#should chapters 20 and 21 have been one chapter? probably | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oceandolores · 16 days ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

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

summary: joel found you

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

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

next | ending

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would God let this happen to you?

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, God, let her be alive.

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight shattered you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Disgusting."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What has he done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is better than them.

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

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

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

"Joel, I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up already."

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

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

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

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joel..."

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

"NO!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"NO!"

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

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

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

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

“You really thought you could win?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BANG.

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

You didn’t stop. Y

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those were his last words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He found us.”

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

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

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katkat030 · 6 months ago

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Hermitcraft/Life Series Fic Recs!!!

I am absolutely insane about so many of these and I genuinely can't recommend them enough. Like the post that inspired this, I'll probably tag authors if I know their Tumblr urls, but please let me know if you want me to remove any and I will!

Fair warning that most of these have shipping!

But oh, the bloom by @sillyfairygarden (read here) ongoing.

Ough. Whimsy, Pearlescentmoon, the best version of desertduo I've ever read, and indecipherable sounds of me screaming. If there's one fic I ever want people to read, it's this one. There's a reason I'm putting this first, as much as I hate to pick favourites! Warning: you may will fall in love with the story. Possibly my favourite author - cannot recommend their works enough <3 (The Champion's Banquet also made me go not just a little insane)

It's an absolute necessity to highlight the tags on this one: blows a kiss to the sky. for all my pearliemoon lovers searching for wonder and whimsy in the world around you // Now with more angst! // a man leaves the life he loved to explore the beauty of the world

More fic recs under the cut!

you came at the brink of the end of the world by Anonymous/ @louiessleeplessnights (read here) ongoing.

I don't know how to even begin describing this. I think it made me fall in love with Boatem all over again. It's hilarious, sad, beautiful, Scar calls Grian trouble, they're both idiots and in love, and it's everything I'd look for in a published novel and so much more. This fic permanently altered my brain chemistry and I cannot recommend it enough times. SO SO SO well written. Warning: it's rated explicit, but a few updates ago it was just mature - chapter 20 and the first half of chapter 21 are the ones you might want to skip if that's not your jam! It's just kissing but it gets... a bit heated lmao.

An excerpt from the description:

[grian is falling from the sky, scar has more magic in his blood than he realized, and everyone else is so much better at seeing than they are]

Redstone and Skulk by @silverskye13 (read here) ongoing.

Once again lost on how to describe this. Could I leave it at "please please please please read it I love it so much", by any chance? The worldbuilding is so fleshed out, probably my favourite example of characterisation I've ever seen and the descriptions are everything.

Helsknight and Tanguish (the hels version of Tango) are the duo ever. There's no shipping in this, just intense platonic bonds and lifetime devotion featuring a cranky knight and a pathetic wet cat. I love them so much.

Excerpt from the description:

Tanguish is Tango's hels, and they get along a lot better than most hels and their hermits should. Unfortunately, the universe wasn't made to house both of them. Helsmets were made to return to their hermits eventually, making a complete person. Except what happens when the hels is the stronger of the two? What happens if they really don't want to be?

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag/ @martynsimp69 (read here) complete.

Unashamed to say I binge read this in exactly two days; 26 chapters, an epilogue, accompanying mermay oneshot collection (read here) and nearly crying later, I'm here to say you should totally check it out too. Because fis 🐠 and mermaid Martyn Warning: some unethical experimentation, and I think there's mention of alcohol.

Hot Tea by @tunastime (read here) complete.

The Ethubs fic ever (and the first one I ever read!) This is what introduced me to *gesturing vaguely* whatever the heck they have going on, and I haven't been the same since. Warning: brainrot.

I'm once again stealing something from the description since tumblr oh-so-helpfully destroyed half my draft:

“Let me over,” Bdubs says again, and as he sees Etho open his mouth in protest yet again, he lurches forward, stuttering out his words. He nearly knocks the tea out of his own hands. “Just—just for tonight. Just tonight.” Etho knows he has to divide the base between them. It's the only way to settle, now, knowing everything between them. How Bdubs shouldn't be there. Etho builds the fence. Etho divides them. And Etho divides himself in the process.

Between Us, We Have An Ocean by inkachu (read here) complete.

Only recommending this because it made me cry, and it's so well written. No shipping, just a foster care au in which Gem and Etho are... siblings. That doesn't even begin to cover how much the story really gripped me. It's soft, it's sweet, it's sad, it's amazing. Warning: I haven't cried while reading a book in probably a decade, and this is the one exception. Not to worry, I promise it won't hurt too much (saying how it ends would be a spoiler, but I promise the ending won't haunt you forever).

It's so gooood.

An excerpt from the description:

“My mum couldn’t take care of me, so she gave me to Canada.” Gem announced cheerily, swapping her red pencil for a yellow one, drawing what could only be a sun in the top corner of her page. “Then Canada found me a new mum.” Etho clicked his tongue. “Right.” “What about your mum?” “She uh, Couldn’t take care of me either. So I go to other people’s houses and they take care of me for her.”

From the Archives by @sixteenth-days (read here) complete.

there's also an extra bunch of character studies/AUs/very cool bonus stories called From the Archives: Marginalia (read here) complete (?)

riverbed and mouse hole/black hole from Marginalia are my personal favourites. Playing around with like the physical structure of a text that way is super inspirational. I have all of the main fics downloaded to reread offline whenever I'm travelling/away from home! There's no need to know anything about The Magnus Archives to understand - personally I'd never heard of it before reading this. Also no shipping in the main fic :)

lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) by @definitelynotshouting (read here) (author's explanation of the premise here) ongoing.

Warning: I'll give the warning for this one straight up, there are heavy themes like suicide and depression - Grian is going through it! If you're going to read it at least heed the ao3 tags :)

I'm stealing an excerpt from the fic to explain this one:

This hunger is a low rumble deep at the core of him, steady in the same way one might test a newly healed bone. The kind of fragile after a respawn, when your skin has knit together but the echo of pain still lingers. It doesn't hold him hostage anymore– he can muster the strength to look past it, and that, out of everything that's happened to him over the past year, is what's most frightening.

Time to Kill Today by RimeThyme/ @going-to-the-sun (read here)

Featuring THE Ethubs song ever, some cool references to Mindcrack, and a really ineresting take on their relationship over the years. <33 read it, you won't regret it!

Laugh rule - list of titles that made me laugh, mainly oneshots

THE DIVORCE OF THE CENTURY by glossyblue/ @good-chimes (read here)

The Government Institute for Ghost Supervision (G.I.G.S.) by glossyblue (read here)

The Rules of Buttercup Camp by glossyblue (read here)

Dead Heat by glossyblue (read here)

Interlude from Another Reality: Married Life by sixteenthdays (read here)

Okay 2 more fic recs and I'm done, I promise xD

You Could've Applied Online by Anonymous (read here)

Actually hilarious and such fun to read! Stealing something from the description again:

Bdubs stuttered over his words, hand holding the knife tensing around the handle as he looked around the room. Was he being pranked? Did Scar do this? He couldn’t think of another conversation that had confused him more than this. Etho’s eyes crinkled around the edges, mouth subtly changing into what Bdubs imagined was a smile as he felt irritation creep into his mind. “You’re joking right now.” Another shift under the mask. He was definitely smiling now. “How’d you guess?” Or: Bdubs kills someone (on purpose), makes people angry (NOT on purpose), and somehow gets a boyfriend in the process. Or was he a bodyguard? Bdubs doesn't really know himself. Oh, and Etho just wants to pay his rent on time. Preferably without another dead roommate.

Spring Blossoms by Fire_Cat (read here)

Ethubs, Stardew Valley-esque. Super fun read, highly recommend :D

Stealing from the description once more:

Burnt out and exhausted with city life, Etho packs up and moves to the old abandoned farm his parents owned before he was born. It's sat empty for thirty years and it's not in a good state, but he's determined to make the most of it. The town is full of good people, and he quickly finds friendship in abundance. Amongst them all though, one stands out. Bdubs is kind and funny and exceptionally talented at a number of things. He's handsome too, and Etho can't help but crush on him, just a little bit. They get along fantastically right from day one, but Etho keeps his feelings to himself. It's just a crush, it'll go away. And besides, it's not like Bdubs would ever like him back... Right?'

If you end up reading and enjoying any of these, PLEASE go and give the authors some love in the comments! Writing really isn't an easy feat (or quick)

#I highly recommend all of these. as if it isn't clear enough already. But there are some REALLY talented writers and artists in the fandom #it takes a loooot of time and dedication to write things like these #hermitshipping #read them read them read them you won't regret it /silly #trafficshipping #hermitblr #trafficblr #life series smp #hermitcraft #fic recs #fanfic recs #ethubs #desert duo #boatem #boatem crew #my posts

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sinner-sunflower · 6 months ago

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P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 27/27

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26, UPDATE

I debated which POV should I use for this. It was either Vaggie or Charlie.

But then I didn't think I was ready yet to dive into Charlie's inner thoughts after the events of the last chapter.

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

Satan: When the death of the King was announced to us yesterday morning,

Vaggie darted through the palace halls, her steps nearly floating as her wings fluttered slightly, reducing her weight. She could have flown, which would have been faster, but there was a strict rule against flying inside the palace to protect the many precious things that belonged to-

Satan: there struck a deep and somber note in our lives

Anyway, Charlie had banned any kind of flying altogether after a priceless vase was accidentally shattered.

Satan: which resounded far and wide.

As she zoomed past, the servant imps bowed and greeted her politely. She usually returned their greetings, a blend of kindness and a dash of guilt compelling her to do so. Despite the fact that none of the exorcists had killed any Hellborn during their exterminations, it didn't ease her conscience.

She wasn't Adam.

Satan: It stilled the clatter and traffic of all hellish life

Adam.

She wondered where he was now, after taking off with Lute and setting off the bomb that had essentially turned everything to shit, disappearing into the buildings of Pride.

Even she wasn't sure if Charlie could grant that kind of forgiveness.

Vaggie cursed at yet another empty room, soon finding herself at a dead end.

Her movements halted when she caught a glimpse of something flying past the window. She gripped her spear tighter.

Satan: and made countless millions of demon kind throughout the seven rings...

She must have looked pathetic because one of the butlers in the room (Azaeloth, Your Grace) took pity on her and pointed up.

Of course.

Satan: ...pause and look around them.

Vaggie thanked the imp before turning on her heels and heading toward the rooftop.

She probably opened the door a little harder than necessary, the heavy thud echoing in the quiet space, but Charlie didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, her expression remained unreadable against the backdrop of Hell's red sky.

Satan: The late King, who assumed the heavy burden of the crown when he was cast out of the Heavens,

The rooftop balcony overlooking all of Hell is one of the places Charlie often frequents when it all gets a bit too much. It ranks third only to the Hotel and a secret room whose location even Vaggie doesn't know.

Vaggie takes in the sight of Charlie, and it's the same thing she has been seeing for the last two years.

Tired.

Satan: lived through every minute of this struggle

The former exorcist stays by the door. Despite her earlier rush, she just waits. Waits. And waits.

She waits until Charlie releases a sigh and makes a motion with her hand, granting permission to come closer.

Not once does Charlie turn to look at her. The weight of the world seems to press down on her shoulders, gaze fixed on the landscape below.

Satan: with a heart that have faltered but a spirit never broken.

They were still together, and Vaggie liked to think that their love was as strong as ever.

But ever since—

Ever since then, an invisible wall had manifested itself between them. And she understood, really she did. It didn't make it hurt any less.

Vaggie missed the old Charlie.

Satan: In the end, death came as a friend.

Vaggie: Hey.

Vaggie greets Charlie, moving to stand beside her to overlook Pride. The Ring doesn’t look as good as it did back then, but everything was fixed relatively quickly, thanks to their experience with turf wars and the destruction that came with them.

Charlie still doesn’t look at her, but there’s a twitch in her clasped hands.

Satan: And after a gruesome battle of bloodshed,

Vaggie bites the inside of her cheek at the stillness of the moment.

Vaggie: How long have you been here? You'll catch something in this cold.

Cold. Hell is cold.

And it's not right.

Oh if the humans who keep saying 'when Hell freezes over' could see it now.

Satan: and after a sacrifice for those who look up to him,

Charlie: I'm fine, Vaggie. Is something wrong?

Yes! Vaggie wants to yell at her. Yes, of course there's something wrong! Their home is wrong. Their whole life is wrong!

But she can't. God knows they've had that conversation too many times before. It always ended ugly.

Satan: he fell asleep,

So she stills herself and chooses her words carefully.

Vaggie: No-uh, not at the moment. But I got word from Angel that it looks like they caught a few intruders south of the Pentagram. They wouldn't tell me anything yet but..

Charlie finally turns her head to her, a raised eyebrow prompting Vaggie to continue.

Vaggie: I caught a glimpse of a feather and I have a pretty good guess it's the same reason why they are being as discreet as possible.

Satan: as every soul, human or demon, who strives to be free and nothing else in the world, may hope to do.

Angels.

After Him-

It was a massacre, and she participated in the exterminations. She knows what killings look like, but what she witnessed then still makes her stomach twist with discomfort to this day.

Only a few managed to escape to Heaven, while some opted to hide deep underground in Pride, afraid and perhaps forgotten.

Those brave enough to venture outside went straight to the palace or hotel, hoping to find a way back to Heaven.

Satan: Now, we must leave the treasures of the past and turn to the future.

But there is no more Heaven.

Satan: Resilience have been the reigns of the late Majesty.

At least, that's what they think. No rescue missions, no communication, no nothing.

Heaven has been silent, and the only indication they have of its still-beating existence is the glowing white sphere up in the far sky.

That's why angels still take the risk to go to them.

Satan: All of the greatest periods in our history unfolded upon his hands .

But none of them ever make it.

Satan: This new age comes at a time when demonkind stands uncertainly poised..

Charlie: I see.

At the corner of her eye, Vaggie sees the flying figure circle around the city again like a dog guarding their home.

Like a predator looking for its prey.

She reaches out to take Charlie's hand, squeezing it for comfort. For her or for Charlie she's not sure.

Vaggie: Let's go inside. I don't like being outside with that... thing.

Satan: …on the age of catastrophe.

Charlie eyes the flying entity with an expression of cold, hard anger mixed with devastation. The look is gone as soon as it came.

Vaggie would have that look too if it had the face of her dead father.

Satan: I, whose existence was passed in the noble, unchallenged, and tranquil glories of the Luciferian era

She gave Charlie another squeeze but the other doesn't reciprocate.

Vaggie feels like Charlie's slipping from her hold. Her hand tightens just a bit more around her lover's, afraid that if she loosens then Charlie would be gone.

And she can't let that happen.

Satan: may well feel the thrill in invoking once more,

Charlie, who no longer shies away from judgemental eyes.

Satan: the prayer,

Charlie, who stands straight and tall, like a beacon of demon hope.

Satan: and the anthem;

Who looks too small in her royal mantle.

Satan: Long live Charlotte Morningstar,

Who looks imposing as the original Devil with the crown sitting on her head.

Satan: Her Majesty,

Her former self tucked far away inside.

There's a screech of a car down below and a cacophony of distressed voices.

Charlie: They're here.

Satan: The Queen of Hell.

Charlie: Let's go.

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

Lucifer is truly dead here guys. Or is he? 👀

The Crown reference.

The Satan parts is the speech said at Charlie's coronation. Just like in The Crown, she became queen as soon as the former King died.

Fates of Alastor, the Sins, and the others will be addressed in Story 3 of this series!

Yes you read that right. There will be one more story for this. And it will still be Lucifer centric, but the POVs will bounce from character to character.

A trilogy! Wow, I can't believe this.

Thank you all for reading! To those who have supported this story from the very beginning, you were all my motivation and inspiration. I love hearing your theories, your critiques, and your fanarts.

And if you have any questions, my asks and DMs are open! I'd be happy to answer anything to the best of my abilities without spoiler <3

This work is my pride and joy and you guys loving it made me even more proud of myself.

So thank you.

This story is dedicated to the me that couldn't find the fanfic I'm looking for and said fuck it I'll do it myself. And of course, to our dear Lucifer Morningstar.

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jiminjamms · 1 year ago

Text

sex therapy :: 19. open up

chapter tags/warnings: dad! toji. angsty! megumi. strong language. classism. infidelity. manipulative undertones. naoya sucks ass.

word count: 3.6k

notes: thank you for waiting for this update! i was taking exams for some work-related licenses and started my big girl recently. i've also added more chapters to this series because i underestimated when i first planned out the fic. likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. enjoy! xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Can...we talk?”

At first, Toji blinked.

Naturally, he wasn’t sure how to react to such a situation: his client, who he had assumed avoided him for weeks, now standing at his apartment door? This was new.

He didn’t quite understand how or why you ended up here at this hour, but he forced a worried smile. “Yeah, of course, we can talk.”

When you first tried to speak, your voice only came out as a hoarse croak. So you had to clear your throat, and you forced words to come out again.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to eke out.

“Sorry?” Toji raised a brow in surprise. “For what?”

Hesitating, you bit gently at your inner cheek. “If I tell you, can you please promise me you won’t get mad? Or judge me? I’m just...looking for someone to talk to, and I really, really need you to promise me.”

In hindsight, that was a stupid question because you both knew that listening was his job, his profession, his field of expertise. Even with the minimal information Toji had gathered in these few seconds, he probably began piecing together your story on his own already. He was good like that—that was what made him your therapist, so there was no need to sugarcoat anything when he already read right through you.

Still, Toji eased you with a sturdy nod. “Sure. I promise.”

You didn’t even know where to start in this apology, frankly. You were sorry for doubting him, sorry for ignoring all the red flags he had pointed out about your husband Naoya Zenin. In the end, you were sorry for being so fucking stupid.

The first time Toji had warned you about Naoya, you should have listened. Toji was the expert here, so how blind could you have been? There was nothing like the crushing realization when you realized for yourself that winning your husband back was nothing more than a pipe dream.

Far before marrying you, Naoya had long loved someone else. Sure, ‘love’ may be a strong word, but why else would Naoya never want to be home? He could hardly find interest in you and became revolted when looking your way. He must have felt so wrong, so immoral, when cheating on his side-girlfriend for his wife.

The way Naoya had spoken to you tonight just rubbed salt into the wound. Just shut up. Know your boundaries. Because you were just, in his words, a fucking ornament.

His mistress sure wasn’t, though, and anyone could place the winning bet that he had gone off to spend the night with her.

Why were you not enough?

Was it because she was pretty and you were ugly? That she was smart and you were dumb? That she was funny and you were dull? Just...why? What was the reason?

And, through thick swallows and blinked-back tears, you told Toji all of that.

In one gusto, you have once again dumped all your troubles upon his shoulders. A horrible person, that was what you were—and knowing this, your gaze stayed low.

From your rambling onslaught, Toji must be processing a lot but gave away no emotional indication. From his years at work, he probably had heard it all.

You waited for Toji to retort with a pompous ‘I told you so!’ or burst into a disdainful laugh—that was how Naoya would have responded. But those reactions never came.

On the contrary, Toji tapped his chest. “Come here.”

You frowned over at him, brushing a stray tear from your chin. “What?”

“Just get over here.”

When you still wavered with reluctance, Toji pulled you tight against him—one hand firmly pressed against your lower back as the other guided your face to nestle by his shoulder.

Not expecting this, you were initially stiff and awkward in his arms. Toji’s chest was hard and muscled rather than comfortable, chiseled from his frequent strength training sessions at the gym. But when he began to rub slow circles at your waist with one hand, the other running up and down your back in gentle strokes, something about these little gestures let all your emotions go.

Slowly, you brought your arms up to wrap around him, hugging him in response. He was warm, his body like a furnace that heated your skin. You curled your hands into tight fists, grabbing the fabric of his T-shirt along with your hold. 

Then, like floodgates bursting, you melted into Toji with a sob.

“What have I done wrong?” you wailed. “Why can’t I do anything right? What do I even do from here?”

Toji listened silently as you continued to bawl, releasing all your anger and pain from the terrible weeks that you had endured. He squeezed you the tightest when you sobbed the loudest, comforting you with his ‘there there’ hums.

“Everything will be okay,” he affirmed eventually, but his words seemed so difficult to believe.

“No! Everything won’t be okay, Toji,” you cried and shook your head into his neck. “My husband doesn’t want me. Then, if Naoya doesn’t want me, the Zenins wouldn’t want me. Then, no one will want me!”

“Not true,” Toji was quick to say. He pulled you closer, his large hands patting your upper back too. “Forget Naoya, he’s an utter jerk. He might leave you, but you know who won’t? At the very least, your father won’t—he loves you.”

“But I would have disappointed him.”

“How?” he countered sharply. “If he had known how his son-in-law was treating his daughter, why would your father be disappointed in you?”

Between sniffles, you ruminated his points, half-convinced.

Toji, breathing out, then added, “Also...I won’t leave you, either. I care about you. There. You’ve already got two on your side. You will not be alone.”

“But then, what about,” you kept your lips pressed onto his collarbone, “What about the Zenins? Would they turn their backs on me too?”

Underneath your fingertips, you could feel Toji tensing at the name. “With a family so large, there are bound to be those supporting you as well. You make it sound like all his aunts, his uncles, his...,” he paused briefly, “...his cousins, all worship Naoya when a household like that is rife with drama beneath surface level. Family isn’t family for something like the Zenins. Politics comes first. Business comes first.”

His answer came out with such confidently that you silently questioned how he could be so sure.

But you suddenly remembered the kind embraces from Mai and your heart softened at the thought of Maki.

Maybe Toji was right.

A soundless sigh flew from your mouth before your arms tightened around Toji's torso, hugging him and resting your chin on his shoulder. After several moments longer, you finally released one long exhale, your tears having stopped and your breathing less erratic.

Your heart was like lead in your chest, but you pulled your face away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, throat raw. “My makeup got onto your shirt.”

Toji’s smile was soft.

“That’s fine.” He couldn’t give a damn about his white top. Reassuringly, he ran his hands along your waist before settling on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. “As long as you are feeling better, that’s all I need. Besides, that’s my job, yes?”

“Yes...” you mumbled shyly, wiping tears from your face with the heel of your hand.

At the sight, Toji reached toward a tissue box behind the door frame.

“Don’t cry anymore. Naoya isn’t worth the heartache, I’ll guarantee you that.” He dabbed at your pretty face with the napkin in his hands, wiping away not only the remaining tears but also the stream of snot. Lovely. “I am your friend, okay? Before the therapist stuff. We will fix this, together. That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

When Toji first called him your friend, you did not think that he would somehow become your closest confidant.

You leaned into his touch briefly, sinking into the comfort of his palm.

“Feeling better, princess?”

Toji watched you with a chartreuse glimmer in his eyes before you finally pulled yourself from his grasp. His fingers flexed at the lost touch, almost like he was hesitant to let you go, but who was he to stop you? It wasn’t like Toji was your husband or anything.

"I am,” you replied. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He hummed in the ensuing silence before stepping to the side. “Since you’re already here, why don’t you come in? I wouldn’t want you going back like this. Naoya won’t be home, so at least you will have some company here.”

Tempting.

“I really shouldn’t stay...”

“What? Are you sure?”

No, you were not sure, and Toji sure as hell knew that.

He lolled his head toward the interior, a few of his black strands sliding across his forehead with the movement.

“C’mon, I won’t bite,” he reassured before chuckling, “unless...you want me to.”

You shot the therapist a glare, but the resolve to stay upset faded when you saw him gleam with a wide smirk. Well? that mischievous spark in him seemed to say. What do you think?

