#she doesn’t have a name so feel free to recommend some!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deanbrainrotwritings · 2 months

Text

— mattel

SUMMARY : “it’s been a few years since tfw got out of the life, dean and reader are married, etc. dean’s been a little self-conscious lately—he doesn’t look like how he used to; he’s put on a few pounds. just dean with love handles (PLEASEEEEE dean with love handles lives rent free in my mind) body (dean’s) appreciation, lovey dovey stuff like that. reader taking care of him :))))) dean smut fic!!!!!” - anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Alison (OFC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluffy, little angst, shameless horniess, dirty thoughts, size kink ngl

WORD COUNT : 2.9k

A/N : title from an avenged sevenfold song. this fills the square for sex shop on my @jacklesversebingo card. there will be a second part, hehe. xx

“Wow,” you looked around with your lips parted in astonishment at the hundreds of sex toys that covered the wall from top to bottom. “I’ve been missing out.” They had cute names and cute ‘mascots’ stamped on the boxes that held the toys within. You saw bunnies and panda bears and pretty colours like pink, purple, and sky blue.

Dean chuckled behind you and you turned to watch him roll his eyes as he looked to the side. You followed his gaze and you were bombarded with lewd sex books. One of them was open on a bookstand to a page with a man and woman having sex in a position that seemed too acrobatic to actually be pleasurable. You blinked, jaw dropped in shock, and turned your eyes to Dean whose cheeks turned deep red when he met your gaze.

“I’d break something if we tried this!” You exclaimed to make things worse for Dean, and took the same book that resided next to it to quickly flip through it, not nearly as excitedly as you’d hate to admit you were. “This can’t be purely for my enjoyment. Although this one looks hot! Imagine if you did tha- hey!” Dean snatched the book from your hands when two women giggled as they walked around the two of you.

You looked up at him innocently, but mostly seductively when he pulled you into the lingerie section. He shoved the book he’d forgotten about into one of the shelves. Now you knew why he decided to take you this early in the morning. The shop was practically empty after two hours of being open. And Dean, the grumpy morning person he was, hurried you into getting dressed so you could arrive ‘early’ after checking his phone a couple of times. (You imagined he checked the hours and days the shop was less busy and it amused you further.)

“You need to take this seriously,” he murmured, his attention mostly focused on one of the sets above your head. You bit your lip to hide your smirk, but failed and grinned mischievously at him.

“I am!” You pouted, subtly looking at the lingerie set that caught his eye. He gave you a look and you defensively crossed your arms over your chest and turned away from him. “Fine! I’ll pick something, go ask one of the women what they recommend for us, you know, something we can share-”

“What?” Dean suddenly sounded more embarrassed and in disbelief at your request. You could feel him get closer and your skin prickled with foreshadowing excitement.

“Oh, come on.” You turned to punch his arm gently, but he still rubbed the spot. “It’ll be cute to them, just let me look around some more… Please?” He bit his lip thoughtfully and you did the same to hold back a moan at the sight of him in a plain black t-shirt and the same sweatpants he’d abandoned the night before when he made you choke on his dick and beg for him to-

“Okay, baby.” He leaned down to peck your lips and then kissed your forehead as your stomach lurched with elation and your breath bubbled in your chest. You smiled softly at him, your dirty memory evaporating like a puddle in the middle of summer.

You tried to act as casually as you could after stepping out of the dressing room at the back of the sex shop and looked for where Dean was. The same woman—Alison—who’d helped you get away with your secret, winked at you as she talked Dean’s ear off about the toy you figured one of the other employees suggested to Dean.

You carried a small bullet vibrator Alison suggested—for discrete purposes—and a lingerie set. Not the one Dean was staring at earlier, you were currently wearing it beneath your lavender dress. Alison was clearly devious and not judgmental about your request when you’d approached her about it.

Dean visibly relaxed when he saw you and you smiled at him as he thanked Alison. Your eyes dropped to the box and you quickly read Tenuto Mini and you lifted a brow inquiringly at Dean.

“Well, if you have any more questions, I’d be happy to help!” Alison chirped and smiled wide as she walked off. You pursed your lips and watched her long brown hair sway across her back. Suddenly, you began to second-guess your daring move.

“Sweetheart.” Dean’s hand finding yours pulled you out of your flight-freeze state.

“Hey,” you breathed and attempted to smile normally at him, “find something good?”

His eyes slowly moved across your face and you felt your cheeks become warm. Could he read your mind, suddenly? You forced yourself to think of food and your favourite places to have lunch in order to push away your sexual thoughts. Fear is never good for you.

“I dunno,” he murmured unenthusiastically. Your smile fell and concern wrinkled your forehead as you traced the beautiful features of his face to get a read on him.

“What do you mean?” You laughed softly.

“I just… don’t feel…” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” You managed to utter past the knot in your throat.

He stepped closer to you, his gentle hand tapped under your chin in what you think was an attempt to comfort you, and opened his mouth to finally get the moment over with, but he shut it faster than you’d like.

“Dean, what’s-”

“I don’t feel hot… anymore,” he blurted out under his breath.

It was like a cold bath, icy water that killed the fire of both your anxiety and your arousal. You frowned hard, feeling deeply troubled and somewhat hurt by his admission.

“Oh…” you whispered. You watched him bite his lip and longed to be the one who sank your teeth against the plushness of them. You had no idea what to say to him, to comfort him, or even to change his mind about it. You never really considered that he felt that way about himself and part of you wondered when or why he began having those feelings.

“Let’s just go.” He attempted to take the things you were holding, but you felt more confident now about what you were planning. Have you failed as his girlfriend? You were more than happy to prove him wrong by going through with your dirty plan.

“No,” you asserted, “I don’t know when you started feeling that way, but I don’t agree.”

“Let’s… not do this here,” he said quietly, his hand slid up to your elbow. A small group of people entered the store, the bell above the door announced their arrival, and you huffed petulantly. He pulled you closer and you felt agitated—by his words—and wondered how you were even going to play your game out without making him uncomfortable.

“Fine, but we are buying these.” You plucked the toy from his hands and turned away to pay for them yourself before he could argue against it.

The car-ride back home was tense and awkward.

You were horny, upset, troubled, and deep in thought.

Your eyes occasionally drifted over to where Dean sat, his hands wrapped lazily around the steering wheel, legs slightly parted—relaxed. He was deep in thought himself, you could tell by the way he bit his lip and occasionally tapped his thumb against the steering wheel.

You could feel your frown deepening the longer you stared at him and the deeper you fell into the black hole of your thoughts, the more troubled you felt.

How could he not feel hot when you currently wanted to jump his bones and he wasn’t even trying to be sexy? But that was just you. And you had no idea how to comfort him. Or what to say. Just in general, you didn’t know what to do. Would he believe a word you said? Just because you felt it, doesn’t mean he did, too. And that was clear from the way he expressed he felt unattractive, despite the way you were clearly more than pleased to even lay your eyes on him.

He was so beautiful.

For the most part, in the past, you did feel slightly insecure. So you understood how he felt now. But once you started dating, your insecurity went down significantly. And now that the two of you were married, you didn’t doubt for a second that he thought you were beautiful.

Nearly every morning, it was normal for you to express how displeased you were to see him walk out the door for work or having to walk out earlier than him to work yourself. How could it be that he somehow felt not hot when you shamelessly drooled over him in a t-shirt and sweats? You worshipped the ground he walked on and more than loved to be at his mercy.

You hoped at least what happened last night would prove something to him. If the way he had you on your knees, barely allowing you to touch yourself as you took his cock down your throat meant anything to him. Or if the way he made you beg and cry for him to let you orgasm after teasing you with his tongue, fingers, and cock proved anything. You hoped the memory of all of that proved him wrong, basically.

He was all you could think about, always.

Now, your mind was filled with ideas of what you’d do to watch him beg and whimper for you, too. To make him get grabby and rough with you from how much you teased him. To make him delirious by keeping him from his orgasm. To tease him with slow strokes of your hands, your mouth, or your pussy, whatever would make him pound you into the mattress until you came too many times to speak or think coherently.

You wanted to feel him all over your body. You wanted to feel his warm cum inside you. To see the bruises of his fingertips on your hips. To feel the sensitivity and puffiness of your nipples from his mouth. To feel raw and tender and wet between your legs from whatever he decided to use to please you. To feel the soreness in your muscles of having been fucked.

You wanted to see the fierce possessiveness in his green eyes. To kiss the red blush on his freckled cheeks. To hear the arousing sounds of his pleasure rumbling deeply through his chest. To watch the mind-numbing pleasure contort his beautiful face. To see and feel the way his body became taut and tense as it moved with yours.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“What?” It was when you turned to look at him that you felt your thighs relax slightly. They were slick with your arousal and you were only half-ashamed about it. You felt hotter than you already were and shifted your hips shamelessly, only to feel the Impala’s air-conditioning cool the wetness of your neediness against your cunt. Your eyes fell to his hand as it wrapped around your thigh, his fingers squeezed the sides and you instantly imagined him doing it to your neck. You felt a rapid jolt of pleasure on your clit and pressed your lips together as you caught yourself imagining the look on his face if he dared to sneak his fingers higher to feel the dampness of your arousal against your inner thighs. You attempted to remain composed. “I’m fine,” you smiled, then bit your lip to save yourself from smiling too much or not enough.

He looked at you for a few moments and your heart only began to beat faster with each passing second. Dean turned slightly to face you and you realised that you were home when you caught a glimpse of your neighbour’s lemon tree out of the corner of your eye.

What you’d give to ask Dean to steal some off the branches that hung over on your side of the yard. Just to watch his shirt ride up, to reveal his sun-kissed skin, with his sweats hanging low on his hips, his arms flexing to reach the juiciest and perfect lemons for you-

“You’re not mad are you?” Dean’s hand slid up your thigh to grasp your hip and you held your breath—hoping he’d pull you into his lap.

“What? Of course not!” You breathed out when he squeezed gently, awaiting your response. He sighed softly in relief and smiled, his hand moved away and you frowned at the loss of his touch. “I’m… horny,” you admitted bravely and watched his eyes widen and his face turn red.

“Really?” He chuckled breathlessly. He suddenly looked more confident and relaxed. He leaned forward, brushed your hair off your shoulder with his hand, and let his nose tease your jaw as the scent of your flowery perfume made his brain foggy.

You shivered and knew you were already too far gone to play any games with him. You felt his lips ghost against your neck, one of his hands held your elbow, and his other hand moved your hair out of the way on the other side of your face. You somehow felt wetter than before and unbuckled your seatbelt to climb into his lap.

Dean’s laugh died down to a moan when you kissed him and his hands found your waist on instinct. “I really need you to fuck me,” you breathed against his parted lips.

He had the audacity to smirk at you and brought his hands back up to your face to kiss you again instead. He was gentler, slower than you could handle at the moment. His thumb brushed against your warm cheekbone and his fingers tangled in your hair and you wished he would pull on it—hard—as he made you ride his cock.

You whined against his mouth, so he shut you up with his tongue sliding in between your lips to meet yours. Your arousal felt uncomfortable between your legs and your skin began to heat up even more the harder your heart pounded in your chest. You ached for him. Your body ached for him. You wanted to feel him where he’d been a million times before and your body tingled excitedly at the thought of his touch.

You moved his hand from your face and guided it between your bodies so he could feel just how desperate and serious you were about your request. He continued to kiss you, allowing you to guide him. Your lips tingled with endless desire and he soothed your need by sucking on your lip and nibbling possessively on your reddened flesh. He gasped against your mouth and nearly choked on his whimper when his fingertips grazed your lace panties, now completely soaked in your wetness.

You pulled away slightly to catch your breath and he pushed your underwear to the side to feel your slippery folds and entrance. It was embarrassingly easy the way he slipped two of his thick fingers into your. He moaned appreciatively when you panted hard against his flushed cheek and he squirmed, biting hard on his lip.

You began to undulate your hips when he perfectly curled his fingers against your walls and thumbed at your swollen clit, keeping your wet folds spread apart with his index and pinky finger. “Make me finish, Dean. Fuck, I need to cum so bad,” you begged shamelessly, practically fucking yourself on his fingers, in his car, in broad daylight, of all things.

On any other occasion, you’d be utterly ashamed, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to end the pleasure of finally having Dean’s touch right where you needed him. He was so good at making you feel hot and bothered, and you were so ready and wet, you could even hear the abundance of your arousal with every movement of your hips.

You released his wrist and sneaked your hand into his sweats, tried to find the waistband of his underwear, but instead you felt his hardened length ready against your fingers. You inhaled sharply, felt the way your pussy pulsed excitedly around his fingers, and brushed your own lower to feel the already-smeared precum on the tip of his cock.

“Oh… fuck,” Dean murmured, wavering before his fingers slipped out of you, “not here.”

You expressed your complaint with an irritated moan, but removed your hand from inside his pants despite feeling only minimally motivated to obey him. “You’re not wearing anything underneath… And I’m somehow supposed to contain myself?”

His laugh was breathy and quiet against your mouth. “I don’t remember this being what you wore under your dress,” he attempted to change the subject with his accusatory tone. He bit his lip, gazing at you through those beautiful lashes of his when you forced yourself away from him. He wasn’t fully capable of hiding the mischief in his green eyes and you inhaled deeply, smiling, hoping to resist the urge to ask again for him to claim you in his car.

“I think we are both equally surprised at what we’ve found beneath each other’s clothes.”

Dean’s playful grin was followed by laughter he couldn’t contain, a glorious sound that made the millions of dormant butterflies scatter in your stomach. You exhaled shakily and admired him, before making the wise choice of taking the bag containing your new merchandise before escaping the warmth of his car.

Dean called your name happily, but you ignored him when you heard the sexy rumble of his engine die. You stole the key from the pot containing yellow daffodils as the Impala’s door creaked shut with that same sound that brought hope to you whenever he came back home to you again.

-> mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix

taglist

@rominaszh // @livingdeadmak // @lanassmarty // @murdockscumsock // @zepskies

@candy-coated-misery0731 // @stxrgazer03 // @epsilonsagittarii // @lyarr24 // @spnfamily-j2

@globetrotter28 // @deansbbyx // @lickmybawls // @jackles010378 // @winchstrdean

@deanwinchestersgirl87 // @the-achievementhunter // @deanfreakingwinchester // @k-slla // @madzzz0797

@laylaackles // @fanfic-n-tabulous // @kristophalis // @mrlonelycat // @taylortots-world

@evznackles // @ohnosy // @angelbabyyy99 // @girls-alias // @kezibear

@kaleldobrev // @iwishiwasntreal // @blackcherrywhiskey // @dayhsdreaming @littlemadamred

@xshortputax // @il0vebeingdelulu // @isadumbass // @take-it-on-the-run // @impala1967rollingthroughtown

@pasteldecrack // @imsapphine // @gravesphillip // @illicithallways // @saturnsooya

@vyctorya // @deanwinchesters67impala // @jgdhmeynsgn

or follow @deanbrainrotlibrary for fic notifications

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader

397 notes · View notes

frenzyarts · 1 month

Text

She finally came in the mail!!!! Getting this doll was almost a tragedy because the delivery guy just left her box outside the door to my building for some reason? Deliveries never get left out there (for good reason, I live in an urban part of LA, someone could easily just grab it and walk off). But some good person in my building had brought it in and put it on the front desk 😭🙌💕💕💕 so I got the package safe and sound!

Anyways I love her, I’ve never had a ball jointed doll this large (all my dolls are mechanical jointed dolls, except for one teeny one the size of an ob11) and she was sort of a challenge. I had to take her hands off to get her outfit on but you can’t just pop the hands off like a mechanical jointed doll, you have to make sure there’s tension so her strings don’t go back into her body. Her shoes are also attached that way but luckily the pants could fit over them without taking them off!

What’s interesting is that even though she’s a cat themed tv doll, you can make her just a tv themed doll if you want. The ears are magnetic and come off, same with the tail (there’s even a little piece of plastic to cover the magnet that holds the tail) and she has replacement human hands and feet. If I wanted to, I could put her in an entirely different outfit, but right now I’m so enamored with her that she’s staying a cat ^u^

I realize that the busy background of my desk doesn’t make for amazing photos but I’m definitely gonna take more pics in a better location 🥳 also idk what to name her yet so feel free to recommend a name!!

#bjd #tv head #tv head doll #ball jointed doll #dollblr #my dolls #frenzy post

201 notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 10 months

Note

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary.

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over.

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up.

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people.

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good.

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule.

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls.

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again.

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence.

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored.

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts.

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him.

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret.

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground.

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone.

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own.

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back.

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this.

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull.

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve.

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him.

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone.

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something.

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met.

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition.

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers.

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face.

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set.

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across.

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member.

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family.

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door.

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom.

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them.

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating.

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever.

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter.

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again.

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents.

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start.

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #theyre just so casual in this fic #duke gets kidnaps. nbd tbh. saved by a glowing flying guy. nbd. duke clocks dannys identity instantly. nbd.#theyre just chilling. no time to freak out they on a mission to get milkshakes!!#sam is cackling once they leave and people start trying to figure out who they were and how audacious they were in leaving like that #lots of people ask bruce abt duke and his actions. the other siblings are trying so hard to get info abt danny from sam but shes not cracki #dick asks jason to follow them and get info bc this milkshake date is now an urgent mission. jason blocks him.#damian and sam do bond over animal rights and environmentalism later tho. they just share protesting tips and best ways to cause a scene #once again peppering in ocs bc i love making ocs #(<-says the girl literally writing an original superhero novel bc she cant stop making ocs. as if this is news to anyone)#thanks for the prompt!!!

762 notes · View notes

periprose · 5 months

Text

Priestess | Sayyadina

Faith is falling in Sietch Tabr. Reverend Mother Ramallo has a solution– marrying Naib Stilgar to one of the Sayyadina, in order to greater connect the people and the spiritual way, and enable Lisan Al Gaib’s journey to freedom, when he appears. This is your story as the chosen priestess.

Genre: arranged marriage to lovers, fluff, smut, (oral, piv, 18+) angst, lots of sci-fi Dune book references

Word count: 9.8k

Fremen Dictionary:

Sayyadina: Lower ranking priestess(es) who have not yet drank the Water of Life

Naib: Leader of a Sietch

Sietch: Cave/place of assembly by the Fremen

Sahar: Reader’s Sietch Name

Biet: Reader’s Fremen Name

Stilgar climbs up the rocky terrain, his fingers adeptly finding well-known grooves in the stone as he lifts himself to the absolute top of the cliff.

He needs some time to think over his conversation with Ramallo, Sietch Tabr’s Reverend Mother, before he heads back to the Sietch. Stilgar is not one to stay away from his people, his community— but for once in his life, it’s too close for comfort.

As Naib, there will be too many people coming to him at once, asking for his advice and input on things he is normally capable of answering. Friends and family will approach him closely, knowing too much about him to tell there’s something on his mind, and expecting him to be transparent as he typically is.

For this moment, though, he needs his head to be clear. He cannot be as jovial as he might’ve been in the past.

What Ramallo offered him is a subject matter he does not take lightly.

The sun is setting as Stilgar remembers their conversation from the previous hour.

“As Sayyadina, as Reverend Mother, my honest recommendation is that the Northern Fremen need to replenish their numbers.” Ramallo speaks in hushed tones of Chakobsa, the native Fremen language.

Stilgar is slightly confused. The concept of child bearing is not one that he has to be concerned with, as he, despite his older age, has not been married yet.

Something he admonishes himself for.

“There are many of us, but we could always expand. I have already suggested to the South that they could send some of their people here, if they would like to be.” Stilgar frowns. “So many Fremen in the south, densely packed, is an easy way to be attacked. We could spread out more.”

“Save your war-speak for later, Stilgar.” Ramallo tuts, and then sighs a long, languid sigh that has Stilgar feeling much younger than he really is. “I don’t mean simply bringing people here.”

He’s never sure what the Reverend Mother wants, but he always gives her his full attention. Something about staying in his faith for so long has kept him here, grounded, seated in front of Ramallo, ready to do what needs to be done. Not just for the Mahdi, as he is often teased about, but so he doesn’t lose himself.

“Please. Tell me.” He asks, kneeling his head down in a solemn movement, and Ramallo knows he’s ready for this.

“The youth of Sietch Tabr don’t believe in our faith anymore, do they?” Ramallo wraps a gnarled finger around her wrist, feeling a minor form of trepidation she is sure real Bene Gesserit have never felt. “They laugh when we speak of Lisan al Gaib.”

“They have not read the prophecy.” Stilgar swallows, unsure if he can really speak on this, when he regards himself as a humble follower. “They laugh because they do not believe in the Mahdi to free us.”

Stilgar thinks of his niece, Chani, who suggests that a Fremen could be the Mahdi. He knows this can’t be true, because he believes his people are fed-up— it should have happened by now if one of them was truly possessed with that capability.

“Sietch Tabr is too worldly now. I worry that if we lose our faith, we cannot usher in Lisan al Gaib as he should be, and our promise to freedom.” Ramallo fixes her cold, foggy pupils on Stilgar, the cloudy whites making the typical Fremen-blue appear more teal. He shivers at the idea.

“I want you, as Naib, our political leader, to take one of the Sayyadina as your wife. One of the lower priestesses.”

Stilgar nearly protests instantly, feeling embarrassed to even think of desecrating a Sayyadina like this, but the old Reverend Mother knows what he thinks of this.

“It would be a marriage between our religion and our people, a symbolic union. I believe our spirituality will be renewed.” Ramallo taps his hand. “I’m an old woman now. I cannot make as much as a difference as my younger sisters— and you and I both know it is written that we must keep bearing children.”

Stilgar swallows. He only vaguely knows of the Bene Gesserit, but he can guess Ramallo was deeply inspired by their way, marrying into families, keeping a physical bloodline going. The only thing that troubles him, is that he’s unsure of what this has to do with having children with a Sayyadina in particular.

“If you have children, especially with a Sayyadina, they are more likely to be faithful. Perhaps we cannot convert the others,” Ramallo grits her teeth. “But I believe we can start anew.”

Stilgar knows he cannot force himself on any of the Sayyadina. It’s bad enough that they cannot say no to the Reverend Mother’s command, especially with that shocking, unnerving Voice she uses, so he would much rather let one of them pick him. Yes, that’s what he’ll do— walk into the temple, and let them approach him.

He just hopes he’s not too old, too ugly, too entwined with his role as Naib. He wonders if that’s why women haven’t necessarily been interested in him— what with his constant vigilance to keep Sietch Tabr safe and with a good allocation of resources, which makes him rather unapproachable, not as dashing as a typical Feydakin.

He knows how Lady Jessica looked at him with reproach when he offered himself to her, to protect her and her son, Paul. Yes, even the name Paul suggests something more to him— he still thinks he could be Lisan al Gaib. But either way, Lady Jessica did not want to be connected to him like that— so Stilgar feels that he must admire how marriage exists in that intrinsic bond between two people, from afar.

On the other hand, he feels the slightest tinge of hope when he remembers that a Sayyadina would surely be impressed with his devotion. In fact, Stilgar feels a slight grin on his face, as he climbs down from his cliff, thinking of a veiled Fremen priestess, eyes of Ibad even bluer than his own, marking her commitment to the faith. Holy, but his, to see like no one else would, and to be devoutly loyal to.

Almost like a personal representation, an extension of their faith together. And suddenly Stilgar feels understanding to what the Reverend Mother said, as he walks through the night, back to his quarters, that there would be power in this.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, knowing that it’s a needless thing to do— a waste of water, now, that a drop of blood has been drawn from where you have accidentally split your lip— and you can’t help yourself.

Reverend Mother Ramallo grasped you and your sisters’ hands during prayer this morning, and told you that Stilgar would choose one of you as his wife.

It’s a bit surprising. As a Sayyadina directly under a Reverend Mother, you simply expected to be on your own, until she died and one of you would have to take her place. Other Sayyadina marry, yes— but you’ve always studied under Ramallo and assumed that you would not have to.

You know the Bene Gesserit— as far away as they are to you— form alliances like this with men, and it’s an honourable thing, typically, to produce a child from a union and continue on a legacy of people. It’s with that line of thinking that you asked Ramallo if this is what you were meant to follow.

“Sahar.” Ramallo used your Sietch name, the one that is only known among your sisters for the most part, as most Sayyadina consider their Sietch name to be their sacred name. “Smarter than I sometimes give you credit for. Yes, like our fellow priestesses, we too can create children for the sacred purpose of replacement.”

You smiled, but Ramallo had a slightly weary look in her eyes.

“I don’t want you girls to forget the sacred duty. Continue the faith. Do not let others forget our long wait for the Lisan al Gaib. Pass this onto your children, if you have them.”

You nodded, and whispered a silent prayer that hopefully soon he would be found, and that in itself would be enough to push people.

So now you wait. You know Stilgar— you’ve conversed with him before, in lunch circles, at the deathstill. He was kind enough— he always bowed when he greeted you, and you liked that, liked that he acknowledged your importance in your role here, however small it may be to you. And he always had a careful, leaning inwards glance, where he would be intently listening to whatever you had to say, even if you simply wished him well and hoped that the Maker would bless him and his passage.

It also significantly helped that he was so handsome to look at, too. You’ve heard women murmur about their surprise on his lack of a wife, and how they’d be grateful to take him, if they got the chance. You don’t disagree– you know you’ve spent many a moment glancing too much at him.

But Stilgar seems intensely busy, and you do not be the one to pull him away from his duties. You have had the privilege of being unaware of fighting, of battles and duels, and now to be potentially married to him, it feels like you’ll simply not fit into his life.

And, on the other hand, as you glumly sit on your bedding, rolling a pebble on the stone floor, you think about how you’ve had little-to-no experience with men.

It’s not that it wasn’t allowed, you’ve always been preoccupied with your faith. With the Reverend Mother.

You know how Fremen men, especially warrior men like Stilgar would be. They have appetites— your fellow Sayyadina sister Nezua tells you about all her crazy endeavours, while you listen somewhat enviously. There’s a reason why Fremen men take so many wives.

Your stomach lurches a little at that. Although multiple wives are common, to continue to reproduce as efficiently as possible, you dislike the notion for some reason— but you feel selfish and wonder if it is because, as a priestess, you’ve had special treatment until now.

Nezua walks into your quarters, and taps your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“He’s outside.” She takes your hand. “Don’t worry, Sahar. I am sure he will not pick one of us— he will probably pick Ranira. She barely wants to be Sayyadina.”

“But isn’t that against the point?” You squeeze your hands together. “For a union between faith and people—”

“C’mon, Sahar. Don’t tell me you really believe that.” She rolls her eyes. “Whoever ends up being Stilgar’s wife will probably be in his house most of the time, ‘praying’, but really just dutifully waiting for him.”

“I suppose…” You don’t want to tell Nezua that she’s wrong. That Stilgar is more devout than she thinks, that he’s not a cheat looking for a free wife to use while pretending to care about the faith.

Stilgar has always come to the temple to pray, even when it is not necessary for a man of his standing to do so— as he often speaks of needing to continue his worship towards the Maker, the One God, and Ramallo is always pleased to let him in. She wouldn’t do that if he had some sort of ulterior motive, as other less honourable men have in the past.

It’s with a jolt that you realize you already care for him on some level. At the very least, you think highly of him.

Nezua pulls you up off your bedding, and you adjust your veil before going off into the main prayer hall with her.

Upon seeing the arrival of all six Sayyadina sisters— the current number of high priestesses directly under Ramallo— Stilgar pushes himself into a deep, reverent bow, and as he arises again, his gaze seems to linger on you before coming across your sisters.

You feel both excited to potentially be picked, and terrified to leave the temple where you have lived your whole life.

Stilgar can’t help but have his eyes drawn towards to you. Not just because you’re beautiful— you are, though, with the eyes of Ibad, deep blue pupils, a wise, judicial expression upon your face— and he wonders why.

Not out of disrespect, but Stilgar often sees the Sayyadina as being sort of withdrawn, within themselves, perhaps solemn in the religious vows they have taken. Even now, your sisters don’t meet his glance as often as you do.

Stilgar thinks you may be defiant. Maybe a troublemaker of sorts. His heart has a sudden thrill at the idea, but his mind knows this isn’t what’s necessary for this arrangement.

“Hello, sisters.” He smiles in a firm, thin line, meant to be placating to those around him. “I believe you know why I’m here. I hope this will not be an uncomfortable process for us all.”

He takes another look at you. No, you’re simply… you’re taking him in. And Stilgar decides that’s overall better than being defiant. Closer to the values of a leader, not even in just a spiritual way as the Reverend Mother had suggested to him.

You’re gauging his reactions, trying to read if he’s more of a rascal than he lets on— but he meets your previous idea of him, a reverent, kind man trying not to do harm, and your mouth settles into a assured, small smile.

Stilgar feels comforted, pleased even by your expression, and he knows he’s going to pick you.

”Sayyadina—” He points to you so there’s no confusion, and your sisters appear as neutral as they can, while you read micro-expressions of either relief or disappointment. “I would like to speak to you on this matter.”

You shuffle in silence as you leave with him to a different, quieter corridor, and as you turn and fix your veil, Nezua flashes a grin at you.

So your feelings were that obvious, you think.

Stilgar is a great deal taller than you. You have to peer upwards to really look at him, and you think he likes that— there’s a slight twinge in his eyes that makes you feel easily drawn to him.

“Why me, Naib?” You ask, and Stilgar stares at you for a moment longer, before tearing his eyes away to stare at the architecture of the temple.

“You have a knowing look in your eyes, Sayyadina.” He responds in turn to your use of Naib— a term denoting him as Leader of the Sietch. You use it so not to be overly familiar with him, but you understand you both respect each other.

“So you picked the most shrewd of us, is that it?” You wrinkle your nose in a slight laugh, but then actually grin as Stilgar laughs.

“One could call it shrewdness. I simply see that you are not afraid, you look for what you know you must find. Only great leaders make the approach.” He explains this so clearly, you were not even entirely aware that you were doing such a thing.

“It only makes sense to do so, Naib. I could not just stand there and allow you to do all the decision making.” You admit with tact, so not to drive him away.

He nods. “That is why you will be a great one.”

Stilgar seems comfortable with you already, and yet his expression takes a pained look for a moment.

“It's for that reason I do not want to force you into this… uh, arrangement.” He admits, and you are taken aback for just a moment, just a slight gasp.

“What makes you think I don’t want to be your wife?” You speak too soon, maybe too boldly but Stilgar likes that. Despite not even being betrothed yet, you are so forward with him, so ready to be claimed by him.

And he's just as willing a participant to be claimed by you, so he smiles, watching you turn a little flustered, but you let your feelings for him stay apparent for a moment.

It's not like there's room for privacy in a marriage, you think.

An arranged marriage, you admonish yourself. He’s here only in the most professional of terms. Don’t complicate this with your idiotic feelings, you still have a job to do.

“I just meant that– it would be an honour to be associated with you, Naib.” You keep your head tilted downwards, trying your best to be the reverent Sayyadina you’re known as.

“Of course.” He swallows, unsure if you’ve suddenly become shy, or that you’ve decided to be more cunning– something he admires anyways. He thinks not many women would actually be attracted to him, what of the mug he calls a face, and so he decides to just be glad that you’re willing to be with him.

“Okay, Sayyadina. If you’ll have me as your husband, then,” He grasps your hands in both of his, and he has the kindest look in his eyes, and you look back up at him, feelings simmering on the inside as you maintain a peaceful facade. “We will have our engagement arranged soon.”

Then, ever so gently, he pushes back a part of your veil, wanting to see your face better.

You visit him more often after that. Usually in the hall, where there are other people, and you do this so people don’t think you’re too in love with him already– visiting him secretly would only prove that, suggest some sort of affair of a human connotation.

By being around the others, people feel that things are coming into place– religion and leaders are creating a strong, united front that will lead the Fremen to peace. More believers for the Lisan Al Gaib. And you are glad to already be pushing people along the path that Ramallo set out for you.

Stilgar has a stronger look at you, now. Not just the polite glances of before. With every conversation, he takes you in, drawing more and more conclusions. And with every moment, he learns more about you, and he likes what he learns, too.

He sees that you like your food spicy, as does he. And you especially enjoy tabara– the soft sweet cake made of tabaroot, honey, and spice, rich and sweet in flavour, adorned with fruit. It’s a rarity in Arrakis, since a few of the fruit come from offworld traders– so he gives you his portion and you two argue over this, before Stilgar eventually puts his foot down as Naib.

“You should accept. Extra portions go towards those who need it, not me.” Stilgar says, ever the humble one as you’ve come to know him.

“Except this isn’t an extra portion, is it? Sayyadina aren’t supposed to indulge so much, leaders like you may deserve it as you do such hard work.” You taunt him, knowing that you’re both so similar– you could argue forever with Stilgar because you’re equally as willing to sacrifice things for each other.

Great leaders, indeed.

“Sayyadina, don’t make me remind you how important your creed is.” He tuts, and you find yourself simmering with attraction to him– you are beginning to look forward to these conversations more and more everyday. “Your work is just as important– don’t do a disservice to your life just for me, okay?”

The people around you shift in their spots on the floor, to listen more closely, and you recognize that although you and Stilgar grow closer– the intended effect is taking place. People are supportive either way.

Maybe you don’t have to be distant, overly religious, to win support. Maybe, like what Ramallo said, they need to see how spirituality can touch people, and how you’re just a person as well.

He places the piece of cake in your bowl again. “Accept it as a gift, Sayyadina.”

You smile up at him, squeeze his hand without thinking. “Okay, Naib. Thank you.”

Stilgar cannot stop thinking of you, even when he is training Usul to fight in the Fremen way.

He remembers your last meeting, a few weeks after your initial one– and then how you said in two days time, after your faithful prayer that the Shai-Hulud would allow your union to be peaceful, you could begin the engagement ceremony. And Stilgar focused on how serious you were– how holy this approach was, how you seemed to glow from within, with some otherworldly energy, and even now he could tell he was enamoured with you. With that strong gaze, eyebrows tensed and purposeful in their thought.

Usul– Paul, at this moment, with his lack of focus– cannot stop staring at Chani while she practices sparring with her friend.

“Usul. Usul.” Stilgar shakes his shoulder, and Paul finally tears his gaze away. “You’re too distracted, my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Stilgar.” Ever the charming, young lad, Paul smiles placatingly towards Stilgar, and even he is too struck by his charisma to avoid it. “I’m here. I’m ready.”

“Please, tell me what bothers you.” Stilgar knows, already, as Paul stares down at his hands, that the boy has eyes for his overly tenacious niece. “Is it a matter of the heart?”

“Yes.” Paul exhales. “It’s not important right now. How did you know?”

Stilgar smiles reproachfully. “I… I suppose I should tell you honestly, before the others get to know.”

It strikes Paul that the Fremen trust him so readily– even Chani, with her misgivings about the prophecy, seems to be swayed towards him, and he does not know if he enjoys the attention, the privilege this grants him. Again, he is struck with that terrible purpose– that he will use these people for his own benefit.

Stilgar interrupts his line of thought. “Soon, I am to be married to one of the priestesses.”

Paul grins. “Ah, Stilgar, you rogue. You’re distracted, too.”

“Yes.” Stilgar admits, and he thinks of you with your deep blue eyes, your careful-yet-understanding glance, and he longs to see you again. To get to know you better. Yes, Stilgar may not truly know you, but he feels he has been on your side this whole time. Every glance at the temple, every cursory conversation at the deathstill, it has all been building up to something– perhaps not what he had imagined it to be, but he would never consider himself unlucky for this, or that Ramallo could ever be wrong about her plans.

As Naib, though, he still has his duties, and he tuts and tells Paul to get back on it. And Paul, strong young man wanting to prove himself, uses his Bene Gesserit training to imbue a level of focus that no woman could possibly break.

The engagement ceremony day is finally here.

You're excited, yet nervous to be known as Stilgar's wife. It feels more real with every approaching moment– it’s not just a silly, girlish fantasy, it’s something that everyone will see and know as a tangible union.

You haven't got any time to see him– Stilgar has been away with other Feydakin, no doubt unleashing hell on Harkonnen troops– and so you wait for his return.

The first of many waiting periods, you know that. You always knew this was going to be more of a political marriage– more in meaning for Sietch Tabr than really having to be around each other.

But you miss him, anyways. You like him, and despite your attempts to focus on praying to the Maker that he will be okay, you search for him on the sandy horizon every minute of this auspicious morning, the sun blearing into your eyes.

“You know he hasn’t come this far without his own talent.” Nezua reminds you, as she watches you peer up, blinking in the sunlight. “He’s not Naib for no reason, Sahar.”

All priestesses– both low and high– and other religious Fremen crowd around the outskirts of Sietch Tabr, hidden under cliffs in order to stay in the shade. Yet you reach outwards to look at the sun, risking your sweat even as you know you’re supposed to reserve it.

Lady Jessica, part of the sacred mother-and-son duo from the outer world, watches you with a gaze you cannot place. You know it is not simple curiosity– there is something new and malicious in her stare that has only heightened after Stilgar had asked to be betrothed to you.

A sudden gust of wind blows sand around you two, and Nezua tightens her veil, firmly jutting her jaw in a way that tells you she must be right, that you worry about nothing.

Ten minutes later, after praying and hoping, Stilgar returns over the sunrise, victorious in battle, and you feel he looks exhausted– yet his face breaks into a smile when he sees you.

