#they get reunited somewhere down the road

[queen-scribbles]

Worth Fighting For

@captainderyn this got long enough, it made more sense to give it a full post. Enjoy 3400 words of Hal & Aelin from Aelin's POV this time. --

Aelinril was staring.

She knew it was rude, that she should stop. But she couldn't help herself.

It wasn't every day you got to see someone murmur praise while petting the ears of a two hundred pound bear, at least not without getting mauled for their efforts.

And yet that's precisely what Halthiras was doing, his fingers buried deep in brown fur as the bear leaned into his touch and most of the other Elves gave them a wide berth. Even from a quarter of the way around the campfire, Aelinril could hear him thanking the bear for her company and faithfulness, asking if she'd had enough to eat, calling her netil. Precious trinket.

Their bond brought to mind the one she'd shared once. Her heart clenched at the thought of Erestel. Three thousand years asleep, he was long gone from this world. Aelinril dropped her gaze from the pair to the book in he lap, one of the history tomes Elrond had given her. She'd been struggling to concentrate, wanting to know what happened while she slumbered even if she was leaving, but also wanting to enjoy the journey. There was a freshness to the trees and flowers that was invigorating. So it was on evenings camped she made her best efforts at the tomes accounting for the time she'd missed.

A shadow fell across the page before she'd had time to blink away tears and focus on the words. She tipped her head up to find Halthiras studying her.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, compassion in his grey eyes as firelight danced across his face. He was alone, she noted, his bear--his Netil--curled up where they'd been sitting.

Aelinril nodded, drawing a deep breath to settle her words. "I had a memory brought to mind," she said softly, gesturing toward the space next to her. She'd been withdrawn so far in their journey and appreciated his waiting for an invitation.

"One you'd like to talk about, or one you'd rather not?" he asked as he took a seat.

"I'm... not sure," she admitted with a sigh. He simply nodded and sat with her in silence. He had done so since Elrohir suggested him as traveling companion; been content to let her choose when to break silence and when to stay lost in thought, equally comfortable conversing or letting her sort her thoughts in peace. The times they spoke, there was a nagging familiarity, as if she knew him, but he was younger than the Battle that led to her wounding and Un-rest, so how could that be?

Even having yet to solve that mystery, she felt she could trust him, which was probably why she didn't move away from the subject. "How long have you had your bond?" she asked with a nod toward the slumbering bear.

"Oh, not long." The fondness in his smile when he followed her gaze was impossible to miss. "She started trailing me when I would walk in the woods around Imladris, never did anything but watch, so I finally coaxed her over and... made friends." Halthiras shifted on the seat. "Once she trusted me, bonding was easy. Perhaps a year ago?"

"It does work better with established trust," Aelinril murmured, chin resting on her palm to stare into the campfire.

Halthiras gave her a curious look. "You've struck such a bond before, with animals?"

Melancholy tinged her smile, thoughts on the creatures of Nan-tethran and others. "Yes. I had a companion like your Netil once. Erestel." She traced one finger over the pages open in her lap, invisibly outlining a bear's head. "He accompanied me to the Battle, and I don't know what happened to him after because of my injuries, but given how much time passed..."

Halthiras nodded. "Netil is my first such bond, but I'm sure losing one is no small thing."

She hummed to confirm the truth of the words. "And I didn't get to tell him farewell. He wasn't my first bond, but the others I got to be with them at... at the end..."

The words faltered, and she dropped her gaze to the open book, the history of Elves and Dwarves and Men likewise unwitnessed in her slumber. She suddenly felt old and tired and no longer had any hesitation following Lord Elrond's suggestion to leave for the Havens at Mithlond. So many friends and allies she also hadn't been able to bid farewell...

Aelinril started, realizing she'd been silent and staring for a good while. "Sorry-"

Halthiras shook his head. "I understand the weight of grief, even if not so well as you."

A name floated through her thoughts, then. Talagan. It was a name she knew, but secondhand. Someone she'd heard about but never met. Someone she would guess was connected to the grief lurking behind mirth and compassion in Halthiras' eyes. Younger and less touched by it he might be, but he did understand.

"Thank you," she murmured. They sat in silence a few minutes, Halthiras staring into the fire, Aelinril trying to focus on reading, before she spoke again. "I know it's foolish since I'm leaving for Mithlond, but I wish I remembered the bonding. How it works, how it felt..."

She'd always loved animals, but three millennia in dark dreams and nothingness had dimmed much of the knowledge she used to possess. It bothered her, no matter how one could point out she was unlikely to need such a skill when she went into the West.

"If it bothers you overmuch, I could help refresh your memory," Halthiras offered.

It was a more enticing prospect than reading the history of a world she was about to leave. "I would greatly appreciate that," she said, bowing her head in thanks. Was this why Elrohir thought he would make a good traveling companion?

They were up far into the night, as refreshing that skill turned into a discussion of others they shared, and neither noted the passage of time.

---

Travel the next day was uneventful, allowing Aelinril to spend much of her time lost in thought. Thoughts of her discussion with Halthiras the night before, of the events she'd read about, of Erestel and Harthalín and other friends she missed.

Of Theleron.

It was an odd feeling to hope a friend was dead, but the alternative was a thousand years or more in the hands of the Enemy's servants. She didn't speak to anyone all day, her thoughts on everything lost.

It wasn't until evening, after they had set camp and eaten, that she broke her reverie.

"Who's Talagan?" she asked Halthiras, and he actually flinched as he looked up from his book.

"He... was my mentor," he said haltingly. "He died defending Edhelion during Skorgrim's attack."

Aelinril winced. "I'm sorry, I should have known."

"How should you," Halthiras began, then gave her a searching look. "How do you know of him?"

"I... only know the name," she said, resting a hand on his arm for comfort. "A faint memory as a hero from a tale, but bound up in grief."

He shook his head, exhaled a disbelieving laugh. "You actually heard something..."

It was her turn to give a searching look.

"I would sit with your friend Harthalín as she kept vigil for you and Hithgol. We talked, to each other or to... to you two. It was a well-established habit by the time Talagan and I visited Edhelion. I needed to grieve... after, and the woods helped with that, but I did reach a point where I needed to talk about it and... Harthalín was absent, so it spilled out to you." He smiled sheepishly. "I was rather hoping you slept deeply enough to not hear it; I didn't want to burden you or darken your slumber."

"As I said, all I recall is the name." She cocked her head. "And the sense of grief, I suppose." A few moments passed before she asked, "Why were you sitting with Harthalín?"

"I wanted to help." Halthiras looked back to the fire, staring into its depths. "I wasn't able to participate in the Battle, but everyone who did helped protect the world from a great evil. Those still with us--Master Elrond, Harthalín, you--will have my honor and aid."

"A brave promise to make," Aelinril said dryly, though it made her blush to think someone esteemed her so for her part in the battle. That would be why he seems familiar... "I feel you would have been a worthy comrade in arms had you been there."

"I hope so, though I remain mostly untested in that regard," he murmured. "Just a small role in repelling Skorgrim and the Dwarven attack on Edhelion."

"Is that why you're going back?" she asked, withdrawing her hand to rest her chin on her palm. "To aid because Elrond asked it and test your mettle?"

"In part," Halthiras said. "He did choose me, but I was intending to ask to come. In memory of Master Talagan, and to see my sister. She was there as well when Edhelion fell, and her anger at Skorgrim's Dwarves burns such she swore to keep watch over the ruins, safegaurd them from further desecration."

"Well, I wish you a satisfying reunion with her," Aelinril said, shifting in her seat. "And happy as it can be under the circumstances."

He smiled at that. "Thank you. Now, shall we turn our thoughts to happier things for the rest of the evening?"

She nodded in relief. She wasn't made for melancholy, and it hung heavy enough since her waking without dwelling on such dour subjects.

---

They did their best to stay on happier things when they spoke after that. Not an entirely easy practice, given the nature of their journey, but they tried.

Halthiras told her of some happenings in the world, with a much rosier outlook than the dry tomes Lord Elrond had given her. His knowledge was far from complete; he was young and had not yet traveled far from Imladris aside from the ill-fated time at Edhelion. It was still a more hopeful--and entertaining--way to learn the history that had been made she slept.

They spoke a bit of Elrond, more of Harthalín. Halthiras recounted the tales she had spun, Aelinril would smile at the memories, occasionally correcting a detail her best friend had misremembered.

They were only a few days from Celondim when she finally plucked up the fortitude to ask, "I suppose... How long has it been since Harthalín departed for Mithlond?" She had been there in Tham Send when Aelinril woke the first time but not the second and more lasting.

"Oh, she didn't," Halthiras said, ducking his head. "Did you think to look for her in the West?"

Aelinril nodded mutely, processing the revelation. She'd expected her friend to have departed by now. Most of the survivors of the Battle had, if they were able, according to Lord Elrond.

"I'm sorry, I promised I would tell you. She remains in Middle Earth. She has forsworn the Havens and the ship West until the Shadow is truly defeated."

The news of its stirring had perturbed her, Aelinril could only imagine how it would have spurred Harthalín, always the more willing to charge ahead between the two of them.

"She remains to fight?" Aelinril gave a wistful nod when he confirmed it. "That sounds like her." She was quiet a long moment, lost in thought, and Halthiras let her be. "And... what of you?" she finally asked. They'd struck up something of a friendship on this journey, brief as it was. "After your errand to Edhelion is done, will you also fight the rising Shadow?"

The thought made her heart clench--Harthalín knew what she was promising with such a vow. Halthiras was, by his own admission, unacquainted with what it would entail and might require of him.

"I don't know," he said, his voice quiet, after his own moment of thought. "I suppose it will depend on what happens at Edhelion. What we find, what drove some Dwarves to return." He moved as if to stroke Netil's ears, but let his hand fall upon discovering the bear's absence.

"If you do, hold fast the hope in your heart," she advised. "That's the best defense against it. Despair is the Enemy's greatest weapon."

He nodded solemnly. "I'll remember it."

Aelinril was trying to find a way to bend their talk back to something less dire when Netil trundled out of the undergrowth with a friend in tow--one limping heavily.

"Who's this, then?" Halthiras murmured to his bear, who continued to stare at them expectantly.

Aelinril pivoted to examine the newcomer. Male, little more than a cub, a ruff of lighter brown fur behind his ears, and the cause of his limp obvious. A broken branch skewered the edge of his paw, both ends splintered--or chewed--too short for the bear to do anything about it himself. Moving slowly, she knelt and shifted closer.

The bear didn't withdraw.

"This will hurt, but may I help you?" she asked softly, more to soothe with the sound of her voice than anything.

He stood still where he was as she reached for his paw. A sound somewhere between a whimper and a snarl emanated from the jaws just above her head as she worked the branch fragment free. As soon as it was gone, he jerked away and ambled back into the woods with a huff and much diminished limp.

"For a moment, I thought you might have a new friend," Halthiras said, patting Netil's haunch as she settled in with a self-satisfied huff.

"They're not all as yours is," Aelinril returned with a wry smile. She pushed to her feet and tossed the bloody branch in the fire. "Perhaps he prefers his own company. And I would be leaving him when I depart for Mithlond."

For the first time, there was a tremor of hesitation to the thought.

What would you do if you stayed? Fight?

I don't know. Perhaps. She cast a glance sideways at Halthiras and the woods beyond. Just... perhaps there are things worth staying to defend.

---

They would reach the outskirts of Celondim in the morning. The longing and anticipation she should have felt at being so close to sailing away from the world's troubles into peace unending was absent. Aelinril was disquieted, trepidation overwhelming the thoughts of the West. She longed for peace, to heal from suffering and to be free of care. It was in the heart of every Elf, the call of the sea, and she had both seen and endured much to support her departure.

But Harthalín had stayed, to fight. Lord Elrond remained. Halthiras might fight as well. This world was full of beauty and worth, even in the overlooked corners. They had camped near the overgrown ruins of a tower that was yet unbuilt when she fell into slumber, how could she dismiss the value of this world and the people in it?

She was quieter even than usual that night, and as always Halthiras let her be. He sat nearby, propped against Netil's side as he worked at writing or sketching something in the book balanced on his knees, content to share company.

"Lady Aelinril." It was Elladan's voice that pulled her from the war in her thoughts. "When we pass through Celondim on the morrow we will be able to pause but briefly for your departure. Scouts have brought fresh word from Edhelion," he explained, catching the furrow of her brow. "The Dwarven encroachment is more serious than we first thought; there is need for haste the rest of the journey."

"I understand," she said, outward calm and inward turmoil. "Then let me extend thanks now for allowing me to travel with you to this point."

"Certainly." The son of Elrond bowed. "I wish you a swift and untroubled journey to Mithlond and further. You have more than earned the peace of the West."

Her shoulder twinged and it took effort not to rub the healed wound. "Thank you."

Elladan inclined his head once more and took his leave.

"Should we say our farewells now, then?" Halthiras asked, a sigh heavy on the words as he closed the book and looked up at her.

"I..." Brief as it was, their friendship had become dear to her. The thought of its breaking made her chest ache, and she wished to delay the confirmation of words as long as she could. But to depart from one who had given her such aid and comfort without thanks and acknowledgment was unthinkable. "I... I wish I'd met you sooner," she said softly. The fortnight's journey was not nearly enough time.

Halthiras chuckled sadly. "As do I. Properly met, I mean." He moved to sit with her. "I feel we would remain great friends."

"As do I." Aelinril managed around the lump in her throat. She reached for her pack, sitting limply nearby. She didn't have--or need--much of her own, but... Her fingers closed around what she sought easily and she pulled out a cloak clasp, simple and delicately wrought gold around a beryl. She'd had it since departing Vinyamar, would have no need of it in the West, and it felt a pittance to show the value she gave their friendship.

"To remember me," she said as she handed it to him.

"There's no risk of my forgetting." His voice strained on the words and he cradled the clasp gently. He floundered a moment before reaching up to pull one of the adornments from his hair. It slipped free from the narrow braid it bound with little trouble. "I was not expecting to exchange parting gifts, but," he place the narrow band in her palm. "To remember me."

"No risk of me forgetting," Aelinril returned softly, examining the band. There were no jewels decorating it, instead it bore intricately engraved leaves. "Thank you, it's beautiful."

She curled her fingers around it, holding tight as the metal warmed and tears sstug her eyes.

But she did not speak her doubts, her wondering if she truly should depart.

---

Morning dawned all mist, fine drops clinging to their cloaks as they set off. Aelinril appreciated the barrier, shielding her inner unrest from being obvious to the rest of the party. She rolled the gold band in her palm as she thought, inborn pull West at war with not wanting to leave this world while friends remained, and it was in peril from the very Enemy she'd fought before. She was tired, and her shoulder at times ached where the Nazgul stabbed her. But the threat of worse lay over the world.

"It's unfinished business," she could almost hear Harthalín's voice. "We're not done 'til the Shadow can never again cast itself over this world."

She was so lost in thought Halthiras had to touch her arm to draw her from them when they reached Celondim.

"So here we part ways," he said, words melancholy and cloak clasped with her gift. "Farewell and swift journey to you, Aelinril."

She smiled sadly, his gift still tightly in hand. "And a successful one to you. Farewell, Halthiras."

They shared a last look, and he turned to follow the rest of the company, already moving at Elladan's urging. Aelinril watched until Halthiras--and Netil beside him--had been swallowed by the mist before heading down the path to the dock.

The cry of the gulls as she drew neared made her heart sing, but there was an equual joy in the blossoming trees and creatures scurrying among them. It did nothing to settle her struggle.

The ship was delayed, giving her yet more time to think, and that proved to be the undoing of her plans. She thought of Harthalín and Gil-galad and other old friends lost or parted, of new ones, all united in their belief to preserve Middle Earth. How could she do any less, if she was capable?

I'm staying.

Movement caught her eye, and she was greeted by a pair of dark eyes and damped ruff of light brown fur.

"And apparently I'm not the only one to change my mind," she murmured, gesturing the bear over. All her doubts dissipated at her resolution, as the bear, only limping slightly now, approached.

She was not the fighter Harthalín was. She much preferred quiet, peace. But now, as she had so long ago, she would take up arms to defend something precious because she could not do any less.

[crguang]

love language

Overworked and always putting themselves second, both Himeko and Natasha just need someone to help them relax after a tiring day <3

fluffy smut, sub!himeko, sub!natasha, gn!reader, oral sex, fingering, squirting (himeko), ~3k words for both

A/N: this was in the drafts for 2 months… finally polished it off enough to post it omg.

You’re cozy between warm sheets and fluffy pillows, the light of the cabin dimmed to help you relax as you read the last few sentences of the volume in your hands.

You’re entirely focused on the story’s conclusion until you reach the last words and blink out of the daze you’ve been in for the past… three hours? You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand, disbelievingly at first, then softly close the book. It’s past midnight, you hadn’t planned to finish it tonight and you’re surprised you managed to get through the end without getting interrupted. The day’s fatigue accumulates at the corner of your eyes. For a minute, you sit in the bed, simply taking in the book you just read. It left you somewhat unsatisfied, you’re not a fan of the protagonists walking different paths after spending most of the story working to reunite with each other. It reminds you of the Astral Express, of the bonds you’ve forged with the Nameless; the thought of one day separating from them saddens you. You know each of them have a road to follow but they’ve become family over the years, that also goes for Stelle, who’s the team’s newest addition.

As you reflect on your book, you realize— a little late— that you’re alone in the cabin. The spot beside you is untouched as it was this morning, not a crease on the clean pillows. You frown. Himeko must still be working on the train, even after telling you it wouldn’t be long and that she’d be ready for bed before you could finish another chapter. You don’t care about her not fulfilling her word, concern swells in your chest instead because it’s the third day this week where she’s slept past one in the morning, too preoccupied with making sure the Express runs smoothly. She easily forgoes rest to prioritize her work, and while you’re all grateful for her dedication, you wish she would not consider herself second best.

You lift the comforter off your body and step into your slippers. You stretch your arms over your head as you make your way to the door, softly sliding it open. The train car is quiet, only a low whirring sound can be heard from the archive room, the familiar noise relaxing you. The lights are dimmed, never completely shut in case of emergency. You walk down the corridor to reach the parlor. The door slides open and you hear soft murmurs of conversation as you step into the parlor, blinking a couple times to adjust to the bright lights. Himeko is seated on one of the large couches, discussing something with Pom-Pom, and doesn’t hear you come in. The conductor does since they’re facing you, but they only nod pensively at whatever Himeko is saying.

You cross your arms over your chest and wait, leaning on the wall. It gives you the chance to admire your pretty girlfriend; her coat is discarded somewhere on the train, leaving her shoulders bare, and from this angle you can pinpoint the few dispersed moles on her shoulder blades while the rest are hidden by her silky, red hair. Her face is bare of any makeup, long lashes brushing her cheeks with every blink and plump, pink lips you can’t help but stare at. You can almost smell her signature perfume if you concentrate long enough, it’s usually mixed with a strong coffee aroma to create a scent specific to her. Himeko is a refreshing sight no matter the hour of the day.

You don’t mind waiting for her to notice you, not wanting to interrupt her conversation. She eventually does when she gestures to the phonograph, eyes glossing over you for a second before she turns back to Pom-Pom, then head whirling back to you as she registers your presence in the room. Himeko smiles softly at you, waving in greeting, and you return it easily. You can’t really hear what they’re saying because of how low they’re talking, only snippets and words that make no sense out of context. After another minute where you assume the conversation is getting wrapped up, Himeko stands from the couch and bids the conductor goodnight. She walks over to you and reaches for your hand the moment she’s close enough, fingers lacing with yours.

“You’re still up?” Himeko asks, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing your skin.

“Mhm. I finished my book.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I had to fix a couple things, then Pom-Pom wanted to share their thoughts on something, I lost track of time. You shouldn’t have waited.”

Her free hand comes up to cup your cheek for an instant before lowering down your bicep. Himeko is always touching you in some way, whether it’s with a palm on your lower back or her fingertips tracing shapes into your forearm. She does it unconsciously, you noticed. It warms you to think that her body seeks yours out whenever you’re in the same room.

“It’s nothing,” you say, “I’m more concerned about you.”

“Me?”

“You’ve been sleeping later and later recently. Are you okay?”

Something gleams in Himeko’s eyes at the worry lacing your words. Her gaze softens like it often does when she looks at you and a small smile grows on her lips, squeezing your hand once.

“Of course. There’s always something to do on the Express, is all. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I��ll always worry about you.”

You see appreciation on her face. Himeko leans forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips. Her hand tugs you along as she opens the parlor door and begins to walk towards her cabin.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

You let her lead you to her room. It’s in the same state you left it, but it feels warmer with her here. You settle onto the bed as Himeko rummages around for the gown she sleeps in and unashamedly take in the curves of her body as she undresses. She shoots you an amused look that has you smiling innocently, pulling the gown over her head and smoothing out her hair. She joins you, lays down against the pillows and wraps her arms around you to gently pull you into her. You inhale slowly into her neck. One hand strokes your hair and you sigh softly at the same time Himeko makes a noise of contentment. A comfortable silence stretches between you for a moment, broken only by the reassuring sound of the Express in the background. You sneak an arm around her waist to hold her tighter.

“I love having you like this…” Himeko murmurs with a slow exhale. “I look forward to it every night.”

You hum, nuzzling into her. Your reply is slightly muffled, “You do so much in a day. You deserve to feel this relaxed more often.”

“Sometimes I don’t know how you have the energy to deal with me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Himeko sighs again, and her hand trails down your back in soothing motions. “You're so understanding with me, indulging me when I need it. You're always there, even when I don't know I need something, you give me the help I need. You don’t mind me working late so often; you have… so much patience for me.”

You pull away from her to look her in the eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Himeko, you’re the sweetest, most reliable person alive. How could I not be patient with you?”

She laughs quietly and cups your cheek. Her lidded eyes are full of affection as her thumb caresses your skin.

“You and your sweet words. It's hard not to believe them when you say them with such a sincere tone.”

“That’s because they’re true.”

Himeko brings you close with a hand on the back of your neck. Her lips meet yours in a tender kiss and your eyes shut in bliss at the feeling of her mouth moving against yours. She’s soft and warm and loving, keeping you in place until she’s had her fill and lets you lean back to catch your breath. You rest your foreheads together, noses brushing. Himeko’s hands travel up your body, from your hips to your waist and back down in steady touches, enjoying the feel of your curves. You plant gentle kisses on her jaw and almost feel her melt under you.

“You deserve every ounce of kindness…” your lips trail up to the apple of her cheek, “every show of appreciation…” you kiss her forehead then descend to the bridge of her nose; it scrunches up slightly with her growing smile, “and affection that comes your way.” You press another languid kiss to her lips.

Himeko’s gaze shows only adoration when you pull away to look at her, breathing a little heavier. Her lips are parted ever so slightly, her hands squeezing your waist. You swipe some hair out of her face as your palm rests on her cheek. Any fatigue you previously felt disappears at the sight of her under you like this, looking up at you with such admiration. It still feels a bit unreal, for someone so good to stare at you this way, it makes you believe that perhaps you too are deserving of others’ love.

You lean closer, the tip of your nose grazing hers, voice soft and eyes fluttering shut. “If you’re still in doubt, I could show you, if you’d like.”

Himeko’s smile turns teasing as your hand slips under her nightgown to slide up her knee. She pretends to think about it.

“Mmm… That depends on how you plan to do that.”

“Well, I have a few ideas… They all include you whimpering for me.”

Her chuckle makes you smile.

“Whimpering? You’re confident.”

“With reason, I assure you.”

Himeko welcomes your mouth on hers with enthusiasm, one of her hands curling around your nape. You’ve learned how to make her so dizzy with need that she’s entirely at your mercy, and it starts with the gentle swipe of your tongue over her bottom lip. Her lips part wider to deepen the kiss and you feel her fingers tighten their hold on your neck. Her tongue slides over yours, accustomed to your taste and still so breathless, while you rub her thigh. She hums low against your mouth as you try your best to adjust your position above her without breaking the kiss. Your thigh lodges itself between hers, feeling them clench once before relaxing into the bed.

Himeko is easy to please; loving touches up her torso to her chest makes her gasp softly, your tongue past her lips has her pulling you closer, and the slight pressure from your thigh between her legs is enough for her breathing to stutter. You kiss down her jaw to her neck and she tilts her head to make herself more accessible to your mouth. You know which spot makes her sigh in pleasure and which causes her to jerk her hips into your touch. You suck on her pulse point, humming at the fingers that tangle themselves in your hair at the gesture. The skin of her throat reddens and you lick it to soothe the pain before pulling away from her completely.

You sit up, gazing down at the flush of her cheeks and the rise of her chest. The square neckline of her nightgown gives you a tantalizing view of her cleavage. You bring a hand to touch the mole over her right breast, index finger massaging the flesh around it.

