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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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hysteria-things · 10 months ago

Note

ive never requested anything ever so..

but ive read everything you've wrote and oml your writing is heaven sent 🙏

is there any possible way you could do something kinda like the trope u had w the fic zipper u wrote where the reader is nates sister and nate catches chris and reader doing it or almost doing it?

SECRET'S OUT (part one)

read part two here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you are the little sister of nate doe, who so happens to be best friends with chris sturniolo; who so happens to be the boy you’ve been hooking up with behind his back for weeks.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, fluff, making out, swearing, p in v, praising, getting caught

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 872

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you anon for the kind words🥹

decided to combine these two requests! hope i did you guys justice :)

i’ve been getting a handful of chris requests which is why i’ve been posting about him more, but matt will make an appearance soon i promise🙏

you tap the contact on your phone, acting like you’re calling your crush for the first time. you bite your lip and smile while bringing it up to your ear.

the person on the other line picks up after two rings. “hello?”

“hey!” you say with excitement.

chris chuckles through the phone. you almost melt at the sound. “hi, baby.”

the heart in your chest flutters. everybody on the planet knows chris cannot stand that nickname, but he always makes you an exception.

you walk over to the bed and lay on your side, your unoccupied hand rests on your cheek.

“soooo…” you drag out. “nate’s out right now…”

“uh huh.” chris says with amusement, knowing exactly what you want.

you clear your throat and get straight to the point. “come over, pretty boy.”

chris’s dick twitches in his pants. “give me twenty minutes.”

“make it ten,” you say before disconnecting the call.

what do you know? chris comes marching into your room about ten minutes later. the door must’ve been unlocked.

he smiles down at you — since you’re so much shorter. you stand on your tippy toes to give him a peck on the lips.

a peck turns into two pecks. then three. then to his tongue exploring your mouth.

the smacking of your guys’ lips echoes through the room as chris backs you up to your bed. when the back of your knees hit the frame, you fall backward onto the mattress. the kiss is still intact. nothing could be able to stop you now.

“y/n? are you home?” nate’s voice shouts from down the hall.

okay, maybe one thing can stop you.

chris immediately pulls away to scramble to his feet. it’s too late to shove him somewhere since nate’s footsteps eventually reach the door to open it.

chris stands like a statue next to the door. luckily, he’s on the side where the door blocks him from your brother’s view.

“i thought you already left?” you say breathlessly, sitting up to make yourself look less suspicious.

“i did, but i came back to grab something.” he explains, looking around your room. “are you good? do you need anything while i’m out?”

“no, i’m good. thanks though!” you reply enthusiastically.

he gives you a look of disgust before shutting the door and making his way down the hallway. chris sniggers at you.

“shut up,” you mumble as he starts coming over to you to continue what he started.

he starts to kiss your neck and collarbones, each one leaving you with a tickling sensation.

“you’re so gorgeous.” he says between kisses. “the best thing to ever happen to me.”

your cheeks flush a maroon. he gently starts removing your pajama shorts and underwear. his lips still pepper your skin as he takes off his lower attire as well.

he finally pulls away, removing both yours and his shirts. he stares at your naked body in awe. “so fucking gorgeous.”

you moan as he starts to push in slowly, resting his forehead on yours. you’ve been railed by this man more than enough times, but you’ll never fully adjust to his size no matter how hard you try.

he sits there for a few seconds, caressing the outside of your thighs with his thumbs in a soothing manner.

“you okay?” he asks, kissing you again and again.

you nod. he starts to thrust deep and slow, earning a ‘faster’ from your lips when you think he’s going too slow. he interlocks your fingers with his and holds them above your head.

“oh, fuck.” you say in a voice higher than your normal one. “just like that, chris."

his movements are at a decent speed. you spread your legs wider, forcing him to go deeper. he rests his head in the crook of your neck and moans with you.

you pant and whimper at each thrust, loving his warm and safe touch.

it’s not until he hits a certain spot that make your eyes flutter closed, a wide grin of contentment plastering your face.

“does it feel good, baby? hm?” he starts, lifting his head to look at your face of pleasure. “you like it right there, don’t you? ah, you’re so fucking tight.”

you clench around him, making him lose rhythm for only a moment. “chris, i’m cl—”

“i fucking knew it.”

the two of you pause and stare at each other in fear. your face turns pale when all the pleasure is gone in a snap.

you both take turns facing the source and cover yourselves with your comforter.

nate is standing in the doorway with his hand on the knob. you’ve never seen nate mad, and right now he doesn’t look mad, but something feels off.

he needs to let this sit for a moment before he explodes.

chris grabs his undergarments that are on the floor next to him and puts them on quickly.

nate glances at you, who’s too frozen in fear to do anything. he then looks at chris and exhales loudly.

“for future reference, don’t leave your fucking shoes by the front door.” his voice is in a low but dark tone. “now get out before i beat the shit out of you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 7 months ago

Text

into you

Summary: After almost giving up the hope to become a big actor you get offered the leading role in a period drama, leaving you to spend three months in Scotland with your male co star Dieter Bravo and maybe falling in love with him.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.247

Rating: T

Warnings: fluff, falling in love, implied smut, kissing, really cheesy movie lines I made up, confessions of feelings, reader is in her late thirties, Dieter playing the piano

A/N: Another one for @undercoverpena April showers challenge! What's better than a Pedro character in period clothing in the rain? Making out with him hehe

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

You couldn’t sleep.

The moon was shining hrough the window of your hotel room, an old castle in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Scotland.

You had come here almost three months ago, having gotten the first big job of your career, the lead role in a period drama. The first lead role you ever got. The first big job you ever got.

For years you dreamed of being a big movie star.

Much like every young person who came to LA.

Which had been almost twenty years ago. You had been about to quit trying for that one big role that would finally grant your your big success last year.

By now well in your thirties (the forties getting closer and closer), not having any major success apart from some multi episode secondary character on some netflix shows in the latest years, you gave up hope that you would make it.

Sometimes the residuals you got from playing Chandler Bing’s awkward girlfriend for two episodes almost twenty years ago on friends had been the only way to pay your rent.

You were looking into going back to school when your agent called you, talking you into going to this last audition. It had been as a favour to them that you agreed, the contracts between you and the agency already canceled towards the end of the month.

They had always believed in you and you hated saying no to them because of that reason.

Maybe it was you having nothing to lose that left you going into the audition and blowing them all away. Not that you thought you did until your agent called you not even twenty minutes after you went out of the audition, asking you to come back to read opposite the male lead.

Still you didn’t let yourself getting your hopes up, walking back into the office building, back into the room you had been in before, now with an additional face smiling warmly at you.

You didn’t know that in the next two hours your whole life would change.

Not just because they offered you the job.

No, It was the day you met Dieter Bravo.

Of course you knew who Dieter Bravo was.

You had admired him since he starred in the high school drama series you definitely did not tape every episode from when you were in your teens.

And there had been no posters of him in your room growing up, nope.

But like almost every teen crush, it faded over the years.

You grew up, and he did too. You knew he had won an Oscar some years back, you saw the movie in the cinema back then.

He had made headlines after that, naming him the next big thing.

But lately the only headlines you remembered of him had been of his drug escapades and dating life.

So you had been a little reserved when you first met, hoping he would be professional enough throughout the audition.

Hope you shouldn’t have had, because Dieter had turned out to be professional in every single way.

Now, after spending almost two months with him, playing opposite of him, acting that you were in love with him, you found yourself wishing he would be a little less professional.

Groaning you sat yourself up in your bed, clicking the lamp on the bedside table on, reaching for your phone.

2:43 am.

Taking a deep breath and releasing a long sigh as you exhaled you let your head fall back.

In twenty four hours you would be on a plane back to the states, already on your way to shoot your next movie, your career seemingly finally starting off now that you were starring in a movie with Dieter Bravo.

You should be beyond happy.

Everything you dreamed off finally seemed to come true. You had three jobs lined up that would pay more than you had made in the last ten years combined.

Yet the thought of waking up every morning and not getting to spend the day with Dieter made it all bittersweet.

You had spent a lot of time together since getting to Scotland to shoot this movie. Not only on set, but apart from it too. He had been here before, shooting another movie and invited you out some times, showing you around. You had dinner together almost every night be it in an restaurant he wanted to show you or in the hotel. You got to know the man behind the persona you learned he put on for the public for and over the last weeks you had found yourself falling for him.

Your fingers cam up to brush over your lips, the lips he had kissed.

More than once.

In front of the camera.

But before you went to bed tonight, he walked you to your room and he had kissed you good night. Without cameras rolling. Without people around. Just you and him. His warm hand on your cheek, your back pushed against your hotel room door as he towered over you, his other hand resting on the door behind you.

You were out of breath when he parted from your lips, wishing you a good night, leaving you watching after him with your lips parted, your brain still trying to process that he had just kissed you, as he went down the hallway until he disappeared into his room.

You were too giddy to sleep, getting an old sweatshirt on before you grabbed your hotel key and walked out of your room, hoping he was as sleepless as you were and downstairs where you had found him often during your stay.

You could hear the faint sound of a piano as you entered the lobby, the night manager giving you a small smile as you walked past, following the sound.

In the far back corner of the lobby was a piano where you found Dieter playing a melody you did not recognise.

You had found him here before, in the beginning when you could not sleep because you were too nervous to fuck this big chance you got up.

He told you that his art supplies hadn’t been shipped yet, and that he usually painted when he couldn’t sleep.

And so instead he played.

And you listened, sitting next to him until you both almost fell asleep, before he walked you to your room, only to be up some hours later to shoot a movie where his character denied to be in love with your character, pushing your character away until a big dramatic scene where you would finally admit your feelings to each other.

Sitting down on the seat next to him as he played now, you let your head fall against his shoulder, hearing him inhale as he continued to play.

His lips brushed against your temple and you closed your eyes, just listening to his song.

When he finished you looked up at him, his eyes were already on you, an unreadable expression on his face.

„Couldn’t sleep?“ he asked.

You hummed in agreement.

„Too many thoughts in my head,“ you whispered and he nodded. One of his arms came to wrap around your back, pulling you closer against his side.

„You wanna talk about those thoughts?“ he asked and you chuckled.

„Don’t wanna fuck the big scene up tomorrow, well today,“ you said and he gave you a small smile.

„If someone is gonna fuck up it’s me. You make me keep forgetting my lines,“ he winked and you felt your cheeks growing warm, remembering the many occasions Dieter had seemingly spaced out during some scenes, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t place.

„What do you mean?“ You asked, and he sucked his bottom lip in, before he shrugged and there it was again, that expression in his face, his eyes big as he looked at you.

„I can’t stop looking at you. You’re so talented and beautiful and kind and so damn intelligent. Sexy….,“ he winked „You just blow me away and it’s like my brain stops working when I look at you sometimes. I never really felt like this before…“ he whispered and you blinked at him.

„What I am trying to say is, I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. I like kissing you, touching you,“ he grinned and you huffed.

„Especially when it’s just the two of us. Last week when the director called cut when we were in bed….“ He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

You had rushed off after finishing the scene with him, having to take care of the ache between your legs in the bathroom after spending almost six hours in bed with him, shooting numerous sex scenes.

„I wish we had been alone,“ he whispered his face getting closer to yours, his lips brushing over yours.

„Dieter,“ you whispered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his lips pressing against yours and you shivered.

„Yeah?“ He asked.

„We are alone now,“ you whispered and he nodded, before he kissed you again, deeply.

„Would you like to have sex with me?“ He whispered and your lips twitched into a grin which he mirrored before he kissed you again.

„Take me to your room, Dieter,“ you said, giggling when you found yourself pulled in the direction of the elevators in the next moment.

„This is madness,“ you shook your head, the rain coming down on you without mercy, drenching your many layers of clothes.

„Why? Why is it madness that I have fallen for you?“ Dieter asked, in character, his white shirt clinging to his chest.

You huffed a laugh, your character in denial about the feelings not only she had, but he had too.

„Because we are both engaged. And not to each other. We have to end this. I have to….“ You shook your head, closing your eyes, before you looked up at him. Dieter having closed the distance between the two of you, but not close enough to touch. The raindrops where running down his nose, his hair clinging to his face.

He looked like a wet dream straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

„All these times we spend in each others arms, they don’t mean anything to you?“ He asked.

„It was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened,“ you said, Dieter’s character seeing right through your lie.

„Do you love me?“ He asked and you did not have to play the small smile that sneaked to your lips for only a moment before you fought it down.

„It doesn’t matter,“ you said, turning away from him, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you before you could go.

„It matters to me. ,“ he whispered, broken, and the tone of his voice made you want to cry.

The rain continued to fall as you gave the camera time to capture both of your faces.

„Of course I love you,“ you finally said, looking at him over your shoulder.

„Then stay,“ he pleaded. You began to shake your head, when he pulled you against his chest, one of his hands on your cheek, brushing your hair that stuck to your face to the side, his eyes gazing deeply into yours.

„Stay and allow yourself to be happy,“ he said, almost begging.

„Stay here and let me love you,“ he let his forehead fall against yours and your eyes dropped close, pictures of the night he had spend with you filling your mind, the way his forehead had rested against yours as he filled you over and over and…

You opened your eyes and Dieter’s lip twitched for a second, having caught your unintended pause.

„What about our families?“ you asked, „What about my sister? She’s in your house getting ready to marry you today,“ you asked.

„They will understand. They have to. And if they don’t, I’ll take you away where we can live our life without the judgement of others. You’ll never have to worry for money.I love you, please be with me,“ his nose brushed against yours.

You felt his other hand on your lower back and you gasped.

„Then take me away,“ you whispered, feeling his smile against your lips as he finally kissed you, your arms wrapping around his broad back, fingertips brushing over his drenched clothes as he deepened the kiss.

The first thing you realised when Dieter parted from your lips was that the rain had stopped and that it was quiet around you. Too quiet.

Looking at Dieter he gave you a sheepish smile before you looked around, finding the crew around you looking at the both of you, Dieter’s PA holding two robes in his arms, giving you a wide smile.

„You gonna listen when I call cut now?“ The director teased with a wide grin and you let your head fall against Dieter’s chest, mortified, but he just chuckled, before he helped you get into the robe his PA had brought over.

„We’ll meet in an hour for the wedding scene, do not be late,“ the director reminded everyone, giving you and Dieter a longer look, and you nodded. Dieter grabbed your hand, and you looked at him.

„Can’t wait to marry you,“ he winked and kissed you again, before you both were rushed off from the set to get ready.

And you did actually get married.

Seven months later.

On a beach.

In the rain.

Without any interruptions.

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #my fic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo fanfic

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querenciasturniolo · 11 months ago

Text

ghost ⮕ s.t.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: depictions of death (no active murder), mentions of death, mentions of vomit, blood, suspense, anxiety, fear, swearing

summary: murders in los angeles have been happening left and right, and right as you think it couldn’t get any worse, one of your best friends is gone.

a/n: this took much longer than it should have, and for that i’m sorry, but i have a few things to say beforehand. this was inspired by multiple edits, two separate convos i had with @floofparker and @champangekisses , scream being one of my FAVORITE scary movies, and, of course, the iconic “WHO’S MOST LIKELY TO BE THE GHOSTFACE KILLERRRR” from chris. this took FOREVER, but i’m so proud of it and so excited to put it out. this is pretty reminiscent to the movie, but i added my own little spin on it. PLEASE read the bolded disclaimer and take it to heart, i don’t think anything that goes down in this fic would actually happen, hence the name fanfiction. it’s supposed to be unrealistic, that’s the point. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Twenty year old social media star Christopher (Chris) Sturniolo was found dead outside of his Los Angeles home on September 22, 2023. His brothers, who he made comedy videos with on multiple platforms, Nicolas and Matthew Sturniolo, claim their brother had been out with long-time friend and fellow content creator, Y/f/n Y/l/n, hours before.

Nick and Matt told police moments before they rushed out to find their brother with multiple stab wounds, they heard yelling and a struggle. When they reached Chris, the assailant was gone. Y/n hasn’t spoken about their day together prior to his death, and has refused to answer any questions asked. Her and Matt Sturniolo seem to have ended their year-long relationship shortly after this tragedy, but we all want to know why. Was there an affair? Was the guilt too much to keep the secret after Chris’ death?

On October 13, 2022, Y/n’s brother was murdered brutally, and their mother suffered a very public breakdown. The assailant in her brother’s case has yet to be found.

Chris Sturniolo’s murder was the fifth in a little less than two months. Police have yet to tell the public any of their leads in this string of serial murders, but have disclosed that they are far from closing these cases.

The article had only been out for an hour, and your Instagram and Tiktok were already being swarmed with notifications. So many, that you had to delete both apps off of your phone to keep it from crashing.

You hadn’t left your bed since that day, only to get something to eat and some water when you ran out—you couldn’t even go to the funeral. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer your phone, you couldn’t even answer the countless messages you scrolled through in the days following your best friend’s death.

Today was the day, you decided, that you were going to do something. Three weeks couldn’t have been too late to get your shit back together. You had woken up in the late afternoon and gotten into the shower, standing under the hot spray for what felt like forever and just allowing yourself to relax and release any tension in your body.

You had made a full meal for the first time since…that morning. You were nauseous the entire time you ate, but you had to do this. When your brother died, everyone told you that the best way to get through your grief was to continue your regular routine as much as possible. Filming a video was on your to do list. You weren’t going to post it, it was just for you to get back into the routine of talking to a camera.

Setting up your camera was the hardest part. You knew how to do it blindfolded by now, but the thought of doing anything like this, even if you weren’t going to post it, felt wrong, almost. It felt wrong to look into a camera and talk about that day, talk about your last day with Chris.

You sat down on your couch after pressing record and ran a hand over your face, finally looking into the lens and sighing.

“It’s been awhile.” You started, rolling your eyes at the corniness of your statement. “I don’t even know why I said that, I’m not even posting this.” You grumbled, dropping your head into your hands and carding your fingers through your hair. The burning in your throat started, and you continuously fought through the knot and forming tears.

You looked up again, hoping your eyes didn’t look as red as they felt. “I picked Chris up at ten fifteen, and we spent the entire day together. We went thrifting, as much as he complained the whole time.” You said, a ghost of a smile forming on your face as your eyes focused elsewhere.

“He, oh my God.” You said, chuckling to yourself and shaking your head. “He would throw whatever I had in my hands in the basket and ask if we were done yet, every time I picked something up. I don’t know what his problem was, considering he had gotten a few things too.” You said, sighing softly and glancing over at the camera.

“We went to lunch—that honestly sounds more fancy than it is, we stopped at In-n-Out—and we just came back to my house afterwards. We talked about…a lot of things.” You started, tears pooling in your eyes as you closed them and let yourself remember.

“We talked…we talked about life, and getting older.” You said, dropping your head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Fears, hopes and whatnot. We talked about everything.” You said, sighing softly as the remnants of Chris’ voice in your memory sang through.

“I don’t know what I want right now. I’m grateful that I’m doing so well, but in five years, where will I be?”

“It started getting late, so I took him home. He told me to come in if I wanted, but I…I was tired, I wanted to go home. He…he got out of the car, and I didn’t. I never...” You dropped your head in your hands again, your breathing labored as you fought off the guilt that had been deteriorating you for the last three weeks.

You lifted your head, about to stand and turn off your camera when your phone buzzed next to you. You sighed and flipped it over, frowning at the screen.

No Caller ID flashed before you. Usually you’d ignore the call, but something in you couldn’t resist as you slid the icon over and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked, your voice quiet and shaky.

“It was your fault, you know.”

You’d never ended a call so fast, your phone hitting the couch as you stared down at it with wide eyes. The voice was distorted, completely unrecognizable, but familiar at the same time. This was some sick joke, it had to be. You took a deep breath and shook your head.

You stood and walked over to your camera on weak knees, stopping the recording and taking your camera off of the tripod. As you shut off the camera, your phone buzzed on the couch. A sigh left your lips as you placed the camera on the coffee table and ran your hands through your hair.

What was the worst that could happen, right? You picked up your phone, No Caller ID still flashing across the screen. You slid the icon over again and pressed your phone to your ear.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

Your entire body went on high alert. “Who is this?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“That’s not important, what’s important is I know what really happened that day.”

All of the air left your lungs as you shakily sat down on the couch. “What are you talking about?” You asked. A dark chuckle rang through the receiver, your heart pounding in your ears as you waited for an answer.

“You didn’t wait for him to get inside, did you, Sweetheart?”

A broken sob left your lips as you hung up the phone and dropped it, your whole body shaking with each shattered cry that escaped you. The guilt was too much, it was the only thing about your last day with him that you couldn’t bring yourself to even say.

You blame yourself for Chris’ death, if you had just waited a few moments for him to get in the door, none of this would have happened. It was killing you every single day, not knowing if your being there would have changed anything.

You ignored the next call, and went through your contacts. Your finger hovered over Matt’s name, your chest aching as you swiped out of his contact, clicked the one under it, and held your phone to your ear. Before Nick could even finish his greeting, you were straining to get your words out of your mouth through the knot in your throat.

“Nick, something is wrong. Please, please come over.” You whispered into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice steady as his silence on the other end made your skin crawl.

“I’ll be there soon.”

You put your phone on the couch and took your time pacing around your living room.

Nick would be here soon, there was no reason to panic. The person on the phone was nothing, no one. Your phone’s incessant buzzing pulled you out of your pacing. You were frustrated now, the guilt and pain that you’d been holding in for so long was finally out in the open and slapping you right in the face.

How did they know? You hadn’t told anyone, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

It didn’t matter, the person on the phone had no idea what they were talking about, which sounded about as stupid as you thought it did, but it was the only thing keeping you from pulling your hair out of your head.

You pulled your phone from the couch and answered, the buzzing driving you up the wall.

“Listen, I’ve already called the police, and they’re tracing this call right no—”

The laughter on the other end cut you off, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as that sickening, metallic voice rang through the receiver.

“Oh, Sweetheart. We both know that isn’t true. I do know, however, that your little friend and boyfriend are on their way right now. Care to explain how they’re going to help you?”

Every hair on your body stood on end, your chest aching with the intensity of each beat against your rib cage. You fish-mouthed, unable to get any words out as the voice continued.

“How are they going to stop me, hm? How are they going to keep me from gutting you the same way I did your dear old friend, Chris? Or your brother?”

You froze, your gaze stuck to the floor as each word processed in your mind. “My brother?” You whimpered, a sinister chuckle vibrated against your ear.

“You heard me, Sweetheart. He put up quite the fight, too. More of a fight than your little friend.”

“Shut up!” You screamed into the receiver, hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room. You could distinctly hear the shatter of your screen as you crumpled in on yourself.

Michael’s murder had completely destroyed you. Your entire world was uprooted, and your mom, your mom hasn’t been the same since. She spends her days sitting in a rocking chair in front of the window, rocking slowly back and forth in a daze.

You’d never shaken more in your life, your entire body twitching and fighting each movement you tried to make as you stood from the floor. You needed to get up, you couldn’t let yourself stay on the ground or you’d never move.

Before you reached your kitchen, the sound of a knock at the door had you jumping out of your skin. It took everything in you to walk to the door and peek out the peephole, ripping it open the moment you registered Nick and Matt standing on your porch.

You hadn’t said a word before they rushed in and wrapped you in the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced in your life. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pushed the door shut and held them tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” You sobbed, both of their arms holding you as you completely crumbled. “I didn’t wait for him to get inside, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, he’d be here right now if it wasn’t for me. I’m so fucking sorry.” You rambled. Neither of them spoke, but their shoulders shaking softly against you answered the silent question of if they were listening.

When you finally pulled away, you were still shaking like a leaf. The guilt of holding it in for so long had been washed away, but the fear of that voice on the phone was still running rampant.

“No one blames you.” Nick said, his eyes rimmed red. “We’ve never blamed you. So you don’t need to worry about that.” You glanced at Matt, who’s eyes were still on the floor before you met Nick’s eyes again. “What happened?”

You sniffed and shook your head as you wiped at your face. “Nothing, it’s fine. It isn’t important.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around your abdomen as your eyes rested on Matt’s hunched frame. Nick sighed from where he stood and ran a hand over his face.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, but then I want to know what happened.” He said before he turned and walked towards the living room.

For what felt like hours, you and Matt stood across from each other in the mudroom of your childhood home, you staring at him, and him staring at the floor. When his eyes finally met yours, it felt as though your heart shattered and mended itself all at once. You hadn’t seen him since before Chris’ death, and the only message you’d sent him since then was telling him that the two of you needed to break up.

He looked as beautiful as he always had, but he looked different. Under his eyes were dusted in a dark purple, the whites of them tinged pink, his cheeks sunken in.

“Matty,” you whispered and took a step forward. He shook his head and looked back down at the floor.

“Why?”

It took everything in you not to wrap him in your arms and never let go. You knew exactly what he was asking you, and you knew the answer. It had taken these three weeks of you doing nothing more than surviving to realize you had no other reason to break up with Matt, other than the fact that looking at him would remind you of Chris, and you couldn’t handle it. It was selfish, and you could only imagine how he felt.

“I…I don’t have a good reason.”

Matt nodded and sniffed before looking up and meeting your eyes. The blue of his iris’ was striking against the red rimming his eyes. Your own eyes were burning as his gaze scanned over your face.

“Is it true?”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as he sighed and shook his head.

“What the article said, about you and Chris. Is it true? Was there…did you…”

You gasped as the realization hit you of what he was asking.

“Matt, what? I would never, I could never do that to you. I didn’t look at Chris like that, you know that.” You rambled on.