He is greeted by many Fremen, fellow family members, but Stilgar pushes them aside, making his way directly towards you.

And you let yourself be pulled upwards by him, as he grasps your hands.

There’s something sweet and endearing here– almost innocent in how he looks at you, as if he’s been waiting to see you again just as long as you have. But you quickly remind yourself that this moment is not just yours– it would be considered somewhat heartless by other Fremen if Stilgar did not appear to like you, and by extension, the whole marriage’s point would fail.

“Sayyadina–” He holds up the Water Rings, the metallic counters representing the volume of water a Fremen could release into the deathstill. Here, they mean that you will be tied to Stilgar, as you are now betrothed to him. “I ask you to be married to me, by nightfall.”

“So soon?” You ask, wondering why he would want to do it so early.

“It cannot wait much longer. Reverend Mother Ramallo is not well.” He tells you, and your heart sinks, wondering why your dear reverend mother has not told you about this.

You’ve seen the signs– she struggles with fine motor skills and often her cataracts make it difficult to see anything– but you are still surprised.

“Okay.” You swallow, and then smile up at him, and he squeezes your cheek in a fond gesture that makes you feel heat rise there.

“We will be wed tonight.” He calls out in Chakobsa, and the Fremen around you rally with glee, and you feel that whatever this is, even if Ramallo does not live to watch it play out– it’s working.

The unmarried women of the tribe fix your hair with the rings Stilgar presented to you, and you feel ever the part of the blushing bride. You know it’s not wrong to genuinely have feelings in this arrangement– you just hope Stilgar feels the same way.

Chani grins at you. You know her well– you’re around the same age, you’ve grown up somewhat together– and you wonder if she feels odd about her uncle marrying you.

“No, if it means I can call you Auntie, I’m happy.” She jokes, and you shove her as she laughs.

Chani rarely laughs like this as of late. She’s always so hard on herself– she thinks she has to be because of how indoctrinated so many Fremen are to the faith. And despite your life as a Sayyadina, Chani has never let your conflicting beliefs stop her love for you.

You only wish she’d be more careful as a warrior. As a freedom fighter, Chani sometimes lacks restraint– so you’re grateful to see her happy.

“Well, maybe some day you’ll be married, too.” You squeeze her hand. “To a great warrior.”

“I don’t know, Biet.” Chani calls you your Fremen name, not your Sietch one, which will be used tonight at the wedding. “Let us focus on you for now.”

“I just… I don’t know if he feels the way I do.” You suddenly admit, and the fear that you’re still going to be lonely crops up.

Chani shakes her head, that hard, tough scowl on her face back again. “If there’s one thing I know about my uncle, it’s that he’s not an idiot.”

She presses her cheek to yours. “Don’t you understand how important you are, Biet? How special you are, not just to me and everyone here, but to him especially. Stilgar has not stopped speaking of you for the last couple of weeks.”

You smile softly at that, thinking of how ardently Stilgar looks at you now, how you’ve gotten to know each other over the last few weeks of basic conversation. More close than ever, and yet just far enough that you keep wondering. Is it admiration, gratitude that you’re willing to serve a greater purpose, or something more? You know it’s selfish, but you want him to like you. To love you.

“Everybody knows, even Muad’Dib.”

At the mention of Muad’Dib, you can’t ignore the slight tension in your spine. Both you and Stilgar have discussed your belief in his abilities, his potential to be the one– but you know that Chani does not share that.

Still, you hear a slight shift in Chani’s tone as she says his name, and you give her a glance.

“You like him, I think.” You tease, and she tells you to shut up in Chakobsa.

You wonder if Muad’Dib was the one who shared this information to his mother, which would make her dislike of you understandable. You get the sense she’s power-hungry, terrifying– she would’ve been a greater candidate for this marriage, an otherworldly mother that fits the prophecy, representing not just the union of politics and religion, but with the power of the Bene Gesserit– and you find that you resist her, anyways. Resist the idea that everything must be for this one purpose.

You want to keep Stilgar to yourself, and it almost frightens you that you might be going against something that you’ve been taught to believe from a young age.

You’re no Chani.

The dark of the night spreads across Arrakis.

Stilgar begins the trek up the dune, where you wait, bathed in the moonlight– you’re wearing a different outfit, a dress with intricate beading marking your place as a bride, and instead of a veil, you are wearing a much thinner, transparent shawl that allows Stilgar to make out your silhouette. Your hair is interwoven with his Water Rings.

Stilgar has always known you are beautiful, but especially now of all times, with your blue eyes reflecting him in the silver moonlight as he meets you at the top of the hill– and it’s not a distraction, because he’s meant to be here with you.

He likes you a lot– there’s a taut feeling in his throat, as he realizes he’s watched countless friends and family members get married, but never thought of himself as one of them– and in the past, Stilgar had always felt there was something wrong with him for not marrying sooner. But now, he’s so thankful he waited, because it’s you. His holy, veiled priestess.

You share his faith, after all– but over the last few weeks he’s seen that you share his judgement, too. He only hopes that his feelings will be returned some day and that he won’t scare you off– Stilgar knows he can sometimes be too much.

Reverend Mother Ramallo approaches you two from the other side of the dune. She speaks in Ancient Chakobsa– old marriage passages from the faith, hymns that are sacred in their meaning– and the unmarried women below, begin their chanting and agreement with the hymns. They dance.

Then, Ramallo asks Stilgar in Chakobsa, if he is willing to take care of you, to entirely claim you in every way as the Fremen faith dictates– to not leave you behind. You know she cares for you so deeply, as she’s watched you grow up from a young girl, and you hear a slight twitch in her voice, giving her away as someone who will miss you.

Stilgar responds without hesitation that yes, he will always be there for you. And you believe him. You don’t hear a hint of irony or lying in his tone.

Maybe this isn’t just a marriage of political nature.

Ramallo yells in Chakobsa, using the Voice: “It is finished!”

Celebrations are loud, jovial, necessary after the Fremen endured hardship from the Harkonnen. People are dancing, eating, congratulating you.

You’re happy to receive their blessings, and give them back if they wish to hear it from you. You’re still a Sayyadina, and today of all days, you bring especially good luck to them.

Paul Atreides walks forward after Nezua dips– she’s kissed you on your cheek and solemnly stated she’ll miss you at the temple bedrooms– and you’re intrigued, as you’ve never spoken to him before.

“Muad’dib!” Stilgar is next to you, and he shakes his hands, clapping his shoulder, and Paul hugs him.

“Stilgar, Biet–” Paul’s eyes cross towards you, and you don’t sense the same plotting look his mother has. “Congratulations. It’s so interesting to witness a Fremen marriage. I feel like I’ve learned so much just watching. I did not know Sayyadina could use the Voice, as well. Impressive.”

You think he’s rather compassionate, but there’s no telling if it’s an act. You ignore that– you’re meant to be happy now.

“Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand. “I don’t use it often– I believe it should necessitate a purpose.”

“As do I.” Paul agrees, and you are blown away by how casually he reveals that he can use it. Another sign, perhaps, that he is who you and Stilgar think he is.

“In coming times, maybe you too will marry in our way.” You make as an offhand comment, so not to overtly reveal your surprise.

Paul is mildly surprised by this, but he doesn’t look displeased with that. “Maybe. I think many women here are quite beautiful, they could probably pick a noble Feydakin than someone like me.”

“In time, Muad’dib, you may be a Feydakin too. You have the strength to be one.” Stilgar corrects him, and you like that your husband is so forthcoming, a true mentor that supports everyone.

“Besides, you’ll need to be one if you want to impress Chani.” You input, and Stilgar looks a little taken aback by this development, while Paul looks more interested.

“Really? You think Chani and I…” Paul swallows down whatever he’s going to say, looking suddenly a bit darker and worried. “I would be lucky if she considered me.”

Paul bids you two goodbye, while Stilgar laughs. “A humble one, isn’t he?”

“Better that than overly boastful.” You hum. “Either way, I hope he is not perpetuating a false image.”

Stilgar agrees.

As the party dies down, he takes your hand, and together, you walk back to Stilgar’s quarters.

He’s rather quiet as he sits on his bedding, cracking his knuckles.

Stilgar is not afraid of you, exactly– he’s afraid of what your relationship should or should not be. He does not know the boundaries in which you two operate, and he’s afraid once he opens that conversation up, of your potential rejection.

Other men would tell him that as your wife, there should be no confusion– that he should be able to bridge the gap, and you would accept it, no questions asked.

But Stilgar had not come this far by simply guessing at things. He knows as Naib, the general context you two have– and he needs to know if you feel the same way, if you don’t just want this marriage to be symbolic in nature.

“Sayyadina,” He calls you, and you sit next to him on his bedding, staying a short distance away, just for respect.

You laugh at that internally. You’re his wife, and you still call on some level of respect. Maybe because you’re afraid of acting on these feelings you have– a hunger for closeness– and you would rather use the excuse of respect instead of pushing him towards you.

Stilgar says Sayyadina with fondness in his tone, though. A formal, spiritual term has never sounded more husky, more inappropriately close than ever– you let yourself hope.

“I’ll ask you this once, and make your answer clear, so I do not bother you otherwise.” Stilgar pauses, wanting to be sensitive about this subject. He doesn’t know exactly what you’re comfortable with. “I want to know if you want to be more than wife in name, or if your heart is drawn to being within your faith.”

“Who says I can’t be both, Stilgar?” You bite your lip, and Stilgar’s face stiffens. “There’s nothing in our faith that says a priestess can’t have both.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pauses, grappling with what to say.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” He says, and you laugh, for real this time, a louder laugh than he’s heard before, and he grins, liking the twinkling sound of it, but then frowns. “I’m being serious. You should not have to lie with me just for everyone else’s benefit. The marriage has brought people to greater spirits, already.”

“What if it’s for my benefit?” You speak in a hushed tone, but Stilgar listens to every word, inching closer to you. “What if I feel more spiritual when I’m next to you? I feel the Maker’s way flow through me whenever we speak, I feel like I can understand and interpret so much more because I know we are supposed to be with each other, not just metaphorically, but in all ways.”

Stilgar is taken aback by your boldness, and so are you to some degree, but you continue. “I’ve been ignoring this the last few weeks, but I think that’s what love is. What is faith without love? I think I love you, because you make me understand what I’ve been missing…” You smile up at him. “You’re my greater context, Stilgar.”

Ah, He thinks. This woman is too sweet to me. She understands.

“Sayyadina…” He sighs, a deep shuddering sigh revealing so much emotion; relief, really. You’ve never seen Stilgar like this, but it gives you a sense of how much he represses. “You feel like the missing piece I’ve been waiting for. You… you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for a woman that understands me.”

“I never thought I could have the chance to love anyone,” He admits with some reservation. “My appearance tends to ward women away.”

“But you’re beautiful.” You whisper, smiling up at him, and Stilgar feels your hands trace around his face, and he closes his eyes, listening to the sweetness of your voice. “You’re only intimidating because of who you are, Stilgar, but I promise, you’re beautiful. I’m not the only woman who thinks that.”

Before he can respond in turn, that you’re more beautiful than him, the stubbornness that you two share– you let that unspoken urge inside you, the one you’ve never acted on before, overtake you. And you pull his face downwards in a searing kiss, one where he can still taste the spice on your lips after what you ingested at your wedding dinner.

He honestly has not touched a woman in years– not out of some purposeful celibacy, but more because he has been so focused on maintaining Sietch Tabr. And whatever memories he has of that time, right now is easily trumping them.

You part your lips as Stilgar does, kissing him with abandon, again and again as your lips move with his, and he squeezes your waist before pulling you onto his lap.

He groans. There’s a hard bulge in his pants that you’re sitting squarely upon, you know what that is– you’re not entirely uncultured about this.

You experimentally roll your hips over his crotch, finding a sudden pleasure in your lower half as you do so, and he stutters, suddenly, pulling your face away from his, breaking the kiss.

“Sayyadina– wait, slow down.” He holds your wrists in his hands firmly, the heat of the moment causing both of you to sweat. The night air seeps through Stilgar’s window– hot and humid.

You’ve never wanted to be closer to him.

“I’m a little inexperienced. I don’t want to hurt you.” He explains, and you scoff.

“So am I.” You tell him. “Actually, I’ve never…”

“Oh.” Stilgar takes on a very judicial look, one that you’re determined to stop before he rejects you for the “greater good” or something like that. “I would’ve never guessed that. You gave me the impression of expertise.”

“Then let me gain it.” You proclaim, and you cut him off before he says what you know he will. “You’re not forcing me into anything. I want to do this, just like I wanted to marry you.”

He scoffs, now, but Stilgar likes the sound of that and he kisses you again, pulling your shawl off, feeling you wrap around his torso with your legs– he feels you moan and shudder when he squeezes your thighs. He loves this, and when he starts removing your dress– you don’t stop him.

He pulls it down and under you, and you’re bare underneath. Stilgar examines your breasts with admiration– they’re the perfect size, they fit you well– and he immediately takes to one of your nipples with his teeth, causing you to cry out.

As he continues these bites over your chest, squeezing your breasts and your behind, suckling on your neck, feeding off of your sweat, you feel yourself slicken, wetness catching on Stilgar’s pants– so much quicker than you’re used to, when you used to touch yourself in your room at the temple. A waste of water, maybe, but it was worth the relief occasionally.

Stilgar notices, and he wordlessly lays you across his bed, spreading your legs open, looking down at your pussy.

You’re not completely sure what he’s doing, and you feel slightly vulnerable like this– entirely on display for him.

“Let me drink from you, Sayyadina. I would be honoured by this blessing– I thirst, and it would not be a waste.” He says in hushed tones, as he kneels in front of you, and you feel yourself slicken more if that’s possible. The sacred overtones of worship are not lost on you, practically becoming a kink for you as he speaks.

You nod, and he grasps your thighs tightly, practically pushing down on them so you’ll stay with open legs for him– he strokes them a few times, and then dives in with his tongue, lapping and licking slowly upwards to your clitoris, then quickly a few times to taste you faster, which causes you to seize as feelings of warmth and white-hot sensitivity overtake you, and with your fluids, and his saliva, you’re quickly reaching the point of finishing. His beard tickles, and you squirm a little, and start writhing and sweating, moans ebbing out of your throat, but that only makes Stilgar pull you in closer, tighter, pushing his tongue closer, almost inside, refusing your escape.

You don’t want that, anyways. And you finish in his mouth with a flourish as Stilgar laps up what you’ve given him– a drink from a Sayyadina.

You think he’s done, but you lean back with another sigh– a near scream, really– as Stilgar begins to lick at your clitoris, suckling on it, until you’re wet and aching again– and then he uses his fingers to spread your pussy open, and begins to fuck you with his tongue. It’s amazing, wet and writhing and and filthy– it feels nothing like your own fingers and entirely more adept at getting you to another orgasm. The speed at which his tongue languishes inside you should be considered unholy, all things considered– but you feel high, you feel like you’re closer to the Maker than ever– and he suckles at you, his lips closing around your entrance as you moan again and orgasm directly into his mouth.

Stilgar groans. He’s in love with your taste– he thinks he might wake you up every morning like this, if you’ll let him. He’s also painfully hard now– his cock strains against his pants, and he quickly starts undressing.

“Sorry. I needed a second taste.” Stilgar apologizes, standing up, but he’s not sheepish about anything as he continues to rub you, to stroke your pussy to keep you wet. Up, down, up, down, Stilgar could get addicted to this sensation around his fingers– you’re so warm, soft, wet– he needs to be in you.

You’re beginning to feel overstimulated– you’re covered in sweat, and in between your thighs you’re soaked, practically dripping all over Stilgar’s hand as he continues to work you– and you twitch as you sit up, Stilgar’s fingers prodding inside you.

His cock bobs upwards, shiny with pre-cum, and the tip, hard and redder, while the rest is a flattering tan brown. Although this is your first time viewing the male genitalia, you’re drawn to it. You like how he looks partially naked– vulnerable like you, but warmer, soft and hard in different places– and you reach to take his shirt off, letting his full self be unsheathed.

And you like this– you feel an animalistic draw to his body, his chest hair, the broad muscles under them, and he moans loudly when your finger prods at the tip of his cock. Stilgar lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and spreads your ass, his cock nudging inside your pussy slowly, groaning as it does, gritting his teeth as every centimetre feels like another added pleasure of wetness, the bounds of which he does not know, but he is excited to be familiar with and do this again and again.

You sink around him easily– you moan against his neck as you do– and Stilgar bottoms out, feeling you grip and tighten around him.

After what feels like an eternity– both of you drunk on just being intertwined in such a way– he lifts you up again, thrusting outwards, and then back in, pushing you down on his cock, slamming into you. Stilgar’s warrior strength comes into play here– he fucks you relentlessly, and grips you so tightly you think you might be melting onto him. He begins to pound into you, your ass and thighs jiggling with the force of it all, and a severely perverted squelching and slapping sound builds up over time, over and over, his thighs and balls slapping against your thighs and ass, the sound of which you are sure is extremely loud.

You don’t care. You moan loudly, almost yelling as Stilgar’s cock twitches and catches inside you in a place so deep, you’ve never touched it yourself.

You shake and twitch, barely holding onto him as you do, feeling an immense pressure build inside you, almost painfully, but with pleasure. Stilgar claims your mouth as he thrusts, kissing you, slipping his tongue inside as he drinks from you there– and he loves feeling you moan against his mouth as he does so.

He presses you against him tightly, rutting upwards, and then together he tips the both of you onto his bed again, him on top of you, this time using his fingers to play with your clitoris as you clench around his thrusting. You cum again, this time your fluids adding to Stilgar’s pleasure, and you moan as Stilgar’s hands tighten around your waist. The slap of his skin against yours is laden with sweat and your cum, but Stilgar is insatiable, and he thrusts harder.

You feel him inhale, moan, bite at your neck, and you feel his cock twitch again as he cums inside you, pulling out in a hazy stream, and you writhe against him, feeling the heat of the moment conjoining with the cooler air of the night.

He sighs, satisfied with what has happened, lying down next to you. “May Shai-Hulud allow us to do this again.”

Stilgar has to leave again, the next morning, as more Fremen are involved in fighting Harkonnen harvesters, and he wants to oversee this.

“I’m sorry, Sayyadina…” He swallows. He doesn’t want to leave you behind– if he could take you along on his back, he would.

“Sahar.” You tell him.

“What was that?” He asks, and you wrap your arms around him and his stillsuit, dressed in your traditional Sayyadina dressings again.

“Sahar is my Sietch name. My sacred name, only for my sisters to know.” You explain, although you’re sure Stilgar knows this. He only knows your Fremen name, after all. “Since we’re married– I thought you should know my true name.”

“Sahar is a wonderful name… meaning morning.” Stilgar looks out the window with a slight smile. “But you outdo any of Arrakis’ sunrises, my dear.”

You laugh at that, as Stilgar knew you would.

“You will still be Sayyadina to me, no matter what name you have.” He says, and there’s a warm feeling in your heart when you hear this, that he has a special name for you. You take his hands, and press your palm to his forehead.

“Oh Shai-Hulud… keep Stilgar safe from unwarranted danger today.” You whisper in Chakobsa, closing your eyes, and Stilgar closes his eyes too. “Do not risk his life.”

Your harsh, suddenly grating tone from using the Voice has Stilgar opening his eyes again. He has never heard you use it before.

“Thank you.” He pulls you up for a soft, parting kiss– and then after memories of last night echo inside his mind– he gives you a firmer, lingering kiss, laden with love for you.

Stilgar finds that despite his obvious devotion in his commitment to you– the women are more interested in him than ever.

And if he was a lesser man, perhaps he would act on this. But Stilgar has not forgotten the plan, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten you, not so soon. He knows you two are two sides of the same coin– meant to be.

This was not meant to be an outcome. He sees Feydakin women smiling at him, maybe a little too much– or maybe he has not noticed until now.

You said he was beautiful, and he had thought maybe that was just according to you. But seeing how Lady Jessica greets him, not impolitely but just with more… vulnerability, especially after her duke was killed, he thinks maybe you’re right. Maybe he has something.

Jessica stares at the deathstill, trembling over what Stilgar has told her. She must drink the Water of Life, she must take the place of a Reverend Mother– and she does not want this. She wants nothing more than to be comforted at this moment, because of what a tribulation this new order shall be on her.

Or at least, that’s the image she’s conveying, she hopes, and she believes she has Stilgar wrapped around her finger, her coying, Bene Gesserit way meant to coax people closer to her, and by extension, her wishes.

And Jessica can tell she’s done it right when Stilgar leans over, wipes away her tear, and licks it. Perhaps she can secure more support through playing the part of a sad widow.

It’s Nezua who saw what happened.

She interrupts your prayer, your first prayer after returning to the temple, sanctimonious as it is.

“Sahar, please don’t be upset. Just hear me out.” She pulls you into the main hall, where your sisters and Ramallo are reading ancient texts.

“What is it? What’s happened?” You look around wildly.

Nezua’s deep blue eyes blink, as she wonders what to tell you, how to say it gracefully.

“I saw him. Naib. Standing close to that woman, to Lady Jessica– she cried about becoming a Reverend Mother– he stroked her face, licking a tear away.” Nezua admits, and you instantly blink back sudden tears.

“But he–”

“Men can be rascals, Sahar.” Nezua reprimands you, and you swallow, knowing you don’t know as much as her.

You do know about Jessica, though.

“She has been eyeing him for a while… I’ve watched it happen. She’s got her Bene Gesserit tactics, we know that. She wants to be a Mother, no matter what farce she applies in this moment to gain approval.” You shake your head. “He wouldn’t do that for no reason– she’s very convincing. And Stilgar supports everyone, why would he doubt her?”

Nezua calms down a bit.

“But if he wanted to marry her?” Ramallo suddenly chimes in, and you and your sisters watch as she speaks, suddenly convinced of something. “Would it not be the ultimate culmination of what we seek? The mother of the Lisan Al Gaib, integrated into our society… nothing could compare to how many Fremen this would convert. How many people would choose our way.”

“Great Mother, you picked me for that purpose.” You speak up, almost immediately, without fear. You don’t care if you’re speaking out of turn– you do not want to share Stilgar, lose him to some other woman– and here it seems everyone else is okay with it.

“Yes, and you’ve done well, but you of all people should want us to do better.” She remarks, not without a bit of bite in her tone. You hate that it has to be this way, that you stand in the way of something you used to wholeheartedly believe.

Just this once, you want to be selfish. You have faith that Paul will be Lisan Al Gaib, anyways, so why can’t it just be you and Stilgar?

“Once Jessica drinks the Water of Life, she will be a powerful Reverend Mother– all of Arrakis may be swayed by her.” Ramallo peers at your expression. “Don’t tell me you feel something as foolish as love, Sahar.”

“And if I do?” You state, blatantly.

“Then you must be loving enough to see that this would improve Stilgar’s life by far. Men may take multiple wives, you know that.” Ramallo tuts. “Perhaps you’re not as clever as I once thought.”

“He won’t do it. He knows that his love helps me, and as long as that’s in his priorities…” Your voice dies down, feeling like everything is falling apart as you speak.

“Yes, and how long will he care for a lower priestess when he can have a Reverend Mother? Especially one as faithful as him.” Ramallo shakes her head at your ignorance.

“Shut up! You’ve never felt love, you unspeakable witch–” You scream in Chakobsa, using the Voice, the full power of which seems to shake the temple.

Ramallo slaps you, hard enough that you fall back against the floor. Your skin hums with the stinging feel of a new bruise, sure to make it’s mark on your cheek– and she hisses at you.

“Insolent child. It was I that brought you here. It was I that even gave you the chance to be with Naib Stilgar. He would have never looked at you otherwise.” She mutters, and you feel your eyes glisten with tears.

She and your sisters leave, and you hold your breath, trying not to cry. Nezua strokes your arm.

“Perhaps, if he marries Jessica, it will only be a marriage in name.” She tries, but you shake your head. “You would be the one he really loves, Sahar.”

“Or I would be like a concubine– there to produce children, nothing more.” You think of how quickly you leapt into Stilgar’s waiting arms yesterday, and wonder if you were wrong. If his only intent was to have someone he could fuck on a ready basis.

You shake your head. “I need to speak to him.”

You sit on the ground of his quarters, stating a small prayer to stay calm, and when Stilgar walks in, he sounds pleased to see you.

“Sayyadina, I did not expect you back so soon.” He touches your hand, but based on how you draw yourself back, he knows something is wrong. “What is it?”

“You want Jessica. Right? To be your wife?” You say, and he shakes his head.

“We discussed it once–” and your stomach drops at that. “But it would have only been a marriage of convenience to protect her, long ago. Nothing more.”

“Then what happened today, in the deathstill?” You ask, and Stilgar furrows his brows.

“I only relayed Ramallo’s message to her. And she was a bit sad, so I comforted her, that’s all. She almost wasted some water by crying, so I drank it.” Stilgar sits down on the ground next to you. “I promise you, I do not want her.”

“Even if she’s a reverend mother? Closer to your faith? Easier to perpetuate our–” Here you stutter. “The mission?”

“Whoa, whoa.” He softens visibly. “Sayyadina, if you cannot see now that I love you, tell me how to right that wrong.”

“Tell me why you believe you’ll stick with me–” You tear up again and wipe it away. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

“I have no interest in Jessica– she is a conniving one, but whatever she thinks may happen, it will not.” He shrugs. “I don’t believe she loves me or wants me in that way, either– she still mourns her duke.”

Of course, you think. She might have only been staring at me that one time because she remembered when she used to be in love. Maybe she was even jealous… Jessica was a concubine.

You suddenly feel much more at peace. You don’t think you would’ve ever left Stilgar even if he had married Jessica– but you’re suddenly more understanding of her pain, to be the one not known in any collected record despite being loved.

“I only did anything I could to make her feel more comfortable with her new role.” Stilgar grins. “And if she succeeds– the faith will have more people interested in it, and there will be less pressure on us.”

“That’s true.” You finally tear your gaze from the floor to look at him, and he smiles at you before frowning at the bruise on your cheek.

“What’s this?” Stilgar gently touches you, and he gets angry hearing you hiss.

“Nothing, just a silly altercation.” You explain, but he’s not satisfied with that.

“With who?”

“Ah… Ramallo slapped me after I said she would never understand love.” Suddenly you’re ashamed, and you feel as if Stilgar would be disappointed in you. “She said the best thing would be if you married Jessica– and I guess I… I didn’t want to lose you, so I used the Voice on her.” “You did?” Stilgar raises his eyebrows, in surprise that you’d do such a thing, make a rash judgement like that against your elder. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

You lean into his touch, feeling better that he’s not angry at you.

“But I am sorry I wasn’t there to see you take ownership of me.” He laughs quietly. “You really love me that much? Then I’m only yours.”

You smile so hard at that– massive relief flowing through your nerves– and Stilgar kisses your bruise, before kissing your lips and making you feel whole again.

299 notes · View notes

whatsk-poppinhomies · 7 months

Text

Pairing : Lee Felix x F!Reader TW : very angsty ; fluffy in the beginning just to break everyone's hearts a little bit more ; death of a family member ; famous nana cliffhanger ; Word Count : 5.2k Request : @lovesunshinefelix : Write more angst 😵‍💫 GIVE ME THE ANGST 😭🧎‍♀️ A/N : Of course! Anything for you bestie!! This one might be a little bit self indulgent just slightly, but it's definitely gonna be sad. I love making angsty Felix fics!

“One iced americano, please.”

“Okay, and what’s the name for the order?”

“Lee Felix.”

“Mmn… It should be done in just a moment.”

“Thank you.”

Such a short interaction, but that’s how it all began. You were simply the barista at the coffee shop next door to the office, but in a matter of seconds, you had become so much more to him. Your sweet smile and the fairy lights that twinkled in your eyes as you looked at him. He was absolutely enamored by you.

The craziest part was that he didn’t even like coffee that much, he had just been craving the taste of the drink. Is that why it felt all the more serious to him? Like it had been fate that brought him to you in the first place, but now it was you that kept bringing him back.

“One iced americano, please.”

“The name for the order?”

“It’s Lee Felix.”

“Alrighty, it should be done soon.”

“I’ll wait here.”

He wondered if you’d remember him if he came in every day. Would you remember his order or his name? Would you remember the way he’d smile at you whenever you spoke? Would you remember anything about him, or was he just another customer that you probably forgot about once the work day was done?

He wanted it to be like that, he wanted to be a customer that you looked forward to seeing. He wanted your head to lift with every ring of the bell when the shop door would open. He wanted you to wait for his appearance, to see you smile when he finally came in. He wanted you to recognize him.

“One iced-“

“Americano? Is it for a Lee Felix?”

“Hm… Maybe I should switch up my order?”

“It’s almost been two weeks, I can’t imagine having an iced americano every single day for that long.”

“Well, what would you recommend?”

“I’m not sure… I don’t really drink coffee.”

“That’s ironic. You don’t drink anything here?”

“Does the free water count?”

“I’ll take a free water then.”

It was the first time he had actually talked to you, but it was also the first time you had said his name in any way other than letting him know that his order was done, it was the first time that you had said his order without his having to really say anything at all. It was the proof that he needed to know that he was on the right track, he just had to keep going.

You had laughed that day too, not one of those fake laughs that he had heard you give the other guys that would try to flirt with you… It was a genuine laugh, the sound so beautiful that it was on a constant loop in his head for the rest of the day. He couldn’t get you off of his mind, but he didn’t want to rush things. Even if he felt that things were going perfectly, he wanted you to feel the same way.

“Two free waters and a croffle, please.”

“Really changing it up now, are we? Are you bringing a date?”

“Ah… Not exactly…”

“Good, because I don’t think a woman would be very impressed with free water for a drink.”

“But the woman doesn’t drink anything on the menu. I’m really going out on a limb here with the croffle.”

“You can never go wrong with a croffle, they’re delicious. Why would you invite this woman to the coffee shop if you know she doesn’t like anything on the menu though?”

“Because this is the only place I get to see her, and I’m too shy to ask her for her number, so I just wanted to see if she wanted to have some free water and share a croffle with me.”

“Oh… Is she here already?”

“I’m looking at her…”

He could remember vividly the way you froze, the way it felt when his stomach began its descent, thinking that you would turn him down. It took you so long to say anything, he wondered if he had completely blown it by being so forward. He had never been so nervous in his life, but then that smile appeared on your face and you let out the most beautiful laugh, the sound tinged with a certain shyness that he had never read from you before. Did he make you as shy as you made him?

Sitting across the table from you, he could feel it, you were meant for him and he was meant for you. He was a perfect mix of so many emotions, nervousness, shyness, happiness, he was everything balled up into one, but it made him feel alive. It was like he was standing on stage and performing for all of STAY, except there was no setlist, there was no particular script or order that he had to follow… And it was only your eyes on him… But it was just as amazing, if not more, because you were looking at him and only him, and you were there with just him. He was all yours, and you were all his.

///

“If you could have your wedding anywhere in the world, where would it be?” He asked as you both laid on the blanket beneath the cherry blossom trees that were in full bloom. It was beautiful, the perfect spot for a date, although most people would say that he didn’t have to try as hard now that it’s been 5 months since the two of you have been together. He didn’t believe them though, because every single time he took you somewhere new, somewhere more beautiful than the last, your eyes would light up and that adorable smile would stretch across your face, and he’d question why he would give that up.

You hummed in thought, and he wondered what your mind looked like right now. Were images of your dream wedding playing out behind your closed eyes? Was he the one standing across from you in those thoughts, dressed in a suit, tears in his eyes as he watched the woman of his dreams walk down the aisle to meet him at the end? “I think… Hmm… Well, I don’t really mind much, actually. As long as I’m there with the person that I love, that I want to spend the rest of my life with… The place doesn’t matter much at all.” How could you be so amazing? He asked himself that every single day. “What about you? Where would your dream wedding be?”

He hummed softly, rolling over onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow, staring down at you with the most loving eyes. He knew for a fact that he had never loved someone as much as he loves you, and it was only bound to get stronger. “I’m sure that a lot of people would think that I’d want to get married on the beach somewhere in Australia since that’s where I’m from… But I feel like the beach is rather cliche, it gets done too much.”

“I like the beach…” You murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering against his cheek. “I think it would make for some beautiful pictures, don’t you?” He hadn’t exactly thought about it that way, but now that he heard your input, it was like his entire view had been changed.

“The beach it’ll be then.” He said quite enthusiastically, his cheeks still flushed from where you had touched him. You just had the ability to send fire coursing through his veins and he loved the feeling of it, the warmth that it brought.

You giggled softly, rolling your eyes at the sudden switch up. “What’s with the serious questions all of a sudden? Do you plan on getting married some time soon? You have to invite me to the wedding.” You joked, and he stuck his tongue out at you before dipping down and pressing his lips to yours.

“The only wedding I want is the one where you’re meeting me at the end of the aisle.” He said much softer now, even his breaths were so quiet it was almost like he wasn’t breathing at all. “We have time though… I just wanted a general idea of what you’d want.”

“Felix…” His name was like a breath from your lips, so gentle, so light that the winds that shook the blossoms off the trees would be able to pick it up and carry it away.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to think too hard about it just now. I’ll make sure everything is perfect for you when the day comes.”

“You’re crazy…” You murmured, and maybe he was. Maybe he was out of his damn mind to be planning a wedding with a girl that he had met at a coffee shop only five months ago. But to him it felt right, it felt like the only thing to do. He knew that all he wanted was you anyway, and he didn’t want to hide the way he felt for you. He wanted you to know that you were the only person he ever wanted in his life.

“Mm… Maybe… You smell like coffee beans…” He teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath. “Is that… French Roast? Maybe… with a hint of vanilla?”

You squealed, playfully pushing against his shoulders as you tried to squirm free. “Stop it! You’re the one who didn’t want to wait for me to go home and change when I got off!” You defended, but he thought it was so damn adorable.

“I just like to see you, I didn’t want to wait!” He jokingly whined, dropping on top of you completely, his face still hidden, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “You smell amazing, absolutely delicious, my coffee queen.”

///

“Would you rather have your body and Bbokaris head, or the other way around?” You asked one night as you sat beside him on the couch. The question was most likely nothing more than a joke, but he wanted you to know that he listened to and thought about everything that you said, so he paused the movie that was playing on the tv and turned his body entirely toward you.

“Would you still love me regardless of what my answer is?” He quizzed, his eyes searching deeply into yours for the answer, and you nodded your head so firmly that he knew you weren’t lying. You’d love him no matter what, and he would love you just the same. “I think I’d rather have his head, I don’t want to be any shorter… Or… Am I just a regular sized version of Bbokari? Is he me sized or am I him sized?”

You snorted at the questions, your laughter still his most favorite sound in the entire world. He made a goal to make you laugh at least twice a day, if not more. “It would be the size of your skzoo plushy. It would be so cute though, wouldn’t it?! I could just carry you around with me everywhere I go! I’d never have to miss you!”

Even though you were still giggling, your words made his heart flutter. Did you miss him when he wasn’t around? Did your heart ache like his whenever there was distance between the two of you? He always tried not to be too clingy. “You never have to miss me now, just text me and I’ll come to you always.” He draped his arm over your shoulder, tugging you closer to his side as he pressed a small kiss to your temple.

“You have so much work to do, I don’t like bothering you. I would never call you away from practice or recording just to see you… Even if I want to.” You looked up at him, your smile pushing your cheeks up and squinting your eyes. Your eyes… He wanted to get lost in them for hours and hours, he wanted to live in them just for a moment, to see the world the way you do. What made you angry? What made you sad? He’s been with you for seven months now and he’s never seen you anything but happy. Was it because you were with him? Did he make all of your fears, your worries, your anger… Did he make it disappear?

“I think even if I had Bbokari body I’d be in practice… Can you imagine?” Your head fell back once more as your laughter filled the room, he never wanted to stop hearing it. “Wait… Would my head shrink too, or would my head stay normal sized? I have so many questions!”

You were laughing even harder now, wheezing even as you breathlessly tried to talk through fits of giggles. “Your normal head… Definitely… It would be so top heavy on the tiny body… Oh my gosh… Just picturing it… The Maniac move… With the…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, bursting into a new fit of laughter, and now his mind was filled with the same image, and you both were laughing.

It was nice to have someone to just laugh with, to goof around with. He felt so normal with you, he could have fun, he could be truly happy when you were beside him. That’s why he couldn’t let you go, why he kept thinking to a time somewhere in the future where you and him would both be on the beach in Australia, surrounded by your families and your friends, and he’d slip a ring onto your finger and promise himself to you for the rest of forever.

///

“When was the last time I told you I loved you?” Felix asked over the phone, trying not to speak too loud. Sharing a hotel room wasn’t exactly hard, but he tried to be as respectful as possible to the guys who were trying to sleep while also trying to talk to you as much as he could. Time zones were always a pain in the ass, but they’re even worse now considering he couldn’t just not talk to you while he was away.

“About five seconds ago.” You whispered, although there was no need for you to, he had your voice coming through his headphone so none of the other guys would hear you. “It’s so early in the morning for you… Aren’t you tired? I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“Mm… It’s worth it to talk to you.” He didn’t care if he was tired, he’d just sleep while getting his hair and makeup done, or he’d sleep in the car on the way to the next venue. “Have you eaten yet?” He quickly tried to change the subject, truthfully, he just wanted to hear you talk. He loved listening to you speak, he could lay in the hotel bed for hours with your sweet whispers filling his ears.