“So beautiful you are,” you say absentmindedly, pulling her clothes down with your free hand to watch how her breasts spill from their confines.

Himeko bites her lip in anticipation. The obvious desire in her gaze spurs you on, and you take handfuls of her heavy breasts to fondle them. The friction of your warm palms on her hardening nipples has her fingers sinking into the sheets. You twist a pink nipple between two fingers, delighting in the quiet moan that follows. Himeko’s breasts are so pliable, so plush, you can’t help lowering your mouth to one and sucking it like a pacifier. Her nipple puffs up under your wet tongue and you swallow a sound of pleasure at the feeling. Your teeth graze the soft skin of her breasts and leave faint marks across her chest everywhere they go. Her breasts shine with a thin coat of saliva when you finally separate yourself from them, and Himeko’s audibly breathing through her mouth, fingers curling around your locks. Her hips seek friction for her pussy by pressing into your thigh, but it’s not enough to relieve the need between her legs. Her nightgown has risen up to the top of her thighs, barely hiding her damp panties from sight.

You take in your work of art on her chest, the glisten of her puffy nipples and the shades of red on her skin slowly shifting into gorgeous blues and purples. Your thumb circles her sensitive bud as you watch Himeko’s brows quiver in pleasure. She won’t beg you for more, yet, even if what she needs is spelled out on her face.

You hook your fingers under the thin strap of her gown and let it snap against her skin as you let go. “Take it off, princess.”

Satisfaction swirls in your gut when she complies, sliding her arms out of the straps and pulling the material down her waist. You move to allow her to take it off completely and discard it somewhere on the bed, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. Your hands greedily travel up her thighs to her waist, squeezing the soft curves of her love handles along the way. Tiny moles decorate her body from her chest to her inner thigh like final touches on a meticulously painted artwork. Blood runs hot under her skin, adding a little color to the painting that she is. She’s stunning, and she’s yours.

You settle between her legs and prop her knees up to spread her thighs. Himeko grips your hair once more, her favorite, as you knead the flesh of her inner thighs.

“Seriously, Hime,” your eyes are glued to the damp patch on her cotton panties, arousal pooling in your belly, “the Knights of Beauty should be worshiping you.”

Himeko’s breathless laugh turns into a low moan when you use two fingers to rub her lower lips over her underwear, feeling her arousal ruin the material until it sticks to her pussy. You can see the outline of her labia under the fabric and you don’t even have it in you to tease her. Your index pulls her panties aside, revealing her glistening cunt and making you bite your bottom lip in lust. You lean forward to kiss around her labia. The smell of her arousal fills your sinuses and you feel desire tighten your stomach. Himeko urges you closer to her pussy with the hand in your hair, hips jerking towards your mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick her leisurely, slithering between her folds and ignoring her twitching clit. You moan into her cunt at the taste of her and Himeko lets out a noise close to a whimper, bucking into you to feel more of your tongue on her pussy.

You quickly tire of keeping her panties at bay, so you waste no time in sliding them down her legs and tossing them on the floor. Her cunt is entirely exposed to you, slick dripping between her ass cheeks. She’s so wet, her clit stands at the ready, waiting for you to wrap your lips around it and suck. You spread her lips with two fingers and lower your mouth to her pussy, licking up her slit like a thirsty kitty.

“Mmngh…” Himeko makes the sweetest noises above you, from breathy moans to quiet whimpers as you work her up, eyes shut in pleasure. Her free hand grabs a fistful of the sheets under her. “Ah… Nnh…”

You tease her entrance with a finger, not quite sliding inside. Your tongue swirls around her aching clit, from base to tip, and you’re rewarded by a poorly restrained moan from your pretty girlfriend. Himeko’s thighs twitch as you lap her up but she finds the strength to keep them spread for you, instead gripping your hair a bit tighter to pull you towards her cunt. A finger tentatively pushes into her pussy to the knuckle and her hips stutter in their steady rocking at the welcomed intrusion. She gets used to the sensation quickly, brows twitching, and you curl the digit to hit a specific spot inside her, a drawn out moan escaping her.

“Nngh…” Himeko whimpers out your name, chest heaving, “m—more…”

You can’t refuse her when she sounds so fucking pretty. You harshly suck her clit, feeling it throb, and push another finger inside her clenching cunt. She squeezes your digits but takes them like a champ, allowing you to plunge deep into her to hit the spongy spot that makes her cry out. You look up at her as she grinds her pussy on the flat of your tongue, lost in pleasure. Her breasts move with every jerk of her hips, her lips are forever parted to let out soft mewls and her creamy skin glows under the lights from the sweat accumulating on her body. The wet sounds of your digits thrusting into her cunt are sinful, they fill the cabin along with Himeko’s barely contained moans. Her belly tightens with need, and she clenches around your fingers with another desperate whimper. You flick your tongue on her engorged clit a few times, drilling into her with a pace you know she likes, hard and fast. Slow, loving touches on her body will turn Himeko on like nothing else but when she gets like this, only thinking about her release, she needs it rough enough to push her over the edge. She meets your efforts halfway and grinds into you, swallowing your fingers further into her wet pussy.

You can tell how close she is by the pitch of her voice; it gets slightly higher with every passing minute you spend with your nose buried into her cunt.

“P–Please—” Himeko babbles, “Let me…”

You find it adorable how the last push she needs is often just the confirmation that she’s allowed to come.

“Come for me, princess.”

Himeko whines, squeezing your fingers tight as she gushes into your mouth. Her cum coats your lips and chin and you lap it up eagerly, moaning at the taste. You clean her up diligently while her thighs threaten to close around your head and her clit throbs with her orgasm. She comes on your tongue with a pretty noise of pleasure and you ease your fingers out of her fluttering pussy to keep her thighs pinned to the mattress. You lick up her slit once, twice, desperate to swallow more of her cum. Himeko inhales sharply when your tongue flicks over her sensitive clit. You know her body inside and out, and so you know that sucking her clit right after an orgasm will make her squirt like she is now, spurts of cum coating your face and her needy cries filling your ears. She makes a mess for you, ruining the sheets under her, until she can’t take it anymore and has to pull you away from her cunt by the hair so she can catch her breath.

You relent, swiping your tongue over your lips and looking up at her with a cocky smirk. Himeko struggles to regulate her breathing, chest heaving and limbs still twitching from the aftershocks. You hover over her to press a gentle kiss to her jaw.

“We really should relax this way more often.”

“You work yourself too hard.”

Your warm, muttered words send a shiver across the skin of Natasha’s nape and the sensation spreads down her back as would a chilling gust of wind, the kind that only appears during Belobog’s most forgiving winters. It leaves goosebumps in its wake that you chase away with the palm of your hands firmly pressing over her shoulder blades, tracing the protruding bones lower down her back before slowly bringing your hands to rest on her shoulders. You hear her soft sigh as you massage her skin and undo knots of long accumulated stress from her muscles. You’re sure her eyes are closed despite being unable to see her.

“I have to,” she replies, her voice just as low, like speaking any louder will disturb the quiet around you.

Your hands run down her arms at an unhurried pace. You love touching her, love the feel of her. It’s a beautiful thing, touch; the warmth of her merging with yours, the particular bumps and wrinkles and stretch marks unique to her can all be felt under your fingertips. You have discovered every crevice, every nook and cranny of her with only your hands. On nights like this one, when the pressure catches up to her, she’s pliable under your touch and all the more enchanting. You bury your nose where her neck meets her shoulder, inhale the scent of the perfumed soap she used in the bath an hour earlier and lace your fingers with hers when your hands end their trek on the sensitive surface of her wrists.

You feel her lean into you a little more when you speak, “One day soon, you’ll be able to take a break without the sky collapsing.”

It’s unfair, though you understand how much the Underworld needs Natasha. She stepped forward when no one else did and naturally took over the responsibility for its citizens’ wellbeing, she is without a doubt an integral part of the small society you built around the mines. She bears this burden with a humble heart and a tired smile. The pride you feel for her goes beyond the Underworld’s dark ceilings, maybe even beyond the white clouds she sometimes tells you about when you question her about the surface. She is a diamond amongst pebbles, wasting her time on even the most worthless of you because she believes that everyone deserves a fighting chance. Her selflessness knows no bounds, and you feel sad. The bags under her eyes get darker every morning. Sleep claims her the minute her pretty hair touches the pillows. You wish she would allow herself some reprieve but Natasha has no self-serving bone in her body. She can’t be selfish, so you have to, lest she gets buried under unreasonable demands and complaints. With the appointment of a new Supreme Guardian, however, and the channels between the two worlds open once again, things are looking brighter. The fragmentum has stopped spreading and for once, you see a glint of hope in the gazes of the Underworlders. The Supreme Guardian’s plans for a painless future lift some of that persistent weight off Natasha’s shoulders. You’re grateful for it.

“I think part of me won’t know what to do when the time does come,” Natasha admits. She brings your arms tighter around her frame and sighs. “I can’t imagine not being needed…”

“People will always need you. You just won’t have the pressure to uphold half a city from the brink of disaster. You deserve that.”

She doesn’t reply to that. You free one hand and lift your head, then delicately grab a hold of her jaw to tilt her face towards yours. Her eyes blink open and you see the fatigue incrusted into their rubied depths.

“You deserve that,” you repeat firmly, watching as her gaze grows softer. “You of all people deserve to be free of anxiety and responsibility. I’ll make you see it one day, too.” Your thumb trails up her chin to her bottom lip. “Until then, I’ll take care of you when you won’t.”

Her lip twitches and her eyelashes flutter, taken with sudden emotion, before she simply leans closer and captures your mouth with hers, an unsaid “thank you” dying in her throat. The hand still intertwined with yours squeezes gently as she kisses you. It keeps you grounded to her presence in your arms and her touch on your body. You taste her chapstick on your tongue when she opens her mouth further to deepen the kiss. It’s the same she wears every day but it’s no less intoxicating.

“Nat…” you murmur against her lips, “I want to help you relax, if only for tonight.”

You hear her intake of breath as you plant open kisses up and down her jaw, following invisible patterns of affection on her skin like carefully woven threads. Natasha nods softly when your lips reach hers once more and the happy smile that grows on your face fills her with warmth even the bulkiest coats couldn’t provide.

She lets you adjust yourself behind her. You guide her to lean back so your chest is flushed against her and her breath tickles your neck.

Your hands brush the sides of her chest over her shirt and curl to hold her breasts properly. Natasha sucks in a breath when you squeeze them a little; you know she’s always been sensitive there, how pleasant it is for her. You palm her flesh, enjoying the softness of it beneath your hands and its quickly hardening tips. Your thumb swipes over one nipple and feels it grow from the sensation. You give the other the same attention and it’s not long before your pointer fingers join the fun to gently pinch the doctor’s nipples. Natasha shifts slightly, bringing one leg up to squeeze her thighs together, and you almost huff out a laugh at the action. You can feel the embarrassment radiating off of her at how easily aroused she’s getting, so you decide not to tease her too much. Verbally, at least, because your hands aren’t leaving her breasts until her underwear is well and truly ruined.

A muffled noise of pleasure escapes Natasha when you twist her nipples just right between two fingers. Her lips are parted and her breathing has gotten heavier. She grabs your thigh with a hand to compose herself somewhat. Though her face is obscured from your sight, you know her eyes are squeezed shut as she allows herself to enjoy your attention.

“Ah…” She breathes out as you finally slip your hands under her shirt and caress the plane of her stomach. Goosebumps follow wherever your touch strays.

Her nipples are like pretty pebbles on her chest, a rosy color you can’t yet see. They’re hard and sensitive judging by the way Natasha squeezes her legs together every so often, and you can’t help the fondness you feel at her compliance. She’s aroused and ready for you to go further, but she takes what you give without complaint or plea. It makes you want to give her everything she needs, patience be damned. You bite your lip at the thought. Tonight is all about Natasha’s pleasure, after all.

Keeping one hand around her breast, you trail the other down her torso until it reaches the edge of her pajama pants. Her thighs spread almost immediately to accommodate you and you coo softly at the sight, breathing out a chuckle when you feel Natasha press further into your neck out of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” you say, slipping into her pants to brush her underwear, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“…I know,” she replies, voice soft.

The trust she willingly puts in you is heartwarming, it expands your chest cavity to make place for your inflating heart. You explore her covered sex with two fingers and feel the arousal seeping from the thin cloth. She always gets so wet from nipple stimulation… Cute. Natasha moans when you spread her lips and apply pressure to her clit. You long to feel it twitch under your tongue, but you’ve teased her enough for now. Your hand slithers past her panties to finally give her what she wants. Natasha’s moans are breathy “oh”’s and “ah”’s that she no longer tries to conceal. Your fingers smear her arousal all over her cunt before paying special attention to her puffy clit. Sensitive as it feels, you enjoy the way her thighs twitch as you massage its base while pinching her nipple. The added stimulation coats your hand in warm, sticky fluids.

“Ah! Please…” Natasha mutters with a swallow, grip tightening on your thigh.

You shush her nicely, swiping the pad of your index finger over her clit in firm circles. “I know, Nat. Just relax.”

You imagine her brows twisting in pleasure and her pretty lips trembling. Her chest heaves with uncontrolled breaths and you have half a mind to yank her shirt over her head so you can see her perky nipples rise and fall with the flow.

You give her clit some reprieve and ignore the immediate little whine of indignation that follows. She’s so wet as you trail down her cunt to her entrance that you decide to push two fingers inside her instead of one. You feel her cunt clench around your digits and bite back a groan as you rub her walls. Natasha moans your name, voice breaking in the middle, and her toes curl when you pick up the pace inside her. She’s a vocal mess despite not uttering any actual words. Her panting against your neck is so arousing you only plunge your fingers harder into her.

You twist and pull her nipple with your other hand. Natasha somehow restrains herself from squirming under your touch to make your job easier and you make a mental note of rewarding her for her consideration.

“Just like that,” you encourage her, her cunt squeezing you like a vice. “I’ve got you.”

Your only response is a small whine and the bucking of her hips against your hand. They move in tandem with the rhythm of your fingers, greedily chasing release.

“You’re doing so good, Natty, letting me help you like this…”

Your words make her cunt clench. The noises filling your bedroom are positively filthy as the heel of your palm grazes Natasha’s sensitive clit. She’s close, you can feel it, so you keep up the pace until she comes with a cry into your neck, teeth brushing your skin and hips stuttering. You slow down inside her only slightly to help prolong her orgasm and one of her hands grabs yours on her breast when she arches towards the ceiling. It takes a moment before Natasha settles back against you, breathy and slack. You gently slip out of her.

You let her catch her breath, instead bringing your hand to light to see how her arousal clings to your digits. Spreading them makes a string that connects the two and you hum before turning back to Natasha. You push her forward a little, enough to be able to capture her mouth in a sloppy kiss. Your tongue pushes past her lips to intertwine with hers.

Natasha pulls away to rest her forehead on yours.

“Thank you…” she says softly.

“You’re welcome. But I’m not done with you yet.”

She leans back to look you in the eyes and her incredulous expression makes you laugh.

“You’ve done more than enough. Let me at least—”

“Nuh uh,” you interrupt her, moving from behind her to saddle her waist. She makes a noise of surprise when you push her fully into the bed.

You steal a kiss from her as your hands travel up her torso to raise her shirt over head and toss it to the floor. Leaning back, you can finally appreciate the sight of her bare chest rising to meet you. You take a pink nipple into your mouth, humming in satisfaction when Natasha lets out a little moan. Her hands grip your hair to keep you close. Your tongue swirls around the hardened bud, coating it so it shines in the light when you pull away. You waste no time in sucking the other one, hard and fast, enjoying the feel of it in your mouth and Natasha’s growing pleasure.

Your own lips shine with saliva when you tear your mouth from her chest and look up at her in reverence.

“You’re so pretty, Nat,” her lidded gaze meets yours as you speak, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I wanna fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Oh…” is all she can say, bringing one hand to partly cover her flushing face.

“But,” you move to take off her pajama pants completely before settling between her thighs and wrapping your arms around them, “I said I’d help you relax, not incapacitate you… I’ll choose my words more carefully next time.”

Her heel digs into your back when you bury your nose in her slick cunt. She’s intoxicating and still so sensitive from her previous orgasm that you only need to blow on her clit for it to twitch. Your tongue darts out to taste her fully, the flat of it licking up her slit to take her pulsing clit into your mouth. Natasha’s hips push against you even as her thighs shake from the stimulation and the hand in your hair pulls you closer to her slippery sex. All you can hear, feel, taste is her. The noises she makes are a melody to your ears and the warmth that overcomes you can’t be put into words. You trail wet kisses all over her cunt, groaning at the way it pulses under you.

You focus on her clit, sucking and licking and teasing until her thighs close in on you, pressing against your ears.

“F-Fuck…”

Natasha rarely swears. Knowing how much of a mess you’re making of her for her to utter such a word is such a turn on. You squeeze your legs together in a failed attempt at relieving the pressure between them. You want tonight to be all about her, so you ignore your needs and slurp her folds like a starved kitten. The tip of your nose bumps her clit as you do and Natasha’s soft mewls spur you on.

It doesn’t take long before she’s coming into your mouth with a long moan, hips bucking closer to your tongue. You lap up the arousal leaking from her puffy cunt and let her grind into your face until her orgasm passes. Natasha falls back into the bed after a moment, audibly panting, eyes still squeezed shut. You look up to see her features slowly morph into a tired, fucked out expression. Pulling away from her sex, you lick your lips and wipe your face with your clean hand.

You climb up the bed to press a tender kiss to her jaw. Her eyes blink open, her gaze warm and in love as she looks at you.

You cup her cheek with a hand and mutter, “I hate to ask more of you, but promise me you’ll make an effort to take better care of yourself. For me?”

Natasha sighs, lips stretching into a small smile. “If I can’t, you’ll be there to do it for me?”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

[atlasscrumpit]

Hi,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where the captive reader tries to distract Yandere Hannibal from killing one of her friends by kissing him?What happens to the reader,Hannibal and the friend is up to you

Yandere Hannibal

After six months, Hannibal was finally letting you out.

Maybe it was just to get some groceries but it was the first time you'd left the house since you for here.

"Do not leave my sight, and you will always be beside me and do as I say. Do you understand, my dear?" Hannibal asked as you stood in front of him and nodded.

"Yes, I understand." You replied with excitement in your voice.

"Good girl."

--

You followed Hannibal around the store...the store you'd driven two hours to get to.

Hannibal wanted to be extra careful and get you away from anyone who might know you.

The grocery trip went off without a hitch, Hannibal had even let you pick out some food for yourself.

You held his hand and walked out when you suddenly froze and stared at a familar face.

"Y/N...?" The woman whispered as you gripped Hannibal's hand tighter.

"We all...we all thought you were missing." She whispered as you slowly turned to look at Hannibal, you could see it in his eyes, she would be dinner tonight.

"N-Nope! Not missing, just met someone and I guess um...started a new life." You tried to explain, yob weren't great at lying, you never were.

"And who is this?" She asked, glancing at Hannibal.

"My name is Jack, an old friend of Y/N. We reunited after a few years and decided to take it further, she's living with me. I assure you she's well taken care of." Hannibal stepped in for you.

Your friend smiled but you could see she wasn't convinced.

She moved forward and hugged you tightly.

"Well... The police did tell us you were somewhere safe but...I didn't believe it. I just wish you would've told us, we've all been worried sick." She said pulling away from the hug.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should've told everyone, I just had a lot going on and I guess I ran away." You muttered as she nodded.

"Give me a call, okay?" She said as you nodded before getting into the car.

You sat in silence on the drive, staring at the road.

"She's going to be an issue." He grumbled as you played with the hem of your shirt.

"N-No... She won't be. We can just text her every now and then and keep up the charade. Please, don't do this." You whispered, turning to look at Hannibal.

He reached over and placed his hand on your thigh.

"That won't be good enough, my dear."

--

You sat at home with Hannibal, he told you he needed to ‘go out’, but you knew exactly what he was doing. 

Just before he left the house you grabbed his hand and pulled him back. 

“Please, don’t do this… We can figure this out but if you do this I will never forgive you.” You whispered as he stared into your eyes, you could never read his emotions.

“I must.” He muttered about to leave before you grabbed him and pulled him into a passionate kiss. 

He grabbed your waist and quickly dominated the kiss. 

You leant away, trying to catch your breath. 

“Stay, just stay here and we’ll figure this out.” You begged before kissing him again. 

He leant down and began kissing your neck, you knew how long he had waited for this. 

“Fine, my dear. But, you’re going to make it up to me, aren’t you?” He whispered into your ear as you nodded. 

“Yes, of course I will.”

[leascorner]

j.s. | Welcome home

Summary: After a mission, Jake gets some well deserved break at home. However the week might not turn out how he had planned.

Pairing:  Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x childhood bff!f!reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death and near death experience, mention of break-up, probably inexact american army facts, ever most likely inexact description of Texas, mention of food, two idiots in love, happy ending

Word Count: 9.2k

A/N: I've said it before, I will say it again. The only trope that I can write/read about Jake is a childhood/best friends to lovers, don't fight me. I also see Jake as an older brother to two half-sisters his mother had with a very good man, after his father abandonned them. This is my canon.

Anyway, this is way too long and way too chaotic but I just couldn't stop writting so enjoy!

Masterlist

Y/N was literally hopping up and down with impatience - or perhaps was it the three cups of coffees she had drunk to be able to keep up with the 2-hour-long drive to the airport in the middle of the night. She was standing on the arrival floors, on her tiptoes, trying to locate the person she was picking up. The flow of travellers coming through the arrival doors was continuous, so many blond heads coming through and none of them was his.

Her childhood best friend’s flight had landed a dozen of minutes prior; 3:28 a.m. was the time she received a “be right there, see you soon” text. Ever since then, the seconds had been going past very - very - slowly and with every second passing, Y/N chest had got narrower from anticipation to the point she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It hadn’t been more than a year and a half now that they had seen each other in the flesh. Of course, there were the texts, the emails and the FaceTime calls, but it was never the same.

“Jake!”

The sea of people in front of them seemed to split in half to let them collide in one another. The said Jake let his bag fall to his feet to catch a flying Y/N, lifting her from the ground as if she weighted nothing. Her hands found the back of his neck and her head found the crook of his neck, reuniting their bodies as if they were only one mind.

“Hey sweetheart,” he sniffed her hair, intoxicating himself from her perfume.

Jake let her down reluctantly when he realized they were in the way of other people reunions. After swinging his bag over his shoulder and dragging her near a row of seats, he finally took a good look at her, dark circles under puffy red eyes and hair all other the place. He dried her tears softly and kissed the top of her head, something he was sure he hadn’t done since they were in high school and that fucker of Chad had broken up her heart - thinking of it now, it seemed like it was a lifetime away. However, he knew that in this moment there was no sadness in her tears. She was crying probably a little happiness to seeing him again, but most certainly a lot of relief to have him alive in front of her.

He took another step back to have an even greater look at her. Y/N was exactly how he last saw her one year or so ago, and exactly how she looked like even all the other times he had to leave. She did not seem to age, and he was sure that the fine smile lines she was now wearing had always been there. It brought comfort to his heart to know that whatever would happen, she would always be waiting for him. He knew it was also selfish, but he had made peace with those thoughts a long time ago. These were moments that he was collecting in his mind for when he was somewhere overseas, fighting for his life.

“My my, did you grow up a few inches?”

“Oh, shut up!” Y/N laughed and tried to nudge him in the ribs. Jake easily grabbed her right elbow to bring her closer in another embrace, so very glad to be home, even only for a little while.

Ventilation was swinging litters of hot air into the car's cabin as it was a rather chilly night for October in Texas. The full moon was lighting up all the roads in front of them, just as if it was making sure they would get home safely.

During the drive, the main discussion turned around how excited everyone would be to have him there. Y/N and her parents were the only ones to know about Jake’s surprise visit; they had only known for about three days before his flight landed that he unexpectedly got a week of leave. They would surprise his family later that day for lunch - only after they both had a rather long nap to make up for the sleepless night.

Jake had seen his family a couple more times than Y/N this past year and a half. Even if he considered Y/N to be family, this wasn’t exactly the rule of the administration. Blood family had some more privileges, like sometimes visiting for the holidays. His mother and one of his little sisters also visited him in Singapore when he was stationed there for an exercise in the Taiwan Strait; they had booked a vacation to be able to see him there. Y/N, at that time, had been unavailable - she had her own life after all.

It was what Jake found the more difficult; to keep up with her life. Most of her friends were common friends from high school. With her going to a different university and later with her different jobs, some of her friends were total strangers to him. However, they all seemed to come and go into her life, leaving more or less damage.

“I am sorry about you and Nick.”

Y/N finished getting back to the right line of the highway and removing the blinker, before glancing quickly in Jake’s direction. He was looking at her, with an expression she couldn’t quite read, but that she understood as some kind of gladness. She sighed while turning her focus back on the road.