Matt nodded. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, just…a moment of weakness, I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, taking a step closer to you. “Why did you end…us? I needed you, and you just…you shut me out.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and shook your head. “I couldn’t bear looking at you and seeing him. I know, that’s selfish, and I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“I shattered the mirror in my bathroom the other night.”

You looked up, your eyebrows furrowed as Matt held up his hands. A gasp left your lips and you reached forward, delicately taking his cut up and bruised hands in yours. Before you could ask him why, he answered the silent question brokenly.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw him.” You met his eyes again, and didn’t stop yourself as you pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I should have been there.” You mumbled into his shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist as he breathed you in. Neither of you said anything, just held each other for as long as the other needed.

“Um, Y/n? Did you do this on purpose?”

You pulled away from Matt and turned around, seeing Nick holding your shattered phone in his hand. You sighed and nodded, the fear you’d completely forgotten about creeping up.

“I was getting prank phone calls, it’s not that big of a deal.” You mumbled, pulling away completely and walking towards the living room.

“What kind of prank phone calls would make you shatter your phone?” Matt asked quietly, you turned to face him and shrugged your shoulders, trying desperately to hide the shaking of your hands. You didn’t want to talk about it, you couldn't talk about it. If you talked about it, that would make it real.

Before you could even sit on the couch, Nick’s phone was went off in his pocket. Your heart pounded as he pulled it out and looked down at it with a frown.

“No Caller ID?” He mumbled, your jaw dropping as he pulled it to his ear. It was a few moments of silence before he met your eyes and handed it to you. “They asked for you.”

You whimpered as you took the phone and pressed it to your ear, not saying a word as the mechanical voice spoke again.

“You really thought smashing your phone would get rid of me, Sweetheart?”

“What do you want?!” You cried, the other line buzzing in silence for only a moment before Matt stepped forward and almost snatched the phone from your hand.

“I’m upstairs, come find me.”

The line beeped right as Matt grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. You froze in your spot, Matt turning to face you and dropping Nick’s phone on the couch. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you once lightly.

“What did they say? Baby, breathe. What did they say?!” Matt asked, his grip on your shoulders tight as you fought off the panic.

“He’s in the house. He’s in the house.” You whispered, your eyes meeting Matt’s. Nick moved from his spot and stopped right next to Matt, his eyes wide as he scanned your face.

“Y/n, who is in the house?” He asked, his voice quiet in shock. You shook your head, nausea overtaking you as you pushed past Matt and sprinted to the kitchen. You couldn’t make it to the trash, turning and vomiting into the sink, your breaths heaving as you felt a warm hand rest on your back.

It took everything in you not to crumple to the floor as you looked up and shook your head.

“H-He told me he’s the one that killed Michael…and C-Chris.” You whispered the last word, your throat burning and your stomach lurching. Matt’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“How long have you been getting these phone calls?” He asked, his voice shaky as Nick handed you a bottle of water.

“It’s only been the last couple of hours, I thought it was some sort of sick prank until—”

A shatter from upstairs had your entire body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. Nick’s head whipped to the stairs as Matt reached for a knife and turned away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing his arm tightly and making him face you. Nick had his phone dialed and already pressed to his ear, speaking quickly to the 9-1-1 operator.

“I’m fucking going up there.” He said, pulling his arm from your grip and continuing his way towards the stairs.

“Matt, are you stupid?” Nick asked, stepping in front of the staircase as he hung up the phone. “The police are being dispatched, don’t do anything rash.” Matt shoved past Nick and ascended the stairs, his knuckles white on the handle of the knife. Nick groaned and faced you fully. “What are we gonna do?” He asked.

“We can’t just let him go up there by himself.” You whispered, walking past Nick and slowly stepping up the stairs.

“Jesus, you guys are gonna get us killed.” Nick grumbled from behind you. You heard a shuffle in the kitchen and turned, seeing him follow you up with a knife in his hand. “What? One of us had to grab something.” He whispered. You faced forward again, listening for any bump or creak that could indicate where Matt or the man that was in your house were.

It was silent as you walked through the upstairs. Each door you passed was closed, the only sound upstairs being the sound of Nick’s and your footsteps, and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Matt?” You called out, the back of Nick’s hand hitting your shoulder. You looked at him, bewilderment etched into your face.

“Have you never seen a scary movie? Calling out in a dark house is the number one way to fucking die.” He said through his teeth. You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to fire back.

“Get off of me!”

You jumped, your head whipping down the hallway to see a door slam. “Matt!” You shouted, running without thinking towards the door and shoving it open. The moment you stepped into the center of the room, you knew something was wrong. The door clicked behind you, and you froze in place.

“Look what we have here.”

You turned, your eyes meeting Matt’s. His entire demeanor changed, the heartbroken boy you’d seen before was gone. In his place, stood what you could only describe as a monster. His eyes were dark, his smirk sinister, and his shoulders were square.

“Matty?” You asked, Nick coming from behind him with an almost identical smirk.

The both of them chuckled and looked between each other. Nick stepped forward, causing you to take a quick step back.

“Oh, Honey. Matty’s been gone for a while.” His hooded eyes stared you down as you fully processed what was truly happening. The both of them had tricked you.

You took in a shaky breath past the knot in your throat as you took another step back.

“You?” You exhaled, your eyes switching between them as their smirks grew impossibly wider. Matt rolled his eyes and looked over to Nick.

“Us?” He mocked, meeting your eyes and taking a step closer to you. “Yes, Baby. Us. Is that so surprising?” He teased, your eyes brimming with hot, salty tears. The cool air in the room had them burning, and your throat felt like it was on fire.

“You two were behind the murders all along?” You asked, your voice barely reaching a whisper as they moved closer to you almost strategically, boxing you in with each step they took.

Nick chuckled and nodded his head, his eyes never leaving yours as he cocked his head to the side. “She’s catching up, Matt. Yes, every single one.” He said, his voice thick with venom.

“But why?” You whimpered, your back hitting the wall. You were cornered, you couldn’t get past them no matter how hard you tried. Nick and Matt’s eyes were wicked as they watched you, Matt’s smirk growing as he glanced over at Nick.

“Hear that, Nick? She wants a motive.” He said, his eyes meeting yours again. “It isn’t enough that we just felt like it?”

“You killed Michael in cold blood, just because you felt like it?” You spat. Nick quirked an eyebrow and lightly ran the tip of his finger over the blade of the knife he was holding.

“See, now you’re getting it. Not everyone needs a motive, some people are just sick and twisted.” He pouted at the end of his sentence, anger flushing through you and coating your skin in heat.

“And Chris?” You asked. Matt chuckled and shook his head.

“You really can’t be that dense, Baby.” He said.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You said through gritted teeth.

“It was only a distraction. We were getting sloppy, and what’s better to get the cops off of our case than getting rid of one of us?” Nick interrupted. You shook your head.

“Murder isn’t a distraction, you sick fucks.” You spat, looking around the room for any escape.

Matt chuckled, and flipped the blade in his hand. “Oh, Baby. You really aren’t understanding, are you?”

Before you could spit in his face, the door behind them was pushed open, your eyes shifting to the shadowed figure walking into the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as realization slowly set in, a broken cry leaving your lips as you shook your head.

“No.” You whispered.

The white mask on his face would have been comical if every hair on your body wasn’t standing on end. You watched each movement closely, your knees buckling as you slid to the floor. The wood was ice cold as the man crouched down in front of you. He pulled the mask from his face, your choked sob being caught in your throat as you shook your head and looked down at the floor.

His warm finger rested on your chin and he lifted it up until your eyes met his, a broken whimper leaving your lips as you met the familiar blue eyes you’d looked into a million times before.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” Chris said, his voice gravelly and rough as it left his smirking lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

tags: @lvrsparadise , @ssturniolo , @floofparker , @cat-loves-music , @geniejunn , @its-jennarose , @dwntwn-strnlo , @20nugs , @hiraethlimerence , @lavieenvalentina , @strniolo , @toyourloves , @jellybeanbby , @thetriplets3 , @mxriverse , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @tylerscreat0r , @angelcake-222 , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #scream #scream inspired #sturniolo #querenciasturniolo #nick sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #ghostface

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trashmouth-richie · 9 months ago

Text

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again.

The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’

Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected.

On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man.

At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.

He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option.

Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet. It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends.

Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation.

And you, he had you.

Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you.

It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect.

The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead.

Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness?

His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily.

And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl.

You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul.

His gem.

It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise.

It was you.

Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest.

He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner.

Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak.

He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored.

Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried.

A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park.

Eddie was living on cloud nine.

He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number.

You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him.

“Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.”

A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.”

“Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?”

He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.”

An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink.

You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.

He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls.

“Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave.

“Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!”

“Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history.

He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school.

—

Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes.

He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field.

His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight.

A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once.

He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears.

—3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker.

He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school.

“Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.”

It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness.

Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change.

The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand.

A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time.

“My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman.

He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out.

“And that?”

“That’s.. my room.”

It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him.

—

Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing.

You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula.

His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick.

“Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.”

He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but.

Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye.

A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem.

Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips.

You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.”

“Should I close my eyes?”

He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,”

Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?”

He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else.

He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach?

He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension.

A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same.

“Hey kid.”

—

Eddie was nervous.

The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight.

He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms.

“We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant.

Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.”

He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers.

His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign.

And it happens like clockwork.

Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?”

Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights.

Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago.

Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.”

Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin.

A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?”

He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails.

“Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?”

The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him.

His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath.

“ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”

He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours.

—

Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie.

The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear.

“Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it?

He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope.

“It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.”

Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup.

—

Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake.

He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm.

He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease.

He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw.

“Where have you been my whole life?”

Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.”

He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.

He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.”

“wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

—

“Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?”

Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot, needs time to recover, find out who he is again.”

Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.”

Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.”

—

Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart.

Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him.

And he felt the same.

Together you set the plans into place.

He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle.

You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’.

It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours.

Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly.

You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him.

The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room.

“Got everything you need? Toothbrush?”

You smile a little nervously, “check.”

“Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.”

“Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.”

He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

“Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.”

You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue.

“I want you.”

—

Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream.

“Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead.

He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport.

The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne.

The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe.

Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

“Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.”

He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage.

Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait.

—

Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead.

It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before.

A pep rally you never attended.

Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand.

“We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?”

His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans.

“For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.”

He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall.

Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up.

“Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat.

Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out.

He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt.

He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this.

But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once.

“I love you too, Eddie.”

—

Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway.

“Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?”

He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table.

Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound.

The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone.

Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

—

“.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed.

To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair.

French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls.

“Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear.

“After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.”

Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?”

The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86.

Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed.

Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later.

—

Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report.

The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff.

He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him.

He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months.

“Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.”

Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

“It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.”

Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down.

—

Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked.

The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you.

You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful.

Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right.

The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred.

A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.

Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside.

—

His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust.

He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing.

The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes.

He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast.

Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe.

It smelled like you.

You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him.

You you you.

His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface.

Gone.

“Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months.

“She’s gone.”

—

“Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.”

“You live here alone?”

Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form.

He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.”

He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin.

“I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

“Really? That’s.. impressive!”

“It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year.

“Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

“What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!”

Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.”

Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed.

“Do you even have it?”

“Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch.

“I can talk to her while you find something?”

“That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love.

—

Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other.

He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords.

“I need to see her.”

Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.”

With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t.

Nothing was the same. Not anymore.

—

The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest.

Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones.

Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered.

The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you.

Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life.

Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real.

Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain.

He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now.

The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had.

The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence.

He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true.

Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had.

Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt.

His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground.

His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

—

The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure.

Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay.

“Yeah, course.”

Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right?

Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior.

“Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.”

You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent.

“It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.”

He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?”

Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.”

—

He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name.

It was comforting.

Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave.

But you did, and he was alone.

Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name.

“Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.”

Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was.

“See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.”

—

The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame.

“Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.”

“Kinda cold for September, right?”

“All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.”

Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?”

Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.”

They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind.

He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes.

Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room.

Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key.

“Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!”

The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern.

A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft.

“I promised you forever.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #ziggy writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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scoopsahoy · 7 months ago

Text

birthday boy

ぺ word count ⋰ 1.2k

✰ tw ⋰ none :)

❍ cw ⋰ swearing, sex + fingering

៚ a/n ⋰ yes i came back from the trenches to post a fic about steve for joe's birthday. and what about it

✐ masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

April 24th. The 115th day of the year had many celebrations including National Pigs in a Blanket Day, but the most important one to you was the birthday of your boyfriend, Steve. The two of you hadn't been together long, just about a year. But you knew him pretty well at this point.

You knew what he liked and what he disliked, and you knew how he liked to celebrate important events, like birthdays.

So you invited all of his friends, including Robin, Dustin, and the rest of The Party. You baked him a regular chocolate cake at his request. You rented Back to the Future, as he didn't really get to see it properly the first time. All in all, he had one of the most fun birthdays he'd had in a long time.

But his real gift didn't start until after the guests left.

You stared in the bathroom mirror at yourself, all dolled up in a new lingerie set that you bought specifically for tonight. It was a deep purple, black lace lining the edges of both the bra and underwear. The bra was just a normal bra, but the underwear tied on both sides like bikini bottoms for easy removal.

You hadn't had the opportunity for intimacy for a few weeks, as you'd been incredibly busy with work trying to save up extra money. But tonight it was just the two of you in his empty house.

When you walked to his room, he was sitting in his bed propped up against the headboard, rereading the card you got him with a small smile on his face. You leaned against the doorframe, trying to be as sexy as possible.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, looking up as he began his next sentence. "It was really-"

When he finally did look at you, his eyes grew so large you swore they were going to pop out of his head like a cartoon. You'd never worn lingerie before, as it wasn't really your thing.

But seeing the look on his face made you realize that this will probably become a recurring thing.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up a bit.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought, since it's your birthday, I'd... do a little something extra."

You stepped into the room and closed the door, locking it behind you just in case. You slowly strutted over to the bed, his hand instinctively raising to meet your hip.

"You like?" you asked in an innocent voice.

"Hate it. Take it off," he joked. You couldn't hold in your chuckle as you swung your leg over his lap and positioned yourself on top of him.

Now both of his hands were on your waist, wrapping around you firmly.

"It's your birthday, you have to open the gift."

He looked at you with his brows raised. You weren't usually the perpetrator of dirty talk, so this came as a bit of a surprise to him. But he didn't hesitate to reach up and unhook your bra, freeing you from the constricting material.

His lips were on your chest and your bodies were connected before the garment even hit the floor, a satisfied sigh escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders.

As he reached down to your left hip to untie one of the sides of your underwear, you stopped him.

"Now you know you don't get to take those off until you've taken something off yourself."

You could have sworn that his shirt was off in less than a second. You knew he was eager to finally fuck you again, and so were you. Every fiber of your being wanted one thing — him inside of you.

His hands untied both sides of your underwear at once, throwing it to the floor on top of the rest of the discarded clothes.

Part of you wanted to make this as slow and sexy as possible, but a bigger part of you just wanted to get to it as fast as you could.

He wrapped one arm all the way around you and flipped you onto your back, his hips settling between your thighs.

"Steve," you breathed. "Take your pants off."

With zero hesitation he did what you commanded. Within less than twenty seconds, both of you were fully naked, aside from a condom.

His right hand reached down and his fingers began circling your clit, a low hum filling the room. It was the first time you'd had any stimulation there in forever, so you knew it wasn't going to take you long to cum.

"I missed you," he said into your neck. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever."

"I know. I missed you, too."

Without another word, you felt him slip into you, and you both gasped. You pulled his lips to yours and kissed him deeply as he picked up a steady rhythm.

"You feel so good," he said into your mouth, being met with an 'mhm'.

You raised your legs a bit and pressed them into his sides, allowing him to go deeper than a moment ago. And, noticing this, he snaked his arms behind your knees and pushed your legs higher, almost to your shoulders.

This was new for you — being this bent. But it felt amazing. And you couldn't hold back the moans that immediately got significantly louder.

"Fuck, Steve."

"Is that okay?"

You nodded frantically. "So good."

With that verbal approval, he sped up again. His lips once again attached themselves to your neck, sucking on that oh-so-tender spot that he knew you loved.

As he fucked you, the sounds that came out of you only got louder and more guttural, as this position brought a whole host of new sensations. You were convinced that your g-spot was nonfunctional up until this point, but this angle made you realize how wrong you were.

Every single thrust brushed across it in the exact way that you needed to feel something from it, and you could have sworn you grew it overnight.

Your hands gripped his biceps tightly and your eyes widened as he made eye contact with you.

"Steve, I'm not gonna last much longer."

The couple of weeks of no intimacy really did make a difference, more so than either of you expected.

"Good, me either."

It was less than thirty seconds later that you were probably able to be heard from outside as you came, his fingers on your clit not helping you keep your volume down in the slightest.

Neither of you moved for a good ten seconds. Your legs were back down at their normal position. His face was buried where your neck and shoulder meet and you kissed the side of his head, rubbing your hands up and down his sides.

"Happy birthday," you whispered. He lifted his head and looked at you with a dorky tired smile and kissed you.

"Best birthday ever. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So... I think you should take me with you next time you go lingerie shopping."

"Well, now, that would ruin the surprise of it, wouldn't it?"

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harringtong fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington x reader fanfiction #steve harrington x reader imagine #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

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shubblelive · 1 year ago

Text

— NOT MUCH LONGER

summary : wilbur has always been dedicated to his viewers, sometimes too much. his fans are aware of this, you are aware of this, and he is aware of this. so when you go multiple days without seeing your boyfriend because of how hard he's working you take matters into your own hands, not realising that thousands of people are there watching you do it.

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of eating/food, a few swearwords, wilbur not taking care of himself, very small panicky moment

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

pronouns : she/her, reader is called wilbur's girlfriend/wife

featuring : cc!wilbur soot

requested : Could you do a fic where the reader isn’t a very public person (in regards to the internet) and one day, wilbur’s streaming and she goes in and brings him some food and kisses him, not knowing he was live, and when she notices, she just gets all red and embarrassed and wilbur goes out of frame with her and its just all fluffy, and the chat goes craaazy

word count : 1.3K

note : hi lmao. i know, i know it's been nearly 2 months since i 've posted anything. school really caught p to me, i was so stressed out i was crying like multiple times a day for a few weeks. i wanna thank you guys for your patience, i have one more week of classes before spring break and then exams are right after that so i am really unsure of how much free time i'm gonna have until like mid-november.

There was a lot of things that you loved about Wilbur. Of course there was, the two of you had been together since university, nearing on 5 years. Knowing for someone that long, though, and there were obviously aspects of your boyfriend that you were less than fond of. There weren’t a lot, but the main one was the fact that he was a major workaholic.

You were completely understanding of how important his job was to him. He had been doing it longer than you’d even known each other and you’d never want to do anything to make it seem like you were anything less than supportive.

But the last couple of weeks had been driving you crazy.

He’d be out all day filming for twenty different videos or in the studio - that was fine, you had your own work and hobbies to keep you occupied. But then he’d get home and it was straight to editing, or writing, or meetings for merch, album art, new videos. It had gotten to the point where you hadn’t even seen him in two days. You knew he’d been home, you vaguely heard the shower running while you were asleep, so tired you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head. Clothes had been added to the laundry hamper, and water glasses had been added to the sink. He’d messaged you, of course. You were high on his list of priorities, it being a no-brainer that whenever he got a free minute he was texting you to let you know where he was going, promising that he’d be home soon.

When you got home from work, you were pleasantly surprised to find his docs at the front door, neatly kicked to the side so they were out of the way along with the rest of your collective pile. You put your stuff down and practically floated around the house, searching for your boyfriend. Not in the kitchen, though the dishes had been done for you, left to dry. Not in the living room, though there was a coat draped over the back of the couch that you picked up and deposited in the bedroom (also empty, but his side of the bed was rumpled like he’d fallen straight on top of the blankets).

You were walking down the hallway when you finally heard him. He was talking softly, not outside of the norm for him. His office wasn’t soundproof, and you often heard him through the walls as you went about your day, whether that was laughing loudly as he streamed, or the muffled sound of him strumming his guitar, trying to write a new song. He was being quiet, probably editing a video. You knew he had his own room in the group office, just for him to edit, but he liked to bring them home sometimes.

You went back into the kitchen to dry the dishes for Wilbur and you noted that there weren’t any new plates added to the pile. You knew that Wilbur had eaten while he was gone, he’d texted you every time they ordered food, but you also knew that it had been a couple of days since his last home cooked meal. You, admittedly didn’t have much in the pantry, but it was made with love, which was the thought that counts.

That was the thought on the tip of your tongue as you knocked gently on the door, a plate of mac and cheese and a glass of water in hand, smile breaking out at the sight of your boyfriend at his desk.

Wilbur’s viewers had always been aware that he had a girlfriend. He mentioned you for the first time after you guys had been together for a year, and since then you were a sporadic presence in his online life, maybe a mention every couple of weeks or months. They didn’t know anything else though, not even your name. His viewers, over the past couple of years had developed their own nicknames for you. It started from one of the first streams you were mentioned in, someone in chat asked if you were Wilbur’s wife. He’d laughed, said no, and then tried to say you were not his wife, and instead pronounced it “wiff.” It got slightly out of hand over the years, with most people lovingly referring to you online as wiffleball. Wilbur had apologised profusely for the slip up, but you found it too funny to actually care. It was definitely weird for you to see, though, the phrase ‘Wiffleball’ randomly trending every couple of months.

So, they didn’t know your name, and they definitely didn’t know your face. Wilbur was usually on high alert for even your footsteps outside the door, let alone you wanting to come inside. He’d yell that he was live, and you’d wait dutifully at the door for him to come outside. It was more for your sake than his, but he cared just as much about your right to privacy as you did. But today, he was so preoccupied with the fact that he hadn’t seen you in nearly three days that he completely forgot to.

The monitor with his own face in it was tilted away from the door, and you were so entranced by the smile on his face that you didn’t notice until it was too late. He was standing to meet you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hi, lovely, I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Wil,” Your hands were on his arms the second you placed the food down, and you were right about to kiss him properly when you saw a fast movement out the corner of your eye. His chat was whizzing by so fast that you almost couldn’t read it. You backed out of frame immediately, almost out of instinct, wide eyes meeting Wilbur’s. “You’re streaming?”

“Fuck,” Wilbur made sure that you were definitely out of the frame before putting his stream back on the loading screen and going back to check on you.

Your breathing was much faster than usual and he could all but see your heart jumping out of your chest. “I am so sorry, darling, I was too busy being happy to see you that I completely forgot that I was even streaming. Are you okay?”

Your hands found Wilbur’s shirt, clenching it between your fists and burying your face in the fabric across his chest. His hands were securely on your back as he held you while you calmed your breathing. You weren’t crying no, he could tell you just needed to slow your breaths down and you’d be alright. He was whispering reassurances in your ear and within a few minutes your heart had calmed down. “I’m alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur launched immediately into apologies again but your vice grip on his shirt stopped him.

“I’m alright, Wilbur.” You strangely were alright. What you could see on the chat were all nice things, they were all so excited to see you. “Never want to go back on your stream again, but I’m okay with them seeing me.”

“You don’t have to be okay, love, if you’re not. I’ll get the VOD taken down when I’m done and edit you out and say something about not circulating the video, I am so sorry-”

“I’m fine, Wilbur.” You pulled the fabric closer to your chest, the movement effectively silencing him. “Like I said. I am still good not showing up on your streams and stuff, but you can leave the video up. I’m alright with it, I promise.”

He softened at your determined face. “I love you,” he said in place of another apology. “I love you, and I am still sorry that I forgot to tell you. No more until you say so, I promise.”

“Thank you,” you said earnestly, loosening your grip on his shirt. “I’ll let you finish up now, do you think you’ll be a while?”

Wilbur kissed you softly before sitting back in his chair and looking up at you full of love. “Trust me, I definitely won’t be much longer.”

#wilbuh #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot angst

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usmsgutterson · 4 months ago

Text

Nothing Feels As Good As Going Home - S.R

Okay!! My ao3 did see this one first (I had edited it late last night and honestly?? I was too lazy to post it on both platforms because I edited it on ao3 and was too lazy to copy, paste, and then write an authors note lmao) and I'm pretty unsure about this as a whole because I'm only eight seasons in and I haven't written for Spencer before, but I'm conquering my fears tonight.

Despite my bio (which will be changed at least fifteen minutes after this has been posted--I have two accounts and I want to do some maintenance for this one because it needs a little TLC I fear) my requests are currently open!! They're wide open to Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, even though I'd also likely be willing to write for another criminal minds character if you asked.

Fic type - this one is tooth rotting fluff because I couldn't resist

Warnings - spencer might be a tad ooc because this is the first time I've written for him. This is also set either in or around season eight as, when I wrote this, I was about halfway through that season and I'm currently close to 2/3rds of the way done with it. Cats are also in this one, if you aren't a cat person.

Spencer used to hate going home. He felt like he’d never really know what would be going on the minute he opened the front door and stepped inside, and after his father left, that fear intensified bit by bit.

After his father left, he never knew what it would mean, going home, so he stalled. He’d go to a local park and sit on a bench and read a few books in an hour, maybe two, in order to escape the fear he felt at the idea of going home when he had no idea what would be going on in that house, whether his mother was okay that day or not.

When he went to college and was living in the dorms, he hated going back because it meant more isolation. More loneliness, more of the same, really. Only his books to keep him company and just about nobody else, unless Ethan called, which he usually did two or three times a week. Ethans calls were one of the only things that really helped him when he wasn’t looking after his mother whenever he was on break, typically around the winter and during the summer.

After having his mother institutionalised, he feared going home because it meant that she wasn’t there, and the guilt that came with having her taken into a facility when it wasn’t something she wanted weighed down on him very heavily.