“Not yet… I’m trying to think of what to eat.” The sound of your kitchen cabinets squeaking was heard and he chuckled softly, making a mental note to try to fix them or at least put some oil on the hinges so they wouldn’t be as loud. “Think I might just have a ramen bowl. It’s not as fun to do the dishes when I don’t have my designated drier.”

Everything that the two of you did together was fun, it didn’t matter what it was. Whether you were going on dates or if it was something as mundane as doing the dishes or the laundry, if you were doing it together, that’s what made it enjoyable. “Well just let the dishes build up and we’ll have so much fun washing them together once I get back.” He teased, and he could just see the eye roll that came along with your soft snort as you tried to stifle your laughter.

“I don’t think my sink is big enough for that many dishes.” You said between giggles, but your laughter was short lived as you let out a quiet sigh. “I miss you… So much…” Your voice was quieter now, almost to the point that he couldn’t hear you, and the only reason he could is thanks to the headphones. “Bbokari doesn’t hug me back the way you do… The bed is so empty and cold on your side… And the clothes that you left me are starting to lose your scent.”

He couldn’t be more thankful that the two other guys in the room were already asleep because he could feel the tears pricking at his eyes as he listened to you. Felix missed you just as much, and he considered himself to be lucky because he wasn’t in a house that would feel so lonely if the roles were reversed. “I know, babe. I’ll be home soon, just wait for me. I miss you too… So much. I wish I could have snuck you here with me, I wish you would have packed yourself in my suitcase. We wouldn’t have to miss each other at all.”

Now you both were crying, and he got up out of the bed as quietly as he could to make his way to the bathroom just to make sure he didn’t wake anyone up with his sniffling. “I love you, Lix…” Hearing you say it, no matter how many times he heard it, it was always like the first time. His heart would flutter and he’d feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and while this time was no different, there was an extra feeling of sadness that came along with it.

“I love you too, babe… Don’t cry anymore, please? You’re too beautiful to cry… Smile for me, okay? And just always remember, I’m not gone forever, I’ll always come home to you.”

///

2 months later and he was finally heading back home to you. The night before the flight he had stayed up just to talk to you on the phone, it sounded like you were crying again, but he assumed that the tears you were shedding were tears of happiness that he’d finally be returning to you. He’d be lying if he tried to say that he hadn’t shed a few tears himself at the thought of finally being able to hold you and kiss you again.

He slept through the entire plane ride, and he hadn’t told you what time he’d be landing because he wanted to surprise you by showing up at your work. He wouldn’t say that he’s a hopeless romantic, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how romantic it would be to show up at your work with a bouquet of flowers. He could already see the shy little smile that would spread across your face, the flustered look in your eyes when you saw him walk through the door.

When the plane finally landed, his excitement really kicked in. He didn’t want to wait to take his things back to the dorms, he didn’t even care to change his clothes or check to see how he looked. All he could think about was you. So he had the guys take all of his bags back to the dorms and he asked to be taken straight to the little coffee shop right beside the office… after stopping by a flower shop first though.

“One iced americano, please.” His voice was cheerful as he practically waltzed through the door, the tiny bell above his head ringing out and announcing his entrance. The bouquet was hidden behind his back and he couldn’t help but smile wide as he looked around at the familiar scenery… They hadn’t changed anything in the months that he had been gone.

“She’s not here.” One of the employees said, and Felix didn’t know whether to feel disappointed, humiliated, or both. He was sure that you would be there, you always worked on the weekdays, and it’s not like you had said anything about having your schedule changed. Maybe he should have let you know that he was on his way to the shop just so that you could have let him know that you weren’t there.

“Oh… Well… Did her schedule change?” He asked rather sheepishly, and the girl behind the counter cocked her head to the side, her eyebrow raising. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? You didn’t fire her, did you?!”

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” The girl leaned across the counter, and there was a look in her eye that made it clear to him that she found some kind of enjoyment in this, but he didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “She went home. And I’m not talking about down the street. I mean, she hopped on a plane and went home. She was in a rush too.”

The flowers fell to the floor, and he felt that he was going to be next if he didn’t keep himself steady against the counter. You… You didn’t even live in Korea… And you hadn’t told him that at all. He wouldn’t have even minded, as long as he knew that you’d always be his… But you just left. You left without saying anything to him. You left without warning, without reason. He didn’t even know what to do.

For a moment, the world froze, time seemed to stop entirely, his mind reeling with what he could do, what he should do. Was he supposed to call you? Would you even answer him? Were you trying to run away from him? Had he done something wrong? He just couldn’t understand what he had done to make you leave without a message, a call… You had given him nothing when he wanted to give you everything. It wasn’t fair. Was he too clingy? Why didn’t you just talk to him? He would have done anything to just keep you, he would have changed completely if it meant having you still.

“If you want to talk about it, I-“ The girl began, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone if it wasn’t you. She didn’t have the answers, she couldn’t tell him what he needed to know. He stormed out of the shop, taking a deep breath, the cold air catching in his throat and causing it to burn. He didn’t want to cry, but it seemed inevitable as the chill caught on the dampened streaks that coated his cheeks. Was there someone else? What was he to you that you could just give up so easily? How could you walk away without even a glance back, a second thought? He couldn’t let you do this, he just couldn’t. He was going to get an answer, whether you planned on giving it to him or not.

///

“Tell me more about your time in Korea. Tell me about that boy you met.” Your grandmother said hoarsely, her frail hand reaching out to grab yours. “You smile when you talk about him. I like seeing you smile.”

“Gran… You really need to rest now.” You whispered, holding her hand in both of yours to try to warm it up. She always felt so cold now. “I’ll tell you all about it, I’ll tell you all about him when you wake up. I’ll be here.” Your thumb brushed along her knuckles, her skin wrinkled and thin, but to hold her hand was such a comforting thing, to be there beside her.

She didn’t argue, she simply settled against her pillow, using her free hand to pull up her blanket a little higher as she kept her other hand between yours. She was weak, she was sick, and when you had gotten the call from your father that she was being moved from the hospital and being put into hospice, there was nothing that would keep you from being by her side.

It was late, 11 o’clock at night, a little past that even, and everyone had gone to bed in their respective guest rooms. Everyone but you, still jet lagged and running on Korean time. You were wide awake, and you knew that a part of you refused to fall asleep just so that you’d have a little more time with your grandmother, even if it was just sitting beside her while she was sleeping. It might be all the time you have left with her, and a part of you felt guilty for being gone the past year, before she got really sick, before things came to this. You knew that she would have wanted you to live your life though, to find happiness, to find someone that you loved, someone who loved you back just as much. And you had found that, you had found all of those things in Felix, and you felt terrible for leaving the way you did, but you were in such a hurry, you were hoping he’d understand.

11:56pm, four minutes to midnight and your phone rang on the nightstand table beside your grandmother’s bed. Felixs name was at the top of the screen and you quickly answered it, taking one last look at your grandmother before leaving the room to stand in the hallway, not wanting to risk waking her up while talking to him. “Lix…” You sighed out his name, and there was a sense of relief being kept at bay long enough for you to hear his voice, and you knew that once you did, you’d feel slightly better.

“You left.” He began, and that relief never set in, instead there was just dread and more guilt stacked on top of the already existing emotion. “An entire year, and I didn’t even hear it from you, I heard it from one of your coworkers that you don’t even live here… And the worst part is that I didn’t even hear about it until you were already gone.”

“I know that you’re angry, you have every right to be… But can you just listen to me, please?” You begged as quietly as you could, leaning against the wall in the hallway and slowly sinking to the floor.

“I do have the right to be angry, and I won’t listen. You had almost 365 days for me to sit and listen to you so that maybe I’d understand what you did… But not now. It’s too late for explanations and I don’t want to hear your excuses either.”

He sounded so angry, you had never heard him get mad before, and while you would have gotten angry right back, you were too busy being devastated. You needed him, you needed him more than anything right now, but he wasn’t even listening to you. On top of being sad, you were confused, you did live in Korea, just because you weren’t originally from there didn’t mean that you weren’t living there. “Why did you call… If you’re just going to yell at me and not listen to what I have to say… Why would you call me?”

“You basically walked out on me… No… You did worse… You left the damn country. You’ve broken me, I can’t believe you’re the one even crying right now.” You clasped your hand over your mouth to try to muffle the sound of your sobs just so he wouldn’t point them out. “You know what… I don’t have anything else to say to you. I hope you enjoyed your year, you can go tell everyone about how you broke my heart, I’m sure you’ll be real popular for that. Bye.” You didn’t know what the hell he was on about, you didn’t know where the assumptions even came from, but they only managed to hurt worse.

You were left in silence, your heart in shambles as you sat in the dark hallway, the only light coming from the cracked bathroom door at the end of the hall. You were shrouded in sadness, you had just lost the love of your life, the man that you planned on spending the rest of your life with, and you were about to lose your grandmother. Was there anything else that life would throw at you?

///

It had been a week since the phone call, and while he had been angry then, the anger had slowly worn off and turned into a sadness spurred by the loneliness that he felt without you there. Hell, he would have been fine just talking to you on the phone, hearing your voice or seeing you through a video call. There was too much shame though, too much regret. He had lost his temper with you, and while the call had initially been to figure out why you had left, he hadn’t even let you talk long enough to tell him.

He tried to not let it bother him, he tried to focus his mind on anything else, but whenever he’d go to the office, he’d have to go past the little coffee shop and it was a constant reminder of you, of when things had first begun. He felt like a fool, an absolute idiot, and now he didn’t even know how you were doing. He still loved you, and he wanted nothing more than to tell you those three words and hear them back, but now he was too scared to even try to contact you.

So he watched your social accounts, waiting to see an update of any kind. You hadn’t blocked him, which was either a good sign, or a sign that you hadn’t been online in a while and he didn’t know how to feel about that thought. The last post you had made was from a week before he had left for tour, a picture of the two of you sitting at your table in the coffee shop, sharing a croffle with your free waters, a perfect recreation of your first date.

His notifications were on for whenever you did post, just so that he could be the first person to like the picture or an update, but it had been so long since you posted that he rarely even checked the notifications to see if it was you. Today had been a rare occurrence where he had already been looking at his phone when you did post, and while it was only an instagram story update, he immediately clicked on it.

“I’ll miss you Gran… I love you so much.” The text read under a picture of an older woman, her eyes wrinkled in the corners, a sign that she smiled a lot, and her smile was just like yours, he could see it in the picture. She was a happy woman, he could tell that she was loved, and that she had loved just as much. As he looked at the picture longer though, it set in, the realization… You hadn’t left him, not because you wanted to… You had to go home, you had to be there for her, for your family… And he had gotten angry with you for that… He hadn’t even let you explain.

“Oh… Fuck!” He hissed, quickly closing out of instagram and opening his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact. He wasn’t sure how he’d go about apologizing, he didn’t know how the phone call would go even if you did answer, but he had to try. He had to at least say sorry if nothing else, so he called you, and he waited for it to go to voicemail, but then he heard silence… and then a shaky breath… You were crying. “Y/N… Babe… Are you there?”

Perm Tags :

@whatudowhennooneseesyou @duchesskaren @mytherapisttoldmenotto @lovesunshinefelix @moon0fthenight @kurolils @maruskz @hello-2-u-from-me @mrswolfiechan @bunnychangbin

@his-angell @if-spearb @yomomma104 @lanatheawesome @facelesswrittes @grannyindehouse @cutie-wooyo @felixmainacc @syuuji @jiisungllvr @yukichan67

@randomwimp @silentreadersthings @cutiespaghetti @furiousheartpoetry @lixpixstix

@felixluvr915 @wordsofkpop @kayleigh-28 @szkstay @spnwinchestersd @fleatree @yehsehneeah @vampcharxter @iloveksmohsomuch @lvlnijiro @neteyamsmate4life @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @delululi @insertsomethingaboutanimehere @karlitaburrito @laylasbunbunny @chimicurri-a @bandolls

312 notes · View notes

okay-j-hannah · 2 months

Text

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining and depressed, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good}, amnesia, finger picking, AGAIN ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Don't worry

100% recommend listening to rain sounds when you get to the end part where it's a thunderstorm.

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

“No, I’m sorry, who are you?” The look on your face sends a wave of hurt down Stiles. “How do you know my name?”

He’s gripping the steering wheel of the jeep, cruising with Scott and Allison in the car. Lydia had gone missing about twenty minutes ago, the police at the hospital taking witness statements and rallying an APB.

With you indisposed, the trio decide to take matters into their own hands. That doesn’t mean Stiles is free of the hurt. You really have no idea who he is.

“Alright, but if Lydia’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison is fretful, “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, ‘We’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.’”

“What others?” Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

Stiles sighs, “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on.” He yells at Scott whose head is out the window, “Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott sniffs the rushing air and says, “Take the next right!”

“This is really turning into a real shit night.”

Allison is chewing on her fingers, “(Y/N) really doesn’t remember us?”

“She’s lost her memory from the last few months,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “She remembers last summer but doesn’t remember starting her job at the hospital. That means her memory stops around October of last year.”

“God…” Allison mumbles, “Did they say if her memory would come back?”

Stiles digs his thumb into the ridges of the wheel, “They called it retrograde amnesia, and there’s a chance the memory loss could come back if they treat the underlying cause. But the cause was an anoxic brain, and they just needed to oxygenate her body to fix that. I don’t…” he slams a hand against the wheel as Scott slides back into the car. “This is what happened to…”

“Happened to…?” Allison presses, but it was Scott who answers.

“His mom,” Scott’s voice was quiet and full of sympathy. “There were days she didn’t know who Stiles was.”

Allison looks mortified, “Stiles, I am so…”

“How close are we?” Stiles cuts in, jaw set.

Scott points toward the woods, “It’s coming from that direction. We’re definitely closer – the scent is stronger.”

“There’s no way she’s a werewolf, right?” Allison says in a shaky voice, an attempt to get past the topic of you. Clearly this expedition to save Lydia was a way to distract Stiles. “You said her bite didn’t heal.”

“I know,” Scott frowns, not-so-subtly looking over at his friend to gauge the hurt he was feeling. “Maybe it was a late reaction?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles muses, tone a little rigid, “This has got to be something else. Peter made it clear that she either turns or she’s dead.”

Scott directs the jeep further into the woods, “Maybe we should try to get ahold of Derek?”

“I’m done being on speaking terms with psychotic alpha werewolves,” Stiles goes off road into the trees and leaf-strewn ground. “I want that guy out of here by the next full moon.”

“Do you think he’ll leave town now that he’s gotten his revenge?” Allison muses, eyeing the back of Stiles’ head just as much as Scott was looking. “He avenged his sister, right?”

Scott shrugs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to create a pack of his own.”

“And he can do that somewhere else,” Stiles scoffs, bouncing along with the jeep, “Go back to wherever he was the last six years.”

“(Y/N) wasn’t bitten, right?” Allison asks quietly.

Stiles is quick with the answer, “No, just… she was just thrown around a bit. No teeth action.”

“With all the supernatural stuff happening to us… hearing about (Y/N)’s heart problems just seems so – human, don’t you think?”

Scott gives his girlfriend a warning look, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think her memory will…”

“Can we drop the whole (Y/N)-amnesia thing?!” Stiles grumbles.

Allison is swift in her retort, “She’s my friend too, Stiles. I’m allowed to be worried about her just as much as you!”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Scott says in a louder voice. “Lydia’s scent is coming from there.”

Stiles parks the jeep, leading the way into the moonlit forest and the house far in the distance. The Hale House. He’s still grumpy as he asks, “She came here? You sure?”

Scott stands back with Allison, hands nearly touching, “Yeah, this is where the scent leads.”

They keep walking, “Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?”

Allison shakes her head, “Not with me. I don’t think with (Y/N) either.” She talks with Scott in hushed tones, “Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek.”

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

“Wolves need a pack, right?” she asks, “Would she have been drawn to an Alpha? Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

“Yeah, we’re stronger in packs.” They watch Stiles wander around the tree line, inspecting the area as he goes. “Like literally stronger, faster, better in every way.”

They could see the breaths coming from their mouths, it was so cold. Allison pulls her beanie over her ears, “That’s the same for an Alpha?”

Scott nods as something tightens around his ankle and lifts him into the air. Allison muffles a scream and backs away, watching her boyfriend be pulled toward a tree.

Stiles makes a funny choking sound, squatting on the ground and holding a black wire between his fingers, “Sorry, buddy.”

“Stiles, next time you see a tripwire… don’t trip it.”

Allison smiles, cheeks rosy from the cold, “Let’s get….”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scott flails in the air, waving them off, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

The pair of them jump into action, Stiles grabbing Allison’s arm to pull her back towards the woods. No sooner had their footsteps soften on the leaves as they hide behind a tree, did a group of hunters appear from the backside of the house.

“Oh, shit,” Allison mumbles into Stiles’ shoulder, “They probably thought about Derek too.”

“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Stiles bemoans, “This is stupid.”

Allison clutches his arm, “It’s going to be okay.”

In a quick motion, Stiles slams his head into the tree. Considering they were already pressed into it, the hit wasn’t that hard. “Things are anything but okay.”

~~~

The boys huddle into the locker rooms as Coach yells for them. Isaac fumbles with his equipment, joining the back of the pack.

“Quicker!” Finstock yells, “Danny, put a shirt on.” The coach prattles on, “Stilinski, that means you! Let’s go, gather round. Listen up.”

Isaac searches the office wall behind Finstock, looking for you. You were always near the Coach during team meetings, usually holding an energy drink or pointing out things Finstock failed to mention to the team.

But you are nowhere to be seen.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.”

Isaac remembers how the Sheriff questioned him about the same advisory that morning when he reported the strange grave robbery at the cemetery.

“Now, it’s supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked… I lost a testicle to exposure. Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.” The Coach brandishes a piece of paper and Isaac can visualize the rolling of your eyes at the poor delivery of the speech.

Finstock tapes the paper to his office window, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic ‘A’ in my classes.” He smiles at the instantaneous cheers, but Isaac is of the few standing still.

He holds his duffel bag and looks for you again. There was no way you’d let Coach give students straight A’s like that. You were his voice of reason – the only way classes came out coherently and fairly graded.

A swarm of players rush past him, but Isaac lets his eyes roam until he finds Stiles and Scott. He knew you were friendly with those two, more so than him at least. He walks over to the boys at the shower entrance.

“Um… hey…” he says awkwardly, holding the strap of his bag with two tight hands.

Scott looks taken aback, but is friendly anyways, “Hey, Isaac.”

Stiles is a little more blunt, “What do you want?”

“I uh… I wanted to ask where (Y/N) was,” he wrings his hands, “Usually she’s at these team meetings.” He notices the way Stiles looks to the ground, letting Scott speak first.

“She’s still at the hospital,” he says calmly, “She won’t be back for a while.”

Isaac knits his brow, “Oh, is she okay?” Again, he notices how Stiles scoffs at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Scott says with a lackluster tone, “She’ll be fine. Did you need her for something? We can give her a message.”

“Just… I haven’t seen her in class and – we miss her.” He has a hard time looking them in the eye, “And maybe that Coach is running rampant without her.” His lips upturn ever-so-slightly, “She’ll want to know her assisting is very much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cuts in front of Scott’s laughter. “I didn’t realize you and (Y/N) were close?”

Isaac wipes the smile from his face. “We’re not. Not outside of class at least.” He grinds his teeth, “She’s great. She’s always been kind to me. I’d hate if something happened and I didn’t know about it.”

That seems to appease Stiles, a flash of guilt washing over his face. “Right.”

~~~

The days seem to darken. Even with the promise of spring right around the corner, the world seems dusky, like the sun was a dimmer set low. Stiles’ lens was filtered with gray, shadowing his perspective with melancholia.

He spends his afternoons chasing the supernatural with Scott. But his nights he spends alone – quiet – in his room. He sits at his desk, spinning from side to side to look at the bulletin boards on the walls.

The one directly in front of him was all about you. He had covered it up with a blanket when you slept over that one time. A family picture and a selfie he got from your social media are pinned in the middle. Countless strings are between the picture of you and little bits of information.

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

A yellow string leads from the fact about a congenital heart defect. It spreads to multiple pictures, article clippings, and website screenshots on the heart problem.

“Children born with this condition have a hole in the wall between the heart’s chambers. They also have problems with the valves that control blood flow in the heart.

Atrioventricular canal defect allows extra blood to flow to the lungs. The extra blood forces the heart to work too hard, causing the heart muscle to grow larger.”

“Ventricular tachycardia is a type of irregular heartbeat, called an arrhythmia. It starts in the lower chambers of the heart, called the ventricles. A healthy heart typically beats about 60 to 100 times a minute at rest. In ventricular tachycardia, the heart beats faster, usually 100 or more beats a minute.

Sometimes the rapid heartbeat stops the heart chambers from properly filling with blood. The heart may not be able to pump enough blood to the body. If this happens, you may feel short of breath or lightheaded. Some people lose consciousness.”

He has a red string leading to an unknown section about the 3-inch incision on your chest. After hearing you mention that it was a device inserted near your heart, he did some more research. It might have been an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, or an ICD.

Those devices detect irregular heartbeats and deliver electric shocks to hopefully restore a regular heart rhythm.

Other blue strings lead to theories he has about why your CHD correction wasn’t permanent, as well as solutions to your persistent tachycardia.

The other side of the board has a few other green strings that lead to a picture of you, Lydia, and Allison. Another is the name ‘Andrew’ written sloppily and then crossed out repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. A few short strings lead to the various situationships in your past and some notes on their kissing techniques.

Overall, Stiles was proud of the research he had conducted on you. But staring at it wasn’t making him feel any better. He was exhausting himself over retrograde amnesia, failing to put those details on your bulletin board.

He was hoping it would correct itself before he had to.

He barely registers that his dad enters the room. “Hey, kid,” he says, void of his sheriff uniform. “How you holding up?”

Stiles shrugs and it pulls a sigh out of Noah. “Listen, I’m glad we were able to find that Martin girl tonight. We should consider that a real victory.” Stiles just nods and Noah continues, “I uh… what in god’s name is that?”

He looks over Stiles’ bulletin board. “Research,” Stiles mumbles.

Noah sounds hesitant, “Right. Um… should I be concerned about this?” He searches his son’s vacant expression, “Like, are you peeping into her windows and stealing things from her underwear drawer?”

“What?” that snaps some life into Stiles, “No! No, dad, it’s not like that. It was a little inside joke from when we first started hanging out. Then it kind of turned into me trying to figure out what her heart problem was.”

Noah looks to the side with the medical research, “You know… uh, the Westbrooks called.”

“And?” Stiles looks up with dull brown eyes.

“And the doctor says (Y/N) should be exposed to things that might trigger her memory back. Stuff that she doesn’t remember.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek, “Like me?”

Noah takes a deep breath, folding his arms. The reserved Stiles before him was disconcerting. “Having you visit might help.” The Sheriff tries to find something helpful to say – his wife was always better at these things. “They’ve had Scott sit with her and she remembers the few times they ran into each other during her early hospital days; back when she was still getting surgeries.”

“I don’t know how I… how do I sit there and…” Stiles leaves his hands limp in his lap. “How am I supposed to help? Pretend that I don’t know anything about her? Act like we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Maybe,” Noah grimaces, “I’d start with keeping this bulletin board to yourself. It might scare her into getting a restraining order.”

Stiles cracks the smallest smile, “How long is she going to be at the hospital?”

“About two or three days,” the Sheriff scratches the scruff on his chin, “They’ll probably keep her from school for even longer.”

“She’ll need to keep up on homework,” Stiles sighs, “She’d hate to miss out on so many assignments.” His small smile grows, “Of course she’s already done with her end of term projects.”

Noah smiles, “Even that biology one you guys were supposed to do together?”

Stiles shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

They both share a laugh before Noah beckons him, “You should go. I’ll tell Tom you’re on your way.” He looks at his son, nostalgia flooding him.

Little Stiles jumping across waiting room seats. Little Stiles following the nurses around. Little Stiles foraging for snacks in the vending machines. Little Stiles afraid to talk to his mother who didn’t recognize him.

Little Stiles that cried in the hallway while he was busy with a police dispatch.

“Hey, it’ll…” Noah tries, “… it’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks drained, but he smiles at his father’s attempt. “Thanks dad.”

It was a long drive to the hospital. It felt like the world around him was moving in slow motion. It was like his jeep was gliding on the road with no traction. It didn’t help that he let the ringing in his ears be the only source of sound.

There was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t as warm as before. It was accompanied by an anxious knot in his stomach. Hospitals were bad enough. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his mother while he sits with you.

Knots in his shoulders, he walks into the hospital with shuffling steps. He vaguely remembers running into Melissa. He barely notices how the Westbrooks dismiss themselves to grab lunch.

He’s in your doorway and watching the line of confusion grow between your brows. The look of someone meeting a stranger.

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says with a growing lump in his throat.

You fidget with the blanket laying over your legs. Your eyes are uncertain, “Hello. Um… are my parents…?”

“They’re grabbing lunch,” he says, hands in his pockets, “Is it okay if I visit for a bit? The doctor said it might trigger your memory.”

You look reluctant and it pains him. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” you watch him pull a chair over, “I don’t think you told me your name before.”

He tries to swallow past the lump, “Stiles.”

“Stiles,” you say quietly, as if you had never said the name before. “Stiles what?”

“Stilinski.”

Your eyes brighten, “You’re a Stilinski?”

He snorts, “Yeah, my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Woah,” you smile, “Your dad has been to my house a few times.”

Stiles nods, reminiscent of your first conversation together searching the woods for Scott all those weeks ago. “And you’re front desk Westbrook’s daughter.”

That makes you giggle, “I like that nickname.” It grows quiet for a few seconds while you consider his deflated figure. His eyes are downcast and his hands are stuffed in his pockets; you can see his leg starting to bounce. “Are we really good friends?”

His muted brown eyes turn to your brighter ones. “Yeah, we are.”

You nod, “For how long?”

“Since January when the school came back from winter break.”

You give a side smile, “So I did manage to start public school.”

He licks his lips, “Yep. And being a medical assistant here and being a teacher’s assistant to Coach.”

“That’s amazing,” you remark, “I didn’t realize… I’ve been dreaming about doing those things for years, but the fact I did… and I don’t even remember.”

Stiles frowns deep, “You haven’t gotten any of your memory back?”

You shake your head, “I get these flashes sometimes and I can’t tell if they’re dreams or not. Like… blue spray paint on my arms.”

Stiles’ face brightens with hope, “That’s – that’s real! That’s not a dream. We had a spray paint fight when we were fixing my jeep.”

Your eyes snap to his. A strange guilty feeling enters your stomach. It was bad enough disappointing people simply because you couldn’t remember them. Seeing the hope on his face makes you fill with pressure. You two must’ve had a pretty significant friendship.

“What other things have we done together?”

Stiles takes a tight breath, “Well… we’ve had dinner together. You’re an excellent cook. We painted my jeep and took Scott to get drunk on the preserve. We did a few school projects together and hang out at lacrosse practice. I took care of you when you were sick,” he suddenly looks you right in the eye, “I was there when you broke up with Andrew.”

Your eyebrows go up, but you don’t interrupt him.

“I was there when you got those claw marks on your shoulder – and other times you felt in danger,” he swallows hard, “We went to the winter formal together.”

“I went to a school dance?” you breathe out quietly. “Was it amazing? I’ve always wanted to go to a school dance.”

Stiles rubs his suddenly clammy hands down his pants, “It was. You looked great.” At seeing the light shining in your eyes, he continues. “You wore a dress that had these sparkling stars on it. The… y-you let the scars on your chest show. You were… you looked beautiful.”

“Did we slow dance?”

“Yeah, we did,” he sighs, chest aching. “It was the only dancing you could do that didn’t mess with your heart.”

You feel a drop of insecurity enter, “How much do you know about my heart?”

“I know about the heart defect and the tachycardia,” he rubs at his face. He could really take advantage of the situation here and learn more about your condition. But as quick as the thought came, it left. He wasn’t going to manipulate you like that. “I know you had a device put in last summer.”

“And that’s it?” you ask quietly. “I didn’t tell you more?”

“You always felt like it wasn’t the right time,” he shrugs, “But I suppose you might feel differently once your memory comes back.”

You brush your hair away, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A sadness creeps into him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I hate seeing the disappointment,” you gesture to his slumped figure, “I really am trying.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says with a little more vigor.

Your eyes are a little wide as you say, “My mom told me you were the one to find me and bring me here.”

Stiles bows his head, visions of your bloodied figure going purple from the lack of oxygen. “Like I said… it’s not your fault.”

“And you’re saying it’s yours?” It was an honest question, but you said it with such sarcasm that it takes you aback to see the seriousness on his face. He really believes it was his fault. “From what I hear, you saved me Stiles.”

“Not all of you,” he winces a smile, leaning back in the chair, “If I had been sooner… maybe your heart wouldn’t have given out in the parking garage.”

“You don’t know that,” you say quietly. You may not recognize the boy, but it upset you to think he was blaming himself for your condition. “Regardless of whatever retort you can think of… you brought me to help. If you hadn’t done that then I would’ve been dead for sure.”

He doesn’t see the point in arguing with a version of you that doesn’t even know him. “Maybe. How has your heart been since being here?”

“Fine,” you say quickly, “I’m ready to get back home.”

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

You gush, “Oh my god, you know Oliver! He’s my handsome little man.”

“That he is…” Stiles laughs, “Very handsome.” He plays with his fingers, leg still bouncing from the rising anxiety in his stomach. “Is this helping with your amnesia at all?”

Your shoulders rise in a shrug, “I’m not sure. Nothing has come to me yet. But I do like talking to you.” You have a sweet smile on your face, “You mentioned I was dating someone named Andrew?”

“Just for like two weeks,” he says hotly.

You don’t notice, “I told myself I wouldn’t ser…”

“…seriously date anyone,” Stiles finishes, “That’s why you broke up. He was looking for something long term with you.”

Curious, you tilt your head to the side. “Was he cute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well… I guess. You had a crush on him.” He tries to stop his leg bouncing, “You have good taste too, he’s a good guy.”

“Is that why we went to the dance together?” you wonder, “Because I broke up with Andrew?”

“Technically we both went stag,” he says with a faux smile. A forced smile to keep you at ease. “But it was important to you to have the full experience – so I asked.”

You sigh, leaning against your pillows in thought, “You don’t realize how lucky you are to live such an average teenage life.” Stiles holds back his sarcastic laugh. What you said was so ironic. “I spent a lot of my life dreaming about the little things – silly things – like high school dances and playing sports and learning to drive.”

“Wait…” Stiles leans forward, “You don’t know how to drive?”

“No, I do,” you say defensively, “I have a license, technically.” You slump a little further, “But medically I’m not allowed to drive. The potential for fainting is a big red flag for driving. I don’t want to cause any accidents because my heart decided to give out on the road.”

Stiles has a wary smile on his face. “That’s okay, I drive you everywhere.”

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says, “It was my mom’s. She called him Roscoe.”

You remember how the Sheriff lost his wife. Something your parents told you after a few visits from him. You remember feeling sad that someone had died. Now you realize how sad it would be for a child to lose their mom as well.

“And we fixed him up one time?” You want to hear him talk more.

“Yeah, we put a new hood on him,” Stiles sighs out a smile. “You kept poking fun at how… how much duct tape and spray paint I have for him.”

You have a sweet smile on your face, “You want the car to last, I get it. Probably will be just duct tape by the time you turn him in.”

“Oh no,” Stiles waves his hands, “I’m going to keep this jeep for the rest of my life, even if it runs down. I’ll import custom parts to keep him fixed, I don’t care. I just need to find a way to make enough money to.”

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an FBI agent or something.”

“FBI…” you nod, impressed, “That’d be cool.”

Stiles swallows, unsure of how to keep a conversation going with you. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to. It was so easy to talk to you before. He hates the awkward edge he feels brimming his smile.

“What about you?”

“Another one of those silly things I dream about,” you say sadly, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

His brow knits, “Spitball some ideas for me.”

You laugh again, “Maybe… a writer. Or maybe I’d open a cat rescue. Even better, what if I opened a cat café where you could read and buy books and pet cats.” The more you talk, the easier it was to spill your dreams. “I could be a nurse one day. Maybe work under a cardiothoracic surgeon. I could also just be a stay-at-home mom.”

Stiles feels that achy warmth in his chest more and more. “You want a family?”

“Of course,” you say as if it were the easiest decision in the world. “I always hated being an only child. It made being stuck at home so much worse. I’d want a bunch of kids.”

“How much is a bunch?”

You smirk, “I don’t know, like ten maybe.”

“Ten!?” Stiles jerks in his chair and it makes you laugh louder than before.

You wave a hand, “I’m kidding. I think four might be my max.”

Stiles wipes at his brow comically and your following giggle keeps that ache pulsing in his chest. “I think all those ideas are great. I think I’d even read a book written by you.”

“Are you not a big book reader?” you ask.

He winces, “If it’s not for research I don’t usually partake.”

“That’s a shame. There’s some really good fiction out there,” you smile. But there’s a sudden shift in your expression. “Have we had this conversation before?”

Stiles feels a tug at his heart, “No, actually. We don’t talk about the future much. Usually it’s whatever has happened in the past before we met – or what our friends are up to.”

You nod, a little reassured. “I would hate it if you just pretended like you didn’t already know this stuff about me.”

“When it comes to you, (Y/N),” he says confidently, “I’d say I’m scarily unfiltered. I say things to you that I don’t to anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend.” Even with his feelings for you – they came out in the littlest of ways without him voicing them directly.

That puts the smile back on your face, “It makes me sad not remembering you. It sounds like we got along really well.”

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

You pull at the edge of your cotton blanket, “Our friends seem nice too – Allison and Lydia.”

“Nice might be a little kind for Lydia,” Stiles laughs, “Maybe a faux cold-hearted rich bitch is more appropriate.” He feels proud to rouse a look of shock on your face, “She’s all talk at school, but she has a good heart and is super smart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

You chuckle, “And Scott sat with me a couple times. He looks different than what I remembered.”

“It’s been almost six months from where you memory ends,” he says, “That makes sense to me.”

“Do you…” you falter, “Do you think I will remember eventually?”

God, I hope so, he thinks. “I think you’ll get a few things back,” he says honestly, “I don’t know about everything. Amnesia is stupid like that.”

You frown, “Will you still – hang out with me?”

“Of course,” he says instantly, “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s probably overwhelming.”

“It is,” you push back your hair again, “But I still want to try.”

~~~

The next week is full of anxiety. With spring right around the corner, March appears with sunny days and average temperatures. The promise of rain was on the way. It was nearing the next full moon and Stiles was full to the brim with nerves.

You still hadn’t come back to school, and he was finding it hard to come visit you. Meanwhile he and Scott try to tackle school one day at a time. Scott finds ways to see Allison while the overly watchful eyes of her grandfather become an increasing pressure.

The old man, Gerard, was still living at the Argent residence after his daughter’s funeral. His presence brought a newfound fear to the group.

He was the one at your door when you heard it knock.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he says with a smile. “I’m Mr. Argent, the new principal at Beacon Hill High.”

You blink a few times before awkwardly saying, “Right, um… hello.”

He raises his eyebrows, “May I come in?”

You look behind your shoulder for a moment before muttering, “Sure, we can sit here.” You gesture to the sitting room with the piano just beside the door. The older man nods his thanks and finds a seat in a comfy armchair.

You follow and sit on the loveseat opposite him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just checking in on your progress since leaving the hospital. Many of your teachers have asked about you returning. I understand you experienced some memory loss the night of the school dance.”

“Yes,” you say, sitting on your hands, “I don’t remember any of it.”

He leans his elbows on his knees, looking at you seriously, “And you haven’t regained anything?”

“I get these flashes sometimes,” you mutter, looking towards the carpet beneath your toes. “But those seem like dreams to me. I don’t recognize them.” At his persistent look, you elaborate, “Like visiting the mall or a lacrosse field or the woods.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any intention of returning to public school?”

You swallow hard, “Well, um… seeing as I don’t remember any of it – I think it would be hard to pick up where I left off.”

“Our staff is willing to accommodate to your situation,” he finally leans back, “We’ll give you special permission to use more resources and have extension time on all assignments. We want to make sure you’re comfortable in returning.”

“That’s good to know,” you say, noticing Oliver enter the sitting room. He jumps onto the couch with you, “I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”

Gerard gives another strange smile, “Of course. Are you getting any of your course work from friends at least?”

You grimace – does he mean the friends you don’t remember? “I’ve had a few homework things dropped off.”

“Some from my granddaughter, I believe,” he chuckles, “She’s always had a good heart, that one.”

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

You widen your eyes, “Oh, yes – Allison. She’s been helping me with some assignments. I didn’t realize her grandfather was the principal.”

“Like I said, my position is relatively new.” He claps his hands together, “Please reach out to the office if you plan on returning full time.”

Meanwhile, in the middle of town, Stiles and Allison are at a hardware store looking for something to help Scott with the upcoming full moon. Allison was intent on being involved this month, her first full moon since learning the truth of it all.

“You used handcuffs last time?”

“On the radiator, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, looking at the shelves stocked with tools. “And he still got out and almost killed (Y/N).”

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve…” he stops at the end of the aisle, “We need something that won’t break as easily. Heavy duty.”

“Like… chains?”

Stiles waggles a finger at her, “I like your thinking.” He checks the signs above each aisle for what they need. “We can chain him up somewhere until the moon sets.”

She follows, her intentions on more than just helping Scott with the full moon. “(Y/N)’s told me you haven’t been visiting her.”

It’s like she can see the tension knot in his shoulders. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor, “And you have been?”

“I’ve been helping her keep up to date on our school assignments.” She watches the hunch develop in his posture. It was like he was deflating before her eyes, “Don’t you remember the doctor said exposing her to things she…”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says a little more coldly than before. “It’s just that…” He spots the chains and goes for them.

How does he tell Allison that seeing you might finally break his already tearing heart? He’s sure seeing the look in your eyes again – the polite look someone gives a stranger – would kill him. How does he explain the pain he feels knowing you don’t remember a single memorable thing you’ve done together? It was a new kind of rejection.

He prefers daydreaming about the you that knows him. The you that he feels more deeply about than anyone else before. The you that he now searches for in his sleep. It was now his favorite time of day.

Sleep meant he could dream about you. He could see you there, smelling of sparkling strawberries by the lake – looking like a sun warmed burst of color. He yearned for that peachy summer filter your presence brought to his life.

His days were dull without you. Like the world resorted to turning the brightness down because its sun had disappeared.

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

He grips a coiled pile of chains and pulls them over his shoulder, “Maybe. The full moon kind of takes priority the next couple of days.”

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

“Not if this idea works,” he grumbles under the weight of the metal links. They walk towards the registers. “And with you helping it might make things easier.”

Allison pulls out some cash so they can split the cost. “First searching for Lydia, then looking into a new beta werewolf, now making plans for the full moon… you’re going to run out of distractions eventually.”

I’ll just sleep then, he thinks. You’ll be waiting for him there.

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

Allison sighs her frustration. “I wish there was a way we could just… reach in and pull the memories out, you know? Make her remember.”

Stiles drops the full weight of the chains on his foot, and he curses loudly, “Ah, fuck!” He bounces on his unhurt foot, panting as he has a stroke of brilliance.

Maybe there was a way to force your memories to the surface.