Rolling your eyes, you initially snorted at the offer but could not help smiling at the stupid joke immediately afterward. Your body crumpled forward as you burst into giggles, realizing that this was the first time in weeks that you were...laughing?

“Fine,” you relented.

Toji seemed to beam in silent victory, which was cute coming from someone who looked so tough. He swept his arm in a gentle arc toward his apartment.

“Then, after you, m’lady.”

You gusYou gushed at the title.

"If you insist,” and you stepped in.

The warmth from his condo was the first to greet you as though a fireplace had been crackling in the distance. For someone who somehow had the means to afford such a luxurious space, Toji went simple in his furnishings. His cream-colored walls were cleared, save for some framed art pieces that dotted the corridors, and there were no ornate cabinets or dazzling décor. His taste in minimalism and timelessness contrasted with the grandeur in your palatial-like residence, but both styles had their appeal.

He had a gray and beige color scheme going on with the couches, the tabletops, and the lighting fixtures. The walnut wood flooring added a rustic touch to the apartment, and every corner effortlessly converged refined aesthetics with the sense of home. Even the smell inside was cozy because the apartment emanated of him—of Toji himself: spices with the redolence of bergamot and sage.

He guided you through a (very wide) hallway that opened into an equally expansive living room. Towards the side was a spiral staircase that led to an upper floor and, further ahead, floor-to-ceiling windows opened to an evening panorama.

The sky was completely dark, with the sun sunk below the horizon long ago, and the waxing moon hung like a silver sliver far away. Holding your breath, you stepped towards the glass, observing the bustle far below that twinkled like firecrackers against the concrete backdrop.

“You know, your place...is a lot nicer than I expected.”

The man tucked his large hands into his front pockets. “I’m offended.”

Instantly, you grew flustered. “No, I didn’t mean it like that!” (Yes, you totally did.) “It’s just that Sukuna had made it sound like—” That you were dirt poor. “But then Geto said...” Okay, you shouldn’t be dragging more people into this. “Never mind.”

Quickly, you glanced back outside again, hoping to look like you were distracted by the vista.

“But then Sukuna and Geto said what?” Toji pried, not letting you live this down. He appeared uncharacteristically intrigued. He wanted to know what his coworkers had spilled, by how much you knew. “What have the other therapists said about me?”

“Ah, nothing much really,” you confessed, which was the truth to some extent.

“How much is ‘nothing much?’”

“Just, well,” you rolled your lips together in thought, “maybe that something, some event, or some person wronged you.” Geto’s words rang fresh in your head. “That ‘Toji just isn’t where he could possibly be.’”

Half-expectantly, you looked over at the said man from under your lashes, waiting for him to comment on the matter. Toji always appeared so hesitant to talk about his past, but you hoped that he would stop being so mysterious. It was as though he was an enigma for cautious reasons, assessing how much he could open up before he could entirely trust you.

Toji had pursed his lips as the silence in the living room became uncomfortable. But just when he appeared ready to speak, someone else filled the silence for him.

“Why the hell are you here?”

All heads turned to a frowning teenager who stood by the foot of the stairs.

He had dark eyes—dark eyes glared only at you, narrowed into a violent abyss as though he was mentally aiming daggers into your soul. For a fleeting moment, you were puzzled at who this boy was until Toji spoke first.

“That’s no way to greet a guest, Megumi.”

Oh, right. Toji had an eighteen-year-old son, and Megumi was his name. While you had spoken with the teenager on the phone before, it was different to see him in person for the first time.

For starters, the physical similarities between father and son became immediately apparent. Sure, Toji’s features had a rough edge around them—shaped from his additional years in life—but the two shared the same black stands, pointed noses, and taut lips. There was no denying the flawless genes that flowed between them.

Megumi, though, had a subtle softness to him. The teenager was smaller and shorter compared to his imposing and rugged father, but he tried to mask that youthful innocence instead with his brash style. He pulled off that ‘wild’ look better than most boys his age could, his hair longer and more tousled. The way he stood in a contrapposto, coupled with how stylish he appeared in his fuchsia tee and black cargo pants, made him look like a model from a streetwear magazine. He reached for an ear piercing with fingers adorned with flashy rings, toying with one particular stud as he examined you.

Goodness, Megumi Fushiguro was as good-looking as Sukuna had hyped him up to be.

“Well?” the boy’s irritated voice snapped you back to the present. “What are you doing at our apartment?”

“Oh, me?” You pointed to yourself. Well, no shit. Who else was he talking to? “I, um—”

“You’re another one of my dad’s women, aren’t you?” the teenager asked out of the blue, leaving you staring at him dumbly.

“One of your dad’s who?”

“Hey!” Toji warned, tone sharp. Frowning at the boy, he reprimanded him with one forceful thwack. Dad Toji was very different than Therapist Toji. “Watch what you—"

“You’re the one who called me down here!” Megumi shouted back, pushing his father’s arm away.

“Yes, I did. So what took you ten minutes to get here?”

“I was in the middle of Valorant. I left my team mid-game but for this?”

And suddenly, there was this thick and awkward tension that engulfed the room. If you had the magical ability to teleport at will, you would. Toji was obviously distraught at his son’s outburst and Megumi was similarly bristled by your presence.

About you? Well, there wasn’t anything you could do.

You took a few steps back. It was unsettling to be caught in a heated confrontation between father and son, and you silently wondered if you should just slip away to let those two sort out their miscommunications.

“So, this is your new strategy, huh?” Megumi seethed vehemently toward his father, capitalizing upon the silence. “Telling me that Nobara and Yuuji are here only for you to introduce me to, out of everyone in this world, her?!”

The attack felt personal when Megumi raised his arm and pointed squarely at you, even if the boy glowered at his dad instead. You had frozen, stopped by confusion, as Megumi continued in anger: “What is the meaning of this!”

Toji, who was returning his son’s glare, glanced at you briefly. He didn’t show this side to him very often: the one where he was just a single dad, handling a moody teenage son at home.

You wondered if Toji felt weird that you were watching him deal with Megumi’s tantrum. At least, he must be embarrassed that this was how your first encounter with Megumi was going, but he didn’t offer much into his internal dialogue because he clenched his teeth, his eyes sliding slowly to his son again.

“Megumi,” Toji started, “please...don’t point at people. That’s not nice.”

His voice was sterner than before, but the boy responded with a dramatic scoff.

“Nice?!” Megumi repeated. “You want me to be nice to her? Is this some sick joke?!” His face twisted with disbelief. “With all the horrible crap that had happened to us, what good thing has she ever done? Just because she’s pretty, and suddenly, you’ve forgiven her for everything?”

You blinked, stumped.

Forgive you?

Why would Toji need to forgive you?

Perplexed, you turned to Toji but he did not meet your gaze.

“There is nothing to forgive her for. She hasn’t done anything wrong,” the older man defended, but Megumi wanted to hear none of this.

He was out for blood.

“That’s because you’re too fucking infatuated to see the demon she is,” he huffed, voice laced with bitterness. “Dad, I wish you would put your goddamn brain to use and stop thinking with your dick first.”

“Language!” Toji snapped with a roar. “She’s our friend!”

“Friend, my ass! I don’t like your fucking friends!”

With eyes blown wide, Megumi clenched his fists so tightly that his hands began to shake.

“I just...I just can’t believe you,” and when his voice cracked, there was pain that bubbled from the frustration. “I already told you that I don’t want to meet whoever you are bringing home. Just stop trying so hard for my sake. This hurts me, and this also hurts you. Can’t you see that, Dad? Nothing’s going to bring Mom back! I’m over that, alright?” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped, though, before he finally added: “And I’m tired!”

At that, Megumi walked—correction, stormed—away.

“Fuck this shit,” he spat and marched up the stairs, grumbling more profanities upon his climb.

The footsteps’ volume started to fade, but not before a loud bang startled you when Megumi slammed his bedroom door shut, the entire apartment seemingly shuddering with the sound.

Beside you, the Toji that you had always known—the snarky man who always seemed so unruffled by even the wildest moments—crumbled a little when he sighed. He rubbed his face with a free hand, sinking his forehead into his palm as he muttered indiscernibly.

He collected himself he turned back around to you, but you saw that his shoulders sagged with an invisible weight, the emerald glimmer in his eyes now a dim flicker. Within ten minutes, Toji had grown to look stressed and incredibly tired.

“Hey,” Toji started, his voice impossibly small for a man as large as him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry that you had to see that. He’s usually a good kid. I’ll talk to him again later.”

You bit your lip.

“Oh, um...Well...That’s okay,” you eventually replied, which was a total lie because that was not okay. Even as you offered a small smile for support, Megumi—his words, his tone, his ferocious glare—slashed at your heart. You rationalized his behavior aloud to ease your own pain. “Megumi’s eighteen, and you know what teenagers are like: hormonal with their mood swings all the time. You are a great father, Toji. This isn’t your fault.”

“No. This is my fault,” he replied very quickly.

Oh. So instead you said: “I get it.”

“Except you don’t get it.”

Your heart sank at his words, realizing that you truly did not understand where this father-son conflict stemmed from. Was it...was it because of you?

You never intended to burden anyone, yet your mere existence appeared to be doing just that.

It was painful to see Toji like this. During your lowest lows, he always offered considerable comfort and renewed confidence, but you weren’t sure what to say to provide him with the same. By some weird twisted fate, Toji now needed you more than you needed him. As a therapist, he had a special soothing effect, and never have you so badly wished for the same.

“Then,” this time you were more careful with your words, “Then, help me understand. Help me so that I can then help you.”

Tone resolute, you longed to learn about the unspoken difficulties that Toji had been facing by himself. While you had your troubles, he must have had many more for his son—not even Toji himself—to act this way.

Perhaps you also cared for him more than you thought because, as he noted himself, he’s your friend.

Toji held a long inhale, thinking and thinking and thinking, before breathing out in one audible go.

“Where do I even start?”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: I loved fleshing out our relationship with Toji from a channel to mutually release sexual frustrations to a friendship built upon shared vulnerabilities. Also, Megumi is very much in his emo and rebellious teenage era. Like most people his age, he has his reasons…

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @moodpi @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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mangowillow · 1 year ago

Text

last to know | ch. 1: haunted dreams

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst (who am i without it), hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: nothing really; well, maybe except seokjin's intrusive thoughts about an axe k*ller— but it's tame, i promise! oh, and jeongguk gets slapped. be nice and let me know if i miss anything! there's a mini flashback in this chapter in all italics marked by a ♥!

word count: 3,900

author's note: i am very nervous about this first chapter because it's been A WHILE since i last wrote ~something~ so anyway! here you go, enjoy!

fic masterlist

New York, 2023

It was right when the DJ turned up the volume that Jeongguk felt the impact of a palm hitting him square in the jaw.

Jeongguk doesn’t know what stimuli to focus on: should it be the loud music blasting through the speakers or the sting of the slap that he probably deserved. It doesn’t take his brain too long to piece together what just happened 5 seconds ago. He knows what’s coming and he is also very much aware that he did see it coming sooner or later.

“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” Ae-cha grits through her teeth. Jeongguk swears she’s about to cry, tears threatening to spill amidst the blue glow of the lights above them. “We are dating, how can you say that—”

“We sleep together when it’s convenient for the both of us, Ae-cha.” Jeongguk downs the rest of his scotch, along with the remnants of his pride. “I never said anything about dating.”

“You are such a jerk!” Ae-cha turns a shade of red, tears in the corners of her eyes. It isn’t the first time Jeongguk has ever made a woman cry, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel that hollow ache in his chest; the one he felt the first time he made that mistake. He should feel bad, he thinks, but then again, he also doesn’t.

Does that make him a bad person?

“I didn’t listen to my friends when they said you were trouble. I wanted to prove them wrong—” Ae-cha starts, but Jeongguk cuts her off.

“Why? Why do you have to?”

Ae-cha’s eyes grow wide as she watches Jeongguk stare at his empty glass.

“You should have listened to your friends.” Jeongguk says, matter-of-fact. Ae-cha scoffs and Jeongguk knows now is the right time to probably shut up.

But he’s a jerk, just like Ae-cha says he was.

“I told you right from the beginning… we just use each other because we’re both lonely,” Jeongguk feels his throat turn dry, “I think somewhere along the way, you misread my actions.”

Ae-cha doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She closes her eyes for a minute and Jeongguk looks at her, waiting for her rebuttal. Or maybe a second slap. Whichever comes first.

Ae-cha speaks in a voice so low, it’s perplexing how Jeongguk is still able to pick up her words— “Your problem is that you do not care about other people’s feelings, Jeongguk. You only care about your own.”

Jeongguk tightens his jaw; now he feels his heart aching.

“You hurt people. You ruin good things. You keep your heart under tight wraps and you do not let anyone in. If you keep that up, you will end up with no one.”

Jeongguk stares at Ae-cha, wanting to say something, but failing completely. Maybe this is what he gets for sleeping with a psychologist— a rude awakening.

Before he can say anything, Ae-cha turns on her heel and walks away. Jeongguk remains at the bar for a bit more until the song changes into a slower tempo. It feels like a chore walking back to the table where his best friend Yoongi was— like walking on lead.

“That must’ve hurt—” Yoongi starts, fingers reaching out to the peanut bowl and putting some into his mouth. Jeongguk plops down on the chair with a sigh. “What a shitty night,” he quips.

Yoongi hums, “And whose fault is that?”

Jeongguk looks at his best friend in annoyance. Yoongi chuckles, putting more peanuts into his mouth. “What’d she say?”

“That I’m a jerk who hurts people and ruins good things.”

“Is it true?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t think I need to do that, kid.” Yoongi concludes, glancing at Jeongguk. He takes a swing out of his beer bottle before continuing, “You know damn well the answer to that.”

Jeongguk clicks his tongue and takes the beer from Yoongi. He takes a swig himself, letting their conversation die out by drowning it into the same old music he’s used to hearing almost every night.

Jeongguk comes home to his apartment that night, tipsy and his heart in pieces. Walking into the living room, the corner of his eyes catch the stack of luggages already packed and loaded. He didn’t feel like sitting on the couch so he opts to sit on the floor, his fingers grazing the carpet absentmindedly. A beat later, he allows his heart to bleed once more— as he always seems to do every single night for the past few years. Leaning his head back against the edge of his couch, he cries himself to sleep, wishing, praying the ache in his chest—and the words you hurt people—would go away in the morning.

Seoul, 2023

Your eyes try to take in the art in front of you— The Artist’s Garden in Giverny, Claude Monet, 1900. Usually, many emotions overwhelm your system and you cannot help but discuss any painting with the next person willing to listen.

And once upon a time, you were enthusiastic about your craft and love for the arts. It was almost always too easy, too often that you could come up with pieces to add to your gallery. But that hasn’t happened in over a year— maybe more than.

In the stillness of the room you are in, you hear light footsteps coming closer to where you are. You keep your eyes trained on Monet’s painting until your brother Seokjin sits beside you.

For a while, you and Seokjin just sit beside each other— no words, only a quiet understanding that close siblings seem to share and empathize with. Seokjin’s parents adopted you when you were eleven; a year after you and your parents met a horrible car collision. You are five months older than Seokin, yet that fact doesn't deter him at all, and more often than not, he usually ends up acting like your older brother. When he first met you at the orphanage, he grew fond of you real quick— already asking his parents when he’d be allowed to play with you. He doesn’t mind that you were once part of the system, that you are his half-sister— not really. He never treated you any differently. He loves you with his whole heart and he will always protect you.

This is why he also cannot stand stillness at times, especially when it involves you.

“Have you been waiting long?” Seokjin asks.

You have a habit of kicking your right foot into the air when you don’t really know how to respond right away. You take a sharp inhale before shaking your head. Seokjin follows your line of sight— you were still looking at the painting.

“Does it make you feel better? Looking at this, I mean…”

Seokjin’s question makes you look at him instead, like you just realized he had been sitting there this whole time and you never knew. He meets your eyes, sees the sadness in them. He will always know no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“Happy birthday, ____”

You don’t respond.

“Taehyung and the others are waiting down at the cafe. Do you still want to meet them?”

You nod once before giving Seokjin a smile, “Of course.”

Seokjin slides into the gap between the two of you and instinctively, you rest your head on his shoulder as he envelops you in a side hug. He rubs a hand up and down your arm before planting a light kiss on top of your head.

“I know it doesn’t get any easier, ____. But I just want you to know that I love you… We all love you.”

With shaky breath and tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, you whisper, “I know.”

As Seokjin gets into the driver’s seat, you hand him an envelope. Seokjin has an inkling what it is, but he asks you anyway as he squints his eyes at you.

“What is that supposed to be?”

You push the envelope towards him a bit more, just humming, “It’s the last payment.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes as he presses the ignition. He doesn’t take the envelope, “Oh come on, Seokjin, just take it.”

“And for the nth time, you shouldn’t have to pay for something I willingly helped you out for. We’re siblings, for gods sake, ____.”

You lower your hands, setting the envelope on your lap. Eyes cast down you mumble, “I know that. I was able to sell a painting again after a long time and it felt good… But I already told you this before— I’d feel better if you just please take this.”

Seokjin lets out a sigh— usually he makes that sound when he’s already defeated.

“Please don’t tell me you’re giving me all the money you worked hard for,” Seokjin starts and you shake your head as soon as you heard the word all. “No, not at all, I— I had some saved up and the rest of it will be for rent.”

You look at Seokjin who still looks suspicious. You playfully roll your eyes and Seokjin sees you smile for the first time that night.

“I promise.”

Seokjin sets his eyes on the parking lot, placing his hands on the steering wheel, “Fine—” you squeal as soon as he gives in and you place the envelope in the glove compartment. “—but this is the last time, all right?”

“Yes sir, that’s the last of the payments,” you respond a tone higher than your usual. Seokjin chuckles as he sets the gear into reverse.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help moving some of your stuff?” Seokjin asks as you fasten your seatbelt.

“Not really, I think I can manage just fine.”

You expect Seokjin to be backing up the car right now, yet he remains unmoving. You chuckle.

“I’ll be fine, Seokjin. Movers will help me move some of the heavier stuff.”

“Listen, ____, I was beyond ecstatic when you told me you were moving out of… there. I just don’t understand why you need to move in somewhere else when you can just stay with me.”

“Seokjin—”

“And it’s not like you have any problems with money or anything, I mean, you are doing okay right?”

“I am,” you answer with a smirk.

“Yah, don’t give me that look, ____. I’m serious, I really don’t understand why you have to stay somewhere else.”

“I already told you. I don’t need a big apartment, I just need a place to sleep. And isn’t it weird if we live together— people are going to think we’re co-dependent.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off, “And I know what you’re going to ask next. Why did I choose to move in an apartment on the other side of the city? And I already told you a dozen times— I need to learn how to be on my own for real this time. And it’s much cheaper compared to all the other apartments in the city center, I mean— have you seen Seoul?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, woman. Sure yeah, valid, but have you met your neighbors?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask confidently.

“Well, they could be an ax killer or something—”

“Or they could just be an ordinary person with a normal life, Seokjin.” You laugh at your brother’s catastrophic thoughts. You completely understand where he’s coming from— he just wants to protect you.

“That’s only hypothetical,” Seokjin snarks as he stops at a stoplight. You lay your hand on top of his on the console.

“I know you’re worried about me—”

“I am, you brat.”

“And I will forever be grateful… but I need to do this,” you reply calmly, almost like you were whispering. “I hope you understand.”

“I’m trying, ____. It’s not exactly easy to do that when you’re not giving me the grace to understand exactly why you need to do this… when you can just stay with me. The house is too big. And the cafe is right next door!”

“And we will get to that someday… but not right now, hm?” Seokjin sighs in defeat. “I will call you every single night if that will make you feel better.”

“Yah, those kinds of things have to come from the heart, not because you’re forced to do it just to appease me.”

“I’m not… I actually really want to talk to my little brother every day,” you tease as Seokjin scoffs.

“Fine, you have to call me every day, okay? Promise?”

You grin wide, “I promise.”

“And I am not your little brother, we’re only 5 months apart.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m older than you.”

Seokjin grumbles under his breath but a smirk was on his lips, “And you’re always going to be my brat.”

The coffee shop you and Seokjin run together has been passed down by your parents. Ever since Seokjin could utter the word, “coffee,” everyone in the family knew he was destined to manage the coffee chains. Even though you were technically the older one, your parents were more lenient and allowed you to forge your own path. Seokjin understood that and he wouldn’t have it any other way despite your pleas to help him with all the major business work. It has been a few years since the original coffee shop in Seongsu-dong expanded into different branches across Seoul. When you flew back from New York, you immediately put up your own artist studio right beside the cafe. Seokjin even pitched in on the idea of a gallery where people can choose to paint while drinking their favorite latte. Four years later, people now come for the art displays and occasional indie music performances, at times poetry nights.

Four years later, you were also making a name for yourself as an artist. Seokjin once told you you were a jack of all trades, master of everything because you were crafty with your hands— painting, dress-making, cooking. And you brush him off every single time.

Because if anything, one of your greatest weaknesses was believing whether or not you were good enough for anything or anyone.

Seokjin opens the door for you as you both enter the coffee shop. As soon as you come in, you are greeted by your long-time friends— Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin. You met Taehyung and Jimin in New York because you were all fine arts students. Hoseok came into the picture as Taehyung’s lover not long after the three of you came back home to Seoul.

“There she is, our little star,” Taehyung greets you with his signature boxy smile. His arms are wide open, ready to engulf you in a tight embrace. Jimin and Hoseok follow suit, each with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s about time you show your pretty face, ____. It’s been ages since we last saw you,” Jimin quips.

“But I text and call you guys almost every day,” you defend. Hoseok pushes a plate of strawberry cake towards you and adds, “It’s not the same as seeing you in the flesh, ____. You look amazing, as always.”

“Thank you, Hobi. That’s reassuring, considering the fact that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

“Too many commissions?” Jimin asks.

“More than that, the gallery show at Seojung Art is in six months, and I still haven’t started on my piece.”

“Do you already know what you’re going to create?” Taehyung asks as he takes a bite of his croissant.

“That’s the problem… inspiration isn’t coming. It’s a bother,” a frown now evident across your face. Jimin holds your hand.

“You know you’re really talented, right, ____? You’ll pull through.”

“Thanks, Jiminie,” you smile at him.

“Maybe one of the customers’ paintings here could ignite a spark?” Taehyung starts. “I mean, sometimes the best kind of inspiration hits when you least expect it.”

“You’re right. I’ll sleep on it tonight… if I do get to sleep,” you chuckle, but they all know it’s more than that.

Seokjin comes back to the table with your hot mint tea— a drink that almost always helps you fall asleep.

“What’s with the dead atmosphere, guys? It’s been a while since we all got together like this and you’re all moping,” Seokjin jokes. He has always been the life of the party contrary to his very introverted nature.

“It really is a good night, isn’t it?” Taehyung replies as he eats up the last bit of his pastry. “Hoseok and I actually enjoyed the night breeze on the way here because it was just the right amount of chilly.”

“Always the romantic, this one,” Hoseok laughs.

Jimin carefully watches you as you sip your tea in silence. “Are you all settled to move in tomorrow, ____? Do you need help?”

“I’ll be fine, Jimin. I don't have as much stuff to pack, anyway.”

“Oh yeah that’s right, tomorrow’s moving day. Are you excited?” Taehyung jumps a bit on his seat, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Not really, I mean, it’s going to be pretty boring moving stuff around, don’t you think?”

“But it’s also the start of a new beginning.” Taehyung supplies.