In those last two years pre-FBI, he hated going home because it meant more of the same. More loneliness, more of the same nature documentaries he'd seen a thousand times before if he wasn't putting on the news, and more books that he’d already read several times before haunting him from wherever it was that they sat on his bookshelves, which had been scattered throughout most rooms in his apartment.

But he joined the FBI at twenty-one and managed to meet you somewhere along that year, found out that you’d just started working with the Marshals and had lived only twenty five minutes out from Arlington, which put you about fifteen from Quantico as a whole, and he started hating going home a lot less after you guys had been together for four months.

After four months of dates and getting to know each other, getting home usually meant going on another date or Spencer finally getting the opportunity to call you and stay on the phone for longer than fifteen minutes.

Spencer is very careful about your relationship, though—very secretive, though he doesn’t really mean to be, to avoid teasing from Derek and, four or so years down the line, Emily and JJ, though even Rossi joined in on occasion.

It’s not until he’s on the jet, Alex sitting to his left, JJ across him and Derek diagonally so, that he has to spill the beans.

He gets a text from you and it’s the way that he smiles that gives it away.

Hey, Spence! I cleaned up the house a little bit and went to grab your favourite coffee beans from the bodega we both like. Also: meet Megatron. Her name deceives.

Attached is a photo of a kitten that can’t be more than four or five weeks old, dark brown everywhere except for her paws and chin, which are white.

“Who’s the lucky one, boy genius?” Derek asks.

“Huh?” Spencer looks up, eyes widened slightly. “It’s nobody.”

JJs head tilts. “You wouldn’t smile like that for a nobody,” she says. “Who is it?”

“Is it the one with the dark blue Prius--” Alex starts before she pauses, realizing where she's fumbled. That gets Rossi and Hotch interested, both of whom come to sit in the seats across from the four.

Alex is the only one on the team who knows about you apart from Penelope, which is pure happenstance—his car had broken down once when both she and Spencer had worked a late night, and so you’d offered to pick him up from work so that the two of you could go back to the house you shared and indulge in a shark documentary and some pizza.

“It is,” Spencer nods. “Their name is Y/N.”

“How long have you had a Y/N?” Derek asks.

“Since I was twenty-one,” Spencer admits. “About a decade now.”

“You kept a romantic partner hidden for a decade ?” Derek asks. “How? Does--”

“Penelope knows about them because they’re in the group she goes to on Tuesdays,” Spencer says. “The one for knitting and crocheting—Y/N does the latter, mostly, but they did knit the cardigan I was wearing last week.”

“And how did Penelope figure out about the thing you two have had going on?”

“It’s more than a thing , Derek,” Alex says. “If it’s been going for a decade, it’s more than a thing.”

“We’d gotten done with a case early, and Penelope had left pretty much as soon as we were on the jet so that she could make it to the aforementioned group. I asked them where they were and picked them up with their favourite tea as a surprise. Penelope saw me there, watched us hug, and just about lost her mind. Have I satisfied your thirst for knowledge yet?”

He turns to Alex briefly, nods a bit to answer her earlier remark. “I just proposed last weekend, so you’re right. It’s more than just a thing I would say.”

Derek and JJs eyes widen until their shock is clearly conveyed, and Spencer laughs.

“You have a fiancee, and you just—didn't think to fucking tell anybody?” Derek laughs. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

“I was—we've been busy with work, and it didn’t occur to me.”

“Okay,” JJ nods like she believes it, and that’s good enough for Spencer because he’s telling the truth anyway. “What was the text about?”

Spencer shrugs, paraphrases.

“They wrote me to tell me they’d cleaned up the house and picked up a stray, I think,” Spencer answers. “I mean, the stray part wasn't explicitly stated but—the kitten doesn’t look more than four weeks old, so the assumption was immediate, but they know I can’t say no to cats. They’ve been hoping that they’d find a stray while I was on a case since we first moved into a condo together. We bought our house six months ago now, and they’ve joked, every single time before I’ve left for a case, that it’s the perfect time.”

“What’d they name it?” Rossi asks. “Assuming they didn’t ask for your input. I wouldn’t--I’d have a kitten named Einstein who could never live up to that.”

Spencer can’t help the loving laugh that bubbles up from his throat as his fingers absently locate the chain around his neck, with an engagement ring of his own weighing the chain down just slightly so that the ring sits comfortably at the middle of his collarbone.

“They named her Megatron,” he says nonchalantly. “Smallest cat I’ve ever seen, and still, she’s got big shoes to fill. Massive ones, actually.”

That is enough to get Hotch to crack a smile. For a second, Spencer feels like he’s winning even though a game isn’t even being played.

“Okay, so—how did you do it?” JJ asks. “I mean—ten years and a recent engagement? With only two people on our team discovering through that entire time? How?”

“Penelope figured it out three years in,” Spencer answers. “Alex only figured it out recently, which is kind of surprising because I’ve never exactly hidden their existence. I just haven't talked about them because nobody has ever really asked but—I don’t know, either. We kept it low key because we both work law enforcement and it was just easier that way for the first little while, and then we both decided we liked the quiet so we kept things that way.”

“They work in law enforcement?” Derek asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are they FBI?”

“They’re a Deputy US Marshal, actually,” Spencer corrects. “They work in the Virginia office, which is 45 minutes outside of Quantico, up in Arlington. It’s why I have a twenty five minute commute—we both like our jobs a lot, and twenty-five minutes for me one way is only eighteen minutes for them the other, but I like driving so I don’t mind. They’re in talks for a promotion right now, and they were meant to hear about it today but so far their texts haven’t indicated anything about that.”

It’s the most Spencer has told anyone except his mother about you since you’d gotten together, and while you both normally like to keep things quiet, bragging about you to the people he routinely trusts with his life is a very nice feeling.

“US Marshal?” JJ asks. “They pretty commonly hire ex-military,” she says.

“They’ve never been anywhere near the military,” Spencer laughs. “They did a two year degree at a community college, went to Glynco for training, and were employed by the US Marshals by twenty-one, around the same time I joined the FBI. We met each other at a coffee shop when they were off of work and their local one was closed, so our meeting was kismet.”

Spencers phone buzzes again, and he ignores it that time.

Alex grins at him, while Derek tuts and JJs eyes go to his phone as it buzzes once, then twice more, the fourth buzz coming four and a half seconds after the first, second, and third.

“Check it,” she urges. “The jet is going to land in fifteen minutes, Spencer, so if it’s good news, you might as well.”

SPENCER!!

I have really really REALLY good news

Please tell me your jet is landing soon or the very minute it’s landed call me please because you work twenty five minutes away and that means I can call and order from Antonios and by the time you’re home, you’ll only have to wait five minutes for pizza.

Also, Megatrons full name is Megatron Ichabod Reid. Just so you know. I love you so much you stupid smart handsome tall man.

Spencer doesn’t even try to fight his laugh as he reads.

“Good news?” Derek asks.

“I think they got promoted, but I won’t know for sure til I’m home,” Spencer answers. “Also--Megatrons full name is apparently Megatron Ichabod Reid—their texts read like they’re hyper.”

“I’d be pretty hyper if I got news of a promotion,” Rossi says. “Let us know if they did, though, kid. I’m hosting a dinner to celebrate your engagement regardless, but if they got promoted, it’s another thing to celebrate on the roster, and all the more of an excuse to meet the person you’ve kept hidden from the likes of us for a decade.”

“You guys ordering Antonios?” Alex asks. “You mentioned getting Antonios for dinner the day after I saw you two together. I’m assuming it’s their favourite pizza spot—you don’t really seem like the pizza type. More like a pasta guy.”

“We both love it,” Spencer answers. “There’s no pizza like Antonios—not where we live, anyway. It’s the middle ground between Quantico and Arlington, so there’s not a whole lot to do unless you drive either way.”

“Antonios makes a good pizza,” Rossi nods.

“Their pasta is better,” Hotch interjects. Spencer shakes his head, tries to go back to the book that’s sitting on the table in front of him but fails miserably, waits for the fifteen minutes til the jet lands to be done whilst the rest of the team talks amongst themselves.

The second the jet lands, as he’s walking out of it, he dials your number and you pick up on the first ring.

“Spencer Walter Reid, light of my life and giver of astoundingly lovely forehead kisses, please tell me you’ve landed,”

Spencer laughs. “Just did,” he says. “The team knows about us now, by the way—I smiled when you texted and that lead to Derek questioning me, so there’s that. Also, if the good news is what I think it is, Rossi wants to hold a celebration dinner as an excuse to meet you. He fronted it with our engagement first, but I think he’s just shocked we’ve kept each other under wraps that long.”

“You like Megatrons name?” You ask, giggling a bit, seemingly in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry, Spence—I'm hyper as hell, bouncing off the walls type. I’m going to open a bottle of wine, see if it calms me down a little. Get home as fast as you can, though! I miss your handsome face!”

“Just gotta finish a file or two and then I’ll be home,” he says. “If you order the pizza now, I’ll only be like, five minutes late—the pizza won’t be scalding, like it usually is because of their ridiculously well-working warmer bags.”

“I love you, Spence,” you say, tone turning a little serious. “Get home safe, please.”

“I will,” Spencer nods. “You okay?”

“Hyper but yearning,” you laugh. “I just miss you, ‘s all.”

“I miss you too,” he says. “I’ll be home in forty minutes, tops. I promise.”

The phone call ends, and he doesn’t miss the knowing smiles that are on Derek and Rossis faces. JJ is looking at him mildly confused as the tone of the conversation changed near it’s end, but he doesn’t want to explain, and so he chooses not to say anything.

He goes back into the office, completes what remains of the files he has to work on, and after he submits the paperwork in to Hotch, he just about speed walks out of the office, toward the elevators.

Derek is leaving at the same time as he is. “Goin’ home to Megatron and the singular person who’s managed to keep up with you for the past decade?” He asks teasingly as the doors close.

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I know you guys will tease me about it til the end of my time here, but—yeah. I get to go home to a stray cat the love of my life probably found in the parking lot of a Joanns, and the love of my life themself.”

“I’m all done with my teasing, for now,” Derek says. “I’m just a little confused—why'd you keep them from us for this long?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “When we’d first started dating, they’d just started out with the Marshals and they were scared having a partner in the FBI would get them special treatment, and then, when the stuff with Tobias Hankel happened and I got into Dialudid, I was scared that I’d make an enemy and then they’d find out about Y/N and use them to hurt me, and it just—we’re the quiet type, so we had reasons til we stopped needing them. I was going to tell you guys before we got engaged, but stuff has just kept happening so quickly in these past couple of years, and it’s kept slipping my mind.”

Derek shrugs, but smiles understandingly. “I get it,” he says. “Lookin’ forward to that dinner Rossi is planning, though. I can’t wait to meet the singular person who probably would let you talk their ear off because they find you handsome or like your voice or something else that’s really sweet. You have a good night, Spence.”

The elevator dings and the doors open, and the two leave separately. Spencer drives a little above the speed limit in the interest of getting home, which isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do but is doing that night because it’s been a week since you’d last seen each other and he misses you like mad.

When he inserts his key into the lock, unlocks the door and steps inside, he’s not filled with dread or fear or anxiety or loneliness or anything like that—instead, it feels like exactly what it’s supposed to.

As he steps out of his shoes, hangs his bag on the coat rack and hears the sound of your laugh, he registers just how much the place he calls home feels like the word used to describe it.

As he greets you with a hug and a few kisses to the forehead, it feels so much like home that it almost causes an ache in his chest. As you tell him about your promotion from Deputy to Chief Deputy and he hears Megatron the cat meow for the first time, happiness swells within him. Home, for the first time in his life, truly feels like a home. A place where he can unwind and be with those he truly loves, a place in which happiness is practically never-ending.

Going home has never felt so good as going home to you, and Spencer is unsure anything will ever beat it.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 6 months ago

Text

Bound - MAJOR UPDATE

The NEWTs can be quite stressfull. Luckily, professor Sharp knows exactly how to make his young sweetheart relax a bit.

Aah, sweet sweet PWP ❤ Huge thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread who authored several ideas in this smutty story, and to Maarty for her continuous support 🥰

UPDATE! After I posted this two days ago, I re-read it and realised I hated it. So like 70% of it has been rewritten and almost 2k more words appeared. Oops. So it's basically a new fic 😂

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN, srsly

Bound (14.1k words)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), explicit sexual content, lights bdsm, light bondage, blindfolded, body shots, masturbation, oral sex, vaginal sex, comeplay, dirty talking, pwp, corn with feelings

During the NEWT exams, some classrooms were emptier than others. For example Potions and Transfiguration both held only about twenty-five students each, because of the complexity of the subjects. However, the same could not be said about the Charms classroom. The number of Seventh years who partook in the NEWTs exam in Charms was quite high every year, the subject (and its teacher) was not only popular, but universally demanded in most work fields. This year was no different. In fact, it seemed to break the record.

You felt like a thousand Galleons once you left the stuffy room. While the Charms classroom was usually a very comfortable place to be, spacious and airy, when filled with nearly sixty nervous young adults, one Hogwarts professor, and two overseers from the ministry, it got quite stifling quite fast. You were rather confident that you did well on the written part of the exam, and you weren’t particularly worried about the practical part that was scheduled for tomorrow, but you knew better than to rest on your laurels. After all, it was one of the things your beloved insisted on instilling within you. So, some extra practice it was - you were certain that he would understand why you sought the warmth of his embrace a little later than usual.

You made your way over to the Owlery to let professor Aesop Sharp know that you would take some time after supper to practise your charms up in the Room of Requirement after dinner, before coming to seek him in his chambers. The summer was blooming, and most of the students were enjoying the warm day, many of them nose deep in their books, preparing for the following exams.

After you’ve climbed the spiral staircase of the tower, you could see Diana was sitting on one of the perches, watching the other owls around her with mild interest. She hooted in greetings once you came into her field of view, and you approached her immediately, letting your finger lightly scratch under her chin. You were the only one allowed to do so for more than a few seconds.

“Hello, girl,” you said softly. A year ago, you didn’t think you’d ever get an owl. The school owls you’d use were, more or less, reliable, and you hardly needed a pet cat, seeing as there were dozens upon dozens of them roaming the castle. You weren’t exactly certain your parents would even allow you to get a pet. You weren’t certain of it even as you handed the nice gentleman a decent sum of money for the impressive greater sooty owl you fell in love with the first time you saw her in that shop. One of your greatest decisions ever, you decided.

—

Your mother nearly fainted when you returned from your international travels sporting a large cage containing the dark bird. Diana released several rather frustrated noises every now and then, less than thrilled to have to limit herself to the enclosed space.

“That thing is not staying,” Father had said after he snapped at Mother to take a hold of herself. “That thing is an owl, father,” you replied defiantly yet calmly. Mind, you knew they most likely wouldn’t be anywhere near as excited as yourself with the purchase, but you had hoped there wouldn’t be any hostility. It would seem you thought wrong. The middle aged man was rather red in the face: “I can bloody well see it’s an owl, (F/N), and it has no place here! This is one of the finest houses in Knightsbridge, not some bloody forest!” You took a deep breath. Damn it, you used the phial of Felix Felicis potion you brewed at the end of the previous term on getting your parents to agree to let you travel by yourself, and left the rest of the potion at Hogwarts. If only you were able to use Accio on it all the way from here…

“Hyde Park’s just around the corner, father. There are plenty of owls there, so it’s not like anyone would think it strange to see one more flying around. Father, please, it’s only for the following month before I go back to school, you won’t even see or hear her.”

Your father lifted a finger in the air, but before he could resume talking, your mother’s voice cut in: “Let her keep the bird, Lionel. She already paid money for it, and she’s hardly going back to Australia just to return an owl… and besides, it’s not…it’s not that bad. I hear that the DeWitt fellow from Kensington had a live falcon present at a formal evening he hosted in his house, and it was apparently a big success with the guests.”

You could hear a small tremble in your hervoice, and she was still watching the owl warily, but at that moment you could nearly hug her. Your father fumed for a few moments, his small eyes switching between Diana, your mother and yourself. Finally, he sighed, looking morosely out of the window: “Fine. But I hear one hoot in the middle of the night, I’m throwing the thing out. What a bloody waste of money…”

You hurried to your room with your new companion, before you could bite back that it was your hard earned money you spent. You didn’t want to risk your father retracting his agreement with Diana staying.

—

You grimaced somewhat at the memory, but then sent a smile Diana’s way: “Don’t you worry, girl, we’re not going back there. I rather think the freedom of the Highlands is more of your style than the busy Hyde Park, isn’t it?” The owl hooted softly, as if agreeing with you. You could hardly blame her - you now knew you were the same.

You then held up your hand, showing Diana the short letter you needed her to deliver.

“You know who it’s for,” a grin adorned your face and in Diana’s expression, you could see the owl equivalent of a good-natured eyeroll. She offered her leg to you to attach the letter to.

“You be nice to him,” you waved your forefinger in front of the owl in a cheeky warning, and she responded in kind, by gently nipping at the digit and then swiftly spreading her wings and leaping off the Owlery window, prompting you to chuckle.

You gazed after her for several minutes, lost in thought. You couldn’t believe that less than three weeks separated you from graduation.

In eighteen days, your time at Hogwarts will be over. You’ll empty your dorm room for one last time, have one last breakfast in the Great Hall as a student, and say many heartfelt farewells to the people you’ve met here over the three years. You would of course stay in contact with your closest friends, like Natty, Poppy, Sebastian and Ominis, and Amit… You’ve been through too much together, too much to just say one last goodbye and begin your lives on your own. But some of the others, like Samantha or Imelda, well, who knew when your paths would cross again.

Sebastian and Natty were both hoping to catch a job as curse breakers at Gringotts, which would offer them a chance to not only become even more capable wizards than they already were in their own rights, but also see the world, get acquainted with more wizarding cultures. Poppy would be joining her Grandmother in her research, as you knew since the day you first met the girl in Beasts class. And Amit was, along with Adelaide, joining her uncle’s business, his desire to learn more about Goblins not having died down over the years in the slightest.

And Ominis? Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do just yet - and which employer would take him in with his condition - but he seemed happy nevertheless. Similarly to yourself, the last thing he wanted was to return to his family, and having already secured himself a different abode, the lad looked content for the time being.

However, you were certain you were one of the only ones, if not the only one to stay so close to Hogwarts. Even Sebastian planned to leave Feldcroft behind…Seeing as his once home became no more than an empty house, his uncle dead and his sister gone and refusing to speak with him, nothing but memories of his gravest mistake filling the empty rooms, you could hardly blame the Slytherin for wanting to leave it all behind.

And you? Well, you were all set up, weren’t you. A job already waiting for you, and a small house at the edge of Hogsmeade ready for you to move in. Frankly, you were quite excited at the prospect of living by yourself, setting your own rules, running your little household the way you want to, making the space yours.

Thanks to professor Weasley being the greatest (deputy) Headmistress, you had a special permission to leave the castle a few weeks back, so that you could apparate to London and get various items of furniture and such for your rented house.

And, interestingly, the Hogwarts potions master was somehow already present when you suddenly appeared in a little hidden alley a bit away from the Leaky Cauldron.

And since he was already there, he could perhaps tag along to offer advice as to which items he found appealing and appropriately priced in regards to their quality. And since the two of you were already in Diagon Alley, well, you may just as well nip round back to the Leaky Cauldron for spot of lunch, and then why not take a little stroll in some park, arms linked and bodies joined at the hip, enjoying the cool air of early summer.

In a way, it was a little taste of what things were going to be like when the two of you no longer needed to hide, when you were free to show your feelings towards one another openly. And not just that. In a way, one that you were a bit too shy to think about just yet, it was like a taste of what things were going to be like one day, when the two of you would join in a shared life permanently… And somehow, this little secret thought was what made you blush during this little encounter of yours…

Dinner itself was rather uneventful - every so often, your eyes would travel up to the High table and over to the professor. Occasionally, he was already looking back at you with a small smile on his face, sometimes he was focusing either on his own meal, or on one of his colleagues sitting next to him, chatting. However, it seemed the potions master had the ability to feel your eyes on him, for after a few seconds his head would turn your way, and his own dark eyes bore into your own.

And each time they did, you felt a little shiver run through you.

Somehow you managed to actually climb all the stairs leading onto the Seventh floor instead of immediately sneaking off into Aesop’s rooms following supper.

You made your way towards the training room that materialised in the Room of Requirement the previous year. The large chamber never ceased to amaze you with its ingenuity - as you finished your descent down the stairs, you found the room nearly empty with only one item in the middle. An item you recognised instantly - it was one of the puzzles you’d solve during the Merlin trials!

Excited, you took off your blazer and rolled up your sleeves, so as to achieve maximum mobility and comfort.

‘Flipendo ,’ you cast on the upper stone non-verbally, piecing together which way you have to turn it. And once you did, once the symbols matched, the whole thing just disappeared into thin air, leaving another object there in its stead - this time it was a broken statue, and you knew what to do immediately.

You sent spell after spell at the various items that appeared before you. You were handling yourself quite well too, being able to react quickly and send the correct enchantment. There was a brief moment of panic at one point, as the room suddenly filled up to the brim with water, which made casting the bubble head charm that much harder, but otherwise you felt confident and calm.

You only just finished casting a perfect performed Descendo upon a floating training dummy, when you were suddenly plunged into darkness. Quickly casting Lumos, you realised that you were stuck in some sort of… cavern? A stony cavern, that was for certain, and a seemingly inescapable one. A frown riddled your brow.

Stone, stone, what to do with being stuck in a stony prison?

At first, you tried to transfigure one of the rocks that seemed to be closing you in into a smaller object, which hadn’t worked. Depulso had a similarly dissatisfactory effect. Casting Bombarda or Confingo would’ve been entirely too dangerous to even try in this situation, as they would both recoil off the stone and hurt you…

It took you a few more seconds until you remembered: the Gouging charm, of course!

You pointed your wand at one of the stones again and thought as hard as you could: ‘Defodio.’ However, that didn’t seem to do the trick either. But the spell was correct! It had to be! You weren’t aware of there being a different spell you could use in this situation, and as Revelio did not reveal anything special about the stones that had you trapped, you were even more certain that the Gouging charm was the correct one… You just had to cast it right…You squeezed your jaw tighter and tried again.

‘Defodio!’

And again, nothing. Damn it!

You were beginning to feel a little nervous if you were to be honest. The space you were in was rather tight and not exactly well ventilated, and as you attempted to cast the spell again and again, drops of sweat appeared at your hairline.

“Defodio!” you cried out loud desperately, but all that followed was a light pop, as if a small pebble popped in half somewhere among the rocks.

Dear heavens…

Would the Room let you out if you couldn’t perform the spell? Or would you stay trapped inside, slowly losing precious oxygen until you suffocated? Surely not! Deek would come looking for you sooner or later certainly. He’d find you, he’d hopefully be able to get the Room to drop the spell it trapped you with. Wouldn’t he?

“Defodio,” you barely heard, the voice sounding terribly muffled. You had to actually shield your eyes as the stones around you began opening up and the light of the room hit you.

After a few seconds during which your eyes grew used to the light once more, you finally saw the source of the successfully done spell. Aesop Sharp stood some ten feet away from you, wand raised and a little concerned expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

You finally managed to catch your breath which you didn’t even realise grew so laboured and fast during your uncomfortable stay within the cavern: “Th-thank you…”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, waiting for you to calm down, and only then he spoke, his voice soft and gentle: “Are you alright, (F/N)?”

You felt colour rush into your cheeks and embarrassment seep to your gut. Your eyes fell to the ground in shame. As if sensing your thoughts, the professor spoke again: “This is a very complicated spell, (F/N), even for many experienced wizards - there’s no point beating yourself over not being able to cast it non-verbally,” he came a little closer, and touched your shoulder with his free hand, his thumb rubbing small circles through your shirt.

“As you perhaps heard just now, I didn’t manage to cast it verbally either,” you replied, your voice quiet. Goodness, and here you were, feeling so bloody confident about the practical exam… What if this spell appeared among those you’ll be examined from? What if you fail then like you failed just now? Could one spell ruin the entire exam?

“Darling, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop,” Aesop spoke, his large warm hand sliding down your arm until it reached your own hand, and curled around it soothingly: “not being to perform the spell non-verbally several times coupled with being very much stuck inside a pile of rocks is not exactly good on the psyche - I bet by the time you decided to speak the spell out loud, you weren’t nearly as focused on the correct hand movements as before, were you?”

You didn’t say anything. He was right, though - during your last attempt to cast the spell verbally, you were sort of just wildly flailing your arm rather than doing the short, jerky wrist movement that the spell required.

“Let’s try something…” Aesop said, and then stored his wand away. He moved to stand behind you, wrapping his left arm around your waist and taking a hold of your right hand with his own.

You let him move your hand until it was pointed forward. More rocks materialised out of nowhere and formed something of a small mountain right in the middle of the room. “Why don’t you try to send the spell non-verbally again? If it doesn’t work, take ten seconds to breathe deeply and calm down, then try again. And if that doesn’t work either, another ten second pause, and then send it verbally. The important thing is to perform the spell itself. Non-verbal casting does get you bonus points, but you’ll hardly be chastised if you speak your spells. However, if you stress yourself out because you’re unable to cast the spell without saying the incantation, you’ll find it difficult to cast the spell verbally as well.”

He then gently began moving your hand in the pattern of the Gouging charm, just making sure you remembered the proper movement, before he moved his head to be able to whisper into your ear: “Go on and try. And remember what I told you.”

You shivered a little at the feeling of his hot damp breath upon your skin.

You concentrated your hardest upon the stone formation, moved your wand in the pattern he made you practise again earlier, and thought your loudest ‘Defodio’.

And… nothing.

