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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 14 days

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In Love and War (7)

Summary: Truths are revealed and Reader has to decide what that means for her revenge plans.

Content Warnings: Talks of Past Character Deaths, Blood and Violence

Author's Note: Really building up for more and more angst here, aren't I?

Chapter 6/Masterlist

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Rhysand is gone when I wake up in the morning, the mat beside me cold, the fur not enough to fully keep the chill out. There’s some dried meat and bread laid out beside the mat for me, but he’d tied the tent flap closed whenever he’d left. I pack the food back up and start the familiar process of rolling up the fur and blankets. I have no appetite, and the more monotonous the task, the less I have to think about last night. There was no time to finish the conversation, not with the men scrambling to ensure we had no more surprises. Rhysand hadn’t come back to the tent until long after exhaustion had pulled me under. I was only coherent enough to register the warmth of his body beside mine before I’d fallen back asleep.

I wait until everything is packed, save the tent itself, to slide back into my chest piece. The leather feels heavier today. Everything does, really. I toss my quiver over my head and strap it in place, the silence making the heaviness worse. There are too many thoughts to be had inside this little tent. Too many emotions I don’t want to touch. I sigh as I untie the tent flap and step out into the early morning light. Cassian should have checked in by now, the fact that all the men are still here is a good sign.

A few of the men are already taking down their tents, the small amount of personal supplies piling up near where most of their horses graze. It won't take long for them to be saddled up and on the move again. This is a process that feels as familiar as breathing; I tear down the tent without waiting for Rhysand to come back from wherever it is he and Azriel have wandered off to--their mounts are the only ones missing from the herd but I can't see them over the rocky incline we're perched on.

Perhaps that is for the best. I think if I saw Rhys now I’d throw up. I need the answers, but I don’t know how to face them. I don’t know that I want to believe him.

I tear down the tent and get it all nice and packed away before I remember that Andras was still alive when I’d fallen asleep last night. A quick glance to where he’d been tied up shows me nothing but a blood stain and all the tears I’d tried to keep at bay last night come flooding to the surface.

I’m so tired of the bloodshed. Why does it always end this way? Is that all we are? Just brutes that kill and maim until we share the same fate? Is that all life is supposed to be?

I’m spiraling deeper and deeper by the time I hear their horses return and I am grateful I don’t have powers to advertise it to everyone the way their shadows had last night. I make myself busy, hands shaking, as I hear their boots hit the earth as they dismount. Rhys’s eyes are on my back as I tie the rolled up tent, I can feel them like a brand.

What have I done?

He and Azriel separate, one set of footfalls falling away, down the path to confer with the scouts, the other coming my way. It would be weird that I knew him by the sound of his gate if I hadn’t learned early on in life that the best way to stay safe was to mesmerize the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Can’t be underprepared for a fight if you know who’s coming your way.

Except this time, there’s nowhere to run. All the supplies are packed and they go on his horse. I might as well be chained to the beast.

“Did you eat?” He sounds as tired as he had looked last night and my chest feels like it’s going to cave in on me.

“Wasn’t hungry,” I mutter as I brush my hands over my pants and turn to face him. I should just rip the bandaid off, right? I

The jasmine and citrus scent of him is overwhelming, invading my senses; I hadn’t realized just how close he was until I’d turned, nearly into his chest. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes--something I really shouldn’t be doing, but he doesn’t have the cowl on today. I must be a sucker for pain, because I want to be able to see his face.

“Are you ok?” The same shadows that had circled his eyes last night still remain. I’m not sure he slept at all. At least we both feel miserable. Yesterday I might have been happy about it; today I just feel like an asshole.

“I’m-” Cauldron what am I? Certainly not fine, and truth be told, I don’t feel like lying about it. Not to him. Not after all the lies I’ve already spun.

“If this is about last night…” he pauses, frowning, and gives himself a little shake. “If you’ve changed your mind-”

No, no, no, we definitely cannot be talking about my loyalties! Just because I feel guilty for doing it, doesn’t mean I have to admit to it, right?

“Did you kill Andras?” I blurt instead. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, because looking at him for too long is too damn hard and I keep looking at the blood stain on that tree. And, well I am curious about that. I do want him to tell me no. I want someone, in all of this, to be less of a monster than I thought.

“Yes,” he says.

My heart plummets into my stomach.

“He slit Avos’s throat and left his body in a ditch, there were already animals feeding on him by the time we located him.”

I visibly shudder and he cups my cheek in response. “I meant what I said about not liking violence, but there are things I cannot let go unpunished.”

These are his people, those are his fighting men, it is his job as their warlord to protect them, and if he cannot, it’s his duty to avenge them. I know this. I was raised on that belief. But yet I still feel responsible. If I’d never given Tamlin a reason to throw me out, I never would have ended up here, and Lucien never would have had to bring anyone out to try and rescue me. I would have been blind to the truth of my own people, but at least no one would be dead because of me. At least my heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to rip itself from my chest to avoid all these terrible things that keep happening.

“Come on,” he gently nudges me towards where his horse is waiting, munching on some grass, when I don’t respond. I don’t miss the hurt that flashes across his features at my silence either. “We have to get moving and we have things to discuss.”

I don’t argue as he helps me into the saddle. He settles in behind me, firm and steady and I have never felt so many conflicting feelings towards a person in my life. I don’t want him to touch me until I know the truth of the matter; I need him to hold me and distract me from the reality of the situation. I want to be far away and I never want to leave all the same.

He calls for his men to get moving and in the span of five minutes, all supplies are packed and stowed and we’re once again moving along the lip of the mountain, a glittering trail of starlight trailing from his hand as he stitches the wards. The pull of his magic is stronger today, I see the ward more clearly, but more than anything I feel it. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end and that thing in my chest stirs again at its response.

It’s a long while before he speaks again. “What did Tamlin tell you about that night?” His voice is subdued, I don’t know if it’s hesitation or the strain or doing this while warding.

I shiver as I run my fingers absently through the horse’s mane. I don’t even know the animal’s name. I don’t know anything at all, not because no one told me, but because I hadn’t cared enough to ask. “He said you rode in, attacked my parents while they slept…”

A growl rumbles through his chest at that.

“He said they were dead by the time he got there and that he managed to fight you off long enough for our men to assemble and they scared the rest of you off.” I run a hand over the scar above my ear.

“Why?”

I twist in the saddle to look at him, nose brushing along the underside of his jaw. He has a scar there I hadn’t noticed, just a little nick like he’d been caught by the tip of a blade just beneath his chin. “Why what?”

“Why did he say I did it?”

“Because you could,” I whisper. “Because you wanted to put us in our place.”

He stiffens. “And you believed him?”

“I-” The truth hovers on the tip of my tongue, too much of it and he’ll see me for what I really am. “Why were you there?”

“I had a sister,” Rhysand whispers. “She was a little younger than you, I think.”

Had. My stomach flips.

“Our people had been meeting to discuss alliances against Amarantha. It was suggested that Tamlin and my sister marry, to unite us.”

I’d never even heard an alliance mentioned. My father hated the Illyrians, even in all my earliest memories. I would have been old enough to be told this was happening, my mother never so much as whispered a possibility that Tam was to marry.

“I never knew,” the words slip out as that stirring in my chest turns into a cavernous ache that might just split me right down the middle. I never knew any of this. Everyone, my father, my mother, Tamlin, hell even Lucien, lied to me.

“If I had known about you then, I would have suggested us as an alternative. She was never keen on the idea of marriage, but you were one of your father’s well kept secrets.”

Marriage? I sleep with the guy one time and he’s thinking about how he could have married me? I can’t be that good in bed. I think this idea of a mating bond is going to his head.

“It is tradition for mothers and daughters to stay a few nights with a betrothed family to ensure that they are a good fit. I was supposed to go with the convoy to make sure they arrived safely, but I got called out here to help fix a broken ward at the last minute.”

His magic stutters for a moment, as if remembering.

My stomach feels like it’s in my throat.

“As I was returning to camp, so was their convoy, or what was left of it. We got their heads in boxes.”

Tears drip down my cheeks and those illusive fangs tear right through my gums as what little magic I have flares.

“We thought it was Amarantha at first. My sister was unmarked so she could be married to someone outside of our clan and my mother…” he clears his throat. “You’ve seen our different crests. The Dark Bringers are what is left of the Night Court’s nobility. Even though they merged with the Illyrians decades ago, they always considered them lesser. They held council and refused my father’s request to mark my mother because of her lowborn status, and insisted he marry another to continue the bloodline. So neither of them bore the protection of the clan and it is Amarantha’s style to attack any unmarked for the fun of it.”

That’s why he was so insistent about me taking his mark in the beginning.

“We were halfway to the Middle, prepared to invade the Imperial City, when one of our spies sent word that there were two sets of Illyrian wings being carted around the Grasslands as trophies.”

There had been a lot of commotion that day, but I’d never seen anything, I’d been inside, dealing with one of my Mother’s episodes before that fight with Tam. I’d conveniently missed every single one of the details I’d needed to see the truth, and I can’t tell for the life of me if it was intentional on either of their parts. This could be a tactic to turn me against Tamlin, couldn’t it? I’d used my own sob story to get inside the camp. But why would he lie now? I’ve already taken his mark, I’ve already slept with him, what would he gain?

“My father intended to kill everyone when we got into camp,” he continues. “He ordered the men to kill everything that moved and burn the rest. I wanted vengeance as much as he did, I will not deny that, but I did talk him down from harming the women and children. Enough innocent blood had been shed. We agreed on that by the time we rode in, but… he was ahead of me and I had gone looking for Tamlin.”

How the hell was Tam even alive after something like this?

“In retribution, my father killed your mother first,” he swallows hard, remembering that detail, and I feel the tears fall anew down my cheeks. “I don’t know why he changed his mind or if he only said he wouldn’t so I wouldn’t stick so close to him. We never really saw eye to eye and there isn’t a day I don’t wish that I had stuck with him when we rode through camp. I could have stopped him. I could have…”

He could have saved her.

“I’m sorry,” his breath is warm on my face as he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gave up trying to find Tamlin in the chaos when I heard her scream, but I was too late. By the time I got there, your father had managed to run my father through, but not fast enough to keep his own head from rolling off his shoulders. They died together.”

“And Tamlin?” I ask softly.

“It is tradition to bury a warlord with his sword. I took my father’s sword and I left him there. He had dishonored our traditions in killing your mother, and the Illyrians would see it as a weakness that he died alongside his enemy. So I took his sword and decided that my first act as warlord would be kill Tamlin and merge what was left of your people with mine. I would not abandon the women and children, they could come live in the valley if they took my mark and swore fealty. Except I found Tamlin and Lucien, not fighting, but trying to burn what was left of my mother’s wings.”

How could they have done this? Tam could be cold and cruel but this was… horrific! And Lucien? Lucien who had always said that he and Tam would have made better poets than warriors? Lucien who had often joked that the three of us should run away and start a traveling music group?

“I nearly killed Lucien,” he continues. “Truth be told, I thought I had.”

That was one of the few things I did know. He’d been in a coma for a week.

“And I had Tamlin by the throat, but…” his hand tightens around my waist. “I heard someone calling for him, and for a moment, it sounded like when my sister would call for me. I think it might have been you, now that I’ve gotten to hear your voice. But I never saw you. I just… I realized that if I killed him, I would leave someone alone, as I had become. And I didn’t want to start out my time as Warlord by doing that. So I offered him a truce.”

Gods, I’d saved Tam by pure accident, by being so distraught that I’d done exactly what I’d always been told not to do and had yelled for him in the chaos. Worse, Tam was alive because Rhys had been the better male and in response to that mercy, he’d made Rhys out to be the monster to hide what he had done.

“We wouldn’t kill each other that night, or otherwise, and we would go our separate ways. As long as neither of us raised a hand to the other, our clans would leave each other alone.”

I don’t want to believe that Tam is capable of such atrocities, but the longer I am away from him, the more I realize just how scared of him I have been my entire life. It is not that he has done terrible things, but that deep down I was always scared he was capable of them. I walked on eggshells around him to avoid his anger. He’d lash out and throw things, push me around, belittle me, but he’d never scarred me like my father, and yet, deep down I knew there was a chance he could be pushed to those extremes, I’d just, never dared acknowledge it. Somehow, I’d always rationalized his outbursts as my fault. I pushed him. I gave him too hard a time. I was being too demanding or making too much work for him. I had not let myself consider that maybe I was not the problem in our relationship.

“Maybe I made a mistake in letting him live,” he says. “I just… I didn’t want to turn out like my father. I wanted to be better.”

What have I done? I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. Despite every reason to be the monster everyone always made him out to be, he was a good male. And I turned out to be my father’s daughter.

I slide my hand over his, intertwining our fingers. “You are the better male, Rhys.”

He squeezes my hand in return as his chin drops onto my shoulder. He has to be exhausted from warding and Lucien and keeping watch over the camp last night. The burden of carrying it alone must be astronomical.

“I’m sorry for all of it, I truly didn’t know any of it,” I say.

“Can I ask you something?”

Please no!

“Yes.”

We reach a creek that flows down from the mountain peak. In winter it might be little more than an ice bed, but for now, it is just warm enough for the water to still flow down into the grassy plains beyond.

We stop to let the horses drink, Rhysand helping me off the horse to stretch my legs, his great wings flaring out behind him, as he asks, “Why did you stay, if you thought I had killed them?”

I debate on if the creek is deep enough to drown myself in for a moment. Probably wouldn’t get very far. Especially since he’s standing chest to chest with me.

“I-” I can’t tell him the truth now. If he were to find out what I had planned to do, he’d throw me out! I’d be on my own all over again. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, go back to Tam, not after this. But now that I know the truth, I truly have nowhere to go. If he were to throw me out, I’d be on my own in the Wastes forever. No family. No shelter. No one.

I don’t know who I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t be alone again. I won’t survive out there!

The guilt may very well eat me alive, but he can’t ever know. “I wanted to see for myself what kind of male you are.”

He cups my cheek, “And what have you decided?”

There is one truth I can give him. “That there’s a lot more to you than I was told, and I’d like to know you better.”

He grins and my heart drops into my stomach. When he kisses me, I kiss him back, hands threading through his thick hair. I won’t ruin his life, he deserves to have something good and happy after all the pain my family has brought to him; I just have to lie to give it to him. I’m already in this deep, is there really any going back now?

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Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235

@landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn

@zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing, @raisam, @inloveallthetime

@blessthepizzaman, @bxtchopolis, @erencvlt

As always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! :)

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand acotar #warlord!rhys #pro rhysand #acotar fic #acotar smut #in Love and war #my writing #my acotar fics #my fanfics #rhys fic #bat boys #acotar AU

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darin-nidk · 6 months

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Prev. | Interlude |

「 Radiosilence (QPR Reader and Alastor) 」

Content: Mostly angst; t.w.: panic attack, anxiety attack, swearing, fear of abandonement, Charlie doesn't get paid to be a therapist.

"God fucking damn it", they turned on their heels as they kept walking, grunting and cussing. Their eyes focused on a chair as they kicked it across the room, effectively breaking it. Hands gripping their hair and lightly tugging at it. "How could he do this to me?!".

"I, ah, what if we take deep breaths..?", Charlie stuttered, the princess of Hell looking anxious at how this particular room was an absolute wreck, even the windows were broken — maybe she needed a hotel manager or someone with more experience than her and uhh, maybe let Vaggie pick who gets to stay in through an interview process..? The demon before her simply stared at her with a sharp glare that made her feel small.

"You have to excuse me, Charlie but, I can't take a deep breath when I feel like suffocating", such words were accompanied by them scratching the skin from their neck all the way down to their collarbone with their claws that were poking out, slightly tearing the skin and bleeding. Somehow that helped to ground them and not spiral out of control. "I can expect betrayal from everyone but him, we are waaay past that stage, we grew up together, aged together, and he disappears?! What the Hell am I supposed to expect? To feel? It's like my metaphorical heart has been ripped apart and torn into pieces, my ribcage hurts when I breath, fucking Hell!", grabbing a book from the small bookshelf, the demon named (Y/N) growled and tossed it against the wall, denting it. They were breathing heavily as they tried to calm down, usually Alastor would know how to calm them down but he was the cause.

"Charlie, you don't understand, he and I... I can feel he made a poor choice because he was cornered and not knowing what he did is driving me insane, I have a deep connection with him. Hell, if he breathes the wrong way I know what the fuck is up—". Explaining their relationship was complex, usually they got misunderstood because apparently someone couldn't care about another without having romantic feelings or whatever.

This feeling was far more complex, they were more than family and friends, soulmates was a bit of a stretch... perhaps a mirror of one another in some fancy manner of speech? And ocasionally engaged in exchanges that could be interpreted in a different light, but romance wasn't it. They had a mutual connection but no carnal desires, their company was an anchor to ground them, it was a comforting bond.

Whatever social need they required, they could satisfy with each other without any misunderstanding or, at least, if there was one then it could be easily fixed with a conversation over a hot beverage with jazz playing on the background.

But Alastor broke their bond without any fucking explanation.

"Fuck, fuck!", (Y/N) cried as they held their face, falling onto their knees. Their vision blurry due to tears rolling down their cheeks, they were having trouble breathing.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor x male reader #alastor x nb reader #🧍 he speaks

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beauspot · 3 months

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Dismantling of the Family and Destruction of Fandom Trust.

Season 3 of The Bear did something different than previous seasons and it felt...much more final this time.

Carmy and Richie are at odds the entire season and it never really lets up. Sydney and Carmy don't have one meaningful conversation this entire season. Marcus loses his mother. And everyone is growing apart.

The season has so much going on and yet at the same time, nothing really happens in season 3

While in season 2 The Bear seeks to strip its kitchen to bare bones and build it from the ground up, Season 3 tries to break its main characters down. This involves not only tearing apart their relationships, but who they are as people. Normally, I love this type of season as breaking characters down because almost always it results in entertaining drama and growth ie. Succession or Bojack Horseman

But this season starts with the crew not communicating and ends with them not communicating, the restaurant is in the same precarious position at the start as it is at the end. One thing that was nice to see was Sydney coming into her own, learning to run her kitchen with patience and strength, but while that is happening Carmy is ripping into everyone around him and this culminates in Sydney having a panic attack at the end of the season, but there’s no respite for her. She’s torn between staying with her new chosen, toxic, family or moving on to better things for herself and she can’t decide.

Highlights of the season were episode 6 and episode 8 which were the Tina and Nat centered episodes. We get to know more about Tina and where her mind is at, along with her past. In Ice Chips we get moments of reconciliation. I also really loved seeing Luca back and his overexcited puppy energy contrasted to how cool he was last season was *chefs kiss* no pun intended.

The Bear is likely closing within the next two seasons and I don't know if it will be renewed especially with this trend of ending shows super fucking early for fear of dragging it out. It would be a waste because there's still stories to tell so to have it end with everyone probably leaving as the restaurant collapses. To leave the show there is insane to me and dumb, but i’m not running it so what do I know?

I personally did not like this season and have no interest in rewatching it at this moment, though I’m sure I will at some point.

Personally I have let go of Syd and Carmy becoming romantically involved in the canon. It's sad, but clearly the writers (one in particular) have dug in their heels and nothing will change their minds so, fuck it. You guys got what you wanted, congrats! Feel free to leave your thoughts below.

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rokishimizu4 · 25 days

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Arrows and Smoke

(Realized that Bruce and Oliver were married in one past or another, but I love Roy and Jason more)

It wasn’t often that Oliver Queen found himself actually busy at a gala, as it usually him bullshitting his way through the conversation and polite smiles. However, after getting the message from Flash, it was all hands on deck.

Even poor Roy, who usually never goes to any galas, was forced to attend as Cass’s plus one. As, and Oliver would never admit it out loud, but Roy was a better, quiet, shot and Cass’s ability to read people makes for a great duo.

Oliver stood off to the side, surrounded by chatty women with big earrings and even bigger check books, and felt like he rather switch places with Flash, risked bite mark and all, but notices a man entering with his wife and twin, which was someone that he never saw before.

He was not the only one to notice as he could see Jason, damn that kid got tall, do a quick circle once and flashed a polite smile at the family as the father grabbed a glass of champagne. (Aka not familiar but not on the Bat’s hit list)

However, his attention is ripped from the strange family as Bruce strides up to him, and his group of older ladies, and asks if he could “steal” him away for a moment.

”Thank fuck, I thought those ladies wanted to strip me.” He teases as he follows after Bruce, talking nonsense to fool everyone else, but tries to keep any eye on the family-especially on how much the father drinks.