You smile after taking a bite of the cake, “That is very true.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it. He changes his mind anyway, “Her neighbors don’t own axes or something, right Taehyung?”

Taehyung giggles, “I don’t know, hyung, It’s not like I went into every apartment on her floor.”

Seokjin turns pale and Taehyung laughs. Taehyung used to live on the same floor as the one you’re about to move into— before he moved in with Hoseok.

“Seokjin is so worried about the neightbors that he couldn’t stop ranting about it on the way here,” you chuckle. “But as I told him, I’ll be fine.” You placed emphasis on the word fine as you held Seokjin’s hand for reassurance under the table.

“Are you telling that to us or to yourself?” Seokjin starts. He has a way of being so upfront with you that there were moments when it became the cause of your fights and misunderstandings. Seokjin sometimes does not know when to stop, yet you know he always means well. You love and dislike him for it at the same time.

“Hyung…” Jimin readily interjects.

“It’s okay, Jimin…” you put your fork down and paused before looking at Seokjin. “I am telling all of you and myself… that I will be fine. I am honestly really thankful that you’re all here now to keep me company.”

You’ve been saying the word “fine” and “okay” a whole lot that night— you started to doubt if you really are or if Seokjin was right— that you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.

“Are you holding up okay, noona?” Hoseok asks, worried.

“Of course—” you take a sharp exhale before continuing, “It also means that time is helping me get past it. And I am okay with that.”

None of your friends respond.

“We love you always, ____. You’ll always have us.” Taehyung said.

“Happy birthday, noona,” Jimin smiles.

Your friends sing you their greetings as Hoseok brings out their surprise birthday cake and flowers. As you try not to cry at their gesture, you try to give them the most genuine smile you can muster. Yet in your heart, you know it’s not enough to convince them. Or yourself.

♥ “You do not get to tell me shit because I have done everything for you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Jeongguk—”

“And yet you still came here with me. If you are really that resentful about moving here… about marrying me— then why did you stay? Why are you still here?”

“I never said I resented you.”

“Yeah? Well it feels like it. You make me feel like shit whenever I can’t help you! God I— you know what? I’m done. I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“W-what do you mean you can’t—”

“—I’m saying we should end this. I want a divorce.”

Yoongi gently shakes Jeongguk’s shoulder to wake him up. “We’re almost landing, Jeongguk-ah,” he whispers.

Jeongguk slightly jerks from his sleep. His body feels heavy, his brain foggy but at the same time trying to recover from the dream he just had.

“It’s the same dream again, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks, knuckles turning white as he holds on to the arm rests. Turbulence has always been a bitch— well, at least to Yoongi. Jeongguk doesn’t answer him; instead, he looks out the plane window, thinking the plane couldn’t land fast enough.

“You keep calling out for her, you know? When you dream, I mean. Did you know that?”

That gets Jeongguk’s attention. He bites down on his lip ring before shaking his head, “No. I didn’t know.”

From baggage claim until Jeongguk and Yoongi exit through arrivals, there has been nothing but silence. Yoongi notices how Jeongguk’s hands couldn’t keep still: he’d take them in and out of his pockets. As they walk to the car that awaits them, Yoongi asks once more— “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?

Jeongguk lets out a long breath before looking at his best friend: “I will be.”

“This is the last of the boxes, ma’am.” One of the movers holds a medium-sized box. “Where do you want me to put it?”

You get up from one of the boxes you were opening, “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“I just need you to sign one more thing before we wrap up.”

“Of course,” you take the pen and sign on the dotted line.

“Have a good day,” The movers gave you a small bow before they went on their way. Looking around the room, you let out a sigh. The apartment is bigger than you initially thought but you are happy about that. There’s an extra room spacious enough to set up a painting studio.

Your eyes land on the last box that was given to you by the mover. Inside it are memories that you don’t feel ready to touch just yet. Despite everything else scattered around your room, you pick up the box and shove it into the back corner of your closet. Maybe someday you’ll have the heart to open it again, but right now, it stays out of sight.

You were about to start opening one of the other boxes when a soft, melodic voice comes up behind you— “Hey baby.”

You turn around quickly, your heart and body naturally gravitating to the owner of the voice: Kim Woosung, your boyfriend.

“Hi,” you softly respond, heart happy upon seeing your boyfriend’s smile. He sets the take-out bags down to hug you. Woosung then gives you a long kiss on your forehead, mumbling, “I missed you.”

You don’t lift your eyes to meet his right away, but your hands reach out for his as he cradles your face. When you finally look at him, he gives you that warm smile you have always loved. With Woosung, there is peace, the kind that secures your heart. As he aligns his forehead with yours, you feel all your worries melt away.

With Woosung, everything feels safe, so right.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Woosung apologizes. You shake your head gently and wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re just in time.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook fic #bts jungkook #bts fanfiction #woosung x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook divorce au #jungkook fanfic #childhood friends #divorce au #mwillow: last to know

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fandom-geek17 · 1 year ago

Text

Destined For More - Chapter 2

Neteyam x Omatikaya!Reader

Synopsis: Being a close family friend of the Sully's, and Kiri's best friend, it was hard to be around Neteyam and not fall in love with him. Supressing those feelings were even harder, especially when his parents start pressuring him about finding a mate...

Rating: E MINORS DNI🔞🔞

Tags: Friends to lovers! Eventual smut! Semi public smut! P in V smut, Reader has a name, no use of Y/N

Vocabulary: Marui (tent, pod), skxawng (moron), paskalin (sweet berry, term of endearment), syulang (flower)

Ages: Neteyam (21), reader (20), Kiri (20), Lo'ak (19), Tuk (13)

Can also be read on AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Tagging: @suinhee @riatesullironalite @luvteyams @criticallybella @oceanstar19 @wiseheartzombie

Creating new beads seemed to have become your new favorite pastime. It was easy, time consuming and kept you from overthinking. Feeling like a robot, your hand repeated the practiced movements of carving out a small piece of wood before hollowing it and smoothing the edges. All the finished beads were tossed into a pile at your feet to be painted later. Over and over again. Think, carve, hollow, think, toss, repeat.

But the monotonous task could only distract you so much. The feelings of hurt and betrayal still lingered. Feelings that felt both deserved and unwarranted at the same time. How was that even possible? Every time Neteyam’s name came up in any conversation, your heart sank and you retreated to a corner for some mindless task. Mo’at didn’t directly question when you left Kiri and the others to deal with patients completely, only watching you with a pensive look. It’s not like you didn’t contribute. You had gathered more supplies and made more medicine than Mo’at could use up in an entire year. You just didn’t want anyone coming in for help to become the victim of your bad mood.

Deep down, you knew that it wasn’t fair to be angry with Neteyam. This wasn’t his choice. He couldn’t control his duty to find a mate anymore than he could control his feelings for you. Or rather, lack of feelings. Maybe you were more mad at yourself for letting this one-sided crush go on for as long as it did. Mad that you let yourself dream about him to the point that you fell in love when you shouldn’t have. Now you had to deal with the consequences.

In a way, maybe it was a good thing that he was to find a mate… Maybe then you could finally move on. Seeing him with someone else, happy and content would undoubtedly be the final stab to your heart. If you moved on too, it would be easier. If Neteyam was to court someone, maybe you should too. You were of age, after all. But your parents had never pressed the issue and you had never brought it up. You had been too busy drooling over your best friend’s brother in secret.

Though the thought of courting anyone right now hurt. It wouldn’t be fair to them or to you. Why court someone when your feelings laid elsewhere?

So, the best thing you could do was probably to give yourself the space you needed to process everything and hopefully come out on top in time for his wedding ceremony. Wedding ceremony… Ugh! The very thought made you sick. But there was no way you could avoid going, you were too close to his family.

“What’s up, Emmy?” Lo’ak’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. He stepped into your family’s marui, looking around with a smirk. “Are you trying to break a world record for the most beads made in one day?”

You snorted, but didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. He couldn’t see the dried tears on your cheeks! Lo’ak and sensitivity did not mix, he’d just be all awkward about it.

“You skxawng” Kiri admonished, stepping into the tent after her brother, Spider following close behind. She gave her brother a smack across the back of his head, making him yelp in pain.

“Ow!” he cried, rubbing the area. “What was that for?”

“For being you” Kiri responded firmly and sat down next to you, careful to not disturb the ever-growing pile of beads. “How are you feeling today?” she asked you.

You dared a small glance at your best friend. Her eyes were full of understanding. Even though you hadn’t explicitly told your best friend what was bothering you, Kiri seemed to sense everything concerning you, just like she could sense almost everything else. “I’m fine” you lied immediately.

Kiri cocked her head to the side, without a doubt taking in your tear-stricken face. She then turned to her brother and Spider. “Give us a moment.” Lo’ak grumbled something under his breath, but Spider gave you a look that could only be described as sympathetic before dragging Lo’ak out of the marui. Kiri turned back towards you. She tucked a couple of braids behind your ear in a soothing gesture she had undoubtedly picked up from her mother. “I know something is bothering you. But I don’t want to pressure you into talking about it until you’re ready.”

A small sniff escaped you. You sneaked a small peek at Kiri, hoping for anything but pity on her face. But there was mostly understanding. “Thank you, Kiri” you murmured.

Your best friend wrapped her arms around you, placing your head on her shoulder. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes. Even though you enjoyed, and really needed, the comfort, in a way it felt weird to accept comfort from her, given that it was her brother you were secretly brooding over. Not that you felt like Kiri would make such a huge deal over you being in love with her brother, per say. She was a very understanding person. The weird part was you having kept your feelings a secret for so long that it almost felt like a betrayal.

“What we wanted to ask you” Kiri began, stroking your hair. “Is if you wanted to join us later after dinner. Me, Lo’ak and Spider were thinking about going to the far side of the mountains, doing some exploring, just have some fun.”

You sighed… You could use the distraction, but the thought of faking happiness around other people was physically exhausting. “I don’t know, Kiri…”

“I won’t force you, I promise. But you could use the time outside, doing something else than foraging.”

“I’ll think about it” you answered.

And think about it, you did. Over and over again until your head spun around. Pulled between wanting to do something fun and productive to distract yourself and staying home to escape reality. You liked your friends, loved them even, but you had never been good at feigning happiness or the want to go out all the time. Solitude had always been you preferred escape. Being around large crowds and being social for so long could be draining. Even more so when you weren’t feeling well…

By the time dinner started, you had all but decided to decline their offer to hang out. Normally you would have said yes without thinking, but today was just not a good day. Kiri was carefully eyeing you from across the group. But meeting her eyes turned out to be an almost impossible task as she sat next to Neteyam. He was watching you too, his golden orbs flicking between you and his dinner.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned to your parents, trying to keep up with and engage with their conversation. But all you really wanted to do was run away to the safety of your marui. Your father was saying something about fishing, about how the fish had started to migrate. You listened to him babble on without much interest.

When the clan started to disperse, Kiri gave you a hopeful smile. But all you could do was to shake your head slightly and follow your parents towards your home. She gave you a nod in return before following her own family.

But when you reached your family’s marui, you instinctively stopped. “Are you not coming, paskalin?” your mother asked, a crease in her forehead. Of course, they had noticed your behavior. And you had told them in broad strokes what was going on. Told your mother, at least. But you hadn’t told them that it was Neteyam you were crying over. If your parents knew, then it was only a matter of time before Jake and Neytiri knew. And then Neteyam would know and that would be a disaster. The looks of pity, or worse disgust, when he would have to reject you were not something you wanted to experience.

“I will soon” you promised. “I just want to go for a quick walk.”

Your mother nodded and followed your father inside. Turning around, you walked away from the pods towards a quieter part of the village. Birds were singing in the trees when you arrived. The wind breezed through the trees. It was so peaceful, and helped to clear your spiraling mind.

But the peace and quiet didn’t last for long. A group of young men busted through the clearing, talking loudly, laughing, slapping each other on the backs. You recognized most of them as young warriors around your age. They hadn’t noticed you standing under a tree, too preoccupied with their conversation. A small smile played on your lips as you watched them. You wanted to have fun like that, if you could just get out of your own stupid head…

Though the smile vanished when you saw the object of your distress laughing among the men. Your heart constricted when Neteyam noticed you, his laugh faltering slightly. You turned your head away, blinking furiously to not let any emotion escape. His friend whispered something to him, but he just gave them a smile, clapping him on the back.

The group walked ahead, but Neteyam stayed behind, approaching you with a small smile. “Hey” he said, reaching out a hand to touch your shoulder. His touch was all warm, calming the storm inside you. Despite knowing better, you leaned into the touch and suddenly, his arms were around you. The hug was everything you needed, calming every nervous thought inside your head. The voice telling you to back off only got quieter and quieter. How was it possible that he could cause you so much turmoil and calmness at the same time?

“What was that for?” you asked quietly when he stepped back.

Neteyam shrugged. “You haven’t been yourself lately, and you looked really sad so I thought you could use a hug…”

“I haven’t been myself?” you questioned, looking down at your feet as you crossed your arms. The pity in his voice was maddening. You hated being pitied.

“Not really, no.” His voice sounded more nervous now. “You’re usually so happy. Did something happen?”

“No.” You cleared your throat. A clear lie, but he couldn’t know that. “Nothing’s happened.”

He sighed, placing his hand on your shoulder. His hand slowly travelled up your shoulder to the base of your neck, leaving a trail of fire. “I have to meet the guys, but I was hoping we could have a moment to talk soon.”

Your eyes carefully met his. He looked so hopeful it almost made you want to hope. “Talk about what?” you asked carefully.

He took a small step closer you, forcing you to crane your neck to keep looking at him. The air suddenly seemed thick, your breathing deepening. “About everything that’s going on. My parents are practically nagging me with a new name every day…”

Suddenly, your sadness turned to anger. Did he really consider this such an issue? Having women throw themselves at his feet? Having the entire clan gossiping about the fact that the son of the olo’eyktan was ready for a mate? Oh, all the gossip you had heard both inside the healer’s tent and outside. The warrior talking about how women constantly approached Neteyam, young women talking about how they had begged their parents to be able to put themselves forward as a match. That last one really made you scoff. As if anyone had the right to decide whether or not their daughter could court or not.

No. No, you would not be his shoulder to cry on. Not like this. “Is it really that hard to have women throwing themselves at you?”

Neteyam seemed taken aback by your new, suddenly harsh tone. He took his hand off your shoulder. “It is when there’s only one I’m interested in and she doesn’t notice.”

You scoffed. “So why are you talking to me instead of her?” You started to walk backwards. “I promise you, Neteyam, I’m fine. Nothing’s happened to me. You have your friends to meet up with, and I have mine. I’m supposed to meet Kiri and the others. And I encourage you to find the woman of your desires and let her know you how you feel.”

“You know, I might just do that” Neteyam called after you as you walked away, a slight edge to his voice.

No more of this. No more of this self-pitying, self-consciousness and moping about. You were going to meet your friends and have a damn good time!

XXX

Neteyam had been so confused these past few weeks. It had been three weeks since his parents first brought up the prospect of him finding a mate. When they first did, his thoughts had immediately travelled to you. How could they not? You were everything, and he was like an insect drawn to your light. You were so kind and attentive, so beautiful with your braided hair, your tall body with voluptuous hips and breasts that were covered with the most intricate pieces of clothing. He sometimes felt a bit guilty for thinking of his sister’s best friend in that way. But the mind had a mind of its own, especially when in love.

He would have fallen for you regardless, but your closeness to Kiri definitely helped. Growing up together, he quickly learned how dedicated you were to your healing skills, and interest in medicine. How kind you were to others, even when the large crowds in the healing tent visibly exhausted you. He loved how you put so much care and effort into everything you did.

When Jake and Neytiri had brought up a mate, he had told them that he understood that the time had come but that he wanted to do the searching himself, and not have people pressure him or any clan member into any rash decisions. Of course, that hadn’t stopped them from bringing up a new girl every day, hoping Neteyam would catch an interest. But he had no interest in them, only you.

And it hurt that every time he had tried to approach you, you had pulled away, suddenly busy with anything other than him.

You had told him that whoever he chose would surely make a great tsahík. You would make a great tsahík. You had everything required. The only thing missing was a belief in yourself and your connection to Eywa. One time, years ago, you had said that you felt like your connection to the great mother was lackluster. Neteyam couldn’t believe that even if he wanted to. Someone with your connection to the earth had to have a deep connection to Eywa. How else would you know so intuitively how to turn plants into medicine and always knew what to do for the people unless Eywa guided your hand. You only needed some guidance to learn how to interpret the signs.

He knew you liked him, but did you like him? The signs had been so mixed over the years. Sometimes you treated him like one in the group, a friend like any other. And then there was that day in the tent when Neteyam could swear the tension between you was electric. There had been several of those over the years, coming closer and closer together. Like that one time he had danced with you at the night of his friend’s wedding ceremony. Your movement had been flawless, for once so carefree. You had both been a bit drunk, dancing so close, smiling, twirling. He had felt brave then, letting his hands roam up and down your waist. Just when he was about to kiss you, you had excused yourself and then he hadn’t seen you for two days.

After you ran away angrily today, he had no choice but to follow his friends. It was what he had intended to do anyways, but maybe not with such a knot in his stomach. For weeks he had been trying to get a minute alone with you to finally find the courage to express his feelings, but you had avoided him as if he was riddled with disease. It’s not like he expected you to put yourself forward in a desperate manner he had witnessed from others, but a part of him had hoped for some kind of hint. Maybe you staying away was his hint. But if you truly did not feel anything for him, then why would you react with such anger and clear jealousy?

He should just ask you… Then he would get a true answer. He just hoped things would not get too weird if you rejected him… You had told him to find the one he wanted and show her, so he would show you.

He spent some time with the warriors, goofing around, competing at archery, talking shit. It was nice to have some time off from his duties, time to feel like a normal young adult. Usually, Lo’ak was the one who always got to have fun. Of course, the topic of his coming courtship came up. The guys loved talking about how Neteyam would leave a string of broken hearts behind him for them to heal. He couldn’t help but cringe at that. He didn’t really want them to take advantage of their disappointment.

He had already had to reject a couple of offers put forward by either the women themselves or by their parents. Their clear disappointment always stung, and he felt like a jerk. But he also couldn’t lie to himself and commit to anyone before knowing how you felt about him.

On his way back, he was met with a sight that was equally funny and exasperating. Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider standing by the riverside, covered from head to toe in mud.

“What have you guys been up to?” he asked, eyeing his siblings and friend up and down as they washed themselves somewhat clean.

“We were climbing and we all slipped on some mud” Kiri explained calmly, helping Spider to scrub some dirt from his locs.

“Bro, it was epic you should have seen it!” Lo’ak laughed. “Emmy fell first head on and we all thought she hurt herself but she did this crazy flip to catch herself and fell in the mud!”

Neteyam could feel his stomach constrict in worry. She wasn’t here with the rest of them! What if she did hurt herself? But before he could ask, Spider opened his mouth. “Kiri and I dove after her but by the time we made it down, she was just sitting in the mud laughing so hard and we all just kind of got into a mud fight.”

This didn’t really help his beating heart calm down. Where was she? “So why isn’t she with you guys?” Neteyam asked urgently, his eyes flitting between the others.

“Relax, bro” Lo’ak rolled his eyes in a way that made Neteyam want to strangle him just a little bit.

“She’s upstream” Kiri explained, pointing towards a cluster of trees. “She kinda got the worst of the mud so we gave her some privacy to clean up.” Without answering, Neteyam started to march towards where Kiri pointed. “Hey! Privacy applies to you to, Neteyam!”

Ignoring his sister partially, Neteyam moved on. Yes, privacy applied to him in the sense that he couldn’t just barge in on you if you were in some state of undress, but he also didn’t trust Lo’ak to judge whether you were injured in some way.

“Emreyìte?” he called, but no answer came. So he walked a bit more, looking for you in the distance.

Just when he was considering diving into the water to look for you, he spotted something cruising on the surface. There you were, floating in the water, ears below the surface, smiling a bit to yourself, eyes closed. It was the happiest he had seen you for weeks, well since he told you about his parents’ wishes. The fact that you had been sulking since then gave him some twisted sense of hope. But it wasn’t the smile on your face that made him blush. It was the sight of your breasts bobbing in the water. Your chest covering was nowhere to be found. When your arms moved in the water, it created ripples that caused your breasts to move with the current. Your nipples were pebbled in the cool night air, your tanhì glowing in intricate patterns. Beautiful, you were absolutely beautiful. Your words from earlier came flooding back, and he should look away, but Neteyam found himself unable to.

A twig snapped beneath his feet and your head immediately turned towards the sound. A shriek escaped your mouth at the sight of him.

“Neteyam?” you questioned, immediately sinking deeper into the water, covering yourself with your arms. “What are you doing here?”

It took a few seconds before Neteyam even realized you were talking to him, his mind too busy conjuring images of what he could do to let you know how he felt like you suggested. “Shit” he cursed, turning around to give you some sense of privacy. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to check on you, I head you fell down a cliff.”

You snorted behind him. “That’s the overstatement of the year. I’m fine, just filthy.” There was an edge to your voice that he didn’t like. Although, he couldn’t really blame you for being annoyed with him, he did just walk in on you bathing. But the edge in your voice also did other things to him. It was wrong, but his loincloth was getting tighter and tighter when all he could do imagining bending you over a rock, wanting to watch the water droplets run down your plush ass before burying himself in you completely. Again, it took him a second to realize that you were speaking. “My chest covering is lying by the grass, could you grab it for me? I think it’s too ruined to wear again but I need something on the way home.”

Careful to not look at you without permission, he fetched the covering, handing it over without looking. He could hear you emerging from the water. You mumbled a thanks, taking it from him.

“Are you sure that you’re not hurt?” Neteyam asked. When it came to you, he would never stop worrying. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, but whether it was from your half-naked proximity or him worrying about your wellbeing, he wasn’t sure.

“Yes” you sighed. “Don’t worry about me, it was a short fall.” The rustle of you putting your piece of clothing continued for a few seconds before he felt your hand on his shoulder. “You can turn around now.” Your touch was warm, and he wanted more, so much more. When he turned around, he couldn’t even be bothered to hide his erection. There wouldn’t really be anywhere to hide it, anyways. Instead, he took a small, tentative step forward, taking one of your braids between his fingers, enjoying the silky feeling. “I know they’re still dirty…”

“No” Neteyam whispered, his throat dry, voice thick with desire. Seeing you like this, wet, glowing tanhì, a sweet blush spreading across your cheeks, seemed to have destroyed the last of his willpower. “They’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

His hand moved from your braid to your jaw, cupping it. He looked into your eyes, finding a mix of emotions there. Nervousness, anticipation, but most of all longing. So much longing. His eyes flitted between your eyes and lips. Slowly, he leaned in. It felt like eternity, but when your lips eventually touched, a dam broke.

His arms were around you in an instant, your hands sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck. The water droplets on your body were cold, but your body was scorching as it pressed against his. His erection pressed into your stomach, creating a delicious friction that made him groan into the kiss. His lips moved over yours, possessive and demanding. You whimpered into the kiss, pulling him closer. Neteyam’s tongue ran over your bottom lip, and you immediately allowed him entrance. He had been with other women in the clan, but none that made him feel this electric.

Your tongues battled for dominance before Neteyam detached himself from you. He relished in your disappointed groan that turned into a moan when he started trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. Every inch of your skin would be covered in his kisses. Your skin was just as soft as he remembered from all the stolen touches over the years.

His hands roamed from your back, up your waist to grasp at your breast through the soiled covering. He could already feel your nipple hardening under his touch, making him bite down on your skin, eliciting a loud whimper from you.