“Alright - that was a fair enough try,” he spoke, calmly and far from critically, “I could feel your magic, but it was not enough. It was not concentrated enough. Breathe, my sweet,” Aesop whispered again, “Close your eyes, count to ten, and breathe deeply, in and out.”

So you did. You closed your eyes and began counting slowly, timing your breaths so that they were slow, deep and steady.

“Alright - now focus. Imagine the stones already broken in half, an entrance forming among them, and only when you can clearly see it in your mind’s eye, that’s when you send the spell.”

You listened to the teacher, letting his close proximity calm you down enough to be able to once more fully focus. You stared unblinking at the small mountain in the middle of the room, trying to imagine it opening up into a cavern.

Just like when you were standing before a treasure vault, or perhaps an ancient tomb in the Highlands, an entrance materialising right in front of you, after you’ve sent the correct spell on the stony key cube. “Steady,” Aesop whispered again.

‘Defodio,’ you commanded in your mind, your wrist turning in that jerky pattern, and suddenly…

Crackling and popping could be heard, and a hole started to form in the midst of the rock formation, soon reminding you of an actual entrance to a cave. You couldn’t help but turn your head to grin at Aesop, finding him grinning back at you already. Both his arms now curled around your waist: “Splendid job!” He pressed several prickly kisses on the skin of your neck, prompting you to giggle breathlessly.

“My knight in shining armour,” you breathed out, leaning into your beloved further, “first you save me from suffocating in The Cavern of Certain Doom, then you save my performance tomorrow… Although I don’t know how we’re going to arrange you standing behind me while I cast this spell,” you finished with a small chuckle, your hands coming to cover his own around your midsection.

“You’re in luck,” Aesop simply replied, “this spell is not among those that are used during the exam. I can’t tell you anything else, unfortunately. However, I had the chance to watch you for a while before your unfortunate rocky situation, and I wholeheartedly believe you’ve got nothing to fear tomorrow. You’ll be brilliant.”

You smiled and fully succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. “Not as brilliant as you are,” was your whispered answer as you let your head drop to his shoulder in a silent invitation. One look at your parted lips was all it took for Aesop to seize the moment. His lips moulded against yours in a passionate kiss not a second later.

You pocketed your wand quickly to be able to turn around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon your fingers found their place in his hair, and you promptly began messing it up, dragging your fingernails through the soft locks. You accepted his tongue in your mouth shortly after, letting the older man taste you to his heart’s content and ravish your mouth as he saw fit.

One of his hands came to take hold of the underside of your thigh, and he effortlessly lifted your leg up to place it over his hip. You lost your balance somewhat, but Aesop held on tight, his strong arms rendering you standing upright right where you were, as well as making you very aware of the effect your heated snogging had on him through this very close proximity.

You managed to stifle the groan that threatened to escape you, but weren’t able to stop yourself from tugging on his hair harder, which in turn made him produce an unintelligible noise into your own mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathed out, closing his hand tighter on the flesh of your thigh, pressing you even closer, “if we don’t stop now, I think I might actually ravish you right here on the floor. Which I wouldn’t be exactly opposed to, mind, but I’d rather not traumatise our house elf friend was he to appear. For one.

“For two, the ground is hardly a very comfortable place to rest afterwards…”

Your breath caught in your throat at his sultry voice. A few chosen words, and here you were, quite ready to actually really let him take you right there, right now.

You were both torn from your little game of seduction by a series of loud sounds coming from one end of the room. You swiftly turned your heads in that direction, watching in bewilderment as a door appeared out of nothing. It was no ordinary door, though - it was camouflaged to look like the wall around it, and had it been closed, you could barely see it was there at all.

From the entrance of the training room, it was virtually invisible.

“I swear, if that is what I think it is, I’m about to start really doubting this place, “Aesop said with a disbelieving expression on his face, “Vivariums to breed bloody Graphorns is one thing, but making a whole new room solely so that a professor can make love to his student sweetheart on a surface more comfortable than a stone floor? Now that’s ever so slightly questionable.”

You couldn’t help the small fit of giggles that overtook you then. Aesop watched in mild amusement as you covered your mouth.

“You know,” you said once your laughter died down, “that’s what this place is all about; it provides without judgement. You really need to use the loo, it creates the loo. It feels like you could do with a bath, it makes a bathtub… And now here we are, the two of us very much needing a nice, comfortable and private space, and, of course, the Room is ready to provide.”

The professor pulled back slightly, a sly smirk on his lips as his hands kneaded the flesh of your hips. “Well… In that case, we’d be quite ungrateful not to make use of whatever the Room prepared for us, wouldn’t we?”

Without warning, your feet left the ground as the potions master bent to toss you over his broad shoulder. You barely avoided a collision with his strong back by bracing your hands against it.

“Aesop!” you squealed out, only prompting him to chuckle smugly and use his free hand to swat gently at your buttocks. “You absolutely incorrigible man…” you sighed then, accepting your fate. You were unable to deny that there was something completely exhilarating about being manhandled like this.

Several months ago, Aesop would’ve needed at least two phials of Wiggenweld potion to be able to just toss you over his shoulder and walk with you like this without doubling over in pain. However, following the extensive exercising he did while his leg was on the mend, Aesop felt healthier and stronger than ever, and he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

From your position, you were only aware that Aesop was carrying you towards the newly formed room, but you couldn’t see a thing, despite attempting to turn around as much as your current position allowed you. Finally, the professor stopped in his tracks and whistled: “Well I never… this looks quite enticing indeed…”

Slowly and carefully he lowered you down until your feet once again touched the ground, his hands seemingly accidentally lifting your skirt slightly in the process, running over the backs of your thighs.

You immediately turned around to see the new room for yourself, and grinned wide right away. Oh yes, you thought, this was indeed quite lovely.

The new room was bathed in a soft moonlight, and there were at least a dozen candles placed around on the various surfaces within. The flames of the candles danced and swayed slowly, creating a very tantalising atmosphere. There were several pieces of furniture. Before the artificial window stood two comfortable looking armchairs, and to the side of the room was a dresser, a white basin with a matching water jug and a few washcloths upon it.

However, the obvious centrepiece of the room was a (very) large and beautiful bed, with intricate details adorning its dark wooden frame, and covered with deep purple sheets giving off a silky shine. It looked incredibly inviting, and you had to restrain yourself from jumping straight among the copious amount of pillows.

The Room of Requirement outdid itself indeed, it was one of the most beautiful if not the most beautiful bedroom you ever laid your eyes on, and it seemed Aesop agreed with you in this regard: “Now I feel a little self-conscious about your first time being among the mismatched chaos of my aunt’s cottage to be honest…”

You could not help but grin at the teacher: “Oh, I thought it was quite charming, actually! However, rest assured that it matters very little to me whether we are at your aunt’s cottage, in your chambers, or in this spectacular room. I’m just glad to be there with you.”

Aesop smiled at your words with the kind of smile that always made butterflies flutter within your stomach, and this time was no exception. You never understood his insistence that you deserved better, someone younger, better looking, who hadn’t made as many mistakes as he.

In your eyes, he was perfect in his imperfections, and handsome beyond all reason.

You barely noticed your hand glide over his prickly cheek, your thin finger tracing the edge of his lips. His eyes fluttered a little under your tender touch, and his look was devoted and filled with adoration. And when you suddenly gripped his tie just below its knot and pulled him towards you, you were quite surprised to feel a very similar sensation.

Aesop too held onto your blue and bronze Ravenclaw tie, and he also used it to pull you closer for a passionate, nearly bruising kiss.

The kiss was much too short however, as Aesop parted your lips mere seconds later in order to release a hearty chuckle, for he noticed your accidental synchronisation as well. The pause before another kiss was not horribly long though, and soon the professor was very much snogging the living daylights out of you, something you definitely didn’t mind.

“You know,” he murmured during one of your brief breaks for air, voice low and a little hoarse, “you gave me something of an idea…”

“Oh? What sort of idea?” you mumbled in reply, your fingers slowly probing at the lapels of his overcoat before sneaking down to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat. The potions master was smiling as he watched your growing desire, and his grin widened even further upon your whispered question. His dominant hand once more closed around your tie, now over the knot itself, and pulled down. The tie grew looser around your neck until it slipped from its knot entirely, remaining hanging in Aesop’s hold.

“You see, I wondered whether I could perhaps make use of this. And my own tie as well… Tie you by the wrists to the bedposts, spread you nice and wide for me, then have fun making you come apart for me again, and again, and again…” he purred into your ear, marking the end of his sentence with a quick nip at your earlobe, prompting you to shudder noticeably.

“So?” he whispered again, “what do you say?”

The smug bastard, you thought, grinning. He knew very, very well just by looking at you, that refusal of his proposal was the very last thing on your mind, the first electricity like impulses of impending lust fluttering through your core. Aesop smiled and started kissing a hot trail over your throat, but otherwise made no further advances.

“I need an answer, my love…I need you to say it,” he reminded after another minute or two, and you belatedly understood his restraint in taking things further just yet.

“Y-yes, Aesop” you finally replied, voice a little shakier than before.

“Good,” came out of his mouth as little more than a sigh, and his hands slid up to begin undoing your crisp white shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked under the waistband of your skirt in the process. You watched almost mesmerised as his large long fingers made easy work of the small, delicate buttons, all the while his mouth latched onto your neck again.

He kissed the newly uncovered skin after he’d slipped the soft shirt down your shoulders. Hot tongue glided over your collarbones and the clever fingers slid down the sides of your bosom before taking hold of your waist. His head dropped further and he nuzzled his face into the cleavage of your chemise before kissing at the path in-between your breasts, as much as the silky material covering them allowed him anyway.

He raised his eyes slowly and waited until your gazes connected. While his cheeks were slightly flushed and his dark eyes made even darker by the growing arousal, there was also that cheeky glint within them you were so fond of witnessing. It made another shiver run through your frame. The reason was simple: every other time Aesop had this look in his eyes, you knew he was going to say or do something that would plaster a nearly permanent grin on your face. Utter some deeply ironic quip, long-suffering comment concerning his students, or offer some rather cheesy pick up line.

However, when he got this look in his eyes as the two of you were about to retire to the sheets, it meant a single thing: You were not leaving this bed tonight.

He bent even further, his lips making contact with one of your nipples, which was visibly perked under the thin chemise following his previous actions. The sharp sting of his crooked teeth on the sensitive tissue made a barely audible mewl escape your open mouth, and when your lover’s tongue circled the teat through the undergarment, your knees buckled somewhat.

His chuckle against the now damp material of your undershirt didn’t help much either.

“I can see we best get you to a seating position… Can’t have you tumble down for me just yet, now can we…” he said, sounding very satisfied with himself.

He guided you to the edge of the bed and sat you down. The mattress felt firm yet comfortable, but you didn’t really have time to ponder about it for too long, as the potions master kneeled before you. He took hold of one of your feet and propped it up on his upper thigh so that he could unfasten the laces on your boot. And once he did, his large hands slid over your leg appreciatively, fingers teasing at the stocking covering it. Your skirt was lifted a bit to reveal the soft, milky skin of your upper thighs, as well as the simple elastic garter holding the hose up.

Aesop made quick work of it, and seemed to be immensely enjoying slowly peeling both the garter and the stocking off your leg, dragging his nose and lips over the skin of your knee, your shin, your instep. The discarded clothes landed somewhere on the floor behind him, and he focused his attention on your other leg.

Once you were completely barefoot, he raised a single finger in a silent request for you to give him a moment. He shifted to sit on the ground instead, and started undoing his own heavy boots, haphazardly throwing them to the side once they were loose enough for him to slip his feet out of them. With a barely audible grunt, he stood up again, rose to his full height, and made the height difference between the two of you greater than ever.

There was a small predatory glint in his eyes as he towered over you, but he remained so gentle still, raising his hand to merely caress your cheek with utmost gentleness. You happily leaned into his touch, turning your head a bit to be able to press a kiss against the heel of his palm.

“I’m going to need you to scoot further back on the bed, love” he requested in a quiet, unreadable voice, but you didn’t hesitate to comply.

You only just managed to sit back enough for your entire body to be upon the bed, before your back made sudden contact with the mattress behind you. As it turned out, as soon as there was enough space on the bed, the potions master nearly leapt up upon it and on top of you with the ferocity of a wild thing, using his hands to pin yours above your head on the mattress, before rendering your entire body immobile using his body weight. You felt the low rumble of his laughter all over you, saw the irresistible smirk on his mouth, his face right above yours. Without further ado, you connected your lips again.

You couldn’t help but grin when he finished the kiss with a playful nip at your lower lip and scooted back in order to rid you of the rest of your garments. He popped open the button of your skirt, and unabashedly tugged it down along with your drawers.

“Aesop Sharp, you truly are an insatiable man…” you muttered amusedly, prompting the teacher to snort. Soon, his palms again covered your thighs and began sliding up, excruciatingly slow, pushing the chemise up inch by inch. He always did this part slowly, almost reverently, lapping up your naked form with his eyes just like he did that very first night…

And like that first night, you were justly bothered by the obviously unfair difference between your states of undress. You were quite ready to comment on it too, after the last piece of your clothing joined its companions on the floor, but found yourself speechless after your lover moved to straddle your waist, your previously discarded tie in hand along with his own. When did he even take it off?

“May I, dear?” he asked again, taking your hand and moving it above you at a slow pace, in case you had changed your mind about the whole thing.

You felt your face burn as you nodded: “Yes, Aesop…”

Soon thereafter, Aesop was securing your left wrist to one of the bedposts using your Ravenclaw tie. You noted how careful he was tying you to the bed, constantly making sure the tie wasn’t squeezing your wrist tight enough to cut off your blood flow, but also that there was no way for your hand to get free following any sudden harsh movements. Your other hand was promptly taken care of as well, and Aesop moved back to sit across your hips and admire his handiwork.

The obvious hunger in his eyes made more blood rush into your cheeks, and your hands balled into loose fists.

You were completely naked before him, physically and mentally, vulnerable and defenceless… And yet you felt entirely comfortable with the situation. You felt exhilarated and excited as to what Aesop was about to do to you. The man himself seemed content to simply touch and observe you for a while, his warm hands caressing your body everywhere he could reach, mapping your curves, connecting your freckles and moles using his fingers.

“Might have to re-tie you later,” he mused out loud in a low voice when he dragged his digits over your arms, making your body break out in goose flesh and making you squirm slightly at the ticklish sensation. “Oh?” you asked, your eyelids heavy with anticipation. You didn’t expect his next words to make a tremble run through you, but they sure did: “in case I want to flip you on your hands and knees instead…”

Seeing your reaction, another predatory grin spread on Aesop’s features: “Oh, this is going to be fun… For now, though, I think it’s only fair you’re not the only one disrobed.”

Aesop began to take off his clothes then. First to go were his overcoat, jacket, and the waistcoat you unbuttoned previously, all of which the potions master shook down and away in one go. However, then he must’ve decided that a bit more teasing is in order, and each following article of clothing was removed slower than the last one. Aesop was fixing you with a smug smirk as he slowly shrugged the suspenders off his shoulders, and started unbuttoning his own white shirt.

You licked your lips and your fingers flexed on their own accord as he revealed his hirsute chest.

That made him grin even more. He knew you loved to touch him, that you loved to run your nimble fingers through the hair on his breast, to pull on it, to bury your face in it to inhale his scent. He loved when you did that too. However, right now he was rather enjoying witnessing you like this even more.You remained silent but inhaled shakingly when he started to unfasten his trousers, revealing the sizable bulge in his pants.

A relieved little sigh left his mouth: “Finally. Those were getting uncomfortably tight… Then again, I hope to get into something even tighter later…” The potions master slowly untied the lace of his pants and slowly pulled them down.

His erection sprung out from its cottony confines, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. Your thighs squeezed together as much as they were able to, considering the tall man was still straddling you, and you found yourself perhaps slightly desperate to continue.

Just seeing Aesop like this, half naked, his large cock throbbing, his inhibitions tossed out of the window, and his gaze positively ravenous did inexplicable things to you. Your already swift heartbeat quickened up further and your womanhood dampened with sheer lust.

You watched in fascination as his own fingers wrapped around the stiff penis, and he began to stroke himself slowly. Merlin, while you weren’t able to touch him, you could recall the feel of him inside of your hand perfectly, the organ hot and thrumming under your fingertips, getting even more sensitive at its mushroom-like pink tip, out of which a small clear droplet of fluid spilled already.

He shifted somewhat and used his feet to spread your legs a little bit, just enough for him to slide the shaft into the gap that appeared between your thighs, dragging it through your damp folds and over your swelling lovebud deliciously. A noise so quiet you almost struggled to hear it yourself snuck out from your throat and you swallowed heavily, squirming at the teasing. He pumped his hips a few times, enjoying the sweet friction and riling you up further.

He chuckled then, though it was audible in his voice that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he perhaps pretended to be. His breath was definitely shorter than it had been, and the rise of his eyebrows was absolutely unmistakable.

He remained stationary for a little while, nestled within your legs, before a low chuckle rolled through him: “My apologies, dear, I seem to be getting terribly ahead of myself.” He braced his arms on the mattress next to your ribs, and slightly awkwardly climbed off the bed, mindful not to trip over his own undone trousers.

He removed his socks, then fully took off the dark breeches, his drawers soon following. He took his sweet time carefully folding each discarded article of clothing, which contrasted with all the other clothes that were haphazardly thrown on the floor previously.

You watched his every move; someone as tall as Aesop shouldn’t be able to be this elegant in their movements, especially so during an activity as simple as removing one’s clothing, yet he managed perfectly. It was actually nearly mesmerising to watch him.

You heard a dark chuckle when he turned to the dresser to place his folded clothes onto it: “Oh, Room of Requirement indeed! This is exactly what I was thinking about just now,” he said, seemingly more to himself than to you. He slowly turned around to show you what he discovered on the piece of furniture. It was a long stripe of soft-looking deep green fabric, a little wider than a ribbon. It took you several seconds to understand what he intended to do, by which point he was already sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “What do you think? Do you trust me, my love?” he asked gently, reaching out to touch your hot cheek, calloused fingertips dancing over the smooth flushed skin in gentle patterns. You thought about the idea for a little while, swallowing nervously. It all came down to a simple fact:

You did trust him. You trusted him absolutely.

You didn’t really know what to expect from the experience of being both bound and blindfolded, though. What if not being able to touch him, or even see him at all would make it uncomfortable for you? Or what if the lack of sight would make the sensations too intense? It was yet another unknown for you. But then again, so was sex itself mere months ago. And Aesop was so completely brilliant, guiding you through all of it, holding your hand, and being so patient and sweet with you. Every single day, you discovered together what worked for one and didn’t for the other, staying respectful of one another’s boundaries and feelings.

It was so easy with Aesop. It was amazing with him.

You knew you needn’t have ever worried. After all -

“If anything starts being too much, if it gets uncomfortable, even a little bit, just say the word and I’ll immediately stop and release you,” Aesop said sincerely, still stroking your cheek tenderly. You couldn’t help but smile at him, channelling all of your love for this man with your eyes.: “I trust you completely, Ace.”

The professor grinned in reply, his hand squeezing the piece of fabric a bit tighter. He leaned down to place a single kiss on your pliant mouth, and then tied the blindfold around your head. It indeed was as soft and smooth as it appeared, but it blocked out way more light than you would’ve thought a thin stripe of cloth like this one could. That is, you were suddenly plunged into absolute darkness, which disoriented you momentarily.

Nothing happened for at least a full minute, no touching, no kissing, if you didn’t hear Aesop’s soft breathing right in front of you, you would’ve nearly thought he left, which was of course silly.

But then… First thing you felt was a warm body descending upon your own once more, both enticingly and comfortingly, a pair of arms coming to curl around your back. Then, a hot pair of lips claiming yours in a slow kiss. Finally, his breath teased at your earlobe again: “Could you do me a favour, dear?” he asked, sounding more playful than ever. Your mind felt quite clouded over, but you managed a very eloquent ‘huh?’. However, even in your heavily distracted state, you were sure that smug smile was still plastered on his face: “Would you please test your restraints for me?”

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips, but you decided to humour him anyway. At first you tugged at the neckties in several short bursts. That, unsurprisingly, did absolutely nothing. So you decided to truly try, and put your entire strength into an attempt to loosen the restraints enough to get free. You were sweating and breathless by the time you realised there was no way for you to get your hands free. Without magic, that is.

“So, my dear… Are you able to free yourself?” Aesop whispered against your lips, his large nose dragging against your own in a manner that was contrastingly cute compared to the delectably filthy sound of his voice and the even filthier unspoken promise.

“No, I’m not.”

”Good.”

And not a second later were you gasping in surprise which swiftly turned into a moan of pleasure as the professor’s mouth latched itself onto your breast, his teeth worrying your sensitive nipple rather roughly. Aesop bit and he sucked in the way he knew you loved, and he always did so until it became nearly painful, at which point he stopped and focused his attention on your other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

Normally, you’d be dragging your fingers through his hair and tugging on it, but now all you were able to do was to squirm and accept his merciless ministrations. Every now and then he pulled away slightly in order to blow cool air onto the teat, prompting it to harden even further than it already was.

You could only imagine your nipples being raw red and swollen when he finally lifted his head up again. They felt so very tender, and your quim was throbbing longingly. “Now what do we have here?” he asked lightly, clearly enjoying himself immensely, “another lovely thing I can use…”

Did the Room create another object? What could it be?

You gasped loudly when something cold and liquidy hit your collarbone and poured down between your breasts to further spill down your sides and into the little hollow of your belly button. A strong scent hit you then - is that Firewhisky?! While you didn’t enjoy the taste of the liquor, you couldn’t deny its smell and the alcoholic vapour combined with your current state of arousal made for one sensual mix.

And the mix was made even more sensual when Aesop’s mouth proceeded to lick the alcohol from your skin, being very meticulous in his effort not to let a single drop go to waste. After he’d finished by drinking the last few drops from your belly button, he gave a satisfied grunt: “Hm, my sweet - I don’t think I ever want to drink Firewhisky a different way…”

You were now able to hear soft sounds of skin on skin, and another small sigh left your mouth. You truly wished you could see him, as you didn’t doubt he looked completely delectable. In your mind’s eye, you did see him; he was half hovering over you, half kneeling upon the bed between your own legs, slowly stroking himself while he played you like a violin, plucking at all the right strings. He repeated the process a few more times, pouring and licking the liquor off your body, mindful that it didn't get onto the more sensitive bits, all the while audibly pumping himself and groaning at the combined sensations.

It was complete and utter hedonism, and bloody hell you loved it…

“A-Aesop…” you sighed. You could smell his musk and the Firewhisky, and it was driving you positively ravenous. Not being able to touch him or even see him was only adding to the desperation. “Hmm? What is it, my sweet?” came from above your navel, Aesop’s breath cooling the damp skin and making you shiver, the words very nearly purred. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t actually know what exactly you wanted to ask for - the only thought on your mind was him. You just wanted more of him.

There was a bit of shuffling; you felt the change in pressure on the mattress around you, and soon he was straddling you again, this time higher up your chest. He was very careful not to actually sit on you and potentially squeeze something too much. His scent got stronger, and the soft sounds of his hand languidly sliding over his shaft louder. “What would you like, dear?”

You could feel your cheeks redden impossibly, and were all of a sudden a bit glad for the fact that you couldn’t see him. Noiselessly you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out obscenely. A chuckle was your sole answer before long fingers slid into your hair to stroke it: “I rather think it’s my turn to make you feel good, sweetheart, not vice versa,” he said quietly, but you couldn’t mistake the little tremble in his voice.

“Please…” you whispered back, before opening your mouth again. Aesop’s hand slid back from your hair and he caressed your cheek instead, before putting two fingers on your tongue and making you open your mouth even more. You instantly any recognised the next thing to touch your tongue. You closed your lips around the engorged glans, and began to run your tongue around it, rolling it in your mouth and worrying at the slit at the top. You then hollowed out your cheeks to add suction to the movements of your tongue on him.

His breath shuddered, and the hand on your cheeks tensed somewhat when you began bobbing your head up and down as much as you were able to in your position, releasing soft groans every time you managed to take him in further. Soon his own hips joined into the slow rhythm, and he used his hand to guide your head along even further.

The musky scent of him, the slightly salty taste, his beautiful sounds, oh, he was absolutely intoxicating. You licked along the defined veins of his cock, no doubt looking a right slobbering mess, but neither of you were capable of caring. If your hands were free, you'd be gently kneading at his bollocks, or perhaps toying with his nipples, but you had to admit, being restrained like this made for a very heady experience as well…

“Mhm, f-fuck,” he grit out before a hard thrust forward, one that guided him all the way in. You felt the tickle of his pubic hair on your nose, felt him twitch inside of your throat. You breathed deeply, fighting your gag reflex, the fabric covering your eyes dampening slightly with the tears that burst out following your efforts. You swallowed around the heavy prick, prompting another choked sound from your lover.

The hand that was holding your cheek before tangled into your hair, and closed into a fist around it just enough to make you feel the pull, but not any pain. “I could just come right now-” he said, his voice low and dripping with pleasure, “paint the inside of your throat…” Your eyes fluttered under the blindfold. You wouldn't mind. The few times he allowed you to actually finish him using your mouth were completely glorious. “But that’s no fun, considering I’m planning to ruin you before I even fill that sweet little cunny of yours…”

And then, with what seemed like a lot of effort, Aesop loosened his hand on your hair and pulled back and out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva clinging onto his tip still before separating, and falling unceremoniously down on your neck.

You heard him breath heavily for a few minutes, calming himself down a bit to be able to carry on with your little play. He moved back so that his legs framed yours again and his hands braced on the mattress on each side of your head.

