help you or hold you back, you weren't sure, but you waved him off. Another question had come to mind, and you instinctively knew that Stephen would have something to do with the answer you were seeking. Shuri had mentioned your sister earlier and now she was all you could think about. Why did Shuri it was your sister trying to materialize? Wasn’t Wanda alive? You would never get Steve back, and you would never want to rip away whatever peace he had stolen for himself. But Wanda would need you. Wanda always needed you. If something had happened to her in your absence, then it was your job to find her and help her.

So, you met Stephen's gaze and held your head high, not wanting to show even a hint of weakness.

"Where's my sister?" You asked, daring him to lie to you. You could see a flicker of uncertainty in his expression as you advanced on him. You could feel the tempting crackle of your power tingling along your fingers. You longed to see Wanda, knowing that she would be the only thing keeping you from truly falling apart. Your sacrifice had cost you more than your life. It had cost you Steve. And you would be damned if it also cost you your sister.

You felt like your soul was reaching out to her, your entire being aching to pull her back into your orbit, but there was a strange emptiness inside you. It was like she was drifting further away from you by the second.

Stephen met your gaze, never letting it stray. "What do you know about the darkhold?" Stephen finally responded after what felt like an eternity waiting for any news about what had happened to your sister.

It wasn't what you wanted to hear and you couldn't help but lash out with your magic. It had been coiled, ready to strike, and who were you to deny it when you finally had a worthy target?

You had expected to simply push him with your power. It had been a familiar defensive response before your death, but now your magic seemed to take hold of the reigns. It curled out away from you and wrapped around his throat. You could hear his breath cut off and Bucky was calling your name, but you didn't care.

There was only one thing you cared about at the moment and Stephen Strange seemed to hold all the answers.

So, you decided to give him one more chance and posed the question that had overtaken your mind.

"Where's Wanda?" Additional Author's Note: If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!!

#agatha all along #marvel #marvel imagine #agatha all along imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader is a maximoff #agatha all along x reader #reader insert #imagine #bucky barnes imagine #agatha all along spoilers #spoilers #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #my fic #i will avenge my ghost fic

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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Indecent Proposal (4)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shitty boyfriend, the reader doesn’t take shit from no one, sexy mobsters, slow burn (kinda), implied character's death

A/N: This is a shorter, interlude chapter. I wanted to go straight for the smut but decided against it because…I’m a tease :)

Indecent Proposal (3)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve holds up your scrapbook. “That’s pretty. It looks like you put a lot of effort into this book.”

“It’s a scrapbook,” you sigh, and grab the book. “Forget it. Whatever I dreamed of back then will never come true. Maybe I should burn it.”

“What do you mean, doll?” Bucky worriedly places his hand on your shoulder. “What did you dream of? And why do you think this will never come true?”

You sigh again. “Mr. Barnes, with all due respect, look at the mess my life is right now. My boyfriend sold me to you. And whatever you want from me is far from love. All you want is my womb.”

Steve frowns deeply. They didn’t think so far. All they had in mind was to make you theirs and fill you up. “Doll…we…” Steve shakes his head. “Buck?”

You wave them off. “No biggie. Life fucks you over most of the time. It could be worse, right? Scott could’ve cheated on me with his ex and sold me to his bosses.” You chuckle darkly. “Oh-wait. He just did that.”

“Y/N, we are not so bad,” Bucky grins at you. “We promise to never cheat on you. You are the missing piece Stevie, and I were looking for all our lives.”

You sneer. “Let’s try to be painfully honest. You want to stuff me with dick and knock me up. There is no way out for me. How could I escape you and your husband?”

You walk toward your bedroom, ignoring their boring looks. If they force you to accept your fate, you won’t roll over and just take it.

“You stole her scrapbook?” Bucky grins as his husband thumbs through your scrapbook. “You are a dangerous man, Mr. Rogers.”

“She wanted me to throw it away,” Steve huffs. “I took it with me to find out more about Y/N than her blood type and what she does for a living. If we want this to work out, we should…”

“Buy her flowers,” Bucky suggests. “And invite her to live with us.”

“Slow down, Buck. We should ask her on a date first. But flowers are not the worst gift for a first date.”

“How about we murder her enemies too,” the brunette grins darkly. “I know she doesn’t want us to kill Scottie boy, but I’d love to do more to him than break a few bones.”

“You know…” Steve dips his head and smirks darkly. “We could just let him disappear because he fucked with us. He lied and broke our deal by not telling Y/N about the deal.”

“I love how you think,” Bucky cups Steve’s face, looking him deep in the eyes, “and I love you, baby. You know that, right? Y/N is going to be an addition, but she’ll never take your place.”

“Buck, if I’d believe for one second you want to replace me you would end up bending over the table, your ass spanked raw,” Steve chuckles at his husband’s expression. “Oh, you’d love that, huh?”

“We will see, Stevie…we will see…”

“Far well, Scottie boy.” Bucky locks his gun and tugs it away. “This was much too fast and painless for that bastard. I should’ve broken a few bones or cut him open.”

“A shot straight through the heart. Good job.” Steve leans over Scott’s lifeless body. “Y/N can never know we killed him after she asked us to not do it.”

“We did it for us, not her. Y/N’s hands are clean. She had nothing to do with this, Steve. But I agree. She should never get to know about what happened tonight.”

“She wanted a dress like that for her wedding? Nice. Very nice.” Steve is obsessed with your scrapbook. He read every line and looked at every picture. Steve even ran his fingers over the fabric samples.

“Stevie, what are you doing with the scrapbook? Do you want to find the perfect wedding dress for her or more?”

“I want to get to know her better. Y/N put a lot of effort into creating this book. We should take our time and find out what she wants and likes.”

“Hmm…that’s not the worst idea, Steve. Give me that.” Bucky snatches the book out of Steve’s hands. “Let’s see what we can do for our doll…”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky x reader #mafia stucky #female reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #mafia au #Indecent Proposal (4)

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sk8erboyz · 2 months ago

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i’m going to word vomit all my thoughts about the wild life finale here and it’s going to be incoherent until it stops consuming every corner of my mind and i sit down and organize my thought 🤞🏼 until then enjoy my raw unfiltered thought processes

he won by going against the mechanic !! he remained calm and rational and never died to a single wildcard !!! all of his deaths were by people not the mechanic !! the game did not win joel did !he did not go absolutely insane and give in the red haze and he won !!! by not doing what the game wanted !! which means the only curse not broken this season was the winners curse !!!

at every single point in the series everyone is collectively trying to kill joel because he just won’t seem to die but joel is absolutely convinced he’s made friends and is just happy to have friends this season and keeps giving people stuff and then they TRY TO KILL HIM and fail and he DOESBT EVEN NOTICE

and then they die trying to kill joel and he gives them diamonds !!!

joel’s pov by itself is so funny because he’s just a guy in his car with his family having a great time !! and then you watch everyone and it’s like oh. joel is the common enemy here- everyone used gem keeping him cool to their advantage. they used his trust and took whatever joel would give them and blew up his car and stole from him and every time he forgave them everyone turned around and just began plotting against him again. the only person he had was gem who gave her life so many times to the people who betrayed joel anyways. because gem never died to a wildcard and no one every actually got a kill on her, all her lives were lost either by a mob or she let someone take her life so they could gain one (like jimmy, skizz, mumbo) and then at the end joel has survived and he believes he still had friends (jimmy scar & lizzie , etho , grian ) so he goes to them one last time to try and gear up and protect everyone from the G’s who were the longest standing alliance and had the most people, and all the people who he thought were his friends only tried to kill him when he turned his back

and he still won !!!!! it was him and grian against the whole rest of the server and grian was just using him !’ gem was gone and joel couldn’t stay calm anymore because he couldn’t go back to gem when something happened!! so grian stroked joel’s ego and told him he could win and let joel fight everyone and take the rest of the server out and when he did joel went looking for grian and said something along the lines of ‘grian we did it!’ only to turn around to grain shooting at him which makes sense of course but then when you go watch grian’s episode you see then grian has been trying to snipe joel the second every one else was dead but just kept missing and he started panicking g because he couldn’t make the shot and then tried being friendly with joel again

he’s literally THE wild card ! through every series he is aggressive and unpredictable and dangerous and of COURSE the game he wins is when the game starts being aggressive and unpredictable and dangerous but who knows that game better than joel? he beat the game and its own mechanic!!