~~~

Scott is lying on your living room floor, Ollie hiding upstairs from the doggish presence. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch ottoman, listening to his woes.

“So you think the principal became the principal to spy on your secret relationship with Allison?”

“No, there’s got to be more to it than that,” Scott grumbles, arms splayed to either side. “He’s looking for something more. The Argents are… very loyal to their ideals. Once they set their minds to something – they accomplish it no matter what.”

“And by becoming principal, Mr. Argent is trying to accomplish… total domination over teenagers?”

Scott sighs out a laugh, sitting up, “Maybe. I’m sorry – I’m venting too much. It’s got to be super confusing for you.”

You shrug, “Just a little. I’m starting to piece things together.” You start to pick at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve been more partial to since the hospital. “Allison has been a big help. I think Lydia is still recovering from the attack, more than me at least.”

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

Scott matches your frown, “He’s taken it pretty hard.”

“I thought as much,” you pick at your cuticles, “Why do you think that is?”

Sensing the touchy subject, Scott looks to the ground. “We all deal with hard stuff in our own way.”

“But he told me he still wanted to see me,” you say confusedly, “Even if I didn’t remember everything.”

“I think he holds a lot of guilt for the memory loss,” Scott defends, “He uh… he cares a lot.”

“I sort of got that from his last visit,” you wince, “I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded of something I consider a failure.”

Scott furrows his brow, “You being alive isn’t a failure, (Y/N).”

“My amnesia is, though,” you sigh, “But it’s got me thinking… maybe there’s more to why he thinks of it as a failure.”

“What do you mean?”

You swallow, “I don’t know. It’s hard trying to figure this whole thing out. It’s like I’m trying to give a summary on a book I never read.”

“We’ve done that plenty of times in English class,” Scott smiles warily.

You chuckle at the joke. “I mean, I’m seeing the end of the movie without any plot. I don’t know what to make of anything I see. I hear of all these things I did, and it just feels like I’m out of the loop. I’m being told about someone I don’t even know.”

Scott nods at your words, happy to be your confidant. “It sounds hard.”

“And even with that, everyone is making an effort to stay connected to me. Everyone I don’t remember. Allison does homework with me, you vent to me about Allison, the hospital has put my work schedule on hold, the high school is making accommodations, even Lydia has texted me.” You grimace as you pull at the skin around your nail. Part of a cuticle tears away, “So why hasn’t Stiles? Why is he different?”

Scott bites his tongue. “This whole thing might mean something a little different for him.”

“In what way?”

“Just you,” he swallows, “You mean something different to him.”

“You mean, because he was the one who saved my life?”

Scott clenches his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

You suck on your finger. It stings where you tore the cuticle away. You taste blood on your tongue.

“We should do something,” Scott decides, “We should get the friends together and hang out.”

“And do what?” you ask, standing to find a band-aid.

Scott follows you to the hallway closet, “You have a firepit in the backyard. Maybe we roast some marshmallows?”

“You don’t think it might rain?” you wrap a plain brown band-aid around your finger. It almost surprises you to see two other fingers with the same bandage around the nail. “It’s been cloudy all week.”

“No, I think we’ve got a few more days before the weather gets real bad,” Scott waves a hand at you, “Would your parents be okay with it?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “My mom would probably be thrilled.”

Scott is already texting on his phone, “Perfect. I’ll let everyone know – do you have firewood?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh, “My dad keeps the shed fully stocked. Marshmallows and everything.”

“It looks like Lydia is going to be at her dads place tonight,” Scott grimaces at his phone, “But Allison is available.”

You watch the dopey lovestruck smile grow on his face, “Won’t it… won’t it be terribly awkward for everyone? You guys have history to talk about while I… I don’t remember meeting any of you.”

Scott shifts his face into a serious expression, “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to still hang out with you.”

You fist your bandaged fingers into the pockets of your sweats. “I guess I can see it as a chance to get to know you guys better.”

“We could play like truth and dare, or answer get to know you questions,” Scott chuckles.

The next half hour has you creating a s’more station outside while Scott brings over a pile of firewood. He’s just exploring the depths of the shed when Allison appears, the sunset illuminating her in flattering light.

“Hey!” you say, glad to see her again, “I was just laying out the chocolate.”

Allison gives you a hug, eyeing her secret boyfriend carrying an armful of wood from the shed. “Perfect. Let me help with the camping chairs.” She hops over to kiss Scott before taking the covers off the chairs.

“Have you talked with Lydia recently?” you help move the seating around the firepit, “She was a little frazzled the last time I saw her.”

“She was a little shy coming back to school,” Allison admits, “But Lydia has always exuded a kind of confidence, even if she doesn’t especially feel it. The whole school was gawking at her, and she strut down the hallway like nothing happened.”

You nod, a smile of gratitude on your face, “I’m glad.” You notice how Allison deliberately set the chairs in two pairs across from each other, on either side of the firepit. She plans to sit by Scott, and across the fire, you sit by Stiles. “Is Stiles for sure coming?”

“He told me he would,” Scott throws a few more logs on their pile, “Just that he’d be late.”

As Scott was making a tent of wood in the firepit, a grumbling engine could be heard pulling in front of the house. You sit in your chair, matching cream colored sweatshirt and sweatpants on. You even had a green and blue flannel on over the sweatshirt for an added layer of warmth. It was something you just found in your closet.

Stiles appears walking around the house, hands in his pockets. His lips are in a thin line as he waves a hand in hello.

“How are you, Stiles?” Allison asks, ever the polite one.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the remaining seats. He knows his best friend will want to sit beside his girlfriend. “I’m alright.”

Your eyebrows knit. Stiles doesn’t look very alright. He looks like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second.

“Hey, grab me some of that kindling, would you?” Scott says, kneeling beside the firepit and crumpling old newspapers into flammable balls.

Stiles leans down for a box of splintered wood and shaved bark. He gives the pieces for Scott to create a nest in the heart of the pit.

You fold your arms as the sun fully sets and the stars become more visible across the indigo sky. You observe the wrinkled nature of Stiles’ clothes – the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks a little worse for wear.

“This is my first fire of the season,” Allison says, crossing her legs and admiring how Scott sets the kindling aflame, “I love having campfires.”

“Me too,” Scott says warmly, standing to go sit beside his girlfriend, “I’m a fiend for toasted marshmallows.”

“I like them a little on the burnt side,” she says in reply, enjoying how he easily slips his fingers between hers.

Stiles stands as the kindling burns more brightly, sending plumes of smoke into the air. His eyes find your form tightly wrapped in your chair. There’s a flicker of something sad in his gaze – guilt, pity, pain?

He walks around the pit and sits in the camping chair beside you. It was more like he collapsed in the chair, the legs scraping on the stones littering the ground.

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

Stiles looks at you with tired eyes, “Sorry?”

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

His eyes are still sad, but something quirks in his lips, “Golden brown – although that’s dangerously close to burnt and that happens more often than I care to admit.”

“I don’t have patience for roasting marshmallows,” you say begrudgingly, “They’re never exactly what I want. I eat them too fast.”

Stiles swallows hard, moving his limbs slowly as if any faster would give him a headache. He spears two marshmallows on the end of a roasting stick. “And if you had patience for marshmallows – what would they look like?”

“I like them golden too,” you smile, “A little or a lot is fine with me. I just don’t like them burnt.”

“It gives them flavor!” Allison defies, “And it’s fun blowing them out when they catch fire.”

“Until they melt right off the stick,” Scott laughs, “And they burn in the pit like Anakin near the lava pools.”

You giggle, a strange flash of a dream crossing your mind. Yourself wearing a star wars t-shirt with a blue and green flannel. The same flannel you have on now. Was it a dream… or a memory? Was it like the strange memory of blue spray paint on your arms?

There was something stirring in your stomach. You could mistake it for anxiety or the painful churning of your insides – but something was trying to pry itself out of you. Watching Stiles rotate the roasting stick against the firepit was sending waves of familiarity through you.

The campfire reminds you of Stiles in a way. He reminds you of autumn and woods and campfire smoke. It makes you think of fallen leaves and flashlights and flannels.

Just as you remind Stiles of summertime – he reminds you of autumn.

“Did you hear about Isaac’s dad?” Allison suddenly speaks.

Scott sighs, “Yeah, he was taken out of lacrosse practice today to talk to the police.”

“I don’t think he has a strong case of his innocence,” Stiles mumbles.

“What happened to Isaac’s dad?” you ask, unsure of who Isaac even was.

Scott clears his throat, checking his marshmallow by pinching the soft white fluff. “He was murdered.”

Something cold and steely takes ahold of your limbs, “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it happened during the last rainstorm,” Scott continues, “I think they suspect Isaac.”

“Why would he kill his own father?” you ask with a slanted brow.

Allison prepares some graham crackers and chocolate, “I don’t think they had a very good relationship.”

“You could say that,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Seeing as he comes to school with new bruises weekly.”

A small gasp escapes you, “That’s awful…”

“You’ve actually helped Isaac with it before,” Stiles says, “You’ve taken him to your house and cleaned him up after a fight.”

You find it hard to swallow, “I’m glad someone did. Has there ever been an investigation at the house for child abuse?”

“Not that I know of,” Stiles sighs, “Isaac has never wanted any trouble.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay,” you say more to yourself, “Is he still being questioned?”

“I think my dad might take him into the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Stiles says.

You tilt your head towards him, “As in, Isaac is going to be arrested?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised seeing as he’s their biggest suspect with a damning motive.”

You don’t realize your fingers are searching for more tender skin to pick at around your nails. Scott puts his toasted marshmallow on a prepared cracker and proceeds to set another on fire. Allison giggles as she smashes one s’more down.

“I haven’t seen Isaac,” you say quizzically.

Scott presents the marshmallow aflame on his roasting stick for Allison to blow it out. “He’s been asking about you though.”

Stiles removes his marshmallows from the fire as well. “He says Coach has been unreliable and chaotic since you’ve left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Because I’m his TA?”

“He may be your superior, but that man is hopeless without you,” Scott laughs, “I honestly don’t know how Coach has kept his job as long as he has.”

Stiles is preparing two s’mores beside you, layering a graham cracker and chocolate with golden brown marshmallows. You are picking at your unbandaged fingers terribly.

Scott and Allison are preoccupied with feeding each other sticky s’mores while you stare into the dancing flames of the fire. You wince at a sharp pain. Looking down you see your fingers have pried a sliver of skin from around a nail. It stings being exposed to the nighttime air and a blossom of blood speckles the tender skin beneath.

A large hand enters your vision – long fingers reaching for yours. He pulls your injured hand away and inspects the bandages on your fingertips. He places a readymade s’more in your palm. “What’s happened to Isaac isn’t your fault,” he says quietly, “Neither is Coach being manic – that’s nothing new.”

You watch his hand pull away, fisting in his lap as if regretful to touch you without your permission.

Taking a deep breath, you look at the perfectly cooked s’more, “Man, there weren’t even coals yet,” you say with mustered warmth. “This looks amazing.”

You catch him staring at your smile. The tiredness is evident in his look, but the fondness that warms his eyes is undeniable. He holds his hands together like he fears they’ll move for you if he didn’t.

The gooey marshmallow sticks to the sides of your face as you eat. It’s exactly how you like it, and you can’t help giggling at the sticky sweetness melting on the chocolate.

Stiles is watching you with something sad and sweet in his face.

“Thank you,” you say, cracker crumbs littering your lips. “You didn’t have to make me one.”

“I wanted to,” he says in return. “I wanted to see if that marshmallow would stay on the cracker or not.”

You snort with a full mouth. Bits of sticky fluff are on most of your fingers and stuck to your cheeks. You flick your fingers, seeing how some of the marshmallow was gripping the fraying fibers of your band aids.

“Oh, shoot,” you shake a hand free of crumbs. “I’ll be right back.”

As you rise from your chair, Stiles grips the arms of his – like he was about to stand with you. His eyes follow you all the way to the back door.

Scott clears his throat loudly and Allison nibbles the marshmallow from her fingers.

“What?” Stiles questions, still on the edge of his seat.

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

Allison licks her lips and nods toward the house, “Take the chance.”

“Ah… god.” Stiles slips out of the chair, tripping on his way to the house. He opens the door and spies you starting to open new band aids at the kitchen counter.

“Oh!” you say sharply, “Hey – everything okay?”

“Um…” his throat was suddenly very dry, “I just – wanted to see if you needed help.” He walks to the counter and sees the pile of marshmallow coated band aids. “I know it can be hard to… wrap those on your fingers by yourself.”

You feel shy, hesitant to display your fingers, “That… that’d be nice, thank you.”

He ignores how your hands shake, unwrapping a band aid and picking a finger with raw skin around the fingernail. Some were scabbed over, and others were still wet with exposed, tender skin.

He’s soft in how he holds your hand, gently wrapping the band aid. “I’ve never seen you pick at your fingers before.”

“Me neither,” you say quietly, “I guess it’s just a new nervous habit.”

“What was making you nervous?” he asks just as quietly. He keeps his gaze on your hands, his own oddly cold against yours.

It leaves you free to look at his face without fear. You never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. You suspect they frame his bronze eyes well, especially when they were well rested. He also has a constellation of moles across his face.

You were tracing them with your eyes as you say, “I guess I was feeling guilty again for losing my memory. It sounds like people need me… the old me.”

I need you, Stiles thinks, upset at how the guilt was presenting itself in you. “But none of it is your fault.”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that lots of problems would be solved if I could just remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with hidden emotion, “I… I could’ve… if I had just stayed with you…”

Your brows knit as he applies a third bandage. “It’s not your fault either, Stiles. We’re both doing the best that we can.”

He clenches his jaw, “Maybe we should put band aids on all your fingers so you’re not tempted.”

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

Stiles smiles and again you’re struck by another one of his features. Stiles is cute, you think, he’s really cute. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He holds your hands for a second before lifting them to his lips. He kisses each of your bandages in a chaste, silly way. “Make-it-better kisses,” he says almost dreamily – remembering a past memory, “Your specialty.”

You’re stuck on the way his mouth hovered over each of your fingers. “You learned well, apparently.”

“You’re basically cured,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Make-it-better kisses are a medical miracle, so they say.”

You nod slowly, “Maybe I just need a couple more of those to get my memory back.”

Stiles’ eyes blow wide, “Oh… oh my god – that’s not what I… I didn’t mean to insinuate – I mean, not that I’d be upset to do… ah, shit, I’m messing this up.”

Giggles are falling out of you faster than Stiles is running his mouth. “Stiles, I was meaning a forehead kiss. Help fix my brain.”

He lets out a loud sigh, “Of course – of course that’s what you meant.” He’s jerky and hesitant and terribly endearing as he leans over to place an awkward kiss to your temple.

~~~

The jeep stops with a jolt in front of the sheriff’s station. Through the blinds Stiles and Derek see a woman behind the counter.

Somewhere in the holding cells is Isaac, being held on suspicion of his father’s murder.

“Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office,” Stiles says. He grits his teeth, “The problem is getting past front desk Westbrook.”

It was Angela on duty, filling out her part on police reports behind the counter.

“I’ll distract her,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles freaks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he grabs Derek’s leather jacket, “You? You’re not going in there.”

Derek looks at the hand on his jacket like it might be his next snack.

“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles says quickly. “That is Angela Westbrook in there – you can’t just ‘distract her.’” He uses air quotation marks.

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

Stiles licks his lips, “You’re still a person of interest, and trust me, Westbrook is the last person you want to mess with. She almost always hangs up when I try to call the station.”

“That’s because you’re a hyperactive, overexaggerated teenage boy and I’m…” he adjusts his collar, “A handsome innocent person of interest that looks really good in leather.”

The look of acceptance in Stiles’ face was laughable. He couldn’t deny any of those points. “Fine. Try and charm her and see what happens.”

They wait as another police officer appears to talk to Angela, looking like they were about to head home for the night. It’s the opportunity Stiles needs to talk to Derek about one more tiny favor.

“So with me helping with this whole Isaac fiasco… I was thinking maybe you could do something for me.”

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

“You know I could just walk in, knock everyone out, and break into that lockbox, right? I don’t actually need you.”

Stiles lifts his hands in protest, “You do if you want to remain an innocent person of interest!”

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

The new spring rain was finally here, starting with a light sprinkle. You are on the couch, your favorite forest green blanket over your socked feet. Oliver is snuggled on your lap, enjoying the way your stomach rocked him back and forth with your breaths.

Angela sits with you, warming her hands on a mug of tea she brewed for you. “Chamomile and lavender,” she says.

You sigh, “Good for stress.” You give her a knowing look, paired with a smile.

“And sleep,” she says, “I’ll probably pass out in about ten minutes.” She laughs and then clears her throat, “You know, there was something super strange that happened at the station the other day.”

“What was it?” you ask, excited that your mom wanted to share about her workdays again. She had been worried about putting stress on your heart by telling you those stories.

She looks worried now, “It was a little chaotic.”

“Please, mom,” you say, “We haven’t just talked in a while.”

Angela seems to agree, taking a big gulp of her tea. “Well, we had a boy in holding for a murder – no, I won’t tell you who. And Derek Hale came in to talk to me.”

“Hale,” you mutter, “Wasn’t that the name of the family whose house…”

“Burned down, yes,” Angela says, “And while he was there, the boy broke out of holding and an officer I’ve never seen before was knocked out on the ground.” She shakes her head, “I have no idea how any of that happened on my watch. The poor officer had an arrow in his leg and everything.”

“Oh my god, from what?” you ask with pursed lips.

Angela shrugs her shoulders, “The Sheriff is looking into it, but I’m not sure. His son was by the holding cells when he got there.”

“That Stiles guy?”

She nods, suddenly looking at you with warmth – a question in her eyes. “That’s right. He’s a good kid. A strange one, but good.”

“Did you…” you start to say, “Did Stiles and I hang out a lot?”

Angela swallows, “You did. He thought we couldn’t hear all the times he climbed the garden trellis,” she smirks, “But your father and I aren’t that dumb.”

You scoff in surprise, “He climbed the front of the house?”

“A couple times,” she replies, finishing her tea, “He’s not exactly the most graceful person. It’s easy to hear him struggle up the vines and fall through your window.”

You laugh, “And you never thought to stop it?”

“Your dad considered it,” she says, pausing to hear the rain fall heavier on the roof. “But we knew you kids were fine. He might be a bit of a troublemaker, but I know he wouldn’t do anything to put you intentionally in harm’s way.”

Squinting your eyes, you suddenly gasp, “Oh my god, you approve of him, don’t you?”

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

“You’ve never liked any boys I’ve brought over.”

“I think your dad still needs a little convincing,” she says, “But Stiles will win him over eventually.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say, flinching as thunder crashes overhead.

Angela shivers, “Well, that’s my cue for a nap.” She stands and stretches, “Warm tea, cozy bed, and rain in the background? Don’t expect me to wake up anytime soon.”

You laugh, “I’ll be here reading. Thank you for the tea, mom.”

“No problem, sweetie. I wish I could start on that garden, but the recommended time frame is the end of April,” she rolls her eyes, “My herbs are suffering in their little pots!”

You smile as she retreats up the stairs. The rain was really coming down now, pelting the roof like a hail of bullets. You always loved the sound of rain. Maybe it was the cliché book reader in you, but the weather gave the perfect conditions for a reading session.

Ollie sleeps soundly on your lap as you pick up your latest read. It was strange coming home to see a bookmark in a book you didn’t remember. It still sits on your nightstand, hopefully to be picked up again should your memories return.

In the meantime, you begin to read a new fantasy trilogy.

The rain and thunder continue for another half hour, Oliver choosing to sleep on an overturned pillow beside you. He snuggles his face into his fluffy tail as you read. You were just starting to feel sleep tugging at your eyelids when a firm knock came on the front door.

You close your book, apprehensive as the last time someone knocked on the door, the new principal sat you down to question your current whereabouts.

But you find that it was someone new. A tall handsome man with light eyes stands on the porch, sprinkled with rain.

He wipes the water dripping into his eyes, “Hey, (Y/N).” He looks up at the ceiling as if listening for something, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you ask, shocked that this handsome man knew you by name.

“I’m Derek,” he says, pushing his way in and standing beside the piano.

You follow by quietly closing the door, afraid to wake your mom. One of the men involved in the strange chaos that happened at the police station was currently in the sitting room.

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

“You remember me?” he asks with confusion in his brow.

You fold your arms, “I remember your name on one of my mom’s police reports years ago. About a house fire.”

He clamps his mouth shut and nods. “Listen, Stiles and Isaac have been talking about you – asking me for favors.”

You remember your friends talking about an Isaac. “Okay?”

“I told them it might not even work, but alphas are usually the ones best apt to do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, arms tightly wound and your feet rooted to the spot. You are starting to get a pit in your stomach. Thunder is roiling outside.

“Just… jog your memory a little bit.” He takes a step forward and you suddenly find the ability to move backward as far as the room would let you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say quickly, “I don’t even know you!”

Derek holds up his hands, “You need to calm down. Your heart is stuttering all over the place.”

“Yeah, it does that,” you say angrily, fear overtaking you, “Especially when strangers threaten to do something to jog my memory.”

“It’s just some minor memory manipulation,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven’t really done it to extract memories out of someone else before, but it can be done.” He approaches your body pressed against the wall, “You need to hold still though – I don’t want to damage your spinal cord.”

You gape your mouth, “What the hell do you mean!?”

He takes ahold of your neck and you’re on the brink of a scream when he covers your mouth with his other hand. “I need you to stand still.” And he sinks his claws into the back of your neck.

You flinch and gasp behind his hand. Something sharp punctures the nape of your neck, heat trickling down from the top of your head to your spine. You feel a strange twinge of electricity and it makes you shiver.

A picture was filling your mind, crisp and warm as you close your eyes to see it better.

It was you in a pale yellow dress, bows in your hair, and your hand held tightly in Tom’s fingers. Judging by how you had to crane your neck to see his tall figure, you had to be about four years old.

Another warm image appears: dirty carrots being pulled from smelly earth. Your mom claps her soil stained gloves, proud of the garden you planted together. Little you was just as excited, taking a bite out of the carrot and grimacing at the gritty taste of dirt.

One memory flows in, a tinge of cold on the edge of this one. Like you found a cold spot in a pool of water. You were finishing a homework page your mom made on algebraic equations. A bitterness was in your chest at not being able to do it in an actual school.

Your mom appears to place a stapled packet of papers in front of you. You curiously pull the first page towards you and the top reads: ‘Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – Job Application.’ You squeal and launch yourself into a hug with your mom.

The next memory that tries to surface isn’t as warm as the others. And it doesn’t flow in as easily. You start to get a headache as a cold image swims into view. A jeep driving through the woods.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

You flinch, the memory crumbling into something new – just as cold and difficult to resurface as the other one. A movie was playing in the background and a steaming meal was on plates in front of you.

He was describing a different meal to you, “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say, moving your plate, “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

He laughs, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” he says quietly, “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

Pain pulses in your temples as floods of memories try to pry through your vision. It was like trying to yank sharp rocks through a rubber hose. But the next memory appears with a slight warmth.

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

“My heartbeat,” you say, tightening your fingers around his, “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe as you open your eyes to look at him.

You can see your initials drawn on his cheek with blue paint. He looks concerned as his thumb starts to rub along the inside of your knee.

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

A burst of freedom surges through your head – like a lock being broken. You start to remember everything in between these colder memories. They start to warm with recognition.

Stiles is rambling, “… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

You smile as he gets even more adorably endearing, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

Your eyes start to prickle with tears. How did you not realize how much this boy was into you? The signs were all there.

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already soothed by his woodsy honey scent. You breathe it in deeply, loving how he apologizes as he gets under the sheets. You relish in his awkward avoidance of your limbs, “It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling like avoiding your gaze would save him from the heat encompassing his heart. It was making his cheeks burn.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Tears are filling your eyeline, a drop racing down your cheek as the distant, cold memories are fully back in focus. The pain in your head was growing, but it was worth it to remember all this. The fact you didn’t notice Stiles’ feelings sooner was putting a pool of guilt in your stomach. The poor boy was being so terribly obvious now that you saw the scenes again in your mind’s eye.

He smells like candy, you think.

Your lips fall into an easy pattern. He moves his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you kiss.

He hums deep in his throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there too.

“Is this good?”

You laugh with your eyes still closed, tears actively falling down your face. It was good, you remember. So good you actually have a crisis in thinking you might’ve made a mistake. You were in denial of any feelings you had for him.

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

Your mind swims to the desired memory that you had forgotten. Projected stars fill the space as the band plays a soft song. You hold onto Stiles in a beautiful starry dress. You’re hidden from him as you’re pressed together, swaying to the music.

You wonder if that’s part of the reason you two have courage to talk. Neither of you were looking.

“What else?” you ask with a puckered brow. A warmth you now know to be likeness enters your chest.

He grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.”

Your cheeks start to feel itchy with salty tears, a quiet sob making your breath stutter.

“Like a lot a lot.”

Before watching the aftermath of that dance play out in your mind, you force yourself to the present. Claws rip out of your neck, and you wince, wiping at the tears that had dripped down your chin.

“How…” you sniffle, “How did you do that?”

Derek looks serious, searching for side effects in your crying, “It’s just something werewolves can do.”

“Never heard of that one before.” You cover another sniffle with a laugh, “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you.” You jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s frozen for about three seconds before placing his hands gingerly on your back, “You’re welcome.”

You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but it’s the perfect height to hide your face in his chest, “He was so devastated when I didn’t remember.” You recall Stiles when he first saw you in the hospital, “He has to be so upset.”

“He’s miserable,” Derek says gruffly, pulling you away. “I need you to fix him. I didn’t think he was capable of being any more annoying.”

Your smile suddenly drops, “I never got the chance to tell him.” Your hands fly to your hair, completely ignoring the pain still pulsating in your temples. “I went to find Lydia before I…”

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

You look at him with red eyes, “Derek this is so important. I need a ride. Please!”

~~~

The rain is in full force behind you, providing a backdrop to your panting silhouette. Just traveling from Derek’s car has you soaked in rainwater. The sleek black car drifts away under the cover of thunder.

You’re shaking terribly, water dripping from your hairline and down your face. The porch at least gives you some cover while you wait. It was ridiculous. You left the house in such a hurry, you hadn’t thought to change.

You wear comfy sage green pajamas, matching with little white daisies on them. A sunflower yellow knitted cardigan lays wet and heavy over your shoulders. One sleeve is dangling further down your arm than the other.

Anxiously you check that the police cruiser is absent from the driveway. Then you hear the door creak open.

Stiles is there in dark blue loungewear himself. It brings out the purple circles under his eyes.

“(Y/N)?” the dull expression in his face suddenly changes to one of deep concern, “What are you doing here? Did you walk in the rain?” He’s reaching for your cardigan, wishing to pull you into the shelter.

But he hesitates – not knowing if it was okay to touch you so forwardly. Not knowing if you’d find it a violation that a near stranger lays his hands on you.

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinks, hand falling to his side, “Yeah, of course.” He opens the door further and ushers you in. “You must be freezing.” He jumps to find a towel to cover your shivering figure.

You’re pulling the wet cardigan off when he returns with a giant fluffy towel. He sees the straps of your pajama top and immediately averts his eyes, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. He rubs up and down your arms for about two seconds before catching himself again.

He takes three steps back, rubbing at his face harshly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You aren’t sure if the tears ever stopped since regaining your memories; it was too hard to discern what was from the rain and what was from you. But you look at Stiles now with a deep warmth in your chest.

It was so large and so warm it was constricting your lungs. Looking at him was making it hard to breathe. “Are you not sleeping?”

He clenches his jaw, “I try to sleep as much as possible. It’s probably not very restful sleep,” he runs a hand over his shaved head, “But… it’s nice to dream.”

You want to touch his face, touch the circles beneath his eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. I completely forgot and then there just wasn’t any time to.” You hold the towel around your shoulders, taking a few steps toward him.

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

“That night at the dance,” you start, “We were on the dance floor, and you were saying such wonderful things.” You shiver, “And I was afraid to admit the things I was feeling.”

Stiles’ eyes were growing wide. Wide and desperate. They were silently pleading with you. The very air surrounding you two seemed to be sucked out. A hitch is in your chest as you continue:

“I never got the chance to tell you… how I feel.”

His eyes were growing warm, tears lining his bottom lashes, “(Y/N)…”

“I like you too, Stiles,” you say with a proud smile. “I like you a lot.”

You watch the breath leave his lungs – like his chest had collapsed. He’s screwing up his face like he’s trying not to cry, but a tear falls anyway. “Really?”

You give a breathy laugh, voice choking on the emotion in your throat. “Really.” And you let the towel drop from your shoulders, launching yourself forward to crash your lips against his.

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

You stand in the entryway, holding his face and kissing him deeply. You tilt your head and make the kiss deeper; he follows a second behind you, still recovering. He’s shaking just as much as you are now.

Goosebumps erupt on your bare arms, and you pull away to look at him. Tears are smeared on both your cheeks.

“You remember?” he whispers softly, moving his hands to hold your face.

You run your hands down to his chest, “There’s this little trick with a werewolf and my spinal cord,” you shrug, unable to stop smiling. “It pulled everything back for me.”

He’s still trying not to cry, twisting his lips, “Thank god,” he gasps a sob. “Thank you god.” He pulls you in for another kiss, soft and tender this time. He wipes away the wet strands of hair framing your face.

You take a deep breath, tracing a finger up his chin to the soft skin beneath his eyes, “You really need to sleep.”

“I do,” he licks his lips, eyelashes sticking together with tears, “Just to see you.”

You take ahold of his wrists near your face, “You need real sleep.” You tug on his hands and lead the way upstairs. The rain continues to fall, accompanied by rumbling thunder. It gives you something to listen to as you enter Stiles’ bedroom.

You take a quick peek at the disarray: clothes strewn about the floor, old books open and stacked precariously on scrap paper, lacrosse equipment dirty with soil and grass piled in the hallway. The bed is scrambled like he was kicking in his sleep.

Pushing him to sit down on the mattress, you turn to move toward the dresser, but his hand clamps down on yours.

“Where are you going?”

You look back at the instant terror that envelops his face. “I’m just going to change out of my wet clothes.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

At the dresser, you find a pair of plaid pajama pants and a shirt with a Doctor Who logo. In the hallway bathroom you change and comb through your hair. You’re hanging your wet clothes on the shower rod when you hear stuttered breaths coming from Stiles’ bedroom.

In a few quick steps you’re back in the room and see Stiles struggling to maintain his breathing. His eyes are still wet with tears and he’s holding his chest like it hurt. His head snaps to you when you enter, and a micro change happens in his expression – the smallest amount of relief.

You’re at his side in an instant, running your hands over his chest and to his face, “Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here and I remember. This isn’t a dream. We’re okay – I’m here.”

He nods his head, but still struggles to draw breath. He is fully panicking.

You grab the covers and pull them over you, crawling onto the bed and laying yourself over his body. Like a weighted blanket. You take deep breaths and hope he can mimic the feeling as he feels it against his torso.

One of his hands goes to your back, holding you to him. With his other, you intertwine your fingers. You pull your hands under your chin, giving them a kiss. With your head nestled into his chest, your free hand raises to be up by his pillow. You’re able to reach his short hair, running your fingers over his head in a soothing motion.

A tangle of limbs, your body holding his down, he starts to calm. He holds onto you like his life depends on it. Like if he lets go you’ll float back into his restless dreams.

It feels like hours later you both fall asleep, holding each other.

And it was the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

#okayjhannah #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #fandomfantasia

128 notes · View notes

wcbblife · 2 months

Note

Ok I have another one, can you do juju x fem reader where reader is on live and she’s reading comments and someone says “ juju mid asf” and reader defends her by saying “ juju and mid don’t belong together in a sentence unless ‘not is between them’ ” or something like that (idk I was half asleep when i wrote this in my notes so you can change that if you want 😭). Then blocks the person cause she doesn’t allow anyone to talk abt her gf like that . Then juju gets sent the live from her teammates, so she txt reader or post it on twitter saying “my girl 🫡” or something 😭 I just had to write it in my notes before I forgot bruh 😭

Live Love

a/n: Kinda cheesy and short but I like it ngl. Hope you like it anon!

You’re live, chatting with your followers, enjoying the rush of interactions. The comments are flowing in, and you're responding to questions. After seeing fans online practically begging for you to go live following the volleyball team’s tournament win at home, you figured it’d be a great way to kill time while waiting at the airport for your next game. It was mostly fun, a comforting distraction.

You scroll through the comments, selecting a few to answer.

What’s your favorite thing to do on a day off?

“Great question! Honestly, I love just chilling at home, maybe cooking something new or catching up on shows. If Juju’s free, we’ll go grab some food or watch a movie. It’s all about relaxing and recharging.”

More questions flood the chat, and you pick another one.

Any book recommendations?

“Absolutely! I’ve been reading ‘The Song of Achilles’ lately. The writing is beautiful and so immersive. Highly recommend it. It’s a bit sad, though, so read it if you’re into that.”

Do you have any pets?

“Juju got a little puppy recently. You guys should see him—he’s the cutest. Juju calls him our kid now.”

As you continue engaging with the audience, the flood of comments and emojis feels like a warm embrace. But then, a comment stops you in your tracks, and your smile falters.

juju mid asf 😂

You pause, staring at the screen in disbelief. Juju’s been working tirelessly and seeing someone dismiss her like this hits unexpectedly hard. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire spreading through your body.

“Now I know I ain’t just read what I think I did, right? Juju mid as fuck? Don’t overstep. Juju’s my girlfriend. Juju and ‘mid’ don’t belong in the same sentence unless ‘not’ is between them, and I’m not going to stand by while people talk down about her in front of me.”

You pause, steadying your voice, determined to stand your ground.

“Keep her name out of your mouth. She’s achieved so much, and she deserves respect, not baseless criticism. You’re not going to get on my live and talk bad about my girlfriend, that’s for sure. I’m blocking you, bruh. Get out of here with that. If you don't have anything nice to say, shut your mouth. Let’s keep the vibes positive.”

Blocking the user brings a wave of satisfaction and relief. You continue engaging with your followers, but a part of you is still buzzing from the need to defend Juju.

“Alrighty, y’all, I’ll have to cut the Q&A short. We have to get on the plane now. Peace!”

Meanwhile, Juju’s phone buzzes with notifications. Her teammates have sent her clips from your live stream that fans had recorded and posted on TikTok. Watching, she feels a swell of pride.

Feeling touched and a bit playful, Juju opens Twitter to share a thought:

“My girl 🫡 #Proud #NotMid”

Shortly after her tweet, your phone vibrates with a text from Juju.

“Saw your live. Thanks for having my back. You’re amazing.”

A smile spreads across your face.

“About to take off. Love you.”

“I love you too, babe. Call me when you land.”

#wcbb #women's basketball #usc trojans #usc wbb #usc women’s basketball #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins #wcbb x reader

76 notes · View notes

writing-intheundercroft · 3 months

Text

Bite The Hand

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 7,717

Rating: E (Smut, MDNI - M!Masturbation, M!Receiving Oral Sex)

Summary: Sebastian Sallow bites the hand that feeds him. Or, the years spent between your break up and the events of The Night Shift.

A/N: Auror!Seb took a vacation in my mind, and I never meant to let him relax this long. So, here's an excruciating prologue I've been writing over the past few months for him. If you have not yet, I highly recommend reading The Night Shift before this, which was one of my first one shots!