“If this is already ruined” Neteyam started, running his finger over the cloth, straight over your nipple. “Are you still very fond of it?”

“Not really” you answered, a slight furrow between your brows.

“Good” Neteyam answered, grasping at the fabric and ripping it like it was nothing. Your audible gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he latched onto you, using the opportunity to plunge his tongue into your mouth. Your muffled gasp turned into a moan as he played with your nipples, rolling it between his finger.

Eywa, he was rock hard, pushing up against you stomach. He needed everything you’d give him. Years of yearning and fantasizing made him feel reckless, even more so at the realization that you, the real you, couldn’t even compare to his fantasies.

Taking hold of your waist, Neteyam backed up against a nearby tree, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. This was better, this was so much better! Your entire weight resting on his dick, you squirming for friction, whimpering with each movement of your hips. He couldn’t help but lick a stripe up your breast. Judging by your reaction, it was his best idea yet. So, he continued, alternating between licking, sucking and nipping with some expertise. He had been with other women, but none better with you, they couldn’t even compare. He was only grateful for the experience now, so he knew how to please you now. Of course everyone was different, but at least he had a baseline to work off of and adjust by your reactions.

Your mouth had moved from his, pressing kisses to his cheek, jaw and down the column of his neck. Hesitant at first, but then more assertive, bolder. Your tongue licked at his pulse point, making him crane his neck with a groan, giving you better access. Your hands played with his braids for a moment before trailing over his shoulders and upper back. You exploring his body and surely sucking a hickey onto his neck was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Or maybe inside you. Yeah, definitely inside you, but he wouldn’t pressure you for that right now.

Instead, he trailed his finger along the hem of your loincloth. Your mouth broke from his neck, looking into his eyes. Fuck you were so beautiful, swollen lips, blown pupils, glowing tanhì, small water droplets decorating your skin. An inch of his finger travelled inside your loincloth, but he stopped there, searching your eyes for consent.

When you nodded with a small smile, he swiftly untied your loincloth, slipping his fingers inside. Warm, wet heat engulfed his fingers instantly, you were absolutely drenched. “Fuck, this all for me?” he breathed, dragging his finger up your slit.

A shiver coarsed through you as you nodded eagerly. Neteyam smirked at your reaction, his finger stopping to circle your clit. As he massaged the small button, your moans grew louder. Sure, the stream offered some soundproofing, but there was no way the other wouldn’t be able to hear the obvious sounds of pleasure coming from you.

“Shh…” Neteyam cooed, burying his nose between your breasts. “We don’t want the others to hear.”

You jerked your head, nodding, throwing your head back in quiet ecstasy. Neteyam pressed kisses all over your breasts as his fingers dipped lower, seeking more of your glorious heat. Gently, he pressed a finger inside you and his entire body shivered with arousal. So warm, so wet, your deep breaths and whimpers filling his ear, your sweet, earthy scent invading his senses. This was heaven, he was sure, there was nothing better than this. He had been drawn to you like a magnet most of his life, and there was no way he was ever going to let you go now.

He moved his finger in and out of you, pressing against that sweet spongy spot. Your hips jerked in rhythm with his hand, seeking the friction with desperation. His mouth sought yours, drowning your moans with his kisses. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pressing as close to his body as possible. The palm of his hand pressed against your clit, making you cry out. He pressed his mouth against yours even harder, pressing his tongue into your mouth. You were close, he could feel it in the way you clamped down on him. He angled his hand against you just a little to reach better, and your body shivered.

“That’s it, syulang” Neteyam murmured against your mouth, feeling you pulse. “Come for me!”

He could feel you tumble over the edge, contracting around his finger, body shaking, cries swallowed by his mouth. You were so warm against him, pressing down on his erection. Warm liquid gushed from you, coating his hand. So perfect, you were so perfect! You looked at him with such warm softness it made his insides melt. This was how he always wanted to spend his time, coaxing your pleasure, being on the receiving end of your warm gaze.

When the aftershocks wore off, your hand carefully reached for his groin, but before you could reach, he put his hand over yours to stop the movement. “Not now, syulang” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your nose. “The others will wonder where we are…”

“Are you sure?” you asked, pressing your forehead against his.

Neteyam couldn’t help but smile at you, always so caring, even if you didn’t realize it. “I’m sure.” He gently pushed at your hip. “Come on, let’s go.”

XXX

Being the skilled crafter that you were, you quickly used some vine to make the destroyed chest covering appear whole enough for you to sneak past the others, fighting the blush spreading across your face and neck. Kiri’s eyes followed you like a bird of prey. Lo’ak and Spider seemed clueless like always.

You barely slept that night, your mind going over every small detail of what happened. It was a bit confusing going from feeling so sad about Neteyam to feeling on cloud nine. He had been so attentive, so caring, making you orgasm with such expertise. A part of you felt elated, like you finally had confirmation of everything you had always hoped he’d feel for you. But the louder part of your brain advised caution. Before you let your heart do a 180, you had to speak to him, first thing in the morning.

So, you tossed and turned a little bit more before swinging your legs off the hammock at first light. The village had barely come to life yet, buy you knew Neteyam would be awake. He was always the first one to awake.

The thoughts swirled in your head. What did he think of this entire thing? Was this a confirmation of his feelings, or were you just one more of the women he’d spent time with over the years to find some stress relief?

Thankfully, you reached the Sully’s marui before you could overthink again. Voices could be heard from the inside and you immediately recognized one of them as Neytiri.

“Nulan is an excellent hunter and has a fine relationship with Eywa” Neytiri said, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

“She’s a good choice, son” Jake said from behind the tent flap.

Suddenly it felt like someone had filled your entire body with rocks and lava. Everything felt so heavy, so painful, betrayal seeping through your entire system. What the fuck?

#avatar #avatar the way of water #the way of water #atwow #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #smut #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #Neteyam lives #canon divergence #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #swedishlitteowl

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hoedamn-eron · 10 months ago

Text

baby, please - part 21

It's time.

Warnings: Long, (looooong) chapter. Labour (all labour is different for each person!). Hospitals, doctors. Medical jargon again, I researched as much as I could and from what I remember from my own birth experience, but may be inaccurate (I am from the UK, so it will probably be different than the US). A little angsty, but it's fine. Reader calls her friends 'guys' but it's used in a group setting. Not proofread at all, because it was huge, so there will be mistakes. Some swearing. Word count: 5,414 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Part 20 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 22

Apologies again that this is 1 whole day late!

You’d been…busy.

You had needed to keep your mind off of Santiago, because if not, you would just sit and cry all day (which made you feel extra pathetic, and you were not pathetic). So you had dived headfirst into finishing decorating, and unpacking, your house, and getting it ready for your babies.

And even though you had taken some paid PTO to get a head start on your maternity leave, you’d found yourself checking your emails (again, just for something to do). You’d somehow managed to get involved in some feedback for the most recent marketing launch, signing off on some final designs and helping out the team with some final bits and pieces.

Your friends (and one surprising day, Emily) have turned up at your house under the guise of helping you out with the house and shower you and your babies with more gifts.

But you know they were there to check on you and make sure you hadn’t had a breakdown.

So yes…you’d been busy. And you should probably start taking it easy, since you’ve started cramping for a few days. Although now they’re starting to hurt.

Jennifer and Dr Montgomery had both said that you were carrying two babies that were very quickly going to run out of room, and with your placenta issue, you were bound to feel aches and pains, so it wasn’t abnormal. Uncomfortable, yes, but not unusual. You just needed to relax, and you will. Eventually, but today wasn’t the day, because your new mirror had just been delivered and you’d roped your friends into helping you lug it up your stairs.

“Why did you get one so big?” Beth asked, huffing as she and Courtney took a break just outside the nursery.

“It was cute,” you say. “And the frame is nice. It adds to the blank wall in my bedroom.”

“It’s not a hanging mirror, is it?” Courtney asked, just as out of breath as Beth.

You shake your head. “No, it’s a standing mirror, it leans.”

“Oh good, I was debating having to call Andy.”

“Do you guys want takeout?” Gabrielle asked, suddenly appearing behind you all. She was looking at her phone, typing away. “I’ve managed to convince Matthew to watch the kids a little longer.”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Let’s just get this mirror in here first,” said Beth, before counting down again for her and Courtney to heave the mirror into your bedroom.

After a few more choice words thrown at each other, and the mirror finally in place in your bedroom (not smashed to smithereens, no matter how many times Beth threatened to demolish it), you all decide on Chinese for takeout. Once the food arrives, you settle at your dining table, dividing the food between the four of you.

You wince again as another twinge in your abdomen causes another wave of pain flows through you. You take a few deep breathes until it passes, and you turn back to your food. Your friends haven’t noticed, their conversation flowing as if nothing had happened.

Until Courtney asked how you were doing.

You shrug, digging around your food. “So-so.”

“Have you heard nothing from him? At all?” Beth asks.

You shake your head, not looking up from pushing your food around with your fork. “Nope. I don’t really think I want to, either.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence before Gabrielle bites her lip, then clears her throat lightly. “I uh…I heard from Ben that he’s leaving for South America in a few days.”

You look up at her, not sure how to feel, or what to say. You settle on an, “Oh.”

“Ben didn’t say where, he was messaging to check up on you, mostly,” Gabrielle says.

You shake your head, suddenly not feeling so hungry. You place your food on the table. “He can do what he wants, he made it perfectly clear what he wanted out of this.”

“I’m sorry this has happened to you,” said Beth, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze.

You give her a sad smile. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” replied Courtney firmly. “It was a shitty thing for him to do to you.”

You give her a small grin. “I mean, yeah, it was a shitty thing, but he’s entitled to his own opinion. I’m not going to force him to do something he doesn’t want to.”

Your friends go quiet at they merely stare at you, mixture of sadness and anger on their faces. You feel a warmth flow through you at your friends. You appreciated them so much, how protective they were of you, how you know that you wouldn’t be truly alone in this, that they were your chosen family, and they were your chosen family for a reason.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, giving Beth’s hand a squeeze back before pulling away. “Really. I’ll be the best mom these babies deserve.”

“And they’ll have the best aunties,” said Gabrielle, giving you a smile.

“She’s right,” said Courtney, pointing at Gabrielle then at yourself, giving you a look.

“We know what you’re like, and we don’t want you to think that you’re bothering us if you ask for help,” said Beth. “Or call us if you just need to have a talk. Or a meltdown. Or anything.”

“And one of us will take you to the hospital next week,” said Courtney firmly. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“And we’ll be there with you when your babies come into the world,” said Gabrielle.

Beth nodded in agreement. You sucked in your lips as you felt the tears flood your eyes, and you nod, looking down. You hear the shuffle of chairs and then you’re suddenly surrounded by a warm hug from your friends, and you grip onto them tightly, the warm feeling of love and companionship continuing to flow through you.

You give a small laugh before pushing them away. “Come on, you guys. You know everything is making me cry nowadays, don’t become another reason.”

They adhere to you eventually, and you continue to eat your takeout together. They offer to help clean up, but you usher them out the door, since it was getting late, and they had to leave you alone at some point. With a few good-natured grumbles, your friends eventually leave, with promises to check up on you again tomorrow. You roll your eyes but wave at them from your front door as they drive away.

You go into your house and close the door behind you, sighing as you lean against it. You stroke your bump, smiling at the swift kick you receive to the palm of your hand. It’s as if they knew exactly where you were. You make your way to your kitchen-dining room, and clear up the takeout containers, putting the leftovers in the fridge. You wash the plates, and when you put the last plate in your draining board, you let out a sharp gasp as another cramp hits you.

You lean against the counter, taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Okay,” you say after the pain subsides. You rub at your bump, feeling how tense it was. “I hear you. I’ll take it easy. I’ll go to bed.”

You check again that your windows and doors are locked before you turn your lights off and make your way upstairs. You walk into your bedroom and into your en suite bathroom, before washing your face and brushing your teeth. You change into your comfiest pyjamas and settle into your bed, sighing in bliss at the feeling of the fresh sheets you’d placed on that afternoon. You stroke at your bump again, wishing your twins a goodnight, before you turn off the bedside light.

You’re exhausted, and the last week was catching up with you. It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep.

However, you wake up suddenly, groaning in pain, not feeling at all rested. You immediately curl in on yourself, your hands wrapping around your bump as the pain spreads through to your back. You try and breathe through it, but you find yourself gritting your teeth and cursing loudly. You shake your head, tears filling your eyes and threatening to spill over.

You couldn’t ignore the pains now, you needed to go to the hospital. You wait a few moments, the pain calming again as you slowly sit up, trying to gather your thoughts. You take a look at your phone, seeing that it was nearly 4am. You stand, a little wobbly on your feet, and turn on your lamp. You make your way to your bathroom again, throwing some cold water onto your face.

You look at yourself in the mirror as you pat your face dry with a hand towel. You look a little flushed. And...your bump has dropped. It's definitely dropped.

Holy shit. Maybe they weren’t just cramps from overdoing it.

You practically run to your phone as you call the hospital, then asking to be put through to labour and delivery.

“Hi, yes,” you say as a man picks up, and you quickly introduce yourself. “I’m...I’ve been booked in for a C-section next week but...but I think I've started labour.”

You let him know how Dr Montgomery had diagnosed you with placenta previa, and how for the past few days you’d been feeling tightenings, and that the cramps had gotten worse. You were advised to come in as soon as possible. You swallow back the urge to burst into tears as you thank the man over the phone before you hang up. You stare at your phone for a moment, your breathing a little strained as you try to process what was happening.

You might be in labour. Your babies might be here in the next day.

You feel sick. What do you do now? Were you even ready for this?

You mentally slap yourself. It’s a bit too late for that. You have to be ready!

You take a few steadying breaths, before making a note of the time you woke up as you make your way back into the bathroom. You make yourself look somewhat presentable and you go to change into some comfortable, all the while keeping an eye on the time in case another contraction (because they must be contractions) comes along.

You’d already packed your hospital bags in preparation for next week and you thank whatever Gods are looking down on you for having them ready for now.

You call a cab and wait patiently (or impatiently) for it to arrive. You can’t call your friends now, it’s far too early in the morning, and you’ve been relying on them for a while, no matter how many times they tell you that they’re happy to help. You'll update them once you’re in the hospital and settled in.

You go over your things one final time, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything as your Uber turns up. After explaining to your driver, he helps you with your hospital bags as you climb into the car, another contraction (because really, that’s what they are, you have to accept it now) overcomes you. You check the time on your phone as you breathe through it.

Fifteen minutes had passed since your last contraction.

That was a very short amount of time.

You time it as your driver pulls away, making the journey to the hospital. It wasn’t a long contraction, around thirty seconds, so you make a note of it for when you arrived at the hospital (which, by the speed you were going at, won’t take too long – the driver must be scared you’ll give birth in the back of your car).

You make it to the hospital, where the driver very kindly takes you and your bags to check in, where a nurse quickly prompts you into a wheelchair. You thank your driver again before he leaves, fully intending to give him a great tip.

You rattle off your timings for contractions to the nurse pushing your wheelchair, where she said she would make a note of it on your chart for Dr Montgomery. You thanked her, before she brought you to your room, getting you all set up.

After being examined by more doctors, and meeting the labour team, you were informed that it might be best to settle you in for monitoring and have Dr Montgomery talk you through the next steps. You were settled into your room and strapped up to all sorts of machines when Dr Montgomery came in, a clipboard in her hand. She grins at you from your place in the bed. “Couldn’t wait until next week, huh?”

You give a laugh. “Well, I could, but my kids had other ideas.”

“Well, you’re all checked out, and we think it’s best that we move your C-section forward, so we can see if we can organise one for you today. Since you’re not at 37 weeks, your babies may need to stay in the NICU for a few days, but we’ll monitor them, see how they do.” She looks at your chart before glancing around the room. “Santiago not joining us?”

You tense at her question, before awkwardly clearing your throat. “Uh…no. No, he won’t be.” You give a light shrug. “It didn’t work out…for him.”

“Oh,” said Dr Montgomery, before she gives you a sympathetic smile. “Well, these things happen. You won’t be the first single mother to come here, I can assure you.”

You feel a pain in your chest, and your throat close up as tears flood your eyes. You don’t know what to say, so you nod at her.

After she checks over your monitors, she tells you that she’ll go and get you booked in for your C-section as soon as possible, and gives you some drugs to slow down your contractions, in case she couldn’t get you sorted for another day. She gives you some words of encouragement and recommended you try and get some more sleep before she leaves your room.

There was a fat chance of you getting back to sleep after all of this.

You had packed a book that you had had for well over a year that you had every intention to read. There was no time like the present, since most of your time now would be taken up by two newborns.

And you eventually need to tell your friends that you were, in face, in labour.

You grab your phone, sending a quick message to your group chat. They wouldn’t see it until they woke up anyway, and it’s barely 5:30am.

Hey all. Just to let you all know, I’m in the hospital. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine! My C-section may be moved forward for today because the twins decided that it was time to make an appearance.

C: WHAT C: OMG C: WHAT

Your eyes widen as Courtney’s messages come flooding in.

Why are you awake!?

C: THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT C: ARE YOU OKAY? C: I AM SO EXCITED C: DO YOU NEED ME THERE? C: I don’t care what you say I’m coming anyway.

You laugh at her, telling her that she really didn’t need to, but she was already on the way. You send her your room details, before settling down to read your book, reading Courtney’s updates as she sends them over to you. You’re about half an hour into your book when Courtney shows up, bursting into your room, breathless, with her own overnight bag in her hands.

“How fast did you drive?” you ask her, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I slowed down for speed cameras,” she replied. Immediately making her way over to you and checking you over. “How are you? Are you okay? Are you in any pain?”

“They’ve given me some drugs to slow down my labour,” you reply. “Contractions are less painful now, and a little more spaced, so it’s definitely done the job.”

“Have you…have you contacted…”

You give her a look. “No, I haven’t.”

Courtney nods. “And your parents?”

You snort. “Same story.”

She gives another nod, more firm. “Okay. Just you and me then.”

It was nice, to have Courtney around. She took a few selfies with you and sent them into the group chat, and when Beth and Gabrielle finally saw the messages. You were immediately bombarded with questions of your wellbeing, when your C-section was planned for (that was still to be confirmed, but Dr Montgomery had been checking in with you throughout the day and your labour hadn’t progressed much further), and that they could be with you if you needed it.

But you were fine. Your nerves had settled, you were now even excited to meet your babies. Everything was running smoothly, and Dr Montgomery was due back in the hour to let you know if your C-section was happening tonight. You are a warrior, a fighter, and nothing will break your spirit. Whatever the outcome, you know that you will face it with courage and grace, for you are a woman, fierce and resilient, ready to conquer whatever lies ahead.

Courtney had stepped out to call Andy about half an hour ago, and was going to grab some food from the cafeteria. You had almost finished your book when the door to your room opened.

“Did you get lost coming back?” you joked, not looking up from your book.

With no answer, your brow furrows. You look up with the intention of asking Courtney if everything was okay, but your breathing stopped as you looked into the soulful and intense eyes of Santiago Garcia.

You slowly close your book, letting it fall to the bed. You had to be dreaming. You’ve fallen asleep reading your book, there was no way he was here. Not after your conversation last week, where he told you he didn’t want to be a dad, that he had no intention of being involved, how meeting you was practically a mistake.

“Hi,” he says, almost breathlessly.

You don’t know how to respond. Your mouth suddenly feels dry. You're sitting there, in the sterile scent of the hospital room, looking at the reason you’d been so damn miserable this last week. Your heart pounds like a drum against your ribcage, each beat echoing the anticipation that fills the room. Your hands, all of a sudden clammy and trembling, clutch onto the medical standard bed sheets draped over you.

The minutes stretch into eternity as you stare at him, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Fear and rapid anger grip you like a vice, squeezing your chest with each passing second.

Finally, you ask, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Santiago holds his hands up in surrender. “I know, I’m an asshole and you probably don’t want me here – “

“Damn right I don’t want you here,” you snap at him, eyes glowering. “I’m in the right mind to call security!”

“I know, I know,” he hurriedly says, taking a step towards the bed. “Just please, please, hear me out for a second.”

“I heard you out last week and you told me – “

“I know what I said last week,” Santiago said quickly, finally lowering his hands. “And…I was an idiot. I am an idiot.”

“How did you even know I was here?” you demanded.

“Benny told me,” Santiago replied.

You don’t ask how Benny knew (because honestly, you had a clue, and you’ll be having some choice words with a certain someone). You merely stare at him before shaking your head at him. “If you’ve come to tell me you’re leaving for South America, I already know, you didn’t – “

“I cancelled it,” he said, giving you an intense stare. “I needed to be here. With you.”

“No, no, you don’t,” you reply, already shaking your head. “I have Courtney, Courtney’s here with me.”

He flinches at your words, the guilt flickering across his features like a shadow. “I couldn't live with the regret of not being there for you, for them,” he says. “Knowing you were going through this...I couldn't stay away. I have to be here.”

You don’t say anything, merely stare at him and let him continue.

“I know I said I didn't want to be involved,” he begins, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. "But...I made a mistake. I got scared, scared of messing up, of not being enough for them and for you and I thought…I thought leaving would fix it, but it hasn’t.”

“You’ve realised this now?” you ask him, tears in your eyes. “You…you left me alone, and worried about the future with my kids, and we had an amazing few months together…”

Santiago shakes his head at you, tears in his own eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I can't change the past. But I'm here now, and I want to make things right. I want to be here for you, for our kids.”

You study him for a moment, still gripping the hospital sheets tightly. The tears start to fall as the moments stretch into a long silence, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You try to push away the thoughts of what could go wrong, but they linger, hovering at the edges of your consciousness like unwanted guests.

“Just because you cancel your trip – “ you cut yourself off, before you finally let out a sob, looking at him. “I don't know if I can forgive you.”

His shoulders deflate as he slowly nods at you. “I understand, corazón, I do, but please...let me be here for you now. Let me make things right. I miss you,” he says.

You open your mouth to reply but you’re interrupted by Courtney, making her way in with a brown paper bag.

“The line was huge at the cafeteria, so I went to Walmart down the street…” she goes quiet as her gaze lands on Santiago, before her jaw sets and her eyes harden. “What are you doing here?”

“I just came to apologise – “

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t need it,” Courtney snaps. “She’s fine. She’s been fine without you, and she can raise these kids herself. She doesn’t need you.”

Santiago turns to look back at you, but you can’t find the words to say. You want to believe him, to let go of the hurt and anger that have consumed you for the past week. But the wounds run deep, carved into the very fabric of your being. You meet his gaze, searching for any trace of sincerity amidst the turmoil of emotions that swirls between you.

He takes your silence as a rejection. He gives a sad sigh before nodding. “Okay. I understand.”

Courtney steps out of the way, motioning to the door.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers to you, his voice barely audible. “I was wrong. I’ll go. But I just want you know that I’ll be there for you, and for them, whenever you need. I’ll come to every doctor’s appointment and every school play, or sports game, and I’ll take them overnight whenever you need. I’ll help out with anything. Okay? I want to be their dad.” he gives you a look of longing and love before he turns to leave.

As you watch him leave your life again, you feel the panic overtake you. Your breathing quickens as you follow him with wide eyes. And in that moment, you realise that despite everything, despite the pain and the hurt, a part of you still longs for the connection you once shared. And your children deserve to have a father, whether you’re together or not. “Wait, wait!”

Santiago pauses, just as he gets to the door and looks back at you, his eyes wide. Even Courtney was looking at you with confusion.