he is also the only happy winners pov we’ve had!!! every other winner won in a moment of grief and betrayal and anger and in joel’s eyes he won through persistence and staying with his family (which is both dramatic and situational irony because he didn’t actually. he won by clawing his way through what everyone expected of him and everyone else being so blinded by their rage instead of him. he saw all his flaws in past winners and all his past lives and everyone in this season and said no that will not be me this time) joel was also the only winner fighting without a cause. he was just there for the fun of it. for the mindless violence. he never lost anything because he played the game well. his car got blown up but it was always an easy fix. he didn’t pay any mind to his broken alliances so he had no time or knowledge to feel grief or betrayal for them. he and gem were together until the end and never betrayed each other every other winner fought for a person (grian fought against and for scar, scott won by seeking revenge against ren for killing pearl, scott blew himself up in double life so that pearl wouldn’t have to fight anymore, martyn went on a rampage when ren was killed, scar was completely alone and fought for himself and his survival because he had nothing and didn’t even realize when pearl had died) joel is just. in it for the rush- he has no reason for the violence and nothing to loose and nothing to gain

joel is the only winner who’s final death wasn’t in grief either. his final death was meant to be a trap he set up that he never got to use and he ran to it at the end laughing and excited and it failed. the trap failed- and he lived and laughed and ender pearled around until he died. and i saw one post in passing that was like ‘the server took care of him’ and it DID. it’s like this game was perfectly crafted for him- because of course joel wouldn’t die do something as chaotic and unbalanced as the wild cards. who would joel be to die to something he understands so well and channels in every move he makes? he thrives in the chaos and watchers saw him and choose him

grian had a LOT more control in this season than previous because of th wild cards and it’s feeding my watchers symbolism. he is trying to take the reins of the games from the watchers and reduce the violence and grief his friends have to go through so what to do the watchers do? they take his power away. he’s still in control on the wild cards of course, but how well can they work when the watchers are guiding a wild card of their own? and then skizz and mumbo both died due to joel (both indirectly- they died on the tower while trying to get more lives using the minecart trap) and in the end the only person grian is left with is joel who somehow managed to twist every wild card to his advantage and never made as much a misstep this season. ans grian has been too cocky this season, almost playing god with people coming to him for information about the wildcards and how to survive them. and in the end grian does exactly what the watchers wanted anyways and guides joel to victory despite still trying to ruin their game to the very last second and become the first two time winner

anyways that’s all GOOD JOB JOEL !!!! MY WINNER !!! FAST CAR FOR THE WIN

#and if you thought wl was bad talk to the WALL #not on my blog #this is wild life appreciation CENTRAL #and if you thought joel’s win was boring i hope i changed ur mind ..#wild life smp #wild life spoilers #wild life series #life series #trafficblr #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #wlsmp #wl smp #wl smp spoilers #wl spoilers

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hunnylagoon · 1 year ago

Text

When I Was Your Girl

Stage Fright

Rockstar! Ellie Williams x pop star! Reader

‘Fame is a poison most would drink happily despite the warning of a slow and painful death’

Premise: You and fell in love as nobodies and fell out of love in the limelight. Now you are forced to deal with ghosts who haunt you like a melody.

Warnings: small mentions of drinking and drugs / wee bit of violence / Ellie is a dick

Fake albums mentioned: Solstice / Smokey Eyes

I've never been anything more than a joke.

I'm so childish they took it for maturity, and I'm so serious they took it for silly.

Even since I began my career, I was spotted at eighteen by a skeezy producer when I sold myself at a strip club to make ends meet, because dreaming never paid the bills. I wish that I had been found somewhere else, maybe one of the restaurants I sang at on karaoke nights or the park where I poured my soul into art through my uncle’s old acoustic guitar.

"How are you feeling right now?" A tanned woman with slick back hair shoves a microphone into my face while an emotionless man holds the camera. "I mean, seven years in the industry and you've just received your first Grammy nominations."

"I'm feeling kind of freaked out, to be honest," I face the woman with a sheepish smile on my face, trying the best I can not to look at the large camera lurking beside me.

"Rightfully," Her teeth are so white that they almost blind me and I get distracted by myself as I try to figure out whether they are veneers or not. "Do you think you'll be bringing any hardware home tonight?"

She moves the microphone back to my face and I flinch out of instinct, we both laugh for the camera but I can tell she's annoyed "Honestly, I'm just happy to be here, as corny as it sounds it is such an honour to be around so many incredible artists."

"So humble," She smiles then turns to the camera to address the viewers "I think we all know she's gonna be sleeping tonight with a golden gramophone under her pillow," She forces a laugh, trying to capture the raw essence of this overly manufactured moment. The interviewer turns back to me "Now, I know this isn't your first rodeo, is there anyone here you aren't looking forward to seeing, you don't have to name any names."

Fuck I hate these bloodsuckers. She is so obviously trying to milk my broken engagement which was still very much fresh. I uphold my false smile though and shake my head "Nope, if anything I think I'm looking forward to some mingling,"

She looks irritated, covering it up only by a close-lipped smile. "Well, then I'll let you get on with that."

I give her a curt wave and continue my way down the red carpet, maneuvering through other celebrities, we all have common ground, we are blinded by the flashing lights. I try my best to avoid any more journalists but I see Abby Anderson speaking to one and sneak up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder.

She turns around and greets me with a huge smile "I was wondering when I was gonna see you," Abby smiles and slings an arm around my shoulders looking to the journalist while I glance at the camera "I'm telling you, this girl needs to clear some space out on her trophy shelf."

I grin at her, genuinely. Abby had always been kind to me, we first met when I was nineteen and the both of us signed up for Atlantic Records. "She's just being nice," I say.

"And she's just being humble!" Abby squeezes me, it's a simple gesture but it means the world to me, it's her way of saying 'I got you'.

I shake my head "Abby is gonna be the real winner tonight."

The man holding a microphone in front of us smiles "We'll see who's right, my bet is both of you," He turns his attention to me directly "So I understand that you took a bit of a break after releasing your album, Solstice, is this considered your comeback?"

"Nope," I smile despite wanting to snatch the microphone from his hand and beat the camera with it until it shatters "There isn't anything to come back from."

He tilts his head giving the over-animated 'Are you serious?' look for whoever is watching. Every journalist was like a vampire trying to bleed me dry. The journalist, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that exudes both sophistication and confidence searches his mind for another question "Well your album honestly was such a work of art and there has been talk that you are working on another one, is there anyone here that inspired any of those songs?"

"Nope."

"I think we should ask Ellie the same question," He laughs at his joke like it was funny.

"And I think we should be heading off now," Abby answers for me and guides me away from the barricade of reporters and journalists, away from the cameras prying into my soul.

As I walk along the red carpet, I don't bother to stop and pose for any more pictures, I pick up the long skirts of my dress and usher myself to weave between the other celebrities. I nearly turn my ankle and take a tumble, wow, sure glad that 30 photographers caught that moment.

I was drenched in a deep, enchanting shade of midnight blue, the gown captivated with its sleek silhouette. The magic shows in the intricate details that adorn the fabric, reminiscent of the cosmos itself. Delicate embroidery of constellations graces the entire dress, forming a celestial tapestry that seems to come alive under the harsh shine of lights. The celestial patterns are meticulously sewn into the fabric, resembling a night sky filled with stars and constellations, creating an ethereal and otherworldly charm. Paired with the constellation dress, I wear a diamond choker and matching teardrop earrings.

I had lost Abby at some point in my little runaway leaving me to get into the auditorium where the award ceremony is to take place.

Nearly the very second I walk in I hear a man yell my name, he is seated in the second row and it takes an awkwardly long amount of time for him to jog over to me. "Hey, kid!" He grins, hugging me, I don't hug him in return, I just freeze. It was Graham Wilson, I could smell the liquor on his breath.

Graham Wilson was a man who used to write very successful rock songs in his twenties with his band (the majority now deceased), he was nearing his sixties and was the definition of a has-been. I remember when I was a kid and I would listen to him on my iPod; though in recent days he's become known for ridiculous stunts, DUIs and homophobic tweets, even better known for how he found out I was gay and announced that he was no longer homophobic because, in his words 'Those gays can sure write good music' and then thanked me in his tweet, even tagging my account.

His frame carries the weight of a bygone era, specifically his beer belly. His once-lustrous, shoulder-length hair has succumbed to streaks of gray, hanging limply around his face like faded echoes of a rebellious past. Despite the passage of time, a few remnants of the rockstar allure linger - a faint scar above his right eyebrow, a reminder of a wild night in an underground club, and the subtle tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his wrinkled suit jacket.

"Hey, Graham," I give him a tight-lipped smile out of courtesy, in no means do I wish to talk to him.

"You better win best album tonight," He gives me a hard slap on the back. Every time I see him he acts like we're friends just because he was a judge on a singing reality show that I was on seven years prior.

"I'll try my best," I try to excuse myself but he speaks again.

"I said seven years ago when I saw you on that stage that you were gonna be a star so don't let me down," He points a finger at me and gives me a weird smirk. When he smirks I almost think he's having a stroke until he starts to laugh and reveals his rows of teeth that are beginning to rot from his not-so-subtle drug abuse.

"Okay," I give him a nod and a quick wave goodbye to sneak away and pretend that I didn't converse with him. It seems like I'm early to take my seat, people are still piling in and being ushered to their spots, and seat fillers are standing around sheepishly while they try to take discreet photos of celebrities.

My seat is on the end of row two, right on the aisle, I feel myself split into a grin. If you weren't aware, Who sits where is a major status symbol. And though awards show organizers may deny it, it's awfully convenient to be sitting in the front row or on the aisle if you're about to accept a ton of trophies.

I was shaking with nerves, I got nominated three times and maybe there was hope that I would win at least one category.

When I saw Ellie I almost wanted to hide my face, she walked in with a new girl she slung her arm around, Jesse, Dina, and Cat in tow. I'm thankful to see that they're sitting front row of the opposite section of me and have yet to notice me.

I'm not sure if you have ever fallen in love, dated, gone on tour, moved in together, adopted a dog, written a couple of songs, got engaged, then broken up with someone and had the entire thing be documented publically but it's not the best feeling when you have to be in the same room as them again.