Sebastian sits on the old stone fence lining the exterior of Feldcroft; he swirls the beer bottle in his hand before lifting it to his lips, taking a thick swig. His eyes are red, and he’s far too drunk, but it doesn’t matter–the pictures have been taken, and no one at the party is missing him too much. Perhaps Anne, but she’s far too busy entertaining everyone in her white dress to separate herself from her new husband’s arm. Ominis looks positively dashing, proudly swaying with Anne in his arms. Sebastian has known since they were twelve they’d probably end up married someday, and he’s happy to see them together.

After delivering a proud speech to honor his sister and twirling her on the dance floor, he indulges a bit too much in the bar Garreth Weasley has put together for the event, downing bottle after bottle of the ginger’s experimental enhanced ale. Choosing to peruse the gift table over dancing in the hamlet square, Sebastian begins appraising the parcels. He’s shaking each box, trying to guess what gifts might be inside, when his eyes land on a neatly wrapped box. There’s a lovely velvet bow affixed to the top, and the note seems to call his name. He tears the tag away, eyes roving over the familiar handwriting. Gripping the beer bottle in his free hand, he stumbles through the field to find some privacy.

Sebastian holds the gift tag, the rough pad of his finger swiping over the swirly cursive. It’s stupid, he thinks, to have thought you would have come. Anne had warned him that she was sending you an invitation despite the distance you’d put between yourself and the friend group. Sebastian had felt sick over it for weeks–either you’d arrive at Anne and Ominis’s wedding alone and he’d have to own up to his mistakes, or worse, you’d arrive, happy with a man on your arm.

Happy and content, the two things Sebastian is pretending to be.

Sebastian loosens his white cravat, letting it fall into the mud below him. He is happy, he thinks. Sebastian Sallow knows he’s an absolute fucking catch. The department of magical law enforcement’s most eligible bachelor, people have said. He has several badges, praising his heroics as an auror. He hasn’t unintentionally left the bar alone in months, something he’s bragged about with the lads. Girlfriends are nothing but trouble, and he’s quite vocal about how glad he is that he wasn’t trapped into marriage at a young age. That comment usually garnered him some laughs at the bar–it was less successful at a wedding, let alone the wedding of his best friend and twin sister, who were getting married at the youthful age of twenty one.

Sebastian pulls the tag up to his eyes, squinting at it once more. He’s searching it for any underlying clues, a note he’s missed.

So sorry I couldn’t be there. Sending my love.

He scowls. Sorry my arse, he repeats in his head. That's surely a lie–you’d never been sorry a day in your relationship, let alone at the end of it. He probably shouldn’t be as bitter about your breakup after three years, but happy events like this only reinforce the overwhelming emptiness he feels when it comes to relationships.

Perhaps one should never date their best friend, he thinks. The love lost from your break up has tainted most of his happy memories, and his stomach only ever churns when he thinks of you.

He has no idea if you’re even still in London, or if you decided to try out a stint in America or Spain, like you always dreamt of doing when you were teenagers. Sometimes he thinks he sees you on the streets of Diagon Alley. A wisp of your hair, someone with the same nose. He hears your laugh sometimes in the pub, but it’s not you. It’s never really you, but the thought, the hope, it stokes a fire. A fire that tells him he would fall to his knees if he ever saw you again, kiss your feet, apologize for having yelled, for thinking that a man would ever walk away from the person he loved because he felt threatened. It was the only time he’d ever lost faith in your relationship, wavering when a pretty girl batted her eyelashes at him in the bar. After your fight, he’d gone to Ominis’s apartment for the evening to get some space, but found your shared flat empty in the morning.

He never lets the fire grow too big. He’s spent the last three years dampening it with cheap booze, recklessness at work, and girls that never last more than a few weeks at a time.

With glassy eyes, Sebastian looks out to the empty fields. It wasn’t like he was actually planning on proposing–the two of you were just eighteen, after all. But sitting in the front row, watching his best friend swear unyielding love to his twin sister, Sebastian found himself overcome with emotion. Sure, you’d been too young then, but he’d always pictured you standing next to the vicar, wearing a pretty white dress.

He tries to think of that memory, but your face is coming up blank. Perhaps he’s too drunk, or perhaps it’s been too long.

“Fuck!” Sebastian roars, throwing the beer bottle.

He can hear it crash in the distance as his head falls into his hands.

Sebastian hops off the fence, wobbling on his feet. The music gets softer and softer as he puts distance between himself and the party; he’s in no mood, and he’s bound to ruin the wedding if he stays any longer. Without another thought, he pulls his wand out of his pocket, apparating back home.

Sebastian doesn’t hear from Ominis or Anne for a few weeks; he assumes the happy couple are enjoying their honeymoon in Lisbon. Ominis’s pretty little owl arrives at his window one day, a scrap of parchment requesting his presence at their home.

Sebastian excitedly replies, promising to be over on his next day off. He wonders if they’ve gotten their wedding portraits back yet, or if they got any duplicate wedding gifts that might suit his bachelor pad. He’s been needing a new frying pan, might as well steal their old one.

Sebastian cheerfully takes a handful of floo powder, clearly enunciating Anne and Ominis’s address as he drops the dust in the fireplace. Green flames burst around him, and he opens his eyes to see Ominis’s mahogany paneled study. The blonde is sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sebastian,” Ominis has a cold look on his face.

“Morning, Om.” Sebastian grins. “Hell of a party. Wedding of the year, I’d wager.” He walks out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of his waistcoat. “How was the honeymoon?”

“It was lovely,” Ominis says nonchalantly. “Anne quite enjoyed the sun.” he walks over to his best friend, carefully rolling up his sleeves. Sebastian furrows his eyebrows as Ominis stows his wand in his pocket, moving his wedding ring from his left to his right.

Without another thought, Ominis pulls back, sucker punching him.

“What the fuck,” Sebastian spits, eyes watering as he rubs his jaw.

Ominis smoothly puts his wedding ring back on, crossing his arms. “That’s for ruining our wedding, you selfish dimwit. Anne was beside herself for days because of you.”

Sebastian hears the door open; Anne, looking quite sunkissed and freckled, slips into the room.

“Your husband just punched me!” Sebastian complains.

His twin sister shrugs, sitting on top of Ominis’s desk. “You deserved it.” she scoffs. “You invited not one, but two women to be your guest at our wedding, and then fucked off into a field to get drunk and left without saying goodbye. Nearly thought the two would rip each other’s hair out on the dance floor when they realized your mistake.”

“I did not,” Sebastian retorts, crossing his arms.

“Anastasia and Alexandra,” Ominis sighs. “I think you owe both of them an apology, if they ever speak to you again.”

Sebastian’s face heats up as he puts the pieces together. Well, now it made sense why Alexandra, the waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, had spilled his beer onto him and stalked off. Even more so that Anastasia, one of the timekeepers for the auror office, had burst into tears when she saw him at work. She’d put in her two weeks notice, spitting on his shoes as she passed by with a box of her personal effects in hand.

“I think we’re going to laugh about this eventually,” Sebastian suggests.

Ominis’s face twists with displeasure. “They tore Anne’s veil.”

“Okay, it’ll take a few years.” Sebastian sputters in response, nervously eyeing his twin sister.

Anne stands up, her hands balled up into fists at her side. “It wasn’t just my veil, Sebastian.” she seethes. “It was Mum’s veil–”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “No,” he squeaks, utterly horrified.

Anne’s eyes were watering. “Mum’s veil,” she croaks. “Dug it out of storage, had it restored just for the wedding, and those women you invited destroyed it, fighting over you. Meanwhile, you were out getting sloshed Merlin knows where, abandoning my wedding.”

Sebastian stares shamefully at his shoes while Anne paces back and forth, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. His shoulders bowled over, the brunette looks up at the couple. He hates the way they pity him, but he hates it even more when they’re mad at him. Not roll-their-eyes mad, but truly, deeply upset.

“You need to get yourself together, Sebastian.” Ominis barks. “I’ve absolutely had it with you and this obscene behavior. The drinking, the whoring –”

“Alright, I wouldn’t call it whoring.” Sebastian furrows his eyebrows. “That’s a bit of a stretch–”

“New women, every week.” Ominis sounds even angrier than before. “All because you’re a bloody coward, running away from your feelings. Gods, I used to wonder why she left, and now it all makes sense–"

Sebastian doesn’t even realize that he’s holding Ominis by the tie, pushing him against the dark wooden walls. Anne is screeching at him, hitting him at the shoulders, while Ominis raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Struck a nerve, have I?” he asks coolly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sebastian growls. “Don’t even go there. Don’t say her name.”

“Everyone can see it, Sebastian.” Ominis shrugs. “It’s pathetic, that’s what it is. Either make your peace with how you left things off with her and move on, or speak to her like a real man.”

Sebastian lets go, hands fumbling for his wand. As soon as his fingers wrap around the cool, checkered marble handle, it flies out of his hand, clattering across the room.

“That’s enough from the two of you,” Anne snaps, shoving her wand back into her pocket. “You’re acting like children.”

“He started it,” Sebastian snarls. He looks over at his best friend–Merlin, Ominis is his best friend, and he doesn’t even recognize him. The blonde man has never been this angry at him before, not even when he killed–

Right, Sebastian swallows thickly. Best not to think about the past like that.

“Grow up, Sebastian.” Ominis digs his finger into Sebastian’s chest; he’s so angry, his jaw is quaking. “I don’t want to see you, speak to you, hear from you until you’ve grown the fuck up.” he threatens. Ominis backs off, tugging his waistcoat down. “Anne, I’m going to take a walk around the block to cool down.”

Ominis grips his wand tightly, stalking out of the study. The door slams heavily behind him, leaving the Sallow twins alone together.

“Now look at what you’ve done,” Anne sighs, crossing her arms as she sits against the window.

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Sebastian chews on his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” Anne scowls. “You never mean to. You’ve somehow skated through twenty one years of life with nothing ever being your fault.”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian interjects.

“There are consequences to your actions, Sebastian.” Anne huffs. “You need to know that.”

“I do,” Sebastian pleads with her. “And I’m sorry–I’m sorry I left your wedding, I’m sorry I invited the two of them, I really didn’t even remember–”

“You’re not you , Sebastian.” Anne strains. “You haven’t been you in what feels like a very long time.”

“Not you too,” Sebastian groans. “Anne, you can’t possibly think this has to do with her.”

Anne’s eyes are teary now. “Ominis is right. You’re a shell, Sebastian. You’re going through the motions you think you should, but it’s not you. The real you wouldn’t forget about two women and just callously throw them aside. You wouldn’t leave my wedding without saying goodbye.”

Sebastian avoids eye contact with his sister, eyes glued to the floor boards. “I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was just too drunk.”

“You never used to drink this much,” Anne scolds. “Spending nearly every night down at the pub, all the whispers about you flirting with all sorts of women. You’re a different person.”

“I’ve grown up, Anne.” Sebastian suggests. “A man can’t sow his oats without getting criticized now?”

“You were about to get married–”

Sebastian shuts his eyes, waving her off. “That’s silly , Anne. I wasn’t serious about it. We were eighteen, we’d just graduated Hogwarts. It would’ve been stupid to get married.”

“But you wanted to,” Anne retorts. “You talked about it all the time.”

“Can we stop talking about stupid ideas I had when I was eighteen?” Sebastian growls. His cheeks are aflame, freckles burning at the continued mention of you. Days ago, you were merely a memory, a chapter Sebastian had turned past in life. After seeing your handwriting scrawled on a little card, thinking of you for just a fleeting moment, your memory was now infecting every waking minute of his life. He tugs at his tie, throat growing thick at Ominis and Anne’s pokes into his personal life.

Anne gives him a pitying look. “She’s still around, you know.”

“Why would that matter to me?” Sebastian chokes out.

“Just talk to her—“

“She left!” Sebastian roars, smacking a stack of files off Ominis’s desk. Anne looks unphased as the papers float to the ground. “I leave her for one night, and I come home the next morning to my flat, empty, couch gone. No note, no warning. We had one fight and she left me!”

“You said you wanted to cheat on her, Seb.” Anne reminds him.

“But I didn’t!” Sebastian huffs, red in the face. The floodgates are open, words spilling from his mouth. “I wanted her to be mad, to be jealous! I wanted her to miss me!”

Involuntary tears prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to admit the truth–that selfishly, he’d wanted to hurt you, to push you to your limits to see how you’d react. How he never could’ve imagined you’d actually leave. That his heart had cracked into pieces after finding the flat cleared out, and the shards had turned to dust when he realized weeks later that you weren’t coming home.

“Do you still want her to miss you?” Anne asks.

Yes, Sebastian thinks. His heart would probably explode out of his body if he were to ever find out you missed him.

“No,” he spits out. “I’m over her.”

Anne gives him a distrustful look, and Sebastian has to turn away in shame.

“I think you’ll find life to be a lot easier to digest when you stop lying to yourself,” Anne shrugs, folding her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to watch you waste your life away like this, Seb. You miss her, and that’s okay. You loved her. Don’t sit here and pretend that you’re happy.”

“I’m happy,” Sebastian grunts. “I have a great life, Anne. I’m the best junior auror on the force, I have plenty of friends. I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want, and I don’t need to answer to anyone. What makes you think I’m not happy?”

Anne’s face twists again, this time with a sad, pitiful look. “We’re twins, Sebastian. I know you. I’ve known you forever. I know things can never be as it was, but Ominis is right. You have to make peace with the past, or talk to her.”

“It’s not about her,” Sebastian snarls again, crossing his arms.

“You got shitfaced and left my wedding after you stole the tag off her present.” Anne declares. “Tell me now how it’s not about her.”

“Whatever. I can’t talk to you when you’re acting like this.” Sebastian huffs, turning on his heels back towards the fireplace. “Send an owl when you’re feeling like yourself again.”

Anne leans against Ominis’s desk, her hands fidgeting with her skirt. “Likewise. We can talk once you’ve figured out everything, and when you’re acting like yourself again.” she says coolly. “Otherwise, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“Ultimatums and threats, how very Gaunt of you.” Sebastian blurts out, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Why would he even dare to say such a thing?

Anne is unphased, shaking her head as she brushes dust off her skirt. “There you go again–trying to hurt someone you love, just to get a rise out of them. Seb, grow up. Don’t talk to me again until you’ve figured it out.”

Sebastian can’t bear to look at Anne, so he grabs a fistful of floo powder and disappears into the green flame.

“Another.” Sebastian demands, pushing his glass towards the new barmaid.

The woman raises her brow. Elsie, Elise, whatever the fuck her name is. She’s relatively new, and less obliging than the other bartenders Sebastian has come to know at the Three Broomsticks. Although he might not have much pull anymore–the other bartenders seem to have gone cold towards their favorite regular, especially after he’d ditched their colleague Alexandra at the wedding with a duplicate guest.

“I’m afraid I’d be over-serving you, sir.” she says, polishing a tankard. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, turning the barstool around to appraise tonight’s crowd. It’s a Saturday, but there appears to be slim pickings amongst the crowd. Nary a pretty woman in the room. He leans his elbows back against the bar top, scanning for any viable conquests.

And then, the bell on the door rings.

Sebastian freezes, pint in hand. He’d always imagined how this day might go–how it would feel to see you again. He always pictured himself being brave, too cool to care. Merlin, he might’ve even gotten some satisfaction out of seeing you be a bit miserable.

But you’re not. You’re laughing. Oh god, how could you be laughing?

He’s frozen in place, standing rather sheepishly at the bar as he watches you, giggling on the arm of some stranger. Sebastian could care less what he looks like, rather fixating on you instead. His heart swells at the sound of your voice for the first time in years, the playful lilt to your question.

Should we sit down here, or upstairs?

Your date tells you to go upstairs, while he meanders over to the bar to get drinks. “One whiskey, on the rocks, and…some drink with gin. Er, with lemons?”

A white lady. Gin, orange liquor, egg whites, lemon juice , Sebastian screams in his head. It’s embarrassing how quickly that knowledge came back to him. The entire history of you floods into his brain, a dam he’d built over the years of your estrangement destroyed with the mere sound of your giggle. You always favored gin in your drinks, but despised when things were too sweet, too fruity. The key to your heart was understanding your sense of taste. Sebastian recalls the nights he’d make dinner for you, before your shifts at St. Mungo’s. He was no chef, but you always praised his cooking. Pretty noises coming from your mouth as you savored braised mushrooms over pasta, the way your tongue ran over your lips when he made chicken–

Why did you break up again?

Images play over and over in his mind. You scoffing at him, your career being more important than his. Screaming, fighting, going days without seeing each other. His teeth sunken into the neck of someone he didn’t know. A book thrown at his head, a coffee mug missing a handle.

Right. That again.

Sebastian snaps out of his thoughts as your date takes two drinks up the stairs. He follows on careful feet; if he’s learned anything in his years of being an auror, it’s how to follow with stealth. He hides beneath the creaky wooden staircase, concealed by the darkness. Yet through the wooden steps, he can see you sitting at the table, and the way your smile falters when your date drops a fruity concoction in front of you. He wonders if this is your first date–no, you’re far too comfortable leaning into his touch for this to be a first date. Perhaps a third, maybe a fourth.

“You did promise me if we made it to our fourth date that you’d tell me,” the man across from you says. Sebastian feels a bit proud for knowing you well enough, but sick at the thought of you being close to anyone.

“Tell you what?” you ask, feigning innocence as you fake a sip of your sugary drink.

“If you’ve ever been in love,” he croons. Sebastian winces, remembering just how excruciating it is to be in the early days of a relationship. At least then he’d been sixteen; he can’t imagine asking such cringey questions as a grown adult.

You roll your eyes, leaning back into your chair. “That’s such a cheesy question,” you scoff.

Even when you’re not together, you two are on the same page.

“It says a lot about a person,” your date shrugs. “You have been in love, haven’t you?”

You roll your eyes once more, wincing as you take a sip from your beverage. “I have,” you announce, holding up a finger. “Just once.”

“And?” the man pries. “What happened?”

“What always happens.” you shrug. “You get older, and you fall out of love.”

“Indulge me,” your date asks, leaning his chin into his palm. “What was it about him?”

Sighing, you lean forward. Sebastian wishes he could cast a disillusionment charm, get closer to see the look on your face as you condense your love story into a palatable tale for this stranger. He wants to know if you’ll do it justice.

“We were sixteen,” you muse. “It felt like we’d grown up together, that we could do anything. And for a while, we could. But then we had jobs, friends, and lives we had to explore outside of each other. Suddenly, we needed different things. We just couldn’t love each other the way we wanted to.”

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. That’s it? That’s all you’ll say about the great love you shared, a measly five sentences? That you drifted apart, you grew up? He has half a mind to march up the stairs and confront you right this moment. In fact, one foot is already ahead of the other, emerging from the darkness.

“In the spirit of honesty, can I tell you something?” you ask. “I absolutely hate fruity drinks.”

Sebastian stops in his tracks. You hate complaining, let alone correcting someone. You never complained once during your tenure at Hogwarts, nor did you complain at the simplest offenses. He and Ominis would have to practically beg you to send back food if your order came out wrong. Imelda would roll her eyes every time you apologized for sending a beater your opponent’s way. Hell, half the reason the two of you broke up was because you could hardly confront him, moving your belongings out of your shared apartment to avoid conflict.

Yet here you are, finally open and honest about something. You’ve grown, he realizes. Has he?

“Excuse me,” your date clears his throat. Sebastian is drawn out of his thoughts as the dark-haired man bumps into him at the foot of the stairs.

“Sorry mate,” Sebastian says hurriedly, turning his back. Hopeful that you haven’t seen him lurking quite yet, he pushes through the throngs of people in the pub, all blocking his way to the front door.

“Oi, Sallow!” the barmaid yells, and he curses under his breath, stopping in his tracks. “You forgot your tab.”

Sebastian digs through the pockets of his cloak, pulling out a few sickles to cover his drinks. He turns toward you on the second floor, wondering if you’d heard his name. You hadn’t; you were back to chatting animatedly with the stranger, his hand resting on your forearm.

Sebastian slams the sickles down on the bar top, pulling the hood on his cloak over his head before turning on his heel. Rain pours outside, the water sliding his back as he rushes down the cobblestone street to his doorstep. Your laugh haunts every step, mocking him all the way home.

Sebastian turns in his sleep, bedsheets tangled in his legs. He’s not one to brag (Ominis would say otherwise if they were on speaking terms) but he’s not used to being alone in bed. Not if he doesn’t want to be.

He is alone tonight, his damp cloak discarded in the corner of his room where he kicked his clothes. He lives alone, so he wasn’t quite sure why he was going through the motions of banging the cupboards, slamming his door. The tea he’d made to sober up had gone cold, perched on the side table next to a myriad of dirty cups. He nearly bangs his head against the wrought iron headboard, staring up at the dark ceiling. There’s a tightness in his belly, an urge sparking his senses below.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Sebastian grumbles to himself as his hand trails down his stomach, gripping his length. He’s sleeping in the nude—has been, ever since he got his own bachelor pad—and can’t help thinking about how much you would despise him for it. You’d always been a stickler for pajamas, grumbling about him sitting in bed with dirty clothes.

Why is he thinking about you now, after all these years? Sebastian grunts in displeasure as his cock twitches in his hand. He tries to focus on anything else—the blonde he’d kissed a few nights prior, or the woman with auburn hair who’d gripped his locks at the root when he’d sucked a mark into her neck. Neither works in his quest for relief. Begrudgingly, his thoughts fall towards you, distant memories he’s not even sure are real anymore.

They had been real, and so were you. Sebastian paces his strokes, biting hard into his lower lip as his memories flood back. He furrows his brow as he pictures you, sidling up next to him in bed. You’d always crawl back underneath the sheets after a long night in the ward, getting home with just an hour or two left before Sebastian would have to wake and get ready for work. He tightens his grip at the memory of you, nosing his cheek as your hand replaces his.

“You know I hate when you go to bed without pants,” you whisper against his neck, teeth grazing his pulse.

”I do,” he murmurs, letting you take over. His hand falls back against the pillow, arms above his head as he sighs into your touch. He swears he can feel your hands ghosting over his body, firm grip pumping his cock up and down. He groans audibly when your thumb glides over the glistening head, a gasp caught in the back of his throat as he feels your lips pressing a tentative kiss against it.

“Please,” Sebastian pleads. “Please.”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for, but his right hand crashes against his mouth, a pathetic whimper spilling past as he feels your mouth envelop him. Your hands brace his thighs, a curtain of hair brushing his hips as your head bobs up and down. He’s loud, louder than he’s been in years—you always brought that out of him, loving how vocal he could be.

You hum against him; he knows you’re looking up at him, a devilish grin on your lips. Sebastian doesn’t dare to look down at you, worried you’ll disappear the moment he tries.

“Good morning,” you gasp, popping off of his cock. Your hand replaces your mouth, the filthy sound of your spit and his come pounding alongside his heartbeat in his ears.

Sebastian can’t stop himself, his hips rolling upwards. A garbled noise falls out of his mouth as he opens his eyes. You’re gone—you were never here to begin with. He fucks up into his fist with urgency, his eyes stinging as he chases his climax. Sebastian lets out a guttural groan as he spills into his palm, a tear rolling down his cheek as he heaves, coming back down to earth.

You were never here, Sebastian reminds himself. A fucking memory, that’s all. An end to a means, a way to get off. That doesn’t make him feel any better as he rolls over to his night stand, picking up his wand. He mutters a quick cleaning spell, rustling the sheets to the end of his bed as he lays, staring at the ceiling. Not real, not real, not real. The two words comfort him, eyes fluttering back to sleep.

Your laugh replays in his mind anyways.

Sebastian rolls the vial in his hands, fingers hesitating at the stopper. It’s standard issue for aurors to have their own personal pensieve, especially once they’re at the senior level. Sebastian has been trusted with his own pensieve, the only junior auror on the force to have one. It’s an important tool, one he uses to peruse old memories. They’re useful if you need to observe an old crime scene, hone in on a suspect’s face.

Fuck it, Sebastian thinks, pulling the stopper out. The silvery memory floats down from the glass to the swirling waters, and he’s reminded of the first time he’d used a pensieve—he’d been with you. He shudders as he lowers his face to the milky surface, falling into a memory he’s tried to forget.

It was raining that night. He follows his past self up the stairs to the old flat he’d shared with you, stopping to take a sobering breath before pushing the door in. He can see you sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed over a white muslin dress. You look so angry with him—you always looked so angry in those final days of your relationship.

“Where the hell have you been?” You snap, and both versions of himself flinch.

“Out,” his past self growls. “Why does that matter to you?”

You stare at him with furrowed brows. “This was my only day off of the week, Sebastian. I wanted to spend it together. You’re always going on and on about how we don’t spend enough time together, yet every time I even make an effort you don’t even show—“

”Merlin forbid I want to celebrate a good day at work with my colleagues,” the younger Sebastian snarls, a hiccup lining the edge of his sentence as he slams his bag down on the table.

”You reek,” the past version of you declares, nose wrinkling. “Of booze. How long have you been drinking?” You lean in, sniffing his neck. Sebastian instinctively moves his arm, trying to pull you away. It’s no use; it’s an illusion, his hand passes right through your skin.

“Is that perfume?” Your voice falters.

”You’re imagining things,” Sebastian accuses.

”Don’t lie to me, Sallow.” You roar. “I smell perfume on your neck.”

Sebastian flinches when his younger self whirls around on his heel. “And so what if I smell like perfume?” He screeches.

Your face crumbles, and Sebastian has to force himself to look. You look so much younger, with full cheeks and wide eyes. He’d forgotten you’d plaited your hair at the top, just the way he’d liked it. He remembered tugging on your braids when the two of you were still in school, before you’d even started dating. That was ages ago, yet his heart still yearns for those days.

”Sebastian, have you been with someone else?”

The words still prick his heart, yet he forces himself to keep watching. His younger self stands there, a blank expression on his face.

”What if there was someone else?”

“Is there someone else?”

The younger Sebastian stands firm, arms folded over his chest. This is it, the moment his heart closed to you. This is when your relationship slipped down the drain. He doesn’t flinch with his next words, all aimed at you. He’s playing the offense now, drawing blood with his words.

She’s nice, and she actually cares to listen to me. I didn’t kiss her—but damn, I wanted to.

Sebastian perches on the table, knowing what comes next. You don’t bother with tears—you’d cried enough in the last few months of the relationship, trying to salvage damaged goods. There’s nothing left to give. You pick up the closest book, hurling it at Sebastian’s face. The book passes through the real Sebastian, his past self ducking just in time for it to slam against the wall. The book falls to the ground with a thud, spine dented from the wooden beam.

His past self curses, knocking into the closest table. Your favorite mug, the one with the funky handle, goes flying off the surface, the handle breaking off.

”I’m going to Ominis’s, until you can be a reasonable adult,” his past self roars, tugging the hood of his cloak over his head.

No, Sebastian screams. Don’t go. She won’t be home when you come back.

”Sebastian!” You wail. His head snaps to you, hands balled into fists at your side. He’d never noticed the look of despair on your face, the longing in your eyes. “I—“

The memory ends with a slammed door, your voice far away. He didn’t even give you the chance to finish your sentence. Sebastian is forced out of the memory, head jolting out of the stone basin with nowhere else to go.

It’s the first time he’s forced himself to relive the memory. It’s different than he remembered; he doesn’t look nearly as confident as he thought he did. He doesn’t need to watch the rest to remember how it felt. After a night spent on Ominis’s settee, sleeping off the alcohol, he’d walk back into the flat prepared with an apology. He’d slip the key into the lock, calling out your name. You’d probably be asleep in anticipation of your night shift, but he wouldn’t be able to wait. He would burst through the bedroom, but you wouldn’t be in bed. In fact, all of your belongings would be gone, leaving half of the flat bare. No note, no goodbye. He’d spend the better half of a day banging on Poppy’s door, only for her to snap at him in response.

She doesn’t want to speak to you ever again. Every friend had said it, and Sebastian took it to heart. Perhaps it would take you a couple of days, a few weeks at most to forgive him. Weeks turned into months, and before long it was a year. He moved into his own apartment in Diagon Alley. Poppy and Imelda stopped talking to him entirely, and Natty would only speak to him at work. It wasn’t much longer that he started chatting up women at the pub, going on dates. You became a distant memory, his teenage love, a chapter he’d left behind.

Sebastian thought it would give him some closure. That he’d accept being the asshole, finally put you away for good. Seeing your handwritten note to Ominis and Anne had only eroded his stone heart, dripping away at his resolve. Hearing you laugh was like taking a pickaxe to the chest, and your summary of the relationship had been the killing blow. It’s like you didn’t even care; simply shrugging off what had been the longest and most defining relationship of his life.

Isn’t that what he wanted?

Sebastian slumps against the basin, fingertips drumming against the edge. It’s classic, really, textbook Sebastian Sallow to ruin everything. He still remembers the way he pushed away Ominis, had forsaken Anne’s wants and needs when it came to her curse. The unforgivable curse falling past his lips, regretting the words while he says them. He’d crumpled in your arms, sobbing against your robes that night. You’d given him a second chance at life, to be a better brother, a better friend. He promised he wouldn’t squander the opportunity, choosing love over anger.

But falling in love with you hadn’t been a choice. It had been natural, the easiest thing Sebastian had ever done. He’d loved you so hard, too much—he’d wanted to marry you, for Merlin’s sake. That all changed when you started working the night shift. You spent less time together, and even moments at home were spent studying. You balked at his touch, preferring the company of a book and a cup of tea instead. He felt his walls go up, guarding himself from pain. It couldn’t hurt if he hurt you first, he recalled. He’d bite the hand that fed him, and that would give him an advantage.

Sebastian splashes the water in the pensieve, the silvery threads of his memory tangling in his fingers. How easy it would be to store it away, destroy it forever. Fuck, he’d obliviate himself if he could. He could move on with his life, finally be rid of you.

Your name, scrawled on parchment. The lilt of your laugh, the way your cheeks still turn pink when you smile. The memory of your hair brushing against him in the morning, how just the memory of you is enough to make him hard. Fuck, he loves you—he’s always loved you. He’s always going to love you. Who do you think you are, to stay this long? Perhaps he’s afraid of you, how powerful you are to have this hold on him.

Sebastian carefully collects the memory with the tip of his wand, letting it seep back through his ears and into his mind. It hurts, still a heavy weight on his heart. But better to have it, to have a piece of you. He knows he’s done irreparable harm, and he can’t change who he was then. Sebastian has been given a plethora of second chances in his life, and he’s likely run up on any good karma he has left.

You deserve better, Sebastian thinks. He hopes you’re happy. He wonders if you’re still enjoying the night shift, still at the top of your field. His mind trails off to the man you were sharing drinks with—perhaps you’ve found love again. He shudders at the thought of you walking down the aisle to a faceless man, but there’s nothing he can do. He made his bed, and he’ll lie in it.

Sebastian can only resolve to be better. Maybe in time he’ll get back into Ominis and Anne’s good graces. Be a better brother, a better friend. He shuts the cover on the pensieve, pushing it back into the corner of his bedroom. His eye catches the book on his shelf with a dented spine before he straightens his tie, collecting his cloak to leave for work.

He can be better. Maybe. For now, he’ll settle on drinks after work, praying you don’t walk into the same pub as him ever again.

Sebastian’s breath is knocked out of his chest. You’re sitting at the table with Poppy, Andrew’s chair pulled up next to them. You look breathtaking, dressed in a pretty lace gown with matching gloves on your hands. Your hair is piled atop your head in a fashionable way, and you’re blinking up at him expectantly. He can barely look you in the eyes, lest he crumple at the knees.

”Emergency meeting,” he utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

That’s all you have to say? He berates himself in his mind as Andrew and Everett bid you farewell. Your eyes turn back disappointedly to the cutlery on the table, and Sebastian screams internally as his colleagues drag him away from the table on unsteady feet.

”Pull yourself together, man.” Everett rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. And considering how many ghosts we knew at school, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“I can’t,” Sebastian mutters. “That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years.”

”Years?” Andrew’s eyes widen. “You’ve really gone that long?”

Years, Sebastian thinks. Years since you left. Years since he fought with Anne and Ominis after their wedding, years since he froze under the stairs at the Three Broomsticks, hearing you recount your love story to a new flame. He’s thought of you every day since.

”That’s depressing,” Everett whistles low. “I never want to fall in love.”

“It’s sweet, really.” Andrew points out. “You never forget your first love, even after you’ve moved on.”

”Moved on?” Sebastian asks.

Everett gives him a sympathetic look, scratching his head. “Er, I thought you noticed—the giant diamond on her hand? I heard she was engaged.” He confesses. “Sorry mate. Natsai told me.”

Of course Natty wouldn’t tell him , Sebastian thinks. She’s hardly spoken to him in years, despite working in the same department. She’s dutifully ignored him, only daring to speak about work related matters. The moment your conversations turn towards your personal lives, she would disappear.

”I’m happy for her,” he chokes out, trying to sound convincing. He knows it isn’t.

”Well, you’re happy now too, aren’t you?” Andrew tries to cheer up the conversation. “The bachelor life suits you.”

Sebastian isn’t sure that’s true.

They apparate back to the ministry, all of the aurors crowded into the office to help with a massive case. Sebastian is hardly listening during the mission debrief. His mind is elsewhere, on you. He wonders if you’re marrying the man from the bar, the one with the cheesy questions. He swallows thickly at the thought of you in love, real love this time. Something that would last.

He wants to call on Anne. They haven’t spoken since he’d fought with Ominis after their wedding, his twin holding strong to her words. She wanted to see him grow, to confront his feelings before coming back to her. Maybe now was a good time—Anne was always a good shoulder to cry on.

Sebastian had expected a decent fight, but this one takes the cake. It’s the most intense of his auror career so far, battling what feels like an army of ashwinders who’ve rallied to terrorize the highlands once more. The fight isn’t fair; it’s brutal, several of his fellow aurors falling on the scene. Andrew has a nasty gash, arms slung around both him and Everett as they try to get to a safe floo point. They might splinch if they try to apparate, and Andrew is looking pale enough as it is.

“Wild day, isn’t it?” Everett chuffs, straining as they lift Andrew and his bleeding leg. The floo point is about twenty feet away, but it’s an uphill climb. “We need to get him to St. Mungo’s, stat.” He says your name, wondering if you’re on duty to help with Andrew’s injury.

”She works the night shift,” Sebastian blurts. He doesn’t even know if you still work nights—it’s just the only thought that comes to mind.

”Well, maybe she’ll be there and you can stop acting like you’ve got doxies for brains.” Andrew snorts, wincing in pain.

”She looks happy,” Sebastian admits. “Beautiful. Merlin, I forgot how beautiful she is.”

Sebastian feels Andrew tugging on his shoulder, panic laced through his voice. He turns to see an ashwinder, appearing out of nowhere. The masked man has his wand raised, pulling his arm back to inflict a curse. Sebastian can see he’s aiming at Everett, the incantation on his lips.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. He lets go of Andrew, letting him topple over onto the grass. He dives in front of his partner, the bolt of green magic electrifying him as he lands with a thud on the ground. He can’t tell if he’s yelling, or if it’s Clopton. He feels cold and wet, streaks of red blossoming on his crisp white shirt.

“We have to get him to St. Mungo’s!” Everett roars. “I don’t care, apparate! Get us out of here!”

Andrew crawls over to his side. He asks Sebastian to forgive him, curling his arms around him as they apparate away from the scene. Sebastian feels like he’s being pushed through a piece of straw, landing on the cold marble floor of the St. Mungo’s intensive care ward. Healers are already running amok, trying to help the others coming in from the scene. A healer is sending a patronus message, rabbit bouncing off the walls before disappearing to relay a message. He wants to lift his head, check the room to see if you’re there. When he tries, Clopton chastises him, holding him down to the floor.

We have to stop the bleeding, someone says. What bleeding? He’s just cold.

“Can someone get me a blanket?” Sebastian slurs, words garbled in his throat.

He hears someone saying your name. “We’ve called in the head of the ward,” they say. “She’s on her way in as we speak.”

“We know her,” Andrew insists, still holding his hand down tight against Sebastian’s chest. He’s not sure why Andrew is clutching him so tightly, clamping down on his sternum.

”She’ll know how to stop the bleeding,” the healer assures him. “She’ll figure it out—her magic always does the trick.”

That’s all he needs to know. Sebastian shuts his eyes, the sounds of the ward disappearing against the ringing in his ears. He’ll be okay, especially if you’re on the way. Deep down, Sebastian knows he’s in good hands.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x F!mc #auror sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fic #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #ominis is an a plus husband #i wanted to give ominis the opportunity to punch sebastian because you know he's thought about it plenty #but in a loving best friend way

91 notes · View notes

the-witch-of-one-piece · 1 year

Text

Terms and Agreement 18+

Ran Haitani x Fem Reader (unedited) WC: 7000+ * Participation for the sugar daddy collar w/ @sleepysnk ! Please feel free to look at the other amazing writers and artists right here!* TW: Daddy kink, pet names (baby girl, princess), unprotected sex, age gap by 9 years apart, dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral sex, vaginal penetration, cream pie, stripping, suggestive language, masturbation, breast play, a moment with Kakucho, sending nudes, a sexy moment in an elevator. MINORS DNI

The nightlife was something you were accustomed to for the past 3 years. Stripping wasn’t the first option for you at all, but it was the quickest way for you to leave your parents’ home. College wasn’t an option for you either but knowing you could make a pretty penny with sex appeal. You jumped from strip club to strip club each one having their own sleaze clients and freaks who would come out at all hours of the night. The most recent one you were recruited was by one of the girls. She told you many high rollers would come to the joint she was stripping as she was making more money than she could count in one night. Who doesn’t love more money?