“I rather think it’s time to make you cry out for me , my dear.”

Before you were able to gather your bearings, he claimed your lips in a filthy hot kiss, his tongue probing and penetrating, immediately overpowering your own into submission. You could taste the Firewhiskey he lapped up off your skin, and were sure he could taste himself on your tongue. You only sighed into the incredible kiss, letting him take absolutely everything he could possibly want. “You are driving me mad, (F/N)...” he muttered against your lips, a sense of urgency in his words, and ran his hands over your arms. They were beginning to feel quite numb if you were honest, but Aesop’s touch still made your skin break out in gooseflesh, and the promise of more pleasure to come made you completely uncaring towards any numbness.

Using his hand, Aesop turned your head to the side to be able to bite down on your pulse point, and he once more began to descend down your form. A trail of kisses and little bites led him back to your breasts, and he couldn't resist flicking his tongue over your poor, oversensitive teats, which made you whine quietly and toss your head around a little. Your thighs were rubbing against one another unconsciously, as you were trying to bring at least a little bit of friction to your soaking wet cunt.

“Oh, I don’t think so, love,” Aesop said once he noticed your efforts, some of his smugness seeping back now that he wasn’t root-deep in your throat, and forced his own leg between yours, “as I said - my turn.”

You felt terribly cold when he pulled away somewhat, immediately missing the warmth of his strong body. Your legs were then mercilessly spread open, exposing your nearly aching womanhood to the cool air of the chamber and making you gasp. You heard what sounded like a growl leave the man who was currently digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of your thighs where he held them, no doubt leaving small bruises in his wake.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he mumbled, further opening your legs, “I wish you could see yourself right now… See yourself the way I see you… So beautiful. So sweet and lovely, all spread out like this. Like a feast ready to be devoured...”

A single finger slipped across your seam, dipping within your folds teasingly before dragging over your swollen clitoris. “You are absolutely drenched,” Aesop remarked, the urgency in his voice coming back. Though he said his words lightly, airily almost, you could feel what felt like a snare drum in your veins. You were like prey face to face with a predator, and you knew that he would strike any second now. Your thighs trembled in anticipation.

And while you half expected it, it still caught you unawares when he lunged down, burying his face between your thighs. His lips, tongue and teeth all at once began an intense assault on your most primal senses, the relief of having your need finally attended to combined with the need itself forced a choked cry out of your throat, and for a second you couldn't comprehend why you couldn’t feel his hair between your fingers, when your hand was clearly reaching for it.

No, your hands were instead balled into tight fists and you shuddered violently. Your lover was groaning in pleasure as he licked and sucked at your damp skin before letting his tongue delve into your fluttering opening, one of his hands letting go of your leg and coming in to help. His calloused thumb quickly found your lovebud, and began to rub it in a circular motion, in the same rhythm in which his tongue thrusted inside you.

Because of the absence of sight, it was like you could feel every single sensation twice as intense. Aesop’s little grunts as he devoured you, his thumb relentlessly worrying at your clitoris, that sweet, sweet sting of his beard on your tender skin, and the complete inability to do anything about any of these things, bound as you were, made the little electric sparks that announced an impending climax approach much quicker than usual. Mind, Aesop was perfectly capable of making you come within mere minutes, but the teacher was fond of taking his sweet time riling you up, and in turn making sure you were ready for him to fully take you.

Two fingers pushed in alongside his tongue in search of that hidden bundle of nerves that never failed to make you moan for him. And find it they did, swiftly and precisely.

You didn’t expect the orgasm to rip through you the moment the tips of his digits bumped into it, but here you were, crying out embarrassingly loudly and arching your neck and back as much as you were able to, while your toes curled and the sudden pleasure made your body feel like it was on fire. It was obvious your lover didn’t exactly expect it either, if his little gasp was anything to go by. His mouth left you, but his hands remained where they were, the fingers inside you actually pushing against your walls with every contraction of them, stretching them open.

“My, my…” he said a little smugly as you still writhed under the sensations, your breathing laboured and your heartbeat almost too loud for you to hear him, “that was quite unexpected. However, very, very much welcomed. In fact, I rather think I’d like to do that again.” And without further warning and without you having any time to come down from your high, the teacher dove right back, his mouth returning to your entrance, and his devilishly clever hands doubling their intense assault. And just like that, you were thrown right back into the toe-curling sensations, your body so bloody sensitive, yielding to Aesop like he was its true master. Despite having just climaxed less than two minutes ago, you felt bloody close to the edge once more, and Aesop seemed hellbent on mercilessly shoving you over it again, lapping up at your fluttering entrance like a man starved.

Then however, as his fingers started to pump quicker inside you, making sure to hit that spot again and again, his mouth was forced to retreat, and he instead used it to suck at your lovebud instead.

Another sudden and earth-shattering orgasm flooded over you in a truly ridiculously short amount of time, and now you were trembling all over, your thighs shaking nearly violently. You weren’t even aware of the surely whorish sounds you were producing, but your sweetheart obviously appreciated them, for you heard him growl: “That’s it, my sweet - sing for me…”

This time he didn’t stop his ministrations even for a second as you came on his fingers and mouth a second time, and you remained a moaning, blubbering mess. You could feel a film of sweat covering your inflamed form, your own heart hammering in your ears louder that the bells of the Bell tower.

It was… It was actually becoming too much in the span of such a short time, and you were beginning to feel a bit dizzy from the unstopping pleasure, overstimulation setting in. Your dry throat burned from the sounds you made, and as yet another orgasm approached you, fast, intense, and feeling destructive, you knew that your limit would have been reached after that.

So you gathered up all of your strength, all of the sense you were able to muster at the moment (which wasn’t a lot but it was hopefully enough for you to be able to say a single word), and you took several shallow breaths, fighting more moans that were bubbling in your throat.

“J- ah! J-Jobberknoll!” you managed to squeak out before another powerful burst of pleasure rolled through you and you cried out once more, the cloth over your eyes once again getting wet with your tears, the sensations too much.

Too much! Too much!

However, less than two seconds later, it all stopped entirely, the fingers retreating from your pulsing heat, the mouth ravishing your clit disappearing, and a pair of strong arms taking gentle hold of your hips instead. You shuddered out a soft sound of relief.

One of those strong hands softly touched your face and caressed your cheek. “Are you alright, (F/N)?” Aesop asked, the concern in his voice winning over the obvious arousal, “did I hurt you?”

It took you at least a minute but possibly even more to gather your wits about you, to catch a breath, to stop feeling like you were either going to faint right there or climax anyway despite no longer being stimulated. All the while, Aesop’s hand was stroking your cheek, the other holding your hip still, and the teacher daren’t move.

“I-” you finally managed to grit out, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, shaky and hoarse, “N-no, you didn’t hurt me, b-but… it was becoming too much. I’m sorry…”

You heard him click his tongue reproachfully: “What did I tell you about apologising for stopping me when you want me to stop?” You took another several seconds to reply: “... Not to.”

“Exactly. If anything, I’m proud of you for having spoken up,” he said quietly, caressing your hair in praise. You opened your mouth a few times, and we're just about to ask for some water, when something cool touched your lower lip. You swiftly recognised it as the rim of a goblet, and eagerly opened your mouth further. Aesop carefully helped you take several large gulps of water, soothing your dry throat. Once you were done drinking, your lover put the goblet away again, probably where he found it in the first place, and again stroked your cheek.

Do you want to fully stop? It’s absolutely alright if you do,” he said then, his fingers tracing the features of your face with utmost gentleness. “N-no!” you replied, perhaps way too quickly, but completely sincerely, “No, no, I don’t want to stop, I just-... I just need a few minutes.”

The professor’s body covered your own again, bringing on a beautiful sense of comfort. “You can have as much as you want, dearest… is it alright if I kiss you in the meantime?” he asked, and you could feel yourself melting a bit on the inside.

Yes, the older man very much was capable of turning into nothing less than a ravenous beast during your tender fun, but was completely ready to stop the very moment you showed any discomfort, and even ask permission for a kiss after he just made you come twice, face buried in your quim.

“P-please,” you whispered only, raising your head a bit in a blind search of his lips. You didn’t have to search for very long at all, as the hot mouth covered your own in a kiss so gentle, it contrasted your previous passion beautifully. However, that doesn’t mean this kiss wasn’t passionate.

After all, you could taste the proof of your own arousal and pleasure on his lips and tongue, and it was such a strangely heady sensation, you felt your core flutter again.

“Mhm…” your lover groaned between kisses, “can you taste how delicious you are? How amazing you smell? You are like bloody ambrosia to me, and I’ll never stop craving more. I could come just like that, just devouring you like so, forcing those sweet sounds out of you. Almost have, just now…” You proceeded to whimper into the next kiss, his words making the primal thing in you purr happily.

“A-Aesop… I-... you can continue… please…” you whispered against his lips. You could feel him smile, his hands once more going to your hips and massaging them shortly. “Are you certain, (F/N)? We can wait a little more, if you need. Do you want more water?” he asked.

“N-no…” you replied, “no, I'm fine. Please, continue.”

He pulled back again then, and you could feel his engorged glans against your opening. You were already taking a deep breath, preparing for the penetration, when instead the teacher’s cock slid right along your seam and over your sweet spot, making you shudder in both pleasure and mild frustration. He repeated the motion several times, each one making you feel you’re about to go mad.

“You have to tell me what you want, my love,” your sweetheart whispered, his voice betraying the fact that he was barely restraining himself now too. You were already red as a salamander, but you still felt even more blood rush to your cheeks.

“F-... Fuck me, Aesop!” You breathed out.

There was a few seconds of pregnant silence, but then the potions master chuckled gleefully: “Merlin’s beard, love… Words one could consider crude, but from your lips… Like a siren’s call… And your call is always my command.”

However, before he could finally line up with the entrance into your warmth depths, you spoke up once more, a hint of embarrassment colouring your voice: “B-but wait! Can you… uh, can you please take the blindfold off? I need to see you…”

Instead of laughing or refusing, Aesop gently caressed your cheek and moved his hands to remove the blindfold. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get this pesky thing off, shall we?”

Even though the room was quite dim, having spent long minutes in complete darkness, it took you some time to adjust to the light. You blinked repeatedly, your vision a little blurry, but soon your eyes focused on your lover. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. Aesop too was smiling down at you, his eyes filled with both love and lust, pupils so dilated they made the teacher’s orbs look entirely black. His cheeks were reddened, and you could see the area around his lips glistening damply with the proof of your desire.

“You know,” he said gently, “I also prefer it when I can see you, see you fully, that is… I love looking into your eyes when you come for me…”

Once more his hands took hold of your cheeks, and he dipped his head to give you another deep kiss.

“Ready?” he asked, pushing a strand of your hair out of your eyes and across your sweat-slicked forehead. You beamed up at him, drunk on your pleasure and your love: “You take such good care of me, Aesop… Yes, I’m ready.”

The older man gave you another shiny grin and sat back on his heels. He grabbed his throbbing erection in his right hand, and gave himself several slow strokes, using his index and thumb to play with his foreskin, pulling it over his glistening glans halfway before pulling it back again, your eyes watching his every move and your womanhood fluttering in anticipation.

“Of course, my love,” he said, “After all; you’re mine. I’ll always take the very best care of you. You can count on that… For now, however… For now I’m going to render you unable to count even to five.”

As much as you could, given your restricted position, you leaned over to watch him guide his prick to your dripping entrance. A sigh left your lips when he shifted forward and the dark pink tip sipped inside, the familiar stretch making you bite down on your lower lip. In a fluid motion, he thrust himself all the way inside, forcing another soft groan from your mouth. It was scary how addictive this feeling was, the feeling of complete fullness, of your bodies being this absolutely connected. You could feel the beat of his heart through his shaft within you, frantic like yours was. “Hmm…” Aesop sighed, his eyebrows rising in the pleasure of being completely enfolded within your plush heat, his voice soft.

He stayed where he was for several moments, just enjoying the sensation and letting you adjust a little.

Effortlessly, he then lifted your lower body off the bed and placed his legs below your hips and bottom, making you sort of awkwardly sit in his lap while your upper body remained pretty much hanging by the hands secured to the bedposts. You were entirely in his control, unable to move at all. Not that you minded.

His forehead made contact with your collarbone, and his arms curled around the small of your back, and he shallowly pumped his hips a few times, making the two of you produce soft sounds of pleasure. The rhythm he set was slow at first, the teacher’s mouth again closing around one of your nipples, your breast muffling his soft little grunts as he sheathed his cock within your core repeatedly.

“Have I told you your breasts are the eighth world wonder, my sweetest?” he purred with a smile when he released the pebbled teat, once more red and sensitive from him rolling it between his teeth on the very verge of pleasure and pain. And while you were in the middle of another pleased sigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

“Oh, Ace…,” you murmured, “I never knew how difficult it would be… Not b-being able to hold you…” Your eyes were partially closed as you enjoyed the sensations of him languidly fucking your tight little quim while worshipping your body.

The professor smiled softly: “Would you like me to untie you?” You thought about it for a while, but ultimately decided to remain bound - after all, it was not every day you indulged in this kind of play, it’d be a shame to end it prematurely.

“Mhm… no. No, it’s alright. I can tie you to the bed n-next time…” you whispered, moving your own hips as well as you could given the position, both of you searching for that one magical angle that made you cry out for him. “Now, that, ah…” Aesop groaned upon another thrust, “that’s an idea. Keen to leave me a moaning, trembling mess, are you?” Your eyes fluttered and your lips spread into a smile. “Y-you know how beautiful you are in that state?” you whispered, the image appearing in your mind’s eye.

Aesop, completely dishevelled, blushing, sweating, whining in the pleasure you were bringing him. All the while being entirely at your mercy.

“Likewise, (F/N),” he growled slowly before suddenly snapping his hips roughly against your own, making you choke out a gasp, “which is why I intend to get you into that state right now .”

And then his pace quickened rapidly, and he finally found that spot that rendered you positively speechless. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips enough to leave small bruises there, and he began to ram into you in earnest. And, just like he promised, you were indeed soon reduced into a state of overwhelming pleasure, but this time you let it claim you fully and entirely, your hips quickly unable to keep up with his, and you could do little more than just lie/hang there and take it.

The room was filled with the beautifully vulgar sounds of your bodies uniting, again and again, the noises of gratifications that poured from your open mouths, and the banging of the headboard against the wall behind it following Aesop's wild movements. You whined and writhed, your nails digging into your palms when they would normally be making small crescent moon shaped cuts in the skin of the teacher’s muscled back.

He leaned over suddenly, one of his hands curling around the headboard close to your right hand, while the other moved south. His thumb found your lovebud, and he began rolling it roughly in rhythm with his powerful thrusts.

The added sensation to the little pink pearl was like a summoning call to your previously snuffed out climax, and it began to return tenfold, your walls fluttering around the large cock, your entire form beginning to tremble under the delicious assault on your senses. Aesop’s other hand found your own where it was suspended at the bedpost.

“A-Aesop…” you barely managed to wine out, your grasp on the English language lessening rapidly. “I’m g-going to…” your head was thrown back, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head on their own accord, and you needed more.

“I-I’m… I’m close too,” he groaned and increased his pace even more, forcing more filthy noises pour out of your mouth at the dizzying feeling. And as you found yourself dancing upon that edge, your toes curling in on themselves, and the coil in your stomach tightening, Aesop suddenly pulled his hand away from where you were so intimately joined in order to wrap it around your throat.

He wasn’t squeezing you very hard at all, just sort of pushing, lessening your oxygen supply. You trusted him, though, you trusted him to never hurt you, and right now he was making you feel so, so bloody good.

The shortness of breath somehow made the chaotic flurry of sensations even stronger, and you gave a half-choked hoarse cry when you felt that knot inside finally explode into blinding white pleasure, one that made all of your muscles spasm. You felt that intoxicating feeling of soaring hot pleasure roll over you like a tidal wave. You let it consume you.

Your following sound turned into something of a sob, because of the sheer intensity. When you somehow managed to open your eyes, all you saw was Aesop, his face directly above yours, his eyebrows knitted and his eyes screwed shut. His mouth was opened, and a string of grunts was leaving it as he too found himself on the very verge.

With a muttered curse that had his voice rising half an octave, his eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at you. His gaze was both frightening and beautiful, he looked wild, like a primal being. He intended to take, and he was clearly past the point of all reason, chasing his pleasure within your contracting depths.

In a quick move, he pulled out, and used the hand he was gripping your neck with to roughly tug at his cock one, two, three times. A guttural growl that reminded you of a predatory animal reverberated through the room, and a hot rope of pearly white come spread over your stomach, followed by another one upon your ribs, reaching your breast even. He then proceeded to roughly thrust himself back into your quim, forcing a desperate whine from your mouth, and you felt more of his hot seed filling you in short bursts, igniting you from within.

Aesop’s forehead landed on your own, hot puffs of his breath landing on your damp lips, the hand that was holding your own tangling into your hair as he still pumped his hips slowly to ride out his orgasm.

You were perfectly marked by him, inside and out, claimed as his own again.

His strength gave a minute later, and he collapsed on top of you heavily, his breathing ragged and his heartbeat frantic.You gratefully accepted the weight and warmth of his body. Waves of gratification still rocked through you, and a sweet afterglow was settling in.

You turned your head to the left, where Aesop’s face was still buried in the crook of your neck, and pressed several soft kisses against his bearded jaw, nuzzling against his scarred cheek with your nose. One of his hands was still stroking through your hair, damp with perspiration, while the other curled around your back, holding you close.

As you cooled down from your shared ecstasy, your lover finally lifted his head, but only to connect your lips in a satisfied, lazy kiss, the previous lust-crazed passion replaced by sweet tenderness. After several minutes of gentle kisses and soft words, he looked into your eyes.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? I haven't hurt you, or squeezed you too hard?” the professor asked, his voice low with residue pleasure and slight fatigue. The hand in your hair went to gently stroke at your neck instead, checking for any damage he might’ve caused. You couldn’t do much else than beam back at him: “I’m alright, Aesop… Although I can’t really feel my hands.” Your smile got a little sheepish as you nodded in the direction of your hands, still tied to the bedposts by your and his neckties.

“Ah,” Aesop hummed, “of course, dear, let me just-” and then, following a wave of his hand, the ties began unknotting themselves before simply sliding off your arms. You felt pins and needles in the limbs as you finally lowered them to rest on Aesop’s strong back, but couldn’t find it in yourself to care, just happy to be finally able to hold him.

You stayed like this for a few more minutes, just enjoying the intimate closeness, before Aesop finally moved to sit up on his heels again, his now soft member leaving your depths. Your lover murmured something under his breath as he looked down on your body and then on his own. And then he smiled: “I made a bit of a mess - I’m sorry dear.”

His voice betrayed him though, he sounded everything but apologetic.

He was looking at you with a mix of smugness, possessiveness, a hint of renewed desire, and overwhelming love, as he observed the product of his pleasure clinging to both of your stomachs and dripping out of your core. You were blushing heavily, but didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. With a simple wave of his hand, the jug that stood upon the dresser poured water into the washbasin. Another wave, and it floated towards the bedside table, along with one of the soft looking cloths.

Aesop’s elegant fingers curled around the textile, and brought it into the water. After squeezing out the excess liquid, he set to clean you. You were happy to find the water nicely warm, perfect for your tired, slightly sore body. Aesop very slowly and very carefully washed your torso, making sure to be extra gentle around the more sensitive areas like your tender nipples. He rinsed the cloth and continued lower.

Many times, a quick Scourgify was enough to get both of you by, but it seemed Aesop was currently intent on prolonging the intimate atmosphere that settled between you, taking the sweet time to clean you up himself.

Only after he was done with you did he finally use the washcloth on his own body, scrubbing the drying seed from the hair on his stomach and giving himself a quick wipedown. Once he was finally all done, he carelessly tossed the fabric into the basin and curled up next to you on the bed. He helped turn you on your side to face him, and pulled one of your legs over his hip.

Soon thereafter, a very soft duvet slid upwards to cover your bodies and wrap them in its warmth. Your older lover then gently brought your wrists to his face and frowned momentarily: “If time comes when the two of us want to repeat this experience, I’ll get you some softer and finer restraints.” Your wrists were red where they were tied. “And I’ll get you some ointment for your wrists.”

You smiled at the professor. He was always so concerned for you, always making sure you were alright, even after he made you see stars and experience pleasures you wouldn’t have thought possible.

“You do take such good care of me, Ace,” you repeated, drunk on your current state of comfort as well as the love you held for the incredible man who held you in his arms, blinking slowly, “but I think I quite want to keep my wrists as they are… As a… little reminder…”

A new wave of possessiveness flashed in his eyes for a second - you knew he adored seeing you embrace the marks he left on your body. You, after all, also loved to see the imprints of your fingernails clearly visible on the skin of his broad back, or the hint of the love bite you left just below his collar. It was clear the two of you had some sort of thing for marking the other as your own, as well as being marked.

Your eyes closed on their own accord when his large, warm palms enveloped your face in their hold, and he sought your lips in a slow kiss. He helped you mould around his body in a way that was comfortable for both of you.

“How long do you reckon we can stay here?” you asked softly, the fatigue that followed your most pleasurable love-making turning into outright sleepiness as you snuggled under the duvet. Your hands lazily stroked each other's bodies, your hair spread around your heads on the shared pillow. The moonlight from the artificial window got dimmer, and the flickering candles became the main light of the room, further deepening the intimate atmosphere.

Aesop hummed quietly: “I’m not expected anywhere. And I rather think your roommates no longer question your absence at night - after all, we planned to be together tonight anyway.” You huddled further into his warmth: “Good. I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to walk back to your chambers right now anyway.”

Your responses prompted a small chuckle out of the potions master: “I would’ve gladly carried you all the way back into my chambers, though I suspect the portraits and the ghosts would surely give us some curious looks.” You chuckled as well.

“It’s nearly surreal that in less than three weeks, there will be no more sneaking about… well, as successful as we were actually sneaking about anyway…” you continued, “if I finish my practical exams, that is.” The teacher only smiled at you, squeezing your waist: “You’ll be incredible. I know you will. And, I mean,” he pulled back to look at you, a grin on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes, “we can sneak about recreationally, if you so wish. However, I for one am quite looking forward to not having to do that, and instead be able to court you openly. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Another blush entered your face upon his sweet words: “Always, Aesop…”

“Still,” he spoke again after a while, “shame you’re such a responsible adult, going nearly straight to work following graduation - I would’ve hoped to have you all to myself for the summer. Though I of course realise you, uh, didn’t know whether there was even a possibility of a shared summer when you applied for and accepted the job. Still, if Miss Peck would be able to relieve you for, let’s say, a week… Well, we could go somewhere if you’d like. Devon, for example, is quite lovely this time of year.”

As he spoke, the older man was fidgeting with your fingers, a hopeful undertone to his voice. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at him: “I think Ellie can miss me for one week, as long as I owl her about the matter in a timely manner… What can you tell me about Devon?”

Aesop’s grin could light up the entire Great Hall, and it certainly made a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around your stomach, as he turned to lean over you a bit: “Oh, let me tell you…”

Hello, and thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this dirty little story. As always, you can also check this story as well as all of my other stories over at AO3. I adore feedback! ❤

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #reader insert #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp lemon #aesop sharp x you #professor sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #pwp

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emilykaldwen · 4 months ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Author's Note: Happy Anniversary to Maiden! I'm so happy to those of you who've been on the journey from the start and those who have found this story along the way. We are in the final few chapters of this Arc! And to celebrate, I bring you amazing plot twists! All my love and thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for holding my hand and being with me every step of the way, and @darkwolf76 who loved this story first.

If you're reading here on tumblr, I'd love to hear from you! My inbox is open and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

CHAPTER TWENTY - I'm In Over My Head

We finally arrive at Harrenhal, where you cannot escape the ghosts.

It was a fortnight by horseback and only six hours by Sunfyre to Harrenhal, but the royal progress along the Kingsroad took a moon. The people needed to see them, the queen had insisted, refusing to let them stay and ride out on dragonback. Instead, Helaena would stay, Ser Criston at her side, and the sworn sword would fly with the princess in a month’s time. Baela would fly out with them on Moondancer, Jace on Vermax, and Aemond would accompany the royal progress without Vhagar.

Harrenhal could only house so many dragons.

Abby was ready to be done with it all; her body felt like it would never stop jostling even when she was out of the wheelhouse. The days on horseback were better, but even those had left her aching from her inexperience. Aegon had whispered in her ear that it would be good practice for her, and how precious she looked bowlegged. The ribald flirtation had sent a rush of heat and anticipation through her, as well as frustration with him for making light of how uncomfortable she’d been. For his cheek, she’d bundled herself in the wheelhouse with the Crane twins, Merei Thorne, and Floris, the latter of which had her hold her tongue to keep from ranting.

She missed Wylla.

Wylla, she knew, would loop her arm through hers and recount all the wonderful ways they could make Aegon miserable. Jesting, of course, though the pair regularly snipped at one another.

Guilt roiled in Abby’s gut. After the betrothal announcement between Aemond and Floris, Wylla had taken the opportunity to flee to Stone Hedge to witness her brother’s nuptials to Lady Alys Bracken. It had been good that she did, Abby thought. She would be able to see her mother and other brothers, who had come down in order to attend her wedding, and Wylla did not know when she would see them next. Karhold was further north than Winterfell and her friend was giving up a great deal to come live at Harrenhal.