Everything with Ellie used to be so perfect.

The first thing I ever noticed about her were her eyes, her sad eyes. She looked like a puppy that had been kicked around for far too long; neglected and mistreated by whoever was cruel enough to show her such torment. Her eyebrows furrowed like each thought running through her head was a worry.

It's hard to look at her now, I know this girl inside out but we are strangers.

I liked to pretend that the beautiful girl she was with was just there for show but I knew it was untrue when I saw her snake her hand around her waist just like she did to me. She runs through girls like they're cigarettes, she uses them until they burn out or she grows sick of them.

Two years ago at this very same award show, Ellie accepted Song of the Year for the song she wrote about me, 'Everlong'. She had even invited me on stage during her speech and announced to the world how in love she was with me.

If only I knew I could come to hate someone I used to love to death.

My hate was only solidified when Ellie and the Ashmen dropped their most recent album titled 'Smokey Eyes' just three months after our broken engagement. The entire album was about me and dear god it almost ruined my career.

Ellie had managed to paint me in a horrible light that made me seem like the scum of the earth. She wrote about me having substance issues and overall just sang happily about how much she despised me. Her song 'Me vs Your Friends' wrecked me. After speculation began over that song online, her fans decided that they loathed me just the same as Ellie did; this meant that I was doxxed, sent death threats, had my home broken into, and forced to move.

She wasn't the slightest bit sorry.

I spent the award ceremony dazed out, to be truthful, these types of events were boring. They dragged on for ages and you had to sit through the same generic speeches over and over again of people thanking their parents and producers, I hated both of those.

I watched as Amelia Swan walked on stage, she was a nepotism baby, the daughter of some big-shot director and beautiful all the same. In the glittering spotlight of the grand award show stage, a vision of elegance takes center stage as the next announcer for the evening. A beautiful woman, her porcelain skin seemingly kissed by moonlight, graces the audience with a timeless allure. Her dark, cascading hair frames her face in a sleek, sophisticated manner, accentuating the delicate features that radiate a captivating charm.

Draped in a resplendent pink gown, the fabric sits tight against her slim body. The gown is a masterpiece of design. Its silhouette accentuates her figure with tasteful precision, while the soft hue of pink complements her fair complexion.

"Hello!" She smiles and the crowd begins to cheer "I'm going to cut to the chase because I know all of you are as excited to find out the winner as I am."

Amelia begins to go through the nominees, my breath hitches in my throat when she says my name, though I play it cool the best I can and smile softly when the camera zooms in on me in the crowd.

Her eyes, framed by carefully styled lashes and a hint of rosy eyeshadow, exude warmth and confidence. Lips adorned with a subtle shade of pink curve into a welcoming smile, inviting the audience to share in the excitement of the announcement.

"The winner of Album of the Year is..." I could've sworn I nearly passed out when Amelia said my name.

Nothing felt real, it was like I was living the dreams that I made up when I was a little girl staying up late in my uncles back yard, talking to the indigo sky and speaking to it with delusions of security and stardom.

I shake when I stand up from my chair. The person next to me hugs me and I don't even know who she is but I hug her in return.

Amelia gestures for me to join her on stage with a huge smile on her face. I make my way down the aisle and up the steps leading to the stage. Amelia handed the statue of the golden gramophone to me along with the microphone to give my speech.

At this moment, the stage is my kingdom "I didn't prepare anything because I honestly didn't think I would win but I'd like to thank my little sister, Marceline, and my late uncle, Richie, god rest his soul. Everything I've done leading me to this moment has been for them, every lyric, every night I'm up till dawn writing. Even though Richie can't be here in person, I carry a little piece of him with me everywhere I go, he's all around me, I see him in the songs I write, in the melody of an acoustic guitar, and in the faces of those gentle enough to show me kindness."

The audience applauds for me, even Ellie who stares me down bitterly. I had sung in front of thousands of people but it would never compare to this moment.

I wipe a tear away from my eye "I would also like to thank all of my fans, you guys are just the fucking best," I giggle through my crying "I feel like you've been sent down by Richie and Marceline I know you're watching me right now, please give my dog some love for me. Please know that I don't come from anything, I was born from dirt and dreams for something more than a ratty town in Canada."

I lived for the applause.

"I mean, I've always been good and never great so this means a lot to me-

Ameilia places a hand on my shoulder to stop me "There was a bit of a mix-up," She announces "I'm sorry, love, you didn't win," She says just to me, dark eyes full of remorse.

"What?" I almost think it's a sick joke.

Amelia holds the microphone to her face to be heard by the audience "I'm not joking," She shows the contents of a card to the crowd "The real winners for album of the year are Ellie and the Ashmen for their album Smokey Eyes." Gasps sound from the audience and I can only imagine what those watching from home are doing

The camera pans to where Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and Cat sit, Ellie is laughing; not laughing, cackling, it only grows and now she's laughing so hard she can barely breathe. Suddenly I didn't feel like I was king of the world, it felt like the desolation of a hangover had hit me in the span of 90 seconds.

Dina gives Ellie a harsh elbow to her bicep, telling her to be respectful. The four of them rise from their chairs and make their way up to the stage, where I stand, paralyzed.

"Congratulations," I give Ellie a tight-lipped smile and hand the award off to her.

She smiled smugly at me and took it "Thanks, smokey eyes," Ellie held the statue up to display it. Smokey eyes was a nickname she had given me when we first met since I always had dark circles she said they looked like smoke from a forest fire. I told you that album was about me. What made me more mad is that it was such a stupid fucking nickname.

My mouth goes dry, it tastes like salt and failure.

I take many steps back, trying to hide myself at the back of the stage while I watch the Ashmen bathe in the glory I thought was mine.

"I didn't prepare anything because I honestly didn't think I would win," Ellie begins to mock me "But I'd like to thank my best friends, Dina, Jesse, and Cat, I couldn't have done it without you," She motions at her band members beside her "But I also couldn't have done it without my dad, thank you, Joel, you're out there in the cheap seats but I fucking love you," She waves out into the crowds somewhere before handing the microphone off to Dina.

"I am so beyond grateful-

"No!" Someone yells from the ground and all attention turns to him "This is not fair!" Graham shouts, walking up the stairs. Everyone in the room looks at one another trying to figure out what is going on. Graham snatches the microphone from Dina "I'm proud of you four but listen."

Everyone is silent completely, no one is sure what to do so we let Graham continue.

"I met everyone on this stage seven years ago," He throws one arm out for dramatics "Except for Amelia, I don't know you," Graham is more dishevelled than he was when I saw him earlier that night "Let me tell all of you that Ellie was in love with this girl since the day they met!" Graham points at me, now things are getting weird, well weirder. “I know because I was there and you all saw it on TV!”

It was no secret that Ellie and I were together since we met on Road to Stardom, a singing reality show where people compete for-well, stardom. Every step of our relationship had been very public, not by choice but by unfortunate circumstances. It is for this reason I was afraid of what Graham would spout next.

"Without her, Smokey Eyes wouldn't have ever been written, Ellie would've had no inspiration for it," He babbles "But more so my point is, Solstice deserved to win, Smokey Eyes is mediocre at best!"

People in the audience look genuinely concerned, I spot Abby in the third row. She has one hand covering her mouth from pure shock, her eyebrows are furrowed and she almost looks like she's going to throw up.

"Solstice is the best album to listen to when you're high off salvia on your bathroom floor!" Graham points back at me.

I see Cat mutter something to Jesse along the lines of "He's not wrong."

"Smokey Eyes has three good songs and Solstice has thirteen!" Graham suddenly stops to turn and look at me, he grabs my wrist "Come up here and finish your speech," I shake my head no but he pulls me up anyway.

I freeze, petrified. My eyes are wide and my lips are pressed together in a thin line. I didn't know what to do. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?

Graham's head suddenly snaps from me to Ellie where he takes an intoxicated step closer to her "Give me that damn award, you don't deserve it, especially not after mocking the woman who inspired it!" He lunges for the statue, at first Ellie is stubborn and holds onto it tight.

After 30 seconds of Graham trying to pry the stature away, Ellie gives up and releases it, figuring it best not to fight with a drunk man; in doing so Graham's elbow flies back from sudden loss of resistance and hits me dead in my nose. I yelp out in pain bending over into a crouch and clutching my nose. Graham stumbles back and trips over me, though he is still holding on tight to the statue.

Jesse approaches him slowly. "Hey, man, It's me, I think we should all just settle down and talk this through," He tries to act cool but his eyes are full of worry "I agree, I think Solstice is a great album and it really deserved to win."

Graham clumsily rolled onto his stomach and then stumbled back onto his feet. He was staring Jesse down like this was the Wild West.

Dina rushed over to me to make sure I was okay "Let me see," She gingerly moved my hands away from my nose, it had been knocked crooked and blood was pouring down to my chest where it pooled at the neckline of my dark dress.

Graham chucked the golden gramophone at Cat who jumped back when he did so and took a swing at Jesse who didn't move an inch or even shudder from his drunken punch. It also didn't help Graham that he was a solid four inches shorter than Jesse. Just as Graham was hyping himself up to send another hit, two bulky men grabbed either of Graham's arms and dragged him off the stage and out of sight.

I went home that night with nothing more than a broken nose, and no award but I could rest knowing that night went down infamously in history. My blood dripped onto the stage of the Grammys.