Perfecting the sultry look that could make a man do whatever he wanted. Just the simple tease of you on the stage luring them in, leading to private dances. Those private dances lead to big bucks. Your first week at the club the money was piling in. You had many requests from men but you would only accept the highest bidder. But in the club, there was a strict policy of no fucking the clients. As much as they pleaded with you to go a little farther you declined them but still the bit of hip movement against their throbbing groin earned you that extra cash. The feeling of power you had over them the way you make them feel like they are on top of the world. They love this type of shit. You could give them that lustful moment.

The small dab of perfume on your neck and wrist. Adjusting the dainty straps on your thighs, the final look in the mirror you were just waiting for your name to be called to perform. The chatter among the girls from the back of some high rollers was going to come in today. “I have to make sure I perform very well today to get noticed by them.” hearing one of the girls speak. “_______ be ready in 2 babes” you heard the house mom speaking to you. She adjusted some of the straps on your outfit. “ People are already requesting you and placing their bids after your performance.”

“Why even perform.” you joked. “So word on the street we have some well-known high rollers coming in today?” “The Haitani brothers, they run the night club a few miles down” she leaned in “Apparently they are here due to a recommendation of someone. You must have given a very convincing dance to the person, I think the name was Kakucho?.” She raised her brow.

“I didn’t fuck the guy I promise the poor guy seemed to almost pass out when I was dancing. Even the slightest movement against him made him cum quicker than any of my other clients. But he did tip very well.” you assured her you were following the rules. "I swear I didn't"

Before she could speak you heard the announcer “Alright fellas I know half of you are drunk already but you don’t wanna miss this little number. One of our new sexy little thangs is making a name for herself. Give it up to our lovely little vixen, Vixy” Quickly getting into place, the sound of men hollering like they were banchis. the lights centered onto the stage. The curtain was drawn back slowly as you positioned your pose. One foot was slightly forward the shadow of the lights hitting nicely on your contoured frame. One hand rested on her hip while the other hand gave a wave with her fingers tilting her head slightly. As the center of the crowd, you could see the exclusive seating was taken already. Two men in nicely fitting suits. One with short lilac hair with the others was long and multicolored. Making eye contact with one and then the other. You began to walk slowly swaying her hip as the music began to play. Your goal was to snag either one or the other brother. You watch their eyes traveling down your body you could already see what they were thinking.

As got closer you reached for the metal pole that always felt the same no matter where she worked. You found yourself dipping to the beat of the music slowly bringing yourself back up, taking a step forward before reaching the pole that was behind you. Your free hands running through your hair give a seductive smile. You made direct eye contact with the brother with short hair. Seeing the smirk on his face as he took a sip of his drink. He was the target for you, there was no doubt he wouldn’t ask for a private dance with the eye fucking you were both doing. Rin could see the tension between you and his brother knowing his brother would have this fun this time. Ran made eye contact with the bid counter motioning him to his table. “ What is her bid right now?” He asks to bring his attention back to you on stage. “9k sir. She has been very popular among the gentlemen since she is new.” The bidder mentioned.

“Well now I have to see what the hype is all about then. I will double the offer. If someone tries to go over my bid let me know.” Money he had but a girl to catch his attention for this long he didn’t have. He was becoming bored with the women he had been encountering lately he needed something new a new toy perhaps. Discusses his boredom with women like it was a casual conversation with Kakucho. The piece of information Kakucho gave him about a strip club he recently visited, noticed a girl that grabbed his attention right away. He couldn’t explain how it happen. He was mesmerized by you. He wasn't the type either to place a bid for a private dance but this time he rolled the dice he decided to give it a try, it happen so suddenly when he won the bid only at that time he won the private session with you for 2k. You were giving him your undivided attention. Kakucho didn’t mention the part about him almost passing out but did mention how sweet and darling you were. Kakucho had the small card of the strip club's location and on the card, your photo was on the front. This caught Ran’s attention piquing his curiosity, you looked exactly like the photo. He was not disappointed one bit.

Rin looked at his brother rolling his eyes “Few hours of pleasure your soul must leave your body for that amount of money.” “We will see. She knows what she is doing. And she does it very well…I wanna see what else she can do behind closed doors.” “For money, you can get anyone to do anything. I bet if you tell her your favorite color it will be her favorite color too.” Rin leans back on the cushioned seat his arms resting on the back part of the couch. Still, his eyes focused on your body rather impressed with how flexible you were and the core/ muscle strength you had. “But remember the policy they mention before entering.”

Ran ignored what his brother was saying as you were the only thing he was paying attention to. He could feel himself becoming a bit turned on by the sultry number you were performing. He felt like it was just for him. The sinful thoughts of what he could do to you were becoming more exciting to him.

As the song ended to seal the deal you knew he was already interested in you already. Arching your brow as you lowered your eyes slightly, lightly bitting your lower lip. Slowly getting up to your feet still making eye contact. The smile was the seductive smile you turned around walking to the back your hips swaying from side to side. Ran noticed the bid keeper at another table the man that was interested in the obvious dance. Rin noticed the other table “Looks like someone maybe over placing a bid over yours.”

You noticed the bid keep coming towards his table once more “Sorry to bother you sir but your bid was out done.”

“Oh no, what a shame.” taking a drink as he sarcastically spoke “Well I guess add another 5k to the bid of that bidder…. Anyone wants to bet let them know the bids are close.” Ran looked at the man he could see a change in his voice and look “understood.” They did a dry swallow understanding what he meant. He nodded quickly ushering away.

20 mins had passed before one of the employees got Ran from his table. “Let's see if anyone of these sluts gets my attention I may join you up there if it gets too boring...,” Rin said as the next performance entered on the stage. “Just not in my room.” Ran smiled before walking off his hands in his pockets, he walked past the table outbid giving a cocky smirk knowing he couldn’t get this chance and Ran was getting his chance. Since being so high on the bid tonight you were all his. The complimentary drinks were brought up to his private dance room.

“You snagged one of the Haitani brothers babe.” your house mother spoke. “You have him all night.” You could feel the girl's eyes burning your back with the glares. Making your way up to the private room few of the doors were already shut with the dancers in them. Seeing one of the girls walking out of the room with her thumb cleaning the lipstick smudge on her lips. Finding room 9 one of the Haitani brothers was just on the other side. Opening the door the iridescent purple lights in the room, the soft beat music echoed in the room. In the middle of the couch was the violet-eyed man. Closing the door giving a smile “So it’s you handsome.”

Letting a chuckle out “Yes I’m the lucky man that has you all night.” Ran motioning you to come closer to him “Let me get a good look at cha.” Following his order you made your way towards him. Patting his lap wanting you to take a seat on him. Getting a whiff of the sweet perfume as you took a seat on his lap. A scent of YSL perfume filled his nostril. One of his favorite scents from the collection, he would buy this fragrance for the girls he was with. ‘Good taste as well.’ He thought to himself. “You are a pretty little thing now. Not disappointed one bit.” The tip of his finger under your chin. Worth every penny to get you alone with him.

“ I’m glad you think so.” Your hand sliding unbuttoning his suit jacket then sliding up his chest holding onto his tie . “ Let's get you more comfortable. We are going to get to know each other pretty well.” Loosening his tie as you, his large hand sliding up your thigh. Pushing on his chest lightly, having his lean back on the cushion. “Just enjoy yourself Mr. Haitani. I will take good care of you.” leaning in close as your lips were millimeters from his own. A new song began as the motion of your hips began to rock with the beat. The feeling of his hands lightly gripping your thighs as you rubbed against his caged beas tinside his pants. It was already semi-hardened by the time you took a seat on his lip. “Someone is a little excited.” leaning in cooing in his ear. “How flattering Mr. Haitani.”

“Having a pretty girl on their lap can do that to a man.” he spoke in a husky tone. “Please call me Ran.”

“Very well Ran~” you change your position as your back is against his chest. Feeling his lips graze the nape of your neck, the faint scent of the bourbon he was drinking was still lingering on his breath. His hands roaming your body groping your breast with his other hand squeezing your inner thigh. You felt his hand becoming a little more closer to your cunt than your other clients ever did. You made sure your other clients followed rules but with Ran, him being on of the best guys you ever danced for, you didn’t mind if he got a bit more friendlier. He spent all this money with you, why not a little bit of a taste?

He must have noticed you slightly tense up just a bit. “ Is this too far for you?” The pure lust in his voice made you quiver in the moment.

“Do you remember the rules, Ran?”

“The part of no fucking.” you could feel he had a smile on his face even though you couldn’t see him. “I know I know.. What a shame.” with a bit of sarcasm. “Lets say if you did fuck a client what would happen?” feeling his hand creeping a bit closer. “I lose this job. The amount of money I make here is too good to give up.” You were rather curious why he began to ask this question. You stopped for a moment turning your head looking at him. You knew the money you would get wouldn’t be the cleanest money your clients would come in with. Even the money Kakucho brought in, you knew there was another side to him, even when you made him cum you could see he had another side to him. Ran began to think for a moment, maybe even thinking of something more to his benefit. “Such a pity, a pretty little thing like you doing this for money. Men grab you all night long as they don’t understand the word no. Or are you luring them in with sweet promises of going further but you don’t? You're a very smart girl. I mean if I had a pretty little thing like you by my side I would make sure you never had to worry about money." He knew he caught your interest when he spoke the last part. “Has a man ever provided you anything?” “Other than a headache.. A girl like me can’t keep a boyfriend due to my line of work.”

It was true many failed relationships and false accusations of fucking clients when you were with one person. Not to mention them coming into the club and picking fights with people. You would have hookups but never the same guy twice.

“I’m assuming you are still young and haven’t dated a real man. I’m guessing you're in your early 20’s?” you felt his hand slide off your strap off your shoulder, his lips placing a light kiss.

“21 to be exact.” You felt like he was having the upper hand and this was a bit different to you when you had a client alone you were the one with the upper hand.

His eyes perked up “you are a young little thing. Barely old enough to drink now, by the way you dance on the pole you have been doing this for some years now. Such a shame you never experienced what it's like to be taken care of by a real man before.”

Titling your head slightly, your fingertips lightly touching his face “it is such a pity, but I take it as no real man can handle me.” “That can be fixed.” he smirked “But that can be all up to you now. If you're willing to give this up and just rely on me for support.” his finger drifted towards your cunt. The sweet charm of the lovely Ran Haitani was pulling you in more and more. This wouldn’t be his first sugar baby at all.. After ending things with his latest one , dates after dates of women who didn’t catch his eye. He thinks you would be his perfect little sugar baby. Letting out a low shallow breath. “All you have to do is agree to any of my requests then, you could have whatever you want.” he could feel the thin fabric becoming a bit moist. He was becoming a bit more excited as he saw you biting your lower lips. The obvious hues on your cheeks “What do you think princess?”

It was so tempting not to accept. You nodded in agreement to the lilac-hair-colored man. “Such a good girl, now tell me what is your name?” he asked “_______.” responding in a soft tone.

“Yesterday was the last night another man touching you. I’m going to be the only one to touch you from now on, understand?” you nodded in acknowledgement. “I want you to ride my lap till you cum. Could you do that for daddy?”

Without an answer you flipped around once more on his lap. He began to sink into the couch, his cock still engaged in his pants. You moisten panties rubbing against his cock. Grinding yourself against him one hand steady against his chest the other on the back gripping the back of his hair. His hand gripping your ass cheeks. Your breasts were eye level with his face. He couldn’t help but get a taste. His tongue runs across the top of your breast before his lips finding the perfect place to mark you.

A few months had passed since you agreed to the terms of the agreement. The nightlife was becoming more enjoyable instead of you working 6 days a week. The expensive dinners, lavish gifts, and allowances coming from him were more than enough to keep you happy. Within the first month, he gave you a spare key to his home. Just in case he wanted you there before he was home it would usually be when he has had a long day and needed to destress. He still wanted you to keep the sexy outfits and perform for only him. The more you were around him the more you knew what kinda business he was in. Met some of his ‘business partners, one being Kakucho. When he saw you walking in with Ran, he was a little tense his memories going back to the day you were on his lap. Clientele's privacy and wouldn’t let anyone know what happened to him when you had him alone. Still being sweet you would always greet him. Ran on the other hand made sure you never left his side a single moment. Making it a point to have you on his lap.

Rindou saw the hyper fixation of his brother's interest in you. Rindou used Rans's phone because his just died and the notifications for you popped up, peaking his curiosity and clicking on the notification he saw the explicit picture you were sending Ran at that very moment. “You weren’t supposed to see those.” Ran took his phone from his brother. “But what you saw, what do you think?” asked his brother he looked at the photos for himself. Saving each one of the photos. “You're hooked on your new toy.” shifting in his seat still having the images imprinted in his mind. “So when are you going to share your toy?” When Ran would get bored of the girl he was willing to share with, he didn’t want to share you with him or anyone. “ I don’t plan on sharing my girl this time. She is very obedient and does anything I say like a good girl.

“Send her my way when you finish her.” Rindou was serious, “you will eventually become bored of her you always do.” As more photos were coming in, Ran had to turn off his phone for a moment to relax before his erection would become more noticeable. “She must want something if she is sending this many photos. She will have to wait for a while before I respond.”

Back in your apartment, you saw he opened the photos. ‘He must be in a meeting or something.’ tossing your phone on the bed. You knew he would like the photos, It was a few days since you saw him in person. You Facetime him last night and the sweet talking about each other's day turned into something more sinful as the conversation went on. Your fingers were the only thing keeping your company.

The official first day you were his sugar baby was the day you fucked him. Was is the best dick you had? Yes, yes it was. But what really turned you on was the way he spoke to you when fucking your brains out. The praising and how good of a girl you were for him, it drove you crazy. You could tell he was possessive with you when around some of his colleagues and even his brother . You wanted to be on your best behavior when he was around. But there were moments you had to use your good girl tactic to get what you wanted. Hearing your phone ring. Grabbing the phone “Hello daddy~”

Ran walked to one of empty hallways leaning against the wall “My princess how are you?”

“Lonely, I miss you. I want to see you.” you had a bit of a pouty tone. . The corner of his mouth curled up “is that so? Well daddy is going to be free tonight. Do you wanna go out?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, causing him to chuckle slightly. He looked at his watch. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

“Very well why don’t you put on that pretty dress I bought you recently and I can pick you up around 7:30? I have to finish a few things before I can pick you up.” “sounds perfect!” Your eyes spotted the dress that was still wrapped in the bag it came in. “Did you want me to wear anything special underneath?”

“Surprise me. I will see you soon bye princess.”

“ bye daddy.” Hanging up the phone.

Ran hung up the phone going through his photos. Some of his favorite photos you wouldn’t have expected him to like. Thinking you always had to perform a sexy pose or something explicit. It would be the photos of you in your lounge clothing, your natural bare face, even your hair pinned up. He caught a glimpse when you answer on a video call. You felt embarrassed that you didn’t look done up. you always look presentable until that time. Just that one time he saw you he was stunned by your natural beauty. He thought you looked good with you all done up but he liked this more. He never saw one of his sugar babies not done up before you were his first. His night sessions where he would leave after the sex, he would end up staying the night with you. Some nights you spent with him and you had your makeup off, peacefully sleeping next to him. He couldn’t help but snag a few photos. He really felt something for you but didn’t want to pursue these feelings thinking they would just pass but it was taking longer than it usually does.

As the evening approached, you were putting the last earring on when you heard the luring voice “Is my baby girl ready?” He walked towards your room to see the gown he requested to be in you. “Stunning as always.”

Turning around you were greeted by the soft lilac haired man. Just a few steps he was in front of you. His lanky arm wrapped around your waist as the other titling your chin up at him. He leaned in as his lips pressed against yours making you quiver. Removing his lips from yours, and removing his hand from your chin, his hand began sliding down his arm before he held your hand. “I’m glad I get to see you.”

“Same here. I’ve been a little lonely not being able to see you. But our video chats are always so lovely to do so I can’t see my pretty girl daily.” He smiled and looked down at you “Hmm something is missing.”

Blinking a few times you checked your ears to make sure you put the earrings on right. “ I think I put everything on.”

“Not this.” Going into his breast coat pocket he pulled out a blue Tiffany box. This box was so iconic that every girl knows about it. Opening the box there was a dainty pendant that sparkled when the light hit it. “ You have been such a good girl for me and the photos sent today prove how much you missed me.” Ran smiled “I’d book us a suit for the night as well. You have some clothes I’d bought for you in the room.” he removed the necklace from the box walking behind you and placed it around your neck.

“It’s beautiful.” you looked at the wall mirror seeing the pendant around your neck. His chin resting on your shoulder.

“You made it look beautiful.” Ran smirked before kissing your cheek “ shall we?” he asked

The whole drive you both were catching up on small talk, his hand resting on your thigh where it remained until we arrived at the restaurant. Getting out of the car and handing his keys to the vale you stopped him “Wait really quick.” you said to him. He looked over at you with a questionable look. Your hand reached to straighten his tie. “There.” Ran had booked the best table in the restaurant. The ambient lighting sets the romantic mood. The small gestures wouldn’t go unnoticed by him. He noticed you made sure he kept up making a good impression. The way you held yourself with confidence and class if he would have seen you the first time in another event he wouldn’t have guessed you were a stripper. He wondered if you missed it being grabbed by people or being the attention of more than one guy “Do you miss dancing?” He asked as he swirled his wine glass.

“I don’t. The only reason for doing it was to get out of my parents’ home quickly after high school. When I first started, I wasn’t any good, it took me months to perfect what I could do now.” You chuckled and brought the glass of wine to your lips. The memory of the first time you were on stage you had so much anxiety and fumbled everywhere. That memory was one you could never forget. But also, the memory of when your parents found out still haunted you “When my parents found out that I was stripping they cut all ties with me. I haven’t spoken to them since my 19th birthday.” Just the mention of your parents bothered you while you looked out the window. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before turning back to Ran. “But life goes on. Dancing did give me confidence in myself” You gave a smile trying to hide the pain, you kept inside for so long. It wasn’t just the relationship with your parents but the men in your life that came and went.

The smile painted on your lips Ran could still see the hurt you had from that. “In the society we live in, we must do what we must do to survive. I don't find stripping to be all bad. If I must say seeing you on stage those few months back, I saw the confidence in you and a form of power. Seeing the crowd focusing on you, some men begging for you to look at them.” Ran would admit this possessiveness started even before you agreed to his terms of being his sugar baby. “I couldn’t let a pretty thing like you be snatched up by another man, I wouldn’t have allowed it.” reaching for your hand he placed a kiss on the back of it.

It did make you think he was so charming, how long would this last until he was through with you. You might have to go back to dancing once he stops giving you money. But the way he was with you seemed to change but not in a bad way, you couldn’t really explain it, but he was more caring about you. Just the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

The rest of dinner you both enjoy with one another. Sharing laughs and flattering chats between one another. When you both entered the hotel your hand wrapped around his forearm as they greeted you both. Waiting for the elevator he kissed your temple, his hands comfortably around your waist. Whispering in your ear so sweetly in your ear. “I can’t wait to see what you have underneath that dress.” As the elevator opened up both of you entered. Once the elevator closed he turned towards you he placed his hand on each side of the wall pinning you under his towering figure. Looking down at you, his lower eyes express a seductive smile painted on his lip. He leaned down and kissed you, his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip “My baby girl, mine and mine only.” His lips grazed my neck sending chills down my spine.

“Ran~.” You slightly moaned his name.

“Save that pretty little voice until we get into the room babe.” He whispered he slightly nibbled on your neck. One hand sliding down your dress as you grasped your ass. “I’m never gonna let you go.” This caused your cheeks to become a bit red. Was he serious about his words right now? Or what is he just in the moment? He knew how to speak to you and thinking at this point he was just saying things you wanted to hear. You just imagined he meant what he said, turning you on. “I’m yours Ran Haitani~~.”

He gave your ass another firm squeeze letting out a moan that was a bit louder than intended. He loved how you said his name. His eyes fixated on your lewd expression his hand could not feel any panties. “No panties, this is going to be fun.” ..The elevator stopped and he moved swiftly to the side of you, your cheeks burning slightly, your heart beating against your chest.. You were covering your mouth. Ran composed himself quickly with a smile not leaving his face. Opening the door to find some other guests wanting to enter the elevator. They saw you and Ran. They heard the moaning and the obvious expression they knew what was going to happen. His hand pressed against your lower back gesturing you to exit the elevator. Walking down the narrow hallway.

You were against the room door. Ran’s lips were against yours once more as his hand was against your cheek, the other on your waist sliding down to your ass once more. “Such a cheeky girl you are princess.” He said in a low voice as spoke, his tongue dragging across your bottom lip. His hands began to go into his pocket while his lips were still attached to yours. It took him a few tries to open the door, when he finally got the door open he held onto you as you were walking backward into the dark room and closed the door. His back pressed against the door you couldn’t contain yourself. Seeing his toned chest, your hands slide up bringing your lips closer to the chest. Ran watched your lips make contact with his chest. “That’s my girl.” he cooed. As you continue to pepper kiss his chest, your hands travel down to his pants undoing the buckle. Sliding off the belt tossing it to the side. Before you could lower yourself. “Let's have you undress first.” “Yes Daddy.” the alluring tone you spoke. Turning around as your back was to him. He found the zipper and began to undo the dress. The only thing you were wearing was the dress, no bra or panties. I Ran looking at your naked frame.

“Much better, proceed.” Ran

Obliging by his request you leaned your lips once again on his torso and started working your way down lower. Getting on your knees you were at eye level with his buckle. Your delicate fingers taking hold of his cock, you could feel it twitch as your hand was fully around it. Seeing the bit of pre-cum on the tip of his cock you licked your lips leaning in lightly licking the tip of his cock. “Just like this Ran~?” you playfully spoke in a tone while dragging your tongue from the base of his to the tip. Both of your eyes locked with one another as your lips wrapped around his cock. “Ssss aaaahhh~~~ You sure do look lovely with those pretty lips around my cock.” he let a low moan escape from his lips. The saliva began to coat his cock making it easier for your hands to slide up and down as you bobbed your head up and down. His hand resting on the back of your head, his finger getting entangled in your hair. The deeper you were taking in his cock the more it was getting harder for him to contain himself from cumming inside your mouth. “If you keep sucking my cock that way you are going to get a surprise in that pretty mouth of yours~~. ”

“mmmm” you wanted his special surprise.

The pressure from his hand pushing your head into his pelvis without warning, He was about to cum he couldn’t even say you heard the low dragging groan. You finally heard him say “Hold it~” he grunts, feeling his warm seed spilling down the back of your throat. “Fuck.” in a lower tone. “You must have wanted it,” he smirked, Ran still finding himself hard. “Be a good girl and go to the bedroom for Daddy. Get all nice and comfy” Rising from the floor you both made it to the bedroom of your suite. Dimming the lights to the bedroom, the large plush bed that could fit so many people in. You laid back on the topper of the mattress. It was eating at you as you wanted to ask him the question “Ran?” when you spoke you felt him climbing onto the bed his body was towering over yours. His violet eyes looking at you. “Yesss~~” responding when you called his name. His finger slid between the folds of your wet cunt sending chills down her spine. “I-I wanted” It was getting hard to ask the question when he was playing with you. You reached for his hand, stopping him from playing with you. “What you said back there…. About never letting me go ... .was it in the moment or the truth.” you looked up at him. He saw the desperation in your look as you asked the question to him. “If I didn’t mean it, why would I have said it?” he asked. “You must know by now if I didn’t want you anymore my brother would have had some fun with you already.” It was the truth about him with his brother when he was playing sugar daddy to another girl. He was to the point where there was no going around the bush with the question... “As you said your mind, was it the truth?” his hand broke from you as he found the folds of your wet lips.

Arching your back up slightly letting a low moan out “I meant it Ran.”

“I know you did. I just wanted to confirm” with a cocky smile. “You are the only person that will have all my cum, love, and money. Let me show you how well I can treat MY girl once more.” pressing his lips lightly against yours as the kisses began to trail down more. Leaning down lower and lower he settled between your thighs. He began to insert a finger once again slowly going in and out. He kissed your inner thighs slightly sucking on them leaving hickeys. Before he proceeded to lick between your slits.

“Nghh~~~” Your hands began to tug on his soft lilac hair. He began to look up at you making direct eye contact as his tongue flicked your clit. “Right there just like that Daddy ~~~!” pushing his head more into your throbbing cunt. His fingers began to pump into you quicker.. Your own core was on fire and full of sheer pleasure. “I’m going to cum.” exclaiming as the built-up orgasm was coming in. Your body tensed up and then felt this ecstasy between your legs. The room was spinning as you were trying to catch your breath as you were coming down from your high.

His fingers coated in your juices bringing his hand to his lips to get a taste of your sweet juices. “You deserve everything in this world. I’m willing to give it to you, as long as you are by my side.” he leaned as his forehead touched yours. “Just know I won’t ever let you go.”

The comforting words from him made your heart beat pound against your chest. You swore he could hear it by how loud it was pulsing. For so long you felt this emptiness and once it was filled you were just waiting for it to be empty, the fear of disappointment would settle in. You would be alone once more. Loneliness for a few years now made you suffer but now, having someone share mutual feelings for you had some hope. It was hard to believe just because Ran was so good with his words.

His long slender fingers grasping onto your thighs spread them a bit further apart. He reached for his throbbing cock as he brushed it against your wet cunt. Both of you let out a shallow breath and you felt your lower area move a bit more wanting him to proceed more. Slowly entering inside your wet cunt. His cock slid into her warm slick walls, his cock fit like a glove inside of you. He didn’t start rough thrusting as he wanted to savor the slow thrust. Bringing himself up he pushes down on each of your thighs watching his cock disappear into your cunt. You were becoming more aroused and you began to play with your own breast, pinching her nipples as they were getting hard.. Leaning your head up just a bit as seeing his cock enter you. Seeing the small bulge with each thrust in your lower pelvis. He stuck his fingers in his mouth once more bringing down your wet cunt. Finding your sensitive clit. Your legs were trembling from the smallest touch on your clit. “Ah~ Yeah just like that.” you managed to speak.

“This pretty pussy is mine now.” feeling the motion of his thrust becoming a bit quicker. “I wanna see you play with your clit now baby girl.” his hands gripping onto your thighs. Licking your bottom lip one of your hands began trailing down your body till it reached your aching cunt. Your index and middle finger began to rub your clit in a circular motion causing your body to feel the familiar tension once more. Your back began to arch up, your eyes closing as she savored the pure bliss of ecstasy she was feeling at that moment, his thrusting motion had made you a complete mess. The force behind each pound was sending your body over the edge and knocking the air out of your lungs. He was too busy watching your facial expressions change after each thrust. Your juices coated his girthy cock, leaving a ring around the base of it. Ran craved your lips leaning down he shoved his lips against yours; his teeth bit your bottom lip softly before bringing his head back “Look at me _____.”

You followed his command “nngggh……ahhhhh~~~~.” you were trying to catch your breath looking at his violet lustful eyes with your pleading wide eyes. You kept Repeating his name over and over. As if it was a music symphony to his ears. “Ngh~~~.” He grunted in pleasure as this turned him on more. The raging testosterone inside Ran was uncontrollable. Reaching for your legs he bent your knees to your chest, “I should just seal the deal now. You won’t ever leave me. I know my cum can fit so snug inside of you.” Ran slammed his cock deep inside of you.

Ran leaned forward for deeper penetration; his balls slapping against your swollen lips. You cried out loud, “What?!” panting a bit louder, the hues of pink still dusting your cheeks.

“You know what I mean princess. Like I said you will have my cum.” seeing the smirking smile on his face. “Ra-an no no you ca- can’t” you managed to speak out. He made sure he pulled out every single time before he came. “Scared of the outcome? Don’t be like I said you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You know you want me to as well. Stop denying it, just accept it.” cooing the final words of his sentence. When his mind was made up on something he meant every single word of it. “Say you want me cum and I’ll give you every single drop of it.” he knew you were getting more turned on as he felt your pussy tightening up with just the mention of wanting to be filled up. Rams pushed the loose strands of his hair off his face.

You were a bit stunned, lost for words. This request was so different from what he usually wanted. “I-I want your cu-cum~~” You liked how that sounded and seeing the expression on his face, he wanted more, you were going to use this to your advantage wanting a bit of control at the moment.. “Please give me your cum Daddy.. I’ve been your good girl~~” The words spilling from your lips were turning you on, you keep picturing his hot load deep inside your cunt. You were squirming a bit more as your orgasm was slowly approaching.

“I want you to look at me as you cum ,” Ran thrusted deeper and faster inside your pussy. Your slick walls gripping onto his cock. This didn’t stop Ran’s pace, he continued his rapid pace. Multiple curse words came from his mouth. “You want my hot sticky cum inside you _____?” gritting his teeth, his eyes hyper focused on you.

“Yes I want you cum Ran~~~, please give it to me, give it to me~~!,” you whined out loud and felt the tingling sensation run all through your body as you climaxed. Ran called your name out loud before he came, pushing his cock fully inside of you. The amount of cum being forced into your cunt began to leak out as he thrust a few more times. He rests his forehead against yours trying to catch his breath. His body felt a bit weak but he didn’t want to come crashing on you. The panting coming from you and Ran as you both were coming down from your high was vehement. “I will always be your Ran.” softly pressing your lips against his, he brushing the strands of your hair out of your face.

“Likewise princess…” about a min or two passed before he removed his cock from inside your. The cum seeping from your cunt. Before you could get comfortable both of you went into the shower. The clothing he has brought you was an outfit for the following day and one of his shirts to sleep in. The oversize shirt fitting your small frame. Drying your hair he saw your face through the mirror. No makeup on just your bare face. You saw his eyes looking at you through the mirror giving a smile back at him. Both of you getting into bed, you both were in each other's arms the night as you both drifted to sleep. It was around 4 in the morning when Ran noticed you were on your side asleep. He wanted to feel the warmth of your body. Grabbing you by your outer thigh he pulled you closer to him, his arms wrapped around you. It did wake you by the movement of your body being pulled. Turning around to face him, your arms wrapping around him, your legs becoming tangled with his. “I meant what I said earlier, don’t ever get discouraged.” his voice was a bit groggy kissing your forehead.

Your eyes were still closed and a smile planted on your smile. “I won’t.”

Intersted in joining the taglist please fill out form below to get notification of your favorite character when they are being posted! Link here ->taglist

#ran smut #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x y/n #haitani ran #sugar daddy collab 💜#sugar daddy ran #sugar daddy material #Valval writing #the witch of one piece

576 notes · View notes

multiversed-daydreamer · 2 months

Text

Pet: Chapter 5 - The First Time

WC: ~4800

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Disabled!Reader x Dark!Tess

Summary: Joel and Tess try to distract you from your new situation. (This is pure smut with very minor plot.)

Tags: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Rape/non-con, MDNI, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Wrap it up, Y'all), fingering, kissing, mild cunnilingus, forced intimacy, forced orgasm, some crying (just at the start), LMK if I missed anything.

A/N: If you're a new reader, I highly recommend starting at Chapter 1!

A/N: I know it's been forever but I'm back! Seriously y'all, this one's finally the start of the actual DDDNE content, so if you don't do certain things, please heed the tags. You have been warned. Just a friendly reminder because i know it's been forever, but my reader in this story IS mildly physically disabled. If y'all aren't comfortable reading dark stories with a main character who's disabled, this is your warning to find something else. To the rest of you, thanks for hanging in there! I hope you enjoy this chapter and some dirty dirty smut. >:)

You don’t know how long you stayed there. At some point, Joel had backed away, leaving Tess alone to pin you to the wall. You aren’t sure when you responded to the contact, but your face is buried in her shoulder and your hands are holding on to her t-shirt at her waist. You’re positive her shirt is soaked through with the tears that still slip free. You’re not ready to face them yet; just because you’ve accepted this situation for the moment doesn’t mean you’re ready to face it yet. Her hands trail up and down your back. She’s talking to you, but you’re not hearing her. You don’t want whatever words of comfort she offers at the moment.

Tess presses a kiss to the top of your head, and then to your temple. She nuzzles against you, trying to coax you out of her shoulder as her fingers slip beneath your jacket and t-shirt. You freeze at the feeling of her hands on your hips; you pull back into the wall, hands flying to her wrist to grab onto them tightly. “No.” You tell her, trying to push her hands away.

She shuffles closer to you, pressing her body against yours to pin you to the wall completely. “You’re alright.” You shake your head, hands pressing against her wrists. She kisses your cheek, her hands moving out from under your shirt to twist out of your hold. She grabs your own wrists and brings them up over your head, pinning them above your head. The stretch in your stomach gives you butterflies, and you watch her with wide eyes.

“Tess.” You call her name warningly, your wrists tugging at the tight fingers holding you hostage. She smirks at you in return, shifting your hands to one of hers while the other curls under your jaw. She leans down and captures your lips with her own. While you are still reeling from the action, she takes advantage by pressing a knee between your own before you have a chance to recover your wits. She hums against your mouth, the hand on your jaw sliding down, squeezing one of your breasts, before sliding lower to slip back beneath your shirt, warm fingertips teasing your taunt belly. Her touch is light and warm, and it wars with the cool air that hits your skin as she pushes your shirt up with her hand. Your breath catches, and your brain short-circuits under the close contact. Fuck, captor or not, you’re way too touch-starved to last long if this gentle dominance is how she plans to play. You duck your head, breaking the kiss to gasp for air and regain some semblance of control. She nudges your head back, her mouth capturing some skin just above the collar, sucking hard to create a mark. The hand on your stomach slides around to your back, pulling you flush with her body as teeth nip at your neck.

You whine under Tess’ ministrations, your hips shifting against her thigh as discreetly as you can manage. She smiles against your skin, nipping harder and enjoying the way you shiver against her. Your body is warm and growing more pliant the longer Tess has you pressed to the wall. She doesn’t miss the way your hips shift into her leg. She coaxes you forward, dragging your hips along her thigh, and sliding warm fingers into the waistband of your jeans to cup your ass.

You struggle to not make any noise as Tess forces you down on her thigh, guiding you in a coaxing rhythm that you have to fight not to fall into. You feel yourself growing wetter at the stimulation, the way she still has your hands pinned above you and the way her teeth dig deliciously into the side of your throat. You smother a low cry between closed lips, your legs trying to close around hers. The feeling of being unable to deny her, of being so easily overpowered is even more arousing to your traitorous body though. Your hips start to move of their own accord and your head falls back against the wall, a small whine of pleasure escaping you as Tess’ hot mouth drags to a new spot on your throat and she starts to suck. Hard. No doubt leaving a mark. Your hips drive forwards at the feeling, a strangled noise leaving you at the friction of her thigh against your clit. “There you go.” She murmurs in low encouragement, pulling back from your neck to watch you chase your pleasure. “That feel good, pet?”

You want to stop, but her hand forces you to keep moving, driving you closer to orgasm. “Not a pet.” You grumble, ducking your head to hide the embarrassed flush on your cheeks. You whimper again, the constant stimulation is going to make you cum, even clothed as you are, you’re getting close already. You bite your lip to distract yourself, hips faulting just enough to lose a bit of the high. You suck in a deep breath, trying to keep your thoughts together. “Not today, Tess.” You plead, not in the mood to be manipulated in this kind of way, not at all interested in being forced over the edge by a friend who’d betrayed you.

She hums as she pulls back to look at you. “It’ll help you relax a little. Besides,” She reaches up to brush strand of hair behind your ear. You draw back at the movement, but there is only so far you can go. “I’ve been wanting to touch you since I walked you back to your building the first day we met.” You swallow and look away from her. You weren’t that much better, you definitely had harbored some sort of feelings for Tess since that first day too.

“Yeah… well…” You struggle to stay focused when her hand slid between you and unbuttoned your jeans. You force yourself to ignore the rising heat on your cheeks. “Backstabbing me when I come over for dinner isn’t the way to a girl’s heart. Nor is it a good way to get said girl into your bed.” You wish your words came out steady and strong, but instead the came out quick and a little rambly, the feeling of her hand wiggling beneath your pants and underwear takes your focus away from your words.

Tess snorts, her mouth at your ear now, “Oh yeah?” She challenges, her breath hot on your skin as her fingers find your clit, causing your breath to hitch for a moment. “Would’ve come right to me had I expressed interest?”

You shake your head. “No. I wouldn’t have.” You whisper, her fingers are circling your clit now and the pleasure is far more intense than you anticipated. It’s been so long since you’ve been with anybody and Tess seems to know exactly how to move at the right speed with just the right amount of pressure to make you lose focus of everything else. You moan, hips rocking against her automatically, seeking more friction.

“We know. We did hope you’d be a little less stubborn about it, though.” She teases, her fingers relentless, enjoying the way you buck against her, despite clearly trying to control yourself.

“Fuck you.” You whisper back, hands pulling at her grip, another whine slipping through your lips. “Nick will find me. He knows I’m with you.” You say it with as much venom as you can, but in truth, you have no clue if that fact even matters to them. Sure enough, you heard both of them snort.