That said little of the other reasons why Wylla had eagerly left for Stone Hedge, and Abby thought of Helaena’s words all those months ago. ‘And I’ll be left alone while you and Aegon are busy making babies together!’ She felt like a poor friend and and even worse sister, unable to deny that as the weeks had passed, her focus had been less on duties she’d taken so seriously, of being there for those she cared for, and more focused on the making of her wedding dress, of the stealing time with Aegon with a desperate heat and wanting, of responding to well wishes and organizing a household… when she had promised to always be there for Helaena. When she had begun to foster a love and friendship with Wylla that had grown into its own sisterhood.

Jace had so easily comforted Helaena during her difficult days when Abby was pulled away or otherwise occupied. And Wylla had not even told her of the budding romance between her and Aemond - now brutally cut short in the wake of politics beyond their control. So consumed she’d been with Aegon, with everything else, things that, selfishly, were for her and her alone, and so easily she’d forgotten those she vowed to care for.

Abby would do all she could to make up for it. She would ensure that Wylla did not feel forgotten, that her and Helaena could indeed visit often. She would write, she would-

“Lady Abrogail?”

Desmera’s voice cut through the swirl of guilty words flitting through Abby’s head and she looked up at the Crane girl. Desma, Abby corrected herself. Desmera preferred Desma. She was holding the wool kirtle in her arms, the shade of green as lush and dark as the fields they passed through with red weirwood embroidery along the arms. The surcoat carefully folded on the table was half red and half blue and edged in silvery rabbit fur, among the other parts of her heraldic dress. She would not be in the wheelhouse as they came into Harrentown, and the parade that announced their arrival would be a large one. Already they had seen an uptick of traffic along the Kingsroad and the tents in the fields, the small inns filled to bursting the closer they were. With only a few hours until they approached the town, it was almost like they were approaching King’s Landing. Merchants were setting up along the way to hawk wares and Abby knew that the crowd would be thicker the closer they crept

The distant call of dragons echoed outside the tent and Abby and Desma poked their heads out the flap to crane their necks to look up.

“I can’t believe Ser Criston is riding dragonback with the princess,” Desma murmured, and Abby laughed. He had stayed behind with Helaena, and Abby knew it was to keep an eye on Jace. What Abby would have given to see the look on the knight’s face when he was told that he would fly with Helaena. Not even Queen Alicent had flown with her children, despite both Aegon and Helaena’s offers.

Abby knew how big dragons were, having been around them her whole life, but this was different. With no expansive sprawl of King’s Landing or the Great Sept to compare, they seemed even larger. Past the many tents of the camps, the moors of the Riverlands was all there was. No buildings, no great mountains or spires or monuments. Just the green, rolling hills surrounding the Kingsroad and the forest beyond.

Dreamfyre’s bulk was impressive, the blue and silver of her scales standing out in the morning light, her call warm and low, melodic in a way that was surprising for a dragon. Two smaller dragons were flying about, answering the calls, scales in shades of jade and bronze and silver as Jace and Baela danced around the great dragon.

There was another familiar call, the trilling echoing across the moor like a song. Abby’s heart swelled, hearing Aegon’s happy shout from somewhere inside the camp as Sunfyre gleamed as bright as the morning sun. How she missed him, how she missed being free in the air where nothing else mattered.

Desma tugged on her elbow, laughing. “Come back here, Abby, you’re still in your nightgown.”

Abby allowed herself to be pulled back in the tent, and was soon joined by Merei Thorne, who came bearing a plate of cold meats and bread and warm cider to break her fast.

“I’m ready to be done with all this mud,” she groused, dark hair loose and free about her shoulders, her swarthy skin flushed from the cool morning air. “Ser Rickard says the crowds up the road will be thick by the time we reach them.” Merei’s uncle was a member of the Kingsguard, and Abby was grateful that she had sought information before arriving.

She let herself be tugged out of her nightgown and a fresh chemise pulled over her head before Desma got her into the green kirtle and Merei shoved a piece of bread with ham into Abby’s open mouth. “Wylla’s sent word this morning with the rider.” Merei waved the scroll around. “Your rooms have been made ready, and Lythene and Sarra are settling in, so all you need to do is arrange things to your liking.”

Abby eagerly reached for the scroll as the girls laced her into the kirtle. It was a short message, but Wylla’s handwriting was comforting and familiar.

“Is Alys another one of your ladies?” Merei asked, moving the surcoat out of the way while Abby sat to eat. Desma opened the box of combs and ribbons and hairpins to get to work on her curls.

Wylla’s letter had mentioned help from Alys Rivers, and Abby shook her head before Desma pinched her to keep still as she carefully worked Abby’s curls.

“No, she’s a member of our household. A healer and sometimes ladies maid. She helped my mother when she was pregnant with me, but declined to come to the capital with us.” Her memories of the woman were fuzzy whenever Abby tried to look at them more closely. Dark haired with large grey eyes, Alys had been a fixture when she had visited Harrenhal over the years. “It’s good that she’s helping Wylla. I know Aunt Mya has her hands full with everything and my cousin, Deidre, is there to help.” Deidre, the future Lady Smallwood of Acorn Hall, had grown up at Harrenhal and would prove helpful in this busy time of preparation. Deidre’s younger sister, Cassana, lived at Runestone and would be arriving with Lord Yorick’s party soon.

Desma’s hands worked quickly to pull Abby’s curls from her face, winding a knot of braids along the back of her head, the rest curling down her back to her waist. It would be hours of riding, but also hours of being seen by the people who looked to Harrenhal, who looked to her family, as their liege lords. Merei pulled a delicate net of silver dotted with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds and pinned it around Desma’s delicate knotwork.

With her mother’s carnelian necklace around her throat, Abby shoved her feet into her riding boots and grabbed a last chunk of bread and ham before ducking out of the tent as her ladies oversaw the packing of her things.

The sea of black and red tents felt like a field of Targaryen poppies as she made her way through the camp. The ground was not as muddy as Merei complained, but Abby was nonetheless grateful for her sturdy boots. Already the grass was churning into a muddy mess in various places and she carefully stepped around them. Servants paused to offer quick bows and curtsies, which Abby felt awkward about. They did not need to pause in their duties to acknowledge her, but at the same time, it was strangely satisfying to be recognized, to be deferred to in some small way.

Abby was not sure how to feel about it, so she pushed the confusing feelings away and shoved the rest of her bread in her mouth.

She found Aegon where the horses were stabled, tethered to temporary posts and being fed their morning grain. The morning light turned Aegon’s curls a soft gold, his gray linen shirt tucked into a pair of high waisted, black riding pants, stripes of red embroidered with gold scales down the sides into a pair of tall, shiny black boots. He was without his own surcoat and she knew that it was just as ostentatious as her own heraldic gown: black and red and scaled as was the Targaryen way. She licked butter from her thumb as she approached, gaze raking over him appreciatively and the opened neck of his shirt, teasing the lightly freckled skin that she longed to kiss.

Kostōba was as brilliant as ever, pawing happily at the ground and rooting his nose against Aegon, clearly looking for more treats. His cream colored coat shone as golden as his master’s hair in the sun, brilliant against the caparison of red and black taffeta for House Targaryen. Aegon was busy stroking the snout of another horse, focused on checking the buckles of the halter and bit. The mare was a brilliant chestnut, so red that it matched her hair, it’s mane only a scant few shades darker. It pawed the ground beside Kostōba, nickering and also looking for treats.

“What’s this?”

Aegon turned, eyes wide as if he’d been caught, a sleepy smile on his face. She was no longer mad at him, of course, but the forced distance over their travels was frustrating, in addition to the misery of frequently having to sleep outdoors, no matter how comfortable the tents were. It made tempers shorter, and the stress of everything that was to come was fraying at her.

Aegon closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands, and the touch immediately had her shoulders relaxing and she sighed as he kissed her. Chastely, but it was Aegon and his teeth snuck in a quick nibble before he pulled back. She did her best to hide her pout, tasting the wine he’d had that morning on her mouth. Abby licked her lips, blushing at the look he gave her.

“Happy nameday!” he declared, gesturing to the mare. Abby blinked at him, owlish and momentarily confused.

“Nameday?” What day was it? Time had become an endless blur of bumpy roads and the creaking wheelhouse. He raised an eyebrow at her, taking her chin in hand and tilting her head to look up at him.

“It’s your nameday,” he repeated slowly as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Oh! It was, wasn’t it? She sputtered softly and he chuckled, pressing another brief kiss to her parted mouth.

“Happy nameday,” he repeated more slowly this time, snickering at her lapse of memory and dropping her chin to caress her shoulder and turn her towards the mare. “She’s from the same stock as Kostōba. Six years old and well trained. She’ll be gentle with you and give a hoof to the face of any who should try to pull you from her.” His grin brightened as he went on, lilac eyes crinkled in excitement as he glanced back at her. Abby could see the hope in Aegon’s face, the nerves and question of if he’d done well with the gift.

Kostōba snorted at Aegon’s shoulder, nudging at him more insistently. Aegon huffed and pulled another piece of carrot from the pocket of his black riding coat. Abby reached up to gently stroke the velvet soft nose of the mare and took the second carrot that Aegon offered. She eagerly took it with greedy teeth, and Abby giggled as the velvet nose tickled her palm.

“She’s beautiful,” Abby said, giddiness bubbling through her belly, swooping at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and surprise at how exciting it was to be given a horse of her very own. “And she won’t buck me off?”

“Well you’ve proven to be a good rider already, on dragonback no less, though it’s different with a horse, obviously. And I think as long as you keep petting her and speaking to her sweetly as you do, provide plenty of carrots, maybe even some apples? Oh, I think you’ll be just fine.”

Abby scoffed, but her smile was bright. “Endless supply of carrots and apples and oats. Understood, my prince. I will endeavor to bond her to me.” The mare huffed softly as Kostōba’s head came near hers to bump it.

“They look good together, don’t they?” Aegon asked softly, casually.

“They do,” Abby agreed with a soft laugh. “She matches my hair.”

“Exactly. That’s why I picked her.”

“And your horse matches your hair.”

Aegon shrugged, cheeks flushed pink as he scratched around his stallion’s nose. “I have good taste. Do you like her?” There was a furrow now between his brows as he pointedly asked her, her words not doing enough to convey her thanks. It was a guileless thing - Aegon wasn’t trying to tease a deeper showing of affection from her in his usual, playful way. Abby handed him her gathered skirts and he took them, confused, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands, his skin warm against her perpetually chilled fingers.

“I love this gift, Aegon. No one else has wished me happy nameday, but you did, and provided me a thoughtful gift that I love very much,” she reassured him, teeth catching on her lower lip as the words visibly washed over him. She could feel the tension vibrating through him, as if he couldn’t quite believe she enjoyed the gift, or was waiting for something to drop, or a dozen other things. She felt him shudder and relax into her and Abby hummed, thumbs stroking along the apples of his cheeks. The furrow eased, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, his gaze grew softer as he turned his head slightly to nuzzle against her touch. Her belly was warm, fingers toying with the softness of his silver hair, affection surging through her. Abby pressed up on her toes to press a soft, innocent peck to his plush mouth. “I love you, Aegon.”

“I love you,” he whispered shyly as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Satisfaction and ease seemed to fill him as she pulled away and took her skirts back from his hold. He cleared his throat, tossing his hair back from his face and reached up to stroke the little white star on the mare’s forehead. “Now we can go riding together - properly have a good race.”

“You want to race? Well then, we’ll have to come up with some good wagers then, won’t we?” The prospect excited her, the planning for things they’d do once the wedding was over and they could just get on with the rest of their lives; away from the Red Keep, away from the politics and the eyes that constantly watched them, away from everything that chased them in waking and in sleep.

Another bright call sounded above them and they both looked up to see Sunfyre circling, his chirps and clicks echoing down to them. The mare snorted and backed away, shaking her head at the closeness of the predator. Two of the stableboys came hurrying over to help calm her. Abby backed away, not wanting to be too close should she rear up, feeling foolish that she was unable to calm her horse, let alone understand how.

“He missed you,” she said, and Aegon laughed, bright and happy as he always was when it came to his golden boy.

“He’s a smart one, isn’t he?” Aegon grinned. “I was…” He trailed off, uncertain, and Abby pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“He would not abandon you. That menace broke out of the dragon pit to get to you, remember?” Not that Sunfyre had caused any damage outside of freeing himself from his chains, and would not return until Aegon had gone to retrieve him before they were dragged back to the Red Keep all those months ago.

“He would most certainly not.” Confidence returned to Aegon’s voice and he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting words of Valyrian and gesturing north.

Abby’s gaze drifted from the sight to look out past the horses to the rolling moors past them. The mist still hung heavy along the ground, slowly burning away as the morning grew, lending a murky sight of the forest that obscured the sight of the God’s Eye.

A twisting sensation spooled through her chest as she watched the trees. There were oaks abundant along the road, and as they drew north, there were pines dotting the landscape as well. But the great, dark forest beside them was different. The oaks here were giant things. Once, as a little girl, she’d ridden out with Harwin into the Red Wood. There were a few red oaks in the Harrenhal godswood - massive things that shot past the great height of the walls. Here in the forest surrounded by them, it felt like another world. The trunks of the trees were as big as the family dining hall in the Kingspyre. Uncle Simon said that the great round table had been cut from such a trunk.

Ancient trees that had survived the great heart wound of Harren the Black. Spirits lived in the weirwoods; she remembered those stories, and the ancient sentinels remembered too. They were here long before and would be there long after -

“Hey!”

Strong, warm hands gripped her arms and shook her. Abby blinked slowly, feeling tired and confused. Aegon was looking down at her; face pale, confused, annoyed. “What’s gotten into you? I was calling for you, Abby.”

“But…” As she meant to say she had not moved, Abby realized that she could not hear nor smell the horses, and that the sounds of camp were softer than they had been before.

“You kept walking and I thought you were going to show me something but then you stopped speaking,” Aegon went on, but his voice sounded odd - strangely muffled and then clear. She reached for him but her hand missed his arm and he reached for it, tugging her to him. “Abby, you’re freezing.”

She was always freezing.

The crowd was deafening and the drum beats of the parade only added to the din. The chestnut mare, now named Stranger, trotted smoothly beside Aegon’s stallion as the royal procession made its way through Harrentown. The scouts and messengers had not lied.

The crowd was large, not only the townsfolk but filled with those who had traveled far and wide to witness the festivities and hawk their wares. As they approached her family’s castle, the fields field with colored tents sporting the banners of the noble houses that had made their way to the God’s Eye.

Harrenton was not an exceptionally large town although little was when compared to King’s Landing. It was a trading post, a crossroads at the mouth of the Riverlands. Trade and travel that came south from Darry would stop here, as well as the trade from the south at the capital. The buildings were white stucco and plaster with the red oak timbers from the Red Wood, tiered three stories tall with steeply pitched, clay shingled roofs. Many of the ground floors were made from red bricks. Mud was in abundance here, and pottery and bricks were their foundations of trade.

Abby tilted her head up to the banners hung across the thoroughfare, the tri color streamers of House Strong interspersed with the black and red ribbons of House Targaryen. Those who could not find space along the red brick road hung out from the leaded windows, waving flags and banners, throwing out handfuls of flower petals from the winter flowers in swirling dances of pinks and purples, whites and yellows. Young children on their parents shoulders, too disinterested in whatever people were on display, giggled and reached to try to catch the petals. The people yelled for House Strong, they yelled for the name of her father, they yelled…

They yelled her name.

‘Lady Abrogail! Lady Strong! Princess Abrogail!’

Her cheeks flamed, her grin both shy and beaming, unused to the attention being paid to her. Abby glanced over at Aegon, who preened beneath his own attention, the petals that were thrown about the air catching in his silver curls.

‘Prince Aegon! House Targaryen! Lady Abrogail! House Strong!’

His lilac gaze found her, his grin broadening, all teeth and bright eyes, dimples creased in his cheeks. The breeze caught in her curls, fluttering the delicate silver veil around her face. The flower petals drifted and swirled between them, caught in his hair, in the silver and red manes of their horses, and everything felt like a dream.

Now they left the main thoroughfare and made their way up the switchback to where the castle loomed, and as they made the turn, the world dropped out as the vast, glittering expanse of the God’s Eye filled the horizon. Abby’s breath caught in her throat and beside her, Aegon audibly exhaled, momentarily halting his horse beside her to take a look. Behind them, Abby could hear Daeron’s exclamation of wonder.

The God’s Eye ate the entire horizon, glittering like an aquamarine gem beneath the cloudless blue of the sky. The only thing that interrupted the site was the distant, hazy sight of the Isle of Faces, obscured by the haze and distance.

“It’s bigger than the Whispering Sound,” Daeron breathed. “Uncle Gwayne-”

“Aye,” the elder sounded just as surprised, just as awed. “Large enough for the eye of a god, isn’t it?”

Seagulls called along with other birds along the banks and Abby could just make out a few fishing boats tiny on the water. She rose up in her saddle to take a better look, vowing that she would never tire of the spectacular sight.

“I didn’t realize how I missed this sight.” She laughed, unsure if she might cry from grief or joy.

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Aegon said softly, his gaze firmly affixed to the sight before them. He wasn’t even looking at her, just caught in wonder. It was a new expression for Aegon, and Abby was loath to draw him from it. She reached over and he must have seen her, or maybe he’d been reaching for her hand at the same time. “It’s endless, like the sky.”

He squeezed her hand and with a gentle command, their party continued.

Harrenhal was a scar against the landscape, the black stone stark against the green and blue of the landscape. With towers shooting up higher than the tallest of Maegor’s Holdfast, Harrenhal loomed as its maker always intended: Ominous and impossible to ignore. The twisted, melted stone that capped the towers were vicious reminders of the violence in the past, but life bloomed amidst the ruins. Sentinels and oaks, vibrant and lush, shot past the tops of the stone walls from the large godswood that butted up against the shore. Harrenhal held a small household guard and several called out from the gatehouse.

Making the final turn, their party was greeted by the half shattered statue of Harren the Black, only his legs and rearing mount left above the bridge. It started with stone and then switched to thick ironwood that spanned the dry moat beneath, and, as if to welcome them home, Sunfyre of all things perched above the gates like an enormous, golden hawk, calling out and declaring that this was now his domain. Stranger whickered nervously, hesitating in approach until Abby urged her on with a gentle hand against her neck.

“Seven hells,” Aegon muttered, barely caught over the sounds of the hooves on the wooden bridge and the creaking of the carriages behind them. Whatever else Aegon said was drowned out beneath the sound of Sunfyre’s trilling. The golden dragon was singing and it was a haunting tune that echoed along the stone like water over river rocks. The sound of it sent dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, bats bursting from the ruined tops of the tower. Distracted by the creatures that took to the sky, he pushed off the gatehouse, the horses rearing as stone debris fell in their path.

Abby looked at Aegon, eyebrows raised. “He can’t keep doing that.”

He frowned, half-offended and mildly concerned. “It’s not his fault the stone is crumbling,” he said, but the defense was half-hearted as he eyed the broken stone being pushed out of the way.

Aemond and Daeron, Ser Gwayne and a few of the Kingsguard followed them, the guards taking a station at the gate until the king passed through. The rest of the party in their wheelhouses were held back until the stone was removed.

The gatehouse was a great thing cut through the thick, black curtain walls. The way was lit with torches, the echo of the horses’ hoof beats giving an uncertain cacophony as the sound bounced around the tunnel. Abby’s gaze drifted up, the ceiling of the tunnel shadowed but she remembered Larys telling her the frightening tale of the dozen murder holes where they would drop oil and poisonous spiders and venomous snakes down onto those who tried to breach the castle. She’d had nightmares for weeks.

Aegon said nothing beside her, and the look on his face was one of bewildered interest. She bit her lip, a smile playing. He had only ever known King’s Landing, after all.

Tears pricked her eyes as the strange longing sensation that had harbored for so long in her chest eased. It didn’t go away, but she could feel the hooked edges of yearning, the grief, the feeling that she did not belong, that something was missing, smoothing out into something bittersweet. Beyond the great walls of the castle, Harrenhal was full of life. Beneath the great shadow of the ruined towers, a reclaiming had taken place over the years, and the notion soothed that bramble within her.

As the party passed through the gatehouse into the outer bailey, Abby’s eyes darted over the crowd that had begun to gather. Over the years, some of the ruins had been dismantled and turned into proper staff quarters. A new granary, the stables,meant to house a thousand horses, had partially been converted to a barn. Before them, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths loomed, rebuilt through the reclaiming of the ruined Tower of Ghosts, now only a few stories tall.

The focal point of the hall was the ornate, stained glass window above the colossal entrance. Along the top half of the circle, a weirwood tree was carefully placed, the red leaves a border around the top, the cream colored branches reaching wide, and the sun behind it sported the tri-color stripes of her family’s sigil. Below the roots was a mound with seven circles - each portraying the sigil of each aspect of the Seven.

The Andals had spread their faith when they had conquered, but here in the halls of her family’s seat, and through the Riverlands, folk noble and small alike found a faith made their own - to mourn the loss of the weirwoods in their subjugation, and the comfort found in faces old and new alike. Especially here, on the shores of the God’s Eye, where the last of the southron weirwoods still thrived, where whispers and tales of the Children of the Forest outside the North clung like moss to the stilts of the houses along the riverbanks.

Fluttering fabric caught her eye and Abby looked up to see the banners of their house strung between the towers, interspersed every two with the black and red House Targaryen, and every ten with the blue and red fish of House Tully, their immediate overlords. In the front of the hall, where the crowd was thickest, the short, white hair and broad frame of Uncle Simon stood out; he was clad in a rich, black coat, Aunt Mya beside him, her dark curls thickly streaked with silver, her gown red. Her cousins were there too; Garret, with his strawberry blonde curls, not much older than herself, holding his three-year-old daughter, Gwenys, just as ruddy gold as her papa. His father, Ser Edric, leaned heavily on a cane on the other side of Uncle Simon. As she went down the line, she caught sight of Wylla, clad in Abby’s colors in a gown of deep blue with a sash of green and red, beaming brightly beside Alyn Hull, who looked dashing in a jerkin of deep, blood red and black pants tucked into shiny, polished boots.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” Uncle Simon greeted Aegon before his warm gaze found hers. “Welcome home, Lady Abrogail.” The title address to her felt odd, but this was a formal occasion. Two stableboys glad in House Strong livery reached for the bridles of the horses, Aegon dismounting easily as Abby frowned in slight annoyance at the yards of fabric of her surcoat. She’d shifted to side-saddle before they’d entered the town in preparation for an easier dismount but it was still daunting.

“Allow me, my lady.” Alyn was there, grinning at her, his green eyes soft and Abby returned his bright expression with a relieved one of her own.

“Thank you, Mister Hull,” she said, grateful, and let Alyn help her from the horse and set her safely on the ground. She caught Aegon’s brief annoyance at being denied his gallant moment and she patted Alyn on the shoulder. “We have some things your mother and a Miss Bri had sent up to the castle.” Alyn’s friendly expression moved to a grateful surprise, and she could see the red coloring his tanned cheeks.

“And I thank you, my lady. I am most appreciative.” Abby felt a giddiness at making a good impression with Aegon’s friend, and she left Alyn to embrace her great-aunt and uncle, uncaring if it was improper. This was her family, and even though she’d only seen a few of them not long ago, this was different.

This was a homecoming.

The warmth of her Uncle’s hug made her chest ache further, and Abby tucked her head beneath his chin, squeezing him tightly, eyes shut and for a moment, allowed herself to pretend that there was no pomp and circumstance and that it was her father who embraced her. Uncle Simon would never replace him, but he reminded her so much of him that she would not feel guilty for clinging to the memory. He seemed to understand, for she felt him squeeze her extra hard before releasing her with a paternal kiss to her forehead and then allowed Aunt Mya, who exclaimed, “A chroí! Tá cuma álainn ort,” before she was wrapped in a cloud of softness and the smell of lilies from her aunt’s perfume. Her hands, shaking slightly with her arthritis, carefully touched the veil she wore and the carnelian necklace around her throat. “You’ve got that Westerland poise to you,” she observed, and though the words might have been taken as a slight, there was a fondness there. “Like your mother and that Lefford blood, but oh, you’ve got the wild river in you, don’t you.” Her hands gently cupped her face, and Aunt Mya’s dark eyes shone with tears. “They haven’t taken that from you. Good.”

“It’s good to finally be home,” Abby said, her voice thick with emotion. Joy, sadness, grief, relief, and a swirl of other things she could not identify. She cleared her throat, turning in her Aunt’s embrace to gesture to Aemond, Daeron, and Gwayne who had dismounted. “May I present Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, as well as the queen’s brother, Ser Gwayne.”

“Ser Simon,” Gwayne said, sketching a bow. “I hope you do not mind my squire and I joining the household.” His grin was bright and disarming, his hand coming to clasp Daeron’s shoulder. “My sister hopes for us to keep an eye on my nephew, but I think it will be a good opportunity for my squire to also learn from a renowned knight such as yourself, Ser.” Abby bit her lip to hold in her laugh, appreciating the look of surprise and pride on her uncle’s face. “And Lady Mya, these are for you.” He produced from his green leather riding jacket a carefully wrapped package. “Your lovely niece shared with me how you once loved lacemaking. While this could not compare what you’ve made, I do hope you find use for this.”

“From the lacemaker who made my wedding dress,” Abby chimed in as her blushing aunt took the carefully wrapped package of lace. Aunt Mya’s features shifted into amusement.

“Oh, I like this one, Simon. You can sit by me at dinner, Ser Gwayne.” Uncle Simon rolled his eyes while Daeron stepped forward, sending a look at his uncle.

“And I brought this for Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said, not to be outdone by Gwayne’s flirtation. He produced a doll from his own coat, made from soft linen with carefully made brown yarn hair, and painted blue eyes with a felt crown on her head.