That was the night I truly became famous.

Grade eight- Age thirteen

Middle school is hard.

Even harder when you have two friends, one of them is a guy who is obsessed with Star Wars and is hardly at school because he's always having an allergic reaction, and the other friend is my English teacher. I ate lunch in her class while he graded schoolwork on days that Milo was too sick to show up for school.

I never understood why kids are so fucking mean. Like sometimes I'm having a good day and then I remember when I sang at the middle school talent show.

Some kid who was destined to have a blunt in his hand finished doing tricks on his skateboard rolled off stage and it was my turn.

In the dimly lit auditorium, adorned with colourful decorations for the annual school talent show, I took center stage with my guitar, a blend of excitement and nervousness etched across my face. The hushed whispers of the audience faded as I strummed the first chords, the notes carrying the beginning to the first of many performances in my life

"If you gave me only one wish,

I wouldn't want to feel this way.

They told me I'd have your memory

But all I want is you to stay

And I can't stop my mind from haunting me,

It's like a scar on a butterfly's wing,

I wanted you to know."

I had worked tirelessly to perfect the lyrics to my first ever song, begging my uncle who was far more practiced for his input. This was way back when I still lived in fuck ass nowhere Alberta, I had that country twang in my high voice though it carried a specific tenderness.

"This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day these bones will heal

And they'll leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do.

This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain

This beautiful pain for you."

However, as I sang my little heart out, a different melody began to play in the background - the snickers and hushed comments of some classmates who couldn't appreciate the vulnerability I laid bare on the stage. Their laughter, like discordant notes in a once-harmonious piece, reverberated through the auditorium.

"If I sailed the world on stormy seas

Chasing sunlight that I can't see.

I was a dreamer here before,

Before I woke up and fell to the floor

And I'd climb to heaven if I could find you,

Even with a scar this butterfly flew.

I wanted you to know."

I spotted one group in particular, they hated me already and this would give them all the more reason to bully me.

"This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day, these bones will heal

And they'll leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do

This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain, this beautiful pain."

Maybe the lyrics were the slightest bit corny but I was thirteen and these girls were being little cunts. I bit back the tears I so clearly wanted to release when I saw a teacher had to walk over to the group of girls to stop their laughing. It wasn't just that one group though, kids scattered all over were fighting back giggles and that made it hurt all the worse.

"And all I'll ever need

And all I'll ever be,

Within every part of me is this,

This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you

And one day these bones will heal

And leave me with the truth

And I'll give you everything 'cause it was all I ever knew.

This beautiful pain,

For you."

As the last note hung in the air, the room was divided. Some applauded, recognizing the authenticity of my performance, while others continued their derisive comments. So the majority who liked my singing were teachers, but that didn't matter, at least my music got through to someone.

The rest of the day was even more difficult than my three-minute performance, at least that was over quickly but the comments from Kennedy and her friends left me leaving school in tears.

I didn't go home that day, I walked the extra ten minutes to get to my uncle's house. Lugging my guitar and newfound hate for music with me. The façade, adorned with a mismatched collection of potted plants and a welcoming, hand-painted sign that read ‘Home Sweet Home’ hinted at my uncle's efforts to infuse joy into his surroundings. The paint on the wooden shutters might have faded, but they held stories of many seasons gone by. The roof, patched with a variety of materials, showed the resourcefulness of my uncle in their attempt to shield the interior from the whims of weather.

He tried to make the house look nice for me and my little sister. He was by no means rich in money but rich in what mattered, the love he had for me was overflowing.

It wasn't a particularly nice neighbourhood either, his house was small, with two bedrooms and a basement I wasn't allowed in. But every time I think of the chipped blue walls, I feel a warm sense of nostalgia run down my spine.

"Who's there?" I hear Uncle Richie call from the kitchen where he is cooking something.

"Just me," I yell back, dropping my guitar case on the ground and belly-flopping onto his old brown leather couch that had more tears in it than I could count; he had tried to stich some of them up with embroidery floss but ultimately gave up, deciding to let it be since he couldn't afford to replace it.

"Why aren't you at your mom's, Chickadee?"

"I don't wanna see Mom right now, she's gonna put me in an even worse mood," I call back grabbing the TV remote off of the water-damaged coffee table.

"What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Minutes later Richie walks into the living room to join me, he carries a bowl of Kraft Mac and cheese with two forks shoved in it, he taps the bottom of my socked feet, signalling for me to move them so he can fit on the couch with me. Uncle Richie has a buzz cut and beard stubble that I have never seen him without, he has never been seen without a flannel on, not as long as I've been alive. What I remember the clearest about him though was the scar beneath his right eye, when I was younger he would tell me that he got it from a pirate though I stopped believing that. "So are you going to tell me why you're sulking?"

I ignore him and he reaches for the remote to turn the TV off "Hey, I watching that," I mutter.

"Well I'm waiting for you to answer me, Chickadee," He tilts his head "Or you won't get any kraft dinner."

"I sang at the talent show today."

"And?"

"Everyone made fun of me."

He furrows his eyebrows "Why would they do that?"

"Why do you think?" I snark "Because I'm not good enough and I'm a bad singer and I have a shit guitar." I immediately regret my words. Uncle Richie was the one who gave me that guitar, it was all he could manage with his income, it was his back when he had dreams of his own but he fixed it up so I could pick up where he left off. The guitar itself had a cracking between the face and the side that was being held together with duct tape, not to mention the whole thing was basically reinforced with superglue and there were Sharpie drabbles on it of poems and potential songs Richie started that I will be sure to finish.

"This is the best guitar in the world," He reaches behind the couch where I left it slugs the case onto his lap and opens it to showcase the guitar "Because it's full of something money can’t buy, there is love built into this guitar and every time you play it you feel that love."

"I don't feel love when I play," I say, eyes brimming with tears.

"Then you're not playing right," He smiles, discarding the case on the floor "Did you play the song I helped you write?"

I nod "Kennedy said it was worse than shoving nails into her ears and that my guitar was decrepit and even more fugly than I am."

"Well Kennedy is a little cunt," He answers "Don't tell anyone I said that." His words make me giggle. I watch him intently as he begins to strum some chords on the guitar, the beginning of Beautiful Pain, he stops when I don't sing the lyrics, glancing at me until the words finally fall from my lips.

After the first two Stanzas, he hands the guitar off to me, nodding his head along to my gentle strums.

When I finish the song and strike the last chord, Richie claps a huge smile on his face "Do you feel the love yet?"

"I dunno."

"Then play again," He says "Don't think about those bitchy little girls," His tone is dead serious "You just gave all of those people a free performance, in ten years they are going to be paying hundreds just to get a bad seat at one of your shows and they will buried so far in the back of your mind that you won't even remember their names or all of those awful words they say to you, the only words that will matter are the ones you sing."

"So what do I do?"

"Play music because you love it, it doesn't matter if it takes you anywhere or if it makes you any money. That's why you should play, play for love not greed."

Wordlessly I begin the song over again, blocking out the rest of the world while I softly sing the lyrics. I strum each cord perfectly, my singing to match. I will forever think back to this moment, this is where I can pinpoint the exact second I fell in love with music.

I wrap up the song and Richie speaks up "Do you still want to watch TV?"

I shake my head "Can you help me write another song?"

Sinjinisoverboard: I love love love the new single but does anyone else miss her debut era?????? I feel like she's sold out

woodmonkey92: Reply to Sinjinisoverboard╰┈➤ this is so true, I remember when she would sing in parks and she was actually happy just being herself

theend_is_n3ar: Reply to woodmonkey92╰┈➤ bruh you don't remember that, she was a nobody when she sang in parks plus she literally got heckled and ridiculed by her classmates so bad that she gave up on singing in public and almost gave up on music as a whole

user37768638493: Reply to sinjinisoverboard╰┈➤ as much as I love her it really seems like she's fallen off the rails

conner_stoll_it: She's not even the same person anymore. I fell in love her original music and who she was when she wrote it, then she signed with a record label now she's an in-genuine copy of every pop star.

Alina_b12: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ you fell in love with her old music?? 💀💀💀 she wasn't even past 100 subscribers when she released her debut album and after she released she literally gained 11 listeners on Spotify to get a total of 24 so don't lie and say that you heard it before hearing her mainstream music

Luciaisdonewithlife: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ Her old music was so relatable, she got famous and it’s kind of hard to relate to someone who's net worth is more money then I can even fathom

hazeinmorningcraze: Reply to Luciaisdonewithlife╰┈➤I think that's why it was so easy for everybody to side with Ellie during the breakup, Ellie kept true to who she is, her girlfriend however did not.

Luciaisdonewithlife: Reply to hazeinthemorningcraze╰┈➤*fiancé

hazeinthemorningcraze: Reply to Luciaisdonewithlife╰┈➤ ew don't remind me

maiya_onthec0ast: Reply to conner_stoll_it╰┈➤ We should remember that no one listened to her when she released her debut music. She said in an interview that before she signed with Atlantic Records she had 24 listeners and 76 subscribers. We only know who she is because of her mainstream music, you aren't better than anyone for needlessly hating on her.

stargirlthesequel: God who else misses the southern twang she used to have in her voice?