“It seems like a few of your kids couldn’t make it. Who has a gala in the middle of the day anyways?” (Aka has your kids find anything? Reason for the early meeting?) “I can barely keep up with my own business nowadays.”

”Duke and Dick are in an early meeting and Barbara is meeting her father for lunch. Cass and Damian were the only ones that could make it.” (Aka busy as all hell). “It’s been sometime since we were able to have a proper get together.”

”Tell me about it! I can barely sit down to eat without someone in my ear talking about recent events.”

The two men talk and flirt with young women for a few more hours, never drinking more than a glass or two. Keeping eyes out for anyone that could be a target. Until a crash of a metal tray hitting the polished marble.

Eyes turn towards the noise and everyone sees the father, of the small family, raising his hand towards his wife as if to smack her, but Jason got in the middle of it.

Bruce and Oliver rush to the scene, only to find the man crying while his wife stands there indifferent. As if her almost being hit was just another day for her. The twins stand a little ways off to the side with Roy and Cass.

”What is the meaning of this? Security!” Another man, the Host of the Gala, calls but Oliver holds up a hand to stop the guards.

”I believe he just needs some fresh air, I’ll escort him out. Please, continue the party.” Oliver flashes his Ollie smile and helps the man to his feet and politely drags the man out and into the fresh air.

”It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” The man mumbles, clearly having more than a few glasses of champagne but not sure what else he could have drank.

”That.. that woman… don’t let..” The man tries to continue but his eyes begin to droop, and Oliver starts to worry.

However, before Oliver could get more out of him the man starts coughing violently. He tries to keep the man on his feet and tries to call for help. He manages to get the attention of people, and calls 911.

Police and ambulance arrives even before the first ring, signaling that someone else called long before he did. The medics take the man as Oliver rushes back in, almost being trampled by the mob rushing out of the building while screaming bloody murder.

It doesn’t take long for Oliver to figure out why as the windows burst apart around the force of a ice slide rampaging through.

Several people?, burst down the ice slide cackling like children, with the twins in the arms of a red werewolf (Having the time of their lives). A winged girl, with blue and pink hair and a very revealing dress, flies down and snatches the man right out of the medic’s grip and spreads some type of dust as she flies.

A man with a black fedora mumbles spells and chants for all to hear and Oliver starts to feel dizzy as a sudden sleepiness overcomes him.

Then the strangest of all, a black and purple monster of oil follows after, carrying the screaming woman out of the building and drops her violently off at Jim’s police car. Her screaming about her head being ripped off and eaten.

Then, as if nothing happened, the group disappeared in the fedora wearing man’s smoke spell, but not before an arrow shoots through it and hits the man’s fedora.

”Nice shot kid.” Oliver whispered in awe as the police and medics quickly take over the scene, only making way for Signal and Nightwing once they are on scene.

“Commissioner Gordon, please bring this woman in for kidnapping, drug and sex trafficking, and for the murder of Mrs. Bolton, a Metropolis running mate for mayor.” Nightwing orders, and Oliver thinks that he and Roy should have stayed in Central City with the Flash.

#batman #batfam #barbara gordon #tim drake #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #damian wayne #dick grayson #stephanie brown #duke thomas #oliver queen #green arrow #roy harper #jason todd #jim gordon #symbiotic reader #only in gotham #batfam headcanons #batfam shenanigans

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mqsi · 1 year

Note

Pedri x reader imagine in which he’s secretly dating ferran’s sister (idek if ferran has a sister) so they’re going behind his back & sneaking out. Eventually ferran catches them doing the nasty & gets mad at them so ignores his sister but sira his gf talks him into apologizing to them & accepting that his sister has found love & someone who treats her well esp after dating trash men

Hey, thanks for requesting. I tried to fit everything you asked for in,but not make it too long, so I hope you like this!

warning: slight smut

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How you ended up in a secret relationship with your brother’s teammate? You would also like to know. Sneaking out every other night so you can sit in a certain green car was your life in the past few weeks.

But that doesn’t matter now, what matters is that Ferran, your brother, had invited quite a few of his friends over for a pool party. Which of course includes Pedri. You two were now on a mission of pretending you don’t wanna rip each others clothes off in front of everyone.

Pedri and Gavi arrived together and Ferran asked you to go offer them drinks.

“Why can’t you just go? Those are your friends”

“What? Are you shy all of the sudden? You got along pretty good up until now, just go there” Ferran replied.

Yeah, exeptionally good with one of them, you thought to yourself. The boys were sitting next to the water and you approached them slowly. You felt Pedri’s gaze on you, you were wearing a swimsuit but pulled on a pair of shorts. As you stood in front of them, Pedri looked to the side and let out a fake cough.

“Hey, long time no see” you said and Gavi tried to hold in his laugh.

“I hope you’re only referring to me, I’m pretty sure you pulled down the passanger seat in the Mini last night,it was more far back when I sat in it this morning?” Gavi said, making Pedri glare at him from the side. You went pale, switching from looking at the two boys.

“Pedri” you whisper yelled and he put his arms up in defense. “I had to tell him, he’s the only one that knows”

Gavi just smirked proudly.

You sighed and composed yourself.

“Alright I came here to ask you what you wanna drink, now act normal” you said. The boys nodded, telling you their drinks of choice and you went back inside.

The party was going good, you played volleyball in the pool, made coctails etc.

“What the fuck Ferran!” Pedri suddenly yelled when Ferran poured beer on his shirt.

“Shit, sorry bro, someone pushed me. You can get a shirt from my closet”

You were following the whole conversation and quickly jumped in.

“Yeah I can show you where they are” you said, smiling at Pedri before looking at Ferran. He nodded, making you rush inside the house.

Pedri and you got upstairs and before you knew it, his dirty shirt was on the floor and he pushed you up againt the wall in the closet.

“Fuck you and that teasing swimsuit” he said, hands roaming all over your body.

“It was just for you Pedro” you replied before he slammed his lips against yours. His fingers were quick to pull your bottoms aside, slipping a finger in.

“Fuck” you moaned against his mouth and felt him push in another. Just then, the door opened.

“What is taking you two so-“

You jumped, pulling the bottoms back in place. You didn’t have time to think of an excuse when Ferran slammed Pedri against the wall.

“Are fucking kidding me right now?” He yelled in his face.

“Hey I can-“ Pedri tried to explain himself but to no use.

“You can’t do shit Pedro” he continued now, yanking hard at his shoulder. Gavi rushed in the closet as well, pushing Ferran off of Pedri and standing in between them.

“So you knew about this too?”

Gavi nodded slowy. Ferran laughed and looked at you, then back at the two boys.

“So the whole team knew Pedri was fucking my sister and no one even thought about telling me?”

You had to jump in and defend yourself.

“This is the exact reason why I didn’t tell you anything! First of all you can’t decide who I fuck or not and Pedri and I have something more going on here. I love him and you can’t do shit about it” you said before leaving outside.

Ferran’s night ended with his girlfriend, explaining her the whole situation.

“I don’t get it” she said

“Yeah I don’t get it either” Ferran replied.

“No, I don’t get you? She’s obviously happy with him plus you two are friends and you know Pedri’s a good guy. What is the problem?”

“The problem is they’ve been fucking behind my back!”

“So what? You can’t stand the fact that your sister loves somebody and makes love to them? How old are you, 2 or 3?”

Ferran kept quiet.

The next morning, he called Pedri.

“Hey” Pedri said, his voice serious.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for reacting the way I did, I’ve got nothing against you two being together”

“I’m not the one who should hear that, make sure you let her know” Pedri replied.

After that, Ferran made sure to have a nice talk with you.

“yeah you can be together, I have no word in there. And I’m sorry” he said,finishing his speech and hugging you.

You hugged him back before slapping his head.

“You’re an idiot”

——————————————————————————

a/n: Gavi stopping a fight is definietly the biggest fiction part here

#footballer imagine #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri smut #pedri barça #pedri blurb #pedri x reader #x reader #pedri x you #pedri #gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pedriandgavi #ferran torres #fc barca #pedri one shot #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n

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thegoldheartlocketandkey-blog · 7 months

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911 Spoilers Season 3: You’ve been warned. 😅 Buddie Rewatch

Episode 4: Triggers

The 118 doing a fire drill, the 118 not preforming well. They are about 17 minutes behind on schedule.

Buck is the new Fire Marshal. This is his light duty. He is taking it serious in the hopes of eventually being a fire fighter again.

A bunch up of people fall down the stairs because a man has an epileptic seizure. This is apparently working against the 118s total score.

We meet the ambulance chaser attorney.

Chimney disclosing to Eddie his crisis with Maddie, while Eddie is super sleepy. He’s yawning because Christopher isn’t getting any proper sleep.

Buck shows up to the fire house to give them their training report. Light banter between him and Bobby about revenge for all the write up and Eddie making fun of Buck because he is “not good at math”

Buck mentions receiving a call from the ambulance chaser attorney about the fire code issues at the building the training was held at.

Lena interrupts and calls Eddie over to help spot her bench press. Eddie taps Buck on the shoulder and says, “Good to see ya Buck”, and runs towards Lena. Buck is confused and asks who Lena is. Which prompts side eyes and concerned faces from Chimney and Hen. They walk away awkwardly and leave Bobby alone to make the introduction.

Buck already feels replaced and out right states, “You’ve replaced me.” Bobby is quick to say no, but Buck is quicker to point out that his cubby that normally says Buckley is covered up with the name Bosko.

Bobby telling Buck to relax that his place at the fire house will be there when he is ready. Buck argues that he is ready now. Their conversation is cut short because of an emergency call. Everyone else runs out of the firehouse. They pan to Eddie and Lena together and then back to Buck as he stands there in the middle and all these firefighters run past him.

Buck walks over to his locker and rips off Bosco’s tag off.

I always wondered what happened after the team came back from the emergency. Did they notice right away that Bosco’s name was ripped off. Did Bobby apologize on behalf of Buck. Did Eddie make an excuse for him?

Eddie is asleep and is awaken by Christopher's screams.

Christopher is obviously terrified and Eddie hugs him tight trying to comfort him.

Eddie is talking to Christopher’s therapist, where we learn that Chris is continuously drawing a drowning woman and trying to understand what he may be processing.

Eddie is the one to mention how hard Buck tried to shield Chris as best he could, but there was a long period where they were separated.

Buck is speaking with the attorney regarding the possible lawsuit against the building, but turns out it is a lawsuit against the city. Buck is not interested at being involved in a lawsuit against. Even gives a speech to the attorney about how those city employees are his family before walking out of his office.

Car off the Cliff: Chimney and Lena descend down the cliff to get towards the car. Eddie and Hen remain above. Eddie is responsible for the rig. When the car than drops another 20 feet, Eddie’s leg is almost cut off by the rope.

Eddie and Lena are at the edge of the cliff, facing towards each other when the cliff starts to give out a little more. They runaway from the edge, Bobby radios Chim and tells him he needs to move now.

Chim and the little boy starts to ascend up, Eddie cuts the rope, allowing the car to fall to the bottom of the cliff.

Athena invited Buck over for dinner, without first telling Bobby. She wants to create an environment where Buck knows he is always welcome.

Buck is quick to disclose how the conversation with the attorney went and how he was quick to turn down signing an affidavit that would have gone against 118. Bobby is thankful, but at the same time reserved, we learn that he has not disclosed something to Buck yet.

Buck uses that conversation to further discuss going back to work full time and how maybe a petition is what they need to get past the “dumbasses” who is stopping him from going back to work.

Bobby announces that he is the dumbass. That he is the reason why Buck cannot go back to work. Bobby is using the fact that Buck is on blood thinners as the excuse. Buck becomes visibly upset and challenges Bobby. He reiterates that he is at 100% and very capable of being a firefighter again.

At this point there is too many emotions, Buck stands up from his seat and thanks Athena for the invite and storms off.

Bobby and Athena attempt to get him to stay, but he ultimately leaves angry and slams the door.

I really feel for Buck in this scene. He was under the impression that his captain had his back, but turns out that Bobby was in the way of the one thing he wanted. I also understand Bobby’s point about wanting Buck to be safe and making sure the team will be safe, they can’t worry about Buck out in emergencies. This moment felt like a teenage boy fighting with his parents, both sides being misguided.

Buck is back in the attorney’s office. This time wanting to sue the city himself.

The attorney is very vocal about what opening this lawsuit could do to Buck and the possible consequences for his future. Buck is simply concerned with being a fire fighter again and he is willing to do anything to be that again.

The attorney than proceeds to lay out the rules and how he cannot be in contact with anyone in the firehouse. Buck admitting that he already believes that cannot talk to any one any way. He is fighting this battle alone.

Eddie is punching a punching bag and talking to Lena about Chris’ therapy and the advice Eddie received about keep loving him.

It seems like Eddie is a bit hesitant of this therapy approach. Lena is very playful with Eddie. She also becomes very vulnerable with him and tells him about the time she went to therapy when her father died. It did not work for her, but she also notes that different people need different solutions to process their trauma.

Lena mentions that she does not know Christopher, but that something that worked for her when she was younger was when her mother would process her emotions with her. When her mother was sad in front of her and that it was okay. She is suggesting Eddie takes this approach. That they approach this together. Eddie admits that it was good advice. Lena stares at Eddie with what I can describe as admiration.

I honestly do not know what the writers were planning with Lena and Eddie. They were playful and flirty with each other, but Eddie did always seem closed off to her. We got to learn about Lena being vulnerable, but Eddie not really, at least not with her. Maybe there was a one side crush.

Eddie is putting Christopher to bed. Being playful. Eddie takes a moment to tell Chris that he can tell him anything. Chris says that he knows. Eddie starts to say I love you, and good night as he starts walking out the room.

Eddie pauses at the door and looks over to a drawing that is hung up on the bulletin. It’s a drawing of Shannon, Eddie, and Chis together as a family. The drawing of Shannon looks familiar.

Eddie walks over to the dinning room and pulls out Chris’ recent drawing of the drowning woman. He compares the two photos and understands Chris has been drawing his mother drowning.

Eddie confirms this with Chris and asks him why he didn’t tell him that. Chris responds with, “I don’t want to make you sad.”

They hug and Eddie reassures Chris that there is nothing wrong with being sad and they can always talk to each other

Buck shows up to Bobby and Athena’s late in the evening, apologizes for the previous night. Athena is quick to invite Buck in, but Buck refuses.

Buck lets them know that he is suing the city, the firehouse, and Bobby for wrongful termination. That they will no longer be able to talk and that Buck will not stop fighting until he gets his job back even if that means fighting Bobby.

I was going to combine Episode 4 and 5 notes, but realized Episode 5 had a lot of notes. I may post Episode 5 today, but later in the day, because if I want to post most of my notes before the Season 7 premier, that may just be something I need to do. I really don't care if these post get alot of engagement, I had a lot of fun re-watching the series and really dissecting Buck and Eddie.

I will say, that between Season 2 and Season 3 there is already vast differences and nuances in Buck and Eddies relationship. I'll likely make a stand alone post about that after I finish transcribing all my notes for this season.

#buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #buck x eddie #911 spoilers #911 fandom #911 show #evan buckley #9 1 1 #911 rewatch

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 days

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Dinner Date Chapter 35

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>> (in progress)

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 35: The Mission Part 2

Chapter Summary: In the wake of the Winter Soldier's attack and reveal, an important conversation is had, and Steve and his partner decide what they want going forward.

Chapter Word Count: 7214

A/N: Two chapters in one month! It barely counts, I think, because these are basically two halves of a whole, but I’m probably going to be mad at myself next month when I’m struggling to get out the next part. For now though: no regerts <3 Enjoy.

I managed to drag myself through work. Not especially well, if I was going to judge by the way everyone else gave me a wide berth that grew even wider as the day went on. But I did my job and I didn’t bite anyone’s head off, so I didn’t really care. Walking towards the subway after work, I was flipping through my messages; I had texted Steve a few times through the day, just checking in, but there was still nothing from him, so I sent another one.

Me: Text me when you’re out of medical

I didn’t want him to go home and be alone, and I doubted he would go be with anyone else right now. It wasn’t really about ego, just about practicality– Sam would want to talk about things, Natasha was super awkward, I could only imagine how awkward Clint might be, there was no way he had the patience for Tony…and so on. By process of elimination, I was the only one who might let him get away with pretending like he was fine. I didn’t actually intend to– but he didn’t have to know that.

There was still no response when I walked the last leg home, nor was there anything a half hour after that. I kept pacing around, checking my phone every few minutes, until my unease was too much to bear.

Me: Hey Me: You can tell me you don’t want to talk to me Me: But at least tell me you’re all right Me: Or else I’m going to get Natasha

A few knocks came just seconds later and I tripped over myself, accidentally running into the wall next to the door on my way to check the peephole. I breathed a giant sigh of relief at the hulking mass of blond man hunched outside, and I practically ripped open the door.

He was distracted by something down the hall so he didn’t look at me right away, but when he did, he blinked. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I rubbed my sore shoulder a bit and tried for a smile. “Nice of you to call.”

The way his face fell when he didn’t even look that happy to start with was heartbreakingly impressive. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I’m off duty right now and I don’t want to be alone,” he said and hunched in on himself– and winced as he did so.

“Hey, hey, it’s all good and I’m glad you’re here.” I pulled him inside (gently) and as soon as the door was shut, I kissed him. “But if you rip open a stitch or otherwise hurt yourself, I’m going to be pissed.”

His smile was wry, like a punch of sarcasm all on its own. “Pissed enough to rip out all of my stitches?”

“If you’re going back to the hospital we might as well make it worth the trip, and quell some of my rage while we’re at it.” But it didn’t feel very funny, considering how Steve was right now, and how he got that way. “I– I didn’t mean– I wouldn’t–”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said gently.

I sighed. “Can you handle me being super neurotic?” I asked, only partly joking.

“Can you?” he asked, even less joking. He pushed his hair back with one hand. “I’m pretty sure I’m worse company right now.”

“You’re not bad company. I’m glad you’re here.” I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my head to his chest. “Saves me a trip to your apartment. And you know how cranky I get after the subway.”

“Well, I’m pretty cranky right now too.” But he wrapped one arm around me and breathed deeply. “I really should have called, huh?”

“It was mostly a joke. You’ll get it when you check your phone messages.” I stayed there for a few more moments, and when I pulled back, I took one of his hands. The other had a backpack in it, but I didn’t comment on it. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said and let me lead him over to the couch.

“Something light?” I asked hopefully. “You need to eat to heal up.”

He looked askance, but I continued to stare at him, so when he finally did look at me, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see me. He hesitated, so I took a chance and tried to look as sincere as possible. Surprisingly, that got him. “Something light and small,” he said firmly.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said and squeezed his hand before leaving him to get comfy while I tried to figure out something we could both stomach.

Dinner was…fine. Awkward, with both of us trying to find something to talk about that wasn’t…well, unappetizing. Afterwards we did cuddle for a bit, carefully, and he started to relax a little. I could feel it, with how he let his head drift into my shoulder, the way his body started to curl into mine…

And I, trying to get more comfortable, lifted my foot to set it on the table only to shove it into our half-empty dinner containers, knocking them down to the other side of the table where they cracked open, making an immediate mess and ruining everything.

“Fuck,” I said as Steve sat up and away. I almost told him to ignore it and come back, but he was already bracing himself to get up, so instead I tried damage control. “I’m sorry; stay here and I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s fine, I can help,” he said and, stubborn jerk he was, went to the kitchen. That was better than the alternative, though, so I went to pick up the trash and waited on my knees for him to get back with the paper towels. He wouldn’t be doing any bending or crouching if I could help it; he was still moving stiff and careful, and I really didn’t want him to have to go back to the hospital. I wanted him here; safe and warm and not bleeding.

“Thanks,” I said as he put the trash containers in the bag they came in and tied it firmly shut. I did one last wipe around the floors to make sure I got all the splatter. Once I was certain I wouldn’t have any weird smells in the aftermath, I went to add them to the trash can.

Only to see Steve, with the lid propped open and the food bag still in his hand, staring at it like he was trying to solve an equation. Admittedly, the trash was very full. He even looked at me, at it, and back at me again. He gestured at the used paper towels in my hand. “I don’t think even those are going to fit.”

“Very funny,” I said, but it was nice to hear him joke. Even if it was stupid.

I dumped the paper towels, and then, since he was pinning the can already, took the trash bag out and helped him shove the smaller bag down in there before tying the whole thing off. “See? No problem.”