“You can lie better than that, Jake.”

“Well, didn’t like the guy so…”

It had been a couple of months now than her longtime boyfriend Nick and she had broken up. What confused Jake the most was how this was not a topic for discussion. She hadn’t called crying; she did not seem to be angry. She just announced it to him like it was nothing and directly switched subject. He hadn’t found a way to bring it back on the table, so he asked their friends and family. They all had the same answer; she was doing fine. She seemed to have continued her life just like nothing had happened.

“Was it him-”

“It was me,” Y/N cut him off quickly abruptly, leaving Jake with an uneasy feeling. She sighed again, probably realizing how harsh her tone had been. “This wasn’t working out anyway.”

Though she could not see him, Jake nodded back acknowledging her response. He still felt like there were more to it, but he understood that now wasn’t the time to discuss it. Ever since they had known each other - and it went back to kindergarten, they hadn’t had many secrets for one another. And if they had, it was never anything major.

So, he shook off this feeling and gently grabbed her hand resting on the gearshift to squeeze it softly.

“I do am sorry, though.”

“I know.”

It was nearly six in the morning when Y/N pulled up in her parents’ driveway.

The porch light was on, welcoming them, making sure Jake knew he was expected, and it made him smile fondly. It still felt surreal somehow; after everything, he was home. Getting out of the car, he breathed the fresh air of Texas like he hadn’t breathed in years.

Y/N was already opening her trunk, getting out a duffel bag that seemed to contain some clothes for today. Jake jogged toward her before she was able to get his own khaki bag out. She rolled her eyes, smiling, when he gently slapped her hands away to take care of it.

“Mom set up a spare bed in my room,” Y/N informed him while walking to the front door. “Just like the old days.”

And nothing in the house had changed either.

The hallway was still a drive along memories with all sorts of pictures hanged upon the wall. Y/N’s parents wedding portrait. Y/N’s baby pictures. Y/N on the day of the start of her first kindergarten year - just before they met each other. A couple more of first day of school pictures - this time with him in it as well. A couple of family vacation pictures. And along with them, a couple of pictures of events he wasn’t even there to attend. Y/N’s university graduation, her parents’ thirty-year anniversary celebration party, her first promotion celebration dinner…

The kitchen was still on the right, the living room on the left and straight ahead the stairs to the bedrooms. Y/N’s bedroom still had Justin Timberlake poster hung up on the walls along with some pictures of friends and family. The teddy bear he won for her at the funfair when they were not even ten stood on her bed. Jake swore that if he opened the dresser, he would still find the shelf that was for his stuff back then.

Without many words, both of them got ready for bed. Y/N took the en-suite bathroom first and when Jake got back in his sweatpants, she was already in bed, cuddling Mister B the teddy bear. His chuckle made her look up to him with sleepy eyes and quickly look away when she realized he didn’t wear a shirt. He kissed her on her forehead before tugging her more tightly in her sheets and turning off the bedside lamp.

“Do you remember when I couldn’t sleep unless someone was holding my hand?”

Jake only hummed in answer, and even in the darkness of her room, his hand found hers instinctively. Their fingers intertwining immediately, he did just as he had promised when he was only just a kid; he never let it go.

“Son,” Y/N’s father spoke from the other side of the kitchen, “don’t worry about it.”

Jake shook his head, smiling, before proceeding with what he was already doing: loading the cup he had used to drink coffee in the dishwasher. Ever since he had been up earlier that morning, Y/N’s parents had pampered him with all their attention while also being busy preparing lunch. Every time he asked if they needed help, they would assure him he just needed to stay put in his seat.

It had always been like this, for as long as he had remembered. Whenever he had gone over when Y/N and he were still in middle school, her parents had always taken good care of him, making sure the crust of his PB&J sandwiches were cut off, putting on his favourite beddings when they were having a sleepover, drying his clothes in the air dryer when they came home soaking wet from the park. He felt loved in a different way than he did at home, where he had a hard time adjusting to his new family dynamics with his two younger step-sitters. Growing up, they continued on listening to him and caring for him. Y/N’s father was the one he went to for advice before he enrolled. Ever since, and with the little time he had with them every time he came home, it still hit him in the face how much they loved him like he was their own son.

“Do you need help with anything?” He asked once more.

This time, they did not have time to answer. Y/N appeared on the doorstep, changed out of her pyjamas, hair still wet. “The shower is all yours, Jake.”

She watched him go as if she had to make sure he remembered the way to her room. She hadn’t really realized yet that he was really here, with them, and feared that he would just disappear at any minute or that she would just wake up from whatever dream she was having. Somehow this also seemed to be all too familiar, like a play they had rehearsed a hundred time before. It broke her heart a little to know this was most likely not going to happen again before a very long time, that it could actually never happen again.

Y/N got this thought out of her head as soon as it came. She didn’t need to think about this. Not now. Not ever. She just needed to enjoy whatever time she had with him at home.

“He looks good,” her mum stated once Jake had made it to the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, he does,” Y/N spoke softly, eyes lingering to where Jake had been only a couple of seconds before, suddenly wondering if he was really as good as they thought.

When Jake got back to the kitchen the entrance clock had just struck eleven. Only sixty minutes until he would be reunited with his family. It never felt more real, but he couldn’t quite realize it. He was so used of being far away from them, totally disconnected from their realities, hearing their news after everyone else. Yet, he had always found them as he had left them, eyes watering to see him home or gone.

He joined Y/N on the vegetable preparation. Washing, peeling, cutting kept him busy while the anticipation started to build up. All while Y/N’s father asked him about what new manoeuvres he had learned. Being an aviator himself, they could talk about flying for hours to Y/N’s greatest damn; she had the biggest fear of flying - and perhaps the fact that Jake nearly crashed them while flying an old aircraft he had restored with her father when they were teenagers had something to do with it.

“These boys,” Y/N’s mother sighed playfully as Jake and Y/F/N were debating whatever solar planes were the future of aviation. Y/N smiled as she shared a knowing look with her mother, who was getting ready to lay the table in the dining room.

“Mom, hold on,” Y/N called before reaching inside the cupboard next to her, “you are missing a plate.”

“Why? Is Mark coming after all?”

Y/M/N’s face went white in only a second as she realized what she had just said. Not knowing what to do else, Y/N handed her the white plate. Looking sideways to Jake, she hoped he hadn’t heard - she didn’t want him to find out like this, when his whole family was going to be here in the next thirty minutes.

It was already too late though; Jake’s attention had of course switched to their awkward interaction. Her father was quick to step in, wiping his hands on a cloth and moving towards his wife.

“Of course he is, darling. Let me help you bring those into the dining room.”

Y/N watched them disappear before quickly turning back to the carrots she was now cutting in a Julienne, praying Jake would just drop the subject. Ever since she had learned that Jake was having a leave, she had planned their reunion to be perfect. She had purposely lied to his family, pretending to have a very big news to share with them so they all agreed to gather even if the atmosphere was not good. She had made them promise to bury the hatchet, for “her” and most absolutely for Jack. Whatever touchy topics they would have to talk about, they could do it after.

“Why wouldn’t he come?” Jake still asked and, at that moment, she knew that whatever she would tell him would never be sufficient to not draw his suspicion any further. She couldn’t lie to him even if she tried.

“Just been busing with work lately, you know how it is.”

Without letting him time to ask more questions, Y/N went for the stoves to make sure the sauce was still reducing as it should have. She could feel Jake’s eyes burning holes on her back and could only hope he would drop the subject.

“Jake, son,” Y/F/N had just gotten back from the dining room, “would you mind giving me a hand with the roast?”

After taking a last look at Y/N, still very focused on stirring the sauce, Jake turned to her father. It wasn’t until she didn’t feel his eyes on her that she turned to look at him. She watched as her father made him took out the turkey so he could put some more butter on it. Out of the corner of his eye his father gives him a reassuring wink signalling her he had got this.

The bell rang at the exact same moment Y/N put the last plate of hors d’oeuvres at the centre of the table. Shooting a look across the piece, she saw her father squeezing Jake’s shoulder in what seemed to comfort him. She smiled shyly, trying to hide her own nervousness. Thanks to her father, Jake had nearly forgotten about the earlier incident about Mark and the reason he wouldn’t have been able to make it. He hadn’t asked any other questions, and they hadn’t given away other secrets. All was well in the best of all words, or so she still tried to convince herself. It was all that mattered.

“Just like we said, you both stay here, and we’ll bring them for you.”

Y/N watched as her parents disappeared in the hall. She turned to Jake who she now realized he was close at her side - she knew from the way his lips were set in a tight smile that he was somehow nervous. When noises started coming from the hall, Y/N grabbed Jake’s hand without thinking. She needed him to know she was there, that she would always be there, just like they promised when they were younger. It would take much more than a thousand of miles and a few hiccups to take them apart. As if he was thinking the exact same thing, Jake squeezed her hand back.

Jake’s step-dad was the first to enter the dining room. Y/N saw his eyes go from herself to Jake right next to her side, his eyes lighting up in realization. Yet, he didn’t say anything, holding a finger to his lips to let them know he would stay silent while moving further into the room as if nothing had happened. He and Jake had never been particularly close; he was a good man, a good husband, and a good father to his daughters, but Jake’s fatherly figure had always been Y/N’s father.

Next to enter the room was Jake’s youngest step-sister, Sophia. She immediately spotted him, letting out a cry and running into his arms. He crushed his sister in one of those same hugs he gave Y/N when she picked him up from the airport. It warmed her heart to see them like that. Sophia was still very young when Jake had enrolled; she was only just a kid and had grown up with the lack of his older brother. She was looking up to him so much that Y/N had sometimes to remind her that he didn’t have only qualities. He was her hero in so many ways…

Sophia’s reaction got the rest of the family - his mother, Olivia, his other step-sister, and his step-brother, Mark - in the dining room quite quickly. There were a lot of “Jake!” shouted from across the room and loads of tears, happy smiles, and hugs.

“I can’t believe he is here.” Sophia cried again; this time she was in Y/N’s arms. “And I can’t believe you lied to us.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Y/N smiled, tugging a string of her hair behind her ears before bringing her in an even closer hug if it was possible. She wasn’t sure she had seen her this happy in her life, she realized.

Y/N was an only child with a very little family. Over the years, Jake’s family had grown to be her own as well. As children first, as they were always all together at either one’s house or the others. As teenagers when his step-sisters weren’t babies anymore and they had started to be able to play more with them. She remembered helping his mom getting both of his sisters ready for school, all of them celebrating Christmas at her parents or going dress shopping for Olivia’s first prom.

Ever since Jake had been deployed on the West Coast and later overseas, they had grown even closer. There were brunches on Sundays, just the three of them, where Sophia would file them up on her latest dating adventures. There were lunches at Olivia’s office after they had taken a midday yoga class. There were breakfasts with Sophia before her classes began. Y/N had always made sure they were alright, as if she had to do it for Jake.

So far, the lunch had turned out great.

Jake had told them all about his last position and this group of pilots he had been joining overseas. Everyone had started feeding him bits and pieces of what had occurred ever since the last time he’s been home. Olivia and Mark had managed not to fight, which was a miracle in itself, per Y/N’s opinion. Jake’s mom had finally stopped crying. And Sophia seemed to have forgotten about those hard choices she would have to make once she graduated from college at the end of the year.

At least, that was the case until Jake asked about it.

“So, any thoughts yet about what you’ll do next year?”

“No, not really.”

Y/N had already seen that look on Sophia’s face. It was the same one she made when she was hesitating between an avocado toast and pancakes at the place they were used to going to brunch; every time she had been making this face, she had ended up with ordering both. Sophia eyed her tentatively and Y/N immediately shook her head no, silently pleading her not to do whatever she was thinking.

Today was not the day. Jake had only gotten back from abroad hours ago, they would have enough time to discuss it in the next couple of days.

“I am thinking of enrolling,” Sophia stated abruptly.

Boom.

The bomb had landed.

Y/N sighed, mentally cursing Sophia for needing whatever validation from him. They all had talked about this extensively for months on now. Decide to enrol was one thing, accept that one of your relative would do the same was another. She knew how Jake was; he didn’t look like it at first sight, but his family was his everything. He had made the selfish decision that could result in them losing him forever, yet he wouldn’t accept that she’d do the same.

From the deathly silence that came after Sophia’s statement, Y/N rested the cutlery on the side of her plate, bracing herself for whatever had to come. Her attitude made Jake immediately turned to her. She had never seen the wrinkle between his eyebrows this deep before. She didn’t know if it was from dread, disappointment, or anger.

“You knew?”

Jaw tight, Y/N didn’t answer, and Jake huffed - of course, she knew. How could she not? She was here, with his own family, when he was thousands of miles away fighting for his country. She was here, only a ride away, when he couldn’t even remember the last time he had enough telephone network to FaceTime them. She was there, physically with them, when he was just a ghost, present for a few days a year before disappearing for months on hand.

Y/N tried to reach out for his left arm to try and calm the whole situation down, but he moved ever so slightly she couldn’t touch him. The fire in Jake’s green eyes was incandescent. He was angry, with Sophia, with her, with everyone. And to know he didn’t even know half of it…

“Let’s not start now,” his older step-sister stepped in to try and reason him.

“Why?” Jake retorted immediately. “Wanna updates me on what is going on with Mark as well?”

Olivia opened her mouth to answer and as she couldn’t seem to find something to say, she then closed it and lowered her head. She and Mark had officially announced a few weeks before Jake returned that they were going to take some time apart. They had been married for nearly three years and they were having a rough path. They had started couple therapy, trying to make things work. Y/N couldn’t count the hours Olivia had spent on her couch, crying and eating ice-creams.

Y/N knew exactly how she felt like. The deception of thinking she had found the love of her life only to realize it was more complex than this. The sadness of loving someone and it still not being enough for the two of them to be happy. The paralyzing fear of being alone, of never being well enough.

She needed a shoulder to cry onto and a lot of love, and not to be reminded of what a failure she thought she was.

“I am sorry,” Sophia mumbled. Y/N wasn’t sure to whom she was apologizing. Jake? Them?

“You can’t seriously be thinking about it?” Jake half-shouted, pointing her finger at her like he was accusing her of the worst betrayal.

“Don’t say anything you’d regret, son.”

Y/N’s father word seemed to put some sense into him as he leaned his back against his chair, folding his arms against his chest. The distress on Sophia’s face was now palpable and she was on the verge of crying from Jake’s quite violent reaction. Though she didn’t expect Jake to be totally supportive, Y/N had not expected him to reject the idea that much either. She had thought that he would’ve still listen to her reasons, maybe try to talk her out of it, but finally make peace with the idea. Just like they had. Just like they all had when he was in her shoes.

Olivia had regained her composure and wrapped an arm around her sister’ shoulders. The look she sent Jake probably refrained him from attacking again his little sister. Instead, he chose another target for his anger.

“How can anybody be cool with this?”

Before Jake’s mom could speak, Y/N called him out. “Why could you do it and not her, Jake, huh?” She wants to be like you so bad, don’t you see?

“That’s not the same thing.”

Y/N huffed and rolled her eyes.

It made her even bitter. For all the things he hadn’t told her when he had no reason to hide it from her. For him being hurt that they didn’t want to discuss as such important topics over the phone. She would have liked to be sorry to hide all this from him, yet his reaction had only comfort her on her choice.

“You’re being unfair.”

“Am I now?” he laughed. “Excuse me for putting my life at sake and not wishing for me sister to do the same.”

“Did anybody ask you to? If anything, we would all have loved to keep you by our side.”

“Oh, I see. So, this is all my fault, right?”

The daring look he offered her made her heart jump in her chest. Her stomach was in fire; consuming her from the inside. She was tired from the sleepless nights she had for the last few months. And sad about the outcome of this lunch. And disappointed in him. And quite frankly done with his attitude.

Sighing, she gave in and looked away, throwing her napkin on her plate at the same time. Whatever this was, it was too much for her to handle. “If you’d excuse me,” she announced as she moved her chair back. “I am not hungry anymore.”

“Y/N-” he called after her, grabbing her arm to make her stay. She gave him a pained look before abruptly pulling away from his grip.

“Welcome home, Jake.”

Jake’s face appeared once again on her phone screen.

Big bright smile, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, forehead sun-kissed by the first rays of sunshine of spring. The picture had been taken one of the few times she had fly out to California to visit him. They had such a good time that Y/N used to hold all those memories close to her heart. Now, she couldn’t even look at it.

She couldn’t count the number of texts Jake had sent nor the number of messages he had left on her voice mail. She hadn’t read nor listened to any of them and had even decided to turn off her phone at some point during the night. She needed some time alone to take a breath and to swallow the disappointment that was forming a lump in her throat.

Despite the emotional roller coaster this day had been, she hadn't fallen asleep until late in the night, turning over in the sheet nonstop while thinking of all the comebacks she could have said to his face. And like every other night for months now, when she had finally managed to get some sleep, her worst nightmare had woken her up a couple of hours later.

It only made her feel worse and she cried all the tears in her body. It was like whatever emotion she had retained in the last year had come back to her like a wrecking ball. She was angry for all sorts of reasons all linked to Jake one way or another. She was also very sad of the situation she found herself into, of Jake having spoiled their reunion, of the spectacle she had given in front of her loved ones.

So, when she turned on her phone a few hours later, eyes still puffy and red from the lack of sleep and the crying, she didn’t hesitate to turn down his call when his smiley face appeared on her phone screen. At that time, she discovered the multiple texts and missed calls of her parents and Jake’s sisters. She sent them a quick group message, letting them know she was fine and that she would catch up later. Leaving her phone on the kitchen counter, she got ready for her day.

Her phone rang four more times while she was getting ready. She was now determined to let him know to leave her alone. She was still pissed, and she needed to compose herself. This was without counting on the doorbell ringing when she was about to answer her phone.

Stopping whatever she was doing, she made the few steps from the kitchen counter to her apartment door, opening it without even thinking who she would find behind. Much to her surprise it was the only person she didn’t want to see. Jake. Standing there, phone in his hand.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed when she nearly shut the door in his face.

He stopped it before it was fully closed and after a deep sigh, Y/N let him in without even giving him a look. She closed the door behind him, passing him - still without looking at him - and went to the living room. She leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms on her chest much like he had done during lunch just the day before.

Jake stood in the middle of the room, watching around him. It was the first time he was in her new place, the one she started rented after she broke up with her long-term boyfriend. It wasn’t much, only a one-bedroom apartment with a sanitized decor - she hadn’t had the heart to make it her own. It was close to her work and not a too long drive from her parents; it was all she really needed.

Y/N studied him in silence. He must not have had the memo about the Texas weather at that time of the year as he was only wearing a beige sweater, sleeves rolled up. It wasn’t much of a surprise he had forgotten how it was; he had spent so little time home in the last ten years.

When her eyes finally got to his face, she realized he was now staring at her. She tried reading him like she could before, but what she found in his eyes, she couldn’t interpret. Perhaps something had been broken between them. Perhaps there were only so much absence someone could handle. Perhaps they had let the miles come in between them for real this time.

She couldn’t tell how long they stayed like this before he finally spoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Long gone was the hope she had that he would apologize.

Jake had never been one to be wrong; he was probably even the most stubborn person she had ever met. Though she liked this confidence in him, she also knew it was hiding something much deeper. His trauma of being abandoned by his father when he was still a toddler. The fear of his loved ones realizing what a failure he was, despite everything he had already accomplished. The fear of never being enough.

He had assured her it wasn’t one of the reasons he had enrolled, and she knew he was lying to her just as much he was lying to himself. But she wasn’t her twenty-something-self; she wasn’t going to protect his feelings anymore. Now that they didn’t have an audience, she could lay her cards on the table.

“Do you mean, just like you didn’t tell us about the ejection seat accident that you had six months ago?”

She saw his face drop ever so slightly before he regained his composure back. She wasn’t the only one keeping things from him, yet contrary to him, the things she was keeping a secret weren’t really hers anyway.

“How would you know?”

“Javy called me that time,” she stated dryly, memories of the call she got in the middle of the night flowing to her head. She still had nightmares about it most nights. “He wanted me to know in case your brain injury worsened, and they had to call your family.”

This secret, she had never told anyone and had carried the weight of it on her own until now. She had smiled and assured everyone that all was fine for the days - sixteen in total - they didn’t hear from him; how could he, he had been literally in a 24h surveillance at the hospital. She had had Javy on the phone to report every little detail he had of Jake’s evolution. She hadn’t had sleep for weeks straight and had nearly cried when Jake had called him after a very busy and unexpected mission he took part in - another way for putting he had just got cleared from the hospital.

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing, Jake! You got banned from flying for six weeks. Six fucking weeks!”

“And yet, it wasn’t the first time I ended up in the hospital, nor was it the last time. You know that’s part of the job.”

Y/N snorted.

Like hell she knew. The job description went with never being in the same time zone as your loved ones, missing every single milestone in their life, putting his very own safety at risk so they could all be free and safe, and omitting all details of the national security missions to which he was taking part. She was pretty sure though there was no line in his contract about lying about his health, especially when he could have died, to his family.

For some reason, this whole situation had made his absence even worse. She realized he didn’t feel safe to let them know when things had gone bad; if this time she had known, she couldn’t even imagine all those other times Javy hadn’t been there to inform her. It had awakened a visceral (and most likely also irrational) fear in her. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him and she still wasn’t ready to accept it.

“Why is this such a big deal when you knew what was going in here and didn’t even tell me?”

If she hadn’t been this tired, Y/N would have probably walked to him to slap him. How could he compare his near-death experience to his sisters’ decisions? How could any of it be equivalent?

“This was not my truth to tell,” she only replied blankly.

Yes, she wasn’t very proud of hiding things from Jake and lying on purpose. But she wasn’t thirteen any longer and when people confided in her - when she promised she wouldn’t tell him anything - she wasn’t going to go running to her best friend to spill all the tea.

“Will you then tell me the truth about what really happened between you and the other dickhead?”

“I already told you everything,” she answered dryly, a little bit too quickly for it not to be suspicious.

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N knew from the sound of his voice it was pure provocation. He gave her the same daring look she had just seen the day before - the same consuming flame was in his eyes - and she could see his infamous smirk dawning on his lips. She wondered why he wanted to prove just how right he was - how he was always right - so bad. It made her skin scramble how infuriating he was.

She didn’t answer right away and stared at him, arms crossed on her chest a little bit tighter to protect herself. Everything that was happening was only making her angrier towards him. He had ruined everything, and he had just decided to continue on doing so.

She had dreamt about him coming home for months and months, to have him by her side and now, she could only wish for him to go away. The anger, the pain, the animosity; it was all too much. She couldn’t keep up anymore.

“What do you want me to tell you, huh? How much of a great boyfriend and man he was, but that it still wasn’t enough? How much a horrible person I am for not being able to fall in love with a person that would devote his own life to try and make me happy?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but closed it as the words sank in. It all made sense to him suddenly. Why she seemed to be relieved it was all over. Why she didn’t call him after he broke her heart. Why, on the rare occasion he had discussed the break-up with his sisters, they had never talked badly about her ex-boyfriend. He didn’t break her heart. He never did.

She was the one breaking his.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked, this time his voice much softer.

How could she? When it all started with his accident - that she wasn’t even supposed to know of. When it took her five years of a stable relationship to realize her longtime boyfriend had never have been the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. When it took her half of her adult life to understand she had been lying to herself for almost all her life and that even now, she didn’t know her truth from her lies any more.

Knowing the truth, Jake didn’t know what to say. He wanted to feel sorry, he wanted to tell her he was. But was he really? It would be lying to say he didn’t exult when he had heard of the break-up... On the day she introduced him to Nick, they he had discussed - quite vividly - about the country actions in Afghanistan - one of the campaigns he had just come home from - and from that day, Jake had just decided he wouldn’t like the man. He hadn’t been very subtle about disliking him, but in his opinion, Nick had paid him back in his own coin: monopolizing Y/N whenever Jake had her on the phone, making her choose between the two of them when he had had the opportunity to fly her oversea. He still felt nauseous to recall how Y/N had seemed to only look at him every time Nick was in the room with them.

He made a few steps in her direction, going to comfort her, but Y/N only shook her head. She wouldn’t let any of this go so easily. It wasn’t because she had confided in him, that he now knew all the truth from her part, that everything else would be forgotten. There were still a lot of unspoken truth to uncover.

“Why are you really here, Jake?”

“What do you mean?”

“The reason you got this leave, what is it?”

They stood less than a metre away, eyes in eyes. Jake never felt so vulnerable as every time she looked at him as if she could read his soul. He knew she was looking for something. Something he couldn’t give her.

Looking away, he answered, “It’s nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Y/N slipped away before he could even react. He watched as she turned back towards the front door. She opened it without a word and looked into his eyes as she stood leaned against it.