Vampire_empire2: Reply to stargirlthesequel╰┈➤LMAO acting like you know her is crazy

Aline_b12: Reply to stargirlthesequel╰┈➤parasocial relationships are really becoming apparent rn

thismightbeskylarwwhiteyo: It's soooooo annoying when people hate on Solstice for being mainstream like all Ashmen discography isn't top on charters since they dropped their first album

dancedancerev0lution: Reply to thismightbeskylarwwhiteyo╰┈➤I've been saying this! Ellie has been in the industry way longer, she's always had a big fan base, even when she was still a solo artist!

elliespurplemonster: Reply to thismightbeskylaarwwhiteyo╰┈➤ Ellie Williams on 🔝

call_urm0ther: Reply to elliespurplemonster╰┈➤ kys she treated her fiancé horribly

elliespurplemonster: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤ how would you know that????? Were you there??????

follow_kendra88: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤Ellie was the one who was treated horribly in that relationship, have you even listened to Smokey Eyes?

ellies_no2girl: Reply to call_urm0ther╰┈➤Ellie was so in love and just got used for fame 🥺💔

call_urm0ther: Reply to ellies_no2girl╰┈➤fuck off with your cringe ass emojis

sorryyileft___:You guys are so weird for saying Ellie was used by her ex for fame, they literally were on the same show at the same age at the same time and got thrown into the limelight at the same time, Ellie and the Ashmen just got more popular.

mybodyisacage: Reply to sorryyileft___╰┈➤Ellie had a bit of a YouTube presence before she was on Stardom, it wasn't a crazy number but it was a cult following and that's why she won Stardom, bc she had fans to begin with then gained even more after being on national television

elliespurplemonster: Reply to mybodyisacage╰┈➤She didn't win bc of following she won bc she's a good artist

mybodyisacage: Reply to elliespurplemonster╰┈➤I never said she wasn't

bodhi_van34: I thought the whole thing at the Grammy's was an act until I saw all those news articles about Graham Wilson getting arrested

carlyswarly: Reply to bodhi_van34╰┈➤They did a drug test when he got arrested and found coke in his system

may0mayyyo: Reply to carlyswarly╰┈➤A busboy who worked the event said that Graham was doing cocaine in the bathroom

body_van34: Reply to may0mayyyo╰┈➤ LMAO WTF

charlotte_5freakingdidit: EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT ELLIE WILLIAMS BEING MEAN TO HER EX BUT GRAHAM WILSON LITERALLY ASSAULTED A POPSTAR ON STAGE AND TRIED TO THROW HANDS WITH JESSE LMAO IM DIFFUSING

juliaa__stirling: The way Ellie was laughing when Amelia said she messed up the cards was so rude and immature. Her fans are insane for defending her. All of that just because her ex fiancé gave a speech about working hard, imagine how she felt after being so honest with everyone just for her to not actually win and think about how she feels now reading all of these posts.

botoxangel: Celebrities have feelings too, Amelia made a mistake she's probably embarrassed but not as embarrassed as that poor woman is for putting her soul into a speech just for her ex and all of her fan girls to ridicule her for a mistake that wasn't even hers.

karaleaah778: Reply to botoxangel╰┈➤exactly! And why are people blaming Amelia??? She was given the envelope by someone else, she genuinely thought her friend won.

carlosislost: Why is Graham even invited to these events?????????

katie_katelynsm1th: Reply to carlosislost╰┈➤Bc it's funny when he causes a scene

howto_nevrst0ppbeingsad: I know you guys think this Grammy situation is so funny but it's really not. Graham is clearly mentally ill, this is a cry for help.

elleryc3llery: Reply to howto_nevrst0ppbeingsad╰┈➤Dude it's hilarious

3emmettttt: Reply to howto_nevrst0ppbeing sad╰┈➤The way you're worried about the has been and not the girl whose nose he broke

allysaaaa663638: LMAO THE WAY SHE ACTUALLY THOUGHT SHE WON THE AWARD AND SHE DESERVED IT SHDBDBEGHWWBSV

jessicadacoolest: Ellie is so real for laughing bc I would've done the same tbh

hennyrumwine: Dumb bitch deserved to be hit lollllllll

4444carmencarmen4444: I love the Ashmen's music but I hate Ellie sm, I just feel like she's a fuck girl and she gives me very rude vibes. Like laughing at her ex and then mocking her heartfelt speech is INSANE anyways stream Solstice

sittingwaiting_wishing: I honestly have hated Ellie since the breakup, she's changed so much since then. She used to be funny now she's just mean.

carissaandher_h0ttakes: I still think it's kind of crazy that Dina and Jesse followed through with Ellie on Smokey Eyes because they were really close to her when she was engaged to Ellie, can't imagine how many ties that album severed

elliessmokeyeye: Reply to carissaandher_h0ttakes╰┈➤I think about this all the time! She was literally the god mother for Dina and Jesses kid

carissaandher_h0ttakes: Reply to elliessmokeyeye╰┈➤it make me think that she might've done something to them to make them hate her the way Ellie does, Ellie did say that she didn't write all of the songs for Smokey Eyes 🤔🤔🤔

"Do you see how this backlash doesn't look good for anyone?" My agent, Caroline asks after showing me several Twitter posts that are under the trending tag.

"Well, it's not really my fault."

"Nonetheless, I think It's time for a rebrand." She sets her phone face down and looks at me from across her desk "Do you remember when you went on tour with the Ashmen when you were around twenty-one?"

My eyes go wide, I'm already shaking my head "Please-

"This is an awful event that you can turn into an amazing opportunity and capitalize on it," The backdrop behind Caroline is almost blinding, it's an annoyingly hot LA day and I want nothing more than to be back in Canada and swimming in lakes with my little sister.

"Caroline, mentally I can't handle a tour with Ellie."

"Mentally, you're gonna have to," She says, getting stern "Your fans either hate each other or they love both of you and feel like their parents have divorced."

I know that I will argue with Caroline for the next hour and threaten to fire her but eventually, she will win, so until then I am preoccupied with thoughts of everything but Ellie, soaking in the last moments I will have until she envelopes my brain and suffocates me from the inside out.

I am sure that with Ellie, I will die before winter comes and I am doubtful that I will ever bloom again.

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kirain · 2 months ago

Note

Rook/Emmerich fic Rook/Emmerich fic ROOK/EMMERICH FIC!

Lmfao! Here you go, anon.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the hearth and the scratching of Emmrich's quill against parchment. His study was dimly lit, the warm glow of candlelight dancing across his cluttered desk, laden with books, maps, and papers detailing plans too dangerous to speak of. Though nothing was more dangerous than the journey he was about to embark on, the reality of death pervading his mind.

With a dejected sigh, he dipped his quill one last time, the ink glistening as he signed his name with a flourish.

"Darling!" he called as Vae entered, her cerulean eyes grabbed his attention. "I'm just finishing reviewing my bequeathments. It made me consider… a topic I must broach." He stood to face her, nervously rubbing his hands. "The eve before we kill a god, my thoughts turn to mortality. And what we are to each other."

Vae tilted her head, her smile laced with curiosity. "All right."

Emmrich paused, his expression uncertain, as though balancing on the edge of a precipice. "Even under the best circumstances, you will outlive me, Rook. You've… grown to mean much to me and… I care for you, Rook! Deeply. But there are such years between us, I shouldn't heap you with that burden."

Her smile faded, replaced by something softer, more sincere. "I get it. You're scared because you love me."

"What?" His voice faltered, betraying his usual composure. He could sense she was teasing him, despite the gravity of his insinuation.

"It's fine to say it," she pushed, searching for something he wasn't ready to give.

"I can't… at my—"

"You're older than me. I get it." Her words were firm but devoid of judgment, though Emmrich still thought she was joking.

"I'm perfectly serious," he replied, his tone heavy with exasperation.

"So am I!" she snapped back, her patience slipping. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"One of us has to pay attention to these things," he countered, his words coming out sharper than intended.

"One of us needs the guts to say how he feels!" Vae's voice rang out, rousing and raw. There was no anger in it—just frustration born from longing.

Emmrich froze, his eyes widening, a flicker of shock breaking through his unflappable facade. For a moment, it seemed as though he had something to add; some rehearsed reply teetering on the edge of his lips. But then, as if overwhelmed by Vae's very presence, he looked away, his shoulders sinking.

The silence that followed stretched on for far too long, thick and uncomfortable. Vae stared at him, willing him to speak, to mend the gap he'd suddenly torn between them. She could feel her pulse quicken, her anger rising with every second that passed without a response, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor.

His refusal to meet her gaze, to give her the acknowledgment she so desperately craved, stung more than the words he hadn't said. But soon her anger crumbled into something worse—disappointment. She could feel it welling up inside her, making her chest clench against her ribs as the realisation settled: he wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't going to do anything.

A sharp ache pierced her wounded heart, but she couldn't force him to speak, and she didn't want to. Slowly, she let her arms drop to her sides. "Look, I... let's pack. Eve before we face a god, right?"

The older man straightened up. He wanted to apologise, but amidst his creeping guilt all he could muster was, "As you say."

The look on Vae's face mounted his guilt tenfold. He could see the hurt in her eyes, much to his dismay. He caused it, and for that he'd never forgive himself.