“Thank you very much, my prince,” Garret said, shifting Gwenys in his arms. “Can you say thank you to Prince Daeron?” Gwenys’ eyes were large in her face, gnawing shyly on her lip as she snuggled into her father, unsure of what to make of all the strange people. Daeron held the doll up higher, taking the little hand to wave at the child.

“Hello, Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said in a silly voice, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes, his own cheeks pink at all the attention. “Will you be my new friend?”

That drew the little girl out of her shyness, bubbling with giggles and reached for the toy with grabby little fingers. “Fank you!” she shouted, squealing as she clutched at the toy. Abby felt Aegon at her back and shivered as he leaned down to brush his lips against her ear.

“Was I meant to bring a gift?” he asked, his whisper harsh with anxiety. Abby pressed her lips firmly together to hold back her giggle and turned into his hold, a kiss brushed to his cheek.

“You’re fine. There’s plenty of time. I think it’ll have more meaning after the wedding.”

Abby’s gaze briefly took in the arrival of the carriages that held the king and queen, and the small council absent Ser Tyland. He’d left court with her grandfather to Castamere where his wife, Elayna, was ready to give birth to their children. Twins had been born, according to the raven that Abby had received from her cousin, and Elayna was sorry she could not bring them, but it would be nice to see her. Lady Elayna preferred the freedom of Castamere, and Abby could not blame her, not when being here among the half ruin of Harrenhal had revitalized her in a way she could not describe.

The crowd all lowered themselves in deference as the king was helped from the wheelhouse. Travelling had been difficult for him, and the progress had taken as much time as it could in order to keep him comfortable. He clutched his cane, squinting in the afternoon sun, the light catching upon his golden crown. The expression on his pale, mottled face was difficult for Abby to read, and she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he was here, when the lords of the realm declared him king over Princess Rhaenys and her son.

Larys appeared from the next carriage with Lord Jasper Wylde and the Grand Maester, a placid smile on his own features. “Uncle, you’ve outdone yourself,” he complimented. Abby noticed then that her uncle’s smile tightened, no longer meeting his eyes as he regarded Larys.

“It has been some time since our house has something so wonderful to celebrate. Not since Abrogail’s birth, I think. After so much tragedy, these halls benefit from the festivities.”

“We are looking forward to them, Ser Simon,” the queen smiled, her hand fluttering to the king’s arm. “It has been a long journey, and the king needs rest and recuperation. We shall reconvene for supper?” It was not a request. Alicent Hightower could command with a smile, and all the authority afforded to her as the mother of the realm.

“Of course, your graces,” Aunt Mya said with a smile. She clapped her hands and there was a flurry of activity, the king’s wheeled chair being brought out while Uncle Simon explained they had easily accessible rooms for the king so his time here would be comfortable.

Then there was a flurry of raven hair and blue wool as Wylla’s decorum barely kept her from completely barrelling into Abby and she clutched her friend, embracing her tightly and burying her face into her shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and spice, familiar and comforting.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she cried, Wylla giving her a tight squeeze.

“I’ve missed you too! You look beautiful.” Abby pulled back and Wylla pinched her chin with a playful look on her fox features, the little scar along her mouth pulling at the smile on her face. She pushed her hand away with a shake of her head, hooking their arms together.

“As do you! Is this a new dress?” Wylla hummed in the affirmative and led the way across the tightly packed gravel. Aegon and Alyn fell in behind them, and behind them, the rest of her ladies followed. The king and queen and the rest of their immediate party were being led into the closest tower - what was ominously referred to as the Tower of Dread.

It was where Athair and Harwin had died.

As she watched the king and queen enter the tower, something ugly curled in her chest. ‘Good’, she thought savagely, though altogether unlike her. She hoped the ghosts that slept there would haunt them. The queen would not treat her so unkindly if her father were still here. The king? Well, he deserved a good haunting. Let the ghost of Lord Maegor Towers terrorize him during his stay.

The main hall at the foot of the Kingspyre Tower was a bustle of activity. Servants in the House Strong livery hurried to and fro from the small kitchens beneath the tower, sending out refreshment to the new arrivals.

“As soon as we had word of your arrival, I had a bath readied,” Wylla said. “There’s the bathhouses, of course, but I thought you’d like some private time.”

“That does sound nice,” she sighed, heading up the staircase. The next floor above the hall held the galleries and the library. Precious things that her father had loved, and his father before him.

‘What if fire seeks to claim me here? As it had them?’

The fear was ugly and painful and squeezed the breath from her lungs with its sudden onset. Wylla’s voice was muffled in her ears as she stood frozen in the stairwell.

“In the black of night, the dragon did rise.”

“What?” she choked out, turning to look through the open doors of the gallery. It was not Wylla’s voice. Abby could not even be sure it was a woman’s voice. She tugged away from Wylla’s hold to the open archway but a firm grip on her arm tugged her back. Aegon stroked her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. Abby’s cheeks colored. “I heard… I thought…”

“It’s just the wind,” he told her.

“Unfamiliar sounds,” Wylla chimed in, coming to her other side, although her eyes narrowed at her friend’s discomfort. “Come, we’ll get you settled into the bath and you can lay down. A lazy lie in.”

Abby nodded, mouth shut as everyone stared at her with worry and confusion. Catching the brief look Wylla and Aegon exchanged, Abby tugged away. She felt judged, as she had felt that morning when Aegon had shaken her out of whatever haze had taken hold of her. It was one thing to have such a lapse in front of him, but now here she was in front of their household, so many eyes on her, confused and curious. Gathering her heavy skirts in her arms, she soldiered forward, desperate to get out of her gown. If she could, she would have stripped from the surcoat in the stairway itself, but she would have gotten tangled in the fabric and likely tumbled down the stairs.

What an auspicious start to the festivities; a tragic bride felled by a broken neck.

She ignored the call of her name behind her, climbing past Uncle Simon’s apartments and office to the landing of what had once been her mother’s rooms. They were rooms that might have belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen in another life, or Sabitha Frey or Alysanne Blackwood, or any dozens of young women in the Riverlands her brother could have taken to wife.

None of this should be hers. This castle, these lands, were not her birthright.

They were drenched in ash and screams and the knowledge of this was grasping her tighter with every step she took before she burst through the doors of her apartments. Afternoon light streaked through the large doors that opened out onto the multilevel balcony that went from her rooms up to Aegon’s chambers. Beyond would be the beautiful sight of the God’s Eye, but for now, it was the brilliant blue sky and the roses that crept along the stone and woodwork. Low couches littered the space, plush rugs faded with age, and before the fireplace and its merry flame, was the large tub draped in linens and ready and waiting.

The shadows beside the fireplace moved and Abby stilled, fear freezing her limbs until the face of the shadow appeared. The woman was older, older than the queen, mayhaps, with inky black hair that hung to her waist, a square face and storm gray eyes. In her hands, she held a woven circle of twigs, and Abby looked at the stick figure coming to shape in the center of it.

“Lady Abrogail,” she greeted, her accent like Wylla’s, like her Aunt Mya’s. “Did you leave the rest of your chattering ducklings behind?”

Buzzing filled her ears and Abby pressed her hands to her chest, fingers knotting into the fabric. “I… I… I can’t breathe.”

“If you could not breathe, you could not speak,” the woman pointed out, discarding her wood weaving on the chair. She closed the distance and grabbed Abby’s hands. “You speak, therefore you breathe. I hear your gasping. So keep doing that.”

Hands joined the woman’s to help her out of the surcoat and work the laces on her kirtle. Her vision was dark and hazy around the edges and she continued to heave and gulp for air. She swooned and arms caught her.

“What did she say, Alys?” she heard Wylla ask.

“A tincture from my chest,” was the answer. “The one in the blue bottle. And the smelling salts.” Alys River tsked and her face shimmered before her as she backed Abby to the low couch. “If we shove you in that bath now, you’ll faint and are liable to drown. A bride felled by her bathwater. What a tragic end.”

Abby blinked, her mouth dry. “What did you…”

“Alys likes to be cryptic,” Wylla’s voice drifted to her through the buzzing in her ears. She let herself be shuffled around and moved as if she were no more than a ragdoll onto the chaise, her legs propped up higher than her head on a pile of cushions. Time passed in a haze as the dizziness and the rushing passed. Alys sat on the couch beside her, holding a goblet to her mouth and Abby grimaced at the strangely sweet and medicinal taste of the thin, red liquid. Her limbs tingled and the drunken feeling gave way to a more relaxed sensation. Alys’ large, slate-gray eyes filled her vision and the elder woman tilted her head, appraising her.

“I cannot call you Little Lady anymore, can I?” she asked, but Abby didn’t think it was much of a question. “Although, you are still littler than me, wee beast.”

“Oh, so she calls you that as well?” Wylla’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the couch. “Do you feel like you can get in the bath now?”

Alys helped her up and held the goblet to her mouth once more, feeding her the strange liquid. “Someone should tell the princeling that his lady is all right, I can hear him pacing.”

“Hear him?” Sarra Frey’s voice chimed in, confused. Abby smiled wanly at Wylla as the elder girl helped her out of her chemise and into the tub. The water was still plenty warm, but not the scalding, steaming heat that it had been from when she first came into the room. “But he’s so far away.”

“You’re just not listening close enough,” Alys said and passed her the goblet. “Make sure the coinín beag drinks all of this.” The door shut behind the woman and Abby settled against the back of the tub, Wylla’ pinning her hair up.

“Doesn’t Aegon call you little rabbit as well?” she murmured against her ear.

Abby did not answer.

The confused look the servant gave Jace when he asked where the family crypts were was not something that would normally bother him, but there was no reason that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should be asking where the family crypts of his host were.

The look in Ser Simon Strong and his wife’s eyes upon seeing him still stuck with Jace, and he tried not to keep looking over his shoulder as he strode down the gravel pathway through the family gardens. Torches were lit along the pathway, servants and guests still milling about, and the gardens were beginning to bloom as the seasons shifted. Lady Celeste’s mountain roses crept like a great, dark beast, along the outside of the Kingspyre tower, up to balconies above. Jace stole a glance up there, at the distant, flickering light behind the windows.

Abby should be here. She should be with him. This was more her family than his. Did he even have a right?

Jace straightened.

He did. He did have a right. Ser Harwin was someone in his life he cared for, who cared for him and his brothers. He had been gentle and kind - to them, to their mother.

Ser Simon looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Goosebumps bloomed beneath Jace’s black tunic. Perhaps he was one.

The Sepulcher of House Strong was largely underground, but the entrance to it was a stone gazebo, just over a story tall, with seven stone pillars carved to mimic the twisting boughs of the weirwood trees. The branches held up the circular roof, the torchlight casting long shadows over the carvings of strange creatures. There was no door, simply smooth stone stairs leading into the torch lit crypts beneath.

At the foot of the stairs were a pair of doors, heavy ironwood etched with more of the weirwood motifs and little creatures that Jace realized from this close distance were meant to be the Children of the Forest. They were different from the drawings he’d seen in his books. These were spindly things, some with fins in place of ears, with large eyes and sharp little teeth. He reached to undo the latch but the door was partially ajar. Had Abrogail come down to pay her respects? Should he leave and return another day?

His mother would be here on the morrow, and as soon as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen set foot in this place, Jace’s chance to come here would be lost.

The door made no sound as he pushed it open to slip inside and he blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the deeper gloom. Braziers affixed to the pillars were spaced out every few dozen feet or so and as he quietly walked the path his ears could just make out the distant sound of rushing water, though he had no idea where it was coming from. Stone tombs were erected every few archways, and he paused in front of the tomb of Maegor Towers before he caught sight of the dragon relief nearby.

Targaryens were not entombed, they were burned on pyres, back to flame and ash from whence they came. But Harrenhal’s last lady was honored here.

In the stone alcove, a beautiful carved relief of Dreamfyre stood, raised on her legs, wings spread and her neck arched to call out to the sky. At her feet was a pedestal with an urn in the shape of a dragon egg.

Rhaena Targaryen, Queen of the Rising and Setting Sun. Mother of her beloved Aerea and Rhaella. Beloved by Prince Aegon, where their souls meet once more.

To always Chase the Sun.

The crack of a cane hitting the stone echoed violently along the walls and Jace choked on dusty air, panic taking over. The next tomb was that of Lord Osmund. There was just enough room to duck behind it and Jace crouched behind, his heart pounding in his ears.

“You are kind to accompany this night, Your Grace. I confess, when I extended the invitation, I was not sure you would accept.” The low voice of Lord Larys drifted through the quiet ghosts, otherworldly beneath the earth himself. Your grace… was grandfather also down here?

“Lord Lyonel was a good man,” the king rasped, his voice shaky with emotion. “The best of us, I think. No better servant to the realm than he.”

“Surely you yourself are the realm’s greatest servant, my king.”

“Mmmm, Lyonel offered good counsel. I did not listen to him as much as I should have.”

“My father served the realm with all the wise counsel of a Grand Maester and the knowledge of one of your vassals, my king. In the end, however… Even beneath his great wisdom, matters of succession were well out of hand.”

Heat burned along Jace’s neck and rushed into his cheeks. He pressed his face against the cold, stone tomb but it did little to calm him.

Driftmark. It always came back to Driftmark. It came back to screaming and blood. It came back to his words. Yes, the words of a child, but his words that he knew, without question, would prevent punishment.

‘He called us bastards.’

With such a simple sentence, Jace watched, clutched in his mother’s arms, as the king’s ire went from Aemond’s wound to the accusations that had chased Jace and his siblings all their lives. Words that he knew were cruel, that upset his mother, yet words that spoke true. Lord Lyonel had stood, struck and silent beside the Driftwood throne, and Ser Harwin had lingered by the door, unarmored and disheveled given the late hour it had been. As old as he was now, Jace knew. He knew. He knew.

Ser Simon had looked at him as if Jace were a ghost.

Jace reached up and gripped the edge of the tomb of his blood, feeling the burn of Vermax inside of him with every beat of his heart, loudly thumping in his ears.

“I did not want it to happen that way, Larys,” King Viserys finally spoke, his voice mournful and heavy.

“I know, my king. Only a Targaryen can truly master the dangers of flame. Mere mortals such as those who strove to follow your wishes could only wish to wield such understanding.” The sound of scraping metal grated on Jace’s nerves. He hit his head against the tomb and had to shove his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out.

“Only Ser Harwin-” the king began and then stopped. Jace could see the long throw of their shadows along the stone floor. They weren’t moving.

“Whatever tragedies befell, they have brought us here, my king. Have the wounds not healed as you had hoped? Your daughter and brother arrive here with their children after their long absence. Our houses will be joined in only a few days. The match you and my father discussed so many years ago is now far more advantageous, as is right, for the King’s first born son, given the unusual circumstances.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Larys.” The scrape of two canes now. Jace pressed himself as far into the shadows as he could, straining to listen as the two men made their way back up the corridor beneath the eyes of the dead. He dared not breathe, he dared not make a single sound for fear of what might happen were he discovered. It felt like an eternity before the door shutting reverberated through the quiet.

Jace sat on the cold ground, frozen and still as Dreamfyre’s statue. His heart continued to pound in his ears as he tried to process exactly what he had just heard. King Viserys, a peaceful man, so afraid of any confrontation that his mother fled to Dragonstone to hide than maintain her presence at court. She’d sent him to do it for her.

He couldn’t escape the catacombs fast enough. His feet slipped along the damp stone as he raced towards the entrance. Ser Harwin would forgive him, he was certain. Now? Now, he needed to get away as fast as possible. He tripped hard up the stone stairs, his left knee and shin screaming in agony before he made it up and forced himself to slow down so as not to attract attention. What would it say to see the king’s heir racing through the gardens of Harrenhal? Jace’s lungs ached and he kept trying to remember to breathe. All he knew was that he had to get away.

How could he hold this? Should he tell his mother? What would she do? Nothing. She’d do nothing, forbidding them - forbidding him from speaking of Ser Harwin. Did he tell Abby?

It would destroy her.

Should he - Jace slammed into a figure, sending the two of them sprawling to the gravel.

“What the fuck, Jace!” Aegon snapped, aggressively shoving him off. He too was dressed for night in his own gray linen and breaches, dark circles beneath his eyes. It struck Jace, hard between his ribs, how much Aegon looked like Jace’s own mother in that moment. How much he sounded like his own mother. Jace’s palms scraped against the gravel and he heaved a breath. “What?” Aegon repeated.

Another breath and Jace felt the words strangling him, and could feel the tension in his face as he looked at his uncle, his childhood playmate, with wide, lavender eyes. Aegon stared at him and whatever annoyances were on his tongue fell. His brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked again, less sharply this time.

Jace gulped once more for air and heard Aegon mutter something about panic attacks before the elder manhandled him up to his feet and towards one of the benches. “Get your head between your knees before you pass out,” he snapped, hand on his back to push him forward. In spite of Aegon’s annoyance, his touch was gentle, if firm.

Also like his mother.

“Breathe, you idiot,” Aegon said and sat down beside him, hand between his shoulder blades. Jace did as he was told, falling into the way things once were, where Aegon led and Jace happily followed. They could never return to those days, and Jace did not wish for it, but Seven Hells, it had been easier.

He did not know how long they sat there, listening to the lowing of dragon calls outside the walls and the shrieking of bats, the distant sound of water fowl amid the rushes outside the castle walls. He breathed in the cold air, let it ebb at the fire in his blood. He spat on the ground and finally sat up, aware that Aegon’s hand did not leave him until Jace settled against the bench.

“You said something but I couldn’t understand,” Aegon ventured with his brows raised in exaggerated curiosity. The quiet of the night filled the space between them, the gaps left when things had reached such a breaking point.

It always came back to Driftmark.

“The king…” Jace whispered, heat burning in his eyes. “T-the king, he… ordered the deaths of Lord Lyonel and… Ser Harwin.”

So... that was an ending. As always, I love that you're here, but the only way I know you're reading is if you comment! Comments let me know people are reading and are actively interested! So I'd love to hear what your favorite part of the chapter was, what your theories are, OR If you have no idea what to say, drop a tree emoji to let me know you were here <3 I promise, I'm glad you are. ALSO! I would LOVE to hear how you found this story! Was it through the AO3 search? Tumblr? Did someone recommend it? (if so, where?) (we might end at 24 chapters. I'm not quite sure yet, I'll have to see how the next few chapters go for pacing as I don't want to inundate y'all) Shoutout to @queen--kenobi for allowing me to borrow the lovely Elayna Reyne! Baby girl is here!

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peachesofteal · 11 months ago

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Who wants to read the first like 1.4k of the winter ghoap fic even though it has absolutely no ghoap in it?

Winter in the mountains can be cruel.

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in a below freezing environment.

Although, there are some who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter. There are predators who thrive.

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles.

“I am.” She casts the one window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod.

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new baby this weekend.”

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with ski traffic and the tourists in their rental cars.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. Weekend traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts.

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.”

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights.

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained road, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse.

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one.

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind.

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It travels perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite map of the area.

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, slamming the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away as you’re jostled around, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and lights spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, black pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.

Sleep. You could just close your eyes. Close your eyes, and sleep.

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding.

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black pool, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.

Sleep.

#peaches writes

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kelliealtogether · 15 days ago

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Safe Bet

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bars and Pubs, Meet-Cute, Bets & Wagers

Words: 1,000

The guy tilted his head slightly as if to say fair, and he lifted a long, lovely hand to push a lock of dusty hair back off his forehead as he looked at Ronan. “I might be, but I hope not.” One corner of his thin lips twitched, then he said, “Because I have a proposition.” Ronan stared. Blinked. He had not anticipated his evening taking this kind of turn when he’d needed to get out of his older brother’s apartment. Ronan loved his brothers Declan and Matthew — who he’d come to stay with while he tried to make his life less directionless — but sometimes three Lynches under one roof was too much. Evenly, he said, “A proposition.”

When Ronan Lynch is approached by a hot stranger at a bar, the last thing he expects is that he'll be drawn into the guy's scheme to win a bet against his coworkers.

Inspired by this post.

Full fic behind the cut. 😌

“Can I bother you for a minute?”

Before he turned toward the voice seeking his attention, Ronan Lynch flicked scraps of gummy paper — a product of scraping at the damp label on his bottle of Goose Island IPA — out from beneath his thumbnail. He wished he hadn’t waited though, once he laid eyes on the guy who’d slid onto the barstool to Ronan’s left. The guy could bother Ronan for a minute, an hour, as long as he wanted, if it meant Ronan got to look at that gaunt and elegant face while the guy graced Ronan with his presence.

Not that Ronan said that. Straightforwardness didn’t fit his aesthetic. Instead, he lifted his beer to his lips, took a too-long sip, swallowed, and set the bottle back down — coasterless — on the bar before asking, “What do you want?”

“I’m here with a bunch of assholes from work,” the guy began, turning his stool ever-so-slightly toward Ronan’s before leaning his wiry forearms — exposed by the cuffed-to-the-elbow sleeves of his red and gray plaid shirt — on the edge of the bar, “and I just bet each of them twenty bucks I could get someone’s number in under five minutes.”

“Kind of sounds like you set yourself up for failure, man,” Ronan replied. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

For one, he didn’t dish his number out to people he met at bars. Without exceptions. Mostly because he didn’t meet people at bars. That required talking and Ronan didn’t talk unless he needed to. Or — apparently — unless the hottest guy he’d seen since arriving in Boston sat down beside him. For two, the bar wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t not crowded. The after-work hours on a Thursday left this guy with plenty of other options for getting a phone number. Plenty of easier, straighter options than Ronan Lynch, but maybe the guy was mildly masochistic. Maybe he liked a challenge.

Ronan stared. Blinked. He had not anticipated his evening taking this kind of turn when he’d needed to get out of his older brother’s apartment. Ronan loved his brothers Declan and Matthew — who he’d come to stay with while he tried to make his life less directionless — but sometimes three Lynches under one roof was too much. Evenly, he said, “A proposition.”

“A proposition,” the guy repeated and leaned a little closer, a move Ronan registered as flirting. Whether for real or for show, he couldn’t tell, but the guy’s I hope not a few moments before gave Ronan hope it could be real. “I’m saving for a new motorcycle.”

“Don’t know what that’s got to do with me,” Ronan told him, snatching another sip of his beer before his mouth or body betrayed him and showed how senselessly turned on he was by the idea of this guy on a motorcycle.

“Well, if I get your number, I get two hundred bucks.”

“A good chunk of change,” Ronan admitted, and he really hated to be the reason this guy wouldn’t be adding that cash to his bike fund. “Except I just told you you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“But what if I split it with you?” The guy leaned incrementally closer and the red lighting behind the bar put a glint in his blue eyes, and the mischievousness of it senselessly turned Ronan on more. “Pretend to laugh like I just said a good pick up line, write a fake number on my hand, and a hundred dollars is yours. Come on. Easiest money you’ll make all week.”

Ronan gave the guy credit. Fleecing his asshole coworkers to get some money for a motorcycle made for a pretty good scheme. One Ronan could honestly see himself being part of. Sticking it to the man and all. But one hundred dollars made no difference to Ronan. The untimely death of his parents left him with a decent inheritance, and if he invested it wisely — or if he had Declan invest it wisely for him — he could float through life without needing to work much at all. And the guy telling Ronan to give him a fake number…

Good scheme or not, Ronan Lynch was not a liar. If — big if — he ever gave someone his number to someone at a bar, it would never be a fake one. It would be Ronan’s real telephone number or no telephone number at all.

Which — could work in Ronan’s favor.

If — big if — this guy wasn’t selling him a story about saving for a new motorcycle.

“Alright,” Ronan said, because — hell — if he had a shot, he might as well take it. “With one condition.”

“Depends on the size of the condition.”

“Once you get that bike, give me a call.”

Without hesitating a moment, the guy magicked a pen from his pocket and offered it to Ronan, and if Ronan held onto the guy’s hand a little firmer than he needed to as he wrote his name and real telephone number on the guy’s palm, no he didn’t.

After Ronan finished and the pen was capped, the guy tucked it back into his pocket as he looked down at his hand, and when he looked back up at Ronan, he smiled — elastic and amiable — as he said. “Nice to meet you, Ronan. I’m Adam.”

A few minutes later, a stack of five folded twenties appeared on the bar next to Ronan’s beer, and a few weeks later, an unknown 617 number appeared on the screen of Ronan’s phone.

“What?” Ronan answered, figuring it would be Declan calling from a burner.

“Ronan?” the caller replied. “This is Adam. From the bar. With the bet. I got that bike.”

[Read/kudo/comment on it here on Ao3.]

#pynch #my fics

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rjthirsty · 17 days ago

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H For Handicap

I've created an ABC list for Ikemen Prince ranging from humorous crack-fic ideas to the smutty, with a dash of drama and angst. 26 letters of the alphabet x 13 characters / 12 months = 1 year of drabbles, headcanons, and creating with these men in mind.

Tags: Angst, Disabilities, Post Canon, GN!Reader,

Chevalier

Chevalier stands from his throne, waiting for you to hook arms with him. The two of you have gone through this routine many times, it’s so natural at this point for him to escort you out of the throne room once you’ve finished the petitions and visitors that came for the week. He can hear you moving, and a moment later he feels your hand slide through his waiting elbow. As regally as ever, he descends the stairs in measured steps. Nine stairs. Twenty-three to the door. No one is left in the room save for Sariel, he always could feel the presence of others very well, even Four Eyes.

The feel of the floor changes under his boots. Through the palace the two of you stroll. Most people will move aside for the King of Rhodolite, so it is of little consequence to move less carefully in the hallways than the social gatherings full of nobles and other public functions where he continues to pretend nothing had ever gone wrong. The last ball you two attended, he danced across the floor cleared for just the two of you. You’d never know he had an impairment with the way he managed to lead you around the room. Then again, that was the point.