“Goodbye, Jake.”

And this time, he didn’t even try to fight.

Javy: Hey, got Hangman on the phone today. You okay?

Y/N: Did he vent at you for calling me that one time?

Javy: Almost.

Javy: He wasn’t really angry though. Just frustrated I guess.

Y/N: I bet. Wasn’t really the nice little break he must have planned.

Javy: If there is anything to learn from all this it is that truth is better spoken from the person they apply to.

Javy: You should talk to him.

Y/N: Yeah well I’ll see about that.

Jake was very nervous, and he wasn’t very nervous a lot.

In fact, he was pretty sure the last time he was that nervous was when he had picked Y/N up for their senior prom. Just like every year since starting high school, she had been his date - though Chad nearly had taken her away from him, but this dumbass had broken up with her only a couple of weeks before prom. That year, for some reason, everything felt different. High school years were coming to an end, they were both going to different universities. Everything was about to change, and it would never be the same. Jake had dreaded taking their relationship to the next level. If only he had known that despite going to different universities, Jake enrolling and basically the two of them living their life in parallel, their relationship had made it.

More or less so... It had been three days now since the lunch at her parents, two since their other discussion - if he would call this an argument, he was still unsure - and today was the first time he was seeing her since then.

After spending time with his family, he was on his way to meet with some of their childhood friends. Normally, Y/N was one of them and she had been invited. But with the recent events, he didn’t know if she would be here. He had had time to reflect on what had been said and finally had apologized to her voice mail as she wouldn’t let his calls through. He had given her plenty of time and space, sending in only a couple of good mornings and good nights texts, just like he was used to. Yet he didn’t know what to expect.

When he spotted her already sat at the table he had booked, his heart started pounding furiously. It gave him hope not everything between them had been broken.

“Hey,” Jake greeted Y/N softly when he had gotten at her level.

Y/N only nodded, barely looking at him, before continuing her discussion with their friend, Monica, like nothing had happened. Jake swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing to greet everyone around the table.

In all those diners they had had with their friends when he had been home, she would have been sat next to him, so close but merely touching. He would have had his arm resting nonchalantly on the back of her chair. He would have whispered all sorts of things in her ears, and she would have laughed open light-heartedly at every single one of his jokes.

That night, she was sat as far as possible from him and he had difficulty focusing on the group discussion, his mind going back to her every time. He probably went the whole evening looking at her not so subtly in the hope she would like to give him a look. She did not.

“You good?” Matt, sat at his side, asked him after the main course.

“Yeah,” Jake answered though the little tremor in his voice didn’t reflect confidence.

“Just give her a little time. It’s just a lot, y’know.”

Jake only nodded.

The problem was indeed just that: time. His flight back was in two days now and she was supposed to be his ride. He knew she would be able to drop him off without speaking a word, while he sat there in the agonizing silence. He was sure he was not able to do it for a couple of hours, he couldn’t imagine what it would be to not have her speak to him every again. He couldn’t get back to combat with Y/N still mad at him. He needed to fix things. He had been able to do it with his sisters; he had to do it with Y/N.

Indeed, the lunch had finished soon after Y/N’s dramatic departure. His sisters hadn’t spoken another word to him, and Y/N’s parents had tried to maintain some semblance of a conversation. Jake had taken a quick walk to clear his mind before going to his parents.

He had sat down with Olivia first and then Sophia, so they could tell him everything that had been going on. He sat there listening to what they had to say until they were done. There had been a lot of crying on their side (only a tiny little bit on his side - most likely because he had a dust in the eye, he would say). In the end, they had hugged and laughed and remembered that they loved each other and that nothing could be more important than that.

He had realized Olivia seemed much more at peace, somehow differently but also similarly to Y/N’s. She had so many plans on her side - buying a house, planning a trip to Europe, getting a puppy – as if she had just discovered she could be a unique person outside her marriage and she genuinely was happier.

The talk with Sophia had been a little bit more sensitive. The idea of her enrolling made his blood boiling, but he had remained calm – or at least tried to - and listened to her reasons. If he was afraid to see himself in her, her reasons were solely different than his. She didn’t want this only to do like him; it was more that he had paved the way for her. He had made her promise to think some more about it - at least, graduate from college before deciding anything - and he had promised to be supportive. He would have some work on himself, but he would cross that bridge when he’d get there.

They had of course talked about Y/N and how she was carrying the whole family on her shoulders. She always made sure everyone was alright, answering her phone at 3 a.m. to pick up Sophia from a frat party gone wild, welcoming Olivia in her tiny apartment - giving her the only bed to sleep on the couch, despite her protest - the time she turned things round after Mark and she had decided to take some time apart. She even made sure their mother was alright when his step-dad was away for business, bringing her homemade meals that she only had to heat up and keeping her company.

If he always knew what an amazingly caring person she was, it only proved him right. He would be forever grateful she was the first person to have talked to him on his first day of kindergarten. He would be forever grateful for the woman she was. If he was honest with himself, it all made him love her even more.

He wasn’t ready to watch her from afar - well, from much far away than his current position - but he would do it (or at least try), should she ask him to…

After what seemed to be an eternity, the evening finally came to an end.

Jake didn’t get the opportunity to speak to Y/N though he hesitated multiple times to just call her out or walk to her and demand that they had a chat. She was currently bidding goodbye to everyone in front of the restaurant, and Jake was watching her attentively to ambush her just as soon as she was finished. He didn’t care if he would be rude to anyone by not saying thank you for coming and goodbye; he needed to talk to her.

After she hugged Monica and promised to let her know when she got home safely, she reached for her car key in her bag and made her way to her car without even looking at him. Jake took his luck and followed her. He called after her, but she refused to acknowledge him.

“Can we not?”

“Why?” she turned around suddenly. “Want me to tell you anything else?”

“Y/N, please.”

She only raised an eyebrow before turning back and continuing walking. Too bad for her, Jake wasn’t one to give up this easily. He followed her lead up to her car that she started to unlock to get in. A wave of panic got through him as he could feel her slip away from his fingers and he didn’t want that. If they didn’t have this talk now, he was not sure they would have it at all.

“I only have two days left,” he said, interposing himself between the closed door and her. “Please.”

Y/N froze at only a few centimetres away from him. She seemed to think about what options she had. Unfortunately for her, there just wasn’t much as she couldn’t make Jake move even if she wanted to. So, she chose the reasonable choice. She crossed her arms over her chest and listened.

“I-” he sighed, passing a hand on his face, frustration clearly visible on his face now. “There has been an incident. We lost two men.”

Y/N’s arms immediately dropped to her side; the mask she wore on her face cracked. She could have been angry he lied to her, yet again, but this time, it was too serious. People died. The command had given them time off because of it. It only reminded her it could end at any time. She really could lose him.

“Jake,” she sighed.

“I-”

His voice broke and Y/N didn’t hesitate to go in for a hug. Out of habits, his arms found her waist and he buried his face in her hair. He breathed her perfume in, trying to ground himself and not totally lose it. She was his rock. There were no ways he would still be here if it wasn’t for her waiting for him at home.

He couldn’t lose her.

“I can only imagine the worry I cause you all,” he muttered in her hair. “I didn’t want to add anything to it.”

Y/N grabbed his face with both her hands and forced him to look at her. She wore a small frown on her eyebrows and determination in her eyes. While she was touched he wanted to spare their feelings, not knowing what was going on was even worse. She couldn’t count the number of times she had thought he was dead when an unknown number had called her phone. In order to support him the best way they could, they needed to know.

“Getting you back in one piece is our priority,” she started, voice bold as if she wanted him to engrave her words in his head. “That’s why we are keeping things to ourselves. We don’t want you to worry about us when you should be solely focused on staying alive.”

Jake half-smiled in return, which made Y/N relax a bit. Her hands fall on his shoulder as he kept her close to him, so close that there was no space between their two bodies. They had realized they wanted the exact same thing for one another: for them to be safe and sound.

“I worry about you all, all the time. I worry about you, all the time,” he confessed, his voice still low.

Jake reached out to tuck a loose string of hair behind her ear and Y/N instinctively leaned in his touch. It was like this between them, easy and pure. It always had. Sometimes - like these last past days, they were so caught up in life they seemed to forget what they had was so unique. Every time they had found their way back to each other.

“I left you alone while I am off, living my dream.”

“Don’t say it like you could have made any other choice, Jake.”

“I don’t regret it,” he answered right back. “Yet if I had to do it all over again, there are a lot of things about you that I would do a whole lot differently.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her heart rate slightly going up. If they often shared I-love-you’s more out of habits than anything else - though they were always genuine, Jake had never really expressed out loud how he felt about her, and from the electricity in the air - totally different from the explosive tension that had built up until now, she could feel there were more to it.

“It’s never too late, they say,” he smiled softly, his hand making it to the back of her neck.

Y/N hold her breath, searching in his eyes if he was being serious and if he was really wanting to finish the conversation they had started the night of their senior prom. If he wanted to do it right here, right now in a parking lot. It was a conversation that could have totally changed their life if they had it. A conversation for which they every so often imagined what they would have said if fear hadn’t stopped them.

If there were much younger back then, nothing now had changed at all.

“I’ve always been yours,” Y/N whispered. It would be lying if relief hadn’t wash over Jake. Of course he had known - he had always known - yet, hearing it was another thing.

“I know.”

Y/N’s bright eyes saw his eyes dove down to her lips, only a dozen of centimetres away she realized now, then back to her eyes. Her cheeks were burning up from the anticipation of what was to come. Yet, lost in each other’s eyes, none of them moved.

At that moment, the world could have stopped that they wouldn’t have noticed. Nothing else but them mattered.

“Well, kiss me then.”

[enmi-land]

WHAT’S UP ?

📄 ◜ ────𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗴; 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗰��� 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲...

ʬʬʬ. 2024 pairing. nishimura riki x femoc!member req. nk getting jealous of ml with other 05-liners cw. jealousy, kabedon, teasing ( LIBRARY )

RIKI NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD SEE THE DAY WHERE he would be third-wheeling on his own date, but that was before he and Mila bumped into Harua and Taki while they were out and about on what was supposed to be a romantic outing with just the two of them.

Make no mistake, Riki was good friends with the two of them and had nothing against them personally. He was even glad to see them, happy to be reunited with his fellow 05’-liners. But somehow, it seemed they were a lot happier to see Mila than they were to see him — and that Mila was unusually happy to see them, too.

Since when were they close? Riki thought with a pout as he watched Mila reach up to ruffle Harua’s hair.

“How have you been?” Mila asked in a sweet tone, mirroring how one would speak to a baby or a cute puppy they come across on the road. It was one that was usually reserved for her boyfriends — the younger ones, especially — and so Riki was astounded to hear her use it on the Japanese male. Even more so when she cooed as Harua nodded happily. “Ah, what even? Why are you so cute?”

Cute? Cute? Riki clenched his jaw the slightest bit as he watched Mila smile at him with those eyes of hers, laughing at something he had said. Riki continued to stare at her, as if it would magically make her look his way. But the woman was none the wiser.

Now, Riki was not the possessive type, nor was he the type to be jealous of his girlfriend having male friends. But he couldn’t deny the twist in his gut as Mila continued to pay attention to the other two males while he stood right there, waiting for her to tell him that she was ready to resume their date.

Riki licked the insides of his cheek. He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor, nodding along to whatever the three were talking about so as not to seem rude. But his foot was tapping subconsciously, his eyes flickering to the time displayed on the face of his watch.

“By the way, were you two heading somewhere?” Taki asked, looking between the couple. “We’ll leave you to it, if that’s the case.”

“Huh? That’s okay! We don’t mind, right Ni-ki?” Mila blinked up at Riki, reminding the tall male of how small she looked in comparison to him. But while he would usually smirk at their height difference, he found himself noticing something else.

Ni-ki? Ever since they started dating, Mila never called him by anything other than his first name and a choice collection of pet names. He looked at Taki and he realised why. But still… It wasn’t like they would be confused— Taki would already know by default who Mila was talking about. Right?

“Still,” Taki said, cutting through Riki’s thoughts like a blade, “we shouldn’t hold you back for too long— we have somewhere to be as well, so we’ll let you go now.”

Mila hummed. She nodded understandingly thought it was obvious she wasn’t too eager to let the duo go, given how she patted Harua’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as he bowed and departed. She sighed, waving at the duo as they walked away. “He’s just so cute…”

“I know,” Riki deadpanned, the smile he offered Taki and Harua slipping form his face. “You only mentioned it like three times already.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, before turning on his heels. “Come on.”

Mila blinked before trialing after the young man like a puppy nipping at his heels, her wide eyes looking up at him in question. “Hey,” she called softly, her hand tugging on the sleeve of her jacket. “Are you okay?”

Riki scoffed under his breath. Who would be okay after they had to watch their girlfriend fawn over another man, even going as far as to call him ‘cute’? And when they were supposed to be going out as a couple, at that. He pettily ignored her calls, instead speeding up his steps.

“Oh… Wait a minute, are you jealous?” When Riki didn’t respond, Mila giggled. “Really? I didn’t think you’d be that jealous, considering you hate being called cute… But you know, the way you’re acting right now is really cute too.” Mila smiled as she skipped alongside his long strides. He still refused to look at her, causing her to become even more endeared by his behaviour. “Hey, Ni-ki—!”

Riki clicked his tongue. In one smooth movement, he seized Mila’s wrist, pulling her into the emergency staircase that they happened to pass as they walked towards the exit of the Hybe building. Mila gasped at the sudden movement. She momentarily lost her balance, flailing forward at the sudden force. But before she could fall over, Riki trapped her between his body and the firm wall against her back — one hand on the wall above her and the other on her waist.

Mila froze, eyes wide as she stared up at him, breath caught in her throat at the sudden proximity. She swallowed thickly. “W-what are you doing…?”

It was meant to come to stern, scolding even. Yet under the heat of his gaze and his towering figure, the words came out breathless — just like what she felt in that moment. “It’s Riki.”

Mila gasped like a fish. “What?”

Riki smirked slightly at her flustered expression, taking on the redness of her cheeks and her avoidant gaze. But he schooled his expression before she could notice his amusement. “Call my name,” he said lowly, his deep voice causing Mila to melt on the spot. “You keep calling me ‘Ni-ki,’ earlier. But that’s not what you usually call me.”

Mila licked her lips, feeling that they had gotten dry. Riki subconsciously followed the action with his eyes, watching the way her pink lips parted to enunciate the syllables of his name. “Riki—”

His name barely left her lips before Riki’s were pressed against hers. The hand on her waist flitted to her jaw, tilting it upwards to allow him more access, his plump lips covering his in a kiss that could only be described as a stamp of longing— too firm to be tender, but too soft to be passionate. Just his mouth on hers filling her tummy with butterflies and making her knees buckle.

By the time Riki separated from her, she was reduced to a blushing mess under his smug smile. “That’s better,” he said. He raised a hand to stroke to stroke top of her head. “Noona’s a good girl.”

“What?” Mila stammered. He never called her Noona, but when he did, it was always intentional. Mila pushed his chest, but Riki noticed she didn’t use any force, instead resting her hands there helplessly — as if he had kissed all the strength out of her. “You spend too much time with Jake,” Mila muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Jake was right when he said that Riki seemed to only learn strange things from his hyungs — flirting, included. The man winked, a charming smile crossing his face, ironically proving Mila’s point. She sighed resting her head against his chest, her heart racing wildly against her own.

Riki was no bad boy, but with the way things were going, he definitely could turn out to be… Bad for Mila’s heart, that is.

TAGLIST @em1ejiee @menichoi @dracoslovergirl @rosas-in-the-garden @blossominghunnie @lovelypham @cornenhapovs

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Sibling Rivalry {3}

Pairing: F1 drivers (platonic) x fem!reader Summary: The rift you have caused comes to a destructive head when summer breaks is over. Warnings: 18+ only, lots of bad language, crash, injuries, angst WC: 2.9k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three

Summer Break “I really fucked up.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the sound hoarse from all the crying. You were curled up on your side on the couch in Pierre’s apartment in Milan, your head on his lap as his hand ran up and down your arm in comfort. “He’s never going to forgive me.”

“He’s your brother, he’ll forgive you,” he assured you once again. “I’ve said way worse things to my brothers. Maybe this break is exactly what you need, get away from Max for a few weeks, have some space.”

“And Lando, and Charles.” You groaned as you rolled onto your back and stared up at your closest friend. “You have a bear in the cave.”

“Gross, don’t look up my nose,” he said as he pushed you off his lap.

“I can’t help it, it’s the angle,” you laughed as you sat up before sobering. “Have you spoken to them?”

“Lando was heading back to Monaco to spend the holidays with Luisa, and Charles was on his way to the Alps to meet up with Charlotte.” 

You sighed at the mention of their girlfriends and Pierre gave you a look of pity that you resented. Pulling your phone out, with the determination to move on from the silly crushes that had developed over the years, you opened the Raya app and shifted closer to him. “Can you help me?”

“Sure,” he said, taking the phone and locking it. “I’m taking you on a road trip.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Ah, but I think it’s what you need.”

Round Fourteen - Netherlands You reunited with the team for Max’s home race and a sea of orange filled the stands, all cheering for their Lion. You had tried to talk to him when you arrived at the track but you didn’t know what to say to repair the rift you had made. Every time you opened your mouth, nothing came out.

“That one’s for you,” Lance said as he tapped your elbow.

“Huh? What? Yeah, totally,” you rambled trying to recover from zoning out thinking about the three weeks of silence, not only with Max but Lando and Charles too. You had sat beside the Canadian on the sofa, the furthest point from the others and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Sorry, what was the question?”

“You look like you enjoyed your vacation with Pierre. It was quite different to how you usually spend your down time.”

“Because I was sober?” you teased. “My liver needed a break, as did my PR team, and it was really quite fun. Exactly what I needed actually and it was great to reconnect with Pierre since he upgraded to Yuki.”

You could feel three sets of eyes on you from the other end but then the conversation was diverted their way and you sagged back into the couch. That was until you heard the news that the holiday had been dubbed ‘break-up season’. Both Spaniards had become single in the first week, Logan and Lando in the second and Charles in the third. It had been quite the shock to their fans.

If Pierre hadn't removed your social media for the break you would have known all of this but instead you had to find out on stage with dozens of cameras capturing the surprise on your face. 

The second the interview was over you chased after Lando and finally caught up to him at the McLaren motorhome.

“Hey, can we talk?” You were aware that there were still plenty of cameras around, and it looked like the Netflix crew were scheduled to his team too. “Somewhere private.”

He didn’t exactly look happy at the request but his eyes softened as you quietly begged, “please, Lan?”

“In here,” he sighed, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair as he opened the door to his room. The door clicked shut behind you and you looked around the small space, the air still humid and smelling like his body wash from the shower he took before the media conference.

“How was your break?” you asked as he sat down on a padded bench, leaving the more comfortable chair for you.

“Could have been better.”

There was a pregnant pause where you both waited for each other to speak. It wasn’t like him to be so short and you thought more would follow but he just stared back at you. 

Clearing your throat, you looked down at your hands on your lap. “I, uh, wanted to apologise for what I said to you. You were just being a good friend and I was a complete bitch.”

“You were a bitch,” he stated bluntly before he bit his lip and mouthed a silent, ‘sorry’ and tucked his knee up so he could rest his cheek on it.

You huffed a laugh of agreement. “I’ve heard that once or twice. I’m a work in progress, but I’m trying to change. Can you forgive me?”

His head lifted with a frown, his soft curls falling over his forehead to meet them. “What? No.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t expected everything to go back to how it was but you had thought he would at least accept your apology. Rising from the chair, you started to make your way to the door until you heard the vinyl bench squeak as he followed.

“Wait,” he said as he caught your hand reaching for the handle. “You were right. So there’s nothing to forgive.” He tugged your hand so you turned to face him before he let it slip through his fingers. “I was unhappy, and I probably should have broken up with Luisa a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I guess I just didn’t want to be alone again. Which, after you left, I realised is a poor reason to be in a relationship. So I really wasn’t up for offering advice. ” He smiled sheepishly and opened his arms. “Forgive me?”

You stepped into his embrace and buried your head in his neck with a nod. “You were right too.”

“About what?”

“Everything.” You were reluctant to leave the comfort of his arms but there was still one other person to apologise to. “I owe you and Charles for saving my ass. How about dinner at my place on Tuesday?”

“I mean, it was mostly me,” he joked as he puffed his chest up and pushed his shoulders back. “But we can invite him too, I guess.”

“Of course, my hero,” you swooned sarcastically before leaning in and kissed his cheek. “See you next Tuesday. See what I did there?”

“There’s my Spitfire,” he laughed and shook his head. “For a moment I thought you were gone.”

Max’s motorhome was empty when you reached it and so was the garage but his engineer, Calum, was there and said Max had gone to visit family. It hurt more than you expected to hear that you hadn’t been invited, especially since it was Jos’ side of the family that lived in the Netherlands. The side of the family you shared with Max. 

That pain followed you as you wandered around the paddock a little lost, signing autographs and stopping for photos with fans on autopilot. You didn’t know where to go, or how to fill the hours until Max returned. Then when he returned you weren’t even sure he would want to see you after what you said.

“Hey, I’ve called out like three times,” Charles said as he suddenly appeared in front of you and frowned at your startled reaction. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, no, sorry, I’m in a world of my own,” you said as you looked around to see you were outside Ferrari hospitality. “How, uh, how have you been? I meant to call you over the break and thank you for what you and Lando did for me.”

“It’s no problem, but it was mostly me.”

“Funny, he said the exact same thing,” you smirked. “Anyway, as a thank you, you two are coming to my place for dinner on Tuesday. I promise I won’t give you food poisoning, this time.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to,” he said sarcastically. “But Tuesday works for me. Where were you heading anyway? I thought you would be with Max.”

You couldn’t hide the wince on your face at the mention of your brother and Charles reached out and rubbed your shoulder with a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. I actually need to go do a thing,” you lied as you started to feel the increasingly familiar burn of tears in your eyes.

“Chérie, wait.” Charles made to follow as you backed away but he stopped when you shook your head.

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath as you turned your back and wiped your eyes. It was race week and your emotions were all over the place, it was a recipe for disaster. 

Race Day

You threw your phone across the room and watched it bounce off the couch before hitting the floor with a crack. You could worry about the broken screen later, with the race only an hour away and Max still ignoring you there were more pressing things to think about.

You worked through your warm up routine under the watchful eye of your physiotherapist before making your way to the reflex machine. The lights danced across the buttons and you slapped each one with precision until it suddenly clicked off. 

“You’re not focused,” Kristian tutted.

“I hit them all,” you argued as you caught the bottle he threw to you and took a drink.

“Reacting out of habit is not the same as responding by reflex. You need to think, then do, not just do.”

You grumbled under your breath about what a load of crap it was but made a show of the next round before he gave up with a sigh. “I’m going to head down to the grid,” you said as you grabbed your helmet and balaclava. “Pierre can help me finish up.”

It was easy to spot Pierre with his PT, his concentration solely on the tennis balls he was focused on catching before they hit the ground. 

“Mind if I butt in?” you asked as you took the tennis balls and replaced Ben. “He still won’t talk to me.” You dropped the balls at the same time and he easily swiped them from the air before tossing it back into your palm.

“You can take my spot for the anthem, I think I saw my name next to his on the seating chart.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” you admitted as you dropped the balls one after another trying to trick him. “I called him a dick, twice.”

One ball bounced along the asphalt when he laughed, missing the easy catch. “That’s the opposite of apologising.”

“I know, he just pissed me off.” You caught sight of the race suit that matched yours and watched him walk on the far side of the grip with Charles. “I don’t like being ignored.”

Pierre grabbed the wayward tennis ball and returned to hold them up over your hands. “You did start that by ignoring him first.”

“I thought we were friends.” You caught the ball he dropped and tossed it at his face. “You’re meant to take my side.”

He caught it before it could connect with his nose and crossed his arms with an amused smirk on his face. “I am your friend, so I will tell it like it is. Go talk to him.”

 You narrowed your eyes at him as you stepped away and he nodded encouragingly as you made your way across the home straight. 

“Not now,” Max said as soon as you stepped into his field of vision, making Charles look over his shoulder. 

“Then when?” you asked. “After the race? Next week? Next year? Should I put my name up for a transfer? Is that what you want?”

“Woah, what's going on?” Charles asked as watched you grow increasingly more upset with each question.

“Nothing, just an inchident,” Max said coldly. “Oma sends her regards and she’s sorry she didn’t get to see you.”

“You didn’t fucking invite me,” you growled as you stepped closer jabbed a finger into his chest.

Max rolled his eyes and schooled his face to one of boredom. “You told me to leave you alone.”

Your hands balled into fists at your side. “You are such a fucking asshole.”