As she turned away, he lowered his head in shame, every nerve ablaze. He knew he should say something, but for once his extensive vocabulary failed. So many words, so many meanings, and yet none seemed sufficient. Fear, degradation, the weight of his deepest insecurities, and the thought that Vae would one day have to mourn him, alone and heartbroken, chipped away at his sensitive soul.

He kept quiet, even as his inner voice screamed for her to stay. Only Manfred's inquisitive hiss jolted him from his stupor, earning him a rare look of reproach.

"Don't start," he grumbled, his eyes drifting back to Vae.

The further she moved, the more every instinct screeched at him to call out, to bring her back, to make things right. But the words stuck in his throat, his feet rooted to the spot. He could taste the cowardice in his hesitation, and the helplessness of watching her saunter away, but he convinced himself it was better. For her, it was better. His desires didn't matter.

"Actually... no," she whispered, stopping just shy of the door. "No, we're not leaving it like this."

He flinched as she marched back to him, her expression indomitable. "Rook?"

She raised a respectful hand. "Emmrich, do you really think I never considered your age?"

His fingers twitched. "I..."

"Because I did. Of course I did."

"Darling—"

"My parents were murdered, Emmrich. Right in front of me", she said quickly, causing him to wince. "My poor, sweet baby brother, too." She looked away, her brow arching. "I watched them die. I watched..." Tears prickled at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed loudly, forcing them down.

"Oh, Vaelyn..." Emmrich struggled. He reached out to comfort her, but thought better of it, worried she'd recoil in disgust. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you relive that awful memory."

She shook her head, meeting his gaze once more. "I know what it's like to love someone and lose them long before you should. But I've chosen to face that pain again... because it's worth it. You're worth it, Emmrich." Her words were like a physical blow, but she wasn't finished. "Not having you in my life, not because of the inevitable, but because you're too scared to share the time you have... hurts more than I can bear. Worse than losing you naturally."

Emmrich stood speechless, struck by the depth of her confession. He knew there was nothing he could say to undo the pain he'd caused her, but Vae wasn't looking for an apology. She was telling him what she needed, what she wanted. The truth.

"If you think you're the only one tortured by the concept of time," she added, her voice faint, "you're wrong. I think about my brother every day. About the time he lost. He was so much younger than me, Emmrich. So full of life he deserved to live." She took a breath, a brief respite. "But I also think about the time we had together, and that makes me smile. I'm glad I had him, for however short or long it was." Her eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his arm. "If you care about me, then stop hiding behind your age. Because you're right—we don't have forever. We only have the here and now, but that's enough for me."

Emmrich remained silent, his heart pounding like a drum. His thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions, more wild and unpredictable than he'd ever allowed. He hadn't known the full weight of what she carried—the profound, unstoppable pain. Yet there she was, choosing him despite it all.

The guilt he felt for holding back, for trying to reject her in the coldest way, washed over him like a ruinous flood. And in the quiet aftermath of her words, there was a part of him that felt something shift; a crack in the armour he'd built for himself.

Suddenly, before Vae could react, he pulled her into a tight, penitent hug. His arms wrapped around her with a force that conveyed everything he hadn't been able to say, his face burying itself in her lush, floral-scented hair.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "I've been such a fool. I never wanted to hurt you. Never." He squeezed tighter, as if trying to make up for the rift he'd thrust between them.

At first, Vae didn't respond, her body stiff in his embrace, but being held with such genuine remorse, his arms trembling with self-condemnation, shattered her resolve. The fight swiftly left her mind, her hands riding up his back as she melted against him.

"Emmrich..."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "You were right, I was scared. Unfathomably scared."

Vae shook her head, clinging to his shirt in an attempt to soothe him. "Don't apologise for being scared. Just... don't shut me out. Please."

"I won't," he said, his bare hand moving to cradle her head. "I won't shut you out. Not again. I promise."

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #dragon age rook #da: the veilguard #the veilguard #rook/emmrich #fanfic #emmrich x rook #dragon age emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmerich volkarin #emmerich #emmerich x rook

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elliesbelle · 2 years ago

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 6

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, messy lesbian relationships/situationships, loser!ellie makes an appearance for 0.5 seconds, brief and indirection mention of marijuana, mentions of death, brief mention of reader's genitals (implies that reader has a vagina, but if you headcanon reader as a trans girl w/a penis, just pretend it's a metaphorical vagina, i fully encourage it), sexual speech and content (not fully smut but there are drops of it), depictions of nudity, minors do not interact

word count: 4.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Abigail Anderson. Pre-med student. Rugby star. A brief hook-up from freshman year.

And now approaching your frozen figure at a rather fast pace.

As your shocked face emerges from behind the football you're still holding in your hands, Abby begins to register who it was that she’d almost killed via pigskin.

“Oh, shit!” She murmurs your name as her jog comes to a stop at your feet. “I’m so sorry, my friend Jordan was being a dick. I meant to catch that.”

You let out a nervous chuckle as your trembling fingers lift the football up to her.

“Oh, it’s okay. My life definitely flashed before my eyes, but I’m alright otherwise.” You give her a smile.

She returns it with a crooked one of her own, her fingers softly brushing against yours as she takes the football from you.

“Well, you still look alive and pretty,” Abby says, tucking the ball underneath an arm. “And those were some impressive reflexes, I gotta say.”

“Just practicing in case of a zombie apocalypse.” You joke, cheeks burning ever so slightly at her calling you pretty. “We can’t all be built like Themysciran Amazons the way you are.”

“Themy-what?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and chuckling.

Your face erupts in flames in embarrassment from your geeky comic book reference.

“Y-you know,” You stammer. “Like Wonder Woman. She’s from that island where it’s only women and they’re all these gorgeous, buff warriors who’ve renounced men.”

Abby laugh.

“Really? Well, thank you. You’re very cute for thinking I’m some hot warrior chick who’ll survive a zombie apocalypse.”

Before you can respond, she continues.

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much.”

“Hey, I’ve been around.” You lie. You really haven’t been. “Probably haven’t noticed being an aspiring doctor and all.”

“Still remember that, huh?” She smiles.

“Of course.” You say, returning her smile.

Freshman Year, Fall

You met Abby Anderson at the beginning of your freshman year when she was a sophomore.

Being in a new and independent environment, you did what many single freshmen do upon first arriving: scoured the dating apps.

Fresh out of a messy high school relationship, you came to college a little raw and emotionally vulnerable. You jumped into a casual relationship with a girl named Adriana within the first month of arriving on campus. After a drunken night of you and your roommate Tara recklessly swiping through your profile on a dating app, you somehow and hesitantly found yourself with a girlfriend after just two dates.

The best word you would use to describe Adriana was nice. She was a pleasant person: brought you out on cute dates, paid for your food, always held your hand. You spent the two weeks of dating her trying to convince yourself that you were as into her as she was into you. But the further you tried to force attraction for her, the less interested you became. Then she introduced you to her friend, Abby Anderson.

Abby was the kind of person that closeted gay girls would develop their first gay crush on at their initial glance. She was bold and exuded a sense of confidence & charisma that most 20-somethings haven’t achieved yet. People knew who she was when she walked around campus, whether personally or through reputation. Abby made friends quickly and kept them easily, so it was no shock that you got along very well with her when Adriana first introduced you.

You pretended at the time not to notice the way Abby looked you up and down when first laying eyes on you. It was a quick glance and she pulled it off well enough that nobody else but you had caught it. You were amused by the way that Abby had held out her hand to you upon meeting. None of Adriana’s other friends had offered a handshake, and you chuckled quietly as you introduced yourself to her.

Is she for real? A little prim and proper, you’d thought. You’d later find out it was merely her excuse to initiate physical contact.

You’d originally come over to Adriana’s dorm to meet her friends, but you’d spent most of the time talking with Abby. She was very charming, keeping you engaged in conversation as if she’d known you for months already. She would ask you questions about yourself, seeming to be genuinely interested in your responses. It was effortless to keep up a banter with her, and she had you laughing in a way Adriana hadn’t been able to elicit from you herself. You weren’t fawning over Abby the way newly-discovered gays constantly were, but you were intrigued. By the end of the hang-out, you’d already exchanged numbers and socials.

When Adriana amicably broke up with you a week later, saying that she felt as if “your heart didn’t seem quite into this” and “she’d like to see you comfortable” and “we honestly seem like we would vibe better as friends” over a phone call, you’d felt a wave of relief followed by a pang of guilt. You could tell that Adriana really didn’t feel any ill will towards you, but it did feel indecent that all you got out of the relationship was a mended heart as a result of the rebound. That, and a very interested Abby Anderson.

It didn’t take a week since your split from Adriana that Abby was flirtatiously commenting under your Instagram posts or sending you at least ten snaps on Snapchat daily or messaging you borderline thirst traps accompanied by texts that were asking for your “opinion on her gym progress.” It was a mere five days since the break-up that you were dolling yourself up a bit to go hang out with Abby in her dorm room, just the two of you.

Most of your friends playfully teased you about the position you’d placed yourself in. Hooking up with a recent ex’s friend seemed messy, but they encouraged you to put yourself out there all the same. Never having actually gone all the way with Adriana, they all hyped you up to hook up with Abby. All but one.

“You’re judging me!” You said, lightly smacking Ellie’s arm.

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at you.

“I literally didn’t say anything, dude.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” You returned her eye roll with your own before jumping off your bed to walk towards your closet.

“Just sounds like a guilty conscience to me.” She shrugged, leaning back onto your headboard.