“Your ability to put chores off to the last possible second continues to inspire,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, I’m amazing,” I said and flexed. He motioned his hand for the bag. I shook my head. “I’ve got it. Go sit down; I’ll be right back.”

Something changed in his expression. It was more like a flash, like there was something in his eyes, or the way his lips moved, but I wasn’t fast enough to really take note, let alone name it.

However, he then shook his head, swallowed, and tried for lightness that was very obviously fake when he said, “Why don’t you let me take it?” He even moved to do just that, but he stopped just before I could poke him right in the stomach.

“Get back on the couch, Stitches,” I said. “I’d have thought you’d be glad not to have to deal with the trash.”

“Better me than you, considering the amount you manage to accumulate,” he said, eyeing the bag.

“Watch it, mister, or I will beat you with it.” I slipped on my flip-flops. “Hang tight; I promise I’ll be right back.”

“Let me come with,” he said quickly. “I won't touch the bag. Promise.”

“Steve,” I said, trying to be gentle because he had every right to be as paranoid as he wanted to be, but it wasn’t good for him. “I’ll be fine. Two minutes.”

He stepped close and gave me…the puppy eyes. Damn him. “Humor me?” he asked and there was nothing light or joking in his tone. So I caved, and let him do what he needed to do. Admittedly, it was nice to have someone open the door for me, but when he winced at lifting the chute cover, I glared him down until he backed off and stood watch. Once the garbage was done with, I opened my arm to him, and he forced a brief smile, linked his arm with mine, and we walked back home together and flopped onto the couch.

“See?” he said with a little too much ‘told you so’ for a man who basically supervised one of the easiest (if most annoying) household chores.

“I saw quite a bit,” I said and poked at his bicep. However I then started rubbing it, and when he actually let out a sigh that sounded like relief I started in earnest. “Are you sore?”

“In some places more than others,” he admitted. “I’m…mostly just tired, I think.”

“Okay. A little rub-down, and then we’ll hit the hay,” I said.

He actually took the bait. “What kind of rub-down?” he asked, but while his voice was light, it wasn’t as enthusiastic as he might have been normally, even if all he was going to do was make a stupid follow-up to my already stupid joke.

Still, I gave it some thought. “Would you like that kind of ‘rub-down?’” I asked, because sometimes an orgasm was a nice way to relax yourself for sleep, and if anybody needed to let out a little tension, Steve was it.

He actually took my suggestion for careful consideration. And I had my answer when his face fell. “Maybe I am worse off than I thought,” he said, almost mournfully.

I stood up, and held out my hands to him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

He let me take one hand but used the other one to push himself off the couch. He-of-little-faith wasn’t wrong in assuming I couldn’t do much right now, given I was tired too, but it was still vaguely insulting. “I can’t even surprise you by picking you up,” he complained as we made the short trek.

“Oh noooo,” I said, mocking sadness. “Whatever will I d-o!”

Steve wrapped his arms around me from behind and yanked me back into him so he could bite the back of my neck. I let out a laugh and smacked at his hand. “Fucking vampire.”

“Mm hm,” he said and nuzzled that part of my skin. Getting ready for bed was extra challenging, because Steve was so reluctant to let go. And reluctant to acknowledge that in any way. I tried to give him a hint with a hip bump or two, but he came right back next to me, touching or holding whatever he could, and I did my best to work around it. No wonder he was still exhausted, if he was still this on edge and hypervigilant, but we got into bed without tripping over each other, and while Steve didn’t let me lay on top of him, he did pull me right up close to his body, and draped an arm and leg over me. Despite all that, though, he barely relaxed.

“SHIELD’s wasting time on a security detail for me,” I said softly, running my hand up and down his arm.

“I know,” he said. He swallowed. “And it’s not a waste of time.”

“So sleep,” I said, forestalling the argument that was going to come out of that last part. “If anything happens, you’ll know about it.”

He sighed. “I wish it was that easy.”

“I know,” I said. “But…try.”

He blinked a few times, but nodded a bit and shut his eyes, at least. I shut my eyes, and tried to stay awake with him, but exhaustion was too strong, and I could only hope it was the same for him.

I woke to the sound of my alarm and had an immediate reaction of ‘fuck no’ so strong that I flopped around for my phone and took it in hand. Steve was stirring, which made me a little mad, since he actually had fallen asleep at some point. I checked the time, but I knew my boss was up, since he was definitely an early riser, and when I called him to call out of work for the day, my voice was so naturally rough he let it go without a comment other than a generic wish to get well soon.

At the end I croaked out a “Thanks,” hung up, and snuggled back next to Steve.

He pulled me even closer and chuckled. “Liar, liar, pants on fire…”

I grabbed Moo Cow Milk Tea and thwapped Steve in the head with him. “Go back to sleep, or I will literally set your pants on fire.”

“But you’ll buy me a new pair,” he said and nuzzled me.

“Nope; I’ll let you do the walk of shame.”

“Or maybe you just want to keep me here. Pantsless.”

I smiled and tried to hold back my laughter. “Ah, you have discovered my nefarious plan to keep you all to myself forever,” I said as flatly as I could. “You may never leave now that you know my villainous secret, Captain America.”

“A villain has me in her bed and only wants to take my pants?” He kissed my neck. “You might be the worst wanna-be evil-doer I’ve ever faced.”

“Watch it, buddy; I think that Porcupine asshole is way less efficient than me. I mean, how are you going to fight other bad guys without pants? They’d never take you seriously.”

“But then they’d be too busy laughing and I’d beat them handily.”

“Because you’re shameless.”

He chuckled against my head. “Because I’m shameless.”

We went back to sleep together, but I woke up alone to the late morning sun. Moo Cow Milk Tea was on Steve’s pillow, positioned on his back with his arms (mostly) behind his head, like he was relaxing. I snorted at the sight.

“I tried to get his legs to cross, but they wouldn’t stay,” Steve said as he walked in with two cups of coffee.

“It’s so nice to see the two of you finally getting along,” I said, and made grabby hands for one of the mugs.

“It’s a stuffed animal,” Steve scoffed as he sat in his spot, but he gave me what I was nonverbally asking for. However as soon as that hand was free, he grabbed Moo Cow Milk Tea and tossed him flippantly behind himself, where the poor inanimate object hit the wall and fell to the floor.

I stifled laughter and focused on swallowing the drink I was trying to take in. Once it was safely down my gullet, I said, “A stuffed animal you gave me.”

“So I can take it back,” he said faux-snobbishly.

I gave him a serious look. “One: no,” I said flatly, even though I knew he didn’t mean it. “Two: it’s a stuffed animal you gave me and that’s why I like it, you doofus.” I blew on the hot liquid. “It’s nice to have around when you aren’t here.”

“Well…I guess that’s all right then,” he said, slightly mollified and dropping the act. He leaned in for a kiss, and I rolled my eyes but met him halfway.

“Morning,” I said as I sat back.

He bobbed his head, and smiled a little bitterly. “Yeah. It– it sure is a morning,” he said, looking down at his cup.

“Did you eat?”

He grimaced. “I’m not hungry,” he said. He barely had the words out before his stomach rumbled, and he ducked into his shoulders more as a light flush graced his face.

“Your stomach disagrees,” I said as sympathetically as I could. Needing to eat but not wanting to– been there; who hadn’t.

“I don’t know what it’s talking about,” he said sourly and took another drink.

“Hmm.” I sipped mine. “What about just trying some toast? It’s relatively easy to get down, but if you decide you really don’t want any, I can finish it up for you.”

He was quiet, and kept his mouth close to the lip of his mug. I didn’t think the coffee was helping much with whatever nausea he might have been feeling, but he didn’t need me nagging at him. He was a grown man; he could decide if and when he wanted to eat. For the moment I simply enjoyed his company, and the start of a day relatively sheltered from the ambient noise of the city in motion outside. After a few minutes, he capitulated. “Maybe just a couple of slices,” he said quietly.

When he got some food in him, though, his appetite opened up, though he was hesitant to indulge it. I tried to make suggestions, but when he started being more resistant, I backed off. Much of the day passed like that, in a weird, quiet haze, with me trying to take care of Steve with intermittent suggestions of food and shower and rest, and he allowed it at certain increments, and to certain points that didn’t make much sense to me. He relented to a shower, but refused the nice warm clothes I tried to give him; he ate a bowl of cereal, but shook his head on my offer to order a good lunch, even though he was obviously still hungry.

I didn’t know if he was in his head and doing this for reasons known only to him, or if this was a weird act of self-recrimination– take only the bare minimum I could give, or asked him to do, and allow himself no other comfort from it. I didn’t like the implications, but talking was also not something he was willing to do much of. Being at home on a random work weekday was surreal enough, and Steve being quiet and moody only added to it.

I was still happier to have him with me, though. The thought of him having to suffer alone at home was a miserable one. Maybe the day kind of sucked. But the whole situation sucked, and was going to suck no matter what. I leaned against him in relief, and after only a moment of tensing, he relaxed, and wrapped his arm around me.

In the evening, after coaxing him into finally having his first real, full meal of the day, he was sitting on the couch, fiddling with something while I cleaned up and got some drinks together. When I got back to the couch, Steve was flipping through a thin, battered-looking folder.

“What’s that?” I asked as I sat down next to him.

“The new file we found on the Wi- on Bucky,” Steve said and let it flop shut. He was quiet and I let him be as he sank back into the couch cushion, looking lost in thought.

I nudged his arm. “I got that fancy juice you like,” I said and held it to him.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he said, words without thought, but he did take the drink and sip at it. He held it down on his thigh and sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so…”

I made sure he wasn’t going to finish that sentence before I responded. “You get to be any which way you want right now,” I said. “There’s no right or wrong way to deal with this.”

“Sam’s got suggestions,” he said wryly.

“Because he’s your friend,” I said. “He knows therapist shit because it’s his wheelhouse and his interest. But you know anything he tells you now is because he cares about you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just…don’t know that I deserve it.”

I leaned against him and chewed on that. “Is it better to think that?” I asked quietly. “Does it make you feel better to think that–”

“There’s no feeling better right now,” he said, flat, fast. He shook a little and I sat up to see tears barely brimming at his eyes. He actually let them fall. Or maybe he just had so little control right now. I could wish for the former, but I feared it was the latter. He swallowed a couple of times, and confirmed said fear when the tears stopped and he abruptly rubbed his face dry. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “No judgement, but is touch okay, or not okay?”

He gave it some thought. “Small touch,” he said, in a small voice. I was slow as I slid my hands over one of his, but when he didn’t flinch away, I held it, and pushed back the desire to grip it for dear life.

“I have to find him,” he said. He wrapped his fingers around mine and looked at me. “I have to help him.”

I nodded. Of course he was going to; this was Bucky, he was Steve’s everythi-

Oh.

A lump lodged in my throat. Logically I knew this might happen, and still I couldn’t help but be stupid and selfish about it. “Of course,” I said, shoving back all the ugly feelings I didn’t want to know the details of. I hated what had been done to him too, and while I didn’t know Bucky, I knew enough via Steve to want him safe and happy. By proxy if nothing else. “Are you…are you going to–…do you want to–…is this–…”

“Oh, God.” Steve inhaled sharply and gripped my hand tighter. “Sweetheart, no, I– I have no idea where his head’s at. I know he’s been back in the city at least twice. That he did everything in his power to make sure I didn’t notice him once.” He swallowed again. “I love him. I knew I always would. Like I love Peggy, and always will.” He turned and leaned his forehead in to touch mine, and I could hear– and feel– how ragged his breathing was. “And I love you. Right now. And nothing can change that. I’m not leaving you; this isn’t– unless you want–”

“I don’t, I don’t,” I said quickly. I swallowed back some of that emotion, now that imminent doom wasn’t hanging over my head. “I just know how much he means to you.”

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” he asked and gave me a small, slow kiss.

“I try,” I admitted, because thinking too much about that felt…egotistical in a way I still couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, maybe. Not now, though; not with Bucky back throwing everything for a loop. Well, for a definition of ‘back.’

“But…”

I looked up. His eyes were still down. “I will have to leave at some point. Physically, at least.” He looked right at me, forcing eye contact and squeezing my hand hard when I tried to look away. “I don’t know how long it will be, how long it will take, but I have to find him. I have to help him.”

I opened my mouth on instinct. “I–”

“Just– listen for a moment,” he said, and at that point he looked away again. I did as he said and waited, until he gathered himself together again. “I don’t want to break up. But I know this situation is…it’s fucked. It’s all fucked up and you don’t have to deal with it– no, I know you care, I know everyone cares, but this is so much more than anyone should have to deal with. I’m choosing it. Actively. Even if it means going against SHIELD.” He gave me a wry smile. “They don’t trust the Winter Soldier, and I understand why. But I trust Bucky. I know he’s been getting on all right, but after this last time…it’s obvious his luck won’t hold forever, and now that I know he’s alive, whether he wants anything to do with me or not, I still have to do this. No matter what, I have to help him, and to do that, I have to find him. I might be gone more frequently, and for longer. And asking you to wait for me while I chase after him is…”

He shook his head and sat up, backing away from me just slightly. “It’s a lot. I know it is, and while I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know what you’ll say right now, I am asking you, sincerely, to take time and really, really think about it. I would not think one bit less of you if you decide it’s too much, but I can’t stand the thought of you committing to me, committing to all of this mess, without really, truly, thinking it through.” He looked at me again. “And when I say that, I mean I want you to think about what you want too. Not just what you think is the right answer, or what you think I want. So please, can you take some time, and really think it over?”

I knew what I wanted to say, but he gave me a stern look. I stuck out my tongue, and he actually moved as if to nip at it. “Hey!” I said in mock-offense, but some of the tenson broke, and Steve came back to me, smiling, and nipped at my lips until I opened up and let him in.

I tried to hold back, but part of me wanted to devour him; take all this comfort for all it was worth, but I drank him in steady doses, until he slowed, and we rested our heads together in silence.

The rest of the night was pretty quiet. The TV felt too loud, and none of my music sounded right, so I let it be, and so did Steve. After a while he picked up the slim folder again and started flipping through it, on the side opposite me, and I tried to respect his wishes and keep my eyes away. I could have gone to get a book. Or pulled out my phone. Instead, I sat there, and stayed in the comforting knowledge that, right now, Steve was here, and Steve was safe.

He wouldn’t always be. I tried to do as he asked, but my answer was much the same– if Steve didn’t want to end things with me, I didn’t want to end things with him. I saw no point in dragging that out. I loved Steve, but he was already complicated as all hell. He was an active-duty hero, who didn’t know when to quit, who had a lot of PTSD and issues and…love. He and Peggy weren’t together anymore, but he still loved her. Bucky was– had been– gone, but Steve’s love for him was sometimes strong enough I could almost picture him on Steve’s other side when he was sitting beside me, the few times he felt good enough to indulge in those stories.

So I had to wonder– was I okay with that maybe being a reality? True, we didn’t know where Bucky’s head was at, and the guy had a hell of a lot going on these days; but given Steve had, apparently, broken intense and painful brainwashing not once but twice, it felt stupid to think there were no shared feelings there. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with him again, for whatever reason. But they both still loved each other. Was I okay enough to deal with that?

“I’m not going anywhere,” I blurted out. Steve’s hand slowly stopped its absent sliding up and down the page, and he flipped the manila folder shut. I stared at my lap. Was it foolish? Maybe. Was it easy? It probably wouldn’t be. Did I still know the answer with a certainty I’d never had for anything else in my life? Unequivocally yes. Which just made me second-guess myself more, honestly. “I don’t know what else you want me to do to prove it, but…I know what I want. And I want to stay with you.” I swallowed any potential lingering fear and doubt, and shut my hands to tight fists. “I’m not going to overthink it– I’m just going to take you at your word, and trust that you want me. So…trust me too.”

I kept my head down, but he slid his hands over mine, curled his fingers to hold my fists, and squeezed. “Okay,” he said softly. “So…we’re in this together.”

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were a little misty, and he didn’t move to ‘fix’ them. “Yeah,” I said. I uncurled my fists and turned my hands so I could squeeze his in return. “We’re in it together. All of it.” I paused. “Except for any punchy bits. You can keep those.”

He let out a watery little laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Trust me, you don’t want me. I can’t even take out a fly at work that’s been making my life hell for like a fucking week now.”

He started laughing, though he also tried not to. “That sounds real tough, Sweetheart.”

I widened my eyes and gave him the saddest pout I could manage. “My life is the hardest, ever.”

He broke. Mostly into laughter, but the tear dam fell a bit too– not a lot, but some. He swallowed and blinked them back, or out, and I brushed my fingers over the escapees to dry his cheeks. He took my hand and almost smiled, but his expression straightened into something serious. “On a sort of related note, I want to ask you for just one more thing,” he said. He looked right at me. “Don’t refuse the SHIELD detail.”

I let out a tiny little sigh that I wanted to make a much, much bigger sigh, but also didn’t want to antagonize him into an actual fight. “Steve–”

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I know– maybe it’s overbearing, but Bucky– he is the Winter Soldier. He almost killed Fury. He almost killed me. The mention of his code name terrified Natasha to the point where she couldn’t hide it. He is coming off brainwashing and drugs and training and while I know the man I love is still in there, I also know what can still happen if the wrong people get at him.” He put my hand over his bandaged shoulder. “And I won’t risk you for anything. Not even him.”

It still seemed silly– if Bucky was some big-time assassin, what could a couple of SHIELD agents do other than maybe get killed. If everyone really was as worried for me as they kept saying they were, then I doubted I would be allowed the free rein I (apparently) still had over my life and where I went and what I did.

But…I kept circling around that last part, and the implication it held. That if Steve had to, he’d go to the mat for me. For me. And while it was probably some (more than a little) for Bucky too, since the man Steve knew and loved wouldn’t have wanted to be a killer of random civilians, the sentiment still punched all the hot air right out of me. “Will it really make you feel better?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said without one iota of hesitation.

I sighed for real. “Fine.” It made me uneasy– because if Bucky did come around, I didn’t think SHIELD was going to be as lenient in their use of force as maybe Steve would, given Fury’s entire demeanor at that meeting and how even Phil had looked so tense, but even if Bucky knew about me, I truly believed he didn’t care one way or the other, and that was about the only thing that made this tolerable.

“Thank you.” Steve kissed me. “You won’t even notice them.”

“So everyone keeps telling me, but I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you all think it is,” I said dryly. It got a little chuckle out of him, and an understanding (perhaps commiserating) nod. I sighed. Well, that was that. However…

“I, uh…I do have one other thing about all this to bring up,” I said. I probably would have felt worse about it, but I was entirely drained. “Sharon drove me home after…after I visited you in the SHIELD medical…thing. She mentioned she was waiting to see Peggy in person to tell her, but I…I asked if she would let you give her the news instead.”

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything but exhausted, and stared down at his lap. “I don’t…I don’t know how to even say it.”

“I know.” I took both his hands in both of mine and squeezed. “It’s going to suck, and it’s going to hurt, and you don’t have to, but…I think you should. I think she should hear it from you. I think you should be there for each other.” I swallowed hard. “I’m gonna be here for you for every bit of this, day or night, whatever, whenever you need, but…no one’s going to feel this the way the two of you are. And I think you should. Together.”

He squeezed back, and we just sat like that, for several minutes. Over that time, he slowly folded in on himself, and I leaned on him, and I let his tears flow over my hands like water draining from a cracked cup, until eventually they stopped, and he lifted himself up. Just slightly. “You’re right,” he said. “I want…I need to be the one to tell her.”

I was silent while Steve pulled himself back together. I did try to help dry some of the tears, and he leaned into my hand. “‘Whatever, whenever,’ huh?” He gave me an attempt at a smile. “What if I need company for a run at four a.m.?”

“You know I can’t run,” I said. But since his tone was only barely a joke, I added, “…But, we can walk. And I’ll limit myself to only three complaints.”

He actually perked up. “What if I get you a coffee?”

I tried not to show that I was biting down an internal scream. He was actually going to do this to me, I could already tell. But there was still seriousness even in his teasing, and it wasn’t like he slept great before all this bullshit happened, so, in the interest of making sure I would still be a safe place for my boyfriend to come to while the rest of his life fell down around him, I fucking sucked it up. “Coffee will bring me down to…two complaints.”

His smile grew a little more and he turned his head to give my hand a kiss before he sat back. “I won’t abuse that privilege,” he said, a little too seriously.

“You might have to come shake me awake,” I warned him. “But. You know where I sleep.”

“Mm.” He smiled weakly. “That actually sounds nice right now.”