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Charles interrupted, pushing himself between you and your brother before you could get disqualified. “Walk with me.”

Charles stepped closer and his hands grabbed your shoulders, turning you around before one hand pressed against the small of your back, urging you to keep moving. 

“What’s going on?” he asked as he took a seat against the pitwall and pulled you down beside him. “And don’t say it’s nothing. You haven’t been yourself all week.”

“We had an argument and now he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Charles draped an arm over your shoulder and pulled you closer to kiss your temple. “He’s your older brother, he could never hate you. Trust me, there’s nothing Arthur could say that would make me hate him.”

“Arthur’s too nice to say anything mean, but me? I’m a bitch.”

“You’re not a bitch, you’re just passionate.” He let his head fall back against the wall with a chuckle. “I like that about you.”

“You must be the only one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he murmured quietly and you followed his line of sight to Lando who was making his way over while everyone else started to move to the front of the grid. “Time to go.”

Charles stood up as Lando offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet.

“Try not to get too excited hearing the Dutch anthem,” you grumbled, earning a laugh from both of them as they fell into step either side of you, “again.”

You were driving recklessly, determined to beat Max, but it had meant receiving a black and white flag warning for exceeding the track limits three times. One more violation and you would get a five second penalty, practically handing the win over on a silver platter.

“You need to manage your tires,” Nicholas warned over the radio. “You are pushing them too hard, the degradation rate is exponential. They won’t last to the end of the race unless you slow down and stay between the white lines.”

“I can’t slow down when I have Max with DRS behind me.”

“That’s not the plan. We want a 1-2 finish, it doesn’t matter who leads across the line.”

“It does to me.”

You passed the next DRS detection line and took the corner at speed before hitting the straight and trying to defend your position. Max was right at your bumper, riding the slipstream as he increased speed in preparation to slingshot out and past you. 

Only something went wrong.

Instead of going around you, Max’s front wing crashed into the back of your car, lifting your rear wheels off the track and sending you scraping the length of the pit wall while he spun out. Debris hit your helmet as Max’s car slammed into the concrete barriers and carbon fibre splintered apart, raining over you and the track. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you growled into the comms as you pulled your steering console out and unbuckled the harness. You jumped over the side of your car and ran towards Max’s, hurling abuse at him the entire way. “Who’s the spoiled brat now? You just couldn’t let me have the win could you? Dick!”

A pained groan was all you heard from the cockpit and the anger evaporated in an instant as dreaded fear replaced it. You leapt onto the top of the car and reached over the halo, pulling the visor up on Max’s helmet to see a dazed look in his icy blue eyes before they fluttered shut. 

“Max, I need you to open your eyes. Look at me, dammit!” you growled as you started to pull his harness open and looked around wildly, wondering when help was coming. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I don’t hate you, okay? I don’t hate you. You’re my big brother and I love you, so you have to stick around and be overprotective and piss me off for a very long time. So open your fucking eyes!”

“Zusje?” he asked after a moment of blinking dumbly. “What happened?”

“You forgave me and said I could borrow your yacht.”

“Bullshit,” he groaned as he pushed his harness off his shoulders and accepted your hand to help him climb out. “I would never let you borrow my yacht.”

A groan wheezed out as his boots hit the ground and you wrapped an arm around his waist to take his weight, holding him steady. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“Only if I can get a recording of your radio, you actually sounded worried for me,” he said with a laugh before he clutched his ribs. “Ow, fuck.”

“Of course I was worried, asshole. I thought you were hurt.”

“I am hurt,” he pointed out before rapping his knuckles on your helmet. “I love you too, little sis. Even when you say you hate me.”

Click here for Not A Verstappen: Gridlock {1}.

Tagging: @destourtereaux @severerebelearthquake @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky

[draco-glacialis]

General Head canons for Agatha All Along

• Agatha and Rio have a mansion hidden in a forest somewhere. They lived there and raised Nicky there. It’s heavily warded and has gargoyles guarding it. It’s bigger inside then outside due to magic means. Biggest room is the multi-storey library. Has a room dedicated to various magic crafts. (Eg a potions room, ritual room etc).

• Lilia and Agatha can cook really well. Alice is decent enough at cooking. Jen can cook the basics but expects it to be like potions too much. Keep Billy and Rio out of the kitchen. Especially if you don’t want it to burn down.

• Jen and Lilia are best at taking care of themselves. (Heathy sleep schedule; eats 3 meals a day etc). Alice is decent at it but has some off days. Billy is your typical teenager. Agatha can and will go days without sleeping or eating. This is partially due to being on the move for over 3 centuries and never having a stable home. Rio is Rio. She’ll only really eat Agatha’s cooking (she doesn’t have to eat; Agatha is more likely to eat this way) (she also doesn’t have to sleep; Agatha sleeps better when with Rio).

• Agatha drives a 1970 Dodge Charger (purple and black)

• Alice has a Ducati Monster.

• Rio knows all the languages due to being Death. Lilia, Alice and Agatha are multilingual.

• Lilia is like a grandmother figure to the coven. You pick a fight with Lilia you pick a fight with all of them.

• Post Road the coven try to reign in Agatha’s more homicidal tendencies. She begrudgingly becomes more chaotic neutral rather than chaotic evil. (She still kills it’s just not first course of action).

• Agatha makes a suspicious amount of cannibalism jokes. No one can tell if she’s actually joking or not. (Not even Rio).

• Lilia is the one to notice that Agatha doesn’t take care of herself. She’s the one to encourage Agatha to eat at least one meal a day.

• Post Road Jen makes her business more legitimate (no more law suits etc).

• Alice decides to bug Agatha into teaching her magic and witchcraft. She grew up hearing stories of Agatha (both good and bad; Agatha is shorter then she imagined)

• Part of the reason Jen hates Agatha so much is due to the rumours of Agatha trading her son for the Darkhold. Jen was a midwife and has a soft spot for children especially new borns.

• Agatha is actually a very creative and artistic person. In a quiet moment if she’s not learning she’s drawing/painting/doing photography. She has multiple bookcases to photo albums she has filled with pictures she’s taken. She also has paintings around the house; all works she’s done from her memories.

• A downside of Agatha being a creative person is that it 100% influences her darker side. She can get very creative when it comes to murder/causes malevolent chaos. This is made worse after she lose Nicky and Rio and later herself in grief and anger/fury.

• She also has photos from Westview. When Billy starts to remember the Hex she shows him the pictures she took. Later when he reunites with the rest of the Maximoffs she gives the album to them as a gift.

• Alice and Agatha have multiple piercings.

• They both also have tattoos. Agatha has various runes.

[thetravelerwrites]

Margaret and Rourke (Part 1)

Rating: Mature  Relationships: Female Human/Male Orc  Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Lovers, Interspecies Romance, Orcs, Older Man/Younger Woman Content Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Physical Violence, Mentions of Torture, References to Sexual Assault Resulting in Pregnancy  Series:  Part 18 of Shelter Forest: The Towns  Words: 4,238

The reader's mother from Akjan's fic and her orc hubby get their own fic! After her daughter is taken away from her to be married to an orc chieftain she's never met, Margaret worries she'll never see her again. An orc arrives with news of her daughter and promises to help them reunite. Please leave feedback!

Your daughter had been gone for two months already. The count had ripped her from your arms in an instant on the day of her eighteenth birthday and gave you little to no time to say goodbye. You could only hope that she was well and being treated properly wherever she was, but you had no way to know for sure. You were anxious constantly, unaware if she was healthy or fed properly or even alive, but the idea that she could be somewhere out there, safe and happy, was the only comfort you found in your day to day life.

You were in a lot of pain at the moment. Moving around was difficult, and you struggled to complete your normal tasks. The madam had whipped you mercilessly just the day before for the unspeakable crime of passing in front of her when she was in a bad mood. She’d always been unkind to you, but since she discovered that your daughter, Catherine, was indeed the child of the Count, she had become the human embodiment of cruelty, turning the typical punishments she doled out onto you into nothing short of torture. You had no friends to turn to, since everyone in the manor knew you were the Countess’s favorite punching bag, so they would earn themselves no favors by being kind to you. Without Catherine there to lean on anymore, it was becoming harder to endure the beatings. 

As you were working, you saw David, a butler that had been hired recently. His face fell in sympathy as soon as he saw you, likely due to the bruising on your face and the split lip you were sporting. He was one of the few that treated you kindly. 

“Margaret, I’m glad I caught you,” He said. “I need your help.” 

“My help?” You asked. “I’ll do my best. What can I help with?” 

“The master has given me a task in town, but I don’t know my way around quite yet. Could you help me find the…” He consulted a piece of paper in his hand. “The Periwinkle Florist? The master is having guests later this evening and wants new flowers for the foyer and receiving room. Do you know where it is?” 

“Oh, yes, I do,” You told him. “It’s quite far, though. I’m surprised Master wants us to go so far out of the way for fresh flowers.”

“You know how the master is,” David said, rolling his eyes. “He wants what he wants.” 

Margaret laughed nervously. “Yes. Should we go now? It’ll take us at least an hour to get there and an hour back.” 

“That would be best, if we want to return before nightfall,” David agreed. “Are you ready to go as you are?” 

“Oh, I just need to grab my shawl and we can go,” You replied, taking a step toward the servants’ quarters. 

“Best be quick,” He said. “I’ll wait by the rear door.”

Nodding, you quick-stepped back to your tiny closet and grabbed your crocheted shawl, old and repaired many times. Something felt off about the room, like something was missing, but you figured it was just because Catherine was no longer there, so it felt terribly empty. 

You met David, who was carrying a large produce bag, by the back door that led out to the back of the estate, where there were the stables on one side and the tool sheds on the other. Between them was a road used exclusively by the servants into and out of the estate. The two of you set off down it, heading toward the middle ring of the city, where most of the shops were located. 

David was pleasant company, engaging you in light small talk to pass the time. He asked about your daughter, which you were only too happy to talk about, and told you about his wife and son, to whom he was sending all of his money. Hearing him fondly describe his son as a “tiny terror” made you smile. 

Finally, you arrived, but instead of entering the shop, David directed you to the back of the building. Confused, you followed him. Standing there was an orc whittling a small block of wood. He had long, single-braided dark hair and bright eyes, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, and a rucksack was set against the wall next to him. He was more slender than most orcs you’d ever seen, though he was tall and had tight, strappy muscles on his arms. He looked up as you approached, though he paused momentarily when he saw you, staring and slack-jawed. His eyebrows drew down into a small frown briefly, gone instantly, though you weren’t sure what that was about. The sight of a man you’d never met before, a physically powerful one at that, filled you with no small amount of terror. Being alone with two men who could easily overpower you made you even less comfortable.

“Who…?” You asked, turning to David.

“Don’t be afraid, Ms. Margaret. This is an associate of mine, Rourke,” David said.

“I… I don’t… What are we doing here, David?” You asked him, becoming very worried and starting to back away.

The orc named Rourke approached the two of you slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. 

“Are you Ms. Margaret? Miss Catherine’s mother?” He asked you, and your heart jumped into your throat. Forgetting your fear momentarily, you reached out desperately to clutch his arm.

“Is she alright? Is she safe? Where is she?”  

“She’s fine,” Rourke said reassuringly. “She’s married to the chief of the Willowshield Stronghold and being given the respect she’s due as the chieftain’s wife, so you have no reason to worry. We’re here to take you to her.” 

“Take me… I…” You hesitated and looked backward in the general direction of the Count’s manor, though it wasn’t in view. “We’re leaving now?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Rourke said. “We have to move quickly. If we don’t leave now, we may not have another chance to leave without the Count knowing. I’m sure he’ll realize it sooner rather than later, but we can get a head start if we leave now.” 

Anxiety welled up in you, present at all times, but vastly more intense at the moment than normal. You’d never been outside of the city before and had no idea what to expect from the outside world, and you didn’t know these men at all nor have any reason to believe or trust them, but… your baby girl was out there. If there was any chance of seeing her again, you would have to place your trust in strangers.

“I didn’t bring my things,” You replied weakly. 

David reached into the large bag he’d brought with him and wrestled out a second smaller bag, which you recognized as your own carpet bag, where you kept your meager treasures. You had bought it ages ago when you first tried to leave the manor, but finding out you were with child had stopped you. As bad as the manor was, even though you were paid pennies, you were still paid. You were fed. There was a bed underneath you and a roof overhead. And… you didn’t know where else you could have gone, anyway. You had been there all your life.

Now… you had that chance. The chance to run. 

Looking up at the two men, tears of both fear and hope filling your eyes, and you nodded. 

“Alright.” 

The three of you managed to get out of the city wall before nightfall, but were forced to camp outside mere feet from it. The two men had set up a small but charming tent for you to use, though they themselves would be sleeping outside. As they went about setting up the camp, building the fire, and cooking an evening meal, you sat there for the first time with nothing in your hands, unsure of what to do. 

“Can I help with something?” You asked them. 

Rourke smiled at you kindly. “No, Ms. Margaret, we’ve got it well in hand. You rest your bones for a little while. We’ll take care of this.” 

Sitting still felt unnatural, but you sat and watched them bustle around. As David stirred the pot over the fire, Rourke retrieved a jar from his bags and came close. You resisted the urge to back away. 

“May I sit with you, Ms. Margaret?” He asked. When you nodded, he sat on an upturned log next to you. “This is an ointment our stronghold’s medicine woman made. It’s magic on bruises. Would you mind if I applied a little? That black eye looks nasty.”

“Oh,” You said, looking down to hide behind your hair a little. “Yes, alright.” 

“Look up for me, Ms. Margaret,” He said gently. 

Carefully, he pulled your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ears. You looked up, surprised by how close he was. This close, you could see he had the prettiest deep brown eyes, glittering like stars in the flickering firelight. They were the same color as clean tilled earth, or savory soup that nourishes the body and soul, or a warm blanket of wool that keeps out the winter chill. They reminded you of every comforting thing you’d ever experienced in your lifetime. You found yourself blushing as those thoughts filled your head, trying to put them out of mind.

“I’m surprised you have a grown child, Ms. Margaret,” Rourke said. You assumed he was attempting to make small talk. 

“Why’s that?” 

“You look far too young. How old are you, if I might ask?” 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

“Is it?” He asked, tilting his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. That’s not something orc women care about. In fact, orc women like to brag about their age. Each year they live is a year they beat death. As much as we cherish the idea of dying honorably in battle, we also really like bragging.” 

You laughed. “I’m thirty-three.” 

“So young!” He said. “You were still just a girl when Mis Catherine was born, eh?” 

Your smile faded. “Fifteen, yes.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Far too young. I’m amazed you were able to raise a babe when you were hardly more than a babe yourself.” 

“Why, how old are you?” 

“Fifty-two.” 

You pulled back to look at his face. “You're one to talk about not looking one’s age! You barely look out of your thirties! I can’t believe you’re almost twenty years older than I am.” 

He laughed. “Well, thank you for the compliment. My daughter complains that we look much more like siblings than parent and child, but I don’t know if that’s a compliment for me or self-deprecation for her.” 

“You have a daughter?” 

“Oh, yes,” Rourke said. “Just about the same age as Miss Catherine, in fact. She’s my pride and joy. Lost her mother when she was young, so it’s just been me and her ever since then.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s alright, Ms. Margaret. It was long ago now.” 

“Still. You have my sincerest sympathies.” 

“I appreciate it. This is pretty bad, by the way,” Rourke said, wincing in sympathy as he applied the ointment to your eye. “What happened?” 

“Oh, I…” You looked down and away, careful not to tilt your head out of his reach. “I… it… just happened.” 

He paused momentarily before continuing, regarding you soberly. 

“Does it ‘just happen’ often?” He asked softly.

“I… I’m a poor worker,” You said quietly. “I’m too slow and lazy, so… I require more… correction than the others do.”

He spread a little of the ointment on the split in your lip, his touch feather soft, before he sat back and gazed at you.

“I can’t claim you know you or your work ethic, Ms. Margaret,” He said. “But no one deserves this kind of punishment. That I do know.” 

You looked down and didn’t respond. 

Rourke sighed. “Do you know how to ride a horse?” 

You looked back up at him. “No.” 

“I thought so. We brought two horses with us, two of the fastest in the stronghold, but it seems like you’ll have to ride with one of us. Is that alright?” 

You nodded. “That’s fine. I just want to get back to my baby.” 

“She’s a lucky lady, to have a mother like you,” Rourke said with a smile. “She’ll be happy to see you. It’ll be a nice surprise.” 

“She doesn’t know I’m coming?” You asked. 

Rourke shook his head, his long ears waggling. “The Count tried to make Chief Akjan believe that Miss Catherine was a legitimate daughter of his, but Chief Akjan had a feeling there was more to the story than he was told, so he had us do some investigating.” He motioned at David. “David realized the true story from listening to the manor’s gossip. After observing you and sending word back, Akjan sent me to retrieve David and see if you were willing to make the journey with us. Although…” He glanced at your face again and sighed. “Seeing how bad things are, I shouldn’t have delayed so long. I should have been here sooner. I apologize for that.” Rourke took a bowl from David and handed it to you. “Here. David’s not a great cook, but it’ll be better than twigs, certainly.” 

“I cook better than you, you lout!” David said indignantly.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure it’s fine.” 

Well, he hadn’t been lying: the meal was a little rough, basically just jerky boiled in water, but it was filling enough and made you feel warm inside. 

“We should sleep early,” Rourke said, holding his hand out to help you stand. “We’ll be getting up before dawn to go pick up the horses and start toward the stronghold.” 

“You didn’t have to put up a tent for me, I can sleep on the ground,” You told him, looking inside. It was just a bedroll on top of a riding blanket, but it looked charming and comfortable. 

“Nonsense!” Rourke said. “I’d never made a lady sleep on the cold, hard ground! No, no, you get in there and get comfy, I’ll be right outside keeping watch. Get yourself some rest, Ms. Margaret. Goodnight.” 

Ducking into the tent, you laid your tired body down on the bed and covered yourself, the aches in your body intensifying as you tried to relax. Once he saw that you were in the bed and down for the night, Rourke stationed himself at the mouth of the tent, his back to you, having a muted conversation with David that you couldn’t make sense of. Despite being outside of the city walls for the first time in your life and headed toward an uncertain future, seeing Rourke’s back blocking out the dangers of the world made you feel a strange sense of security. Almost immediately, you fell asleep. 

They managed to make a trip that would normally take two weeks in a mere five days. They rode pretty hard for the first few days, though Margaret needed several breaks throughout the days in order to recover, since horse riding when you weren’t used to it could be quite punishing on the body. She was eternally grateful for that bruise ointment, which Rourke had gifted her.

Margaret rode with Rourke for most of the trip, since his horse was larger, but being in close proximity with men made her wildly uncomfortable. She simply had to swallow down her discomfort to make it to the end. 

For Catherine, She kept telling herself. I can do it for Catherine.

They eventually arrived in a town bustling with activity. It wasn’t anywhere close to being as busy as the city, but it was more lively and less noisy. Riding straight up the middle lane, they reached a tall wall made of wooden pikes and a large gate with sentries patrolling the top. 

“Here we are,” Rouke said. “Welcome to the Willowshield stronghold.” 

“Catherine is inside?” You asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rourke replied. “She’s just inside.” 

Hope and expectation welled up in your chest. “She’s just inside,” You repeated softly. 

Rourke chuckled a little, his breath stirring your hair. “Not long now.”

The doors of the gate opened slowly, and the interior of the stronghold revealed itself. There were cottages dotting the landscape, with two long bunkhouses to the left and right, a large building at the top of the hill, and in the very center right beyond the gates, a longhouse that seemed to serve as a town hall. The stronghold was just as bustling as the town outside, and despite being a closed community, it was far more inviting than any place you’d been yet. 

“We must report in to Chief Akjan,” Rourke said as he jumped down from the horse. He reached up to help you down, and then handed off the reins of the horse to a waiting horseboy. You were surprised that orcs had horseboys. “But you’ll be able to see your little girl right after.” 

You nodded and allowed Rourke to lead you into the longhouse. There, a large orc sat in the chair in the center of the room at the end of the fire trench. He wore a leather kilt, furs on his shoulders, and various leather straps. He was talking to David, who walked right up to an orc woman with a baby on her hip and gave her a long, deep kiss. You blushed.  

“Chief Akjan,” Rourke said. “She’s here.” 

“Ah, good,” Chief Akjan said, standing up and towering over you. Where Rourke was tall and lean as a whip, Chief Akjan was broad and massively muscled. “Are you Margaret?” 

You tried to answer, but your voice came out as a squeak. Clearing your throat, you replied, “Yes, I am.” 

Chief Akjan nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. Catherine will be happy to see you.” 

“If you’ll pardon me, Sir,” You asked him shyly. “You’re the one married to Catherine, aren’t you?” 

Chief Akjan shrugged. “Yes and no,” He replied. “We have a contract, but it can be revoked at any moment. She’s under no obligation to stay with me, nor am I beholden to her. We may part ways as friends whenever we wish.” 

Your head rocked back in surprise; you’d never heard of an arrangement like that before. 

“Is she well?” 

“Better than she was at the Count’s estate, I’d wager,” He said, snorting, but upon seeing your anxious face, he answered more seriously. “She’s just fine, ma’am. We’ve been taking good care of her, I swear to you. Shall I fetch her for you?” 

“Oh, please do,” You begged. “I’m so anxious to see her.” 

“I’ll return shortly, then. Wait here.” 

Chief Akjan turned and exited through a side door, and you rung your hands in anticipation, resisting the urge to bounce on your heels like a child. 

“Excited?” Rourke asked, smiling. 

“I just want to be sure she’s alright,” You said. “I can endure anything if my child is happy.” 

Rourke’s smile widened in a fond way. “You’re a good mama.” 

You blushed and looked away. 

“Hopefully, you won’t have to endure anything from now on,” Rourke said, pointing. “Look alive.” 

“Mother!” 

You spun on your heel, elated. Catherine was standing there, looking healthier and brighter than you had ever seen her, wearing simple but well-made clothing, and every ounce of anxiety in your body evaporated. 

“My baby!” You exclaimed, running forward to throw your arms around her. “Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry!” 

She clutched you, quietly crying into your hair. Oh, you had missed her so.

“It’s alright, Mother. Are you alright?” She asked, pulling back to look at the fading bruises on your face. They were almost gone, but the presence of them surely made Catherine feel worried. You could see it on her face.

“I’m fine, honey, I’m just fine,” You insisted. “David and Rourke have been taking good care of me.”

She released you and looked at the men you had pointed to. “They have? What do you mean? How did you get here?”

“I sent them to collect her,” Akjan said, stepping forward. “I had a feeling there was more to the story that you and the Count hadn't told me, so I sent David to do some reconnaissance. It didn’t take long for the full story to reveal itself, so I sent Rourke to retrieve her. Problem solved.”

Catherine’s face showed worry, relief, and a little bit of disappointment. “Thank you, Akjan. I will be in your debt for as long as I live. Are you going to send us to Willowridge?”

He shook his head grimly, crossing his arms. “No. We know that the Count must be aware that your mother has disappeared by now and may have guessed the stronghold’s involvement. Our intelligence suggests he’s gathering soldiers to march on Willowshield to either get his horse deal or take you and your mother back. It’ll be safer for you and your mother to stay within the walls of the stronghold.”

Catherine’s hand went to her mouth in shock. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the Count would cause this much trouble for you.”

Akjan shrugged, as though an invasion by a noble was no cause for concern.

“We’ve been attacked for far less. Don’t worry, it won’t be an issue.” He addressed you directly. “Welcome to Willowshield, madam.”

You bowed your head and nodded shyly. “Thank you very much, Chief Akjan.”

"Rourke, have the girls show Ms. Margaret to the bunkhouse."

Rourke nodded. “This way, Ms. Margaret. Miss Catherine will join you shortly. She and the Chief need to have a heart to heart.” He began guiding you toward the back door and outside.

“Is she in trouble?” You asked fretfully, allowing yourself to be led.

“Not at all! Just some husband and wife business, that’s all. Never you worry.” 

You weren’t sure about that, but you had no choice but to believe him. Rourke had been positively enthusiastic since the moment you met him, upfront and honest and the picture of gentlemanly chivalry. His open and friendly nature had gotten past your inner defenses, and you’d go so far as to consider him something of a friend. David was good natured and friendly as well, but you’d never felt as close to him as you ended up feeling to Rourke. There was just something about Rourke that wouldn’t allow you to ignore him.

Rourke led you to a communal pavilion where there were several women doing fiber arts, weaving and spinning and knitting. One of them, a tall woman in trousers, stood up and came close. 

“Ms. Margaret, this is Erin, Chief Akjan’s sister-in-law,” He said. “She’ll take care of you until Miss Catherine finishes up with the chief.” 

“Ah, you’re Miss Catherine’s mama!” Erin said, holding out her hand. “So good to meet you! We’ve been waiting for you.” 