You sighed and said, “Should I feel guilty, though?”

Ellie shrugged again nonchalantly before saying, “Not gonna tell you how to feel.”

“I just want to know your opinion!”

“It’s your love life, dude. It’s up to you, not me.”

“I know that! But what do you think I should do?”

“Make your own decisions.” She chuckled once more.

You groaned, turning away from her to continue rifling through your closet.

“You’re so fucking useless.” You complained, fingers weaving between hangers as you tried to select an outfit to see Abby later that day.

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Ellie replied, resting the palms of her hands on the back of her head as she watched you.

Despite yourself, you giggled quietly. As you continued to browse through your wardrobe, you felt Ellie’s ocean green eyes trailing your every movement. You kept your back turned to her, hiding the flames tickling your cheeks.

You hadn’t bothered the rest of your friends about this the way you did Ellie. They’d all given their blessing for you to sleep with Abby, but Ellie? Ellie was persistent in remaining mysteriously neutral. She refused to voice any kind of personal bias. She didn’t seem disinterested, but she also withheld offering up her genuine opinion on your Abby situation. And for some reason, this bothered you. Something about her unhelpfulness compelled you to pester her about it. You knew you didn’t need Ellie’s approval. So why did it feel like you did?

Ellie watched as you picked out a short dark blue dress, spreading it out on your bed next to her. She listened to you question yourself out loud on whether you should wear fishnet stockings underneath it or just go bare. She felt the way your fingers lingered when brushing softly against hers after she handed you your silver hoop earrings laying next to her on your bedside table. She inhaled your signature lavender scent as you slowly caressed your arms and legs up and down while applying your favourite lotion.

It felt so strange, prettying yourself up for another girl while Ellie sat on your bed and watched. She and you were just friends. You’ve never been anything more than that. Why did it feel strange, then?

Are we though? Just friends?

The way you’d stare at the way her big, calloused hands moved when she’d be rolling a joint or etching in her journal. The way she observed the exact manner your lips moved every time you spoke or laughed. The way you always noticed when she’d trace that intricate arm tattoo of hers when she’d get lost in thought. The way she watched exactly how your smile would often meet your soft eyes.

Is this just friendship?

Ellie observed as you sat at your desk and carefully began applying your makeup, scooting towards the foot of your bed to better marvel at your technique. She’d begun to learn the routine you had by heart, mesmerized by how carefully and naturally your hands moved in a creative dance. She blurted out a compliment about how you were an artist for the way you did your makeup. You attempted to brush it off, but she insisted. You’re the artist here, she’d said.

After finishing applying a shade of dark red lipstick, you gave yourself one last satisfied look in your mirror. You got up and began to shake your hair out of the bun it was in, walking to the foot of your bed where both your dress and Ellie waited. You looked at your chosen attire for the night and were suddenly hit with a predicament.

“Umm, Ellie?”

“What’s up, man?”

“D-do you think you could help me with something?”

“Uh… sure?”

Your fingers fiddled with the bottom of your t-shirt. Your face flushed for what felt like the millionth time today.

“C-can you help me put my dress on?”

Ellie looked like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water right over her head.

“What?”

You scratched the back of your neck, a habit you’d picked up from her.

“I forgot how t-tight this dress is, and I might fuck up my makeup if I just pull it on myself. Can you help me g-get it on?”

Ellie’s face remained unreadable as she looked you up and down.

“Yeah, okay.” She said finally.

“T-thanks.” You said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Normal friends do not get nervous when they ask their friends to help them get dressed.

“Just…just one second.” You said, meekly holding a finger up before turning your back to her.

As you profusely thanked past you for already putting on your desired underwear for tonight, you carefully peeled off your t-shirt and threw it to the side. Though you had your back to her, you could feel Ellie’s gaze land on the black lace bra you’d decided on earlier. When you shed your pajama shorts, her eyes then drifted onto the matching black lace panties that left very little to the imagination.

She quickly averted her stare as you turned to face her, not fully meeting each other’s eyes.

“Do you think you could—?” You gestured to your dress next to her on the bed.

“Yeah.” She said, picking it up before approaching you.

You watched her face as she lifted the dress above your head. Her tense fingers gripped the collar tightly as you raised your arms. You felt goosebumps form where her hands inadvertently brushed against your skin, lowering the dress onto your figure. As you fit your head and arms through, she pulled the dress all the way down to your thighs. You tugged your hair out from the collar and let it fall behind you when your eyes met hers.

“Uhh,” She said awkwardly. “Your lipstick…”

Your right hand flew up to your mouth.

“Oh shit, did it smudge—?”

“Yeah, a little, but it’s okay, I got it.”

“Wh—“

Before you could react any further, Ellie licked her thumb and brought it to the edge of your bottom lip. It was as though your entire body was set on fire the exact second that you felt the wetness from her finger meet the corner of your mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed as she rubbed off the small streaks of smeared lipstick. You could have sworn she could hear how loud your heart was beating in the moment, feel the way it echoed through your entire body. You felt your mouth water as your eyes fell on her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Someone could easily sneak into your room right now and rob you blind, the way you both remained completely encaptured in this moment.

“There,” Ellie whispered. “Got it.”

Her thumb slowly drifted from your lip to your cheek, her hand suddenly caressing your face. You were frozen in place, trying not to combust as every cell in your body danced fervently. Her ocean green irises kept darting back and forth between your eyes and your crimson lips. Both your mouths were parted, the unsaid at the tip of both your tongues, waiting for whoever was bravest to let the truth drip out.

But instead, after what felt like twenty-five years, Ellie let her hand drop from your face back to her side. She swallowed and cleared her throat, breaking eye contact with you to stare at the floor. You blinked and gulped, quickly plummeting back to reality.

“Th-thanks, El.”

“No problem, bro.”

“Bro.” Ugh. Okay, Ellie.

You were far less clothed a minute ago, and yet somehow you now were feeling much more naked than ever before.

“I-I think I left the shoes I want across the hall in Sidney’s room. Give me a sec?”

“Yeah, man. Go ahead.”

You nodded and retreated quickly out the door. As you shut it behind you, you leaned against it and clutched at your chest with both hands.

Oh god, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. What just happened? What the fuck. Fuck.

Inside your room and unbeknownst to you, Ellie was leaning against her side of the door, quietly cursing to herself.

“Did I really just fucking do that? What the fuck, oh my fucking god. God damn it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Hey, are you okay?”

You blinked.

“Yes! Sorry, just spaced out for a second.”

You adjusted yourself under the covers to turn more towards Abby. Your previously glassy eyes met her concerned ones.

“Was it that bad?” She joked.

“No, oh my god, Abby,” You giggled, covering your face with your hands. “I think you getting me to cum twice in less than a minute speaks for itself.”

Abby smirked.

“Only twice? Wanna add a couple more to that?” She said, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you better.

“I think my pussy needs a sec before you make her see heaven again.” You replied.

“Mmm,” was all Abby said in reply, drinking in your naked figure in her bed.

The rest of the evening seemed surreal. Ellie had watched you finish getting ready, remaining mostly quiet for the rest of the time. She didn’t touch you again, almost as if she was afraid to. She’d walked you partway to Abby’s building before giving the excuse that she had some client she needed to meet. Her signature Converse stormed off without a second glance back at you. As you waved her off, you thought about how she didn’t have anything on her to sell, and you both knew it.

Throughout the entire night with Abby, though you allowed yourself to unwind and have some fun for once, your thoughts still continued to dance back incessantly to your auburn-haired friend.

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Abby asked.

“Just taking a minute and being impressed by you.”

Abby laughed.

“So not that bad, huh?” She joked. “But really. What’s up?”

You pursed your lips. You liked Abby, but she did not need to know all about this “friendship” of yours with Ellie.

“Not gonna lie,” You said, quickly coming up with a lie. “I was feeling really guilty before coming here tonight. Just cause Adriana’s your friend and we just broke up.”

It wasn’t completely far from the truth. You were feeling guilty about seeing Abby after Adriana. But she wasn’t the lesbian who you couldn’t get out of your head all night.

“Mm, that does make sense.” Abby replied, understanding. “It’s true, though. What I said earlier. Adriana did say it was okay.”

Sometime after you’d arrived at Abby’s dorm and before you’d both dropped the pretense of you coming over just to “hang out,” Abby disclosed that she’d asked for Adriana’s permission to fool around with you already. You were a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. You did come here tonight with specific intentions, but it did relieve you to know that Adriana meant it when she’d expressed no ill will towards you. And it kindled a warmth in you that Abby’d gone into this prepared and still with the respect of her friend.

“No, I know,” You said, the crease between your eyebrows crinkling as you thought up a quick lie. “I just… I still like Adriana as a person and I didn’t want my wandering vagina to get in the way of your friendship with her.”

Abby suddenly guffawed, her laugh so infectious and genuine that it made you giggle in response.

“D-did you just say ‘wandering vagina,’ oh my g—” She chortled. “Never heard that before.”

You shrugged, smiling at how easily amused Abby has been turning out to be.

“You say the strangest shit, you know?” Abby said, still chuckling.

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” You replied, to which Abby smiled.

“But really though,” Abby continued. “You don’t have to worry about me and Adriana. We’re still cool; nothing’s changed in our friendship. You both told me you weren’t serious, and she’s also just someone who’s never been possessive or jealous as a person. We’re all adults here, so no need to feel guilty. I promise.”