“Yeah?” It really did, and if Steve thought he could sleep, then that was better than nothing. I stood, held out my hand, and this time he took it easily. “Let’s go to bed.”

I actually woke before my alarm. Given the fact we had gone to bed a lot earlier than I would have normally, that wasn’t surprising. That Steve was still asleep, though, was. I kept my victory fist-pump to myself, made sure to turn my alarm off for the day, then carefully considered my escape. Steve’s hand was on my side, and his face was right behind me, but I did some incremental sliding towards the edge of the bed and he didn’t seem to appear bothered, so I kept up my snail’s pace, until I was too far to take his hand any further, very carefully lifted it, and then set it on the bed. Again, he didn’t stir; just let out a little huff of air and snuggled into the pillow. I resisted the urge to give him a kiss, and went to the bathroom to start getting ready.

It was a slower process than usual, but there was only so much I could do to keep quiet. I kept the door shut for my shower, but had to come back out for my clothes. I kept the door halfway shut to block most of the light, and the way it opened kept direct light away from him, so for most of my morning routine I let it be, and just tried to keep it down while I got ready. I was almost done when I banged my hand against the counter hard enough to make me start a, “Fucking–!” before I remembered I was trying to be quiet. I looked over, and sure enough, he was watching me.

“Hey,” I said quietly, mindful that only one eye was open, and shook out my aching limb. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.” I was going to shut the door, but I stopped and leaned on it instead. “Do you want me to call out of work again?”

He shook his head. “I have some things to take care of today,” he mumbled sleepily, and he smiled. “I like watching you get ready.”

I snorted. “I can spit toothpaste like no other.”

“I was really impressed when you tripped into your pants,” he said. I almost wanted to call out just because he looked so stupid-cute, half-snuggled into the pillow, but if he was going out later anyways, then I might as well go to work.

I flicked off the bathroom light and went over to briefly sit on the bed, leaning down to give him a kiss. “Take your time,” I said.

“Mm hm,” he said, and pulled me in for one more kiss, before letting go. I pulled the blanket up to his shoulder, leaving his arm out the way he preferred, and watched him start to snooze again, before I grabbed my things, turned off the lights, and left him to a peaceful rest.

Later that morning, the fly landed on my cubicle wall, just off to the side, within arm’s reach, and stared at me. Or maybe it wasn’t staring at me. But it felt like it was. I scowled just in case and considered another attempt to swat the thing, but I was already testing my neighbor’s patience with how hard I had smacked the wall twice already today, and I knew from experience that all I was going to get for my trouble was a stinging hand and pointed glare from over the other side. So instead, I picked up my phone, took a picture, and sent it to Steve with a simple message.

Me: THIS MOTHERFUCKER

I put my phone down and tried to get back to work, only swatting at the thing when it got too close to my head. (That buzzing right near my ears made me want to chew through my own jaw.)

But then there was a different kind of buzzing. From a different person.

Sam: Hey, so, I try real hard not to snoop… Sam: But I walked in and saw Steve doubled over and I was worried he was crying so I peeked at his phone. Sam: And while now I’m pretty sure he’s laughing– Sam: Still. Continuously. Endlessly. Etc.– Sam: I wanted to ask: Sam: Are YOUokay?

I smiled and chewed on the question while I responded to an urgent email from my boss. And came to a conclusion.

Me: You know Me: I think I will be Me: We both will.

When I arrived home, there was no Steve, but the living area had been picked up, the kitchen counters were cleaned off, and there was a bundle of flowers by the sink with a note sticking out of them. And Moo Cow Milk Tea hugging the base of the colorful cellophane-wrapped pot. I picked up the note and read through it.

“Sweetheart–

I’ll be away for a couple of days. I have that thing to take care of. In D.C. I told Sam, and he’s going to stay close by in case I need him. So don’t worry– I’ll be okay. In my absence, I have instructed Moo Cow Milk Tea to take care of the house while I’m gone. He’ll take good care of you ;)

I love you and I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Love, Your boyfriend. AKA Not-a-stupid-stuffed-animal. AKA Steve.”

I laughed even as I rolled my eyes. I almost regretted bringing the damn thing up, but then I picked up Moo Cow Milk Tea and…smelled him. He smelled like Steve. Like Steve’s cologne, when he got stuck going to some stupid-ass fancy party.

I blinked away tears, and hugged the stupid stuffed animal before I grabbed my phone.

Me: Don’t worry Me: You are still number one Me: Moo Cow can’t order takeout when I don’t want to deal with the phone Steve: Ah yes, fingers: why I am the best Steve: Wait Steve: I didn’t mean it like that

I grinned.

Me: No, you’re right. On both counts.

I sent the kissy face. He sent a lot of blushing faces back. I stood there for a moment, mind blanking, until I realized I still didn’t really know what to say.

Me: Say hi to Peggy for me Steve: I will Steve: Take care sweetheart. I’ll be in some SHIELD meetings when I get back, but I meant it: I promise I’ll be back soon

‘Not leaving yet,’ I took that to mean.

Me: Well, call if you need anything Me: ‘In this together’ and all that

Together– in boyfriends-turned-assassins back from the dead, and potential four AM wake-up calls. One of those was decidedly less pleasant than the other, and, in my humble opinion, it wasn’t the one full of knives. Ugh.

For now, I heaved out a giant sigh, then picked up the stuffed animal and flowers all together and took them to the living room. I set the flowers in the middle of the coffee table, where they could look pretty for a few days, and held Moo Cow Milk Tea as I set up a favorite movie guaranteed to make me cry. I was still on edge, and I needed a release to get me back to semi-normal. Nothing about this was going to be easy, even if Bucky showed up randomly tomorrow, so I had to be strong and steady for whatever was coming next. Because I was here, with Steve, for all of it, and knew I would be, no matter what.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date

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vintageshanny · 1 year

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Officer Presley and the Librarian - Part 6 - Mark Me Up

Content: Big Daddy Elvis, a little angst, lots of fluff, lots of smut, 18+

Thank you to everyone who has let me know they love this story, it encourages me so much to keep going. ❤️ Link to series is at the bottom.

You stared into space as you stood behind the circulation desk, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the desk so you could relieve some of the strain on your back from standing for hours. Your break time must be coming up soon. Thirty more minutes, you thought as you looked at the clock. Hardly anyone had come into the library today, and the time was dragging. Knowing Elvis was supposed to get home from his tour today was making the seconds crawl even slower. You still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d taken your heart and claimed it as his own. After spending every second together those last few days before his tour, two weeks apart had left you feeling so empty. It was like you had finally found this missing puzzle piece only for someone to rip it away and leave a gaping hole. It was unsettling, how much you missed him. Unfortunately, his phone calls had been a bit of an emotional roller coaster and did little to soothe you. You tried to focus on how you’d get to see him in a few hours, but pieces of the conversations started replaying in your mind.

Night One

“Hello?” you answered the phone breathlessly on the first ring, despite having told yourself you should play it cool. “Hey, baby, ya miss me yet?” Elvis’ deep voice boomed through the receiver, warming your soul. “You have no idea how much, Elvis,” you whispered. So much for playing it cool. “Oh honey, that’s sweet of ya, I miss my widdle baby, too. I’m callin’ ya jus’ like I promised.” You smiled at how he sounded proud of himself for remembering. “Thank you, baby. It means a lot to me. I know you must be busy and tired,” you said. “I am, honey, but I needed ta hear your sweet voice.”

Night Four

“Hello?” you mumbled groggily, looking at the clock. It was one o’clock in the morning. “Hi, honey, sorry ta wake ya up, but I wanted ta keep my promise.” “I think we’re past that, you haven’t called in three days,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Honey, don’t be like that,” Elvis said warningly, and you could sense a hint of irritation in his voice, even in your half-asleep state. “These shows get done late and I’m exhausted and I’ve been doin’ my best,” he added. You could hear talking and laughing in the background. “Too exhausted for a party?” you questioned. “C’mon now, is this how it’s gonna be? You naggin’ at me for doin’ my job?” You reminded yourself that there were VIPs who came to these shows and expected to visit with Elvis afterward. “No, sorry Elvis, I’m just tired,” you swallowed, trying not to let any tears fall. Elvis sighed. “S’okay, baby, I know, me too. Jus’ get some sleep and I-I-I’ll call ya soon.”

Night Nine

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” Elvis announced as if you might not recognize his voice. “I know, silly,” you said quietly. “Is everything okay?” he asked, seemingly forgetting all about your little argument the other night. You thought about how you’d cried yourself to sleep every night that he didn’t call. “I guess so,” you whispered. “Nah, honey, we’ve been through this, you ain’t a good liar,” he said. “Tell daddy what’s wrong.” “I’m just worried,” you started off. “Worried about what dear?” Elvis asked, sounding concerned. “Worried that you’re forgetting about me. That you’re getting what you need from other people,” you said anxiously, nervous to hear his response. “Whadda ya mean, what I need?” he questioned. You weren’t sure if he was playing dumb or trying to protect you from the truth or just actually confused. “Are there girls at these parties? I mean, you told me before that it's hard for you to be alone, and I just keep thinking…” your voice trailed off, unable to say out loud what you keep thinking. “Yeah, there’s always some girls around and fans wantin’ hugs and kisses, but I’ve said before they ain’t you. I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout nobody else but you, sweetheart.” You sighed a little bit at the way he could be so sweet and comforting but also vague at the same time. “But-” you started, and Elvis cut you off right away, as if he could sense what you were about to say. “Honey, lemme make it clear to ya. The things we do together, that’s jus’ for me and you. I ain’t doin’ that with nobody else. Ya need to stop lettin’ that mind wander off where it shouldn’t be goin.” Tears welled in your eyes at the relief of hearing that. “I’ll try, baby,” you said. “It’s just really hard. I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could see you perform,” you added. “I wish you could too, baby. I don’ like hearin’ ya all sad like this. Next time you’re comin’ with me, job or no job,” he said firmly. “And I’ll be singin’ all the songs jus for you. Especially the one about my little horn dog. I mean hound dog,” he joked. You giggled at that, feeling a bit better that he wanted you with him so much.

Night Thirteen

“Oooh, baby, I’m glad ta hear your voice,” Elvis said. “I’m so exhausted, and I can’t wait ta see ya day after tomorruh.” “I can’t wait either,” you said. “So are ya feelin’ better from our conversation last night?” he asked. You didn’t dare mention that it had been several days since that conversation, not wanting to ruin the mood again. “I am feeling a little better, but I just miss you. Sooo much. Every part of you,” you lowered your voice seductively. Elvis perked up at hearing that. “Mmm tell me what ya miss about me, lil’ girl,” he drawled. “I miss you touching me with those big strong hands,” you whispered. “Yeah?” Elvis breathed out. “What else ya miss?” “I miss you kissing me, putting your tongue on me and um, in me,” you said, starting to feel a little shy at saying these things out loud. “Ohh, goddamn baby,” Elvis groaned. “I miss that too. What about Little Elvis? Ya miss him?” “Of course,” you responded. “I alway miss him, I want him to fill me up, I feel empty without him,” you moaned a little, feeling your pussy throbbing at the thought of him. “He misses you too. He’s here with me right now, and he says my calloused hand just don’t feel as good as your warm wet mouth around him.”

You were startled out of your thoughts by the realization that someone was leaning onto the counter across from you. “‘Scuse me, miss, but can you help me find some books?” he said with a big grin. “Elvis! You’re back early!” you exclaimed excitedly, looking him up and down, taking in how handsome he looked in his dark suit with a red and gold design on the shoulders. “I was just thinking about you,” you said, leaning in to give him a big kiss. “I know what you were thinkin’ ‘bout, my naughty girl, I can see it all over your face,” he whispered in your ear. You blushed at the way he could read you so easily. “Now ya gonna get over here and give me a proper welcome after I rushed right here ta see my baby?” he asked with a smirk. You poked your head in the back office and said, “Peggy, I’m going on my break, can you cover the desk?” Then you made your way around the counter and gave Elvis a tight hug, inhaling his scent and savoring the way his soft belly pressed against you.

“Mmm, baby, ya tryin’ to suffocate me?” Elvis asked with a laugh. “No, I just never want to let go of you,” you whispered, feeling a well of emotion build up as you grabbed Elvis’ hand and pulled him into the break room with you. “I don’t want ya to either, honey, I missed ya so much.” Elvis looked into your face and saw the tears starting to brim in your eyes. “Baby, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be glad ta see me,” he said, brushing away the tear that started to roll down your cheek. “I am glad, Elvis, I just missed you,” you whispered. “And you’ve been worryin’ about us again, haven’t ya?” he asked. You nodded, wondering how he always knew what you were thinking. “I didn’t know it would be this hard without you,” you admitted, brushing away a couple more tears. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back soothingly. “Shh, s’okay honey, I’m home now. You need to stop all this worryin’ and understand what a hold you’ve got on me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he reassured you, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You pulled back a little and wiped your eyes. “I did write you something while you were gone,” you said. Elvis’ face lit up. “You wrote something? For me? What is it?” he asked eagerly. “It’s just silly, a poem about how much I missed you,” you blushed. “That’s not silly, lemme hear it!” he said excitedly. “I don’t know, it’s not very good,” you said, suddenly feeling very nervous. “Please, please, lemme hear it!” he said, tickling your sides as you started giggling. “Okay, but don’t laugh,” you warned. Elvis chuckled as you reached into your bra and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “I don’t have any pockets,” you explained as you unfolded the paper and cleared your throat, your hands shaking a little bit.

“Whenever I start to ache and throb,

I wish Little Elvis was here to do his job.

I like to taste his soft sweet skin,

Before I bury him deep within.

I love it when he goes so deep,

I dream about him in my sleep.”

You glanced up from your poem to see Elvis’ mouth hanging open a little bit. A big smile started to spread across his face, and you could tell he was trying to hold back his laughter. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing bright red. Elvis couldn’t contain himself any longer. “I-I-I didn’t know this was g-g-gonna be an o-o-ode to my cock, baby!” he said, barely able to get the words out through his hiccupping laughter. His laughing made you start to giggle too, and he pulled you in close. “Baby, I really love it,” he said. “Ya just took me by surprise. I might have ta hire ya to write some dirty songs for me,” he chuckled. “Very funny,” you tried to pout but couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face. “M-m-maybe somethin’ like ‘Funny How My Fingers Slip Away Up Into You,’” he said, his voice dropping a little bit as he pushed you up against the door of the breakroom and lifted your skirt up. “Elvis, not here, what if someone, ohhhh,” you moaned as his fingers slid into the side of your panties and right inside of you. “Well, hello there,” Elvis sang as he pumped his long fingers in and out of you. “My, it’s been a long, long time.” “It’s been too long,” you whispered. “I needed you.” You pulled him in for a kiss and slipped your tongue into his mouth as he rubbed your clit with his finger tip. “Mmm,” you moaned softly into his mouth. “Shh baby, gotta stay quiet, I don’t wanna get ya in trouble,” he said with a mischievous raise of his eyebrow. He reached his other hand down the front of your blouse and fondled your breast as he continued stimulating you down below. “Ohh,” you moaned as quietly as possible as you grabbed tightly at his oversized collar. You could feel yourself about to explode. “Mmm, that’s it baby, cum for daddy,” he gently talked you through your orgasm as your thighs quivered around his hand. You let out a soft sigh as he pulled his hand out of your panties and licked his fingers. “Even sweeter than I remember,” he grinned at you as you swatted him playfully. “That’s no fair, I want to taste you, too,” you said, reaching for his package that you could tell was semi-hard. “Mm-mm, not yet, baby. I need to make sure he’s ready for what I have planned later,” he said with a wink. “B’sides, we need ta get back ta work.” “We?” you asked, confused, as you straightened your skirt and followed him out of the break room, wondering what he had planned.

As the two of you approached the circulation desk, Peggy’s jaw just about hit the floor. “You’re, you’re…” she stumbled around, trying to find the right words. Elvis took pity on her and extended his hand, the one that he had licked your juices off of not two minutes ago. You could feel your face burning up. “I’m Elvis Presley,” he announced to her. Lucky for her, she was still too stunned to reach out and shake his hand. He smiled and continued on. “We’re done with our break, so we can take over again here.” Peggy turned to you and hissed, “You didn’t tell me the new guy you were all gaga over was Elvis Presley!” Elvis smirked as he pretended not to hear this. You noticed Peggy’s eyes had lowered to your blouse and you glanced down to see that one of your buttons had come undone while Elvis had his hand in there. You blushed and quickly fastened the button, shooting Peggy a look that said you’d explain all this later. You led Elvis back behind the desk as Peggy stumbled back to her office, still in a state of shock.

“You gonna show me what to do back here, baby?” Elvis asked, leaning in close to you. “Well, when someone brings up a book to check out, we write their name here, and then we stamp the card inside the book with this date stamp.” You showed him the ink pad and stamp, and his face lit up like a little boy, his mouth curving into his trademark crooked grin. “How do I change the date?” he asked excitedly. “We don’t need to change the date, it’s already set right,” you explained. You saw the little pout on his face and showed him how the dials on the stamp moved. He turned away from you a little bit as he fiddled with the stamp. After he was satisfied, he pressed it onto the pad and then stamped you right on your arm as you jumped back in surprise. “Now ya belong to me, I put my birthdate right on ya,” he said with a smile. “I thought I already belonged to you,” you said with a wink that made him blush a little bit. You loved seeing his little moments of vulnerability. You changed one of the stamps to your birthday and pressed it right on his forehead. “Hey!” he laughed. “You’re gonna make me look crazy.” “I had to make sure you belong to me too,” you smiled.

As the two of you were joking around like a couple of teenagers, a lady who was probably in her 60s came up to the counter with a stack of books. “Hello, ma’am,” Elvis said with a big grin. “How can we help ya today?” You rolled your eyes a little at his eagerness to help. “Aren’t you a nice young man!” she smiled broadly at him, and you could see in his expression that he was delighted to be called a young man. “I just need to check these books out. Y’know, you look familiar,” she said as Elvis started stamping the books. “Oh, I get that all the time,” he said. “Just one of those faces, I guess.” “Hmm,” she said, looking like she was still trying to place him. “Well, have a nice day, sonny,” she said as she headed out, completely ignoring you. “I think I might have some competition,” you said as she walked away with her books. “Baby, I’ve told ya, ain’t no one could compete with ya.” Elvis gave your butt a little squeeze as he wrapped you in a hug. You were grateful the library was so empty today so no one could see you acting like a lovestruck fool at work.

After a nice dinner with some of the guys and their wives at Graceland, where they regaled you with stories from the tour, Elvis led you up to the bedroom. He seemed to have something serious on his mind. “Honey, I-I-I w-wanted to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’,” Elvis said lowly, his stutter betraying his nerves about the conversation. “What is it, Elvis?” You could feel it coming. You’d been having so much fun that you let your guard down and really fell hard. Here’s where he would pull the rug out from under you and tell you that you weren’t good enough or special enough for him. He could have any woman in the world, why would he want you? Those nagging thoughts came back into your head. Elvis could see the worry etched all over your face. “Hold on now, baby,” he pulled you in close. “I can see I need to stop those wheels in your head from turnin’. It’s nothin’ bad, it’s nothin’ bad, I promise,” he soothed you, pulling you in close to his chest. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in and nodded. “What is it then?” “Well, see, I-I know you said you don’t wanna get pregnant, but I-I-I wanna really make love to ya right. I wanna take care of ya, finish inside of ya, make ya feel so good,” he murmured, letting his long fingers run through your hair. You looked up in surprise. “But what if I, I mean what if we, um…” you stumbled your way through the sentence. “We can figure that out if it happens, honey. I mean, I wouldn’t really mind, I always wanted more kids, but maybe you don’t wanna have a baby with me?” he asked quietly. You could feel his breath hitch as he waited for your response. “Oh, Elvis, it’s not that I don’t want a baby with you. This is just all so fast. Are you sure that’s what you would want? I don’t want you to feel trapped with me.” “Trapped? Baby, I-I-I can’t even get enough of ya. I want ya with me all the time.” He stared into your eyes, begging you to understand what he was saying. “I’m gettin’ old, honey. I didn’t think I’d find love like this again that would make me wanna settle down and try at a family all over again.” “You’re not old, Elvis,” you interjected, rubbing your hand against his warm chest. Elvis chuckled, “You’re always so sweet ta me baby. What I’m sayin’ is that I don’t wanna wait any longer to be happy. You make me happy. I love ya and I wanna be with ya always.” You froze in place as his words hit you. “You-you love me?” you whispered. “Of course I do, sweetheart, can’t ya tell?” “I love you too, Elvis,” you took his face in your hands and leaned up to kiss his soft sweet lips.