“You can stay,” you say, nodding quickly. “I want you to stay. But we’re going to have a damn long talk after this.”

Santi’s shoulders sag again, this time in relief. He quickly makes his way over to you, and you throw the covers from you and swing your legs over the bed. With a quick order from him to not even think about getting out of the bed, he envelopes you in his arms. You feel a sense of warmth and security envelope you, all that matters is the connection between the two of you.

Your arms wrap around each other, pulling each other in tightly, as if trying to bridge the gap of all the time you've been apart. You can feel his heartbeat against yours, a steady rhythm that reassures you that he is real, he is here. In that moment, all your worries melt away, and you are left with nothing but the simple joy of being together again.

Courtney clears her throat awkwardly, causing the two of you to pull apart. “I can go home, if you need me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” you say. “I have a feeling that Beth and Gabs might show up and I need you to keep them tethered.”

“Good news!” Dr Montgomery called as she walked into the room, faltering slightly before smiling widely at the sight of Santi. “Good to see you, Santiago, I’m glad you could join us. I was just about to let you all know that your C-section will be in an hour.”

Your heart skips a beat as you look at her. “I’m sorry, I think I just blacked out for a second. Did you say an hour?”

She smiles at you again as she nods. “Yes. In one hour, you two will be parents.”

You look at Santi, who was looking at you with an equally nervous look on his face. You bite your lip before smiling and looking back at Dr Montgomery. “Okay. One hour.”

“Santiago, we’ll get you scrubbed up just before you all go in,” said Dr Montgomery, checking your chart and noting your current heart rate and the babies’. “Will you be staying?” she asks Courtney.

You answer before Courtney could get a word in. “Yes, she will be. She might be with some other friends of ours though, in the waiting room.”

“The guys are here, actually, I better tell them to wait up,” said Santi. He looks back to you. “I’ll come back.”

You nod at him as he leaves. Courtney watches him and turns to you as the door clothes. “Are you sure about this?”

You take a breath before sighing. “Yes. I am. If not for me, then for our kids. We don’t have to be together as long as he’s there for them.”

“And if he decides again that he doesn’t want to be their dad?”

You want to snap at her, to tell her to have some faith, but she was right, it might be a possibility. What if he does change his mind when the twins get here, when they’re out in the big wide world, and need all the protection they could get? What if in a few years he does find a girlfriend who wants a family with him, and he prioritises them over your kids?

You shake your head. You can’t think that now. Santi’s a good man. He doesn’t make the same mistake twice. “I trust him.” You say to Courtney.

Courtney gives a sigh before nodding. “Okay. And I trust you.”

You nod before looking back to Dr Montgomery, giving a nervous smile. “So, what now?”

You’re prepped for surgery, Courtney on the phone with Beth as she keeps her and Georgia in the loop. Gabrielle had to stay at home with the kids, but planned to FaceTime when Beth finally made it to the hospital.

“Traffic is horrendous,” Beth snapped down the phone.

You faintly heard Georgia screaming in general at the traffic, causing you to laugh. They had time, it was fine. And Santi was pacing your hospital room, on the phone with one of his sisters. You could hear here reprimanding him about something or other in Spanish, and you grinned in amusement.

In no time at all, you were being wheeled out of your room, Courtney giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek, wishing you good luck, and that she will be in the waiting room with Beth and Georgia (and from what Santi said, Frankie, Benny, and Will too).

You nod at her and give her a teary smile and you and Santi are led into the theatre. You take a deep breath, looking around at the doctors and at Santi, who was already staring at you, giving you a gentle smile. You give him a small laugh. “The scrubs suit you; you should study to be a doctor.”

“Can’t stand for long hours with my bad knees,” he teases back.

You give a small laugh before you turn to look at him. “Dr Mongomery said they might need to go to the NICU for monitoring.”

Santi inhales sharply for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Do you have an overnight bag?” you ask him, eyes wide with concern. “It’s an hour back home, I don’t want you going back and forth all the time.”

“I do have a bag,” he says, grinning. “I left it in my car.”

You freeze, your eyes widening at you look at him. “In your car?”

“In my car,” he replied, giving you a pointed look. “Went to a dealership this afternoon.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him. “Really?”

“I still have my truck,” he said, giving a small laugh. “Might give it to Benny. His truck is always breaking down and he relies on Will to take him everywhere.”

You could cry. You were crying. You were ugly sobbing as you laugh at yourself. “Couldn’t truly part with it?”

“At least it’ll be going to good hands,” said Santi as you’re finally brought to your operating room.

Dr Montgomery explains to you the procedure, and the risks it may come with as the other surgeons set up the partition and prep you for surgery. You nod along with Dr Montgomery, and you’re thankful when Santi places his own hand into your shaking one. You grip him tightly as Dr Montgomery smiles at you.

“You’re in good hands. The best hands,” she says, before she disappears to prepare herself.

You take a shaky breath before looking at Santi. He takes a seat and sits by your head as you hear the doctors talk about your epidural. He leans down and starts stroking your hair.

“Everything’ll be okay,” he said, the repetitive movements of his hand soothing you.

You nod at him, trying to calm your thundering heart. You don’t take your eyes from Santi’s as he squeezes your hand, smiling at you. You give him a nervous smile back. Santi lifts your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, trying to calm your nerves.

You think back to yourself not even a year ago, finding out you were pregnant by a complete stranger, and going through the journey together; through the ups and downs of accepting the pregnancy, and having to rearrange your lives to begin this new chapter, and dealing with the loss scare, and Santi’s uncertainty. You want to tell him how much he means to you, how much you love him, how happy you were that he was here, now.

You open your mouth to tell him, but you’re interrupted by Dr Montgomery.

“Are you ready?” she asks from over the screen.

You pause for a moment, just staring at Santi who gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. You take a deep breath and sigh it out before looking away from him and staring up at the ceiling. You give a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get started,” Dr Montgomery replies, smiling before disappearing behind the partition.

It was an odd feeling, having the doctors rummage around in you. You tried to focus on anything; the feeling of Santi’s hand in yours, what Dr Montgomery was saying to her team, but the blood rushing in your ears drowned out anything and everything around you. You bite your lip, feeling your chin quiver with unshed tears and your grip on Santi’s hand tightens, threatening to never let go.

Your eyes flutter closed at you concentrate on your breathing…

Until your eyes snap open at the sudden, high-pitched sound of a baby crying fills the room.

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland, @itsmytimetoodream

#triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #pregnant!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

Text

Can Anybody See Me? Part 21

Executive dysfunction is a bitch and can go to hell. I had something I could have posted yesterday while I was working on this, but no...

I am starting to wonder if maybe I shot myself in the foot with my tag rant as engagement for the last Reconnect AU was WAY down. But oh well. I can only continue to move on and hope I find new people who like my stuff.

All righty, my lovelies. We have gotten to the part where I was going to end it originally before you absolute menaces said you wanted me to continue it through season 4.

But here’s the deal, this story has reached nearly novel length of 40k. So what I’ve decided to do is call this the end of book one. And then I will start up book two, which will be through to the end of the school year and probably through the events of season 3. And then book 3 should take us the rest of the way.

I hope that’s acceptable to all of you. I want to continue it, but I think from here on out the title doesn’t fit Steve anymore and he needs a new one.

Now if you’ve followed me long enough, you know that I don’t start putting out a story until it’s done (if it’s short enough) or if I’m three to four chapters deep. So hopefully by the end of the month (if not sooner) you should start seeing book two.

I will run a poll on how you think I should do the tag list for it. But thank you all for coming with me on this absolutely wild ride. And hope you’ll stick around for the next two parts.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

***

Word had been handed down, Mindy Jones, Ollie Anderson, and Kyle Carver had been suspended with word that Kyle being the instigator might be expelled. For sure he wasn’t going to be able to walk in his cap and gown at graduation.

Steve felt a sense of relief and strangely justice too. Yes, all right suspension wasn’t getting expelled, but the kids had been punished. They didn’t try to hand wave it away.

Steve had heard that Mr Vinke, the math teacher, Mr Cole, Miss Lucy, and Chief Hopper had all gone to the principal and superintendent for all three of them to be expelled.

The suspension was a given, but the school district wanted to do their own investigation and then expulsions might be handed out after it was complete.

Steve didn’t have much hope.

Marty, Gethin, and Janice all sat with the Corroded Coffin boys at lunch, something they didn’t normally do.

“Fuck,” Janice swore. “Why I am more nervous about tonight than I have all week?”

Steve nodded, poking at his food. “I haven’t been this queasy since I took a plate to the head.”

Everyone winced and murmured sympathetic platitudes and other noises of sympathy.

“I think it’s because it’s your last performance,” Gethin murmured. “Your last chance to completely biff it on stage.” Steve and Janice looked at him in wide-eyed fear. He waved his hands placatingly. “Not that I think you will. Just that your brain thinks you will.”

Steve and Janice looked at each other and then nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That tracks.”

Eddie slid his hand under the table and gripped Steve’s knee. Steve covered his hand with his own and gave it a squeeze of thank you.

Steve scanned the crowd the second night. He spotted Jeff and all his family, Gareth and Gethin and their parents, Brian and all of his younger siblings, and what looked like his dad. Wayne shuffled in his seat nervously, having never been to a musical before. But still no sign of his parents.

His mom promised that at least she would be there, even if his dad refused to come. And he held on to that. He managed to make it through the show and held it together.

He went out to be congratulated by his friends and their families. Wayne brought him flowers.

“You did good, boy,” he said gruffly, after giving him a hug. “I looked it up and flowers are the gift you give someone after a well-done performance.”

Steve looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers and smiled. “Thank you. I love them.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “They might be a tad wilted by the time we’re done, because we’re taking you out to eat in celebration.”

Steve teared up a bit. “Thanks, guys.”

Gareth smiled. “You deserve it, man. That was awesome!”

Gethin nudged his shoulder. “We’re just waiting for Janice and Eddie to get done.”

Steve nodded. Eddie had to reset the stage for tomorrow and Janice had to get out of a corset and that took some time.

“Yeah, no problem!” he enthused.

Eddie finished first and came out to meet them.

“Hey, Steve!” he said. “Feeling famous yet?”

Steve laughed. “I’m going to get fat if this keeps up. First ice cream last night and then dinner tonight.”

They all laughed. “It’s impossible for you to gain weight, man,” Brian huffed. “I’ve seen you eat a whole pizza and didn’t even get bloated.”

Steve laughed. “Playing three sports does that to you. Hell, I still life guard at the rec center every summer.”

Brian eyed his lean form skeptically. “I suppose so.”

“Swimming’s fun,” Steve said. “And it’s not just for us jock types.”

Janice finally came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting guys. Sharing with Tammy Thompson is hell let me tell you. I don’t know how someone so tiny can take up so much room.”

“At least you don’t have to share the choir room with twenty sweaty dudes that wouldn’t know deodorant if it bit them in the ass,” Steve grumped.

Gethin shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that from sports?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “At least there are showers after basketball. Can’t say the same here.”

Gethin’s lips curled. “Fair.”

Wayne clapped his hands. “All right, I’ve got us a place reserved, so we need to hustle. Eddie and Steve are coming with me.”

Eddie and Steve filed out with the rest of them and followed Wayne out to his truck.

Steve slid into the middle between Eddie and Wayne.

“Thanks for this, Wayne,” he murmured. “And the flowers, too.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” he said. “I didn’t see your parents. Did they show up last night?”

Steve shared a glance with Eddie and then shook his head. “There’s still tomorrow.”

Wayne and Eddie shared a glance of concern over Steve’s head.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Wayne agreed.

An uneasy silence settled on them as they drove to the restaurant. Wayne parked and turned to Steve.

He pulled him in for a great big hug and then opened the door. “It’ll be all right.”

Steve nodded and slid out after Eddie.

The dinner was just as ruckus as the ice cream parlor the night before. With just as many people. Steve looked around and smiled.

Yeah, 1985 was his year and it was just getting started.

Steve looked out to the audience and knew, even in the dimmed lights his parents weren’t there.

“Tell me, Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson, or do you stand with me?” Vince asked.

Steve could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me…”

He slowly rose to his feet as he sang,

“I have been in expectation Of receiving a reply On the subject of my last fifteen dispatches. Is anybody there?”

His voice cracked with emotion as he stepped half out of the spotlight.

“Does anybody care? Does anybody care? Y’r humble & ob’d’t–”

The drum rolled and Steve looked up into the eagle’s nest where Eddie was doing the spotlight. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Steve looked down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Eddie. And then he exited the scene on cue.

Eddie swore he saw more tears in that moment then for ‘Mama Look Sharp’ that night.

But that performance of Steve’s brought out something in Vince in that moment. Vince’s John Adams bid Hancock good night, but then it changed. All the emotion and fear of not being seen or heard. The loneliness that Adams must have been feeling in that moment, borrowed from the loneliness of both Washington and Thomson.

“Is anybody there–”

Silence.

“Does anybody care–?”

Again, nothing.

“Does anybody see–what I see?”

And then Kenny came on and delivered the line with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“Yes, Mr Adams, I do.” As if to banish all the fears and insecurities that John was having in that moment.

And Steve could almost hear it as though it was coming from Eddie. As if it was coming from his friends. The party. Wayne.

Yes, his parents weren’t there. They never were. And probably never were going to be. But that didn’t mean that no one was listening to Steve. That no one cared.

They all cared. Every last one of the dozens of people that showed up the last two nights. They cared. They brought their families. Brought flowers. Thought he was worthy of celebrating. Worth treating.

For the boy with the bat.

The boy that never knew what love really was until he looked up from a god damned garbage can into those warm and friendly brown eyes. A warm hand on his back and a gentle ‘Are you okay?’

In that moment, Steve’s life had become changed. Different. Better. All because a teacher took pity on Steve and chose Eddie Munson of all people to be Steve’s protector.

And he looked up at Eddie in the rafters and though he couldn’t see him, he knew that Eddie was looking back at him. Smiling back at him. Loving him for all his worth.

And if you had asked Steve what his worth was back in December he would have told you nothing. He wasn’t worth anything but being the baby-sitter. But now?

Now Steve was a baby-sitter, chauffeur, groupie, actor, chef, swimmer, friend, brother, and most importantly boyfriend. And maybe if he was really lucky, someone’s son.

***

Fin.

Fuck, rereading this to add back in the formatting made me cry. My apologies if it makes you cry too.

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @garden-of-gay @anaibis @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @lovelyscot @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @jinxjinn @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @estrellami-1 @dangdirtydemons @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #canon divergence #the boy with the bat #ladykailtiha writes

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missbubblesoda · 1 year ago

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (11)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27) | (28) | (29) | (30)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 3.4k

“I’m not sure I should.” He pulled his hand away and if it were anyone else, you would have been surprised, a little offended even; but with him, this was expected and very much in character.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered softly, even though you had a pretty good idea of what this all meant. “Am I not desirable enough, commander?”

“That’s not-” The words froze on his lips the moment you started to unbutton your shirt, eyes boring into his, as your fingers worked on revealing skin and silk lace alike. His attention drifted between your face and the soft, plump skin of your breasts, somewhat visible through your lingerie. As you stepped out of your shoes, your fingers helped with your skirt. It was just one button this time, so you knew it would be very easy. And it was.

As your long skirt fell to your feet, you couldn’t help but think about your parents, and how disappointed they would be if they knew that their daughter, their darling daughter, was stripping in front of a man, a man who happened to be her boss and not her husband. And you knew that he was thinking something along those lines as well. You knew that was probably what was stopping him too.

For years, your parents had been scouting at elegant parties and fancy Sunday gatherings, scouting for a suitable gentleman you could be promised to. For most girls, it all starts the moment they turn 16, but your parents had been thoughtful enough to wait until you were 18. You remembered those times all too well, especially the itchy gowns and boring dinner conversations, where nobody had been as uninterested and impassive as you and the poor young man sitting in front of you. Over the years, you had become good friends with many of them, but a friendship wasn’t what your parents were after. They had been tirelessly looking for someone your father could proudly ‘give you away’ to, for someone who, on your wedding night, would finally claim you as ‘his property’, as tradition stipulated. And any deviation in this path would see you casting a shadow of disgrace over your family.

You stood there in silence, looking at him, waiting for an answer, a faint twitch, an indication, for something. The lingering cold of the winter, somehow sneaking through the walls, hit your bare skin, as your chest rose and fell heavily. Any other man would slide his hand into your underwear and give you what you desired, craved, and needed. They would already be touching and kissing every patch of exposed skin, which right now, was pretty much all your body. Any other man would. That’s right. But he wasn’t just ‘any other man’.

“Just say you don’t want me and I’ll get dressed.” You spoke firmly, your heart threatening to break your rib cage. “Just tell me to leave. Commander, just give the order and I’ll get dressed and leave immediately.”

“I do want you. You know that.” You did. And, in case you didn’t before, the tightly clenched fists falling to his sides were giving it away. They were trying to hold back from you. You knew it all too well, because that’s what you had been trying to do for the last few months, every time he was around you. “But like I said, I’m not sure I should. No, in fact, I know I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I touch you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

“But I don’t want you to stop.” You cupped his face with both hands.

“What about your fam-”

“It’s not my first time.” You looked straight into his eyes while you confessed to the worst imaginable crime any fine lady from Mitras could ever commit, and yet you couldn’t care less. “You don’t need to hold back. Commander, I’m not a little girl. I stopped being one a long time ago. I know what I want, and that just so happens to be you. So please touch me.” You begged again, not really caring about how shameless you might sound, and then waited in silence for a reaction. A reaction that came in the form of a faltering hand, slowly reaching towards you, but an invisible barrier seemed to stop it the closer he got to your skin. So you took his hand and placed it exactly where you needed him the most. And this time, he didn’t pull it away, instead you felt his fingers tentatively brushing the fabric of your underwear. And you weren’t surprised to discover that the slightest touch of his fingertips on your cotton covered clit was enough to make your mouth open in a silent moan.

As he caressed you over the fabric, you could feel your panties getting moist with every stroke, which were gentle, just as you had expected from him. He made your whole body feel like the night sky on a fireworks show, and you were torn between closing your eyes to enjoy the sensations or keeping them open to enjoy the view, the sight of those inviting lips slightly parted and those piercing blue eyes staring so intensely into yours as he felt you, as he got to know you in your most intimate form, in the most intimate of ways.

He looked so focused, sporting that same seductive look he had every time he sat down to plan a strategy or read one of those old history books he enjoyed flipping through on rainy afternoons. His eyes were scanning your features, studying your face to see what movement was correct. One could say he was like a musician tuning his instrument. And you came to the conclusion that everything he did was fucking perfect. Every circling motion of his fingertips against your clothed clit felt incredible, and just as delicious as you thought it would. You had been right in assuming your fingers could never provide you with the pleasure his could. Every single motion was deserving of a moan, that you gladly conceded. It was your way of complimenting him on his ability to make you delirious. To make you delirious when his fingers hadn’t even entered you, when they hadn’t even touched you directly. He was so talented that no direct contact was needed and you were already coming undone. And after making a mental note of asking him if this skill was natural or acquired through years of practice, you took his lips in a slow, and intentionally sloppy kiss.

The way his lips moved against yours contrasted the pace his fingers were beginning to pick up down there. He savored you in a way that stirred more than your imagination, so your fingers diligently worked on unbuttoning his shirt. And when you finally uncovered his chest and your palms felt the skin underneath, you had to pull back for a second. You were sure this was what gardeners feel when they find there is still lemonade left in the jar after hours of working under the sun, what kids feel when they find there are still presents left to unwrap the morning after their birthday. Because just like them, what you found was even better than what you had imagined.

His chest was broad, hard, well-defined, and most noticeably, lushly covered with light brown hair, except for some areas where tissue had scarred. He put any other man you had seen shirtless before to shame; maybe they had been too young, or looked too inexperienced in comparison. And you suddenly wondered how old the commander was. You realized you had never asked him. But before you could start guessing, he pulled you back in for another kiss, and as much as you wanted to admire his chest, you didn’t feel like complaining. And when his forefinger slipped under the soaked fabric of your panties and teased your entrance, your legs almost gave in. Luckily for you, in that moment, he turned you around and held you against his chest. Strong arm wrapped around your waist, while his hand kept busy between your legs.

From the position you were now in, the only thing you could see was the fireplace, the chessboard and the door to his room. That was before you felt his lips on your neck, the overwhelming pleasure forcing your eyes closed. And, as you tilted your head to grant him full access, you hoped he left marks, lots of them, so you could prove to the pages of your journal that it hadn’t been a dream. You would figure out how to hide them from your parents later.

“Commander.” You moaned when he added his middle finger and entered you gently. “That feels so good.” His lips on your neck were exceptionally pleasing, just as his thumb was on your clit. His hot breath hitting a sensitive spot on your ear, as well as the sudden realization that you finally had his thick, manly fingers inside you made you moan even louder. “Please do that again.” He obediently started licking your ear, as he fingered you at a deliciously addictive rhythm, making it increasingly harder to breathe. As his lips feasted on your skin, you lifted a hand and placed it on the nape of his neck, bringing him even closer to you.

As wet sounds and pleased hums filled the room, you pressed your thighs tightly against each other, effectively trapping his hand and, in response, he fingered you even deeper, your hips instinctively pressing harder against his body. And that’s when you felt him: swollen and eager. Both your mouth and your slit watered at the thought, and you realized that you had never wanted to open your legs so bad for anyone before.

He was rock-hard and you were soaking wet, and there was only one logical conclusion to draw from this: your bed would remain cold and untouched for the rest of the night. And you confirmed this when his fingers reached deeper into you and his free hand went to cup one of your breasts. You looked down and were happy you did, because not even your wildest dreams could compare to what you saw. Both skilled, manly hands working to pleasure you, one squeezing your breast and the other, lost between your thighs. And something about such sight made you feel as if you were his. His to touch, to play with, to entertain and satisfy himself with.

“Touch me all you want, commander.” Something about the way his hands were holding you in your most intimate places made you feel as if you were his property. “Anywhere you want. In any way you want.” And you didn’t care how dirty and impure you sounded. “I’m all yours, commander. So do everything you want to me.” You said between heavy breaths, before turning your head to look at him once again.

He answered by kissing you. And the awkward position your neck was trapped in felt far from comfortable, but you didn’t mind, not when the feeling of your mouth stuffed with his tongue and your slit, with his fingers was there to numb all the pain. You pressed your ass desperately against his bulge, which caused him to rub your clit even harder in response.

You knew it would be obscene to come from just that, to orgasm from only two of his fingers and the wet sounds they were making, but that’s exactly what your body was going to do. You arched your back and clenched around him even tighter. And he must have felt it building up too, because suddenly, he pulled his fingers out and turned you around to face him, succeeding at making every single cell of your body feel neglected in one single move.

“I want our first time together to be more than this.” He looked into your eyes as he spoke, and you were pretty sure he meant he wanted to take it to his private room, where he could make you orgasm from his cock first. But you obviously didn’t mind, so you nodded eagerly. And not long after that, he was pushing the door open, your legs wrapped around his waist, and your face buried in the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks everywhere you could.

His room wasn’t that much different from his office, except for the presence of a double bed, which was the only thing suggesting it was a bedroom and not an extension of his office. Bookshelves covered the walls, and nestled between them was a wooden desk, smaller than the one in his office, and also messier. Although you rarely complimented yourself, here you had too, for never letting his workspace get like that. The desk was facing a big window, where the bitter wind could be heard knocking on the glass violently. But that wasn’t a concern, because inside his room the air was warm and pleasant, thanks in part to the softwood burning slow and nice in the fireplace; but mostly because of the strong arms now placing you on the bed. His bed.