You took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Erin.” 

“Oh, she’s just like Miss Catherine,” Erin said. “Shy and sweet. They’ll love you around here.” 

“Hey!” Rourke said in a warning tone. Erin raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t respond. Clearing his throat, Rourke turned to you. “I have to give a debrief to the chief and report to my superior now. If you should ever need me for anything, my normal job is as a gate guard, so if you go down to the gate and ask for me, I’ll be at your disposal. Any time. Alright?” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

He seemed reluctant to leave, but he started walking backwards. 

“Until then.” 

You smiled. “Until then.” 

With a bright parting grin, he turned and trotted off, his long braid swinging back and forth. 

“My goodness,” Erin said. “You and Miss Catherine certainly have a way about you, don’t you?” 

You tilted your head in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” 

Erin shook her head and laughed. “It’s nothing. Let’s get you set up with a bunk. Things are about to get… busy soon.” 

The way she phrased that made you feel a little tense, but she pulled you forward to meet the other women in the group, all of whom were welcoming and kind. Erin took you up to the bunkhouse, where you claimed two beds, one for you and one for Catherine. Erin informed you that, now that you had arrived and the Count had nothing to hold over her, Chief Akjan and Catherine no longer needed to keep up appearances and the marriage would be dissolved. Worried, you asked if that meant that she’d be kicked out, but Erin assured you that wasn’t the case. 

“The chief wouldn’t do that,” Erin said. She leaned in and whispered, “Between you and me, Akjan likes her too much to send her away. My prediction is that they won’t be apart for long.” 

“Oh,” You said, surprised. 

Erin laughed. “Come on, she’d be done with the chief now, let’s collect her and catch up. I’m sure she’s dying to tell you everything.” 

Allowing yourself to be dragged back to the pavilion, you saw Catherine standing there, looking around for you, and smiled. For the first time in your life, you felt like you were right where you were meant to be.

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[honey-minded-hivemind]

For the main Smilodon AU, where Reader is a teen (younger or older or middle, it doesn't matter, I think), I've imagined that the way Reader finds out about being used is once they've already joined the X-Men...

One night they listen in on a conversation happening in a few rooms down, and go to investigate when they hear their name. They'd only been up to get some water, and it's a bit dark out already. And they hide behind the door, hearing a conversation between the adults, about themself... How they finally have Reader on their team, so what now? And it seems... they all have different ideas on what to do. While Xavier seems to have some good things to say, he's still speaking if taking precautions, of being prepared if something goes wrong... Storm just wants everyone to be safe... Beast is curious about their mutation... and Wolverine... he doesn't like them. At all. And it seems the others might not, either, when they don't defend them...

Reader backs away from the door, then runs off. They only took their shoes, the clothes on their back, and the money they've earned, booking it through the halls and towards the front doors. No one is in sight. No one can stop them. And hopefully, no one does. These people... they could do anything to them. Could manipulate their mind or electrocute or simply stab or blast them. They don't feel safe, and they want out. So put they go, doing their best to stay out of sight of the windows and only appear to be walking, at least until they're out the front gates and in the woods beyond the road...

Xavier senses Reader leaving, and realizes that while he and the others were caught up in talking (trying to convince Logan to give Reader a chance, and trying to think of what to do should Reader become volatile like their father), Reader heard some of what they said. He can feel their thoughts spiraling, can hear their mind shrieking and crying and raging, and tells the others what happened. They decide since Wolverine upset them (and because he can track them) that he should go after them to reconcile, or fight, if need be. And he goes, albeit grumbling...

Reader, the moment they're past the gates, can hear Logan coming after them, and makes a run for the woods. In the woods, it's dark, it's thorny, and they can smell all sorts of creatures and plants and scents... Except there's something else... Something they don't recognize... They hear Logan enter the woods and they're back to running-

And then there's a roar, and there's a noise of something hitting something, claws going through wood and rock and dirt. Some giant guy showed up, and is fighting Logan... Reader leaves, hoping not to get hurt, not wanting to die by either man's hand... But when they hear the pained growls of their old... guardian... they decide to what they think is right, going back to try and help him. What they find is their mentor crashed into the ground, bleeding a little from gashes in his arms, and Reader decides to pounce on the large, furry thing from behind. They distract it for a minute, clawing and hissing, until they're grabbed by the back of their jacket and torn off... And there they are, hanging in the claws of someone they've only heard about from the others, some jerk named Sabretooth...

Logan, who's trying to get up, just saw Reader attack his mortal enemy. It wasn't because they wanted to kill or harm Logan themself, no. He can smell the scent of protection on them, the smell of fear and adrenaline and safe... So, the kid isn't actually bad... And he might be the reason they die... He gets up, he and Sabretooth start fighting again, and Reader ends up dropped somewhere in the fray. Then Logan goes down, a dart in his shoulder or thigh, and Reader is trying to still protect him... Something hits them, sharp, and then they're on their back, staring up at the sky and snow, and slowly losing consciousness...

Sabretooth ends up taking (kidnapping) both Logan and Reader. He wants to reunite with his brother, and see if he can't drag the Logan he remembers out, and Reader smells suspiciously like both of them, so... it's possible this is a pup or cub of their's... And he certainly doesn't abandon family, now, does he?

Logan wakes up a bit later, drugged out of his mind and sleepily trying to protect Reader, who's deep asleep. He got them both in this mess, by scaring Reader off... now he has to protect them, and keep them safe from whatever his enemy has in store for them...

(It's nothing too bad; it's not torture, but Sabretooth also isn't about to let Logan or Reader run off, not when he has them both in his claws...)

(I want to right this out in its own scenario, but this is the rough draft version...)

(If you have questions for this au, please feel free to ask them!)

[redcoralpot]

Smudged (4)

Rodrick Heffley x FTM Punk Reader

Warnings: NSFW joke and mentions of homophobia

Summary: The idea was bull, but it was worth a shot, you supposed. That is, if Rodrick can stay focused.

-

“I need you to do a favor for me,” Rodrick kicked his foot against the asphalt.

You could still hear the joyful chatter of children reuniting with their parents in the background, cars speeding past you, causing strands of hair to come loose, “No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

“I’ve heard enough from Heather.”

His eyes snapped towards you, wide and attentive, for once, “What’d she say?”

“Obviously not something positive.”

Rodrick shrugged, his attitude uncaring once again. You huffed and turned away, fully planning on leaving him alone on that sidewalk. However, you only were able to take a few steps forward before a hand roughly grabbed at your back. Cursing under your breath, you whirled around to face the boy, squinting.

“Hey, hey, I’m being serious. I need your help, here, dude.”

“You could’ve fooled me;” you rolled your eyes, but didn’t remove his hand, “I won’t do your homework for you. Leave that in middle school, with Greg.”

Rodrick’s hand slid down your arm before he pulled it to his chest, “Actually– fuck, nevermind. Okay, that won’t work on you, but you’re a valuable resource with this!”

“And how is that?”

Instead of answering, he took a step closer, and waved a slip of paper in your face. You flinched back, allowing it to fall from his fingertips into your open palm. Rodrick was silent, snickering, and tapping his foot as he gleefully watched you crack it apart. Inside were printed words; his project slip, awfully crumpled. Two words, three if you count the category. Music; punk subculture.

He smirked, “It’s a research project. What better way than to talk to the only punk guy in town?”

“If you’re so sure, then what about the collaboration rule?”

“C’mon, nobody’ll ever know!” You could’ve sworn he almost whined, moving back.

You said, “I won’t fail ‘cause you’re reckless; I’m sure there’s another punk guy somewhere.”

Rodrick made a face, “There’s none that I know.”

“That’s too bad for you, then,” you replied. Kicking a rock towards him, you backed up, towards the road. He huffed, taking steps forward as much as you moved away. You could tell that he was getting desperate for your help.

“How about a trade? I help with yours, you help with mine!”

You paused, causing the drummer to smack face first into you, knocking your foreheads together. The two of you hissed, with Rodrick rubbing the wounded spot with a scrunched up, pained face. When he finally let his hand fall away, you could see an angry red spot in its place, and yours probably did not look much better.

“I’ll think about it.”

He snickered, hitting your arm, “Hah, think.”

“Heather was right, you’re a cornball.”

“Fuck you,” he groaned.

You shook your head in response to his complaints, “Deal with it, Heffley. I have your number, I can harass you with it all day.”

A small boy, about Holly’s height, if not shorter, appeared in the distance. He was running towards the both of you fast– well, as fast as a middle schooler can go on those little legs. Beside him, a chubbier, ginger child was struggling to keep up as his counterpart shouted, bringing his hands up to his mouth. Rodrick grew tenser, a kind of grumpier expression clouding his features. Ah, that would be Greg. Chuckling, you made the decision to instead flee the scene, not wanting to be a part of their petty sibling rivalry.

“What do you want, turd?” Rodrick sneered, gesturing beside him, “I was in the middle of something.”

“You promised you’d take Rowley and I home!”

“That means you have to be–” He took in the blank spot where you once were, “...patient.” “I’m gonna kill you the next time Mom’s not home, literally kill you!”

-

You fished your flip phone out of your pocket, slouching on your pillows with your socks only half-off. When the list of conversations popped up on the small, bright screen, you paused. Were you seriously contemplating this? Directly going against the rules to work with Rodrick of all people; you might as well have cheated with Daniel and that would have been a better idea. However– you shifted in your bed, kicking your socks across the room– Daniel knows nothing about drums. In fact, he talks about flutes more than any other instrument, as girly as his father calls it. Rodrick was better at it than anyone else in this shitty little town, so how bad could it truly be?

Against your better judgment, you typed in the number pattern printed on the invitation slip into a new contact, naming it accordingly. You held your breath, typing your very first message; “This is Heather’s brother.”

Your phone was smashed into your sheets and you hugged your pillow to your chest, peeking over at the device. It took a few moments, minutes really, before it vibrated against the cloth. Yet, you didn’t reach for it at first. This was your last chance, your last chance to refuse this and possibly not ruin your entire senior record, and so you hesitated. Curiosity got the better of you, though. “Trade or no trade?” 

Taking a deep breath, you responded, “Trade. Come to my house.”

Heather would be so mad at you for this, you thought as you set aside your phone to the side and hopped up. Most of the time would be spent in your room, and you would hate for it to be as messy as it is now when a guest is over, despite the fact that Rodrick seemed to lack standards for hygiene. Perhaps he only showered once a week, if you were lucky. Regardless, you half-heartedly made your bed and dumped a few garments of clothes that had littered your carpet down a hamper, hidden in your closet. Your violin and electric guitar were both leaning carefully on your wall, safe from harm in their cases. Your desk was scattered with markers, laces, and patches that you had neglected sewing onto your jacket. It wouldn’t hurt to stack them neatly, you reasoned.

Your room still had a certain chaos to it despite your efforts, and really, you weren’t looking to fix it. It had personality, it reflected you, just as Heather’s more tidy space reflected her personality. Books lined the shelves underneath your desk; one that you didn’t spend too much money on. A door, glass, a mat, and two near-height shelves as support gave you one easily; you refused to let your mother buy you a “proper” desk. The works were mostly fiction or topics regarding punk history, so you selected a spare few that you did not care too much about in order to lend them to Rodrick.

About ten minutes in, halfway through the time you expected Rodrick to arrive, you freshened up your makeup in the bathroom mirror, paying extra attention to your eyeliner. Just to one up the guy. You smudged it with your pointer finger, before lining your waterline with a matching black. Even so, you almost poked your eye as you were finishing the right side of your face when you heard a clang!

A faint, “Uh– shit, my fault.”

You lifted the lace curtains with a non-blackened finger to peer outside, only to be greeted by the sight of the devil’s gleaming white van, a fresh dent in the front. An angelic statue that had decorated your family’s driveway was now laying on the ground; a puzzled Rodrick above it. A sigh forced itself from your throat. Your eyes followed his figure as he awkwardly tried fixing the abused statue, before sauntering up to the door with a fist raised. It didn’t take long to bound downstairs and open the front door before he abused that, too.

“We have a doorbell, you know?” you stated, unimpressed, “Come in.”

He whistled a short tune as he took in the rooms around him, “So this is Heather’s house. I was starting to think I’d never get to see it!”

“You aren’t here to see Heather, you’re here for research. Don’t talk to her, don’t listen to her, and don’t even look at her; she’ll choke you out and then me.”

Rodrick bent his head in order to see through the crack in her bedroom doorway, but you took a hold of his ear and pulled him away; “Okay, okay, fuck!”

You dragged him through your own door, where you shut it and finally released the drummer to let him take in his surroundings. Pushing him forward slightly with the back of your elbow, you lean on your bed, taking a good look at him. He flicked his eyes towards you– probably scared you were going to rip his ear off if he moved. A humorous expression to see on such an arrogant guy, sure, but you stayed put, watching him. Rodrick must have taken that as a thumbs up, as he was immediately attracted to your desk. He chose to shuffle through your pins first.

“Woah, you made these?”

“No.”

He read the miniature printed names, “Do they mean anything?”

“They’re bands.”

“Well, yeah, I totally recognized them.” He made a show of pointing out his eye makeup.

“Sure–”

He interrupted you, something seemingly catching his eye, “Wait, is that a…”

“Ah, crap, I thought it was something else.” It was a magazine, something you didn’t care enough about to hide away, and he seemed to snicker about it, “If it was, it’d be full of girls.”

You looked over his shoulders, before snatching it out of his hands, much to his offense, “I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

“You sure? I have one you can borrow if you really need it!”

“You’re weird,” you huff, throwing a small book at him.

“Positive?”

“Get to work.”

Rodrick finally sat on your bed, overly casual. You plopped the pile that contained your collection of punk media in his lap, much to his dismay. Christ, if this was still just some big scheme to get his dick wet, you swore you would stuff a leaf in his mouth.

The first book was all about the origins and meaning of such a subculture; the most important subject for his research. You had hoped he valued that, but as he squinted at the text, his eyebrows pushed together.

He tossed it back into your lap, and you threw it back, like some sort of cursed hot potato, “Dude, I don’t know some of those words!”

“How have you gotten to senior year like this?”

“Can’t you just summarize it?” It landed between your legs, to which you looked at him unimpressed.

Rodrick seemed put off by this, looking down at your lap and back up, “Uh, do you have anything to take notes with?”

“...No.”

“Jesus Christ, take a pen off my desk; take the whole book, why don’t you!”

“That’s fine with me.”

You cursed under your breath, even praying to whatever deity was out there to smite the boy in front of you with all their might. You flipped a page, to the first chapter, sneaking a glimpse at him from behind your eyelashes. Rodrick’s foot was wagging back and forth from its position under his left thigh, not even aware of your dilemma. Or he could be painfully aware of it, and just wanted to push more of your buttons by acting innocent. Yeah, that sounds more like him, you thought as you cleared your throat.

“Punk style started gaining headway, aka popularity, in the mid-‘70s in America, with the UK catching the spark a little later on.”

He sneered, “Hah, caught the spark.”

“Knowing that you know enough about history to make a nerd joke horrifies me.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he huffed.

“Sure,” you continued, “anyway, music was a huge part of this new era, but not the only thing included in it.”

Rodrick said, “I can see that.”

“It had fashion, dance, even a mindset to it.”

Glancing at your boots, currently collecting dust in the closet, you searched your mind for items you personally knew were iconic. He had seen you in your clothes, but based on his earlier comments, Rodrick knew next to nothing about the articles. He did not need to know the very deep parts of punk fashion, not for that project. Truth be told, you honestly didn’t want him to know the codes and such related to more personal matters. That knowledge was only for people who would understand, and you lacked that faith with Rodrick.

“You’ve seen me in my boots, leather jacket, and such, yeah?”

“Duh. That sparkly belt, too.” The drummer tapped his temple.

“It’s spiked.”

He shrugged, “Potato, patata–”

Rodrick was thankfully interrupted by a muffled shout from your mother, who slammed the front door shut, “I brought home dinner!”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m hungry,” he cheered, hopping off the bed and down the stairs before you had the opportunity to tackle him.

“Ah, crap.”

Heather peeked out of her bedroom, slowly turning to look at you with a withering look in her eyes. Your shoulders sagged as you saw a snarl take its form on her lips; defeat.

-

[acre-of-wheat]

I know in this house we’re all about supporting Kit’s wrongs, but I do want to take some time to analyze another dear sword lesbian’s wrongs.

Our dearest Jade Claymore.

You’re telling me this face has done wrongs?

Sadly. Yes.

The High Aldwin

Elora disappears into the woods and Kit wants to set off to continue the mission. Jade has other feelings, and drops this statement about what they owe Elora. It’s an interesting moment, because only an episode ago it was, “where the princess goes, I go,” but Kit rides off alone.

I think Jade knows Kit well enough that she fully expected to catch up to her. To save face, Kit couldn’t turn around and go back, but she could certainly take her sweet time walking down the road.

Later on they discuss Elora’s inability to demonstrate magic, and Kit once again wants to keep moving forward to continuing the mission, and Jade has this to say.

This is just a straight up lie, girl! Sorsha’s last instruction to her is to stay with Kit, to guide her, to pull her back from the edge.

I think this is an intentional tactic from Jade though. Jade has very subtle ways that she manages to manipulate or instruct Kit. Because of their difference in station, their history together, and Kit’s stubbornness, direct conflict doesn’t really work. Jade’s weapon for influencing Kit is showing her disappointment in the princess or, in some cases, outright lying.

I think there is an important call back to this, in Children of the Wyrm, where Jade goes over the edge of the world not to save Airk, or for Elora or Sorsha, but just for Kit. Because for once love is more important than duty.

The Battle of the Slaughtered Lamb

The reveal that this relationship was orchestrated by Sorsha is a huge blow, but the last line here is the real betrayal. If Jade didn’t ever believe that Kit would be in a life or death situation, then all of Kit’s dreams, all of her plans and fantasies, were just that to Jade-- so much make believe.

I think we give Kit a lot of shit for her mistakes, but she does always apologize. It’s worth noting that there is no apology from Jade here.

Whispers of Nockmaar

Hmm, I can think of someone who could have used your backup about this about an hour ago...

The Wildwood

By far my favorite Jade wrong.

Kit is actually trying to negotiate a release-- and it probably would have worked too!-- and the typically so in control knight with her anger on a tight leash just can’t keep it together enough for it to work.

Love this for her. Get everyone killed, babe.

Prisoners of Skellin

This is not technically a wrong! But it is a type of betrayal for Kit that I think is worth discussing, because these two absolutely won’t.

The devastation.

What is most interesting about this is even though Jade is the one to bodily remove Kit from the tomb, Kit’s rage focuses solely on Elora. It’s Elora she blames for not reuniting with her father, it’s Elora she vents her frustration on.

I don’t think Kit is even capable of remaining angry at Jade, because for Kit, Jade is all she has, and she can’t risk chasing her away. When Jade tells her that she’s leaving for Galladoorn, Kit pitches a fit, but then comes to her with a kiss and a smile in the night. When Kit learns that Jade lied about her training, Kit avoids her for awhile, but all she says is, “I’m just glad you told me.”

So when Jade wraps her arms around her and drags her away from the father she’s been missing her whole life? That rage has to go somewhere else.

The Gales

We’re going all the way back to the beginning with the last one, because it is the only one I can’t defend Jade on. It’s not her accepting a place with the Shining Legion, or even picking the absolute worst time to tell her best friend that she’s leaving, it’s this.

For what, Jade? There is literally no more time left for Kit. Jade is consumed by her dedication to duty, to such an extent that she believes that extremely queer Kit should marry a man she doesn’t know, to have heirs she doesn’t want.

What are our responsibilities to those we lead? To our parents? To our loved ones? To ourselves?

Must we all give up something for what we believe in, or is love the most powerful force in the universe? What mantel from our parents is worth picking up, and which is worth running away from?

The show hasn’t answered all these questions yet, but I hope it has time to explore them, and I know that Jade will be an important part of that exploration.

[delopsia]

Reeth | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000   Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: Between his injuries and his insecurities, Rhett nearly falls apart. But you're there to put him back together again. Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, hurt/comfort (physically and emotionally), bodily injury, blood, brief mentions of violence and attempted murder, crying, brief appearance of food, Rhett's self-doubts and insecurities, rodeos, body worship & praise, I love you's, riding, overstimulation, happy ending. Inspired from the song Reeth by Penny and Sparrow.  

There's something thumping.

A dull, insistent tap, tap, tap that seems to stop when you lift your head but restarts when your head reunites with the cool material of your pillow. Mayhaps the antics of a ghost you're not yet aware of in this big old rental home. Or maybe it's the antics of the boy down the road, who thinks ding-dong ditching is practical in a town where the men are trigger-happy, the land is flat, and driveways are a mile long at the bare minimum. 

Or maybe it's your elderly neighbor pleading for help because her husband fell again. 

Thunder rumbles, icy drops of rain pattering like a symphony against your metal roof. If it's not a tree limb, and someone is truly out the door, then something must be wrong. Lightning bathes your bedroom in a brief flash of white, and the longer you wait for the following boom of thunder, the thinner the air seems to become. Shit.

The last thing you feel like doing is crawling out of bed; you've only just begun to fall asleep, but alas, your feet hit the cold hardwood anyway. Sleepily padding down the hallway, past the kitchen, and toward the front door, where the knocking seems to have stopped once more. The house is silent as you peek out your window, fighting to get a glimpse of who may be at your door. The porch is empty, devoid of anything but leaves blown up against the house. 

But there's movement down your cracked sidewalk. A tall figure stumbling away from your door. 

Icy wind blasts the door open, ripping the handle from your hand as it rushes past. Strong enough to knock over picture frames and the knick-knacks from the table by the door, but you hardly notice it. "Rhett?"

That has to be him because he slows to a halt. It's dark, but it's hard to miss the way he minds his left foot as he turns. That's him, that's him, and you're trying to come to him, but you can't move. Feet frozen to the wet concrete of your porch step. 

Even the downpour cannot wash the blood from his face. Dripping from the bridge of his nose. A gash in his left cheekbone. And from somewhere up in his hairline, streaking down his forehead. He opens his mouth, but the only thing to come out is crimson liquid. Pouring down his chin. Staining his flannel. 

The sound of your name cuts through the air. Garbled by blood that he can't swallow down. Drowned out by the rain. And the wind that rustles through trees. And the thunder that rattles the ground. 

 He's speaking again, but you don't understand him. Tripping over his own feet. Reaching out for you. Like you're just out of his reach. A sob pierces through the air because his arms come up empty. Mutters it again. 

"Help."

His knees crumble out from under him.

And he drops. 

You can't move quickly enough.

Running out into the pouring rain. Uncaring of how the freezing rain feels like tiny bullets upon your skin. Can't hear the slam of thunder because it's washed out by the wail of a cowboy. 

A cowboy who can't lift himself up as he reaches for you. Whimpers your name when you drop into the grass and pull him up into your arms. His head heavy against your chest. Trembling with such a force that you shake with him. Those once strong arms wind around you. Dangling loosely. Not strong enough to do anything more. 

The dull glow of your porch light illuminates more than you can bear to witness. 

Bruises mottle his cheek, knuckle shaped and leading up to a deep, blackened bruise in the corner of his left eye. So close, it's easy to catch onto the split in his scalp, sliced open by something sharper than human nails. Reaches down to his left ear, takes a small divot out of the shell of it. There's a matching one on his forearm, scrawling up through his beloved bull-skull tattoo, and that's only what you can see at a glance. 

"Baby," whispering into his uninjured ear, cradling him to your chest, "what happened?" 

Lightning flickers; no sound to it, but he flinches into you anyway, shudders worse than the leaves in the trees as the autumn wind howls past. "It's my fault," his voice cracking, unable to hold together. "t's my fault...I started it." 

In the back of your head, you can still hear yourself asking him to keep out of trouble; a bar fight a month doesn't sound like a lot until you're the one patching him up. You can't even begin to count the number of times you've been witness to the aftermath of what cheap beer and a small disagreement can lead to.  "Rhett..." it slips out on its own. 

"I'll be good!" He hiccups, "I'll—I'll be good! I'm sorry!" Choking on tears and blood and rain that you can't wipe away quickly enough. Still tries to talk as he coughs, beginnings of more I'm sorry's that never fully leave his frantic tongue. 

His arms squeeze tighter. Yet they're still a shadow of their usual strength as he squirms closer. "Please don't...please don't leave me out..." stammering, can hardly get his head up against your chest like he's trying so hard to do. "Please don't...don't..."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," and you're shushing him, soothing your hands over his messy face, and his head is heavy as he leans into it like he can't keep his own head up without help. "Rhett, look at me, breathe." 

"Don't—don't leave..." sucking in harsh breaths he can't catch, mouth moving, but not a thing coming out.  