“Yeah, that…that does help.” You said, hoping that answer would suffice for Abby.

Abby seemed like she wanted to press more but decided against it. Instead, she grabbed your hips all of a sudden and lifted you up to place you on top of her, making you straddle her waist.

“Wh—Abby!” You said, startled. Your arms instinctively flew up to cover your bare breasts, the bed covers no longer shrouding your nakedness.

Abby chuckled, reaching up to your wrists and pulling them away from your chest.

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you have such a serious thinking face on?” She said.

A bashful look crossed your face as you stuttered a quiet “no” in response.

Abby smirked, dropping your wrists and placing her hands on your waist, tracing up and down your inner thighs with her thumbs. Your breath hitched and you gulped, feeling yourself instinctively grind against her.

“Well, you are.” She said. “And you’re cute, acting all shy about being naked in front of me like I wasn’t just knuckles deep inside you ten minutes ago.”

You bit your lip, partly from embarrassment and partly because Abby’s tracing of your thighs turned into squeezing.

“Y-you w-weren’t… knuckles-deep…” You stammered.

Abby chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“Why the hell are you correcting me on how far inside of you I was anatomically?” She asked, extremely amused.

“I don’t know!” You said, flustered and rolling your eyes.

Abby chuckled, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist to keep you steady as she sat up to be at eye-level with you. With her free hand, she firmly gripped your chin between her large fingers and forced your eyes to meet hers.

“You’re very easy to fluster, you know.” She whispered.

“I-I—” was all that you could get out before Abby’s lips found yours. The sentence you’d meant to continue instead turned into a quiet shriek of surprise then into a lustful sigh that melted into the kiss.

Not ten seconds later, Abby pulled away slightly, a cocky look on her face.

“Any more anatomical complaints, then?” She murmured.

“Not at all, Dr. Anderson.” You chuckled breathlessly.

You jolted as Abby laughed again all of a sudden, grabbing both your shoulders for support.

“Was it… that funny?” You chuckled, a little confused.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Abby said. “It’s just that—my dad was Dr. Anderson.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah, he was a doctor.” She explained. “Before he passed, he used to be a surgeon back when my family and I lived in Utah.”

Shit, her dad. Of course.

Abby had mentioned her father to you several times already. You didn’t know much about him other than the fact that Abby completely adored the man and that he had died when she was only 16.

“Right, makes sense.” You said, wrapping your arms around her neck.

Abby’s father didn’t seem like an off-limits topic with her. In fact, you were in awe of how at peace she was with it. She seemed happy to talk about her dad, somehow able to acknowledge his passing and yet speak of him as if he was always present in a way. She didn’t make it uncomfortable to ask about him, and you often had the impression that she actually preferred it when others didn’t fuss over it. So you made sure not to.

“So no to calling you Dr. Anderson, then?” You asked.

“Well, actually,” Abby embraced your waist and pulled you closer to her body. “Kind of studying to be a doctor. Like him.”

“Wait, really?” You replied, a bit of shock in your voice. “How did I not know that?”

“Don’t really know, pretty girl,” She replied, smirking. “Got too distracted by my washboard abs to notice?”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You scoffed, smiling and rolling your eyes.

Abby chuckled before leaning into your neck to leave trails of kisses.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re also very cute when you have a little bit of an attitude?” She asked, lifting her head up slightly in between kisses.

“Mm, I don’t know,” You sighed, pulling her further into you and trying not to grind too eagerly against her once again. “Maybe once or twice. But why don’t you remind me, Dr. Anderson?”

You heard Abby suddenly moan in your ear, almost growling, before you were suddenly thrown on your back onto the bed. Any words that meant to roll off your tongue were replaced instead with cries of pleasure as your knees were pried apart with Abby’s strong hands, her mouth finding ways to answer your question without words.

Present Day

“So still planning on becoming a surgeon, then?” You ask.

“Starting med school immediately after I graduate this year.” Abby replies.

“Wow,” You say, impressed. “That’s really soon. Are you nervous about it?”

“Hmm, not nervous, exactly,” Abby replies, thinking. “I grew up around doctor shit, so I have a tiny idea of what I’m facing. I’m choosing to stay positive about it all for now.”

“Commendable,” You smile. “How the hell have you been surviving all your pre-med shit with sports and all?”

“Hey,” She says, shrugging. “You said it yourself. I’m basically a superhero.”

You chuckle. You’ve forgotten just how confident Abby is and how attractive it was to see it in action.

“Right, of course. How could I forget?”

“You know, maybe if I really was Wonder Woman, I could attend my next class and get a coffee with you right now. If you’re not busy, that is.”

“That is not how Wonder Woman works, Abby.” You say, giggling.

“Oh, whatever.” Abby laughs, rolling her eyes. “Forgot just how much of a nerd you were, pretty girl.”

“Hey—” You start.

“YO ABS, are you gonna throw that shit back or keep flirting with hot chicks?!” A voice behind Abby calls.

Abby grunts in annoyance, turning around to face her friend Jordan who was several feet away from where you both were.

“Stop throwing like a little bitch and we wouldn’t be having this problem, dumbass!” She calls back at him, to which he replies with a playful, “Oh, fuck off!”

You watch as Abby draws back, arms flexing as she throws the football in a quick, perfect spiral towards Jordan. He catches it, but not before it makes a loud thud against his chest.

“OW, FUCK—" He shouts in pain.

“Dumbass!” She hollers in response.

You're both chuckling when she turns back to face you.

“Need to go?” You ask.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m busy flirting with hot chicks. Well, just one hot chick.”

Your purse your lips, sheepish.

“So,” She said. “Coffee?”

“Abby, you just said you had a class to get to in a bit. Also,” You gesture to your mostly-empty coffee cup still next to you in the grass. “Beat you to the punch.”

“Ah, fuck.”

“Sorry,” You chuckle. “I’ve also got class in,” You checked your phone for the time. “Around five minutes or so.”

“Wow, you really wanna avoid getting a coffee with me that bad, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I premeditatedly mapped out my entire class schedule this semester just so I didn’t have to hang out with you right at this moment.” You joke.

“I knew it.”

You laugh.

“Can I at least walk you to class, though?” Abby asks.

“Sure,” You replies. “But what about your class?”

“Got a bit of time; don’t worry about it.”

You smile before you gather your things together quickly. You reach for your coffee cup but it disappears suddenly before your hand is even inches from it.

“Abby!” You exclaim, jumping up onto your feet as you quickly pull your backpack on.

“What?” She questions, walking backwards while still facing you to throw your coffee cup away in a nearby trash can.

“I can’t throw away my own trash?”

“Just being helpful.” She says, shrugging.

“You can’t be both a superhero and some chivalrous lesbian knight.”

“I can do whatever I want, pretty girl.”

You feel your face getting hot once more.

“So,” She starts. “Which way is your next class?” She begins walking in the wrong direction.

“About twenty feet east of where you’re heading, silly.”

“Oh, uhh…” Abby stops in her tracks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while processing your directions.

You laugh and roll your eyes, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the building your next class was in.

“Straley Hall, right in front of you, dummy. Remind me never to travel across the country with you.” You say.

“What kind of nerd actually says ‘east’ when giving directions!” She complains.

“That’s a perfectly normal thing to say!”

“Why are the cutest girls always the weirdest ones?” Abby says, shaking her head.

You looked away from her, trying to hide your embarrassed smile.

“How are you supposed to save people’s lives when you don’t even understand simple directions, Dr. Anderson?”

She smirks at your comment and her lips form to reply with a retort of their own.

Just a few feet down the brick college road, Ellie stands frozen on the spot. Her hands are balled up in fists and her jaw is clenched. Her ocean green eyes trail after your unknowing figure, fixating on the wide smile on your lips as you let out peals of genuine laughter and your fingers still gently caressing the bicep of golden girl and star athlete, Abigail Anderson.

author's notes:

HAHAHAHA "in case of a zombie apocalypse" get it, cause the game is set in a zomb—yeah y'all get it (sorry not really)

let's all take a brief sexy second together and imagine abby as amazon from themyscira... now let's all let out the collective horny sigh together.

thank you all for being so patient waiting for this one. life has been... yeah (if you've been keeping up with the personal stuff I've said on my blog the last week, that should add more context to what a shit my life has been recently). i've been having to push myself with writing lately cause i feel like i'm getting too into my head about it. but thank y'all so much for being supportive and all, thank you for not giving up on me!

not gonna lie, loves. i may have gotten extremely horny writing certain scenes in this and had to take multiple breaks because my mind was concocting too many distracting scenarios as a result (the ellie scene took me days to get through to write, i'm so dead serious, and the smut-adjacent abby scene almost turned into a full-fledged smut scene cause i'm such a fucking lesbian, oops, i genuinely had to restrain myself so i could write the story the way i actually have it planned out).

abby having no sense of direction at the end of the chapter is just a personal reference to me when i played tlou2 for the first time and when i was playing as abby at the very start when she's mad at owen for getting mel pregnant and trying to go after joel on her own, i got lost for like 10 minutes just going in circles in the fucking woods and snow like a moron. just wanted to be a little bit silly by creating no sense of direction!abby hehe

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @ximtiredx, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes

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