He took off his shoes and unbuckled his belt, but when his fingers went for the remaining buttons of his shirt, you called his attention by tapping on the empty space beside you.

“Let me do it.” A playful wonder built in your lower belly and found its way to the smile you now wore. Once he did as you asked, you sat on his lap, eagerly straddling him. When your weight fell on his strong thighs you couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself, because whatever you had been doing for the past few months, you had clearly been doing it right. It had gotten you exactly where you dreamed to be.

For a few moments you only stared at him, doing nothing but basking in the sensation of your asscheeks spreading out comfortably on his firm, muscular thighs, and your fingers tangled in golden strands of hair. His face was as close as you had always wanted it to be, and from this proximity, he was even more handsome, if that was even possible. The first thing you noticed was that his eyes weren’t completely blue, in fact, they had very small speckles of brown near the center. In addition, his eyebrows, which looked even fuller from up close, had fine lines of light, almost blonde, brown hair; and his skin was sprinkled with very subtle freckles.

Your heart gradually became full with warmth as you admired all the details, and then with privilege when you realized that only someone staring from such close proximity would be able to make out all those small things about him. And you felt incredibly lucky you were that person now.

You felt incredibly lucky that your hips were the ones his hands were now holding. They were comfortably resting at your sides, where his thumbs had found a cozy spot under the fabric of your panties. It was so intimate, that position. Strong hands pressed against your bare skin, and his thumbs tangled with your underwear, acting as a reminder that he could pull them down at any moment he wanted.

“Commander, I really want you to make love to me.” You confessed while your hands pushed his shirt down his shoulders. “I need to know what it’s like to feel nothing but you. Absolutely nothing else but you.” Your lips sprinkled kisses on his skin, kisses that were as light as the freckles covering his shoulders. “You inside me. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about it.” He had no idea that you had spent the last couple of months imagining his naked body hovering over yours, and his fingers glistening with your wetness, and his dick buried deep inside you, in so much detail and with so much dedication. And so, believing that you deserved to claim the final prize, your hands reached for his belt. But before you could move a finger, his hands reached for the back of your bra as he said:

“I’ve thought about it too.” His fingertips toyed with the clasp for a moment. “What it would be like to sleep next to you, your head on my chest and my arms around you.” He said before unclasping your bra, finally revealing your breasts to him. “What it would feel like to be inside of you.” He whispered against the newly exposed skin, his hot breath waking up your nipples and the hairs on your body, all at the same time. “Your welcoming warmth, your soft breasts bouncing up and down, and all the beautiful sounds you’d make for me.” As he took your breast in an open-mouthed kiss you let out one of those, one you had never heard yourself make before, and he used his tongue on your nipple to compliment you for it.

One of your hands worked on tousling his hair, and the fingernails on the other were buried deep in the skin of his back. Heavy breaths got mixed in with the wet sounds he was making against your nipples. You couldn’t get enough of his hands exploring your body, of him touching you, his hands slipping under your panties and kneading your asscheeks. And when you rolled your hips against the hard bulge inside his pants, he grunted and squeezed your ass even harder.

“Commander, please.” Fuck me now. “I need you now.” I’m so wet for you. “It hurts so much.”

He answered your pleas by pushing you down onto the bed and hovering over you. He then placed a kiss on your lips, a kiss that felt like an important announcement and tasted like a warning of some sort. And, as he made his way down your body, his lips left their mark everywhere they passed. When he slipped his thumbs under the sides of your underwear you lifted your hips and he easily slid your panties down the curve of your ass. When his eyes landed on the part of your body he had just unveiled, a part of you he had never seen before, they reminded you of someone trying to fight off the urge to bury their face into a rich, creamy dessert. But then, against all temptation, your underwear continued its journey down your thighs, and then past your feet, until it ended up discarded on the wooden floor of his room, exactly as you had fantasized about for so many nights. Then, he stood up and all while holding your gaze, unbuckled his belt, and pushed his tight jeans down his thighs, finally unveiling his briefs as well as the shape sculpted beneath. When you saw it, you couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. And not far below, hairy thighs came into view, thick with both muscle and a masculinity that made your legs open on instinct.

As you lied there, wide open, on full display for him, you felt the cold air hitting your folds, signaling you were already dripping. It wouldn’t be hard to take him in, given your current state. You felt more than ready. Or so you thought.

Because when his underwear joined your panties on the floor and you finally saw it, you realized he was all you had imagined and more. So much more. Imposing, curved, veiny down to the pink tip, which was already glistening with anticipation. He was all that, and most notably, he was thick. Very thick.

“I have low pain tolerance.” You found yourself joking, looking straight into his handsome naked form. He just chuckled as he joined you on the bed.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said with a sweet tone that contrasted his deep, husky voice. “No harm will ever come to you. Not as long as I’m here.” Was his promise as he hovered over you. “Not from me. Not from anyone else.” You nodded, something about him, probably the sincerity in his eyes or the gentleness in his voice, taking you back to that day out in the field, beyond the walls. A place and a time that now seemed so far, where despite the columns of black smoke ominously rising above the horizon, you knew you would be okay somehow. As long as you didn’t lose sight of the wings of freedom on his back.

Without looking away from your eyes, he ran his fingers through your wet slit, making you quiver. But he didn’t need to double check, you knew this was as wet, slick and ready as you would get. When he positioned himself to finally give you what you desired, you felt the need to confess something, not knowing exactly why.

“Commander, it’s been a while.” He stopped right at the moment the tip met your folds, looking at you with a hint of confusion. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while.” Virgin or not, it would mean little against someone like him, because with that size, you were sure he would feel like a first time for anyone.

He placed a soft, reassuring kiss on your lips. “I’ll be gentle, okay?” You nodded, feeling both nervous and impatient. “Do you trust me?” He waited for you to nod again before finally pushing inside you.

next chapter

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aishangotome · 5 months ago

Text

Elbert Greetia: Blind Love Ending Chapter 21

Chapter 20

♡———♡

Victor: Now then, please enjoy your stay at Crown Castle after so long!

After finishing sharing various information, Victor spread his arms cheerfully.

Elbert: Thank you....But, there's something I want to talk to Will and Victor about.

Victor: El wants to talk to us? Of course, I don't mind!

William: I don't mind either.

Elbert: ...Thank you.

Kate: Can I listen in too?

Elbert: You––

Lord Elbert fell silent as if hesitating for a moment, then smiled faintly.

Elbert: ...I'll talk to you after I've sorted things out a bit.

(After sorting things out..........)

When Elbert tries to keep me away from something, it's usually when there's a sad event waiting.

(I want to be by his side at such times, but......)

*flashback*

Elbert: ...I feel like I'm taking everything away from you.

Elbert: The warm happiness, the untroubled future... everything you were supposed to have.

Elbert: The thought of hurting you again... and making you sad... makes me feel like I'm going crazy, but...

Elbert: I...

Elbert: I would rather drown with you than let you go back to the shore.

Elbert: I was happy that you wouldn't leave me and would sink to the bottom of the sea with me.

Elbert: I was so scared of myself for thinking that.

*flashback over*

(Surely Elbert would feel more at ease if I were the one being protected.)

(...I have a feeling that's the case.)

Kate: Thank you. Well then, I'll be waiting outside.

Elbert: ...Thank you.

Elbert: But...you must be tired, so you should return to your room and rest a bit.

Elbert gently stroked my hair with his delicate hands.

(...Ah...)

My face flushed warm at his gaze and gestures, which did not hide his affection.

Kate: ...I understand. Please don't push yourself too hard either, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ...Mm.

Victor: Yes, yes, what a beautiful sight.

Alfons: Yawn...I should probably go to sleep soon, or I won't be able to go out tonight.

Alfons: Let's get going, Kate.

Kate: Yes. Well then, excuse me.

Roger: Are you sure about this, El? Your childhood friend is going to end up being the escort for the young lady you care so much about.

Roger's words made me blink, as I was about to obediently follow Alfons.

Kate: Alfons would never do such a thing, Roger.

(He told me a long time ago too...that he "doesn't feel that way.")

(And just the other day, he told Elbert that he "wouldn't take" me.)

Roger: Oh really? Seems like Al is pretty trusted, huh?

Alfons: Isn't that right, Kate?

Alfons: It's not like I, of all people, would do something barbaric like being an escort.

Jude: What's a walkin' violation of public morals sayin'?

Ellis: Shhh...

Roger: You agree, El?

Elbert: ...Al...

Elbert: ...wouldn't take...what's mine.

Elbert repeated what Alfons had said before, like an innocent child.

(I think so too...)

When I nodded silently, Alfons sighed in exasperation and shrugged.

Alfons: ...Oh dear, you trust people so easily.

Alfons: You two are a perfect match.

Roger: Tch...haha! I was wondering why Al of all people wouldn't make a move on the young lady.

Roger: I see, so even you couldn't make a move on two such cute bunnies...huh...

Alfons: ...They're the type of bunnies who would refuse help even if they were torn to shreds, so I simply didn't have a chance.

Leaving the conversation room, I headed to my room as Elbert instructed, but my mind was filled with thoughts of him.

(The dream Elbert told me about... being crucified at the bottom of the sea, drowning with me.)

(I've been thinking about its meaning ever since that day...)

I felt that what was crucifying him in the cold seabed was a heavy sense of guilt, like he shouldn't and couldn't be happy.

(If I could only lighten the guilt within Elbert.)

(I wonder if his nightmares would lessen, even a little...)

Since he's finally able to wish for happiness, I want him to savor it more and more, without any worries.

I want him to embrace me in his dreams without feeling the fear or anxiety of drowning me.

(But then again... how can I erase what Elbert couldn't in all these years?)

Kate: ...No...

Alfons: Is something troubling you?

Kate: Wah!?

Startled by the sudden voice behind me, my shoulders trembled.

I saw Alfons and Roger standing in the hallway, watching me, even though the other Crowns had already dispersed.

Kate: What's wrong, you two?

Roger: You stopped and spaced out not five steps from the door, so we were observing you.

Alfons: I was thinking if Roger were to eat you, I might as well join in.

Kate: Eat...?

Roger: Yeah, while El isn't looking... right?

(Right...? What...?)

Remembering something Elbert had said before, I took three steps away from Roger.

Roger: Tch... Hahaha! Don't be so wary, lil lady. I was just joking.

Roger: Alfons aside, El would probably kill me for real if I laid a hand on you.

Roger: I'd rather not die that way.

Kate: ...I see, that's good.

Alfons: So, why were you spacing out?

Kate: I was thinking. I was wondering if there's any way for Elbert to stop having bad dreams...

As we walked towards my room, sandwiched between the two of them, I lightly confided my worries.

Alfons: I see, it must be tough having your bed partner tormented by nightmares every night.

Alfons: Why don't you get some sleeping pills from that former doctor and slip him a dose? It'll make him sleep deeply.

Kate: Medicine... you mean make him sleep so deeply that he doesn't dream...?

(I've never thought of that...)

Kate: But... we can't keep giving it to him every day, can we?

Roger: Well, it's not impossible... but it's not healthy. Continuous use can also decrease its effectiveness. Besides,

Roger: Doesn't Kate want a more fundamental solution?

Kate: ...Yes.

Roger: I've known El for a while, though not as long as Al,

Roger: But you understand what's in his heart better than anyone.

Roger: If you do something with all your heart, it'll surely resonate with him, even if just a little.

Kate: ...Thank you. I'll think about it.

Alfons: Saying that feelings will work... That's not very professional advice for a doctor.

Roger: It's not like I'm saying love is a cure-all. So don't get discouraged if the nightmares don't go away, lil lady.

Roger: There are plenty of ways to treat the symptoms. Like the sleeping pills Al mentioned.

Roger: El has always refused to take them... but if Kate recommends them, he'll probably listen and take it.

Roger: There's also... the option of you seducing him and tiring him out so much that he doesn't even dream.

Kate: S-seduce him...?

Roger's fearless smile made me understand the meaning, and my face flushed instantly.

Alfons: If you don't know how to do it, I can teach you. In practice.

Kate: No need...!

While we were talking, we had arrived in front of my room.

Kate: Um... thank you both for the advice?

Alfons: Ah ha! Asking it as a question is quite hurtful.

Roger: If you need help, call us anytime. We'll charge you, but we'll lend a hand.

Alfons: Well, be careful not to get dragged down together in the nightmare.

After parting with the two, I closed the door to my room, filled with the pleasant scent of linen.

(It feels like I've come back after a long time...)

(Even if it's just a temporary lodging for a month... it's reassuring to think of it as my own room.)

I sat down on the bed and suddenly remembered Elbert's room.

(Seeing that room filled with beautiful things... what does Elbert think now?)

That room is a symbol of the days he spent giving up happiness and dedicating himself to atonement.

(I wonder if he feels like his wish to "be happy with me" was a mistake.)

My chest tightened.

(I'll wait for Elbert in front of that room again.)

(If he ever feels that way, I want to be by his side at that time.)

Suddenly, the rabbit plush toy Elbert gave me caught my eye.

(...That's right... maybe)

(The clue to fading his nightmares might be in that room.)

Victor: Now, shall we talk about the matter you didn't want Kate to hear?

Elbert: ...Yes.

Elbert: You said you obtained the Bernard Trading Company's client list...

Elbert: If you'll allow it, could I see that list?

Elbert: ...There's something I want to confirm.

William: The list is confidential, but Crown members are allowed to view it.

William seemed to have understood what would be requested from the beginning and took out a document from his pocket.

Elbert: ...Thank you.

William: The person you're looking for is on page 19.

Elbert: ...!

Elbert's blue eyes scanned over the numerous names listed in the document...

Elbert: ...........

They stopped on a certain name.

William: That's the name of the person who requested Kate's kidnapping.

Elbert: ...Jeffrey.

His voice was so faint, like a single raindrop falling in the dark night, that Victor's smile deepened.

Victor: ...Yes, your butler.

William: Among the clients listed,

William: Those who have repeatedly made malicious requests—especially those in positions to influence the judiciary—

William: As I said earlier, we plan to condemn them as Crowns in the future.

William: But as for him, a first-time offender with an attempted crime and not much power, we'll leave it to you to decide what to do.

William: ...What do you say?

Elbert: ...Yes.

Elbert: Thank you... Leave it to me.

In the end, I quickly left my room and stood in front of Elbert's door.

I had something in mind, holding the rabbit stuffed animal Elbert had given me before.

(Ah... he's coming!)

Kate: Lord Elbert.

Elbert: Kate...? Why are you here?

(Now that I think about it, this is the first time I've waited in front of his room... it's usually the other way around.)

I'm happy that I don't have to hide my feelings anymore, and my cheeks loosen up.

Kate: I wanted to be near you, so I was waiting for you.

Elbert: ...!

Kate: ...It's the opposite of before, isn't it?

Elbert: ...Ah.

Elbert: ...I'm... so happy.

The expression on his face is a mix of confusion and happiness, and it makes me feel affectionate.

(If he makes that face... I want to wait in front of his room every morning to see him wake up.)

Elbert: ...Please, come in.

Elbert opens the door to his room.

(This is the first time I've been in this room since... that day I was locked in)

Elbert: Are you scared to come in...?

Kate: Huh...?

Elbert: It's okay. ...From now on, I won't tie you up or lock you in... I'll be careful...

Elbert mutters so hesitantly that I can't help but laugh.

(That day... I was certainly hurt badly.)

(But it wasn't because I was locked up.)

At that time, I was sad and pained because I was overwhelmed by my powerlessness to save Elbert from his guilt.

(But I won't be crushed like that again.)

(Because Elbert wished to be happy together.)

Kate: I'm not scared. Besides...

(Now, it's rather...)

*Flashback*

Elbert: I don't want to let you go.

Elbert: Stay here.

*Flashback over*

Remembering the marks of his possessiveness etched into my skin and the feeling of his arms tightly wrapped around me, I found myself muttering.

Kate: If it's what you want to be happy... I don't mind being locked up again.

Elbert: ...

Kate: Ah... um, so, please don't worry- mmph!

I was robbed of my words by a sudden kiss.

Elbert pulled away with a reluctant sound, and muttered with a troubled look.

Elbert: ...Don't tempt me too much, Kate.

(...!?)

Kate: ...Y-Yes...

Feeling the heat rise to my neck, I hurriedly stepped into Elbert's room.

Elbert's room was still as quiet as the deep sea.

Kate: ...When I went back to my room earlier, I felt relieved even though it's just a temporary place to stay.

Kate: How about you, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...I don't really understand that feeling.

Elbert: But... compared to when I locked you up...

Elbert: Now that you've come in here of your own free will... I feel more at ease, I guess.

(...That's good.)

Elbert doesn't seem to be as guilt-ridden as I was worried about, and I feel relieved.

Kate: This is where you gave me this rabbit stuffed animal, wasn't it?

Elbert: Yes. I thought you were strange... wanting something like that.

The ribbon wrapped around the rabbit is still tied crookedly, just like when we first met, but that shape is more endearing than anything, enveloping it in a warm light.

Kate: If you don't mind... could you tell me about the things in this room, like you did with this rabbit?

Elbert: ...Why?

Kate: I want to know the feelings you've poured into them.

There's nothing for him among the things he's collected.

But I feel like his feelings for the collection are hidden everywhere.

Kate: Things that have feelings put into them have meaning.

Kate: And things that have meaning... I think they sometimes even have the power to change reality.

Kate: Like how you treasured the white seashell I gave you...

Kate: It made me not give up on being happy with you...

Elbert: ...Kate.

Kate: That's why I thought that if we could find something like that, maybe...

Kate: You could forgive yourself just a little bit.

Kate: And maybe there will come a night when the nightmares aren't nightmares anymore.

Elbert: ...

Elbert: ...You're still too kind.

Elbert looked around the room.

Elbert: I've forgotten why most of these things are here, or why I got them...

Elbert: ...But if I look at them with you, I might remember something.

Kate: Hehe, then let's explore together.

We continued our exploration, poking at fist-sized jewels and tilting our heads at mysterious sculptures.

(This reminds me of when we were looking for the blue poppy... hm?)

Kate: The contents of this shelf seem a little older than the others.

Elbert: It's in a secluded place, so... maybe Al was too lazy to sell them and left some old things behind...

(Ah... there were frames on the wall, but there's also a butterfly specimen here.)

In the back of the shelf, a slightly old specimen box was stored away as if forgotten.

Kate: This one feels a little... unfinished compared to the others.

Elbert: Ah, that's...

Elbert: Probably... the first specimen I made... I think...

Elbert stared at the box in my hand with a distant look in his eyes.

(...He's remembering something.)

Kate: That was... when?

Elbert: ...I don't know. It was when my mother was alive, so I must have been younger than six.

Kate: Why did you want to make it?

Elbert: ...It was strange.

Elbert: It's just a creature with legs and wings, like a caterpillar...

Elbert: But my mother, who hated caterpillars... didn't hate butterflies.

(I see...)

Elbert gently brushed the dust off the specimen.

The blue and white butterfly wings, reminiscent of a beautiful sea, became more vivid, and Elbert opened his mouth as if his memories had come back to life.

Elbert: Ah... I remember one more thing--

Blind Love Chapter 22

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

#ikemen series #cybird #cybird otome #cybird ikemen #ikemen villains #ikevil translations #elbert greetia #elbert greetia translation #elbert greetia main story translation #elbert greetia main route translation #elbert greetia blind love ending

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rosanna-writer · 6 months ago

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (22/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.6k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives

This fic turns one year old today!!! Thank you to everyone who's been reading, commenting, and kudos-ing; it's been wonderful to have you along for the ride <3

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-second chapter below the readmore.

Rhys wasn't back by the time I woke up the next morning. I'd expected it; we'd spoken through the bond throughout the long night handling the aftermath of the attack on Sangravah, and by the time I'd been unable to keep my eyes open, he'd still been working. I knew Rhys—if he'd slept at all, it had been in his office in the House of Wind, when he'd been too drained of energy to fly home.

The townhouse felt too empty.

It wasn't cold, but like a sentimental fool, I slipped on the dressing gown he'd left on the chair in my room the other day. The fabric was midnight-blue and the size far too big for me—the silver-embroidered cuffs extended several inches past my fingertips.

I padded downstairs, only to be hit by the smell of something baking. Bread, perhaps. And…cheese? Definitely not Rhys.

I crept towards the kitchen. Perhaps I should have been more worried about an intruder, but I trusted that Rhys's wards still kept out anyone who wasn't allowed inside. It was probably Cassian here with food.

Around the corner, I spotted a dark-haired female with her back to me—the first time I'd ever seen her fully corporeal. Nuala.

Cauldron boil me, the last time we'd seen each other, she'd been painting Illyrian markings for luck and glory all over my naked body. I had no idea what to say to her.

But before I could run back upstairs, she turned at the sound of my footsteps. I froze.

She smiled and said warmly, "You look well."

I caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes at the sight of me in a dressing gown that obviously belonged to the High Lord. If it had been someone else, the words might have sounded sarcastic or suggestive. But she really did sound pleased to see me.

My cheeks heated anyway, which was utterly ridiculous. The bond might have been a secret, but it wasn't as if Rhys and I made much of an effort to keep our hands off each other in public—his tongue had been down my throat on the banks of the Sidra more than once already. And yet I still felt…caught out.

"It's good to see you," I said after several moments of painful silence.

Nuala nodded towards a plate of chive-and-cheese scones that I hadn't noticed were sitting out on the table. "Those are still warm, if you're hungry."

Awkwardness aside, I still didn't have it in me to pass up food, so I sat and nibbled on a scone. It was warm, soft, and buttery—I was tempted to scarf it down like an animal but managed not to.

And it was a relief to have something to with my hands and a reason not to say anything. The oven was still on, and Nuala went back to stirring something in a bowl on the counter.

"My sister is gathering intelligence on the soldiers that attacked last night," she said, answering a question I hadn't known how to ask.

Azriel had said the twins were spending time with family after their return from Under the Mountain, and I'd assumed that meant they weren't working. I couldn't imagine what they'd endured during the last fifty years—I barely felt functional after only a few weeks in Amarantha's court. My appetite vanished.

"You don't have to be here. I can manage on my own." I'd run the household of our family of four with far fewer resources than I had now—it would be no trouble to take care of that for just Rhys and me, especially if it meant Nuala and Cerridwen could recover for the rest of their days if they wished.

Besides, Rhys would do his fair share of the work with far less complaining than Nesta ever had.

Nuala smiled. "Rhysand said the same thing. But after last night, Cerridwen and I both chose not to take his offer to retire from service."

"Why?"

"A court needs well-trained spies and trusted servants to remain secure. We're difficult to find on short notice."

The twins saw the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, too. And even after all they'd survived…they were here. Had chosen to be here.

I'd never forget the blanket they'd left for me in that cold cell, not if I lived a thousand years.

"Thank you. For everything."

She shrugged. "We were caught unawares and trapped there. You're the one who walked in eyes open."

We didn't speak of it again after that. I ate another scone while she baked some sort of egg dish with vegetables and a crust. When she put away the flour, I was relieved she didn't mention the raven I'd painted on the inside of the cabinet door. She must have known it was new and that Rhys certainly hadn't painted it.

When I insisted on washing the dishes before heading upstairs to get dressed, Nuala let me.

I dug the plainest gown out from the back of my closet. Not because I particularly wanted to wear it—I was most comfortable in Illyrian leathers or the silky, billowing pants and sheer sleeves of Night Court attire—but because I didn't want to cause a stir if I could avoid it or appear too faerie.