“So can I do it baby? Can I make love to ya how I want to? Mark you as mine?” he whispered into your lips. “Didn’t you already do that with the stamps today?” you teased holding up your arm. Elvis chuckled, “That was jus’ the start honey. I need to mark every part of you as mine. He slid his hand up your skirt and stroked the inside of your thigh. I want to mark you up like my favorite books. You’ve seen what I do to those, baby. I need to leave my notes in your margins,” his fingers slipped inside of your panties and gently brushed over your clit, causing a soft moan to escape your lips. His long index finger slid inside of you, bending a little bit to find that sweet spot. “I need to mark you up so that anyone who looks at ya knows for sure that you belong to me, that you were made for me,” his finger hit that spot that drove you wild. “Oh, Elvis, baby, mark me up,” you moaned. Elvis leaned in and bit down softly on your bottom lip as your pussy clenched around his finger, aching for more of him.

“C’mere baby,” he whispered, leaning into you and pushing you gently back against the pillows. He slowly unbuttoned your striped blouse as you laid your head back and stared up at his beautiful face, taking in the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones, the way his eyelashes fluttered as he looked at you in awe. He pushed your blouse off of your shoulders and reached around you to unhook your lacy bra. Elvis smiled down at you as he noticed the way your nipples perked up the second the cool air of his room hit them. He gave one a gentle tug between his fingers and leaned in to give it a lick with his warm tongue before lifting your hips a little bit so he could slide your skirt off, leaving you in just your panties, which were already soaked from how turned on you felt. He stood up and started removing his own clothes as you watched with your heart racing in your chest. You couldn’t help but smile as he tossed his shirt to the floor and unzipped his pants, letting them drop down to his ankles, exposing Little Elvis to you, who was starting to rise to the occasion.

He smiled a little bashfully as he asked, “What’chu thinkin’ ‘bout right now, mama?” “You really wanna know?” you said with a smile. “I really wanna know, baby. I always wanna know every part of you.” “Well,” you started, “I’m thinking how lucky I am to have you. How special you are, how sweet you are to me, how whenever I see you I don’t want to take my eyes off of you for a second, for fear that you’ll disappear like a dream. Because you are a dream come true to me, baby,” you finished in a whisper, pulling him in close to you as he climbed back up onto the bed. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how good that makes me feel. But I ain’t gonna disappear. This is real,” he stroked your cheek gently with his thumb before leaning back and slowly pulling your panties down your legs. He tossed them aside and spread your legs open with his large, strong hands. “Goddamn honey you are so perfect, so perfect for me,” he swiped his fingers through your wet folds. “I need to be inside ya, need to make love to ya so badly.” “Mmm, daddy, I want that too,” you cooed to him as he hovered over you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He thrusted up into you and you immediately moaned out his name as your body stretched to accommodate his thickness and length. You wrapped your legs around him as his hips snapped slowly and rhythmically, thrusting into you repeatedly. He was taking his time with you, and the pleasure was almost unbearable. You reached up and brushed his sweaty dark locks off of his forehead as he stared directly into your eyes, into your very soul. You’d never felt so connected to someone before. He really was claiming every part of you as his own. Elvis leaned his face down closer to yours and pressed his lips against your own, prodding into your mouth with his tongue, moaning into you with each thrust. “I l-love ya so much, sweetheart,” Elvis’ words filled you with joy while he was filling you with the full length of his manhood. You felt so overwhelmed physically and emotionally, a single tear rolled down your cheek as he continued his slow rhythmic attack on your pussy. “Y-y-you okay, honey?” he whispered, kissing the tear off of your face. “Yes, daddy, you just feel so good on top of me, inside of me, all over me,” you ran your fingers lightly over his back as you pulled him in even deeper. “Mmm, honey, I’m not gonna last too much longer. I-I’m gonna bring ya over the edge with me.” Elvis reached down where your bodies were connected as one and rubbed his thumb over your clit. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably as you heard yourself moaning his name out over and over again. This level of pleasure was something you’d never experienced before. As your orgasm burst through you in intense waves, you could feel Little Elvis pulsing inside of you. Your pussy clenched around him, his seed filling you to the brim, spilling out of you. “Oh, baby, goddamn, that feels so good,” Elvis moaned out in pleasure. After the two of you had stilled your movements, you just lay there basking in the afterglow of such intense intimacy. Elvis did not pull out of you but just laid his body down gently on top of yours, the weight of him like a security blanket protecting you. You could feel him softening now inside of you as he gave you a gentle kiss and rested his head in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Baby, I’m so happy you’re mine,” he whispered to you. “In all ways, you’re mine forever.”

Tag List: @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @elvispresleygf @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis

#Elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis smut #elvis x reader #officer presley and the librarian #officer presley #i love this man

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https-sonshine · 2 years

Note

Hi I am a fan of yours writing.

Can I request reader comforting sonny after he lost a match? I feel sad seeing him getting frustrated playing with that mask. Especially at today match with Aston Villa. I wanna hug and comfort him so bad because I can feel his frustration from the screen. So, yea can you please write for that scenario? It would be better if it starts with angst and ends with fluffy fluff.

Thanks in advance. And I will keep supporting your work. ✨🫶🏻

authors note: heyy sorry for the long wait. I've been swamped with schoolwork. also tysm messages like that really do make my day <3 . i would also like to apologise to everyone who has sent in requests, but I'm going to be really busy with med school interviews as well as school so i'll be taking longer to answer them. anyways i kinda rushed this whilst trying not to fall asleep but i hope you enjoy it!!

word count: approx 1.3k

warnings: none just a lil angst, fluff , not proofread

_______________________

There was something off about your boyfriend. You couldn't put my finger on it, but he seemed distant. As the weeks went by, it became clear that Sonny was dealing with a deep-rooted issue, but without having explored the matter with him, you felt helpless and disconnected. You knew he still hadn't recovered from his injury. You could tell he was in pain and that it was taking a toll on his mental and emotional health. Despite your efforts to get him to open up, he didn't want to talk about it. He made it clear that he wanted to deal with it alone. So, instead of pressing the matter, you chose to be there for him in whatever way you could.

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but in hindsight, you can't help but feel that had you pursued the conversation more, you wouldn't be watching Sonny rip his protective mask off his face in frustration. It was 18 minutes into the match, and everything was going wrong. From sloppy passes to gaps within their defence, there was no chemistry left on the pitch, and the team seemed to be playing without a sense of unity. Once the final whistle blows, he breathes heavily as beads of sweat drip down the outside of his face.

He takes losing personally. As an attacking midfielder, it's his job to set his teammates up for success on the pitch, but today, he could have done it better. His frustration causes him to distance himself from his teammates so he doesn't say something he will regret in the heat of the moment, as he reflects that the game was in his hands and he fell short. You held your arms out for a hug. What you didn't expect, though, was to be walked past. Straight past. There was not a single glance in your direction. Completely ignored. Your face dropped along with your arms. Thousands of thoughts race through your mind as you turn around to watch him storm, his face hidden from everyone around him.

You follow him, intent on getting to the bottom of his frustration. You catch up with him, standing before him with a soft voice.

"you did amazing, Sonny." You tried to put your hand on his shoulder.

You looked at him as he shrugged you away with teary eyes at the loss of the year's first match.

"Stop, I don't need you to say that, okay?"

You nodded softly as you sat beside him, as he leaned against the wall, saying, "it wasn't your fault."

"Why, why did we lose" he yelled, and you put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, unsure of what to say.

He grabbed your wrist, anger running through him as he spoke coldly, "Just leave. I don't need this right now." You were taken aback by the sudden outburst of emotion and the grip he had on your wrist

"Son-"

"You're always so clingy, let me just live in peace for once. "He screamed at your face, his grip becoming tighter and tighter.

It was time for a wake-up call. You'd had enough.

"How long are you going to feel sorry for yourself? Despite the difficult situation, it is important to remember that feeling sorry for yourself will not help you improve," you said firmly.

You knew his situation was difficult, and it seemed like nothing you could do would make him happy.

"You were recently injured, Son. You're not even fully healed; you can't possibly expect yourself to be at your best. You think your frustration isn't affecting your game? Because everyone could tell you weren't yourself today. And it's okay not to be okay. You don't have to hide it. Not from me. Never from me."

You've done this many times before. Calling him out for his own mistakes and explaining to him the things he should be doing to fix them, especially when it comes to accepting a lost game.

You knew your words stung, but they were said out of love.

He slowly slid down the wall, back against its rough surface. And he just sat there.

His head in his hands, shoulders slumped, and eyes cast down. The silence was deafening, and you suddenly felt a surge of guilt crash you. He feels someone sitting next to him as he slumps against the wall. As the silence lingered, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and a voice soothingly whispering in his ear.

"'Sonny", you whisper softly, placing your small hand over his. "Please look at me."

He obliges, and when you see the frustrated tears running down his face, a pang of guilt shoots through your heart.

You'll simply pull him into you, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck as you rub his back comfortingly.

"I'm not good enough." You held his other hand, motivating him to continue.

"I'm 30, I'm not getting any younger, and I haven't reached my potential. I couldn't even help my team. I kept getting blocked out by their defenders. I'm no use. I went from winning the golden boot last season to barely scoring this season. And then there was this injury, which was such a setback now I can't even see who is next to me with that stupid mask. The fans hate me. I should just quit." He ranted, his temper growing with each word

You decided to wait a minute before responding, giving him a chance to breathe.

But after a few moments of silence, he seemed to take a step back as if he were rethinking what he had just said.

"I don't agree," you said, hoping he would listen.

He looked up at you, only to see you staring back with a comforting yet stern expression.

"Huh?"

You saw Son's tear-stained, confused face, looking at you with big eyes.

"Every single thing you just said is completely wrong."

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to explain,

"You want to help your team? There is something you can do - use this difficult situation as an opportunity for growth. Your team could benefit from taking this moment to reflect on how they can better collaborate and strengthen their relationships with one another. Football is a team sport. Blaming yourself isn't going to solve anything. You need to believe in yourself the way I believe in you."

You ruffled his hair and wiped his tears away.

"You don't have to become insecure cause of what people say. I know that sometimes it can feel like the world is against you, but people are always going to talk. But they're not you; they don't know what it's like. The struggles, the efforts and the time you put in. You have an entire team of people by your side who will have your back throughout your career. You have me by your side for life, where I'll be cheering for you with all I've got."

"And don't even think about quitting. They all need you to be on the team. Not because they need you to win games but because playing football makes you happy. " You shot him an angry look. He knew you were right, but he was so frustrated with the current situation. Still, he couldn't help but smile at your words and scoffed before hugging you.

You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you wanting to let go. The comfort you found in each other's embrace was irreplaceable. As you hugged, the feelings of pain and hurt seemed to lessen a bit. You ran your fingers through Sonny's hair, breathing in his scent. Your heart ached for his pain, and you wished you could take it away.

"You are capable of greatness, Sonny, and I hope you remember that no matter what."

#son heung min #son heung min fanfic #son heung min imagines #son heung min x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #https sonshineasks #son heung min one shot #heung min son

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hypergamiss · 3 months

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Maybe it's just me but do you ever feel like in the past few years, since the hypergamy, level up, etc topic has become louder online, it's been over run by girls who's main objective is to attain beauty and a well off man? There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm finding it hard to find women who have any sort of substance and it makes me sad. During the Trump legal stuff the past few months people have been ripping his attorney, Alina Habba to shreds due to her clear incompetence. An interview resurfaced where she was saying that she'd rather be pretty than smart because you can fake being smart (fyi, you can't fake being smart and she's proof lol). These are the type of women I'm talking about. It's embarrassing. Those are the types of conversations I was having with friends when I was 7. I just think it's not a good sign, socially, that we have more and more women focusing on just being attractive and the quality of their partners over anything else. I'm very educated and gravitate to intellectually stimulating topics, but I also love all things beauty and aesthetics. When I try to join the "It girl" groups I never fit in because they're only interested in frivolous conversations. I get dead stares when I try to talk about philosophy and science. But the academic, intellectual groups usually reject me right away because of the way I look and assume I'm one of the Alina Habba types. I just wish it wasn't an "either or" situation.

Unfortunately people will always take a niche or topic and create an extreme version of it that is clearly driven by their biggest insecurities. The ones who are the loudest usually have the worst advice and the ones who are more subtle are always the ones dropping the real gems. Their content might be unorganized and they might not have the best set up/equipment, but what they say will be so real and genuine.

I actually think that things have always been the way you describe your experience. Attractive people do indeed get away with a lot in general, and very few of them choose to not take advantage of that and put in the work that everyone else does. I think it's a very interesting subject and complex because everyone goes through different experiences in life that will end up shaping them into who they eventually become. Some will say "I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't," as they express some sad truths. For attractive females you can choose to either take advantage of your looks to get ahead, or go through the motions of constantly being underestimated and having to prove yourself because you were born attractive. I had a friend who was a very attractive male in medical school. He looked like a football or rugby player and no matter how much he tried to prove that he wasn't just your typical jock, he was always doubted in class by all of his peers and professors. It was wild to see the roles reversed and I'm sure that he is still an outcast till this day when he goes to conventions and meet ups with other doctors.

"I just think it's not a good sign, socially, that we have more and more women focusing on just being attractive and the quality of their partners over anything else."

I haven't looked at the numbers lately but I do know that more women are getting educated now than ever as of 2023 so I like to think that this issue isn't going to be a growing one.

"When I try to join the "It girl" groups I never fit in because they're only interested in frivolous conversations."

Oh I know exactly what you mean... I will get invited to outings based on my looks but rarely show up because I know that the crowd will be the shallow type with not a lot of substance. I have to know that I can talk about real topics to actually enjoy myself. I have plenty of stories where these kind of people end up realizing I'm more of a nerd and their reactions are so obvious!

"But the academic, intellectual groups usually reject me right away because of the way I look and assume I'm one of the Alina Habba types."

I've learned that to be accepted in these groups it helps by being the one to initiate conversations that will really make them forget about what you look like because the topic is that impactful. If it's an online group I won't add a profile picture until my personality is established first, so by the time everyone knows what I look like it doesn't matter anymore. I know that can seem annoying, but it works.

"I just wish it wasn't an "either or" situation."

I agree, stereotypes are the worst.

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usermischief · 1 year

Text

chapter 54: like the thirteenth stroke of a clock Warnings: -

You can read it on AO3 as well.

---

Jackson walks past them, not even glancing in their general direction. His anger is palpable, even for people who can’t pick up on chemo signals. That wouldn’t be particularly surprising if not for the fact that Jackson is neither interested nor part of the track team.

Stiles glances at Theo, who glares at his coffee cup as if it somehow betrayed him. The dark circles under his eyes tell the story of a restless night. They stayed up way longer than they probably should have, but Theo was restless and in his head. Keeping him distracted seemed almost impossible. When Stiles eventually drifted off to sleep, Theo was still awake — and that’s saying something. “You didn’t have to come, you know?”

Theo grunts in response, his lips forming a tight line.

“I’m not being stupid,” Stiles playfully insists, flicking Theo’s forehead.

“I didn’t say that,” Theo mutters.

“You’re grunting did that for you,” Stiles tells him, raising his brows.

Theo grins, and it reaches his eyes for the first time since he found out his father is Peter Hale. He leans forward, presses a short kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and crosses his arms over the railing. “The Dread Doctors are not going to ease up,” Theo reminds him, now scowling again as he watches someone run past Stiles. “If anything, they’re going to escalate. You didn’t stop them, but you did interrupt their plans.” And they don’t like that. Theo doesn’t have to say these words to make it abundantly clear.

This is the second time Stiles has managed to successfully stop them from creating another chimera. With how quickly they killed Caitlin, it’s clear they will not take any more chances. “They’re pissed.”

“I’m pissed,” Theo says, furrowing his brows. “They’re vengeful.”

Stiles grabs the railing, letting out a long breath. “They can’t kill me.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I thought you knew there’s worse things than death.” Theo presses his lips together, studying Stiles for a few seconds. He doesn’t look happy with Stiles’ attitude towards the Dread Doctors at all. “Besides,” Theo adds, shaking his head to really rub it in, “they tried to have you kidnapped before.”

As much as Stiles would like to argue that, he’s aware that Theo is right about that. Donovan’s attempts to kidnap him didn’t happen all that long ago, yet it feels like forever ago. Ripping the ley line away from their newest chimera probably didn’t help. Plus, choosing Caitlin feels personal. It shouldn’t. Stiles barely knew her, and yet, out of everyone on this list, they picked a girl that may not have been in his life for long, but she still changed its trajectory — especially regarding his love life.

“So, that’s why Jackson’s here?” Stiles glances in his general direction. Judging by how he tilts his head, Jackson is listening in on their conversation, even though he’s pretending to be busy with his phone.

Theo doesn’t reply immediately. Once again, he watches what’s going on behind Stiles. “I chose the lesser of two evils.”

“Did you consider calling Brett?”

Theo glares at him, but he doesn’t reply. Not that he needs to. His face says more than any number of words could.

“He’s growing on you, isn’t he?” Stiles tries his best not to grin. It’s a highly unsuccessful endeavor.

“Don’t push it, babe.” Theo rolls his eyes and sips his coffee. The avoidance of an actual answer says a lot more than anything else could. A friendship between Theo and Brett is unlikely, but maybe Brett standing up for him yesterday helped put their feud at ease, perhaps even on hold until all of this is dealt with.

Which is hopefully soon. Because Stiles is sure Theo is right about one thing — the Dread Doctors are vengeful. They haven’t had any success in a while. Stiles stopped a transformation, and their time has essentially run out now that Stiles can finally control the nemeton fully. They’re out of options. They've been doing this for decades before finally achieving their first success with Theo, so it's highly unlikely they will give up anytime soon.

And that’s most likely why Jackson’s here.

Stiles lets out a long breath. “You really think they’re coming here?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them.”

Pinching his brows, Stiles glances at Jackson again. So, they’re really here to— what? Fight them? Even as alphas, they won’t be able to do anything about them. They won’t be able to stop them. Not the three of them, and certainly not Theo and Jackson alone. Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat, a terrible hunch forming in the depth of his gut. “What’s the plan here, Theo?” Stiles asks, and when Theo’s eyes lock with his, the hunch takes root. “What are you gonna do if they show up?”

Theo’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t say a single word.

Not that he has to.

“No.” Stiles pushes away from the banister. “Absolutely not.” This isn’t happening. He won’t let it. Shaking his head, Stiles turns on his heels and walks away.

Theo is by his side almost instantly. “What are you doing?”

“Quitting track.”

“And you think quitting track will stop them from coming after you?” Theo grabs his arm and pulls him back around, stopping him effectively in his tracks.

“No, but I’m sure you and Jackson won’t stop them either.” Stiles pulls his arm free. The only real safe place used to be Eichen House, but Kira destroyed their defenses effectively. Nowhere is safe from them, and the only reason they haven’t come after Stiles themselves yet is that they always had a chance at using the nemeton’s power without him intervening. But that’s not the case any longer. They’re bound to figure out that their time has run out.

Theo reaches for his hand again, intertwining their fingers. His touch alone stifles Stiles' gnawing worry that something might go wrong. How could it? How could anything happen when Theo's hand feels so right against his own? "What do you want me to do then?" Worry is etched into every inch of his features.

Stiles parts his lips and lets out a breath. "I can only tell you what I don't want you to do. He squeezes Theo’s hand tightly, wishing he could somehow make him understand. “I can’t do this again.” Just the thought of having to sit by Theo’s bedside again, wondering if he’ll ever wake up… and if he wakes up, wondering if he’ll be okay. There are limits to what a body can handle. Eventually, it’s going to reach the end of the line. Theo’s been on the brink of death twice in just a couple of weeks. Even a supernatural body has its breaking point.

“Okay.” Theo doesn’t look entirely happy, but he sounds sincere, at least. “We’re not here to protect you. We’re here to support you.”

“I swear,” Jackson utters, coming to a stop next to them, “if I got up early for you to leave—”

“He’s thinking about quitting,” Theo interrupts, not even giving Stiles a chance to respond. It’s almost an instinctive reaction. He doesn’t even look in Jackson’s direction as he says it but contemplates Stiles instead.

Jackson doesn’t look at Theo either. “And you think quitting track will stop them from coming after you?” he asks incredulously. Well, at the very least, he’s not acting like Theo doesn’t exist.