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," you're whispering, and for a second, you think the storm has calmed just long enough for him to hear your words. Frigid rain has long since soaked through your clothes, and you need to go inside, but all you can think about is pulling this trembling cowboy closer. 

"I've got you. I promise," cooing into his ear, stroking the back of his head. "You're alright; I've got you." His cold nose finally finds its way into the crook of your neck, and you don't care if the blood stains your shirt or not. 

The wind screams past your head, feels like it'll rip the clothes right off your body. Tiny pellets of hail strike at your skin, and you think they might just pierce through you. "Let's get you inside, alright?" 

You're surprised that he's got the strength to nod, never mind get back up to his feet. A heavy weight against you, his arm slung over your shoulders because he can't support much weight on his left foot. This screeching wind has the pair of you teetering from side to side, and his foot catches on the first stair of your small porch. 

And this part is easy; he knows this routine too well. Stumbling down your short hallway and into the bathroom, damn near collapsing onto the floor when you reach down to turn on the water to the bathtub. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Asking as you help him unbutton his shirt, revealing a myriad of deep red and purple marks that will surely worsen come morning. The handiwork of angry fists and the sharp edge of a steel-toe boot kicking at his ribs while he was down. 

"Perry..." he starts; those eyes flutter, and just like that, he stops. Like he's still recollecting the rest of the story. 

Well, that explains it.

Bar fights are almost always broken up before they can do damage such as this, and you've almost always had to come down to the police station to release him of Sherrif Joy's care. And even though you've seen firsthand how the Tillerson brothers are always looking for a fight with their neighbors, they know when enough is enough. 

Luke and Rhett have been at each other's throats for years, but Luke doesn't kick a man while he's down. Where's the fun in an opponent who doesn't fight back? 

Rhett's nemesis of a neighbor has more respect for him than his own brother.

The worst part is getting Rhett's legs over the edge of your clawfoot bath, and you're thankful that you've already seen the worst of his injuries because you don't think you can bear seeing another open wound. 

"Was he drunk?" Only asking indirect questions as you rub this soapy cloth across his cheek. Washing away the dirt and blood that's caked to his skin until you can see his pretty face once more. 

"He flew off the handle at mom," he sniffles, reaching up to rub a drop of water from his nose, "'n my smartass decided that was a good time to say that his temper is why Rebecca ran." 

You hate the way that he whimpers when you have to wash the blood from his scalp. Clean water stinging at somewhat-open wounds, only further upset when you carefully scrub dried blood from his hair. The sight of these cuts makes your stomach twist sourly, but they're closing without assistance; no need for DIY stitches or a two-hour hospital trip. Not yet, at least. 

"I think...he," Rhett's eyes flicker up to yours, swollen and red; if he had any tears left, they'd be streaking down his cheeks by now, "he tried to...he tried to kill me."

"And your parents didn't..." you're trying to find what to say, scrambling for thought; what do you say? "They didn't stop him?"

His response takes a while to come. 

Silent as you dry him with a towel and help him step into some clothes he's left in case of unplanned sleepovers. Doesn't find what to say as you apply ointment to his wounds and wrap his sliced forearm. His eyes speak a million and one words, but they don't string together into full sentences. A hurt that doesn't restrict itself to physical pain alone. 

"Want some ice cream?" You chirp, holding his hand as he gingerly sinks onto your couch.

Those saddened eyes light up like little blue fireworks, knows that you've still got a pint of his favorite in the freezer. Chocolate chip cookie dough. His head bobs with a nod, a small, "please," falling off his bitten tongue. 

You'll forever take pride in being the one to introduce him to this flavor. Originally, you'd only done it to keep him from nibbling on your baking endeavors before they even touched the oven. Now, you keep it around just to see him brighten up after a long day. 

Who would have thought that they make ice cream flavors that are not Royal's beloved vanilla bean? 

But his hands are trembling far too hard. Spoon tumbling out of his flimsy grip and falling into his lap before he can even scoop any ice cream onto it. His frown deepens. Tries again, reaching for the spoon, but he can't seem to pick it up. Fingers poking and prodding, trying to pick up something that they simply cannot grasp. 

"Here," picking up that evasive spoon, "let me help you."

There's that smile. 

Sheepish, the tips of his ears burning with red, wobbling lips parting, wrapping around the spoon. Doesn't seem to know what to do with himself as you settle down next to him and spoon-feed him his ice cream. 

Especially doesn't know what to do when the bowl is empty, and he impulsively sputters a quiet, "More?" Soft-spoken and shy, afraid to ask for such a thing. 

You leave him with a kiss on his frozen lips and return with the whole damn container. And so what if you let him eat over half of the ice cream that you just bought yesterday? You don't even care that there are tornado sirens blaring outside your home or that Rhett wants to give you sticky kisses that you can feel lingering on your face. 

The storm worsens after his head settles against your chest, listening to the thump of your heartbeat. Your arms have long since wrapped around him, cradling that big, strong body of his and humming when a sniffle wracks through him. The wind howls as loud as she can; you simply turn up the volume to the television. 

It's been nearly two hours when Rhett finally responds to your question. And you've nearly forgotten that you even asked if his parents stopped Perry or not.

"Ma jumped in when Perry got ahold of the kitchen knife," he mutters, his eyes fixated on the movie playing on the screen, "Dad got me by my collar 'n hauled me out back."

Your thumb soothes across the short stubble of his jaw, freshly shaved this morning and already growing back in. Just as stubborn as he is. 

He's quiet again, but only for a moment, "He threw me my keys 'n locked me out." 

"But they didn't lock Perry out?" You already know the answer to your question; not surprised in the slightest when Rhett rumbles a small 'no.' 

You hate to imagine what would happen to him if you weren't around to patch him back up. 

It's hard remembering just how you got into bed. 

Regardless of how and when it happened, you find yourself waking up late into the morning. Cozied up in a big, warm bed with a soft cowboy snuggled into the space beneath your chin, little wisps of his hair tickling your skin. 

It's almost strange to wake up and find him still in bed. On most days, he's off to the ranch before dawn, busting his ass for a full hour before the rest of the family arrives to pick up where they left off. But you suppose being locked out of your own home warrants a day or two of skipping work. 

Your lips press to his forehead, and faintly, you can feel him smile into the crook of your neck.

"Mornin," he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep, vibrating against your neck. Tilts his head back just far enough to take a look at you, eyes barely open. "'m sorry for showin' up in the middle of the night," pauses to kiss your wrist as you reach to tuck his hair behind his ear, smiling weakly, just for a moment, "I shouldn't 've woken you up." 

"You're allowed to come to me when you're hurt, Rhett," tilting his head up to meet your eye as you speak, "You'd do the same for me if I was in that situation."

He's quiet at that. 

And you're not sure who it was that taught him he's not worthy of being cared for when he's hurt, but you hope they forever regret it. You can't stand the way he frowns and snuggles back into you, doesn't quite believe your words because someone has been telling him otherwise for his entire life. 

It could be the fault of his father, who has gone as far as to teach him that boys don't have birthdays and that they should never cry in front of another person. Maybe it's the fault of his mother for standing by and never stepping in, even when she knew better. Hell, maybe it's the fault of his brother, who blames everyone but himself for his temper. 

Rhett should be laying in bed, letting himself heal and taking it easy on himself, but he follows you out of bed, lingers in the kitchen while you cook, and tries to help where he can. Stretches his weary limbs after breakfast, pushing through a pain so severe that his eyes water as he raises his arms above his head. 

"Are you really sure about riding tonight?" You find yourself asking, running a comb through his hair all the while. He's not particularly happy about it, but he's got some knots in the longer parts, and he's never been one to complain about his hair being played with. Forced scowl melting into upturned lips and smiling eyes.

"I ain't hurt that bad," he says, and you're sure that he believes that to be true, too. Stubborn to the end, this one. 

Your nails rake down the back of his neck, tracing down the soft bumps of his spine, just to watch his back arch into your touch, flinching when he shifts his ribs too much. "You can hardly walk straight, baby."

"'m fine," he meets your eye through the reflection of the mirror, confident as he pushes his poorly forged narrative, "'ve ridden through worse."

Maybe, but most of those 'ridden through worse' times have been fueled by the elusive gift of adrenaline, biting away the pain until the moment the stadium lights shut off for the night. These injuries have had time for the hurt to set in and for sore muscles to tighten.

But you can't say you're surprised when Rhett digs out his gear and, admittedly, slowly gets ready for tonight. He can hardly button his flannel, never mind wriggling into his slightly too-tight jeans and fumbling with his chaps until you take pity on him and help him out. Sliding the thick material up his thighs and giving his ass a playful little squeeze when you're done, all to see him jump. 

"You leave my ass alone!" He squeaks, swatting your offending hand away. 

All you can do is wink; you've already won. "Too late, cowboy." And his pale cheeks are blazing with crimson. For a minute there, he's got you near convinced that he is feeling better. 

Until you catch his facade slipping.

He limps to his truck, parked precariously in your driveway, crawls into the driver's side with all the speed and ease of a ninety-year-old man, his face twisting as he upsets just about every injury he's got. 

"'m fine," he insists as you settle into the passenger seat. 

"'m fine," he says when he puts too much weight on his left foot and gasps at the sudden bite of pain. 

"'m fine," he promises right before he steals his good-luck kiss from your lips and hobbles off to join his buddies before they finish their warmups without him. 

You expect to find Cecelia, Amy, and Royal up in the bleachers, in their spot tucked off into the far corner. They always sit in the same space, where it's easy to hop down and beat the rush of the crowd when the rodeo comes to a close. But they're not there. An empty gap that never fills. 

At least, it doesn't fill until you catch the familiar, warm eyes of deputy sheriff Joy, her wife, and daughter in tow. "Now, this may be a dumb question because I know who usually sits here with you," she pauses, glancing around the stadium once more. Packed to the brim. Not another space to be seen. "But is the space next to you taken?"

"It's all yours," sliding over to make space for them, "I don't think they'll be coming tonight."

Joy and her wife have been nothing but kind to you ever since you stumbled into this hidden town way back when. And maybe that's why, when she asks about where the rest of the Abbotts are, you tell her. Recounting your memory starting from when you awoke last night, not missing a detail.

You only pause to watch as Rhett comes bursting out of the chute. 

His body twisting, right hand held high as he hangs tight. But this bull is mean. Knocks him around like he weighs nothing. Kicking up plumes of red dirt. Never has more than two feet on the ground at a time. Almost smacks Rhett in the face with his horns. Yet, your cowboy manages to stay on until the buzzer sounds. Diving into the dirt in the same, not-so-graceful fashion as his usual.

One good ride. Two more to go. 

"This ain't somethin' I'm supposed to go repeatin'," Joy begins, not a moment after Rhett's disappeared from sight, "but I have good reason to tell you that if nobody stepped in to stop Perry last night, Rhett wouldn't have even made it to his truck." 

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. But nothing comes out. 

She seems to think for a moment, carefully analyzing her words before they ever leave her mouth. "It's cruel to say, but Rhett's safer if he's not in that house."

You hate that she has a point. You're no stranger to Perry and his temper, either.

And then Rhett's up again, firing out of the chute for a second time. His right hand once again held high to the sky as that bull drops into a spiral. Kicking, twisting, and Rhett's glued to this bull's back. 

Until he's not.

The bull makes a sudden twist to the left. And Rhett's falling. Sideways. No time to react. Left shoulder crashing into the cold, hard ground. Tumbling. 

But the bull is still bucking. Spiraling, trying to get that flank strap off. Uncaring as he all but jumps over Rhett's body. Misses him completely. Hooves mere inches away from his face as it turns a sharp left again. 

Heavy hooves dig into Rhett's stomach. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Darting away just as quickly, still bucking as those bullfighters step in. Urging him away.

Rhett's not getting up. 

But he's coiled in on himself. A minuscule ball that doesn't budge until one of the bullfighters rushes in. Yanks him up from the ground and hauls him toward an open chute. Rhett's feet are moving, but they're slow. Struggling to keep up as he's all but drug across the dirt. 

"They won't stop you from seeing him if I go with you," Joy's already ripping you from your stupor, taking you by the hand. "Come on." 

You have no memory of standing up, nor do you recall anything on the way down the stairs. The flickering of the scoreboard briefly steals your attention; Rhett's name no longer occupies the number two slot, but you can't look to find where he's dropped down to. Your ears ring, muffling the chaotic chatter of the rodeo grounds into near silence. 

Joy's leading you somewhere you've never been before; past security, through staff-only gates, and around sharp corners that never seem to end. Places you can't hope to memorize as she hauls you down toward a collection of familiar faces. Rodeo friends that Rhett's introduced you to in the past; you don't recall their names. Nor do you hear their voices as they point you toward where he's at. 

The ringing fades within an instant. 

"He took off on us," one of them is saying, and he's looking dead at you like you can do something about this, "talk him out of riding again, would you?" 

It's not hard to find Rhett. The riders all point you down past the bull chutes, a one-way path that leads directly into the tree line. He's curled himself beneath the thick trunk of an old oak, trembling hand wrapped around an empty can of Rainier Beer.

He hates Rainier. 

"Hey, cowboy," he jolts at the sound of your voice, surprised features instantaneously wrinkling into something pained, jaw clenched, grunting as his injuries bite at his nerves with razor-sharp teeth. 

"You shouldn't..." his voice fades, chest heaving, "shouldn't be back here." 

That rough 'n tough front dissolves the moment you settle next to him. He's muttering to himself, unable to keep upright as he all but collapses into your chest, right arm coiling around you, the left one dangling at his side, limp as can be. 

"I'm the biggest fuck up out here," he sputters, weak against your neck.

"That's not true," you're carefully wrapping your arms around him, hand tangling into his hair as you hold him to you; it's last night all over again, only this time, he wails. A noise that bursts past his lips, wetness forming at your shoulder, and he's shaking and muttering something you can't understand, and there's blood seeping through his shirt and, and— 

"That's not true at all," repeating yourself, murmuring into his ear, stroking the back of his head. Can't reach any further, not with that heavy vest in the way. "Look how far you've come; you're in the finals, Rhett. That means something." 

Two of his buddies are coming around the corner, and you don't need to know their names to know what they're doing back here. 

"Don't touch me," Rhett's snarling like a cornered animal, but they're unphased. A silent team as one grabs him by his collar, pulls him back, and the other gets ahold of his dislocated arm. "Don't! I'm fine! Don't, don't, don't—!"

Crackles soar past your ears. Bones popping back into place. Loud.

But not as loud as the ear-piercing cry that tears through the air. Raw. Torn. The kind of sound that hurts you to see more than it does to hear.

And Rhett's crumbling back into your arms, tears streaming down his cheeks like waterfalls, sobbing into your chest. As broken as the bones in his body. His shoulders tremble as he cries out again, pawing at your sides. Can't lift his arms to hang onto you.

"It's okay, it's okay," you don't know if those words are meant for him or for yourself. You've barely got the strength to wave his buddies on; you've got him, you'll look after him from here. 

His voice is caught in his quivering throat. Choked off noises that barely form words. "You...shouldn't," shaking his head against you, over and over, "shouldn't be dealin' with this."

Something in your gut twists at that. "Rhett..." 

"Look out there! My own fuckin' family ain't—ain't here for a reason," he blurts, and he's trying to look up and meet your eye, but he can't lift his own head. Too heavy for his beaten body to carry.

A choked sob rattles past his lips, "How are you meant to feel safe when I can't even hold my own in a fight I started?" He's reeling back, grimacing, clutching at his lower belly. Still has hoof-shaped prints of dirt on his clothes. 

"All I do is worry you 'n put you through hell," and you hate how Rhett can say these things so easily. Weakly voicing thoughts that have probably been running through his head for months. Years, even. 

His bloodshot eyes burst open as your shaky hands rise to cradle his cheeks. Thumbs stroking away dirt, sweat, and tears to find the remarkably soft skin beneath. Always so soft. Even with all that scruff on his jaw. 

There's blood in his smile, wobbly, but there, some involuntary thing that always happens when you tuck his hair back behind his ear. You're leaning in, ignoring the dirt and grime as you meet those quivering lips with your own. Nothing but a soft lock that you can only hope gets him to hear what you're trying to say. 

"You deserve someone...someone who can give you better than...this," he's talking softly, voice hitching around a sudden gasp for air, "Look at me... 'm a broken piece of trash, most days." 

With a shuddered breath, you begin to speak, "Do you think that I kiss you because of what you give to me?" ignoring the bits of rock that dig into your knees as you bear your weight on them, attention laced solely on this cowboy of yours. The one you've always known would break, eventually, because he's not his father. Never has been, no matter how much he tries to force it. 

His head doesn't nod, but you can see the burning 'yes' in his eyes. Once so vibrantly blue, now a muted hue.

"Well, it goes to show that you're not listening when I say that I know what I deserve," your forehead comes to rest against his, peering into those eyes that you can still become lost in, even all these years later, "And you're not listening when I tell you that you are worth more than you've ever realized."

And he's searching.

Never has been good at words, but he's stellar at finding even a single wrinkle of doubt in a face. Puffy eyes flickering across your features, to your nose, cheeks, chin, lips, but they freeze when they meet your gaze. A puff of breath escapes him. Eyes flickering closed as he leans into you.

He's looked for doubt. Denial. A scent of a lie. 

He hasn't found it. 

"It hurts," whispering, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, as a buzzer sounds. 

"I know," whispering in return, and you think your voice might have cracked. 

"But I need to..." his head twists to look back at the stadium, flinching as he tries to look over his swollen shoulder, "I need to do this. It's...it's my last..."

A part of you already knew he was going to lead back around to that. "You're sure?" 

With a deep breath, he smiles. Something familiar flickering back to life within him. And that's all that needs to be said. 

When you'd stumbled over here, unable to keep in tune with Joy's valiant step, you'd thought it was the physical pain that had brought Rhett to his knees. Body beaten and abused beyond its breaking point, taking him down and swallowing him up in a pit of metaphorical flames.

But as you leave him with a gentle squeeze of the hand. And you listen to him argue with his buddies on your walk to rejoin Joy; you can't help but realize that sometimes, it's the internal wounds that hurt the most. 

Because, would you know it, Rhett Abbott rides like he's never been hurt at all. 

His right hand held high as that raging bull bucks and twists beneath him. Hundreds of pounds of muscle fighting to get him off. Turning with every buck. Never has more than two hooves on the ground at once. 

Two decades ago, Royal Abbott took the Amelia County Rodeo by storm. Won four back-to-back seasons before he suffered a concussion so severe his wife served him an ultimatum. Quit riding or divorce. Rhett's got all but one of those season wins recorded on an old VHS tape. He's played it a million times, the excited giggles of his five-year-old self blaring through the speakers, shaky, unclear footage barely depicting a thing as Royal reclaimed his rodeo crown over and over again.

But out of all those tapes, of all those wins, the crowd never roared as loud as they do when Rhett's name soars back to first place. 

"Down, boy!" 

But your squeals are no use; Rhett's already drug you down, your bodies bouncing painfully against the mattress. His elbow digging into your side. You think your knee smacked into his tailbone. Limbs hopelessly tangling. His hair somehow in your mouth. And he's grunting because his belly is still sore, but he's too stubborn to acknowledge it.

"What did the doctor just say, huh?" You're trying not to giggle, but it's bubbling out of you anyway.

"Dunno, two hours ago is a long time," he deadpans, refusing to move off of you. At least, not until you start reaching for one of the throw pillows. "Sorry! Sorry!" Squirming, rolling off of you and onto the mattress, where he belongs. "Just tryin' to make the most of these painkillers."

Looking at him now and thinking back on the events of earlier, it's hard to believe that all this has happened within the same night. Normalcy shouldn't have come this quickly. This easily. Even so, it's fleeting; the moment this medicine wears off, Rhett's going to be a lump on the couch for the next week, at the least. 

But right now, he's nuzzling his cold nose into your cheek, red and freshly bitten by the chilly autumn wind. Smiling as you look over to him, smiles as he realizes that you've caught on to what he's asking for.

If it were any other day, you'd tease him, make him voice exactly what he wants, and play coy when he isn't specific enough. But you've pushed him enough by taking his keys and driving him to the hospital, and that little impatient grunt of his is so damn hard to resist. 

Rhett hums. Leans into your kiss with all the grace of a fat cat in the sun, rolling lazily into you, his hand skittering up your side. In no hurry to explore each other, the sugary taste of cola still fresh on his tongue, meeting your own in fleeting, shy touches. You wonder if he can taste the same on your own, the evidence of a stolen sip while he wasn't looking.

His body shudders with a shiver that runs through him from head to toe. Squirming even closer to you—

"Fuck," his eyes screw shut as he clutches at his lower belly, hissing. 

"You alright?" He's nodding before you've even finished your question, doesn't open his eyes. You're not sure that you entirely believe him. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this yet."

Images flicker behind your eyelids. Memories. The heavy hooves of a bull that damn near ripped him apart. The rippling crack of a shoulder put back into place, and the earth-shattering cry that followed.

Oh, but why do Rhett's eyes have to sadden like that? Gaze dropping to the comforter, afraid to look at you, like a kid who's just been scolded, "But..." 

"Rhett, look at you. You're hurt." you're curling your hand around his cheek, stroking the thin skin beneath his eye, still a touch swollen from crying, "It's a wonder that you're even walking after tonight." 

"It doesn't hurt that bad, I promise it, it—" stumbling over his words, "It doesn't...it doesn't hurt."

"I know, I know," you're trying to shush him, but he's still muttering under his breath. False promises that neither of you believes, "but you're hurt. Look at your poor stomach, Rhett." 

Your hand wanders to the lower hem of his shirt, gently tugging it up to reveal the abused skin beneath. Once milky white, now a horrific mottling of dark yellows, blues, and purples. That protective vest bore the brunt of most of it, but gear can only do so much. 

Rhett's shaking hands reach for yours, pushing them away, "I can...keep my clothes on?"  Already beginning to tug his shirt back down, concealing those bruises once more, "You don't have to...you don't have to see..."

"Baby..."  is that what this is about? What his body looks like? "That's not..."

You don't know how to finish your sentence.

Rhett's never been good with words. Might not fully understand, even if you handcraft a poem on the spot meant just for him. But maybe, he'll hear you if you voice your thoughts with more than just words...

The mattress squeaks as you begin to move, gingerly swinging your leg over to straddle his thighs. Not sure if his beaten hips can handle any pressure on them, as you lean forward to press your lips to his clothed chest. Working your way up to his open mouth.

"I know you're not fond of them, but I love these lips of yours," you only allow him one kiss because he'll shut you up if you allow him anything more. "And I love seeing them swell after I've given you too many kisses."

Oh, and it's hard to miss those eyes, the way they widen a little, catching onto what you're doing. "And I love these eyes of yours, how they can go from bright blue to nearly black with the simplest change in lighting," his gaze darts away, shy, "you don't speak a lot, but your eyes are always talking. "

Your fingertip runs across his bottom lip, watching how his tongue daringly darts out to lick the pad of it. Leaves a thin, glistening trail as you trace toward his lower jaw, stroking past three-day-old scruff to find the pale white line of a scar, courtesy of a bar fight. "And this old scar, from when we first met..." pausing to stroke down his neck, finding a matching mark beneath his chin, "this one, too..."

"I have a scar there?" He's reaching up, rubbing where your finger rests.

Humming, you press a kiss to each minuscule mark, fingers running along the sides of his neck as you work your way to the soft space beneath his ear. "And the noise you make when I suck on the skin here," pressing your lips there, pleased to hear that involuntary gasp as you apply a little suction, "is worth its weight in gold."

"You don't...you don't have to do this..." his voice vibrates against your mouth, some deep rumbling that could put you to sleep on the spot. 

"I know," beginning to work your way down now, popping open the buttons of this soft, pearl-snap flannel that he loves so much, "but I want to."

The final button comes loose, breaking away to expose his wonderfully pale chest, remarkably soft for a cowboy. Skin like silk beneath your palms, roaming over the broad expanse of him. Thumbs drifting overtop sensitive, dusky pink nipples on their way to trace up his ticklish sides. He's too sore for his back to arch off the back, but oh, does he try. 

"And this scar, too..." pressing kisses to the prominent, raised skin near the meet of his left shoulder, beneath his collarbone, "I wasn't there to see it, but you've told me the story so many times that I feel like I was."

Now you're working across, tongue trailing until you can lave over the black ink that occupies the right side of his chest. "And this tattoo you got when you were sixteen, using the fake ID that you still carry in your wallet," the lines are no longer crisp, but you wouldn't have it any other way, "You tell me you hate it, but it just goes to show how dedicated you can be when your heart is in it." 

Rhett's breathing shifts, deepening as you work lower; already knows where your mouth is going. 

"Then there are these cute little nipples," spiraling around the little nub with your tongue, right hand working his other one in perfect synchrony. Feeling them roll against your touch, drinking in the whimper that he can't swallow down. "Always so sensitive for me." 