“Let ‘im find us. Been waitin’ on a reason to kick his ass for weeks now.” Joel retorts smugly. You swallow, suddenly hoping Nick doesn’t get involved. He’s in decent enough shape, but Joel would undoubtedly win that fight. Tess’ fingers slide further into your crotch, curling to find your entrance. You gasp when one finger slides into you, it goes in easier than you hoped, and Tess chuckles.

“She’s wet for us.” She comments to Joel, whose eyes drop to where Tess’ hand is buried between your legs.

“Yeah?” His own voice dropping and going a little breathy at the sight. You notice the way his eyes darken and when you glance down, you can make out a bulge in his jeans. He’s hard. You look back at Tess, not quite sure what to make of Joel Miller getting aroused at the sight of his girlfriend fingering you.

Tess gives you a few shallow pumps of her finger before pressing it all the way in, making you whine. “Yeah, she’s soaked. And tight. Can feel her clenching around me with just one finger in her.” She crooks said fingers, searching for a few seconds before she touches something thing that makes you cry out, jumping against her. “There it is.” You gasp as she pulls out and reenters you with fwo fingers, curling them against that same spot as the heel of her palm grinds up against you clit.

“Fuck, Tess.” You gasp out, hips seeking friction against her, you were close.

She smirks at you. “That feel good, pet?” She asks again, sounding far more smug the second time around. She continues to fucking her fingers into you, curling them when shes deepest inside of you to touch something that sends a fizzle of pleasure through you every time. You stomach and core tighten, and you can feel yourself getting wetter as your orgasm approaches.

“Yes.” Your answer comes out hissed as you desperately chase your orgasm on her fingers.

“Cum.” She whispers in your ear, coaxing over the edge with a wicked curl of her fingers. You cry out, hating her for taunting you like this, but loving the way you go boneless with ecstasy at your release. Your high pitched whimpers make you self conscious but you can’t seem to shut the fuck up. You moan as she whispers praise in your ear, her hand not slowing down as she coaxes you all the way through it. “Such a good pet. See how following order can feel so good?” She nuzzles the spot behind your ear before kissing it.

Your knees have given out at some point and you’re being propped up by Tess. Slowly she pulls away, releasing your hands and pulling her own hand out of your pants. It’s shiny with your arousal and you watch in a daze as she lifts her fingers to her own lips and sucks them into her mouth. You feel hypnotized at the sight. When she’s done she pulls them away and leans forward, kissing you. You don’t exactly kiss her back, but you don’t really fight it either, letting her press her tongue into your mouth, tasting yourself there.

“Tess.” An impatient grumble comes from Joel. You can hear him shifting on his feet, waiting for something. You remember the bulge in his jeans and realize he’s waiting for his own turn with you. You whimper at the realization. Tess pulls back from you, her knee retracting and her body peeling away. You feel unsteady on your own feet after having her so close for so long. The air feels cold when she finally gives you space. You look around the apartment, reality crashing back down once more. Your eyes flick up to Tess’ watching her step back as Joel steps forward.

Shit. Joel.

You’d been aware of him, of course, but now that you’re coming out of your post orgasmic haze, you’re aware of your situation again as Joel closes the distance between you and curls big hands around your waist. Your own hands go to his forearms hesitantly, you freeze at the feeling of him so close. You hadn’t enjoyed Tess invading your space, but at least you knew her. Before you came to the apartment last night, you’d had one conversation with Joel and it had been in the form of an argument.

You stare blankly at his chest, uncertain if you’re already disassociating from what’s to come or if you’re just in shock over everything that’s happened. Maybe a little bit of both. His hands squeeze your waist, one sliding to your back while the other reaches up to grab the zipper of your jacket, unzipping it. “Joel…” It comes out hesitantly. He hushes you quietly, pulling your jacket apart and shoving it off of your shoulders and pulling it down your arms to pool on the floor behind you. His hands immediately move to slide under your shirt as well. You jump a little at the feeling. His hands are warmer and more caloused than Tess’, leaving trails of heat wherever his fingertips touched. Your hands tighten on his forearms as he lifts up your shirt.

“Arms up.” He demands, pulling your shirt up just enough to also grab the hem of your bra and you panic, shaking your head in refusal.

“No. No, I-I don’t want this.” You can feel the way your muscles tighten in panic, knowing he’s going to win this fight but willing to put up and argument with him anyways. He huffs, lifting his own arms in a way to get you to cooperate enough to get your shirt and bra over your arms.

“No isn’t an option, pet. Come on now, we don’t wanna hurt ya. We wanna make ya feel good.” He successfully strips you of the top half of your clothing, and you fold your arms across your chest in a small act to gain some modesty. He bats your hands away, his own reaching to toy with a nipple and engulf one whole boob into his giant hand. “Lemme see you, pet. Been wonderin’ what ya looked like since I firs’ saw ya.” He massages you for a minute and you try not to show your discomfort with the action. He leans down to press his mouth to your shoulder. You flinch at the stubble, your hands going to his chest to push him away. Instead, his arms encircled you again and his nipped at your skin. You yelp a little at the nip, but he soothes it with his tongue afterward.

“Behave yourself.” Tess calls from somewhere behind Joel and you wonder if she’s talking to you or him. Joel trails kisses from your shoulder to your neck, sucking light marks into your skin before moving on to the next spot. When his mouth found a spot just above the collar, just opposite of where Tess had been marking you, he sucked harder, clearly intending on giving you an equally dark mark from him to mirror hers. When he was finished, his arms tighten around you, lifting you off your feet. You squawked indignantly.

“Hey! I can walk, thank you very much.” You blurt out, squirming to get free of his grip. He chuckled at your reaction, stopping just short of the table to watch you for a moment.

“What? Scared I’m gonna drop you?” He sounds amused as he tilts his head to catch your attention.

“Yeah. Maybe. So what if I am?” You grouse, shoving hard at his shoulder. He scoffs and sets you down, one large hand closing around your shoulder, guiding you to turn to face the table. A chair has been moved out of the way, and you were pushed forward until you were at the edge of the table. Your fingers find the ledge and you were pressed down over it.

“Bend over.” Joel muttered, his hands going to the waistband of your jeans as you settle your upper body against the table. He yanks your jeans and underwear down your legs, guiding you to step out of them. You can hear him toss them somewhere behind you and you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you’re completely nude in front of Joel Miller. Bastard. You squirm, pressing your thighs together as if that’d hide the fact that you’re on display for him right now. Hands caress over your back and butt, squeezing you skin. A hot mouth followed suit, his beard scratching at your back as he kissed down your spine. It raise goosebumps all over you and you awkwardly push off the table, trying to shake him off.

“Joel, I dont think…” You trail off, all of this was weird, but Joel showing you a strangely affectionate side of him was definitely the weirdest. A strong hand pushes between your shoulder blades, pinning you back to the table and sliding up to curl around the back of your neck to keep you there. His other hand squeezed one of your ass cheeks before finding it’s way to your sex, where his thick fingers press against your slit. You can feel your hips jerking at the touch, still sensitive from the orgasm Tess gave you. He finds your clit with relative ease, circling it with his middle finger while you bite your lip to hold back the whiney noises gathering in your throat. Joel continues to tease your clit until you can no loger contain your noises, your entrance dripping with arousal and clenching around nothing.

“Need to stretch you for me.” Joel tells you, as his fingers leave your clit to tease over your needy hole instead. You curl your arms under your head so you can bury your face in them as you feel a thick finger press into you. Joel groans behind you, carefully pulling out before pressing back in, curling his finger to send a bolt of pleasure up your spine. You muffle a moan into your arm as Joel finds a steady pace. Clamping your legs shut does nothing at this angle and you’re forced to endure the the pleasure Joel gives you. “So fuckin’ wet, baby.” He groans, pulling out to add a second finger. He adds it careful and slow. “Fuck! Tight little thing, even after cummin’ on Tess’ fingers.” You blush at his words as he presses his fingers into you before pulling them back out and pressing them in again.

Distantly, you’re aware of Tess grabbing something from the kitchen counter and coming to give it to Joel “Thanks.” He mutters, letting you go for a moment to fiddle with whatever she’d given him. He presses his hips against yours to keep you from getting anywhere, and you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. You feel something drip onto your back, before you hear him set it down on the table. Joel’s hand comes back to hold you down, and he steps back so his other hand can fit back between your legs. “Should help ya a bit.” He says to you, while he pushes two fingers back inside of you. He’s right, they’re slicker and the stretch feel good.

“What did you do?” You ask, feeling yourself flutter around him as his fingers glide in and out of you a lot more smoothly. He chuckles over you, curling his fingers to press into that spot inside of you that makes your head spin.

“Just some oil to help you out. Gonna feel a stretch in a minute but it shouldn’t hurt to bad.” He coos, one massive hand rubbing up and down your back as he continues to pull whimpers and moans from you. Once he has you semi relaxed, he pulls out to add a third finger, slowly working it into your tight hole. It’s a stretch, but the oil helps. You moan at the feeling of three of his thick fingers rubbing against your walls with each gentle thrust. “Good girl.” You shift against the table as he works his fingers in and out of you. It takes a while, but the slow insistent press of his fingers in you had you relaxing into him. Eventually he pulls his fingers from your wet cunt and you hear the jingle of his belt as he unbuckles it. You whimper at the sound, trying to push up against the hand on your back to what? Stop? Escape? You’ve been kind of in a daze since your first orgasm. It feels difficult to think and you hate it, hate the way pleasure and arousal have made you far more pliant than you wanted.

The bottle of oil was picked up again, this time to pour on his hard member before returning it to the table. The broad tip of Joel’s erection teased through your slit, bumping up against your clit before sliding back to notch at your entrance. As he presses in, you whine at the stretch. He’s thicker than you thought possible, heavy and hard, but slick from the oil and your own arousal. It’s a far easier push than you assumed it’d be considering how big he is. An odd noise belts out of you, not in pleasure or pain, just out sheer need to release some of the fullness you feel with Joel’s cock in you. You clench around him and he pauses for a moment, rubbing your back with one hand while the other grips tightly at your hip. “Relax for me, baby.” He coaxes gently. It takes you several seconds to relax your overwhelmed body, but once you do, he starts pressing more of himself inside you.

“More?” You meant it as an exasperated complaint, just to be annoying, but instead it comes out meek and whiney. He huffs above you and you hear Tess chuckle near your head. One of her hands cards through your hair while one of Joel's hands splays on your lower back, his thumb resting just above your ass.

“Almos’ there. Doin’ good, Darlin’.” He presses the last inch or maybe even two in with a smooth roll of his hips, finishing with his hips flush with your ass. “Such a good girl, makin’ all those pretty little noises for us.” Joel groaned, his grip tightening on your body.

Joel closed his eyes, reveling in the way your tight body clenched around him, penetration made easy with the oil. He could hear you panting on the table, likely overwhelmed with his size. He held himself still for a moment, not wishing to hurt you. His thumb stroked you lower back, loving how soft you were, how young and surprisingly unblemish you were, given you live and work in an apocalypse. He does his best to keep you relaxed as you adjust to him, but he can’t hold still for long, the need to claim you, fuck you, was growing stronger by the second. He finds Tess’ eyes as she sat across from him, stroking your hair. “She’s so tight.” He growls, causing her to smirk at the sight of him.

“I know, knew you’d like it. Could barely fit two of my own fingers in her.” She watches Joel for a moment before speaking up again, “You’re different with her than the others.”

Joel huffs a laugh, “She’s different than the others.”

Tess nod in agreement. “It was worth it, to do this, just to see you this way.” Eyeing Joel with her own lust filled eyes, reminding him that she had yet to find her own release as well.

“Yeah?” Raising an eyebrow at her, his cock pulses at the thought of Tess being turned on by the sight of him fucking you. He’s momentarily distracted when you start to squirm beneath him.

“How about you two fuck eachother instead of me.” You grit out, but your voice sounds breathy and he takes note of the way you only shift your upper body, careful to keep your hips from moving to much. He chuckles at you.

“Awe, is it to big for you, pet?” He coos mockingly at you, letting his hips press into yours a little harder, bringing a short, sharp cry from your throat. Tess and Joel exchange smirks at the sound.

You scramble at the feeling of Joel pushing deeper for a brief moment, pulling a noise from your throat as he did, but he’s absolutely correct, he is too big for you and you’re terrified to even move, scared it’ll hurt you. It doesn’t hurt now, but it’s too much, you can’t think, can’t focus enough to come up with some sort of plan to get through this. Tess’ fingers in your hair isn’t helping either, distracting your focus further. You’re not fighting enough… maybe if you don’t cooperate they’ll get too annoyed to keep you. With that in mind, you try to push yourself up again, this time a lot more suddenly, hoping to startle them a bit.

“I said no.” You bite out firmly, as you dislodge Tess’ hand and you reach back to push against Joel’s body. His hands leave you for a second, but before you could get your hopes up, he’s grabbing your wrists, guiding them to rest at your lower back, shifting to hold them with one hand, much like Tess had done when she pinned you to the wall.

“You were doing so good, pet. Why’d you have misbehave like that?” Joel groans, as if he is genuinely disappointed in the fact that you’re fighting him.

“You’re fucking crazy.” You whisper, shaking in fear as he folds you over the table again, keeping your wrists secure. He pulls out of you, and at first, you’re relieved but it’s short-lived when his other hand comes down on your backside. Hard. “OUCH!” You yelp, fighting to scramble away from him, his hand comes down on the other cheek just as hard, you lay trembling on the table, your ass stinging.

“Well, if you didn’t want to be spanked, you shouldn’t have been a brat.” Joel grouses, lining himself back of and pushing into you in one swift thrust. You yelp at the feeling, but this time he doesn't give you time to adjust, he begins to pull out just a little bit before smoothly pressing back in. It’s not slow, exactly, but it isn’t harsh either. Just a building rhythm that had you forgetting about escape and the way you can practically feel his hand imprinted into your ass. Instead, you were focusing on how it felt to have his cock rubbing against your walls while he fills you completely, stretched to the limit, and unable to form a single thought. The hand not pinning yours to your back slid up your spine, curling around a shoulder to lift you partially off the table. The forced curve of your back and the new tilt of your hips had him striking much deeper, and you let out a choked scream at the feeling. Tess watches you with a smirk, her hands coming up to cup your face as Joel continues to fuck into you.

“Don’t worry,” She reassures you, “We’ll teach you exactly how to behave, right Joel?”

Joel grunts as he buries himself inside of you again. “Tha’s right, baby.” His voice is husky and you feel yourself clench around him at the sound. It’s starting to get to you, the pleasure. You can feel yourself getting wetter as another orgasm builds up. Your moans and whimpers become higher pitched and breathy and you can feel yourself starting to push back into Joel, trying to chase the pleasure. He moans, louder than you anticipated and his hips speed up, snapping into you roughly. “C’mon, girl, cum. Lemme feel you.” He growls.

You cry as he strikes against that delicious spot inside of you, his balls slapping consistently against your clit, sending your vision a little fuzzy at the intensity of the pleasure. Your voice rises, incoherent shouts falling from your throat with every rough thrust into you. Your peak comes slow, and you’re so fucking wet that Joel slides right in every single time. You finally let out a shrill cry as your orgasm erupts from you, your limbs shaking under Joel’s hands and you sob with every thrust inward. He’s relentless, muttering broken praises to you while he chases his own release.

“That’s it. Lemme have it, baby. So good.” He groans, and after a few more sharp snaps of his hips, he’s there, pressing as deep as he can inside of you and erupting with a roar. You whimper under him, the feeling of his pulsing cock triggering some aftershocks from your own orgasm, causing you to clench around him. When he’s done, he straightens up, slowly pulling out of you and helping you to your feet. Your wrists are released and you rub at them, looking for signs of bruising, but you’re too out of it right now to care. Behind you, Joel slowly gets himself straightened out, and buckles up his belt again. He settles into a chair and pulls you into his lap. You go stiffly, letting him adjust you so your legs are splayed out, on display so Tess to can see his cum slowly leaking out of you. She comes to kneel between Joel’s legs, smiling at you and rubbing your open thighs gently.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” She ducks down a drags her tongue from hole to clit. You cry out at the feeling, already shaking between them.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Please let me know what you thought, I absolutely adore your guys' comments. If you're interested in my other works, feel free to check out my Masterlist. I'll see you guys around, I hope!

Tag list: @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts, @tbeep, @vickie5446

More of Pet:

#the last of us #joel x reader #tess x joel x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tess servopoulos #tess x reader #dark!fic #dark!joel #dark!tess

49 notes · View notes

accidentally-in-fictional-love · 4 months

Text

Maybe I’m Not Scared of What You’re Thinking Of - Simon Lynch/Reader

Prompt: Don't you know what you mean to me?

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, friends to lovers, slow burn, growing friendship, angst, hurt/comfort, brief canon-related mention of violence, kissing, fully clothed grinding, kindness and praise makes Simon cry ;w;

Wordcount: 14270

Summary: It's a complete coincidence that you meet him, and even though he's a little weird and there's an anger in him fueled by pain, you know that you might be all he needs to be defused.

Notes: It's Simon's turn! I have a lot of feelings about Simon!! As soon as I saw his episode my heart went out to him a lot, he's so me-coded (aside from y'know the homicide lmao) and he really only needed someone to believe in him, so here's a whole ton of words about you doing just that QwQ I've also decided that this will be his own continued world like I did with Joshua, so any future stuff will take place during or after this~

You really regret accepting this blind date after the 30th straight minute comes and goes, your date still talking about himself on his side of the table.

He came highly recommended from your mother, the son of a friend of a friend of a co-worker, and it’s clear she did no actual research on him since you have nothing in common. You just keep smiling and sipping at your drink of choice, his words falling on deathly bored ears as he keeps trying to pitch his business to you, something about a private server for paying customers to get his advice or some dumb shit you haven’t seen a million times before. Sometimes you wished you’d been born in the past when things were simpler, because any idiot with a podcast and access to the internet always came to the same conclusion that they could be the Next Great Thing, and this guy definitely does not have what it takes.

He’s about to write down his contact info so you can check out his server right now, right in the middle of your date, his food cold in front of him as he just keeps choosing to talk instead of eat, and you just stare at him tearing off the paper to hand to you as you pray your souring expression isn’t giving you away too much. ‘Uh, sorry, I don’t have Facsimile,’ you lie as he holds it out to you, but it doesn’t dissuade him as he then says it’s super easy to sign up, he’ll help you. ‘No, I mean I’m not one for all these chatting apps, I prefer some good, old fashioned talking,’ you continue, another lie although not quite as much, for while you do prefer talking face to face, hence the date, you had so many chat apps on your phone to keep in contact with everyone that they had their own page on your home screen.

‘It’ll be worth it, trust me, I already have a bunch of guys giving their own presentations on my server, I’ll even give you a free week’s trial to check everything out, whattaya say?’ he asks, clearly more interested in expanding his brand than making any sort of actual connection with you, and this time you let your face scrunch up in pained awkwardness.

‘Yeah, it’s gunna have to be a no, sorry,’ you cringe, and his smile slowly falls as he crumples up the paper and stuffs it inside his expensive name brand jacket, obviously bought to show off to everyone how ‘successful’ he was.

‘Fine, no it’s fine, I just thought you were smarter than that,’ he grumbles just on the border of passive aggressively, your eyebrows rising as your opinion of him somehow manages to drop even lower. ‘You figure you give someone a chance to get in on the ground floor of something because you think you’re vibing, but I guess it was just me.’

‘Uh…’

‘How is everything?’ The small voice draws your attention from him as you look up to your savior, your eyes just going higher as the person towers over you, even when he’s hunched over a bit to take up as little space as possible as his co-workers pass by him to get to the other tables. Your mouth falls open a little bit as your eyes meet, long bangs just barely swept to the side to reveal dark brown irises that almost appear black focusing only on you as he ignores your date, and you forget to answer as the man across from you answers for you.

‘We’re doing great, just fantastic, thanks buddy,’ he growls, now eating his food as quickly as he can so he can get away from you. ‘If you could hurry up and grab the checks though that would be even better.’

‘Is there anything else you’d like? More water, or a refill?’ He completely ignores the other man as he focuses on you, which pisses him off even more, and you join in on that as you smile politely up at him.

‘Everything’s perfect, although I could go for a refill, thank you,’ you tell him, and he gives you a nod without once acknowledging your date, who’s already gotten out his wallet and is looking up the prices of the bar on his phone; he pulls out enough to cover the meal but passes over his beer and the tax, because that’s too much work to calculate it even with his phone in hand, and he gets up and sarcastically wishes you a nice life as he bails, the silence a nice change as you continue eating alone. Your server returns a short while later with a new glass and the checks, and when he sees the money left behind he puts two and two together.

‘I take it I’m not getting a tip from him,’ he figures, and you laugh into your glass, almost spilling the liquid all over the table as you try not to choke.

‘I doubt you would’ve anyway, he was a prick,’ you admit, which makes him smile, and you decide his smile is actually quite nice as he starts clearing the other half of the table. ‘Hey, uh, would you wanna sit with me? Just for a little, it’s kinda embarrassing to eat alone after that disaster.’

He glances at the freshly vacant seat before looking around, and he leans over to lower his voice, his eyes on the table as he speaks. ‘I should really get back to work,’ he whispers, but you gesture in front of you in a welcoming manner, and he follows your hands before sitting and hiding his apron behind his arms, the nametag of Simon just barely peeking out before it’s covered up.

You flash him another smile before getting back to your lunch, it’s amazing how listening to someone that incredibly annoying can really kill the appetite in the moment, and he tries not to watch you as he makes sure he’s not about to get in trouble. You finish off your first glass and start on the second since you did ask him for it, even if it was an excuse to ignore your date initially, and you catch the way his eyes watch your exposed throat as you tilt your head back; unlike the other person sitting there previously you don’t feel objectified, or like you were a piece of meat to devour after the sell was over. It’s refreshing, and you offer him your plate in case he might want something to eat before his break, but he refuses, of course he would.

He keeps his eye on his watch but never gets up, and as you pop a fry into your mouth you can’t help but want to talk to him as he meets your eye and looks away immediately after for the third time in a row. ‘You work here long?’ you ask to start, and it’s a lame start, but just the fact that you wanna hear about him has him leaning forward in his seat before he controls himself, sits back again.

‘Just a few years, this is actually my second job, I mainly work with Data Waste,’ he tells you, his voice getting away from him for a moment before he lowers it again; it’s obvious that no one asks about him often, just this small amount of attention enough to make his face light up in a way you don't see often anymore, at least not when you talk about work related things.

‘So, you waste all the data?’ you joke, and he leans in again, the plate pushed aside as he fights to keep his voice under control.

‘No, it’s really interesting actually, I get access to all the trashed data in the city, sift through it to find anything incriminating or important, things that were lost or gotten rid of, delete anything useless; my co-workers think it’s pretty boring, but you can’t imagine the things I’ve seen on some people.’ He stops, realizing he’s about to violate his NDA, and you chuckle as he looks around again like he expects his boss from his other job to suddenly appear and fire him.

‘Sounds exciting, you ever see anything on me?’ you can’t help but ask as you lean in as well, and there’s a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks as he sits back again.

‘I dunno, I’d need to look up your name,’ he answers honestly, and you smirk at his reply.

‘Pretty smooth way to ask for it,’ you tell him, and when he stutters out that he wasn’t you just laugh and grab the check so you can see your total. You pull out your card so you can pay, and you’re in the middle of reaching for your ex-date’s check as well so you can cover the rest when he stops you.

‘I’ve got it, you don’t have to deal with trash like him, that’s my job,’ he jokes back, and when he hands you his card reader you make sure to leave a large tip from the both of you. You hand it back and his eyes go wide, he can’t accept this, but you just flash him your most charming smile and hand him one of your business cards from your wallet, something you printed up years ago but rarely got to hand out since most people used electronic cards nowadays.

‘It’s for making me laugh, today would’ve been pretty shitty otherwise,’ you admit as you stand, and when he stands with you you can see that he really is tall.

‘Okay, well… if I find anything I’ll give you a call, then? Just so you know what people are deleting about you on the internet,’ he offers, and you hold out your hand to shake his as your expressions softens.

‘I’d like that.’

It’s been a week and a half since your lunch date gone wrong but also surprisingly gone right again, and you’re at home working on a project when an unknown number lights up your phone. You frown at it before clicking into the chat and seeing a bunch of strange messages before the stranger clears things up.

ur sqky clean no trash on u sry it took so long was busy this is simon sry from the bar from last week sry

You smile fondly as you type in a quick reply, your phone lighting up again as he answers fast, he must’ve been waiting with baited breath on the other side. You add his number to your phone and answer back, another quick reply getting you to decide to take a snack break as you bring your phone to the kitchen. The more you chat the more he sees that he doesn’t have to use shorthand, his words lengthening and becoming more proper until you’re wondering if maybe he’s trying to find the perfect mix that won’t annoy you. Eventually he settles on a mix like you do, and you get comfy on the couch with your snack as you turn on the TV and find something to watch.

It’s hard to find things sometimes, you’ve had this older model for years and it isn’t compatible with every streaming platform’s updates anymore, which you think is dumb, but the thing works and you don’t wanna shell out money just to be able to watch whatever new reality show everyone’s talking about as it airs. You stick to your playlist of favourite movies and shows again, settling on one you’ve already seen a million times so you can chat without needing to pay attention.

After a half hour you add each other to Facsimile so you can chat more openly without wasting data, his username of 4LM0ST-HUM4N making you snicker as you check out his profile, but it’s bare apart from his age, which is around yours, and his full name, his last name being Lynch. You can’t help but look him up since you already knew he’d done the same to you, and all you can find is a dating profile on a site you’d heard about but never used.

‘“Shy and looking,”’ you say out loud to yourself as you read his info, and you sink a little further into the cushions as his unfortunately off-putting but also undeniable cute profile picture stares you directly in the eye; you can tell he took it alone, he’s all washed out in the glow of his computer instead of from the room’s overhead or any natural light, and you almost want to call him out on it and help him try again, maybe he might get some matches that way.

You don’t mention the profile as you keep chatting, and before you know it the next movie is autoplaying, your battery low with how long you’ve been on your phone. You figure it’s about time you get back to work as you tell him about the situation, and he agrees, he’s also been putting off work, and you wish him a good night, adding in, ‘That data’s not gunna waste itself.’ He sends you a bunch of laughing emojis before changing his mind and editing the message so there’s only one, to which you give him one back, and he starts typing something else but stops. You wait but he never starts up again so you leave it be, your phone charging out of reach as you get back to work.

Now that you’ve been reminded that he exists and you find his company quite pleasant, you take a ride to the bar on your lunch break the next day, keeping your eye out as casually as you can until you see him clearing a table nearby. You wait until he’s done before waving at him to get his attention, and his smile is so big that it makes him self-conscious as a group of people pass him by, it faltering as he gets out of their way. He takes his dishes to the kitchen and quickly returns to take your order, and even though you’re sitting at a table and a menu is in your hands, you surprise him when you ask him when his break is instead of telling him what you want to eat.

‘My break?’ he repeats back to you, like he doesn’t understand the question.

‘I just figured you might want to eat somewhere you don’t work,’ you simply say, and he glances at his watch to check the time.

‘I get off in 15, but we can eat here, I don’t wanna take up your break by traveling,’ he offers, but you just shake your head and set the menu down.

‘I work from home, I can take as long as I want,’ you tell him, and it’s not exactly a lie since you do have some things to for sure finish today, but losing an extra hour to hang out with your new friend seems like a pretty good tradeoff honestly. He accepts your answer and goes back to work with a shy grin, and you patiently wait at your table until he returns, a brown hoodie slung over his arm and his apron left behind.

You get up and follow him out to the street where he gets ready to hail a cab, and thanks to your convo from last night you already knew he didn’t drive, but you don’t want him to waste any money when your car was in the parking lot. You direct him to it, and in your head you can hear your mother warning you about letting strangers into your vehicle, but apart from being a little weird he has yet to give you any red flags or warning signs, so you unlock the door and hop in.

‘There’s this place downtown that’s pretty good,’ he says as soon as he sits down, and you try not to giggle when you see how his long legs don’t really fit in the space as he tries to find the seat adjust nonchalantly. ‘They mostly do burgers, but their menu is loaded with stuff, you just need to know what to ask for.’

‘I take it you know?’

He glances at you, his hand stilling momentarily as it's wedged between the door and his seat, and when he does find the button he lets out a noise of surprise as his chair suddenly shifts backwards. ‘Yeah, yeah I go there a bunch, I think I’ve tried almost everything so far.’

‘Why not get a job there instead of here if you like it so much?’ you ask as you start the engine, and he looks down at his lap in response.

‘Cause I- I actually didn’t apply to be a waiter,’ he mumbles, your head turning towards him as you pull out onto the road.

‘Did you wanna work in the kitchen or something?’

‘I wanted to be a bartender, actually, but they needed a server, so that’s what I landed on,’ he explains, and when you go to ask for the name of the place he just directs you down the street, ignoring the GPS entirely. ‘It’s actually been a little dream of mine to open my own place, but starting a business is expensive, and saving up is a little hard even with two jobs, city living isn’t cheap.’

‘You could try for a loan?’ you suggest, but he just shakes his head.

‘I dunno… going that far would make it real, y’know? I don’t think I’m ready for it yet.’ He points to the left as he speaks so you hit your blinker and turn, this is a part of town you’ve never been to before.

‘You could always try, and if it doesn’t work out then I’ll keep cheering you on until it does.’ He’s looking at you like your words are about to make him cry, and he’s so preoccupied with you that he nearly misses the restaurant, your brakes screeching down the thankfully empty road as you back up and turn into the parking lot. You’ve never even heard of this place but the lot is almost full, and you manage to find a spot before he’s getting out and waiting for you, the chill of the fresh, spring air making you both shiver and hurry inside.

The place is warm and cozy, the smell of food instantly making you hungry even though you were feeling pretty okay just moments ago, and he smiles at you before you seat yourself and wait to be served. A large menu is placed in front of you and he was right, it is mostly burgers first and foremost, but as you turn the pages and see everything else available you feel your mouth water. You look up to ask what he recommends just in time to see his eyes disappear over the top of his own menu, and you grin and decide you can’t beat the house special, which is a double bacon burger with everything on it. He orders the same as soon as you tell the waitress, a big plate of loaded fries to split as well as onion rings added as well, and when you’re left alone again you rest your elbows on the table and get his attention.

‘How long have you been coming here? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk about it before,’ you admit, and again his eyes shine when you ask about him.

‘Most of my life, I used to live around here when I was younger so this was our go-to place when we wanted to eat out,’ he explains lively, and he looks around and gestures towards the decor. ‘It was different back then, they did a rebranding back in the early 2030s, changed the name and everything, but I still call it by its old name whenever I recommend it.’

‘What was the old name?’

‘The Hotel.’

You laugh, your hand covering your mouth as you try to keep it down. ‘I bet that might’ve caused some confusion,’ you chuckle, and he nods.

‘Oh yeah, I always have to correct myself,’ he agrees with his own laugh, the two of you still going even as your drinks are dropped off. You sip at yours, taking in everything and wondering what the place looked like back then when he stretches out and accidentally bumps your knee with his own; he quickly says sorry as he tries to retreat back to his side of the table, but you tell him it’s okay, and your reassurance makes him balk, like he’s been told off too many times for similar occurrences.

‘So, tell me, why do you wanna open your own bar?’ you quickly ask before he can shut himself off from you, his shyness returning and looking more like anxiety as he clearly gets in his own head about something so small.

‘Well, it’s just something I’ve always wanted to do, like I love the atmosphere, everyone coming together for a little while to share the space and a few drinks, it’s a good place to forget about your troubles for a bit.’ His eyes are on the table as he fiddles with the brown paper covering, your glasses creating dark rings where they’re set down on it.

‘You can say that about a lot of places,’ you add, and he agrees, but his eyes meet yours as he tries to get you to understand.

‘I know but there’s just something special about it, if your customers come there enough it can become familial, you can make bonds with people, offer them an ear when they’re sad, share in their laughter when they’re happy… I guess I’ve just always wanted to be a part of something like that.’ He looks back down again, the paper tearing and making him stop, now picking at his nails instead.

‘It sounds like you wanna connect with people, you don’t need a bar to do that,’ you say softly, carefully in case he might take offense to it, but he doesn’t, just shrugs.

‘I know, but… I still think it would be fun.’ His eyes meet yours again, and there’s something behind them as you look between them, something lonely that you haven’t seen in them before. You wonder then how long it’s been since he’s been here with someone, if his family still met up with him here, but based on his eyes you think you know the answer.

‘Well, if you do ever open that bar, then I expect free drinks for life as your first customer,’ you tease as you hold up your glass for a promising toast, and your faith in him makes his eyes look a little less lonely as he raises his own and taps the rims together. You drink as your waitress comes back with your food then, and it looks even better than the picture as you grab on tight and take a big bite. It’s the biggest burger you’ve ever eaten but it might also be the tastiest, the toppings sliding against your palms as you try to hold it all together, and you can see him having just as much trouble with his own. You laugh again and take another bite, your conversation moving onto more cheerful things as you eat, from family stories to complaints about work, bad dates to how your week was going, your overbearing but well-meaning mother to his absent father, but he isn’t as upset about it as he used to be as you sit with him and listen, he confesses.

You douse your half of the fries in ketchup as he dips his own in ranch, and he has more onion rings than you do before you realize it, and when your plates are empty and your glasses hold nothing but melting ice you finally look at your phone and realize you’ve been there for over an hour. ‘Shit, I need to get back,’ he panics as he stands, and you wave over your waitress as you both get out your wallets.

‘Hey, I got you covered, can you go start my car?’ you tell him as he searches for the card he wants to use, but he can’t accept that, even more so than the tip from last week. ‘I insist, this was a much better date than my last one,’ you say with a wink, and he fumbles his next words as you toss him your keys. He rushes out with flushed cheeks, and you instantly let your emotions show on your face as you mentally ask yourself why the hell you actually said that as you pay.

You run out as soon as you’re done and speed off back to the bar, the car quiet until you say your goodbyes, and you watch him go until he disappears through the double doors with a small wave.

It becomes a bit of a thing for you two as you meet up for lunch every Friday after that, with you trying something new at his recommendation each time, and after around 7 weeks of this he flashes you the biggest smile as you sit down at your usual table, Simon already seated and waiting. ‘What?’ you ask, his smile spreading to you, and he holds out his phone to show that he had an appointment with the bank on Monday. ‘Oh my god, are you-?’

‘I’m doing it.’ He’s practically bouncing in his seat, only stopping when he bangs his knee off the metal support and makes the table shake, his excitement so strong that you could probably start bouncing as well if you were to be completely honest with yourself.

‘That’s amazing! Do you need a ride? We can go together, it’s after your shift is done, right? Or should I pick you up at your place?’

‘I-’ His smile falters a bit but he pushes it aside, and it feels a little forced as it returns. ‘I’ve got a ride covered, but thank you. Maybe we can meet up at the bank when it’s over? I can text you, if you’d like.’

‘I’d love that, I’ll be sure to work extra hard so we can celebrate the night away.’

Everything goes quiet as you realize what you’ve said, since while you have been texting almost daily you still have yet to hang out outside of your lunch dates; you’re not even really sure if they could even be called that seeing as, apart from you calling the first time that as a joke, neither of you actually confirmed there was anything more than friendship going on between you. Still, you both take it seriously as your usual waitress approaches to take your orders, and neither of you bring it back up again after she leaves.

‘I’m really proud of you, Simon, this is a big step you’re taking,’ you do say to break the silence, and when he looks at you you can swear he’s about to cry again; it actually hurts in a physical way whenever you see that, and you curse whoever beat him down enough to have this be his default reaction whenever you give him any kind of compliment or praise.

‘I don’t think I could’ve done it if you hadn’t cheered me on, might’ve found more excuses to put it off.’ He looks so vulnerable in this moment, his hands clasped on the table in front of him, and you glance down at them and nearly reach out to grab one when he continues. ‘Actually, because of you, I kinda started paying attention to my old LoveMatch account, turns out I got some messages when I was offline.’

Your smile freezes on your face as you unexpectedly go cold, your reaction to his words catching you off guard as talking becomes hard. ‘That’s… that’s wonderful news, anyone catch your eye?’ you finally ask, and he goes pink as he shakes his head.

‘Not yet, I didn’t get many but I still wanna check them all out, see if maybe my soulmate is one of them. Wait, that’s kinda desperate, isn’t it? I don’t actually think my soulmate is on some random dating site but… it’s nice to imagine, right? It’s like you said, I- I just wanna connect with someone.’ He’s looking only at his phone as he talks, scrolling through the unopened messages still waiting for him, and it feels like you’re watching the conversation from afar as your ears start ringing, your hands shaking as you try to figure out why you’re feeling this way.

He’s cute, you can’t deny that, and you enjoy his company a lot, but you haven’t thought about an actual relationship with him until this moment, when it was made apparent to you that that wasn’t what he wanted. And now that he was considering someone else, picturing a life with someone else, you know that you wanted to be with him, not in a casual, Friday lunch date and daily chats kind of way, but in the way where you’d visit him on his off hours or you’d bring him to your place, where you could have a nice dinner, watch movies together, no more table between you as you curl up against him or have him lean against you. You could hold his hand, and he could tell you about how his day at the bar, his bar, went and about all the new people he met, and when he was done you could cup that enticingly strong jaw of his and angle his face up to yours.