Stiles stares at Jackson, then Theo, and back again. Huffing out a breath, he lets go of Theo’s hands and crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots before.” Stiles lets out a long breath and rubs his hands over his face. “It’s obvious you two are related.”

Now Theo and Jackson cross their arms over their chests.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the silence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jackson asks while Theo keeps staring Stiles down. While they share many similarities, one pretty significant distinction is finally making itself known. On the one hand, Theo tends to remain silent, bottling up his emotions until he reaches a breaking point resulting in an explosion that ultimately leads to people ending up in the crossfire. On the other hand, Jackson’s first instinct is confrontation until pushing him too far will lead to a deadly silence. Arguments between them will be a delight.

“Stilinski!”

Stiles waves Coach off, then points at Theo and Jackson. “You’re brothers. Get it together.” Shaking his head one more time, he jogs to meet up with the rest of the team in the middle of one of Coach’s pre-practice speeches. But Stiles isn’t actually listening to anything he tells them. It’s usually not all that important anyway — or new. Stiles is pretty sure he knows ninety percent of his motivational speeches by heart at this point. Instead, he focuses his attention on Theo and Jackson returning to the stands, rubbing his chest absentmindedly. By the looks of it, they're not talking and sit down as far apart as possible.

That’s going to take some time, but at the very least, they seem to be able to work together if they have to. It’s not ideal or anything Stiles had hoped for. Still, he can’t change it. He can’t force Theo to change anything. They’ll have to figure this out by themselves.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Kira appears next to him without warning.

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. “Warn a guy,” he breathes.

Kira chuckles. “Did I miss anything?”

“Probably just his usual motivational speech,” Stiles whispers, watching Coach wave them off, which most likely means they’re supposed to start their warm-up. He seems distracted as well today. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d guess Theo called Coach too, but a human wouldn’t exactly be helpful in their situation. It’s much more likely he’s distracted by Jackson being here. As passionate as he appears to be about track, lacrosse is where his heart is at. Stiles is more than fine with that. If he’s too busy talking to Jackson about lacrosse, track will remain pretty uneventful, which sounds great. They’re due for uneventfulness, and Stiles will savor it for as long as he can.

“Theo seems on edge,” Kira notes as they start jogging after the rest of the group.

Stiles sighs. “He’s worried the Dread Doctors are coming after me.” They’re already catching up to the others. In no time, they’re going to pass them without any issues at all. Running comes so easily. If only he could run from his problems like this — or at the very least from the Dread Doctors. But they’ll catch up to him eventually. Unless they manage to find a way to stop them indefinitely.

“That’s the next logical step, isn’t it?”

They break into a sprint, leaving the rest of the group behind. The silence between them is filled with the sound of the wind in his ears for the next 100 meters. As freeing as running feels, the last few days have left their mark on Stiles. He can already feel a strange tightness in his chest. They slow down again, and Stiles lets out a breath. “Unless Nolan remembers something.”

“Even if he does,” Kira interrupts, not showing any signs of their recent sprint, “we can’t kill them.”

Yet, Stiles thinks. “But it’ll give us a chance to search their lair.” And hopefully, find something that will help kill them or, at the very least, level the playing field. If they become vulnerable, three kitsunes and a hellhound should be able to take them on — not that Theo would let him fight this battle alone. Maybe he even deserves to be the one to deliver the killing blow. They put him through enough that he should be on the front line when they finally go down.

Kira shakes her head. “So, we’re going to deliver you to them?”

“You sound like Theo.”

They break into a sprint again, this time forcing Kira to postpone her reply until they slow down again. They finished their first round—two more to go before they start with the rest of the warm-up.

“What I mean is—”

Stiles is falling. Without warning. One second he’s running, and now he can barely get his hands in front of him to stop his face from smashing into the ground. The skin on his hand tears open, and Stiles hisses, grinding his teeth together. But the pain comes and goes within seconds as his body heals the minor injuries almost immediately.

Kira drops to her knees next to him. “Are you okay?” An edge of panic sneaks into her tone, and she reaches out, fingers curling around his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his chest again. It still feels tight every now and again. It’s almost as if someone is wrapping their arms around him, squeezing him, and then easing up again. It’s getting more prominent as time passes, and it’s also happening faster. What the hell is going on? Grimacing, Stiles sits up and checks his arms more out of instinct than anything else. His skin is completely healed, and there are only a few smudges of blood that tell a different story.

“What happened?” Theo asks, arriving at the same time as Jackson and Coach, who watches Jackson with mild irritation.

Kira crosses her arms over her thighs. “I think he tripped.”

“I didn’t trip.” Stiles isn’t sure what happened, but he knows what didn’t happen. There is no way he tripped over anything. Stiles takes a deep breath and rubs his sternum with a scowl. Something weird is definitely going on. Usually, he can blame that on the ley lines, which in turn means the Dread Doctors are doing something. “I think I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting.”

“I need to sit down somewhere that’s not the ground, Whittemore,” Stiles clarifies with a roll of his eyes.

Theo offers him a hand and pulls him to his feet the moment he grabs it. As soon as he stands, his world slips away in the blink of an eye. This time, however, he doesn’t black out, but he’s feeling it now — the sensation of someone pulling at him, trying to drag him under.

“Babe?” Theo wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close and steadying him.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Something’s up with the ley lines.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just need to lay down,” he smiles at Theo before glancing over his shoulder and watching Jackson tell Coach something about ‘possibly dehydration.’ But by the look he’s giving him, Jackson is listening to them and knows what’s really going on. “And deal with it before it becomes an issue.” This shouldn’t become a problem unless he ignores it for too long, but Stiles doubts the ley lines will allow that to happen. They’re all but screaming for help.

Theo helps him sit on the bleachers while Kira offers her bunched-up jacket as a makeshift pillow, and Jackson distracts Coach.

“Okay.” Stiles lies down, heart thumping in his chest. He should be relieved. So far, the Dread Doctors still think they have a chance at resurrecting their beast without him. Besides, he knows his way around the ley lines now that he’s truly connected to them. For the most part, at least. He’s still worried he could spend too much time down there. “Give me fifteen minutes,” Stiles says, glancing from Theo to Kira and back again. “If I’m not done by then, bring me back.” Although Theo’s spark usually helps him to find his way back, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

After a brief nod from Theo, Stiles closes his eyes and allows the ley lines to pull him back into their realm. When he opens them, he finds himself floating in this breathtakingly beautiful space again. This time, he doesn’t get the sense of being somewhere he doesn’t belong. It’s almost a little like coming home, a feeling made even sweeter with Theo’s spark held close to his heart.

But he isn’t here to admire the view. He’s here to fix a problem. Dread pools in his stomach, almost weighing him down. Stiles is highly aware of what that means. Another death. Another innocent teenager was caught in the crossfire. Stiles hates the thought of it, but he doesn’t have a chance. Once again, the risk of success is too great. He has to protect the people and the balance. Something as dangerous and unnatural as the beast cannot be allowed to roam free.

Stiles lets out a breath and checks the sea of ley lines for one that’s acting up. It’s surprisingly easy to find despite being lumped in with a bunch of others. Stiles follows its course with a strange sense of direction, somehow knowing where he is despite being somewhere that is Beacon Hills, and at the same time, it is not. He follows it past the school, deep into the preserve, and towards an eerily still silhouette. It’s so different from Caitlyn, who fought for her survival. This person, however, doesn’t do anything. They’re not even holding on to the ley line.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles sinks to his knees right next to them. With how hunched over they’re sitting, it’s hard to make out any defining characteristics. If not for the ley line acting up, he’d think they’re already dead. Which would’ve made it a lot easier to yank their lifeline away from them.

But they’re alive, and Stiles still curls his fingers tightly around the ley line. If he just pretends— maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t survive with the line’s help anyway. Not with the way they’re hunched over like they’re passed out, in a coma, already dead. Perhaps it’s easier if he doesn’t look at them.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles focuses on his fingers and the flickering of the ley line. Whoever the Dread Doctors chose this time, they didn’t even make it past the first stage. They won’t make it, no matter what he does. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and yanks the ley line out from under the teen. Only a moment later, everything around him settles. It feels calm, like the world after a storm.

Stiles curls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to linger, and pushes back, following Theo’s spark. Navigating this space gets easier by the second, and so does leaving it.

When he opens his eyes, Stiles squeezes them shut quickly again. The sun is way too bright. This is a nightmare. Why did he have to live in California? Carefully, he blinks his eyes open again, shielding them with one hand. It’s probably a good idea to feed before starting school, or the fluorescent lights inside the building are going to cause him a major migraine if the sun doesn’t get there first.

Stiles turns his head a little and finds Theo and Kira with their backs to him, probably hiding him from the rest of the team, but with their heads surprisingly close together. It’s not that they haven’t gotten along, but they also never acted particularly friendly. Then again, Theo was getting along with Jackson before he learned about them being siblings. His boyfriend seems to be rather volatile these days.

“Yeah,” Theo says softly. “We’ll be there.”

Kira pulls away, eyebrows pinched and chewing on her bottom lip.

It’s then that Stiles spots the phone in Theo’s hand. He pushes himself up on his elbows. “What’s going on?”

Theo turns around, wearing almost the same worried expression as Kira. “That was Brett.” The two exchange a look, almost as if Theo considers keeping whatever they’ve been talking about away from him. In the end, he decides against it, “Nolan remembers.”

— — —

Nolan is terrified. That in of itself isn’t the biggest surprise. He’s always been a withdrawn and easily startled boy, and usually, being turned into a werewolf heightens some of your traits — especially on full moons. If Stiles checked the calendar correctly, one is right around the corner. What surprises him, however, is that Nolan doesn’t seem to be afraid of the two strange alphas standing on opposite ends of the room. He is afraid of Stiles. He avoids his gaze and refuses to leave Satomi’s side until Brett physically drags him to the map of the desk where Stiles is waiting.

“Show him,” Brett orders, nudging Nolan even closer to the map and, with that, Stiles.

The new werewolf all but shrinks away, shoulders pulled up to his ear. He doesn’t say a word or even glance in Stiles’ direction. All he does is tap the map once before shuffling closer toward Brett again.

Stiles stares at the spot, drawing his brows together as he surveys the surrounding area. Deep in the preserve. Close to a creek leading into a small lake. “Are you sure?”

Nolan nods shortly.

“What’s with the look?” Isaac asks, tapping a finger against the thick wood of the table.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, watching Nolan take his chance to slip away and stand next to Satomi again. “It’s…” he trails off and shakes his head. There is no time to wonder why Nolan is afraid of him right now. There’s more important shit going on. Stiles takes a breath and points at the spot Nolan showed them. “This is where the Dread Doctors hide now, right?” Theo, Jackson, and Kira crowd around the table. Feeling Theo and Kira right next to him has never felt this calming before. “This—” Stiles moves his finger to a spot near the beginning of the creek, not far away from the Dread Doctors’ newest hideout. “This is where they buried their most recent experiment.”

Both Jackson and Theo stiffen slightly. Stiles watches them exchange a glance, features hardening before looking back at the map. Before they left to go to Satomi’s, Theo and Jackson ended up in another explosive argument. Well, Theo informed Jackson that it was a waste of time to go looking for a chimera who wasn’t even conscious in the first place. Jackson spent the rest of the drive snapping at Theo, even going so far as to call him heartless and accusing him of not caring about anybody but Stiles. That really didn’t need to be part of the conversation, but Stiles chose not to make things worse by objecting. Instead, he and Kira tried to make themselves as scarce as possible in the backseat of Theo’s car, waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Jackson kept arguing and Theo kept driving.

Stiles still isn’t sure if he wants to be around when he ultimately finds out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Kira lets out a breath, “It was a trap.”

“It was a trap,” Theo repeats and curls his hands into fists. For all but a second, it seems like this is what might push him over the edge again, but he takes a deep breath instead and turns to Stiles, “You’re not going to go there.” He points in the general direction of the map, his blue cold and hard. There will be no arguing about this.

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles glances around the table. Some part of him wants to pass on the responsibility of making this decision to Isaac. It is his job, after all, since this is affecting all the packs in his territory. But Isaac simply stares back at him, lips pressed into a thin line. He won’t make that decision. He won’t ask anyone to go to the Dread Doctors’ lair when they've already set a trap. “We have to check it out.”

Isaac pushes away from the table with a shake of his head.

“We have to!” Stiles insists, slamming his hands on the desk. “This might be our chance to find a way to level the playing field.”

“They know you went looking for Caitlin,” Brett says, shaking his head.

Theo crosses his arms. “I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not.” Stiles turns to look at him, a familiar burst of irritation clawing its way to the surface. “After everything you did, don’t you think the Dread Doctors have a bone to pick with you?” As task-driven as they might be, in the end, they’re humans, and humans have developed a taste for revenge. Stiles can’t believe Theo would even think they’d just let him walk away if they caught him. They’re either going to kill him for crossing them, or they’re going to lock him up and use him as bait.

“I’ve been living with them. I can—”

“No, Theo,” Isaac cuts in, “you’re not.”

“They’re going to kill you.” Kira’s voice is so soft Stiles almost can’t hear her. The thing is, sending anyone there with the Dread Doctors expecting them sounds like a suicide mission. Their ability to manipulate electromagnetic fields means that no werewolf is a match for them, at least until they’ve figured out a way to make them vulnerable. That’s why Nolan remembering everything was so important. It was a way to gain the upper hand, to be one step ahead of the Dread Doctors. They lost that chance.

Jackson clears his throat. “Or they’re going to use you.” He sounds almost worried.

Looks like Stiles isn’t the only one who thought of that. He turns to face the others again and pushes his hands into his hoodie. The Dread Doctors are likely more than aware of his and Theo’s relationship. Donovan knew, after all. Hell, maybe Tracy kept them in the loop as well. She spent so much time away from the pack, it’s entirely possible Scott wasn’t the only person she kept in the loop of what was happening.

Theo scoffs. “Are you volunteering, Whittemore?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jackson snaps, jabbing an accusatory finger in Theo’s direction. “Not everyone is as fucking indifferent about life and death as you are.”

“Stop it.” Stiles has had enough of this bullshit. “If you two cannot stop bickering for two seconds, get the fuck out, okay?” He really thought them capable of working together, but that’s apparently only the case if they don’t have to be standing in the same room or talking to each other. “Seriously. Grow up.”

Theo shoots him a dark look.

Jackson turns away.

Stiles only barely resists the urge to throw his hands in the air.

“I could ask my mom,” Kira says, leaning over the table and pressing a finger to the spot Nolan pointed out. “We’re immune to their powers, and we’re fast.” She looks up, her questioning gaze landing on Stiles before she turns her attention to Isaac — probably because she remembers Stiles’ decision can be vetoed very easily in this room. Three alphas and Isaac have a bit more to say than he does. Well, for the most part. Theo can be swayed.

Scrunching up his face, Isaac studies Kira in silence. As much as it irks him to be the person to make decisions like this, he seems to have finally accepted his fate. He probably never would’ve agreed to be turned into a werewolf if he had known the responsibility that would fall into his lap. Then again, better Isaac than Peter. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about the chaos Beacon Hills would fall into if he were the one in charge. But Isaac and Jackson would have to die for that to happen. Good thing Jackson agreed to become a member of Derek’s pack shortly before leaving for London. Otherwise, the only person standing in Peter’s way would be Isaac, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure how much Peter values his life. Jackson, however, is his son. Sane Peter is not going to kill his son, not even for the power of the nemeton.

Stiles is sure about that, hopefully. He’d rather not be wrong about Peter. But seeing that he was right about Deaton all along, it’s probably about time he doesn’t second guess his instincts — and his instincts regarding Deaton demand consequences. Stiles glances at Satomi, who is quietly contemplating her tea. Maybe he should talk to her and figure out what the rules are for disturbing the balance.

“I’m going to call Jordan,” Isaac mutters, already pulling out his phone. “I’d be more comfortable with a hellhound accompanying you.” With a shake of his head, phone pressed against his ear, Isaac walks out of the room.

Without hesitation, Nolan takes his opportunity to rush after him.

“Guess that means we’re done.” Brett runs his fingers through his hair and then crosses his arms.

Kira sighs softly. “I’m going to talk to my mom.” Smiling softly, she glances at Stiles before hurrying out of the room.

“I don’t like it.” Stiles crosses and uncrosses his arms, unsure what to do or say or if he should stop Kira and Noshiko from essentially walking into a trap. While they have to check out the Dread Doctor’s lair, Stiles doesn’t like that he’ll have to sit and wait for them to return. If he’s terrible at one thing, it’s doing absolutely nothing.

“It is the best course of action,” Theo says, and as much as Stiles wants to believe he really means that, he is probably just relieved Stiles isn’t involved any longer.

Jackson rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good one.”

“It’s not like you came up with a better idea,” Theo shoots back. These two are really ready to turn everything into an argument.

“Can you stop it!” Brett looks about as pissed as Stiles feels. “I thought you two were getting along?” They were. One of their strongest arguments for forming an acquaintanceship was their shared dislike of Brett, but then Brett defended Theo when he thought Stiles was dying, which pissed off Jackson even further, and they’re suddenly related, and Jackson wants to play family, whereas Theo would rather see everything crash and burn. Here's hoping Brett involving himself in their business pushes them together a second time.

But Jackson does not seem willing to make peace. “If we’re done here, we can leave, right?” Raising his brows, he turns his attention to Stiles.

“I would like to talk to Satomi.” Stiles pushes his hands in the pockets of his jeans, not looking at anyone when he adds, “alone.” He knows that secrecy is rather pointless with so many werecreatures around. It’s still nice to have the illusion of having some privacy.

Theo steps closer. “Are you okay?” Worry is edged into every inch of his face, his anger regarding Jackson already forgotten.

“I’m fine.” Stiles smiles, cupping the side of Theo’s neck. “I just have a few questions about druids and rituals.” And since neither of that is private or a reason not to have them in here, he adds, “and your and Jackson’s constant arguing makes it hard to focus.” For more than one reason. “I’ll be with you in a sec, okay?” Stiles kisses the corner of Theo’s mouth, smiling softly when he pulls away.

Although Theo doesn’t look entirely thrilled at leaving him alone, probably because of the now even stronger threat of the Dread Doctors looming over their heads. But Stiles can’t tell him. Not now, not this time. Because Theo doesn’t have the same reservations about killing someone as Stiles does. And maybe Theo gets it. He nods and kisses him once more before leaving. He glances over his shoulder, watching Jackson follow.

The thought of leaving them alone doesn’t sit right with Stiles either. “Brett, can you—”

“Make sure they don’t kill each other?” he chuckles drily but nods. “I’ll send Morrell in too.” That part is directed at Satomi. Brett doesn’t stop to wait for a reply. He merely leaves the room, footsteps receding down the staircase.

Stiles doesn’t want to sound hostile, but he’s pretty sure his disdain is impossible to hide — not even from his tone. “Morrell, really?”

Unsurprisingly, Satomi remains unphased. Sometimes Stiles wants her to lose the tight grip she has on her emotions. It’s infuriating. “If you have questions about druids and their rituals, it seems best to ask a druid, don’t you think?”

It’s hard to argue with that logic, but that doesn’t mean Stiles is looking forward to a conversation with Marin Morrell. They don’t exactly have the friendliest past. Her being Deaton’s sister doesn’t help either. Stiles leans against the desk with a sigh. He has a feeling that discussing this with Satomi will be futile.

Morrell enters the room only a few moments later, freeing them of an awkward silence, and closes the door behind her. “Stiles,” she nods as she sits down next to Satomi.

Although she did help him before, Stiles can’t help but be upfront about his issue with her. “The last time I saw you, you threatened to kill me.” He taps his fingers against the edge of the desk, watching Morrell carefully. Trusting Satomi was hard enough after the stunt she pulled to control him, but Morrell is a very different story. Even though she tried to help him with the nogitsune, did help him until Brunski sedated him. She also worked for Deucalion. Trusting her will be no easy feat. Depending on how this conversation goes, however, things might change.

Morrell crosses her legs, expression impassive. “The last time I saw you, you were possessed by a nogitsune.”

“Not much has changed.”

“I don’t think that’s quite true.” Her shoulders relax a little, but she seems wary around him for the first time. There probably aren’t many people who like the thought of a nogitsune with permission to stick around. It’s hard to blame her.

Satomi stirs her tea. “What questions do you have for us?”

Part of him is sure Satomi already knows, and that’s why she called Morrell. Still, it’s also possible she wanted her emissary at her side since she is talking to the nemeton, something that’s technically a druid’s job. Stiles crosses his legs at his ankles. “I’m sure Brett told you about what happened the night we freed Peter Hale.”