One-hundred-forty-two steps and you two came to a stop. The room he had designated for his own office was in front of him. Easily he reached for the handle and pushed the door out of the way. One person sat inside. Chev could tell from his faint cologne that it was Clavis, he could smell the products he used to tame his bedhead.

Confidently, Chev moved into the room and around the desk, fingers touching the edge of it to keep him aimed in the right direction. Eight steps. Two steps. Two steps. Without your help, he found a seat - his seat - where he would field visitors inside the palace. You took yours beside him where you managed most of the work he was unable to perform these days.

Clavis knew. Everyone in his closest circle knew, but the maids and other workers on the grounds didn’t. It was kept secret to keep the peace. If the world found out he no longer had his vision, there would be people aiming to use that to their advantage. It was easier this way. He didn’t need to see to be aware of his surroundings, or to use his intelligent mind.

Papers shuffled. People spoke. He heard most of them approaching before they entered and announced themselves. He often held documents that had no purpose for him to rifle through. Five pages. Seven pages. Two pages. You were the one that looked over them, or Clavis, or Sariel, even Leon when it came to domestic affairs. He had to trust all of you to be certain his standards were maintained, but through the brief overview any of you made, he could determine the best course of action without seeing the words.

Anything requiring a signature would be seen to at a later time, when no one else was around to witness the way you guided his hand to the place for him to mark his name. He had never looked warm when he looked at anyone but you, so no one can tell from his uninterested stare that he can’t actually see them. It’s easy enough to tell where they’re located, people make an exorbitant amount of noise just existing.

The day finally draws to an end. Sixty-seven steps to the staircase taking the two of you to the next floor. Twenty-two stairs. One-hundred-eleven steps to your shared bedroom. Nothing moves inside this room. Everything is kept in exactly the same place so that Chevalier can manage his own routine without the need of baby-sitting. That is how he feels. He knows he should be grateful for your compliance, but he can’t help but feel resentment for himself and his need for you.

You read to him. It’s a much slower pace than he used to read silently to himself, but hearing the words come from you makes it more than tolerable– it’s pleasant to listen to your slower cadence. He misses the faces you’d make when you read, the emotions that would cross without you even realizing it. Gently, he cups your cheeks and finds your mouth through the measure of his touch.

He misses your bright, clear eyes. It’s only darkness now. You’re not as easy to read anymore. It’s more difficult to judge how you’re feeling. You have had to become more honest with him in order for him to continue to feel connected, because otherwise he just knows you exist in a capacity nearby. He knows you’re there, but what was it that your smile looked like again?

What was the face you’d make when the blush would crawl across your skin as you two made love? He can hear your sighs and your moans, and they’re as lovely as ever, but when was the last time he saw you intoxicated with lust? If he had felt like he was fumbling before with physical intimacy, he was even more clumsy now that nothingness existed in the spaces between you and him. Groping in the dark only to bump into your form in a place he hadn't predicted.

#ikemen prince #ikepri fanfic #ikepri abc #rjthirsty fanfic #angst

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kickingitwithkirk · 8 months ago

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Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha Sam

Word Count: 1261

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter

Warnings: A/B/O, non/con elements , dub/con elements, enslavement, pandemic, non/con drug use, collaring/leashing, forced mating, forced breeding, BDSM elements, show-level violence

*Additional warnings to be added

*Square filled: @spnabobingo -Rut Suppressant @spnaubingo -Sub!Dean @anyfandomdarkbingo - Voyeurism

A/N: * UPDATED 3/24 They say the third time is the charm, this will be the last rework of the Prologue.

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART I

Five weeks ago

John had grown tired of Sam’s constant complaining about finishing his sophomore year in one place, so he found a case out west and left his sons in this backwater town. The little money he’d left was running out, and when Dean couldn’t hustle anymore, he took a job at a local garage.

It wasn’t long after another problem arose.

Dean ran out of suppressants in one of the few states requiring a doctor's prescription. He was unsuccessful in obtaining them through less-than-legal channels. Out of options, Dean made sure his brother had everything needed for a few days before taking off to find someone to sink his knot into. He was chatting up a pretty brunette Beta in one of the low-end bars when their irate Alpha showed, and a rut-induced fight ensued.

When the local sheriff showed up at the ER, a doctor informed him the Alpha had died from exsanguination by canine perforation of the carotid artery. Dean, because he was now in full rut, was on IV sedatives, and the sheriff ordered him handcuffed to the hospital bed and posted a twenty-four-hour guard so he couldn’t escape. When Sam could not reach their dad, he called Bobby Singer, even though they were forbidden to contact the Beta after their Alpha fell out with the grumpy hunter.

The young Alphas' words spilled out in a jumble of profuse apologies and explanations, making Bobby’s temper flare. He always considered the brothers to be his kids, and upon hearing Dean’s going to jail and Sam was in North Dakota’s CYF custody, he wanted another shot at the elder Winchester with something more potent than rock salt. Reassuring Sam he’d be there by nightfall, Bobby pulled out his hunter contacts and started dialing, asking everyone in the vicinity to track John down ASAP.

When hitting town, Bobby’s first stop was the CYF holding facility. He presented the fake documentation verifying he was the brother's blood uncle and allowed temporary custody of Sam. Then, to find out what was happening with Dean, they headed to the police station, where Bobby flashed his FBI credentials to the officer in charge, whose response was that information would only be released when his Alpha arrived. He wasn’t allowed visitors except the public defender assigned to the case but slipped them a paper saying that Dean was charged with voluntary manslaughter.

Unable to do anything else and unwilling to sit around the rental while waiting for their pack Alpha, Sam went to the local library to research the state’s laws on his brother's case. At the same time, Bobby interviewed the witnesses from the bar that night, ensuring no unnatural forces seeking revenge against John had a hand in Dean's predicament.

Several days later, John rolled into town and went directly to the police station, where they informed him of the situation and then allowed a brief visit with his eldest. His fuming turned into a boiling rage as he walked towards the interrogation room. Out of all the shit Dean had done over the years, this proved what John always considered his subordinate offspring to be, a worthless fuck-up who was only good at taking orders, and John no longer wanted to deal with him.

Entering the interrogation room, he sees Dean seated at the table, tethered to it by his shackled ankles. The ruddy cast in John’s eyes that'd begun when Caleb found him envelopes his irises, and Dean suddenly found himself airborne, legs flailing as far as the chain aloud, kicks over the chair, then is slammed onto the table, the back of his head impacts the table with a sicking crack, trapped under the weight of his Alpha, his dad, whose hands that used to carry him as a young pup now are wrapped around his throat strangulating him.

Dean flashed back to the night his dad laid baby Sammy in his arms and ordered take your brother outside as fast as you can! And not look back! Over the next sixteen years, John’s mantra, watch out for Sammy, was burned into his psyche, but before he’d even been born, Dean already knew Sam was his in every sense of the word. He was about to lose consciousness when the door burst open, and three deputies barreled and tasered John, shocking the raging Alpha into unconsciousness.

Sam maneuvers around the chaos, drops to his knees next to Dean on the floor and rolls him onto his back, helplessly watches him gasping for air between bluish lips. Sam can sense that dark, angry thing that’s always there, slithering through his veins at the finger-shaped bruising developing around his brother’s neck makes his canines elongate and releases a bloodcurdling wrawl.

Silence fills the air except for Dean’s rasping breath as he watches his brother slowly stand up, appearing confused as to why everything is tinted a strange color. Sam, scanning the room with his glowing, extraordinary shade of red eyes, finally landed on John, feeling the deep-seat anger that while Dean’s lower status didn’t interfere with hunting, it’d never allow him to stand up to their Alpha about to explode.

“Son, don’t.”

Sam finds Bobby’s voice absurdly loud and agitating but heeds the Beta’s advice as the deputies drag the eldest Winchester out of the room.

Twenty-seven days later

At Dean Winchester's arraignment, the assistant DA said that due to the extenuating circumstances, him being on the cusp of a rut, and the Beta’s signed confession of deception in retribution for their deceased Alpha purchasing a House O, their office was willing to offer a plea deal. The Public Defender asked for a brief recess to discuss the terms when John stood up and said, “Your honor, there’s no need for a recess. I accept the deal.”

The court clerk read the agreement out loud for the record.

“Alpha John Winchester agrees to procure an Omega for the defendant, Subordinate Alpha Dean Winchester, within ten days from this date and time, and will present them before this court with the proper documentation. If he fails, the defendant will serve the mandatory five-year imprisonment per the state law of North Dakota. At that time, Alpha Winchester must also surrender custody of his other minor Alpha son, Samuel Winchester, who will be taken to foster care and placed in a court-sanctioned home until he is of age.”

T-Minus forty hours

Shouting and loud banging at the far end of the warehouse drew the attention of several patrons and suddenly stopped just as it started.

“Dean, go wait by the entrance.”

“What?” Dean snapped without thinking, and John grabbed his leather jacket collar, “Don’t you take that tone with me, boy,” he snarled in a low voice. “I’m having to clean up your fucking mess so your brother doesn’t end up in the system.” Dean submissively replied, ”Yes, sir,” and walked away with Sam automatically following.

“No, Sam, you’re staying with me.”

Dean felt terrible for getting his brother mixed up in his mistake, noticing after they’d entered the warehouse, Sam kept trying to hide his natural, recently presented Alpha reaction to the scent of the O’s under his too-short hoodie, now forced by their Alpha to stay in the thick of it, so to speak. He watched Sam reluctantly fell behind his elder. “Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?” The dealer gestures around. “Is there a specific type your son prefers?”

“Dean's preference of type doesn’t matter, but I want one under eighteen.”

Part II

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm

#winchester's folly 3/24 update #winchester's folly #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dystopia #dean x reader x sam #dean x reader #sam x reader #spn au #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #superntural #spn #alpha!sam winchester #alpha!dean winchester

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p1a9u3 · 6 months ago

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PeepHole Ch.1: Moving Day

Masterpost Ch.1 - Ch.2 Pairing: Dylan Matthews x Fem Oc

Rating: 18+ (mdni)

Genre: Neighbors/Strangers to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Slow-burn

Summary: Moving isn't as exciting as Amoya thought, plus she may have pissed off her new neighbor.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: (This story takes place in 2024) Mental illness (anxiety, ocd), Violent intrusive thoughts, Language, Age gap (5years), Using phone while driving

Status: Unedited

Author note: This is the first fic that I've ever posted, I've written before but I've never finished anything and published it so don't tear me to shreds, please. I chose to make an oc instead of just writing as a reader mainly because I made a whole character in my head before I wrote this so I decided to just make her an oc, if you would like a post going more into this oc of mine feel free to ask (I might post it anyway because I like her), there is no smut in this chapter btw. Please give me feedback and suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. Don't be a bitch about it though...please. I'm thinking of making this a series POSSIBLY, but I procrastinate a lot so that may never happen. To my fellow troublemakers hopefully, I do Dylan justice and my writing is at least a little bit accurate to his personality. Still, to be fair I'm a fairly new troublemaker having only found out about this man a few weeks ago, so if something isn't accurate please correct me...politely. He's become my new hyper fixation so when I saw there aren't really any fics about him I decided I should make my own so here we are. Anyway with that being said Enjoy <3. Update: Dylan is barely in this chapter

Monday, February 26, 2024 Time: 8:30AM Moving out was less relieving than you thought it would be. Having been by your mother's side for almost all your life, you'd gotten comfortable always having someone around.

'You can't live with your parents forever'

People would remind you whenever the topic of anyone's living situation would be brought up. Being twenty-seven and still living with your mother wasn't something you wanted to keep telling people, no one would take you seriously. Though your mother never pushed for you to move out, never mentioned it actually. You think you know why. You never say anything though, so you deal with the slight embarrassment, and ignore the judgmental stares you get whenever someone brings it up.

'They don't know our relationship'

More excuses you make up to justify your obstinance; and to mask the anxiety you're feeling as finish up packing your U-Haul. You had finished packing your stuff from your shared apartment and were now finishing the few boxes you had in storage. Now in the elevator mustering up the strength to carry the last two boxes back down to the truck. Grabbing the lock you had left on the floor, you place it on top of one of the boxes and stack the box onto the second one, bending down and lifting with a soft grunt. Long strides carrying you to the elevator, you push the down button with your foot. The doors open soon after, you step inside setting the boxes down as you push the bottom floor and wait. Pushing off the wall as the doors open you pick up the boxes once again, you quickly load them up into the U-Haul before grabbing the padlock from on top of the box, and then heading to the front desk of the storage building.

"Here, the unit is clean and empty." You smile at the woman as she takes the lock and keys with a thank you.

Turning on your heels you walk back to your U-Haul giving everything a once-over before locking it all up, now turning your attention to the hitch attached to the back of the Truck where your precious car is hitched too. It was a black and cherry red 1993 Nissan 240SX with a red interior, you had seen it while driving with your mom past a repair shop when you were 25, back then it had no windshield or wheels. You won't lie and say you fixed it yourself but you did invest all the money you had at that time to fix it up and color it how you wanted; you still would say it was worth it. Checking the hitch and chains attached to the bottom of the car making sure everything was set and ready.

"Everything looks good?" Your mother said making you jump

"Yah! A warning ma, please! And yes everything looks good, I packed up the last two boxes and returned the keys and lock to the front desk while you were in the bathroom." You let out a breath calming your heart from the scare you just had, your mom snickering next to you. You turn to her rolling your eyes playfully as you walk to the front of the truck, your mom following behind you.

"Good, let's get on the road." Your mom hops into the passenger seat and rolls down the window. "I wanna get home by Wednesday."

You climb into the driver's seat, buckling your seatbelt then checking your mirrors. You two had agreed on driving to your new apartment, taking turns every 5 hours, once you got there she'd help you unload and unpack on Tuesday, and your mom would then fly back to New Orleans on Wednesday. The more you think about it the more you feel yourself panic a bit.

"Okay."

Time: 9:00AM Starting the car, you let out a breath putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot of the storage building. You could tell your mom was trying to keep herself calm by the way she would rub her right thigh with her right hand, it was a nervous tick she passed down to you. Unfortunately, you were just as nervous, so you decided to turn on the playlist you and your mom made while eating the night before, mixes of all kinds of genres put into one playlist to keep you both entertained during the drive. Pulling off the main road and merging onto the freeway, you glance over to your mom to see her smiling wide looking back at you. She has that look in her eyes, you know it well.

"Its happening ma." You smile back at your mom then look back to the road

Your mother places her hand on your thigh, letting out a long sigh and a soft squeeze before returning it back to her own lap. You see her wipe a single tear from your peripheral; you don't acknowledge it. She'll start bawling the second you tell her not to cry. So you pretend not to see it and start singing along to Erykah Badu, your mom turns the music up a bit and starts singing along too. You smile to yourself as you glance out your side window, watching as familiar buildings pass by in a blur, You think you'll miss this place. No, you know you will, but a part of you is kinda excited, relieved almost. You've silently always longed to live on your own, but another part of you calls you selfish for even wanting that until now

'How could want to leave your mother'

You know it's normal to want to move out of your parent's home, every grown adult has to move out at some point, and twenty-seven is a perfectly normal age to do so, You wanted to move when you were twenty-four. Hell, some people live with their parents till they are far in their thirties.

'But you know your mother may need you right'

All your brothers have moved out, they are doing good on their own, and you're the only one left. It was only a matter of time; you tell yourself. Your mom will be fine, she's dating a new man who treats her great and takes care of her. Hell he tried to hire a moving crew to move all your stuff, but you wanted to do it yourself and your mom wasn't going to let you drive almost halfway across the country by yourself.

'you could've found a place closer to her you know'

Phoenix, Arizona. You chose Phenix simply because it was affordable for you and close to LA, your mom agreed it was a good choice. There is work in LA, California is just so expensive, so you chose the next best thing. The apartment is nice from what you saw as well, one bedroom, two baths with a study. It was perfect for you.

Time: 11:23AM The drive was going well so far, your mother eating a bag of chips she packed along with all the other snacks and drinks. You were eating a Honeybun, one of your favorite snacks, and drinking water. Your mom had turned off the music and started watching YouTube with mostly commentary so you could listen and drive, Right now a video was playing talking about some ice cream drama in North Dakota. Author note: if you watched this video featuring Dylan is in Trouble, I know it's technically in the future but I don't care, this is all fake anyway. You found it interesting and kinda funny, laughing every now and then when your mom would pause to add her opinion. About two-thirds of the way into the video you glance down at the screen, there are two guys now instead of one, and one of them is wearing glasses, you glance back down looking at the title of the video 'Insane Local Ice Cream Shop Drama (w/ Dylan Is In Trouble)' You made a mental note of the second guy's name for later, his voice was nice you told yourself, he was also fine as fuck. You leaned your seat back as far as it would go, which wasn't very far, getting comfortable. You still have two more hours left to drive.

Time: 12:35PM Your mom had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, YouTube was still playing, The next video had been the same guy as before. You looked down for a second, looking at the title of the video that had been playing for about fifteen minutes. 'Guessing Finales After ONE Episode (ft. Dylan Is In Trouble)' You smile to yourself a bit recognizing the name at the end of the title, you let the video play just listening to the guy talk for ten more minutes. You caught yourself smiling again when you recognized the second guy's voice as he joined in for the rest of the video, you took a sip of your water glancing down at the video, seeing him pop on screen whenever he had something to say

"he's funny." You mutter to yourself quietly, thinking out loud.

The video had ended and your lips fell back into their original position, as an ad played before the next queued-up video, you looked down at your GPS. 1322 miles to go; you let out a sigh.

'200 miles closer to leaving you mom'

She was helping you unpack, so you technically wouldn't be leaving her really. If anything she was leaving you since she had to fly back home. You prop your left elbow on the open window, your left hand holding the steering wheel, and your right hand comes down to your thigh, rubbing small circles back and forth.

'What happens if Devon goes back home'

Your oldest brother Devon was working at a mental facility. He was on his medication and was doing good, he managed to get a job there and has been making decent money. He was doing fine, He is doing fine.

'What if he stops taking his medication again.'

They will keep tabs on him, they know his habits, his symptoms, He is fine.

'Has another episode and gets out'

That wouldn't happen. He's fine

'He'll be there when mom gets back'

No.

"Hes gonna ki-'

-beep! beep! beep!-

Time: 2:00PM Your mom's alarm goes off, making you jump a bit. Reaching over to turn it off, your mom moans a bit as she wakes up from her short nap, stretching her arms a bit as she yawns.

"Jeste li spremni za promjenu." she yawns out, going for a sip of her water ( translation: Are you ready to switch)

Your mother's Croatian tends to slip when she's just woken up, or delirious. You nod your head looking at the next exit sign to find a gas station, spotting a Love's off the side of the freeway. Slipping off the freeway you pull up to the gas station before parking next to a pump.

"Bathroom?" You look over at your mom, she nods, unbuckling her seatbelt and hopping out of the truck, you do the same.

You both enter opposing stalls to relieve yourselves of all the water you had been drinking, washing your hands after. Your mother heads back to the truck to pump the gas as you browse the aisles for any extra snacks, spotting a honeybun you instinctively grab one, then two, and head to the cashier. You place your honeybuns on the counter and then look up at the cashier who seems to be invested in something on her phone, she wasn't wearing headphones phone volume at maybe thirty percent, you could hear what she was watching. You recognize the voice, the cashier finally looks up from her phone quickly apologizing for not paying attention.

"Oh I'm so sorry, will this be all" She quickly rings up the two honeybuns.

"No you're fine, that'll be it actually." You dismissively wave your hand pulling out your wallet to pay.

Looking down you notice her phone, she had put it on the counter, and the video on it had been paused but on the screen was that guy again, though it seemed to be a video of his own this time. You pull out some cash and hand it to the young woman behind the counter, she takes the cash, counts it, and then goes to get your change.

"No, it's fine, keep the change" Flashing a smile then grabbing your honeybuns you take another glance at the women's screen before it turns off from being left alone for too long.

Opening the passenger seat door, you climb into the seat buckling yourself in. Pulling out of the gas station your mom pulls off back onto the freeway continuing your journey. You pull out the bag you had brought for little activities, pulling out your book of choice. You had splurged at a Barnes and Noble a few weeks before you began packing, picking up a bunch of books you had either heard good things about or had been wanting to read. Red Rising was one of the books, it was also the one you were currently holding.

"I'm gonna put my headphones on, so you can listen to whatever you want." You tell your mom as you put your headphones on and pull out your phone.

You had gotten the book on Audible a while back and wanted to read and listen at the same time. Pressing play you turn to the first chapter and begin reading as the narrator spoke. Your mom seemed to have put music on, you could feel the bass as she turned up the volume and began singing along.

Time: 10:56PM Hours had passed, it was your turn now with two hours left till your next switch. Your mother was knocked out, lightly snoring as you drove in silence, you had stopped reading once you had switched. You also decide to put off reading it until you were moved in, the book had grabbed your attention, so much so, that you wanted to be able to focus on it solely; so you chose to wait. You had a couple hundred miles left to go and things were sinking in more as you drove silently. Your mind doing its usual thing, making you worry about things that most likely won't happen, even if it did, you know it wouldn't be your fault. You couldn't help but think maybe it would be though, it was a dumb thought but you couldn't help it

'What was that guys name again'

Your brain blanked for a second, random but ok, your brain goes back to the YouTube video your mom had been watching, that cashier was watching him as well. Dylan is in Trouble, you wonder what kind of videos he makes, most likely commentary. You pull your phone out glancing down and go to YouTube, you use the voice to text and hold your phone up to your mouth.

"Dylan is in trouble"

You press search, going back and forth between looking at your phone and watching the road. You look down to find his channel, press his icon, and scroll through some of his videos. Movie commentary is what you mostly see, occasionally you'd spot something different, you decided you'd dive into his channel later when you weren't driving.

Time: 5:00AM You were in the driver's seat, you had let your mom sleep more after she had been driving for about three hours. She was up now though, you could tell things were starting to catch up to her again. She was fidgeting a lot more now, well so were you, she looked very tense. She helped you find this apartment, but you assume she wants to see the neighborhood for herself, in person, wants to see how good the security is and what the neighbors are like. It's only natural, she's a mother and her only daughter is moving twenty hours away from her. You look down at your phone, your GPS says you are pulling up now, you look around the area, it was very nice, wasn't too far from the city. You spot the complex to the left, it was pretty big with multiple sections with apartments, you were building three, kind of in the middle of everything. You pull into the complex parking in front of the leasing office to speak to your landlord and to get your keys, your mom comes with you of course, sizing everything up.

"Hi welcome to Arts District Apartments, it's Amaya correct, my name is George?" An old-looking man stands from his desk, his hand reaching out to shake yours

"Thank you, George, it's Amoya actually" You reach out and shake his hand with a smile.

You two talk a bit about the complex and its rules etc. Your mom chimed in every now and then to ask her questions. Before you know it you're unloading the truck into your new apartment, you're realizing now that you didn't have as much stuff as you thought. The last thing you had left was your bed, you and your mom had been doing well with just the two of you, but after you two had gotten the mattress inside your mother's back began to bother her. Now you had your bed frame, you told your mom to relax for now and that you could get the frame up yourself. Partial lie, you previously took apart the bed frame and so there were mainly long pieces that weren't too heavy except the backboard, that thing was heavy as fuck, luckily you had a dolly at the storage building to help you carry it out, but now you have to carry it to the elevator and down the hall. You managed to get it down from the truck, and from there you lifted it and sped walked to the elevator, almost dropping the bed frame on your foot as you set it down to push the button. The doors had closed on you twice as you tried to pick the frame back up and lift it into the elevator, but alas you made it, now on the third floor and outside the elevator. You took pride in your body, you considered yourself strong, regularly went to the gym, and you would say your legs were the strongest part of your body, with that being said, you tried to make as little noise as possible since it was still early in the morning, you lost your footing. You were almost there, your door being right in front of you; but you fell. Landing on the door behind you hitting your head with a very loud thud.

"Bumbo." You whisper yelled at yourself in Jamaican as you set the frame down and leaned off of the door. (translation: Fuck)

Holding the frame upright you walk around it reaching for your door, the frame slipping from your fingers and falling against your neighbor's door again. You prayed that your new neighbor was either a very deep sleeper or wasn't home right now, though maybe you didn't pray hard enough. You lift the bed frame from your neighbor's door, getting your phone to get your mom to hold the door open for you so you can slide it the rest of the way inside. Stopping, you hear the door behind you click open. Your bed frame blocked your view of whoever had stepped out, but you could hear him.

Ch.1 - Ch.2

Updated Author note: Hopefully this was an enjoyable first chapter or part. The apartment is just a random apartment complex I saw on Zillow, everything in this is all fictional besides the YouTube videos and things that are obviously real. Anyway, I have decided to make this a series, I've gone into too much detail on little things like Amoya's intrusive thoughts and all that, and it'd be a waste to shorten and delete half of what I put and speed through everything, Amoya's intrusive thoughts and anxiety is a trait I added from myself, so you'll notice a lot of internal thinking and scenarios she makes up in her head. Hopefully, the idea is as cool as what I thought of in my head. If this does well, I will upload the other chapters one after the other, If it does bad I'll just delete everything, but please be patient I procrastinate a lot and I want the writing to be good. Please be honest and let me know how you all feel about this, if you like the writing, the main character, the pacing, the storyline, length, anything, and everything, I need criticism but don't be a bitch about it.

#Dylan is in trouble #dylan matthews #Dylan is in trouble fanfic #Dylan Matthews fanfic #fluff #angst #neighbors au #slow burn

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