‘Are you okay?’

You blink and your vision blurs, and you quickly sniff and search your pockets for your travel-sized bottle of emergency ibuprofen. ‘Yeah, yeah I’m good, allergies are just acting up again, gunna go blow my nose and take my meds real quick before this gets gross,’ you lie with a fake smile, making sure he can’t see the label before you run off, and he buys it completely before going back to his messages. You don’t let your facade crack until you’re safe in the bathroom, the weight of how much you had fallen for him without realizing making your knees buckle, and you lock yourself in one of the stalls as you desperately try to push down the fact that he would never feel the same.

You’d managed to keep it together as you finished your lunch get together - not date, never date - but you spend the rest of the weekend moping around your apartment after that, your eyes on your phone as you lay on the couch and watch some old favourites to cheer yourself up, but each time he leaves you a message you feel your heart ache and it always takes a while before you can answer back. You give him the excuse of being a bit behind on work so you can’t chat much, and he was fine with that because he was gathering up the courage to message a couple people back, see if there were any sparks, and you have to ignore your phone entirely as you bury your head in the couch pillow and yell.

Before you know it you’re waking up where you’d fallen asleep, the TV going through the night and the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows to the right of your couch, the brightness rousing you from your restless dreams. You reach limply for your phone but the battery died during the night, and you groan and stumble over to your desk so you can charge it. As soon as it comes back to life you see that it’s much later than you thought thanks to your alarm never going off, and you find a bunch of messages waiting for you.

‘Shit! Shitshitshit!’ you swear when you see that Simon had asked you to wish him luck before his meeting, and you’re already a half hour late to reply but you do anyway as you fully push aside all your feelings to wish him all the luck you possibly can. He doesn’t answer back, because he’s obviously in the meeting, and you end up too nervous about it to eat as you let your phone charge. Instead you skip straight to getting ready for the day, having a quick but much needed shower after your weekend-long mope session. As you dry your hair you then find something nice to wear that you secretly hope he might like, some part of you overcoming the misery to hope that if he’s ready enough for a relationship to use LoveMatch again then maybe you could have a chance, and that hope fuels you as you race back to your phone to see if he’s done yet.

you dont need to pick me up taking a cab home see you friday

Your hand reaches up to cover your mouth as dread fills you then, and you quickly call him, unplugging your phone so you can sit down. ‘Simon, where are you?’ you ask the moment he picks up, and all you hear is the sound of traffic before a small sniff is picked up by his phone’s mic.

‘Don’t come, I just wanna get home right now,’ he tries to tell you, but your body is moving when you hear his small voice, how broken he sounds, your keys in your hand and a pair of flipflops that definitely aren’t weather appropriate yet on your feet so you can be out the door faster.

‘Are you still at the bank? Which one is it, I’m heading out right now.’

‘Please…’

‘I’m already in my car, where am I going?’

The resulting silence to your insistence stretches on for so long that you’re about to just try every bank in town until you find him when he gives you the address, and you know the one exactly as you speed off towards it. You arrive about ten minutes later, and you’re scanning the area when you see him huddling from the wind in the alley, his hood up and people giving him cautious glances as they pass. You roll down your window and call out to him, and when he finds you through the gap you can’t help but let out a noise of pain when you see his face; he’s been crying, you hadn’t been able to see because of his hood, but now you can see that his cheeks are damp and his eyes are red, and you hurriedly unlock the passenger door and motion for him to come over.

He hesitates a moment before wiping his cheeks and jogging over, people bumping into him with how busy the street is, but he doesn’t do or say anything even as he gets a couple insults along the way. He opens the door, sits down, and as soon as you ask where he wants to go he hides his face in his hand and starts crying again. You reach out to touch his shoulder but he pulls away, he needs space, and you don’t try again as you drive back to your place.

‘I don’t know why I thought I could do this…’ he mutters to himself as you drive, and the lump in your own throat is so thick that it hurts as you try to swallow it down. You pull back into your parking lot and he finally notices that he doesn’t know this place, and you don’t shut off the engine as you turn back towards him.

‘You don’t have to tell me about it, but I’d like it if you came up with me, please,’ is all you say, and another tear rolls down his cheek before he’s nodding, following you to the front doors. Your place is pretty high up but the elevator ride isn’t awkward as he stuffs himself into the corner opposite of you, where you can’t see him as easily. You reach your floor before you know it so you lead the way to your apartment, and when the door opens and you set your keys back down on the small shelf nearby he takes everything in with an even sadder expression, which isn’t the way you were hoping it would go at all.

‘You- you have a nice home,’ he just says, and before you can thank him he’s already turning back for the door. ‘I shouldn’t have come up, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t talk to me anymore, I’ll leave you alone now-’

‘Whoa, wait, where did this come from?’ you need to know as you stand in front of the door, and he goes to move you aside before pulling back, he doesn’t even want to touch you. ‘Simon, I know I said you didn’t have to talk about it but- what happened in there? Why can’t I talk to you anymore?’

‘Because I’m-’ He flinches away from you as his voice rises, frustration apparent among the sadness, and he leans against the wall with a dull thud. ‘I was accepted into the police academy a few years back, before I got my job at the bar; I was training to be on the bomb squad, I thought my knack for technology could help save lives, and I practiced really hard, learned to disarm nonlethal devices I built myself to show them I could do it, that I could be useful to them.

‘But when they learned I’d been building things they thought I was doing it for the wrong reasons even though there was no danger to them, like I was going to learn how to build actual bombs next using the training I received; I was just learning how to cut the power without setting anything off, I was using fucking coloured lights to do it, there were no explosives on my devices at all! But it was enough to make them think I was a danger to everyone, and they forced me to take a psych exam which I then failed by their standards. I was kicked out of the academy, lost my job when the psych eval was sent to them the following week, even lost my apartment when my landlord got word of everything, this one mistake got me evicted in the middle of winter-!

‘And the guy I talked to today heard about it too, read about all of it when they researched me to see if I was deserving of it, do you know what I heard him say to his supervisor when he thought I was out of earshot? He- he called me “unstable,” and fucking “unqualified” when I told him how much I make a year, like he didn’t trust me to pay it back, like I was a failure before the bar even opened, and maybe he’s right, maybe I am a failure, I shouldn’t have tried, I shouldn’t have fucking tried-!’

He spins and punches the wall he was just leaning against and you tense up, your eyes shutting on instinct at the crash of his knuckles through the drywall; it’s the first time you’ve seen him angry like this and it scares you, but as he pulls his hand back and looks at his bloodied knuckles you feel no fear, just sadness.

‘I’m sorry, shit, I’m so sorry,’ he apologizes under his breath, hissing as he flexes his fingers, his hand shaking from the pain, and it would be so easy to end it all right there, kick him out too and never see him again after what he’s just told you, just done, but you can’t as you take him gently by the arm and lead him to your couch. You sit him down and go off to find your first aid kit, some big and overly full thing your mother made you buy when you first moved to the city, and you’re thankful for it now as you pull out the unsealed bottle of healing spray and spritz it against his torn skin a couple times.

For once you love the future as he heals, and while he’s fine now you can’t help but take out the gauze and wrap the area next just to make sure, your fingers resting over the fabric and the back of his hand as you hold him in place. ‘You’re not a failure,’ you murmur, and he tries to pull away again but you don’t let him. ‘What happened to you… it really, really fucking sucks, and none of it was fair, but… it doesn’t make you a failure, we can just try again until we find someone who can help you get that loan.’

‘I don’t even want it, not after today.’ There’s not a single trace of a lie in his words, he’s giving up, and you want so badly to hold him but you can’t. ‘It’ll just happen again, this black mark on my life will just keep following me, why even try?’

‘Because it’s your dream, remember? You told me you wanted to connect with people, no one should be able to take that from you.’ You’re moving closer to him, slotting yourself between his legs as your knees hit the bottom of the couch, he can’t run from you like this, but it’s like you’re invisible to him in his misery.

‘But they already did.’

You let go of his hand and get up, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug, and he lets out a sound somewhere between surprise and relief as he’s pressed into the couch; you’re practically in his lap like this, and you try to shift until you’re beside him instead, but your arms never leave him as you back up, your frown so deep it’s starting to make your head hurt. ‘They only will when you stop fighting for it, you haven’t lost it yet,’ you tell him in a hushed whisper, and something in him breaks as he crumbles into your hug, his head on your shoulder as he grips the back of your shirt as hard as he can, like he’s drowning at sea and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You pet his hair comfortingly as he keeps talking into your shoulder about how it went, how he felt so worthless when he was rejected, how he tried to explain himself but it was all shut down, the man hadn’t even wanted to hear it because he’d heard enough, how he was so upset and hurt and angry that he was afraid of himself and what he’d do, and you just comfort him as he lets it all out. It takes a while but you never rush him, or interrupt him as he vents, you just keep holding him until he’s ready to let you go. You separate, and his eyes are so red as they avoid looking at you, but you just brush his bangs to the side before getting up and grabbing the tissues.

You hand him the box, and the smile he gives you isn’t as sad as he grabs a few, the lump in your throat easing up a bit at the sight. ‘I know you probably aren’t in the mood to celebrate, but if you just wanna grab some food and watch a movie anyway I could order something, or make something here? I think the Hotel might deliver this far, lemme see if it’s on Dumbwaiter.’ You’re already on your phone to check but he’s standing, his used tissues bunched in his hand as he looks for your garbage bin, his eyes on the ground again.

‘I’m not very hungry, thank you but I think I just wanna head home,’ he says after throwing them away, and your hand lowers as you take a step towards him, standing between him and the door again.

‘Please.’ You don’t mean for it to come out but it does, this is about him, not you, you have no right to ask him to stay when he needs space, but you can’t leave him like this, not now. Finally he meets your eye, and you can see that he wants to stay as badly as you want him to, and he opens his mouth to say something before he closes the gap, stands next to you and looks down at your phone. He taps your screen back to life and scrolls before he finds the Hotel’s real name in the list of places on Dumbwaiter’s delivery partnership, and he gives the name another tap before giving you the smallest smile, and it’s genuine and even less sad as his shoulder presses into yours.

‘Order the pasta today, all of their sauces are rich and they always serve too much, and get us the goat cheese spinach dip, it’s to die for,’ he says, his voice still wavering a bit after all his crying, and you just nod before adding it all to your cart, Simon taking off his shoes so he can get comfy on your couch properly this time. You pay for the meal and join him, offering him the remote but he has nothing he wants to watch, so you go to your favourites and pick the stupidest, funniest comedy you can find, needing something silly to lift the mood, and as the food is delivered and you both laugh with full mouths that almost get you to choke you end up wishing you could have this forever, that you could move to his side and hold him again.

You don’t, your phones on the coffee table along with your plates, the space between you feeling so much wider than it actually was as he stays with you until the sun sets.

Now that he’s been to your place your friendship only grows, your meetups changing from Friday lunches to properly hanging out, and it isn’t often he gets free time between his two jobs, but most nights of his are free and you’re always ready to drop whatever you can to see him when he asks. Because of your eagerness you’re slowly becoming a pro at keeping up with your own work, the need to procrastinate fading away like never before since being caught up meant you could go to him wherever he waited. You met him at both jobs, at the Hotel - which he got you to start saying as well since he never called it by its real name - and at the park, sometimes at the mall if there was something he needed to get and he wanted some company, but you’ve still never seen his place, and you’re starting to wonder where he lived.

You know it’s in town, since he got to and from work via Brougham and being outside of town would be hell on his paychecks, but you have no idea which part other than the fact that he used to live near the Hotel when he was a kid. You’ve tried asking before, but each time you do he just brushes it off, makes some excuse to why you couldn’t pick him up or drop him off there, and you’re starting to get a bit suspicious if you were entirely honest. You know he’s not homeless, he’s told you before how it took him a bit but he did manage to find someplace permanent and all his after his eviction, but this is getting ridiculous you think when he comes up with yet another excuse as to why you can drop him off on this random street you’re driving down, he lives nearby, he can walk the rest of the way.

‘Simon, you’ve got six bags of groceries in the back seat, it is literally impossible for you to walk home with them all,’ you say firmly as he just keeps looking out the window, and his lips purse as he tries something else.

‘It isn’t far and they’re not that heavy, I can do three per hand,’ he insists, and you step on the brakes in the middle of the road, no one coming or going as he jerks forwards in his seat at the inertia.

‘Why don’t you want me to see your place?’ you ask bluntly, no longer holding back, and he gets defensive, he’s more open with his anger around you now, but he hasn’t gotten as upset since that day, and you know it’s because he doesn’t want to lose control again, doesn’t want to scare you or himself like that again.

‘I never said I didn’t.’

‘You don’t need to; is it bad neighbours, or a bad neighbourhood? I don’t care where you live, or what your place looks like, I swear I don’t, so you don’t have to keep me away,’ you tell him honestly, and for a moment you think he might tell you when he unlocks his door and heads to the back. You just sigh as he gathers everything up in both hands and thanks you for the ride, but it really is close, you don’t have to waste gas going the rest of the day, he’ll see you Friday.

‘And… you don’t wanna know where I live,’ he mutters mostly to himself before the door closes, and he’s clearly weighed down by everything but he sticks with it, and you watch him just keep going further and further down the street until you have no choice but to take a U-turn and head home, and he’s still in your rearview as you hit a right and he’s forced to disappear around the corner behind you.

It’s a little awkward for you both after that, so you don’t bring it up again to make sure things even out, and it seems to help as you keep meeting up everywhere but his place, wherever the hell it is. He’s been to yours enough times now that you almost consider giving him a spare key so he can invite himself over, but it feels too personal for friends, and when you joke about it to test the waters he nearly spits out his drink in surprise. You clarify that it’s a joke as he sputters out that he’s never had someone’s spare key before, he’s never known anyone long enough for that.

‘You’ve known me for quite a few months now, maybe it might come in handle to have a spare out there in case of emergencies,’ you say next, instantly backtracking on the joke aspect of it with a little hope, and despite you initially calling it so he also looks a little hopeful at the possibility before his phone pings loudly. The moment is ruined as he stops your post-lunch walk through the park to see who’s messaging him, and his eyes widen as his smile grows and his face flushes. ‘LoveMatch, I assume?’ you ask, your teeth clenching in jealousy behind your smile.

‘Yeah, I’ve been messaging this one girl, Jeannie, a few days now,’ he tells you as he clicks in to see what she said, and his smile is so bright at her reply that you feel your stomach drop, your jealousy transforming into something that feels so much worse. ‘I think I’m gunna ask her on a date soon, when I can get an afternoon off so we don’t meet up too late, what do you think? Or should we talk a bit more first?’

The urge to tell him he should definitely talk more first arises because it’s true, you know what meeting too soon can do to a relationship before you can get a better feel for someone, but you also want them to meet before they’re ready; you want her to go in blind because you already know how to talk to him, know that there’s no way she’ll be able to get him out of his shell enough to consider a second date. You know he’ll be nervous, so he might say something weird like he did that first time you chatted over Facsimile, and if he does then there’s a good chance she might leave the date not wanting more.

You can’t do that though, you don’t want to see him rejected like that ever again after the loan, so you ball up your fist and give him a playful tap to the shoulder as he waits for your response. ‘Give it a little more time, get to know each other better, the perfect time for a date will show itself eventually, and if it doesn’t then maybe it’s just not meant to be,’ you suggest, and he nods before one-handedly typing out a reply back to her and putting his phone away.

‘You’re so good with this kinda stuff, I haven’t been on a real date before, it’s why I signed up for LoveMatch to begin with, so I never know where to start whenever I get a match,’ he confesses as you go back to walking, your fist still balled painfully as you hide it in your jacket pocket.

‘I’ve been on way too many bad dates by now, I’d like to think I’m a bit of an expert on it.’ Your laugh is strained but he doesn’t seem to notice as he looks straight ahead, his cheeks still pink now that she’s on his mind.

‘I can’t wait to meet her, she works at a flower shop nearby but I haven’t been in yet, I don’t wanna creep her out or anything,’ he says as his shyness crops up again, his expression cute until you remember this isn’t for you, it’s for her.

‘Just keep talking to her and it’ll happen, and who knows? Maybe she’ll like you as mu-’ You stop yourself from saying, ‘as much as I do,’ the words unable to come out as he turns to face you with a curious expression. ‘As much as I know she will,’ you finish, and he grins at the ground before taking another drink, your shoulders bumping for just a moment before he steps to the left to give you a bit more space, and you have to grip the inside of your pocket to keep from pulling him back to you.

About a week later he messages you as you’re working, your phone lighting up and buzzing energetically near your hand, and when you open the chat he tells you that she asked him on a date. Your face falls as you force a smile he can’t see, your thumbs typing him a congrats you don’t mean, not entirely, and when he says that he’s going to take her to the park you feel almost betrayed; you know it’s not your park, it’s just someplace you visit sometimes, it wasn’t like he was bringing her to the Hotel for lunch, that would hurt so much worse.

He then says he’s been thinking about packing a picnic since it felt more romantic, and that he was going to bring roses in her favourite colours since she told him she couldn’t decide between red or orange when they were talking about it, and you almost put down your phone as your chest aches. You want it to be you, you want him to ask you to the park for a picnic, you want to be able to pack your own favourites to share with him there now that the weather is nice again, you want him to bring you roses in your favourite colours even though you’re not even that much of a flower person just because they’re from him and he’s thinking of you.

You want to be her.

You tell him that that sounds like a great idea, she’ll love it, he should tell you how it goes afterwards if he wants to, which he does, since you’re his friend.

You’re his friend.

You send him a bunch of fingers crossed emojis and get back to work so he can start planning, the date is this weekend after all and he has things he has to do now, and when you go to bed that night your thumb hovers over the Sign Up button on LoveMatch’s mobile app until you fall asleep.

Three days later you find yourself lurking outside of the park even though you fought all morning not to, not knowing the exact time they were going to meet up and spending every second continuing that fight as you tell yourself to leave before you got hurt even more. You parked a block away so he wouldn’t recognize your car, and you’re wearing one of your thicker hoodies that you prefer to save for colder weather even though it’s making you sweat like crazy, the hood up as you walk around and see if you can find him. You’ve been there for hours now when you finally decide to go, this was stupid and petty and way too jealous to be acceptable no matter how you felt for him, and just as you’re about to leave you hear his voice echo faintly across the open area.

You look over and see him approach an unfamiliar woman, Jeannie, a big bouquet of roses in his hand and his Brougham waiting for him with an open door by the curb where he was dropped off at. He waves nervously at her, and she flashes him a big smile as he hands her the roses, she seems happy about them, and they chat for a little bit as you get a good vantage point behind a nearby tree. There’s people looking at you as they pass but you don’t care, you can’t leave now, and your jealousy turns to shocked offense as you watch her expression slowly fall.

She’s uncomfortable, he’s said something that she didn’t like just like you’d feared, and he picks up on it and motions for her to wait before he jogs back to the car, he’s still going to try and fix it with the picnic. The moment he’s away from her she puts the roses down on the bench they’re standing by and bails, her footsteps fast as she puts as much distance between them before his return, and your body moves on its own as you want to chase her down, demand to know why she did that. You lose her as you hear him come back to the bench, his voice calling out to her again but she’s long gone, and you freeze with your back to him as you hear him set down the basket, his car already driving off and stranding him there.

The lump is already forming in your throat again when you hear your phone go off, and when you pick up and turn to face him he’s already looking at you, having heard the ringtone you’d assigned to him from your short distance away. He looks hurt at your presence at first, then upset, then angry, and he leaves both the roses and the basket behind as he starts to walk away.

‘Simon, wait,’ you call out to him as you race after him, his long legs carrying him farther and faster as you quickly catch up, but you being there is just insult to injury and he does not want you to be there for him today.

‘You saw it all, didn’t you?’ he demands as he just keeps walking with no destination, needing to get away from you and his heartbreak as fast as he can, and you try to walk backwards in front of him but you can’t keep the pace, not when he keeps changing directions every time you catch up.

‘I’m sorry, I wanted to make sure it went okay,’ you confess before you can come up with yet another lie, and he scoffs at it bitterly.

‘Wanted to make sure I didn’t fuck it up like the loan, right? Well, sorry to break it to you, but I fucked it up again, I’m just one big fuckup!’ He takes another sharp turn to try and lose you in a dense crowd but you grab onto him, use him like an anchor as he tries to jerk away enough to make you let go, but your grip is strong and true as not even that works.

‘You aren’t a fuckup!’ you insist desperately in a too loud voice for being in public, a group of mothers with strollers giving you the dirtiest look at your language, but you just give them a ‘give me a break’ look back before turning your attention back to him. ‘She just doesn’t know you yet, what did you say? Maybe you can still fix it? Or you could try one of your other matches? She isn’t the only one out there, you don’t need her!’

‘I told her that I wanted to meet her at work,’ he says, and that’s not so bad until he explains why it upset her. ‘I told her that I saw her place of work in the trashed data and I wanted to surprise her by ordering the roses from her, and she didn’t like it.’

Yeah, that’ll do it.

‘She- she didn’t get that you weren’t looking her up to doxx her or stalk her or anything?’ you hurriedly ask, and he just shakes his head, his pace slowing as you exit the main road and head down a less busy street, somewhere more private, probably unintentionally on his part.

‘No, I tried to explain that but her expression said it all, and when I got back…’ He slows even more, you both know how it ended and his lip is quivering. ‘She didn’t even have to guts to say goodbye, she just wanted to leave me there like I could be thrown out like the roses, like trash, that fucking bitch!’ He kicks the trashcan you’re about to pass and it crashes hard to the ground, the contents spilling all over the sidewalk as he loses control of his anger again. ‘I’m a person, goddamnit, why does this keep…’

You step around the trash as the wind blows it into your path, creating a river between the two of you that you cross to get to him, and this time when you try to hug him he steps back, puts a hand up to keep you away.

‘Don’t, just- don’t, I can’t be touched by you right now,’ he says softly, and he isn’t crying but he looks about to as you obediently back up, the trash spreading around you and making the river swell. ‘I’m going home, I’m sorry you keep having to deal with me.’

You try to tell him otherwise but he isn’t listening as he pulls up his hood and heads back to the main road, a cab hailed before he gets in and drives away, leaves you there alone. You lower your own hood and unzip your hoodie so your body can cool a little as you walk back to your car, and when you reach the bench you see that there’s a small group of concerned people gathering around the basket, all of them clearly thinking that it might be something dangerous.

‘That’s mine, sorry, it’s just a picnic,’ you say as you approach it, and everyone can’t help but peer inside as you prove it to them. In that quick glimpse you can see that he worked hard on the contents within, he made a whole bunch and even grabbed a few different drinks as well as a bottle of wine to split, and you swallow as you relatch the lid and grab the handle. The roses are still there too and you pick them up, they’re the synthetic kind you can tell as their scent is muted compared to the real thing, he wanted her to keep them for a while without them dying, and you hold them close to your chest as you finish the trek to your car.

You don’t look at the items in your passenger seat until you get home, and when you reach your apartment you put the flowers in a waterless vase and spread out the picnic on your coffee table. You choose your favourite drink, of course he would’ve brought it out of all the possible options, and open up the wine as well as you enjoy the picnic by yourself, not wanting to let it go to waste as you try not to notice how large your couch was without him there to enjoy it with you.

He ignores your messages for a while after that, so you stop texting him to give him some space, but that doesn’t stop you from at least typing everything out and deleting it before the temptation to press send overtakes you. You look him up on LoveMatch and see that he’s offline, and after looking up Jeannie’s name you discover a recent post she made in the site’s forums section; you click in and see that she completely tried to ruin his reputation on the site, warning others to stay away from him, calling him creepy and a stalker and claiming that he would doxx any matches. Your heart races as the comments join in, insulting his picture and saying he looked like a creep, how some said they had messaged him but now they were going to block, thanking her for the warning and telling her how sorry they were for having to deal with that.

You nearly come to his rescue but there’s no point, they’ve already made up their minds, and you instead flag the post as harassment and pray that it got taken down before he saw it.

He’s seen it.

He sends you the link without another word, your request to remove it denied, and when you look for his profile you find it gone.

He misses your next Friday lunch, and you figure enough is enough as you decide that if he wasn’t going to talk to you then you were going to talk to him. You wait until he gets off work before parking across from the bar, and you keep your distance as he hails a ride and heads home for the night. Your hands are gripping the wheel way too hard the entire way there, and when the car turns into a large, mostly empty lot sans a bunch of trailers parked inside as well as a few storage containers and miscellaneous vehicles and construction things for the building across the street you just keep going and pretend like you weren’t just following him. You wait until his ride leaves as you park nearby, and you casually walk up to the one you saw him heading for and hope that he won’t kick you out immediately as you knock on the door.

There’s the sound of stumbling from inside until the door opens and you step out of its way, Simon just looking at you before a cacophony of emotions plays across his face. ‘Hey,’ you say when he doesn’t shut the door right away, ‘you stopped answering my messages, I wanted to make sure you were okay.’

‘So you followed me?’ He’s more surprised than angry, which is good, but you don’t know how long it’ll last so you talk fast, needing to get it out while you have the chance.

‘You never told me where you lived, I improvised, I’m not the one with access to trashed data here,’ you try to joke, but neither of you laugh as you just stand there on his makeshift porch, which is just big enough to hold a single lawn chair and nothing else, another sign of his isolation.

‘I never wanted you to come here,’ he mutters just quietly enough that you almost miss it, and when you lean in to listen his expression hardens. ‘Your place is so nice, you’ve got a nice view, everything is so open, you do so well for yourself. But me, even with two jobs this is all I can afford, I can’t save up for my bar when I have bills to pay, can’t get a loan because I can’t pay it off if it fails, you’ve got everything so put together and I’m-’ He stops, he’s been looking at the ground the entire time but when he falls silent he makes a point to purposefully not look at you, and you can see the shine in his eyes as he shifts from foot to foot, resists slamming the door in your face. ‘I’m a fucking loser.’

‘You’re not-’

‘I got kicked out of the academy, I got evicted, I got denied for my loan, I got dumped before my date even started and now every other match I made has me blocked, I live in a fucking trailer because I can’t afford rent in the city anymore and it’s cheap to live out this far, how am I not a loser?’ He quiets down when he starts yelling out all the reasons why he was worthless, his voice echoing over the lot, and he tries to shut the door when your hand shoots out and holds it open the second you see it move. ‘I just- I don’t understand why you keep talking to me after all that, why do you keep coming back? Why haven’t you left like everyone else? Why won’t you just- leave me alone…?’

You swallow and walk up the two-step stairs, Simon backing up until you let yourself in, the door shutting behind you and trapping your voices inside so they can’t carry anymore. ‘Because none of that defines you, it happened to you but that isn’t who you are,’ you tell him, and he’s hunched over now that he’s inside, the ceiling not high enough to accommodate him in his own home.

‘And who am I?’ he asked pathetically, but you don’t see him as pathetic, not even now as you see his home and how bare it is, the nicest thing he owns his computer over by the far window, the setup grand and expensive looking, and you fondly think to yourself that he probably built it all himself.

‘You’re smart, you’re so fucking smart, and you’re easy to talk to, and you’re a bit weird sometimes, and you word things kinda badly at the worst of times but you’re not a creep, and you’re passionate about what you want and it’s so unfair that no one’s given you a proper chance, or gotten to know the real you, not just what they’ve heard and assumed about you. You’re not a bad guy, you’re more than your black marks, you’re Simon.’

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye to the floor thanks to the angle his neck is forced to be, but he never sits even though it must be hurting him, and you wonder if maybe you’ve gotten through to him when he catches you completely off guard with what he says next: ‘Would you still think that if you knew the real me?’

‘What do you mean?’ You’ve known him for half a year now, there wasn’t any side of him you hadn’t seen yet, but apparently there was as another tear falls.

‘I killed someone, about five years ago now.’

You stagger back into the door, the wind knocked out of you at this revelation, and he shuts his eyes and looks away from your expression as one of pain takes over his own face. ‘What are you talking about?’ you ask quietly, your voice failing you the first time you try, and he flinches at your words like you’d just screamed them in his face.

‘Back when I was evicted I was looking for people to room with, just temporarily until I could get back on my feet, and this guy had answered my ad, invited me over to check out his place. I should’ve been more cautious but it was so cold I couldn’t wait, and when I got there he tried to mug me, take whatever I had left. I fought back in self-defense, but when I almost got away he started attacking me, wanted to keep me there until his actual roommate got home so he had help, and I-’ He sits down then, his hands shaking as he goes back to that time, and your back leaves the door as he looks up at you with such sadness that your chest feels hollow. ‘He tried to kill me, I was only trying to defend myself, I didn’t mean to hurt him so bad, I just wanted to find somewhere to stay, it was so cold outside…’

‘What happened after that?’ You think you might’ve just mouthed the words with how much your voice breaks, but he understands you anyways.

‘The roommate came home while I- while it was happening, called the cops, and when they saw me standing there covered in blood, holding the knife still, they instantly ruled it as a homicide and arrested me. I was able to plead not guilty but they took one look at my bad psych eval and thought I’d snapped, killed him outta malice or something, it was only by a miracle that the evidence was in my favour.’

‘And the roommate?’

‘They searched the place and found evidence of all the others before me that’d fallen for the con, he was charged and arrested and I made bail, but after that my mother never talked to me again, even though I was acquitted.’ It looks like a weight’s been lifted now that he’s said it, but he also looks so fucking tired, most of him taking up his small loveseat couch. You want to go to him but you can’t move, your body refusing to shift even an inch in case he didn’t want you to, and he looks you over before something in his eyes begs you please; you let out a small noise as you fall to the ground between his knees, your hand holding his just like you had when you’d wrapped him up.

‘Why are you still here? Why haven’t you thrown me out yet?’ he weakly asks you, and you can’t lie to him any longer as you hold his hand up to your cheek.

‘Don’t you know what you mean to me?’ you need to know, your voice so small that again you’re not even sure if any of it even comes out, and he lets out a breath that sounds so desperate and broken it makes you wonder just how long he’s been holding it: days, weeks, months, since the moment you met?

‘I didn’t want to hope- you… you’re my only friend, I didn’t want to ruin everything and lose you too,’ he whispers as he properly holds you, his palm so warm against your skin, and you lean into his touch as you let out the breath you were holding in return.

‘You almost broke my heart when you said you went back to LoveMatch, I wanted to tell you so badly,’ you’re finally able to confess, and when you do his other hand finds your arm, holds you with just enough pressure that you know he wants you there.

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t want to ruin everything either.’

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, and when you open your eyes and look into his you can see everything you ever wanted again, all of it feeling so real and within reach as you brush his bangs aside, rest your hand on the back of his neck. His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, and he’s shaking slightly like he’s afraid to touch you even though he already is because this time it’d be his decision to, his lips parting as he stares down at your own, and when he touches you you lean up and close the space between you.

He sighs against your mouth as you kiss him, it so full of relief and contentment and joy, and you wrap your arms around his neck again as you successfully sit in his lap this time. His lack of experience is apparent but you have no complaints as you deepen the kiss, needing more now that you could have it, and he lets you have everything you ever wanted as he leans back against the cushions until his head hits the metal wall behind him. He mutters an ow as he lets go of you to rub his head, and you laugh before catching his mouth again, which he eagerly allows you to do; he eats up all your attention, starving for it as he gets more into it, needing whatever you can give after so many rejections, and you’re happy to give it all back as you kiss his neck.

‘I was so proud of you when you told me you were trying for the loan, I really wanted to celebrate with you,’ you whisper into his skin, and you can feel him shiver as he lets out a soft moan and tilts his head to the side so you have easier access. ‘You’ve been trying so hard, please let me reward you, I want to be the first to…’

He moans your name as his hips start to move, try to find friction against you, and you shift until he does, his jaw going slack as he holds you by your thighs, perfects the angle even more.

‘When I saw you with her I wanted it to be me, I hated myself for wanting her to go, but she didn’t deserve you, I’ll never leave, and I want the next time we meet to be a real date, whether it’s at the Hotel or the park or my place or here, I want to be with you.’

He makes a noise of pure want, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to swallow back the sob that follows, he was always weak to your compliments but you need him to know how worth it he is to you, how much he deserves this after everything he’s been through.

‘You’re wonderful, I love spending time with you, you’re everything I want.’

A tear escapes between his tightly shut eyelids and you kiss it away before going to his jaw, pressing your lips along it before you find his mouth again.

‘I really like you, Simon, you mean so much to me, I’m so glad I got to meet you.’

He’s practically whimpering in your lap as he cries harder, his hips never stopping, he needs this so much but so do you, and you let him use you as the growing pressure wrenches a moan from your lips.

‘I love-’

You don’t get to finish as he comes apart underneath you, his body shuddering as he grips you tight and gasps out a series of choked out moans, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel it all travel from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. You feel the heat between your thighs as he slowly catches his breath, his cheeks turning red under streams of tears in embarrassment for coming from just this much, but you just kiss the tip of his nose and rest your chest against his, let him feel how hard your heart was beating.

‘I love you,’ you whisper now that you can, and he looks at you like you’ve just given him the sun and the moon on a golden platter.

‘I’m so glad I texted you back then,’ he confesses against your cheek, his hands leaving your thighs to rest on your back, keeping you close, ‘I think I started to love you the moment you wanted to actually talk to me.’

‘Lucky for me your standards are so low,’ you joke, but it falls flat in the best of ways as he nuzzles into your neck.

‘It was all I needed, I just wanted someone to believe in me.’ He presses a single kiss to the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and your nails scrape lightly against his scalp as you let out a sigh at the feeling.

‘I told you, I’ll keep cheering you on until it works,’ you remind him, and he sits up straight so he can hold you even closer in his hug, your bodies fitting together perfectly as you hold him back and don’t let go.

The snow is falling lightly outside as you stretch in your chair, your back cracking as you raise your arms high above your head. You’re all done for the day, everything on your list checked off as you glance at the time and see that it’s almost 8PM, he’ll be there soon. You stand and bring the feeling back to your legs before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, queuing up the next episode of the show you’re marathoning only one at a time each night. You let the recap and intro play and then press pause, it’s nearly time now, and you’re in the middle of grabbing the plates and utensils when you hear a knock at the door. You unlock it and open up to reveal Simon on the other side, all bound up in a large winter jacket, his scarf pulled up high enough to cover his nose and mouth from the cold.

‘You forget your key at work again?’ you tease as he walks in, trailing snow over to the mat where he can take his boots off.

‘Kinda hard to unlock the door with both hands full,’ he points out with a smirk as he then sets the food brought from said work on the table. ‘It’s busy tonight despite the snow, lots of people coming in to escape the chill, had to order these early to make sure they were done on time.’

‘You know I can always make something before you get back, you don’t have to keep bothering Elison over it,’ you remind him, but he won’t hear of it, he loves being able to bring you back something so you don’t have to stop working until you’re ready and you know it.

‘I convinced him to leave the Hotel to come work for me, might as well use him,’ is what he has to say to that, and you can’t argue with it as you both transfer your dinners onto the plates you set out. ‘Besides, it’s the only way I can get my favourites without having to drive across town, that’s a good enough reason to keep bothering him.’

You hum in agreement as you sit down together, the episode playing as soon as you’re settled, and when you’re done eating he curls up next to you, rests his head against your shoulder even though it hurts his neck. You take pity on him and adjust so he can lay more properly, his face still red from the winter chill, and you find yourself paying more attention to him until he feels your eyes on him.

‘You think we can do two episodes tonight before you go back? We’re so close to the season finale,’ you plead in that tone of voice that always gets him, and he looks like he really wants to say yes but he can’t, he doesn’t like leaving the place for so long as is even though his staff is more than capable of watching over things for an hour without him; outside of the weekend it’s the only time you can be together until he gets home at 2AM, when you’re already asleep most nights, and before he leaves again by 9AM, at least until the new year where he plans on hiring more staff if things keep getting better.

‘Not tonight, maybe tomorrow if it’ll calm down when the storm hits, I’ll call it early if it’s bad enough,’ he promises, and you smile and hold his hand as you rewind the episode back to before you stopped watching.

‘Should I be so jealous of a bar?’ you ask rhetorically, and he answers you yes before you playfully hit him and press play again. ‘Maybe I should start working for you part-time, I miss our Friday lunches, you’re too busy for me now.’

‘I’m never too busy for you,’ he reassures you so gently and genuinely before kissing you, the scene you just rewound to getting ignored again as you don’t let him go after just one. ‘I wouldn’t mind having you there, though, even if I think we might not get a lot done whenever you’re there.’

‘I’m just trying to make some C0NN3CT10N$,’ you say as slowly and as slyly as you can, drawing out the word as he just stares at you, ‘y’know like the bar’s na-’

He silences you with another kiss, this one a little more chaste as he laughs against your lips. ‘Yeah, yeah I know,’ he chuckles, and once again the episode is rewound so you can watch it, your arms around him for the rest of the hour he sets aside just for you each night, and in your head you make a mental note to thank your mother for recommending that son of a friend of a friend of a co-worker 10 months too late as he lovingly holds you right back.

#Ray's Readers #david dastmalchian #simon lynch #simon lynch x reader #his writing song was Bare by Wildes and it was so good I had to change the title halfway through #rewatching the end where the views go up and he's just crying at all the praise had me constantly like 😭 I CAN SAVE HIM YOU GUYS #the Hotel in this fic is real and across the street from me and I think me and my family are the only ones in town who still call it that!

40 notes · View notes