For all but a second, discontent crosses over Satomi’s features. She quickly hides it by sipping her tea, and when she’s done, she seems as serene as always. “Brett has not informed me of anything that has happened in the tunnels.”

Stiles raises his brows. “How come?”

“I haven’t asked,” Satomi admits, sounding almost rueful. Stiles wonders if she blames him for Brett acting out. Well, more than usual. He’s her second in command, after all, and they didn’t have any secrets from each other. Then again, it was Satomi’s idea to link Brett to Stiles without asking either of them for permission first — and Brett keeping quiet about Deucalion might have a different reason.

Stiles glances at Morrell. Maybe Brett isn’t entirely sure where Morrell’s loyalties truly lie, either. Sure, Deucalion wanted to have her killed, but only because she played both sides. “Someone other than the Dread Doctors took the nemeton’s power without its permission.”

To his surprise, Morrell shoots to her feet. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she starts pacing the office.

“I wonder,” Stiles continues, forcing his attention back to Satomi, “what the consequences are for something like that.”

“I’d say that depends on the crime.” Satomi watches her emissary.

Stiles crosses his arms. “Disturbing the balance.” At his words, Morrell comes to an abrupt stop. She probably already knows who he is talking about. Stiles doubts there are a lot of people in Beacon County who have access to the nemeton’s power. There are no more packs, meaning there aren’t any more emissaries in the area. Plus, Stiles would notice if someone else tabs into the ley lines. If she isn’t the culprit, there is only one person left. They all know it.

“What did he do?” Morrell crosses her arms over her chest, expression hard.

“He stole the nemeton’s power and used it to create an alpha. Thus disturbing the balance.” Stiles mirrors her stance, preparing himself to argue his point. At first glance, it might not seem too bad. After all, some alphas truly do rise through sheer willpower. Stiles has done his research. “I want to know how he did it, so I can dish out some fitting punishment.” With or without Isaac’s consent. He can live with the consequences of whatever decision he’ll make.

Satomi clinks her spoon against the rim of her teacup, seemingly finally satisfied with the taste. “The nemeton would not release its power willfully to create an alpha spark.”

“That’s why I said ‘stole.” His tone is sharper than he means it, but Stiles can’t deny that he’s feeling on edge being alone with Satomi and Morrell. They both are powerful women devoted to protecting the balance, yet Morrell allowed Deucalion to turn into the monster he was in the end. “How do you steal the nemeton’s power?” Other than forcing it to save the life of a dying supernatural creature by allowing a connection to the ley lines.

Morrell is silent for a moment, possibly contemplating the most likely answer. “He would have needed some form of access to harness the power.” She starts walking again, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floor. “And enough time to gather it slowly enough so the nemeton didn’t notice anything.”

“How much time are we talking?”

That depends on a variety of factors. How did he access the nemeton? How much power was he taking? Perhaps there was another distraction.

Satomi rises to her feet as well. “How do you know Alan stole from the nemeton?” His name rings loudly in the room, but Morrell doesn’t seem surprised. Meaning Stiles was right, she knew. Which begs the question, how often did Deaton use the nemeton’s power for his own gain? Clearly, often enough that his sister suspects him immediately.

“Because we stripped Scott of our spark,” Stiles says, sensing a familiar anger burning underneath his skin, and pushes away from the desk. “We took what was stolen from us.” He will not argue about his decision to save Theo’s life. It doesn’t matter if they consider his choice as hypocritical. They wouldn’t have been in this situation if Morrell stopped Deucalion and stopped Deaton from turning Scott into an alpha.

Morrell and Satomi exchange a look before the latter inquires, “What happened to the spark?”

“We saved a life.” Stiles wonders if the nemeton is defending him. Although he is entirely in control of his body, it seems his mouth doesn’t quite belong to him now. He also wonders if Stiles' fear of losing Theo influenced the nemeton to save his life. How much control does he really have of something as old and powerful as the nemeton, poisoned or not? “Tell us how he did it.” Stiles forces himself to lean back against the desk again, fingers curling tightly around its edge.

“The ice bath ritual,” Morrell says, sounding as if she had known all along. Maybe she did. Maybe Deaton told her everything. She wouldn’t have been able to reverse it either way. “With the Darach’s ritual and your surrogate sacrifices, it was easy for him to steal power from the nemeton. The connection was wide open for 16 hours. All he had to do was change Scott’s ice bath just enough to ensure the power would be transferred to his spark.” She crosses her arms again and leans against the wall. Something akin to regret slips onto her features. Perhaps even guilt. It isn’t entirely impossible she was the inspiration for a ritual like that. “But it couldn’t have been successful.” Morrell looks up now, brows furrowed. “Your connection to the nemeton remained.”

His connection remained, yes. “Allison’s didn’t.” Stiles remembers Isaac telling them that he was the one who found the nemeton because of Chris’ emitters.

“The power her sacrifice was supposed to give to the nemeton—”

“It went straight to Scott.” Stiles pushes away from the desk again. He needs to move, or his anger will turn into something explosive again. By the sounds of it, both Allison and Stiles were supposed to give their powers not to the nemeton but to Scott during their time in the ice bath. If the ritual had worked as intended, their parents, Isaac and Allison, would have been crushed underneath the nemeton. Stiles would have never been able to find it, not in that storm, not after the car crash, not without the connection to the nemeton. Fuck, and even if he had been able to find them in that basement through some sort of miracle, his baseball bat wouldn’t have stopped the whole building from collapsing. If a werewolf and four humans couldn’t keep it up, how would a single baseball be able to stop it?

The more he thinks about it, the clearer it gets that the nemeton has taken a liking to him from the very second they first connected. Perhaps that’s what not only saved everyone in the basement but it also might have stopped Deaton’s ritual from working as intended. Either way, without the nemeton’s help, without his connection to it, Stiles would have never been able to save them. “My father would have died just because Deaton decided to play God.” He stops pacing and turns to look at Satomi, hands curling into fists. “So tell me, Satomi, what punishment do you see fit?” Because he has an excellent idea of what he wants to do — an idea undoubtedly fueled by the rage of a nogitsune. Deaton’s reckless behavior did not only risk the life of their parents and insult the druid code. It’s an insult to them. How dare he think he can get away with this?

Satomi doesn’t break eye contact, and her expression is harder than Stiles has ever seen. “I doubt you will find a satisfactory answer here. I’m afraid this is a decision you must make alone.”

Stiles snaps his gaze to Morrell, who avoids his eyes for the first time like Nolan did. Well, at the very least, she was willing to tell him the truth. “Fine,” Stiles says, turning towards the door. “I will do this myself.” And without another word, he rushes out of the room. One thing is clear, Deaton will not run from the consequences of his action for much longer — not as long as he can do something about it.

— — —

“So…” Theo lowers his sketchbook for the first time in who knows how many hours, “are you going to sulk for the rest of the evening?” That’s rich coming from him. It’s not like Theo has been in a good mood since they left Satomi’s. He glowered his way through school without so much as looking at Jackson, was clearly peeved that Stiles wanted to talk to Satomi alone — and even more annoyed that the room was supernatural proof. With the door was closed, he couldn’t even listen in and then told Josh and Corey very curtly that they’d be staying the night at Stiles’, and grabbed his sketchbook the second they entered his bedroom.

Stiles remembers Theo drawing a lot as a child, especially when he was overwhelmed with emotions. He got in his head and tried to work through his feelings by drawing whatever came to mind. He knows it’s better than bottling everything up, so Stiles didn’t bother him. To be fair, he didn’t exactly try talking to him either, seeing that he was still pissed about Satomi refusing to give him the answer he wanted to hear. Well, that means he’ll have to get his answers from somebody else.

“I don’t know,” Stiles mutters without looking up from his AP History essay. “Are you going to be a dick to your brother for the rest of your life?”

“Hilarious.”

“You think?” Stiles squints at his laptop. He has absolutely no idea what point he is trying to make. “I haven’t laughed in a while.”

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me. I didn’t do anything.” Theo slams his sketchbook onto the desk.

Letting out a breath, Stiles closes his laptop. "I'm sorry."

Theo gets to his feet and crosses the room, plopping onto the bed beside him. "It's fine." But it's really not. It's not fair to turn Theo into the punching bag for Stiles' lousy mood — just as it wasn't fair to try and put the responsibility of a decision Stiles is willing to make onto Satomi. She would've never gone along with violence of any kind as a punishment. He should’ve never expected her to. What the hell was he thinking? Stiles rubs a hand over his face. It was a waste of everybody’s time. Besides, if he hadn't talked to her, they might have made it to second period, which in turn would have spared Stiles and Isaac Jordan’s lecture about the importance of school. Stiles honestly hadn’t expected Jordan to allow Theo to stay over, but apparently, Jordan thought channeling his inner disappointed dad would get the job done. Stiles almost doesn't have the heart to prove him wrong.

“My point still stands.” Stiles puts the laptop onto the nightstand and rolls onto his side, facing Theo. “You can’t be angry with Jackson for the rest of your life.” They’re going to have a hard, if not impossible, time avoiding each other as long as they are dating Stiles and Lydia. After all, they’re planning to move in together for college, and Stiles has absolutely no intention of planning their dates around Jackson.

Groaning, Theo rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling. “I have no interest in playing happy family.”

“And you don’t have to.” Stiles cups Theo’s cheek, gently urging him to face him again. “But you got along before. I don’t really understand what happened.”

“What happened is,” Theo snaps and jumps to his feet, teetering very close to the edge of yet another outburst, “Jackson decided to make decisions for me before I even knew we’re brothers.” His cheeks are flushed with anger, and he opens and closes his fists like he’s trying to fight the urge to throw something. “I don’t need my big brother meddling in my business like Tara used to do.”

Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows, biting back a grin. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’d be the middle child.” If Tara was still alive. A statement that hangs heavy in the air even though nobody says it out loud.

Theo blinks, then whips his head around. “What?”

“I know Jackson’s bossy nature makes it hard to believe, but he’s six months younger than you.” It’s unfair that Stiles went from only child to youngest of three — something that will not change judging by the number of family dinners his father is planning with Jordan and Isaac invited to every single one of them — and Theo comes out as the big brother. They all have to adjust to new family dynamics. “I get that this is hard for you,” Stiles says softly, “but Jackson’s been struggling with finding out who he is and where he came from his whole life. You can’t fault him for trying to make his new family work.”

Setting his jaw in a firm line, Theo sits on the edge of his bed again.

Stiles scoots behind him. “Hey, come on.” He wraps his arms around Theo’s waist and props his chin on his shoulder. “Talk to Jackson. He’ll understand, I promise.” Although Jackson had a good relationship with his adoptive parents, Stiles is sure he will have no issue sympathizing with Theo’s struggle. “You talked to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Give him a chance.” Stiles leans his head against Theo’s, brushing his thumbs over the warm fabric of his shirt. “I know you bonded over your irrational dislike of Brett.”

Theo huffs out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“Misiu, you need to relax.” Stiles kisses Theo’s cheek, then jaw, then the spot behind his ear that gets rid of any sort of discontent. Almost immediately, Theo leans into him and closes his eyes. That’s better. He scoots back on the bed, dragging Theo with him until he lies with his head in Stiles’ lap, both legs dangling over the edge of the bed. “See?” Stiles runs his fingers through the short strands, unable to hide his grin. “Even the big bad alpha needs some downtime every now and then.” Especially after a sleepless night. Stiles is used to running around on little to no sleep, Theo? Not so much. “You get cranky when you don’t get your beauty sleep, darling.”

Grimacing a bit, Theo opens his eyes again. He watches him without giving any retort. Instead, he sighs, cocking his head a little, and studies Stiles as if he's got him all figured out. He probably has. It's a comforting thought as well as a scary one. But at the very least, Stiles doesn't have to expect any judgment from Theo. "Why are you so pissed at Satomi?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and lets himself fall sideways onto the mattress. "I'm not pissed at Satomi."

"But?"

Although Stiles can already tell Theo will never believe him, he merely shrugs. "I don't know."

Theo crawls up to him. "You do know," he says with an almost terrifying certainty. "You just don't want to tell me. Why?"

Stiles closes his eyes as Theo traces his jawline with his index finger. For a moment, he doesn’t respond and simply allows Theo to continue following lines on his jaw and cheek, and neck as if he is the only person who knows exactly which buttons to push to get what he wants or turn him on. Those two things aren't exactly mutually exclusive. He swallows heavily, feeling the ball of Theo’s hand brush against his Adam’s apple in what could be considered an accident, but nothing his boyfriend does is ever an accident. Stiles shivers when Theo finally curls a hand around the side of his neck, thumb nudging his pulse point gently.

Stiles lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “If I tell you, you might end up doing something stupid.” He curls his hand around the nape of Theo’s neck, pulling him close until their noses brush. His whole body aches with the need to be close to him, making it almost harder to focus on anything else. “And I won’t be able to protect you from the consequences.” If there are consequences, which there will probably be for killing a druid like Deaton.

“But if you do it alone,” Theo whispers as his fingers slip under Stiles’ shirt ever so innocently, causing an eruption of goosebumps, “will you have to face any consequences?”

“Probably.” Stiles can feel his muscles contract, his breath hitching in his throat. It should be embarrassing how Theo can play his body like a fiddle without having to do anything. “But Isaac likes me,” he grins, leaning up just enough so their lips touch.

An almost inaudible chuckle vibrates in Theo’s chest. He brushes their lips together only once before pulling away again, his free hand now busy working on opening Stiles’ belt. “Are you lying to me?” The question is unnecessary. Theo knows exactly when Stiles is lying to him, irregular heartbeat or not.

Something about the way he says it, however, makes Stiles’ mouth go very dry. He swallows again and clears his throat. “About what?” His voice comes out as a whisper as every inch of his body suddenly grows very warm, and he becomes very aware of what Theo’s hands are doing — one still cups the right side of his throat despite the awkward position Theo is undoubtedly in, the other works dreadfully slow on opening his pants.

“About why you’re keeping secrets.”

Stiles shakes his head, mostly to clear his head — and convince his brain that it’s actually important to finish this conversation without giving up the information Theo probably craves almost as much as fucking him into the mattress. “No.” His heart is pounding in his chest even though Theo has barely done anything. The amount of power he holds over him should be illegal.

“And there is nothing I can do to change your mind?” Theo raises his brows with a smirk and leaves Stiles’ open pants unattended now, index finger dragging over an exposed line of skin instead.

Stiles is very aware of the fact that Theo is trying to manipulate him. His dear boyfriend knows he can’t bully him into giving him the answers he wants unlike the rest of his betas. But knowing that and doing something about it are two very different things, and it’s not exactly an easy feat when his dick has other plans. “No,” Stiles whispers, trying to pull Theo closer to him again. If this is going to be a thing Theo does, Stiles can be mad at him later, but right now, he really needs Theo to finish what he started. Begging, however, is not going to get him anywhere. Theo has always been a quid pro quo kind of guy.

Still speaking in this almost soft and innocent voice, Theo shifts his body on top of Stiles, elbows propped up next to his head, thigh pressed between his legs. It doesn’t exactly make focusing on the task at hand any easier. “Didn’t we agree not to keep any secrets?” Theo leans down, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

It’s almost impossible to keep still when all Stiles wants is for Theo to move his leg, to do something. But Stiles is not going to be swayed by a bit of teasing. He is not. He swallows drily, trying his best not to move either. “I’m going to tell you,” Stiles says, running his hand from Theo’s neck to his shoulder. He can do this. He can turn this around. Theo isn’t the only one who can play this game. “I just need a bit more information.” With a grin, he spins them around and straddles Theo’s lap, hands resting on his chest. Theo’s heartbeat quickens under his palm. So far, his body’s only betrayal of his calm demeanor. “Be patient, mój kochanie. It’s nothing terrible, I promise. I just don’t want to put an idea in your head while you’re clearly out here looking for something to destroy.”

Everything that happened in the last few weeks, but especially the constant fighting with Jackson and learning he’s been lied to his whole life, shortened Theo’s already very short fuse. Becoming an alpha doesn’t help, either. Even Scott became more prone to violence. There’s no telling what Theo will do once he hears what Deaton did… and what Stiles would like to do to him in return. Then again, maybe even hearing that Stiles is considering killing Deaton would be all Theo needs to hear to go after the emissary himself.

Theo’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he doesn’t say anything. Not that he has to. Dark red bleeds into his eyes, showing exactly how much he dislikes everything going on. Stiles cups his cheek. It’s a little reckless since it’s still too soon to judge how much control Theo has over his newfound powers. Still, Stiles isn’t scared of Theo or worried he might do something to hurt him. He scrunches up his face a little as Stiles gently runs his thumb over his cheekbone to his nose and down to his mouth. Theo keeps looking at him, eyes red and slightly narrowed. Being an alpha suits him. Theo always radiated raw power, and now he has the eyes to prove it.

Stiles drags his thumb over Theo’s bottom lip now. Fuck, he really needs to kiss him. And he can. So, he does. The moment their lips touch, Theo buries his fingers into Stiles’ hair and keeps him close. His other hand finds Stiles’ ass, squeezing shamelessly, and grins into the kiss when Stiles gasps. “Jerk,” he whispers into the kiss and pulls away. But Theo’s leans up, clearly not willing to stop kissing him. Stiles could continue this for a lot longer, but he’d like to get to the end of their conversation before that. So, he grabs Theo’s shoulders and pins him back into the mattress. “Someone needs to learn to take no for an answer.”

Theo quirks a brow and grabs Stiles’ hips, his grip just tight enough to make a point. “I don’t like it,” he says, and it’s obvious by his tone that he’s not talking about having to stop their make-out session.

“So?” Stiles taps his fingers against Theo’s shoulders. They agreed on not keeping secrets. Theo has every right to be annoyed that he is going against it — to a certain degree. “What are you gonna do about it?” He sits up further, dragging his fingers over Theo’s chest down to the waistband of his jeans. Goosebumps appear on the strip of skin Stiles can see, and he grins, locking eyes with Theo again. “Are you gonna fuck the answer out of me?” Stiles doesn’t miss Theo’s dick twitch against his leg. “That was your plan, wasn’t it? Seduce me, make me beg until I give in and tell you everything so you’ll allow me to cum?” He leans down again, fascinated that he’s got the same effect on Theo as he has on him. Sometimes it still surprises him. “You want to try it? Who knows, maybe—”

Theo doesn’t even give him a chance to finish. He spins them around again, finding his place between Stiles’ legs easily enough, and kisses him with a hunger that’s contagious while his fingers work his own pants open.

They’re not going to draw this out, and Stiles absolutely doesn’t want to. He hooks his fingers into his pants and boxer briefs, trying to wriggle out of them as quickly as possible. Something that would be easier if Theo moved just the tiniest—

The door to his room slams open, and Theo moves so fast that he bangs his elbow against the wall.

Jordan doesn’t look particularly amused. “Dinner,” he says curtly as he moves the door until it can’t go any further. “This stays open.” Without another word, he turns on his heels and vanishes around the corner.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Stiles yells after him, pissed and embarrassed that Jordan chose this exact moment to forget his manners.

Theo smirks at him, “Please, try telling me again how wonderful siblings are.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles huffs, rolls out of bed, and adjusts his pants. He knows Jordan isn’t pissed about Stiles and Theo having sex. The only reason he disapproves is because, last time, Theo accidentally poisoned him. But really, what the hell was he expecting? They’re not going to stay abstinent for the rest of their lives.

Theo stumbles out of bed as well, fidgeting with his belt. “He’s going to shoot me.”

“He’s not going to shoot you.” Stiles slaps his hands away and fastens the belt with a sigh. “My dad might, but Jordan won’t.”

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”

Chuckling, Stiles cups Theo’s cheeks and kisses him. “I love you.”

Theo sighs and curls his arms around Stiles’ waist. “It’s not dangerous, is it? What you’re not telling me?”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head for emphasis. “It’s not dangerous, but I’m worried it’ll cause problems for you.” And the last thing Theo needs is any more problems, especially if they’re caused by killing Deaton on a whim. “I need to get a bit more information first, then I’ll tell you everything.” Morrell probably won’t be happy about losing her brother, but it’s not like Stiles owes her anything. Plus, he doubts she’ll be too broken up about her brother’s murder. It’s not her he’s worried about, though. It’s other druids. Other packs. Other consequences he’s not yet aware of. Once he knows that, he can talk to Theo about it.