It was stifling to feel this covered up. I'd grown used to the caress of a breeze against my skin when I wasn't in leathers, and if I needed to run, I hated the thought of having to lift up my skirts to do it. Faeries—at least the ones in the Night Court—never made a fuss about bare legs or an exposed strip of skin around a navel.

I could endure this for a few hours, though. I'd been braiding my hair when Rhys winnowed in, directly onto my bed. He lay on his stomach, his head propped up on a fist and his feet in the air to keep his shoes off the duvet.

As usual, he looked aggravatingly put-together, no sign at all of the long night he'd had. Not a hair out of place, and he'd changed into a fresh tunic and pants.

Something like distaste flickered in his eyes even as he said, "You look beautiful." It was the first time he'd seen me wear a dress, I realized—or at least, the first time he'd seen me wear one of my own volition, if the scraps of fabric I'd worn Under the Mountain even counted.

"I don't," I said, voice flat, "and no one likes a liar, Rhys."

He stood and came closer, flicking my nose instead of kissing me hello. "You'd look beautiful in a potato sack."

"No one likes a cad, either."

He huffed a laugh as I tied off the end of the braid and rose from the chair. In a single absurdly graceful movement, he leaned down to kiss me properly while lifting me into his arms to fly. I let myself melt into the warmth of his solid body against mine, and for a moment, I considered getting the damn dress off and Rhys into bed for the rest of the day.

But I couldn't keep putting this off.

I held on tight as we vanished into dark wind and appeared again hundreds of feet over a vast, blue sea. Even though I'd expected it—we'd planned to slip through one of the holes that had formed in the Wall—I let out a shriek and clung tighter to Rhys. The wind roared; water rushed towards us—

Was that a scream from the fearless Cursebreaker? We're not even in free fall. The words seemed to glitter with wicked amusement as they crossed the bond.

Rhys was right, though. His wings strained against the wind but kept our descent controlled, snapping open at just the right angles so we stayed on course. I tipped my head back to take in the particular contented smile he only wore while flying.

It disappeared as we approached the Wall. I couldn't see it, but I felt the crackle of its power setting my teeth on edge all the same. Rhys gripped me tighter.

The feeling got worse as we approached. And as we swept through, there was a horrible moment where I felt ripped in half, as if it wanted to scatter incomplete pieces of me among the mortals and the fae.

But it passed in an instant.

I was back in the human lands. The home I thought I'd never see again.

There was barely time to process that before we were slipping into the space between worlds as Rhys winnowed us to the woods just outside my family's estate.

He'd offered to glamour himself to appear human and accompany me, but I'd said no. Perhaps another time, but…this felt like something I had to do on my own. So I kissed him goodbye and walked towards the manor alone.

The white marble walls and emerald roof were grand, but totally unfamiliar. I passed neat hedges as I walked up the flagstone path, and my heart squeezed at the sight of flowers and shrubs that had been planted there—Elain's doing, no doubt.

At the double doors, I rang the bell and waited, my stomach churning. Azriel's reports had assured me that all was well, but…perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps something had gotten overlooked.

A ruddy-faced housekeeper I didn't recognize opened the door. "May I help you?" she said, blandly polite.

"I'm Feyre Archeron. I'm here to see my family," I said.

Her eyes lit up with recognition at the sound of my name. That was a relief, at least; I wasn't forgotten. "Your father is away on business, but your sisters—"

"Feyre? Is that you?" Elain—Elain. Cheerful and lovely as always, untouched by the monsters and horrors I'd encountered in Prythian. Safe. Just as I'd remembered her.

I nearly sobbed with relief. But as far as she knew, I was merely back from taking care of an elderly relative, so I kept my voice light as I said, "It's me. I'm here while our cousin stays with Aunt Ripleigh to give me a short break."

The housekeeper stepped aside as Elain launched herself at me. I embraced my sister, relieved at how she'd filled out since I'd last seen her. Taken care of and eating right, then. "What a wonderful surprise!" she said.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and I looked over Elain's shoulder to see Nesta standing with a hand braced on the rail.

Staring as if I were a ghost.

I'd forgotten how cunning her eyes were, how cold. There was no reason to believe Nesta knew anything about what I'd been up to for the past few months, yet….she'd always been made of something different. Something harder and stronger.

"What are you doing here?" she said, face carefully blank.

"Visiting. It's…good to see how your fortunes have improved," I said.

Elain's brow furrowed. "I know Nesta's visit didn't work out, but didn't you get our letters?"

She didn’t remember—or maybe she’d never actually known, then, that I wouldn’t have been able to read them, anyway. But it still made my heart sink to imagine my sisters sending letters that were doomed to never reach me. If Nesta had tried to visit, though I doubted she'd actually wanted to see me, some magic must have turned her away.

I shook my head, and Elain ushered me inside, complaining about the uselessness of the post. Nesta continued to stare wordlessly, and I half-listened as Elain recounted the story of the mysterious stranger who'd appeared at their doorstep with a wildly lucrative investment opportunity and given them a trunk of gold just for agreeing.

Tamlin's doing, and it matched the reports that Azriel had given me. I'd expected this. And yet, it still didn't quite prepare me for how strange it would feel for Elain to hook her elbow through mine, apologize for not having a room ready for me, and offer to show me the rest of the house.

The manor was beautiful, if a bit…sterile. Beautiful and richly appointed, but everything was new and untouched, with none of the sense of the age that permeated the townhouse in Velaris. I couldn't help but marvel at it—Nesta and Elain were cared for, with enough money to ensure they'd never be hungry again.

Nesta fell into step beside us, a quiet, stalking presence. Her face was still impassive, and she seemed content to let Elain do all of the talking. But it was better than her flinging insults, so perhaps it was a blessing.

We had tea and sandwiches in the lush garden, which was in full bloom for the summer. After months in Prythian, human food tasted like ash in my mouth, but I didn't care. It had been so long since I'd eaten a meal with my family and had enough for all of us.

Never again would I brace myself for a fight if I dared take more than my carefully allotted quarter after hauling a carcass for miles.

It was simple enough to spin stories about reading to Aunt Ripleigh as she instructed me on deportment from her bedside. None of it was particularly interesting, and instead, I asked about the garden and the social season that I'd missed.

The purple-and-white tulips at our feet had once been bulbs brought all the way from the continent, Elain told me, beaming. She'd tended to them herself, planting and weeding in between the balls and parties and gossip of the social season.

"It sounds like you've been busy without me, then," I said, setting down my teacup carefully.

"It was a welcome respite," Elain said, a shadow darkening her lovely face for a moment. "I'm grateful our situation has changed for the better, but I'll admit this season was a bit…strange."

My blood went cold. Of course this had all been too good to be true. Something was wrong. "In what way?"

"People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone away to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in that cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it."

I relaxed again. In truth, it was a warmer reception than I thought my family would have gotten after so many years of poverty. It was better than being treated as if we were diseased.

Perhaps something had happened, though. It might explain why Nesta was so quiet. She'd barely touched her food and just stared with those piercing blue-grey eyes that were an unsettling mirror of my own.

"That does sound strange," I said. We went quiet again, and I set my tea down and turned back to my plate. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Elain staring, too. "What?"

Elain shook her head. "You just look so…different. Not in a bad way of course. It's just as if there's a…a glow about you."

I froze. The only sort of people who were ever described as glowing were ones who were happily pregnant. Gods, I hadn't inadvertently given them the impression I was with child, had I?

"Did something happen at Aunt Ripleigh's house?" Elain asked. "Did you…meet someone?"

The tilt of Nesta's head was pure predator as she added, "Did you, Feyre?"

I wanted to say yes. Perhaps I was too much of a coward to admit to my human family that I'd fallen in love with a faerie, but I could have told a few half-truths. I didn't want to subject myself to an interrogation, though.

"Just good food and rest," I said.

Nesta got to her feet, straight-backed and regal as she stared down her nose at me. "We're out of tea. Why don't you come with me to get another pot from the kitchen?" It wasn't a question.

I followed her before Elain had a chance to object or insist on coming with. As soon as we were inside, Nesta's hand clamped down on my arm, and she steered me towards an empty sitting room and shut the door behind us.

"There is no Aunt Ripleigh," Nesta said.

Cauldron boil and fry me. I could kill whoever told her. "Of course there—" I started to say.

"Don't. I saw that look on your face when Elain asked if you'd met someone. She and Father don't remember that beast taking you away, but I do. Tell me what the hell is going on, Feyre."

All these months…Nesta had known. And kept it to herself.

She'd seen through Tamlin's glamour somehow, probably just because her mind was so thoroughly her own that he couldn't have violated it. And if a High Lord hadn't been able to fool her, I shuddered to think what she made of the sentries Rhys had sent, who were supposed to have been unseen by human eyes.

There was no point in hiding the bond from her, too. I pulled the chain with my mating band out from where I'd tucked it under the bodice of my dress. "I did meet someone in Prythian."

"You're married," she breathed. The disbelief in her voice shouldn't have stung as much as it did. Nesta had never made a secret of how thoroughly she doubted any man would ever find me an acceptable bride.

"In a manner of speaking. The fae either marry or mate if the Cauldron blessed them with a soul-bound partner. I have a mate. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court."

Nesta barked a harsh, bitter laugh. I didn't know what to make of it until she said, shaking her head in disbelief, "Mother expected me to marry a prince, but you're the one who's ensnared a faerie king and become his consort."

"I didn't ensnare—"

"Then what? He forced you?"

"No!" I had no idea how to look my sister in the eye and tell her a magical stag had done it. Nesta just crossed her arms and stared me down, waiting for an explanation. She said nothing because she didn't have to—there was pure command in just the way she held herself. I took a breath and continued, "Rhys loves me, and I love him. He isn't the one who took me. That was Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring. Rhys got me out and took me somewhere safe. It's a long story, but yes, I am Lady of the Night Court now."

"And this Lord Rhysand is the reason we're now…taken care of?"

I didn't want to give Tamlin the credit. His kindness rang hollow—uncomfortably transactional, in a way—when it was clearly recompense for kidnapping me. And in truth, Rhys was the reason I hadn't worried about Tamlin impoverishing my family a second time in retaliation for swearing fealty to Night. "Yes."

"Then give him my thanks and don't come back here again."

The words might as well have been a slap to the face. I hadn't expected a warm welcome from Nesta, but…I'd hoped, at least, that she'd be something closer to civil.

"What about Father?" I said. "I haven't seen him since I was taken away."

"What about the rest of us? If anyone learns our sister is a fae sympathizer, any standing, any influence we have—gone."

Nesta's hand was resting on the back of an armchair, and she gripped it so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The set of her shoulders was stiff.

It was the closest to afraid she ever seemed to get.

She had reason to be, as much as it hurt. Our family had tumbled into ruin once, and we'd all nearly starved to death because of it. I could not blame my sister for wanting to cling to the good fortune as fiercely as possible. I knew, deep down, she only did it because she wanted to see Elain safe and happy.

"There's more I need to tell you before I go."

"Stay the night, then. We can speak privately for longer after the servants have left for the day, but you'll need to leave before breakfast."

We wouldn't be overheard in the garden either, but Nesta clearly didn't want Elain to know any of this. I had half a mind to blurt it out before Nesta could stop me as soon as we sat back down with Elain. But this was for the best.

I trusted the walls surrounding Nesta's mind; she'd keep my secrets. But anyone with daemati abilities could pluck information right out of Elain's, and the chances were too high that someone intent on hunting me down might do just that. Elain couldn't know.

"Thank you."

A single nod—downright affectionate from Nesta. "Elain bought paints for you. She'd appreciate it if you left something for her; I know she misses the decorations you left in the cabin."

"I'd like that," I said, meaning it.

There was nothing else to discuss; we returned to the garden after that and made our excuses to Elain for taking so long with the rest of the tea. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the sun, chatting and catching up. Nesta was still quiet, but…we didn't fight. No one insulted each other.

Even as a knot formed in my stomach at the thought of unburdening myself to Nesta later, I savored the peace as I painted foxgloves around the doorframe to Elain's bedroom.

This day had been a gift, and I was intent on appreciating it.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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cheesybadgers · 9 months ago

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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 24)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 3,440

Summary: It's been 15 years since Horacio and Javier brought down Gacha in Tolú, and now they're back where their story began.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Brief allusions to period-typical prejudices/politics/legislation, very brief sexual references, smoking, swearing, all the fluff.

Notes: Well....I feel like I should post this with a fanfare or something (just imagine there's one playing), but oh boy, oh man, oh god. I did it. I flipping did it 😭 It's only taken 36 months, copious amounts of blood, sweat and tears, a deranged amount of research, the last shred of my sanity, and probably a fair amount of back/neck pain from sitting at my laptop for too long to get here. But hey, if I don't write a self-indulgent novel-length fix-it fic for a criminally underrated rarepair from a defunct TV show, WHO WILL, I ASK THEE? 😂

I can't fully explain the journey this fic has taken me and my writing on, or the deep love I have in my heart for this ship and the OHDH universe that has lived constantly in my head these last few years. Even when I'm not actively writing, so many things remind me of these two everywhere I go. They got me through the darkest days of the pandemic and somehow became my comfort ship, despite er, certain canon events we don't talk about in this house.

Anyway, I think you've all heard quite enough from me for the time being. So, I will just say thank you so, so, so much to anyone who has read, commented, kudosed, reblogged, liked, sent me messages, made me things, suggested music recs, generally been incredibly supportive and kind ❤️

And thank you to anyone who may stumble across this fic in future. Please never be afraid to leave a comment, even if you're reading several years down the line, I will always love to hear from people about this story.

There will also be some moodboards and playlists posted on my Tumblr at some point (and *maybe* some new - much shorter lol - fics eventually) once I've caught my breath back a bit.

For the final time (unless I randomly think of anything I've forgotten, which is more than likely lol), I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 24: Suerte (Epilogue)

Early evening rays painted the pastel horizon, their last act of the day transforming the shimmering ocean into an inky palate of fuchsia, violet and saffron, the golden sands at the shore still warm to the touch hours past dusk.

Come the weekend, Colombians would travel far and wide to descend on the many beaches, bars and restaurants that dotted the waterfront. Or if they were feeling adventurous, they would birdwatch, dive off the Islas de San Bernardo, or canoe amongst the mangroves.

But it was mid-week and mid-December – when most locals were at work and school or preparing for Christmas. So, for now, Horacio and Javier had the place to themselves.

There was the added bonus of the coastline turning into a dense forest of palm trees just along from their beach house, civilisation a mile or so away on either side of them, so even at peak times, they remained secluded. It had become a daily ritual to luxuriate in the peace and quiet; a pre-dinner swim with no trunks required followed by entwined limbs and sand in their hair as the sun went down.

Today was no exception, the gentle lapping of the waves around them and their shallow breaths the only sounds to be heard, the taste of salt and scent of sun lotion heavy in the air and on their skin as Horacio rocked into Javier, slow and deep, their chests and foreheads drawn together.

It was almost dark when Javier switched on the shower taps, cascading soothing jets over his head, neck and shoulders. As he soaked his hair, the lights from inside the beach house sprung to life, illuminating the outdoor bathroom with an ambient glow. It was a feature of the premium accommodation they had splashed out on, a rare treat away for a special occasion.

The outside space was a mix of wood, tiles and natural stone for the walls and floors, encased by tall plants and trees for extra privacy. A double shower stood on a platform at the end of a walkway, with a large hot tub branching off in the other direction. On their first night here, they had opted for the tub, surrounding it with candles as a belated ode to Día de las Velitas, lost in each other beneath the bubbles and the stars.

A sturdy embrace enveloped Javier from behind, a position they had found themselves in every morning by the shore before breakfast, looking out to a tranquil sea and a kaleidoscopic sky. The day jobs kept them both on their feet and in good shape, although there was more softness around their stomachs, and Javier was stockier than in his younger years. But his upper body was even broader with muscle now.

He was no gym fiend, but he had accompanied Horacio in some of his strengthening training, wanting to keep his stamina up as much as possible. Not just for the obvious but because he was sometimes required to carry the heavier supplies at work and didn’t want to be shown up in front of his largely youthful team.

It was a welcome development to Horacio, whatever the reason. Not that he ever had any complaints before, but watching Javier blossom as he aged was a wonder to behold. Not to mention, there was more of him to enjoy now.

As for Horacio, aside from the sloping curve of his midriff, he was sheer jaguar strength. Not only in the noticeable places, but his core muscles were in peak condition, the daily horse riding improving his posture and taking him back to the drill commands of his cadet years. His skin was more weathered, and his days of being meticulously cleanly shaven at all times were long gone. But Javier assured him – a lot – the ruggedness was part of the appeal.

Javier wasn’t one to talk either, stubble being a more regular feature alongside his moustache nowadays. But that was mainly due to lack of time in his busy schedule rather than preference, so it wasn’t unheard of for Horacio to do the honours for him. For some reason, Horacio delicately scraping a razor blade across his jaw from the comfort of his lap was far more appealing to Javier than doing it himself in front of the bathroom mirror.

Their hair contained more grey patches, especially around the temples, which was easier to hide when they grew it longer. That wasn’t practical during the sweltering heat of a Texan summer, so they kept it shorter in the hotter months. But in the winter, they could run their fingers through choppy waves and coils of curls to their hearts’ content. And luckily for them, their anniversary fell in December.

“Can you believe it’s been 15 years to the day?” Horacio asked, scattering kisses across Javier’s back.

“This doesn’t even feel like the same fucking place, to be honest.”

“Tell me about it.”

Horacio let out a huff as flashbacks of leading his men on a fleet of raiding crafts towards Gacha’s hideout collided with memories from merely days ago of him and Javier island hopping in a hire boat along the same waters. They had taken a platter of fresh seafood and fruit, exploring the remotest beaches and lagoons, where their only company was the local wildlife.

He could still remember the sensation of the blood at his temple as he lay disorientated on the sand in the aftermath of the explosion, a stark contrast to dozing together under the shade of a palm tree or reading aloud to each other the words of Lorca, Gaitán Durán, Arbeláez, Neruda, Paz, Castellanos and Mistral.

“Although, I did notice signs for the barracks towards Coveñas when we were driving here,” Horacio added with a nostalgic smirk.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t want another night there for old times’ sake?” Javier tilted his head until he found Horacio’s lips with his teeth.

Horacio hummed and put up no resistance, his wet hands sailing with ease down Javier’s body, finding purchase at his hip bones. “It was tempting. But I figured you’d want to make the most of this before Christmas.”

“Damn right.”

They took turns massaging shampoo into each other’s scalps, lathering the suds through thick spirals, tenderly pulling at strands until they purred, thoroughly indulging in the sensation whilst they had the chance. And then they did it all again, rinsing off the soap, floating away on the meditative pressure of the faucet and their fingers.

“We could always see if Alejandra has more spa freebies if it gets too much, though,” Javier suggested through the haze of steam now cocooning them.

“I like your thinking.”

It had been a while since they last used such tickets, their previous visits not dissimilar to how their current vacation was playing out. But despite the chaos that would no doubt ensue, they were looking forward to catching up with Horacio’s side of the family. Between expanding businesses in Texas and Manizales and the oldest half of the brood living and working elsewhere now with the twins staying at home studying, they didn’t get to meet up as much as they would have liked.

However, Elena visited Laredo several times, swapping life stories and recipes with Chucho and joining Horacio and Javier in San Antonio one spring for the Fiesta. Her last holiday outside of Colombia had been before Alejandra and Horacio were born, so she was determined to take advantage of having family abroad before age finally caught up with her. There had even been discussions of a trip to Madrid if Horacio and Javier could arrange cover at work the following year.

“Pops is flying out on the 20th, right?”

“Yes. Marco and Raúl are covering the ranch and animals until your father’s back on the 28th. And Jorge is covering the farm until we’re home from Miami in the New Year.”

No one was keen to leave Luna, Sol and Leo, who had long since retired from ranch duties, but between work and Christmas commitments, Connie taking a full-time job in a different hospital, now Olivia was a teenager going on 30, and the earlier-than-expected arrival of Felipe’s and Juana’s second child – Óscar, a little brother to Claudia – New Year was the only time everyone’s schedules matched up.

These days, Luna, whose main residence was the cottage now, Sol and Leo spent most of their time nestled on furniture or looking for treats in the kitchen whenever food was prepared. However, Luna would sometimes still ride in the back of Horacio’s truck and keep him company in the lower fields.

Kira and Fuego had become old pros, showing their younger siblings, Cielo and Tierra, the ropes, not as replacements to the trio but as a new team with their own quirks and personalities. Thankfully, the dogs and Coco had taken well to the pair of barn cats, Churro and Tamale, who patrolled the outbuildings and dealt with any rodent intruders.

Meanwhile, Chucho showed few signs of slowing down, except one summer when he twisted an ankle, and even that was hard work to get him to rest. But he had been happy to step back from some of his more physically demanding responsibilities in recent years, trusting that the ranch and farm were in capable hands. With their expansion plans a resounding success – plus some new ones up their sleeves – he had become more involved in the business side of the operation alongside Miguel.

And, of course, he was always happy to offer Horacio advice whenever needed. But for the most part, he left him to it since Félix’s retirement, preferring to arrange for the guesthouses to be refurbished or to deliver fresh batches of cooking to aid workers and exhausted arrivals alike on the frontline of the border.

“Bet Jorge was as thrilled about that arrangement as my team.”

“Well, we can always delegate to our deputies whenever necessary. One of the perks of being promoted.”

It had taken Horacio five years under Félix’s watchful eye – and decades of experience – to be granted the title of farm manager. Then, Félix had retired the previous year, satisfied he had picked the right man as his successor and Jorge as deputy.

Horacio still had plenty to learn and likely always would with the constant conveyor belt of change to farming methods and technology that landed on his desk each month. However, there was a sense of familiarity with certain parts of the job, like the meetings, the paperwork, and the budget constraints. Except, this time, it all came without the funerals, the upper echelons of the CNP breathing down his neck, and the crushing weight of a country’s future on his shoulders.

“And a holiday on the Caribbean coast was necessary, was it?” Now that Javier’s hair was free from sand and shampoo, he turned to face Horacio, their lips almost touching.

Horacio nodded sagely and closed the gap. “A critical business need.”

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

Once dried off, they lay in a hammock in matching white towel robes under the thatched porch of their beach house with a perfect view of the sea, moon and stars.

“So, you like it here?” Horacio asked after a comfortable silence.

“It’s beautiful. I’m glad we came back – to see it how it’s meant to be.”

“Me too. Although, I fear violence will always be a parasite latched onto Colombia. Just when you think it’s gone from one place, it rears its head again in another. Or even the same place twice if you’re unlucky.”

Horacio remembered the stories he had heard from Trujillo in the last couple of years – particularly about Operation Orion. Officially, the incursion on Comuna 13 had been a success by the Colombian military against the likes of FARC. Unofficially, however, there were rumours of a leaked CIA report, disappeared individuals, and collusion between an Army General and none other than Don Berna’s subordinate. It was hard to keep faith that Medellín would ever be free from its past when history had such a predictable habit of repeating itself.

“I know. It feels like one step forward and two steps back in the States, too. Terrorism might be the new bogeyman, but re-branding to ICE and throwing a shitload of money at the DHS hasn’t stopped the drugs and the people finding their way over the border.”

Javier had heard directly from Steve about the shift in his job role since 9/11. Overnight, Steve’s whole department was removed from their current caseloads and signed up for every counter-terrorism and narco-terrorism course under the sun. It was now customary for DEA agents to be redeployed to the FBI as intelligence analysts if resources required. And if their eyes and ears were pulled away from the drug traffickers, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the consequences.