Since Satomi isn’t talking to him, however, he’ll have to talk to the only other person who might be able to tell him everything he needs to know.

“Hey.” Stiles runs his thumbs over Theo’s frown. “I promise it’s not dangerous. I’d never lie to you about that.” And he means it.

“Dinner!” Jordan bellows from the bottom of the stairs. Somewhere in the kitchen, Isaac is howling with laughter.

— — —

"I officially don't like this," Isaac informs him for the eighth time, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he waits for a white Mercedes to leave the parking space in front of Peter's downtown apartment building.

Stiles rubs his temple. "You didn't have to come."

"And let you go alone?" Isaac barks out a humorless laugh. "All hell would break loose if something happened to you because I let you go without supervision." He backs into the parking space with surprising ease for someone who has never driven a car as big as Jordan’s. "Your dad would kill me. Theo would torture and kill me. Lydia would find a way to bring me back and—"

"I get it." Stiles rolls his eyes. "But you know as well as I do that nobody will be able to stop the Dread Doctors if they decide to come after me." Not until they've figured out what's keeping them alive no matter what happens to them. If they’re lucky, they’ll know the answer as soon as Jordan, Noshiko, and Kira are done checking out the Dread Doctors’ lair. If not, they’ll have to figure out another way. They’re going to find another way.

The engine shuts down. The following silence is filled with the sounds of downtown Beacon Hills. Cars. Laughter. People yelling. The occasional horn. It feels more lively here. Weirdly enough, it also feels a lot less dangerous. More places to hide. No chance of the darkness creeping in.

Stiles removes his seatbelt and grabs the bag of sushi sitting in the legroom. “Thanks for the ride. Peter will—”

“Kill Deaton for you?”

Stiles whips his head around, staring at Isaac with wide eyes. The smug expression on his features does nothing regarding answering any questions. “How did you know?” He didn’t even mention anything about Deaton or druids with Isaac in the room. At the time, he was already outside talking to Jordan. Even Kira already left the room, if he remembers correctly. "Brett?" He's the only one left. Theo or Jackson wouldn’t have said anything to Isaac about it.

"He mentioned you had questions about druids but wanted to talk privately. Satomi and Morrell were arguing quietly for the rest of the day." Isaac taps his fingers against the steering wheel and peers out through the window. "It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” His eyes narrow slightly before he leans back against the driver’s seat, studying Stiles as if he’s still trying to work out a mystery.

Stiles sets his jaw. “Deaton was ready to sacrifice our parents to steal the nemeton’s powers. If his ritual had worked, I would’ve never found you. You all would’ve died.” Too many people who tried to kill all of them were allowed to walk away. He’s not going to continue this fucked up tradition — especially not when they’re destroying the balance in the process.

Scrunching his nose up, Isaac runs his fingers through his hair. “So, attempted murder is punishable by murder? Is that what you’re saying?”

“My job is to protect the balance,” Stiles reminds him, grip tightening around the bag. “Deaton cannot be allowed to have any access to the ley lines again, and if that means I will have to kill him….” He takes a breath and watches a man on the phone hurrying down the sidewalk. Although he is sure about this, Stiles struggles to say it out loud. It’s different with the chimeras when he can keep reminding himself that they are already dying and that their survival could lead to hundreds of deaths. Not that it makes it any easier to do. There’s nothing like that with Deaton. He has disrupted the balance. He has put his dad’s life on the line — but that makes him a selfish asshole. Being egotistical doesn’t exactly call for a death sentence. Plus, what happens if Talia Hale’s former emissary suddenly winds up being killed?

Isaac curls his fingers around the key in the ignition, ready to pull it out or twist it and start the car. “You sure about this?”

Stiles’ reply will make the decision for him. Is he ready for it? He certainly was when he spoke to Satomi and Morrell earlier today. Biting the inside of his cheek, Stiles contemplates the apartment building for a few moments. “Yes,” he whispers then, hoping his uncertainty isn’t as noticeable as it seems.

Muttering something under his breath Stiles can’t quite catch, Isaac yanks the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the car. Even though Stiles would have preferred that he stay here and wait, it’s good to know that Isaac is at least somewhat on board with everything Stiles is planning. Then again, Isaac has his own history with the veterinarian. There may be some resentment there.

Stiles follows him out of the car. A couple in a fancy getup walks out of the building, not bothering to close the door themselves. An opportunity Isaac instantly uses to their advantage by slipping so casually into the building, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he’s done that before — just as he wasn’t surprised that Peter owned the whole top floor. That’s probably the least surprising thing he’s learned today or even in the last week.

“What if he’s not home?” Isaac wonders, pacing the elevator almost like a caged animal.

Stiles watches as numbers jump from twelve to fourteen and scoffs when the elevator finally comes to a stop. Of course, Peter would live on the thirteenth floor of a building. They can call it the 14th floor all they want; they all know it’s a blatant lie. Stiles wonders if werewolves are as superstitious as humans, who, unlike werewolves, are unaware that all their worst nightmares are actually real. “Then we wait,” Stiles replies as the elevator doors slide open to reveal a lobby that most likely used to be a hallway connecting the two apartments on this level. The door on the right has been walled off, probably right around the time Peter Hale decided he wanted to have a penthouse.

And what Peter Hale wants, he gets. Usually. Stiles glances at Isaac, who seems to have come to a similar conclusion, then crosses the hallway to the only door left. Before he even has the chance to knock, the door opens.

Peter crosses his arms. “You know where I live,” he says, gaze flicking from Stiles to Isaac and back again. “Not sure if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Deal or no deal,” Stiles shoots back, “don’t underestimate my distrust of you.” Although he didn’t exactly expect Peter to jump for joy at his unannounced arrival, Stiles was sure he’d be a bit more welcoming. Then again, Stiles actively chose to support Theo’s decision to keep him out of his life for now. Peter’s probably a bit resentful because of that. Sighing, Stiles raises the bag. “I brought sushi.” It’s most likely not a peace offering someone like Peter would be very interested in, but his mother did teach him to never arrive empty-handed when visiting someone for the first time.

Once again, taking in Isaac, who is now standing directly behind Stiles, Peter draws his eyebrows up and regards the white bag almost suspiciously. “Laced with.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have bothered breaking you out.”

After only a brief moment, Peter nods seemingly more to himself than them. He steps aside anyway, so Stiles counts his argument as more than convincing. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“He has a question.” Isaac puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and maneuvers him into the room. “I’m just here to make sure you’re not being a creep.” His fingers dig a little harder into Stiles’ skin, almost as if he’s warning him not to push the subject or something that would elicit a reaction from Peter, even though Isaac should know that Peter is the last person they need to worry about right now.

If Peter heard the lie, he doesn’t respond. He merely shuts the door behind them, snatches the bag with sushi from Stiles’ hand, and walks into a giant open living space. The wall of windows would make Stiles paranoid with the lives they are living, but he also gets their appeal. The whole of downtown Beacon Hills seems to be visible from the apartment. On the left side of the room is a huge kitchen with a dining table big enough for at least twelve people. The right side has been turned into a living area with an oversized white couch, multiple bookshelves, a TV taking up a surprising amount of space on the wall, and a vinyl record player. The other two doors most likely lead to a bedroom and a guest bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, there is nothing personal in this place. As expensive and clean as everything up here is, there are no pictures, no decoration, nothing that could serve as a reminder of his family, making the apartment suddenly feel too big and lonely.

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and looks up at Isaac, who looks back at him with a shrug before following Peter into the kitchen. “You weren’t lying about not living in a cave.” He pulls a chair out and slips onto it, not entirely sure how to act now that he’s no longer on his home turf. This time, he needs Peter’s help, and all he has to offer is a few boxes of sushi.

“I don’t recall having lied to you so far,” Peter replies as he sorts the sushi rolls onto a large plate.

Once again, Stiles exchanges a look with Isaac. The other boy squints and shrugs again. Stiles scrunches up his face. He can’t tell if that’s a lie because he doesn’t remember Peter flat-out lying to him either, which is something even Theo prides himself on — and Stiles really doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that information.

Peter clears his throat. “How is Theo?”

Stiles expected the question the moment Peter opened the door. He lets out a breath and leans back in his chair. “I believe you’ve got a phone for that.” Even though Theo doesn’t know Stiles went to Peter for help, something he would’ve never agreed on simply because it’s Peter, he’s not going to try and smooth out things between them. It’s not why he’s here, and it wouldn’t be fair.

“You could throw me a bone,” Peter says, setting the plate of sushi on the table in front of Isaac and Stiles.

“I could,” Stiles agrees and watches Peter return to the kitchen to gather dinner plates. “But I won’t.” This is going to be an interesting dinner.

Isaac shifts in his chair, furrowing his brows as he’s given three dinner plates and silverware. His lips curl slightly, almost like he’s about to announce that guests shouldn’t help to set the table, but Isaac keeps his mouth shut and follows the unspoken request. By the looks he shoots Stiles, they will be talking about this later.

“You have a question for me, don’t you?” Smiling as if he’s won some sort of prize, Peter turns around to grab something from the cabinet behind him. He sounds way too excited, and honestly, Stiles should’ve expected something like this. "Quid pro quo." Peter sets down a pair of wine glasses, either out of habit or to provoke — he probably doesn’t get a lot of underaged guests, if he gets any guests at all. "Help me help you."

Stiles chuckles humorlessly. "That's not exactly what that stands for, is it?"

“It does tonight.” Peter slides into the chair with a bottle of unopened red wine. “So, how is my son?” The corkscrew looks almost more like a weapon than the claws he’s hiding.

Isaac nudges Stiles’ leg. This time, it’s very clearly a warning.

And Stiles doesn’t have any intention of helping Peter connect with Theo as long as Theo hasn’t agreed to it. Which he hasn’t. Since Theo doesn’t know Stiles is here. He knows, however, that Isaac and he have left to get some answers. Still, Stiles knows he has to give a little if he wants to get any answers tonight. “Nothing has changed since you last saw him,” he replies eventually, pushing his wineglass towards Peter.

This time, Isaac kicks his leg.

“Don’t worry,” Peter says with a chuckle. “You can sniff it. Regular human wine.” Clearly amused by Isaac’s reaction, he offers him the open bottle.

Isaac’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't reach for it or stop Peter from filling Stiles’ glass. “I don’t trust you, Peter,” he informs him as if the passive-aggressive silence he’s been throwing at the other werewolf hasn’t been explicit enough.

“You trusted me enough to dig into your memories.”

“I trusted Derek,” Isaac replies without any hesitation.

Peter fills his own glass and then sets the bottle aside, sniffing the wine as he swirls it around. “That’s not really an answer, Stiles,” he says as if their conversation hasn’t been interrupted.

Pulling his glass back towards him, Stiles scrutinizes the wine. “I can’t promise you he’ll come around.” The last time he had wine, he hated how it made his tongue feel. Liquid shouldn’t be able to make his mouth feel dry.

“He isn’t talking to Jackson.” Peter sips on his wine and then contemplates the sushi as if this conversation had the weight of small talk.

Stiles shouldn’t be surprised — neither at Jackson keeping Peter in the loop nor at a Hale bottling up their feelings. It’s one of their specialties, especially Peter’s. “Jackson isn’t exactly talking to him either.” Unless they’re counting their countless bickering as an actual conversation instead of the snide remarks that they are. “But since they are your kids, I assume you’re aware they’re endlessly stubborn and unable to talk about their feelings unless their life depends on it.” Or, in Theo’s case, if Stiles’ life depends on it. He’s just glad Theo does open up to him if he’s pushing enough. Maybe one day, Theo will come to talk to him before breaking everything in sight the second Peter pisses him off.

Placing three different types of sushi on his plate, Peter gives him a tight smile. He really does seem upset about the current state of his family. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Stiles watches Isaac grab some sushi as well. He has no idea how he can eat again after wolfing down an inhuman amount of lasagna only a few hours ago. “What are the consequences for wreaking havoc on the balance?”

Peter quirks a brow. “You’re coming to me for that information?”

“Satomi didn’t give him the answer he wanted,” Isaac chimes in, sounding way too cheerful about that.

“Well,” Peter sounds as if he’s contemplating his reply when he leans back in his chair, “I’d say that depends on the crime and the person who committed it.” His response is so similar to Satomi’s it’s hard to see it as anything but genuine.

Even Isaac stares at Peter as if he’s grown a second head.

Looks like Stiles wasn’t the only one who expected Peter’s answer to be related to death and violence. It’s not the answer Stiles came looking for, either. “An emissary,” he explains, and if he notices the edge in his voice, Isaac and Peter do as well. “He manipulated a ritual to steal power meant for the nemeton.”

“If it’s an emissary, the pack will have to decide upon a fitting punishment.” That’s more information than Satomi gave him earlier, but it’s still not entirely helpful.

Stiles twists the glass between his fingers, watching the wine twirl. “What if there is no pack left?”

“Then the person in charge of the territory will have to make that decision,” Peter replies, tapping a finger against his own glass. “I presume you’re talking about Deaton?”

Stiles doesn’t know why he tried to be vague in his descriptions. He doesn’t know any other emissaries aside from Morrell. It’s not like Beacon Hills is swimming in packs with emissaries who could be the one Stiles is referring to. He didn’t even try to go the hypothetical route. So he simply nods.

“That puts Isaac in charge of his fate.” Whether or not he tried to keep it hidden, there is a hint of glee in Peter’s tone. “However, I’d say you should have a say in it as well. After all, it is your power Deaton stole. It’s only fair if you’re involved in making that decision.”

Isaac huffs, clearly not entirely happy with that statement. “Stiles reckons he should be killed.”

“No,” Stiles says quickly, hating the way Peter’s lips curl into a knowing grin, “I think he should be barred from ever having access to the nemeton again. If death is the only way…” he cuts off again and studies Peter’s face. Admitting to wanting to kill someone feels even worse in front of him. This is Peter Hale, after all, he knows how to push everyone’s buttons. He swallows and straightens his shoulders. “Let’s say Deaton is killed,” Stiles speculates, pushing the wine glass away from him, folding his arms over his chest, “what’s gonna happen in the werewolf community?” Because if his murder will cause any issues, Stiles is not going to do it.

Peter raises his brows. “What makes you think his death would have any effect?”

“He was Talia Hale’s emissary.”

“One she kept secret from her own pack,” Peter tells him, smiling in a way that’s a little too reminiscent of Theo’s pleasure at other people’s pain.“ And his stories about the True Alpha don’t seem to have been taken particularly seriously. Otherwise, every pack in California would’ve asked for an audience with Scott.” But that never happened. Only a few people seemed to have believed that Scott was a True Alpha.

Which begs the question, how reputable was Deaton as an emissary? And if he wasn’t, would anybody miss him?

“Okay, before we consider killing him,” Isaac interrupts around a mouthful of sushi, “what about Eichen House?”

“Valack and Deaton are old buddies,” Peter says without breaking eye contact with Stiles. He raises his brows slightly again, and there is a certain type of hunger in his eyes — one Stiles has felt burning in his veins earlier today. Revenge. It’s almost like Peter wants to get permission to kill Deaton, maybe because of something that happened in the past. Maybe he blames Deaton for something. Or maybe, it’s because Deaton chose a teenage boy over a Hale.

Stiles presses his lips together and jumps slightly when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s quite a welcoming distraction. He shifts in his chair and pulls out his phone. If he gives Peter permission to kill someone… no. No. That’s out of the question. Isaac might actually end up ripping his head off. But if Deaton doesn’t have the best reputation, they might get away with killing him.

“It’s a text from Kira.” Stiles tilts his phone to the left so Isaac can read it with him, but when he opens the chat, he doesn’t exactly get the response he expected.

“Abandoned?” Isaac says out loud, confusion lining his features. “What does she mean by abandoned?”

Like Stiles knows the answer. They’re reading the same fucking text, a text that very clearly states that this place looks as if there hasn’t been anybody in a while. No equipment. No chimeras. No Dread Doctors. Nothing that would even indicate they’ve ever been there. But Nolan remembered where they kept him. He showed them only hours ago. The Dread Doctors might be able to suppress memories, but they can’t change them. Plus, they buried a chimera there. Stiles knows they did because he saw it. He felt it. Why would they do that if they—

Stiles jumps to his feet, chair clattering to the floor behind him. “They knew.”

“What?” Isaac stares at him with wide eyes.

“That chimera, it wasn’t a trap.” He shoves the phone back into the pocket of his jeans, heart hammering in his chest. “It was bait.” The Dread Doctors know Theo. They know he never would’ve let Stiles walk out there without protection. They knew Stiles would be with Jordan. It’s not a coincidence that Nolan remembered where he was held hostage at the same time as the Dread Doctors buried a chimera without any chance of survival. They knew that Stiles would not be accompanying Jordan when everyone thought they set a trap to get to him.

Isaac’s face goes white. “But that means—”

That means they will look for him in the places that make the most sense. Theo’s place, or Stiles’ home. And when they go to the latter, they will find Theo alone. “We have to go.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Peter gets to his feet as well.

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, and he has to swallow heavily to get the words out. “Theo is in danger.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the lights are flickering in the whole apartment. Stiles casts a look outside the wall of windows, but the neighboring buildings do not have any issues with their lighting. That either means that Peter coincidentally started having issues with his electricity, or Stiles has been wrong about where the Dread Doctors are looking for him.

Isaac grabs his wrist and pulls him close. “We need to go,” he says, looking over his shoulder toward the balcony and back to the front door. “We need to go right now.” They have three ways out of this building, the fire escape, the elevator, and the staircase. All three force them to leave Peter’s apartment through the front door. The issue is, however, that there are also three Dread Doctors. Something Isaac is fully aware of because otherwise, he most certainly would’ve already made a run for it.

“I can deal with one of them.” Stiles has done it before. Maybe it was sheer luck, but it’s not like they have a lot of options.

“You’re not going to fight them!” Isaac snaps, tightening his grip around his wrist.

Stiles tries to pull free anyway. “I’m not talking about fighting, but I can clear a path.”

“No, you—” But Isaac doesn’t finish his sentence. His gaze darts to something past Stiles’ left ear, and what little color he’s got left in his face drains even further. His lips part, and he backs away from something, dragging Stiles along.

The only thing Stiles can think of that could scare Isaac this much right now is the Dread Doctors, but while they can phase through walls, they have not yet learned to teleport. Stiles whips around either way, only to find nothing behind him. Not even Peter, who is still standing next to the table and regards Isaac with the same confusion that’s clawing its way through Stiles’ fear.

“Dad?” His grip loosens as Isaac backs away again, suddenly looking very young.

“No.” Stiles steps forward, remembering what Lydia told him. Regarding the Dread Doctors, Stiles isn’t the only one able to create powerful hallucinations. “Isaac. Isaac, this isn’t real.” He grabs Isaac’s arm, trying to pull him along, but he isn’t even budging. “Listen to me, they—”

The front door slams open, but only the Surgeon enters, his trusty cane in hand. His dramatic entrance is a little undermined by his two friends appearing out of nowhere at his sides.

Stiles lets go of Isaac and flexes his fingers. He’s not going to fight them. All he wants is a way out — and if he runs, they’re going to leave Isaac alone because that’s not who they are after. “Peter, a little help here?” The lack of response makes his stomach drop. “Peter?” Stiles asks, voice shaking slightly. If they got into Peter’s head as well—

Without warning, he’s grabbed by the throat and slammed against the ground. Peter is above him, claws digging into Stiles’ neck and fangs ready to rip his throat out. His eyes, however, despite their glaring blue, seem strangely vacant. Like he’s not really seeing him.

“Peter.” Stiles knows his lips form his name, but not a single noise leaves his mouth. His heart slams against his ribs as the panic kicks in. He’s thrashing around, kicking at Peter, trying to tear his hand away from his throat. Tears burn in the corners of his eyes. He promised Theo that it wouldn’t be dangerous. He promised him.

Snarling, Peter leans closer.

Stiles gasps, but breathing feels as if someone set his throat on fire.

“Talia,” Peter whispers, unbothered by Stiles clawing at his arm, “you should’ve never taken my kids from me.”

It’s me, Stiles wants to say. Please, please, stop. But his mouth refuses to cooperate, and his chest burns. His vision blurs, from tears, from lack of oxygen. His lips part for a last ditch effort to get some air. He needs to breathe. He needs to breathe. If he doesn’t breathe, they’re going to get him.

They’re going to get him.

Stiles closes his eyes.

I’m sorry, Theo.

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #steoedit #teen wolf #stiles x theo #theo x stiles #no place for promises #*tv:teen wolf #*w:npfp #*s:steo

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