Meanwhile, in Texas, if anything, people only took graver risks in the wake of a beefed-up Border Patrol. Javier had spent a lot of the past year helping to set up new aid teams in Arizona and New Mexico, the inhospitable conditions of the desert not enough of a deterrent to stop families trying their luck or handing over their life savings to coyotes who didn’t care whether they made it across alive.

“But small things can add up to change. Bit by bit,” Javier added. “And at least they can’t arrest us for fucking in our own home anymore.”

“True. Not that the law stopped us before...” Horacio nuzzled against Javier’s neck before making a move to get up.

They may have joked in the here and now, but it wasn’t a change they took for granted. In fact, Luz and Carla had even persuaded Javier to attend a protest or two and pay bond and legal fees for those who had been arrested. After all, he’d had plenty of experience exchanging money for people’s freedom.

When news of the Supreme Court decision spread, it was another weight off their backs and one less reason to look over their shoulders, a chance to permanently put to bed memories of being spied on during such unguarded sacred moments. It was the final line to be drawn under those dark years, not to erase them because that was impossible. But it was, at least, closure.

Their cigarette was almost done, and Horacio had left the opened pack on the kitchen counter. Once retrieved, he took out another and leaned into Javier across the hammock, pressing the tip of his unlit cigarette against the lit one until it sparked.

“But you’re right,” Horacio continued, holding Javier’s gaze between exhaling a plume of smoke. He balanced on the edge of the hammock, just enough to stop it tipping sideways. “Things can change. But only if we want them to.” He perched their new cigarette between his lips as he reached into the pocket of his robe.

Their first cigarette was little more than a stub, so Javier stooped down to the ashtray on the floor to extinguish it. Once he sat up again, a small cubed box was presented into his spare hand.

Javier stared at the black box and blew out remnants of smoke, eyeing Horacio with an unreadable expression, an unspoken question and answer lingering between them and the mist of tobacco.

He prised open the box to reveal a ring of plain silver. Or, so he thought at first glance. But as he raised it towards the moon, the iridescent light caught on the inner band to reveal an inscription.

Suerte que encontré a mi media naranja.

(Lucky that I found my soulmate.)

“Fuck, Horacio…” Javier’s voice was strained, and his words came out as little more than a whisper. He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, letting the ethereal reflection from above capture each word.

Horacio watched every shift in Javier’s face with bated breath and a dry throat, his limbs lead and weightless all at once.

“The world’s changing around us,” Horacio said at last; swallowing his nerves and summoning his courage. “But no matter what the law or courts say in any state or country, this can mean whatever we want it to mean.”

Javier’s jaw worked back and forth, his teeth clamping down on the inside of his cheeks. But it was no use, and he let out a trembling scoff, an attempt to distract from the shining pupils he finally confronted Horacio with.

And then a broad smile crept across Javier’s features, his palm connecting with Horacio’s cheek before he plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag. “Pass me my jeans.”

It took Horacio a moment to process Javier’s request. Of all the responses he had prepared for – the good and the bad – that hadn’t been on his list, funnily enough. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he complied and fetched the jeans that had been flung over a sun lounger when they stripped off to swim earlier. Apparently, regardless of how humid the climate in Tolú became, denim remained a reliable staple of Javier’s wardrobe.

“Check my left pocket.”

Whatever Javier was up to, Horacio was torn between intrigue and irritation at Javier’s temerity to issue orders despite leaving him hanging. But he did as he was told, and in an instant, everything made sense.

“I can always take it back if you’d prefer…”

But Horacio was already opening the near-identical box, and any teasing faded to white noise as he came face-to-face with the gold equivalent of his own proposal.

“Hold it up to the light.”

The night sky was brighter now, making it easier for the inscription to be revealed.

Mi amor, mi vida, mi hogar, mi vaquero. Siempre tuyo.

(My love, my life, my home, my cowboy. Yours always.)

It was Javier’s turn to observe, and it didn’t take long for Horacio to raise a brow in his direction, shooting him a look of feigned exasperation that only came with the territory of a relationship as enduring as theirs.

“What?” Javier said with disingenuous innocence and a vulpine smile.

It was a contagious kind of smile, one that reminded Horacio they were equals in this and that he shouldn’t have been surprised Javier had the same idea.

“I take it my mother showed you her ring?”

“On my first visit to Manizales. It was beautiful. And so’s this.”

“As is this.”

“I like to think I put my own spin on it.”

“You did.”

They sat side-by-side on the hammock, legs facing towards each other with the rings held in their outstretched hands.

Javier’s thumb slid across Horacio’s left palm, tracing patterns over new callouses born from hard labour rather than war. He circled his wrist, waiting for the familiar rhythm but finding a beat that was, unsurprisingly, drumming quicker than usual.

After subduing with his touch, Javier retrieved the gold band, gliding it carefully onto Horacio’s ring finger, easing it over the knuckle until it rested snugly at the base.

They sat transfixed, marvelling at the light dancing across it as Horacio’s thumb ran back and forth over the curved surface in fascination.

Horacio repeated the ritual of mapping Javier’s left hand, lacing their fingers together as a tangible reminder of their bond. Their devotion. Their vow. Their choice. Whether the law honoured it one day or not.

He picked up the silver to his gold, shimmying it along Javier’s ring finger and passing beyond the slight resistance at his knuckle. Not too much force, but firm enough for it to sink perfectly into place.

With palms connected and fingers interlocked, their foreheads met, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Te amo tanto, Javier.”

“Yo también te amo. Tanto, Horacio. Tanto.” Javier whispered, over and over in Horacio’s ear like a prayer – their prayer – before brushing his lips above Horacio’s brow, the bridge of his nose, both cheeks and down to his mouth, creating their own sign of the cross with each kiss. A new beginning and a welcome home.

They untied their robes and collapsed onto the hammock in a tangle of limbs, silver and gold melding at their chests and hands; their past, present and future as inseparable as their hearts, bodies and souls.

With one smooth motion, Horacio pinned Javier’s arms down into the netting of the hammock, a dark, hungry gaze passing between them as cool metal fused with hot skin.

15 years and several lifetimes may have gone by. But when Horacio had the man he loved, the man who loved him, his media naranja, underneath him, only one word ran through his head. Mine.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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mechformers · 2 years ago

Text

Ma Miles - Ch. 20

3.8k words

Chapter warning:

Food? Nursing Ja back to health and all that that entails? Lyle's pov if that needs a warning lol

As promised, Chapter 20! The last of the double update. We're checking in with the boys as Ma Miles progresses, waiting patiently for their roads to we've together again. Who knows, maybe they'll all see each other soon? Anyway, please leave me a comment and make me the happiest writer in the world :3

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments!)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 21

Getting Ja off the beach had been a nightmare. Lyle didn’t have any memories, old or new, of anything being more difficult. Leaving Mansk with Ja, he had gathered everything he could think of to make a gurney for their friend, only for the fucking weaving to cripple them. Y/n had taught them all how to weave the leaves of trees, just in case they ever wanted to settle down or whatever, under the disguise of making daybeds. Well, Lyle figured he should have paid better attention.

Luckily for them all, Ja had paid attention and through his wheezing breaths managed to guide them through it until Mansk got the gist of it and told Ja to save his strength. Mansk had the worst take on teaching Lyle had ever had the displeasure to be under, but in the end, they managed to make the gurney. To everyone’s surprise, it actually held Ja’s weight when they lifted it between them.

Navigating the jungle had been another problem entirely. With the stiff gurney between them, moving through the trees and undergrowth was a slow journey, making them easy targets for the natives, if there were any of those around. By the time the eclipse started bathing the jungle in its dangerous shadows, Lyle reckoned they hadn’t moved far at all. He could still hear the sea even though they couldn’t see it. Turning to stare at Mansk, he saw the same thought reflecting back at him.

“When the eclipse comes, you must find shelter,” Your voice rings through Lyle’s head as the shadows grow deeper and deeper. He knows they’ll have to find shelter soon. These were new territories, with new animals and potentially new threats all around them. Stopping, Lyle takes a short moment to assess their surroundings.

“We gotta get him up, man,” The sigh that leaves him is one of utter defeat. They should have stopped an hour ago, he knew that, but he had hoped that… If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what he hoped for. For Quaritch to find them? Hell, the bastard was probably dead at the bottom of the sea if that animal had her way.

“Okay,” Mansk hums, and just for a moment, Lyle thanks his lucky stars that it’s Mansk he’s stranded with. Anyone else would have questioned his leadership, but Mansk had always been easy like this, always trusting that somehow, they would get wherever safely. They didn’t have time to braid a rope, hell, they didn’t even have the material for it.

“Got any cord on you?” Hopefully, Mansk would carry a bit of cord, a bracelet, anything. But as Lyle watches Mansk pat down his body, checking pockets and whatnot, that hope diminishes rapidly. “Fuck…”

They would have to find another way to get Ja up into the tree. Desperately looking around them, Lyle didn’t see anything they could use as a rope. The leaves of the underbrush were too brittle, something in the back of his mind helpfully told him. Probably something Y/n had mentioned while she taught them about the flora. Just then, Lyle watches as Mansk’s eyes grow big, only for the man to quickly step up to Ja and start rummaging through his pockets. A few seconds later, a wide grin spreads across Mansk’s face and right then, it’s the most beautiful sight Lyle has ever seen in his life. Well…

“I could kiss your ugly mug, Ja!” Lyle chuckles as he helps Mansk unbraid the wristbands that they had all refused to wear before leaving the Bridgehead.

Ja just rolls his eyes the best he could before wincing. Looking up at Mansk, Lyle saw that the younger man already had his eyes on him, the same worried expression painted on his face. It made them work that much faster and in no time, they had managed to unbraid the twelve wristbands Ja had carried with him. It made for the best fucking rope ever.

“So uh, you gonna do it or am I?” Mansk just looks at him as if the answer was somehow obvious, which in hindsight it kind of was.

Sighing at himself, Lyle starts climbing, looking out for the clearest route to hoist Ja up with. They would have to do it in different places, the branches of the tree changing the further up he climbed. Backing down again, he found the easiest place to balance Ja’s gurney, the length fitting perfectly between two branches. Maybe, if they were lucky, it would be enough for tonight.

“Ready?” He spoke as loudly as he dared to, relieved to see Mansk nod his head.

Letting down the paracord, he watches as Mansk ties a sturdy knot to the two cords he had attached to the gurney. Only when Mansk pulls on the paracord, does Lyle start pulling. For once in his life, he’s grateful for wearing tactical gloves as even with the layer, the cord bites into his skin. Ja was heavier than he had thought.

Mansk climbs below Ja’s gurney, making sure it doesn’t spin too much, pulling it out of the way of obstacles as Lyle struggles. Eventually, when they’re high enough off the ground, does Mansk climb higher to help him hoist Ja up. There’s a shit-eating grin on Mansk’s face, but the man doesn’t say anything as they get Ja’s gurney up to rest between the branches. Winded, they both sit down against the trunk of the tree, breathing heavily.

“What have you been feeding him, bro?” Lyle wheezes exaggeratedly, earning a hard punch to his bicep. “Dude, not cool,”

Mansk only chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he does so. It was still so weird to see him without his sunglasses, but at the same time, it was kind of nice to see what the other man was thinking. Because shit, was Mansk easy to read without his sunglasses. For a split second Lyle wonders if that was the reason Quaritch gave them all sunglasses, to help Mansk blend in. It was a nice thought, one that didn’t necessarily fit Quaritch’s narration, but still.

“Here,” Mansk hums, offering a fruit that looked oddly like a greenish testicle. “It’s a yovo fruit,”

“I knew that,” Lyle defends, immediately.

He hadn’t known that.

“How are we gonna feed him if he can’t chew?” Lyle asks Mansk as he digs into the juicy fruit, humming at the sweetness of it. “Where’d you find these?”

Mansk points to a tree just off the path that they had taken and Lyle winces. As their new leader, he should have noticed that, should have provided, just like Quaritch did. Hell, Quaritch would have never overlooked the fruit tree if he was here. He’d always made sure that his unit was tended to before he took care of himself.

“Stop overthinking,” Mansk hums from beside him, his kind eyes piercing into his when Lyle turns to look at him.

Mansk is already dicing the fruit into tiny cubes in a leaf and once he finishes, he starts squeezing them. It’s a process all in itself just to watch it, but as Mansk mashes it into a thick, slimy paste, Lyle eventually gets the gist of it. Getting to his feet, Lyle figured he might as well make Mansk’s life a helluva lot easier by making a spoon for him. Grabbing a broad enough branch, he cuts it off before sitting back down again, only to have Mansk look at him oddly.

“What?” He grunts as he starts working on the spoon-like utensil.

“You just said the prayer,” Mansk comments lightly, his words bearing nothing but genuine surprise.

It takes Lyle a moment longer than it should have to realize that he had, in fact, said his thanks to the tree for giving him the branch. Huffing a snort, he lightly shakes his head as the spoon quickly takes shape in his hand. Guess Y/n left deeper traces of herself than he had first realized.

“So, who’s gonna change him?”

The question is thrown out there so mindlessly that Lyle doesn’t really realize that the question left his own lips. When he turns to Mansk though, the younger man just smirks at him and immediately, Lyle knows that he pulled the shortest straw.

“Oh, hell no!” He hisses as loudly as he dares, “I ain’t touching his shit, bro,”

Mansk just shrugs his shoulders as he continues to mash the yovo fruit into a smoother purèe like substance. Closing his eyes, Lyle sighs in defeat. It’s just his luck to be stuck with the dirty work. If he’s going to be on do-do duty until Ja can take care of himself, then he sure as hell isn’t going to clean the man’s cammies. They gotta come up with something else - fast - or they will surely be discovered by their stench alone. Snorting to himself, he shakes his head when he sees Mansk turn his head toward him.

This was a helluva situation to be in…

Somehow though, they made it work. The very next day, they had set out to gather as many leaves as they could without venturing too far from their base. While Mansk tended to Ja, Lyle took care of what he could until they switched and Mansk took over. By the end of the week, they had managed to build a semi-decent hut up in their tree. The area around them, even though they hadn’t walked very far from the beach, was quiet. There hadn’t been any signs of the natives around them and even the predators seemed to have other territories. It almost seemed too good to be true, something it most likely was, if Quaritch’s voice in the back of his mind was right. But for right now, all they had to worry about was getting Ja put together and bringing food to the table.

Something they manage quite well. As the weeks pass them by, turning into two and then four months, they manage to integrate as well as they can with the knowledge that Y/n taught them. Ja was getting better, his wheezing while breathing all but gone, though his bones would need longer to heal. Their little camp was starting to come together quite nicely, so it comes as no surprise to Lyle when one day, while they’re sitting in their hut around lunchtime, they’re surrounded by angry-looking Na’vi. Their spears are pointed straight at Mansk at him, completely ignoring Ja, as if they already knew that the man posed no threat.

“Come peacefully and no harm will become you,” A stern-looking man says in Na’vi, directing his words at Lyle.

“Slow, please,” Lyle stumbles through the little Na’vi he knows, cursing himself for not paying more attention when Y/n was trying to teach them.

Mansk, however, has no such problems.

“We will come with peace,” He tells the man slowly, eyes never leaving his.

With a huff, the Na’vi lowers his spear and takes a step back on the branch. How neither one of them had heard them coming was beyond Lyle. These were sea people, they shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on them, especially not this far up into the trees.

“Our friend is hurt, he can not run,” Mansk continues, and although his Na’vi is slow, the leader understands them well enough.

“We have seen this. No harm will come to him if you do not fight us. Our Tsahìk will take a look,” The leader says, nodding his head.

“Thank you,” Mansk replies before turning to Lyle. “Don’t fight them, you hear me?”

“Only word I got was Tsahìk,” Lyle offers instead, brows furrowing with confusion about the situation.

“The leader says their Tsahìk will take a look at Ja if we come without a fight. I agreed,” Mansk’s voice is so calm it immediately sets something ablaze within Lyle. How could he be this calm when they were just taken prisoner by the enemy?

“Sure, why don’t we offer our hearts for them to impale too while we’re at it,” He can’t help the sarcasm dripping from his lips, his nerves just about ready to make him explode.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ja rasps from below, apparently agreeing with Mansk.

“Okay, sure,” Lyle throws his hands up slowly, “It’s not like we got anything better to do,”

They watch as Ja is lowered to the ground in the gurney they made. The soldiers are speaking too quickly for Lyle to understand, but he catches this and that odd word, enough to understand that they’re making fun of their creation. Still, as they lead them through the jungle, towards the beach, they use the gurney to transport Ja’s body.

In the end, they’re taken down to the beach where they washed up all those weeks ago. Two soldiers are paddling a canoe that was no doubt meant to bring them wherever they were going, had it not been for the fact that Ja had to be carried. For two or three hours, they walked down the sandy beach until suddenly, around the corner, something started to look awfully familiar to Lyle.

“Aw shit,” He mumbles when eventually, they round the corner fully to reveal a partly burned-down village.

Mansk says nothing as he walks by Lyle’s side, but casting his eyes to the side is enough to see that the younger man is nervous. And with good reason too. This is the village where Lyle shot that sea creature, the one where Quaritch threatened to kill the very Tsahìk that were going to help Ja. Still, they walk willingly through the partially rebuilt village, through the masses of people that now gawk and hiss at them as they’re led further down the beach. In the end, they kneel before the chief and the Tsahìk.

“Do they understand?” The chief asks the leader, his soldier.

“That one does, but the bald one is slow,” The leader of the soldiers hums as if bored.

Lyle can’t help the growl that leaves him at being called slow, not even Mansk’s elbow in his ribs is enough to shut him up. But in the end, he has to think of Ja, has to think beyond himself and however butthurt the comment made him. So in his best Na’vi, he addresses the leader.

“We have been taught,” The pronunciation and wording must have been damn near perfect as the chief's eyes widen for just a second.

“Then you understand the situation you are in?” The chief hums as he looks down at them, face the very picture of seriousness.

“We understand, Olo’eyktan,” Mansk answers before Lyle can somehow screw this up any more than he already has.

“Ah, at least this one knows how to address the clan leader with respect,” The Tsahìk huffs, her arms folded tightly across her beaded chest. Lyle can’t blame her uneasiness.

“We had planned to kill you,” The chief starts, staring each one of them in the eyes, “But you thanked the tree when you cut off her branch on your first day here. And you said thanks when gathering fruit for your survival,”

“You have shown that you can learn, that you have been taught. With time, you honored the Great Mother with everything that you did,” The chief continues as his Tsahìk huffs by his side, “We have decided to let you live, so that you may have the chance to repay the people damage you have caused,”

“We thank you, Olo’eyktan,” Mansk replies as his tense shoulders visibly relax.

“Your friend can not move, what has caused this?” The chief asks, pointing at Ja’s still body.

“He is squeezed by tulkun,” Lyle offers to the chief's utter surprise.

“A tulkun did this?” There’s mumbling around the soldiers, some names being offered, but none that Lyle catches.

“Yes, it attack the…” He’s not sure what ‘boat’ is in Na’vi, but the chief seems to fill in the blanks either way.

“Payakan,” Nodding to himself, he turns to his Tsahìk, whispering something. “We will take your friend to the healers,”

“What of us, Olo’eyktan?” Mansk asks, but the chief just smiles at him.

“You will help rebuild the village,”

And well… looking back, that could have been a helluva great way to start a story of some kind. Three bros lost in the jungle on a foreign planet, in new bodies. But hell, their life with the Ta’unui hadn’t been bad at all. Sure, they still got the odd stink eye or the hissed ‘demon’ thrown after them sometimes, but for the most part, they had been accepted in a way no alien ever would have been back on Earth. For all purposes, they lived a free life while working for the people’s forgiveness.

“Whatcha grinning at?” Ja asks as he walks over, his therapy for the day over.

“Nothing, kiddo,” Lyle just chuckles as he turns back to the sunset.

“Have you seen Mansk?” Ja finally comes to a stop before him, grunting as he slowly sits down on the sand.

“Nah, he’s probably somewhere off preparing food for the communal meal. It smells delicious all the way over here,” He can’t help the grin that crosses his face. “How’s your limp? Looking better each day I see you now,”

The compliment made Ja’s chest puff while a huge grin spread across his face. The younger man had worked hard to get where he was. As soon as the Tsahìk knew what was wrong with him, she made sure that he got the help he needed. The right kind of help. With bone-strengthening supplements and stinky pastes, she had wrapped the entirety of his body in seaweed as she burned algae or whatever over his body.

While Lyle worked on rebuilding the village, Mansk helped with the food. Apparently, the grill master had more than a knack for preparing food the Na’vi went nuts about, which, to him anyway, was the easier of the two tasks. Hell, he was sure he’d cut his fingers open or skinned his leg so many times by now that he might as well have lost all feeling in the area. Still, as he turns his head to look over the rebuilt village, he can’t help but feel proud. In fact, he had even asked Ok’umu, the Olo’eyktan, if he could lend his help to the other villages they had burned down. It would be his way of giving back to the people.

“I asked Ok’umu if we could stay today,” Lyle hums, as Ja quiets down in a comfortable position.

“What’d he say?” Ja hums back, seemingly calm. But if Lyle had learned anything in the past months they had spent with the Ta’unui, it was to read his friends.

“That we could stay,” Well, more or less. The Olo’eykatan did say a lot more than that, but the bottom line was that they could stay.

“Just like that?” Ja asks, turning to face Lyle.

“Just like that,” Lyle hums back, but of course, he should have known better.

“What more did he say?” Ja presses just as Mansk’s footsteps approach them in the sand.

“He said that thanks to Lyle pulling his weight, we have not suffered the shame of being useless,” Mansk adds unhelpfully as he comes to a stop before them.

Immediately Ja goes quiet, his ears drooping as his tail twitches behind him. He’s as much an open book as Mansk is. Leaning up, Lyle grabs a hold of his head and ruffles the unruly mop that has been growing there. He knows Ja feels as if he isn’t doing anything, but when Lyle or Mansk has come to get him after therapy, to take him home to the kelku Lyle had built for them, he had often stopped right outside the Tsahìk’s marui pod and listened to Ja ask about different medicines and methods. Without him knowing it, the Tsahìk had been teaching Ja about healing from the moment he was well enough to stay awake for more than half an hour.

“Stop thinking you’re useless just because you’re healing. Hell, kid… you broke every bone in your body and you’re still walking,” Lyle chuckles as Ja tries to get out of his hold.

“He’s right, you know,” Mansk hums, unwrapping a huge piece of meat from a leaf before handing a piece out to each of them. “Tsahìk’s been teaching you healing medicine for weeks,”

That seems to be enough for Ja. With a bit of food in his belly and peace around them, it seemed that life was smiling at them for real this time. They wouldn’t take this third chance of theirs for granted, holding onto it with arms and legs. As long as they were allowed to stay, they would continue helping out, continuing being helpful until their numbers were called. Sighing contently, they sat in silence as they watched the sun setting over the horizon. Soon enough the communal meal would begin and then there would be dance and laughter until it was time to retreat.

Nah, life with the Ta’unui wasn’t bad at all, so what could possibly happen to disrupt that peace?

Chapter 19 | Masterpost | Chapter 21

#Ma Miles #colonel miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch x reader #colonel quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch x reader #recom quaritch x reader #recom lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet #grillmaster mansk #avatar mansk #recom mansk #recom ja #avatar ja #avatar the way of water #atwow #Mech writes

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