Your assault only stops long enough for you to switch sides, working the right one with the same enthusiasm as the first. A simple thing that has Rhett bracing his hand on your bicep. Needs something to hang onto that isn't the comforter. 

When you pull away, inspecting your handiwork, you're more than pleased to find that pale pink has blossomed into bright red. Just as swollen and wet as his lips. 

Again, you're moving. Never in one place for too long, working your way down his bruised belly. Pressing feather-light kisses to each and every mark that mar his flesh; maybe if you pepper enough to them, they'll heal faster. All the while unclasping his buckle and tugging the zipper down. 

"Can you lift your hips for me?" Hooking your fingers into his waistband as you ask. 

His hips lift, shaky as you pull his jeans and boxers down all in one go; hardly has the strength to let you get the material past his ass. But then you're tugging it down his legs, and he's collapsing against the mattress with a pained grunt. Chest heaving with the effort. 

As soon as those jeans hit the floor, you're pressing your mouth to the inside of his ankle, overtop a darkened bruise; you're not sure how Perry gave him this, and you don't think you want the answer, either. 

Traveling up again, following the dots of four mosquito bites that trail up to his knee, licking the trail of a series of stretch marks that lead you all the way up to his inner thigh. These soft, plush thighs that so few have had the pleasure of seeing. 

"I love these thighs," your words muffled because you can't bring your mouth away from them for more than a second. "They fit so nicely in my hands, perfect to squeeze." He squirms as you suck darkened marks into that pale flesh, soothing them with your tongue. Working your way up to where his cock twitches against his lower belly, needy.

But you've got a few more pit stops to make first.

Namely, these hips. Boney and a little sharp. There's a bruise on his left one, not from Perry, not from the hooves of a bull, but from the edge of your kitchen counter. He's been smacking into it so long that it's become a customary thing. 

"And your hips," gripping them in your hands, feeling them writhe, because he'd rather your tongue trace away from his hip and closer to somewhere else. "I love getting to sneak up behind you and grab them, even when you roll your eyes like you are now."

Rhett freezes at that.

A creature of habit, he is.

"The dimples in your spine, right above your cute ass that you always struggle to get into your jeans," you can't pepper those spots with attention, not right now, but you'll get to another day. For now, you're very happy with tracing your nails up his thighs, watching him wriggle once more. "You're lucky I can't make you roll over, Abbott."

He's quiet as you move over to his arm, paying your attention to the thick muscle that you've drooled over more times than you can count, "I love your biceps, even if you think they're not as big as you want them to be."

"And I love your forearms, so strong, even when they don't need to be," It's trying to move, trying to stroke your shoulder, a little difficult for you to lower your head, but you make it work.  "And this tattoo you impulsively got three days before you met me." The wound there doesn't look as bad now that it's had a day to heal. A perfect slice through the ink that almost looks intentional.

But you're not done, "And these veins..." tongue poking past your lips once more, tracing over them, "so easy to trace and get you riled up."

His knuckles brush against your cheek, lightly stroking. The back of his hand right there for you to nip at, lazily soothing over with your mouth after. "I love these hands of yours, calloused and worn beyond their years," Don't care that you're getting a little carried away as you lick up his fingers.  "Tough enough to hold onto a bull, yet always so gentle when you touch me with them."

As you wonder about what part of him you should lavish with attention next, your eyes flick up.

Oh, that's not what you expected at all. 

His eyes glassy and wide, thin trails of tears shining on his cheeks, mouth opening and closing, wrapping around the shapes of words but unable to voice them. The same word over and over, so familiar...

"And you, Rhett," rising again as you speak, taking his wet cheeks into your hands, warm beneath your touch, "the sweetest cowboy I could have ever met, with the biggest heart I've ever seen." "There aren't enough words in the English language to depict just how much I love you." 

Your name tumbles out of him. Hardly a whisper, voice cracking, wavering. 

That's the only thing he can say as his arms wind around you and pull your body against his, burying his face within the crook of your shoulder. A sob rattles out of him, but it's different compared to the ones you've been hearing as of late. 

"I love you," he murmurs into your collar, vibrating up your neck, "I love you."

You only mean to shift your weight, unintentionally brushing your thigh between his legs and Rhett whines.

As he lays back against the mattress, and your noses press together, peering back into one another's eyes, you reach down. Finally, finally, wrapping your palm around his dripping cock. Hard as can be, the tip glistening in the light as you loosely stroke him. 

"Is that what you were wanting, cowboy?" Your answer comes in the form of him reaching toward the bedside table, getting ahold of the new bottle of lube sitting atop it. So new that you have to stop and remove the plastic from it before you can properly slick him up. 

His hips rise off the bed, needily chasing your touch, the sweet whimper in his throat dancing with the wet sounds of the lube. Always so responsive for you, and you've hardly done anything to him.

"Hah, that..." Rhett's eyes screw shut, head bobbing from side to side, as your thumb polishes over his head, working over the slit and all. "But...you." 

"You don't need to worry about me," on its own, your mind darts to what lurks in the box next to your bed. Plenty of things to play with. "I don't wanna hurt you, remember?"

Rhett's not having it. Bottom lip pouting. "But it feels better when I know you're feelin' good, too," His voice high, breathy, "Please?" 

He could sell you on a one-way ticket to the moon if he really wanted to. 

He must know he's convinced you, too, because he's already pulling your shirt over your head. Hands roaming up your sides, cupping your breasts in his big palms, still wet from your ventures with your tongue. Then go your pants, joining Rhett's on the floor with the quietest noise. 

"Now, what if I really do hurt you?" Your palm runs over his belly, watching how he tenses despite your feather-light touch. So, so sore. Bound to be worse in the morning.

His left-hand trembles as he drizzles lube onto his fingers; it should be resting in his sling like the doctor ordered, but between the walk from the truck to the house, he's wriggled out of it. "Ain't too worried 'bout that." 

"But—"

Wet fingers slip between your folds, lazily pausing to stroke your clit on their way to their destination. "If I can ride a bull, y'sure as hell can ride me." 

Stubborn to the damn end. 

And you want to complain. Never let him hear the end of how you don't want to hurt him. But two of those wicked fingers of his are pushing into you without the slightest warning, and your higher thinking vanishes within an instant. Stolen away by the drag of calloused fingertips, has you shuddering before they've even passed the second knuckle. 

A chuckle bubbles out of Rhett's chest, darkened eyes glinting; he knows what he's doing. Grinning to himself as he begins to those fingers of his in and out of you, eyelashes fluttering when you clench around them. 

Your attention darts to his neglected cock, laying haphazardly against his belly, precum spilling out of his tip like a leaky faucet. Perfect to reach for and torment, sliding your thumb over his cock head, spreading it around him. 

Rhett's hips jerk, a breath bursting out of him, "St—hah, stop that." 

One little touch, and he's twitching in your hand. It's only been a week since the last time. Is he that sensitive already?

Those fingers of his twist, cooking to drive against something that has your thighs quivering, letting go of his cock to brace yourself against the bed. Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

"Alright," reaching down, you take hold of his wrist and pull him out of you. Disappointed by the loss of his fingers, even though you know you'll get something better in just a moment. "But just remember, this was your idea." 

"I know it," Rhett's good hand rises to settle on your hip as you move to straddle him. Contentedly rubbing the skin there as you take hold of him once more, guiding his leaking tip between your folds. 

And who's to stop you from lazily rubbing him against your clit, gentle spirals that makes your fingertips tingle. It's hard telling if Rhett moans first or if it's you all along, gasping together like it's all you know how to do. 

"Fuck," muttering under his breath, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes. "That's...different..." 

Your hand twitches. Pulls him back far enough to catch on your entrance. Ends your fun too soon, but the delicious pressure of him against you is too good to miss. With a shaky breath, you sink down on him, eyes falling shut at the stretch of him. 

Rhett's panting like a dog beneath you, the hand on your hip growing loose as you slowly but surely take him. God, he's so thick, and it's not fair. Stretching you wide, his plush head dragging against the walls of your cunt. So hard to relax when he seems to fill you completely, bordering the line between a perfect fit and a little too much.

His hip bones press into your ass as you bottom out. Your chest heaving, heart pounding in your chest. Think you can feel him throbbing inside of you, subtle little pulses of his cock that make you jolt. 

"Are you alright?" You ask. Struggling to open your eyes.

Rhett's hand rises, smoothing up your waist and settling on your breast, pressing his palm against it. "Think I outta be askin' you that, darlin'." 

You're more than alright. 

Carefully, you lean forward, bracing one hand on the mattress, the other on his heaving chest, steering clear of his bruises. On its own, your thumb flicks over his nipple, gasping when he jolts up into you. 

"Y'gotta leave those alone," he fusses, but he doesn't stop you from craning your neck to suck on one of them. Worrying the hardening bud between your teeth, listening to him whine at the attention, only letting go once it's begun to swell once more. 

 Before he can open his mouth again, you begin to move. 

Raising yourself up, feeling him twitch inside of you, then sinking right back down. Starting shallow, for his sake more than your own. Breathing out a silent noise as you feel him move inside of you, thick length massaging against a particular bundle of nerves within you, without the slightest effort. 

"Fuck, fuck, you're tight," he whimpers, eyes barely open as he peers up at you, hair spread out beneath his head in a messy halo. "Baby, baby..."

"Is that what you were needing, cowboy?" Teasing, not bothering to fight the noises he's working out of you. Feeling those devilish hips swivel. The best he can do. 

And those lewd little noises are spilling out of him like a waterfall. Whimpers carried to your ears by his short, quickened breaths, "uhuh." 

Drawing yourself up quicker now, settling into a comfortable rhythm that lets you feel the drag of his cock head inside of your pussy. Filling you impossibly well, so deep that you're not sure how he fits. 

"Can feel you flutterin' round me," his voice gravelly, absolutely hypnotized by the way your body moves on top of him. Even that shaky left hand is rising, settling on your thigh, needs to feel your muscles flex with your motions. 

On your own, you clamp down around him; almost regret it because the noise he makes sends something stirring to life within you. Warm. Familiar.

"Again," Rhett babbles, head rolling side to side, "please—please, do that again."

 Your thighs are beginning to ache, forces your pace to fall into something shallower as you squeeze down around him once more. Oh, oh, oh, how he jerks up into you at that. Rips a surprised cry out of you as his hips come off the mattress, slamming into you.

"Fuck, Rhett," your eyes bursting open; don't remember closing them. 

"'M already close," his voice an octave higher, words punctuated by the smack of skin on skin. Biting on his lips, trying to swallow down those noises you're working out of him.

Your hand trembles as it rises to pull his lip free of his teeth, replacing it with your thumb. That short, hot tongue swirls around on it, lazily sucking on it, eyes falling shut. So, so focused. "You gonna cum for me, cowboy?" 

He can't speak, too busy with your finger, can only nod and hum. It's easy, pressing down on his tongue, pinning it down if only to feel it writhe. 

"Come on, sweet boy," you're cooing, urging him on, fighting to keep yourself going. He's already twitching in you. Little jerks of his cock that always bubble to the surface when he's close. "Cum." 

Those pretty blue eyes roll back into his head. And with the quitest sob, he cums. 

Muscles flexing as he jolts up into you, back arching despite it all, the hand on your thigh squeezing tight. A familiar heat fills you. Ropes of sticky, hot cum, pumping inside, already beginning to spill out as you ride him through it. Gradually slowing, pulling your thumb from his slackened mouth, watching him spin back down from the clouds. 

"Keep," he's interrupted by a desperate gasp for air. "Keep goin'."

Well, that's new. "Are you sure?" Because you can already feel him beginning to soften inside of you, spent. 

"Wanna feel you cum 'round me," pleading like his life depends on it, voice gone raspy, "Please, please, please."

Something about the way he says it stirs something to life within you. Ache in your thighs seeming to disappear as you begin to move once more, too distracted by the way he reaches down, pressing rough fingers to your sensitive clit. Regaining your rhythm once more, dizzied by the delicious thickness of him inside of you. Sickeningly loud squelch be damned.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," babbling under his breath, Rhett's fighting to keep his eyes open. Hungry gaze eating up the sight of you, using him for your own pleasure.

"Good boy," leaning back, savoring how he's twitching in your pussy, already beginning to harden once more, "hang on for me." 

And Rhett's shaking. His muscles tremoring as heat blooms between your legs, thumb struggling to spiral around your swollen clit, shaking too damn hard to stay steady. Downright vibrating. His thighs spasm beneath you, whimpering high in his throat, and he sounds so, so pretty like that. Looks it too.

Just the sight of him has you clenching around him like a vice, head beginning to spin. Rhythm faltering as you all but chase the heat starting to spread between your legs, spurred on by his trembling thumb and the drag of his plush head against the inside of you. Skin prickling. Close, close, close. 

His hips jolt up on their own. Once. Twice. And you're gone. 

A silent noise stumbling out of you as your eyes screw shut. Body freezing. Pulsing around him as your orgasm washes over you like a ton of bricks. Distantly aware that you're falling forward. Head coming to rest against his collar. Stars dancing beneath your eyelids. A dull tingling in your limbs. 

Rhett's hips jolt one more time. Short. Jerky. And you're distantly aware that he's cumming again. 

You wonder if this is how it feels to take a hard fall off a bull. A brief blankness in memory, followed by the slow opening of eyes. Barely able to recall where you are before the ache in your thighs comes knocking at the door. 

"Don't..." Rhett whispers, lips tickling your ear, "Don't move...just for a minute."

You're glad that he asked because you don't think you can move. "Can I convince you on a bath and a movie?" Because if you two stay on this bed for too long, you'll have to rewash this comforter. 

"Will you get in with me?" And if you thought his lips tickled, then his hot breath is a different monster entirely. 

"Of course, I will," pressing a kiss to his collar before finishing your sentence. "Whatever you want, cowboy." And it seems you may have left him a few hickeys because you don't recall him having bruises here. 

"Whatever I want?" And you can hear the cocky grin in his voice. 

God, why did you ever tell him that? "...that's what I said."

He seems to think for a minute. Looking for something that will truly test your resolve, simply to see if you're true to your word. "Then d'you think you can put that sling back on me after?" How dare he sound so shy, with his softening dick still in you. "Shits startin' to hurt." 

"Where did you put it?"

"I haven't the slightest clue."

How you wind up finding it hanging off the top of the refrigerator is anyone's guess.

Thunk.

"Shit!" Rhett's voice echoes from the kitchen; you don't need to think to know what just happened. "Fuck this fucking—I'm not gonna miss this damn counter!" 

The landlord is gonna shave some funds off your deposit for the dent your poor cowboy has put into that tabletop. That you know for sure.

"Consider it a parting gift," you chirp, scooping up the last of your boxes. Picture frames, delicately wrapped in old newspaper and towels. 

When you'd moved into this house, you had a grand total of ten boxes. Hardly anything to your name, other than essentials you'd scrapped up from yard sales and big box store sales. Just little old you in a big house that's seen more life than you could have ever hoped to live

But now, as you finally, finally move out of this century-old place, you've got more boxes than you can count. Cookware, throw pillows, knick-knacks brought to you by a cowboy who didn't know how to court you. Stacks of DVDs and CDs, a stuffed bull bought at a rodeo, plaid curtains and blankets, memories galore. 

Rhett's lingering by the door. Big hands reaching out to take the box from you; it's not heavy, but you've given up on bickering about who can carry what. 

His gaze is heavy, falling to focus on the box. Index finger tapping on the cardboard, in its own uneasy tune. 

"You alright?" You chirp, surprised by how your voice carries in this house now that it's completely empty.

His boot taps the ground. If you were outside, he'd be kicking the dirt. "Are you really sure you want a home with me in it?" 

The hardwood squeaks beneath your feet as you step forward, crouching to catch his eye. They lock with yours, following as you rise once more. "I can't imagine a house without you in it, cowboy," licking the pad of your thumb, wiping away a streak of dirt from his cheek. "Even if you do try to distract me with kisses, so you can steal cookie dough off the tray."

His gaze falls again. The tips of his ears go red, smiling to himself like it's your first date all over again. 

 Your hands squish his cheeks. They've gotten a touch thicker now that he's exchanged bull riding for lazy nights on the couch with you. And they're perfect. "What are you?" 

His eyelashes flutter. Mouth opening, then closing, only to open again. "Worth it." And then he's twisting his head to bite your thumb and darting out the open door. Tripping over his own feet as you come after him. Giggling, yelling his futile, I'm sorry's, despite provoking this all on his own.

Yeah, you're glad you picked this cowboy. 

[lotties-ashwagandha]

i have a request for adult lottie x reader if u want?

something about reader also being part of the survivors, besties with nat <3, lottie and reader having dated in the past, then reader going almost no contact with the rest of the last yellowjackets because of everything that went down there and was too much to bear so reader left and went off to god knows where to travel the world or whatever,

ANYGAYS reader and lotties love never withered even after all that time SO THEN they reunite and its super heartwarming romantic bla bla with a bit of sadness and hurt because lottie really needed reader but they just up and left without telling a soul bla bla u can choose what u do with it or how it ends but thank u nonetheless

IN MYTH, YOU ARE MINE

pairing: adult lottie matthews x reader

word count: 1870

notes: not proofread. also i am so obsessed w the gif of her beneath this AHH inhale gay exhale gay inhale gay exhale gay live the gay taste the rainbow

Against the pull of any sort of sound judgment, you’d reconnected with Natalie after she'd gotten out of rehab. It was the only contact you’d had with any of the other Yellowjackets since the wilderness, and while you knew Natalie was still in contact with some of them you couldn’t face any of them but her.

The two of you had reconnected, by chance, at a time when both of you were in terrible states of mind and neither of you should have been under the influence of the other. You had just gotten fired from your job, and with Natalie out of rehab with no place to go you’d traveled to meet her and had ended up staying in the motel with her. All of it was a mess, but in your mind it was the best option.

But one day, Natalie told you everything she’d been doing with the other Yellowjackets, tried to get you involved — she told you about the blackmailer, about Shauna’s dead boyfriend, about Taissa almost killing her wife in the car wreck caused by whatever alter ego was supposedly possessing her.

You had snapped. You weren’t ready to face any of the other girls, not after all that had happened, and not after so many years. It was best to leave it all be. The past wasn’t worth reliving, and the things all of you did… you didn’t trust yourself anymore.

So you left. Without warning you left Natalie at the motel, gathering what little things you had and hitting the road. It was shitty of you, and you knew it, but you’d done it before to the other girls, and this was no different.

But Natalie had never tried to contact you. You didn’t receive a single text, a single call, and it had you worried, which is why when a New York number you didn’t recognize kept trying to call you, you apprehensively picked up.

“Who is this?” You asked tiredly, sitting in your car at a rest stop.

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Hello?” You tried again, and you were about to hang up when she spoke.

“I almost didn’t recognize your voice, it’s been so long.”

You paused, a sharp sense of shock flooding through you, and for a moment you deeply considered hanging up, but you knew if you did she would keep calling. She always had.

“Lottie,” you breathed, your tone neutral, somewhere between regret and rejoicing. “Lottie, how did you get my number?”

She cleared her throat awkwardly on the other end. “I have Natalie.”

“You have her? What, did you kidnap her or something?” You tried joking, but you became a bit concerned when she didn’t respond for a few moments. “Lottie, holy fuck, you didn’t kidnap her did you?”

“An intervention was required. It wasn’t a kidnapping.”

You resisted the urge to laugh. She sounded so serious, insisting upon the fact that it wasn’t a kidnapping. But then her words fully digested, and a quick flash of fear ran through you. “What happened to Natalie? Why did you have to take her, is she okay? And why are you calling me about it?”

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between the two of you,” she said, “if you were just friends, or if there was more—”

“No,” you said quickly. “That’s all it was.”

“Well, in any case, Natalie… She tried to shoot herself. About a day after you left. We’ve been watching the two of you to make sure you’re okay, but if we hadn’t been…”

You were silent. You had nothing to say as guilt crashed over you in waves, cold and heavy, leaving you empty.

“Come to Camp Green Pine,” Lottie said, interrupting your montage of self-blame. “We can help you here, and you can see her. You can see me.”

“You run the weird hippie cult with the purple people?”

“It’s heliotrope,” she said rather sharply, “it’s not purple.”

“Pardon me.”

“Follow the gray car parked across the parking lot from you. I’ll meet you at the entrance in an hour.”

She hung up.

A bit disturbed, you turned, and looking out the back window of the car you saw that indeed there was a gray car, and you shook your head, smirking slightly.

“Weird bitch,” you murmured to yourself.

But upon reflecting on your conversation, your heart dropped a bit. It was an oddly professional phone call, considering it was between two people who had dated in high school and during what happened in the wilderness, and you hadn’t spoken in at least 15 years or so. Then there was the way you’d left things between the two of you, not really bad but not really good. You’d just left, with no way for her to contact you.

The gray car began to pull out of the parking lot, and after a moment of hesitation you followed it. Part of you wanted to turn around, keep running, but you knew Lottie had probably prepared for that, and trying to leave would only make things worse.

You arrived at Camp Green Pine within an hour. As it turned out, you weren’t too far from it at all, your subconscious having guided you already to where you needed to be.

The gray car stopped in front of the entrance to the commune, and two people wearing purple sweaters jumped out, approaching your car to greet you. You stayed inside, a bit apprehensive about joining them.

One of them gestured for you to roll down your window, and when you did, he smiled gratefully.

“If you follow us,” he said, “we will take you to Charlotte. She has instructed us to lead you to the lake, and from there she will give you a tour of the place herself. She also told us to let you know Natalie is under sedation, but she is healthy and should be waking up soon.”

You followed the two through the forested path at the entrance to the commune, a heavy silence settling among you. It must have been blatantly obvious how much you didn’t want to be there, and you made no effort to disprove that.

Whatever entity or insanity had plagued you in the wilderness, you could feel it here too, just as strong as it had always been. As you approached the wooden dock of the lake that surrounded half of the commune, you were brought briefly back to the past, all those days you spent with Lottie and Lara Lee in the lake in the wilderness, the baptism, the readings, the plane. The heavy weight of grief settled like an unshakable rock in your chest, and you stood completely still, unable to move. For a moment you could see it all so clearly, and when you looked into the sky the only view you had was of Lara Lee in the fire of the exploded plain, falling into the water, Lottie’s screams.

“The view is what sold me on this place,” a voice said from behind you. Her voice, smooth and soothing in a way you didn’t want to admit, in the way it always had been.

Lottie stood at your side, and after a moment of hesitation you turned, taking her in, changed so completely by the years but somehow bearing a sameness about her that could never be replaced.

You weren’t entirely sure why, but your throat began to close and you were fighting off tears.

You couldn’t cry in front of her. You had been the one to leave, it was your guilt to bear, your burden to apologize for, but you couldn’t even speak.

Tentatively you reached for her, as if upon touching her she would disappear, a goddess of the wilderness existing solely in myth – but then again she may not have minded that, to give her mind and body and soul to that perpetually untouchable thing that spoke to her and her alone so clearly.

She took your hand, meeting your gaze, analyzing your expression carefully but at the same time so unbelievably calm.

“Come with me,” Lottie said softly, and with your hand still in hers you allowed her to lead you to a nearby cabin, cushions and a small coffee table on the floor. You vaguely noticed anything, however, but her, and that finally you were alone together.

“I missed you,” Lottie said quietly after a moment. “You never called. After I got back from Switzerland I never heard from you again. We were doing so well and then you just… disappeared.”

You nodded. It was a conversation you didn’t want to have, one you weren’t proud that you had to have, but there was no avoiding it. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. The way people would look at me or ask me about getting stuck there. The other girls were coping in their own ways, and after a few years… when you got sent to Switzerland… I didn’t think you were ever getting out of there, Lottie, and without you there was no reason for me to stay.”

“But after I got out–”

“I knew how pissed you would be. I had no excuses, I still don’t, not really. I don’t know how to apologize, and I can’t make things better. I thought it would be best if I just left you alone.”

She nodded thoughtfully, and both of you were at a loss of words, though so much had been left unsaid.

“I’m sorry,” you said at last. “I shouldn’t have left without an explanation. I shouldn’t have left at all.”

“Then stay now,” she suggested, as if that was her plan all along, to lure you here and trap you in her love. “Make up for lost time, yeah?”

“You’d want me to stay?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said, though really all you wanted was to stay with her and never leave. “I already fucked up before, and I don’t want to—”

Her lips crashed against yours, one of her hands sliding to the back of your beck, grounding you both, and you allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm of the two of you together, the feeling of her lips on yours, her love bringing you home. It had been so long since you’d kissed her, and a thousand emotions flooded you but the one that stood out the most was that, undeniably, this was right.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said once you’d pulled away for air, “even after you left.”

You nodded, hardly able to respond. “I’ve missed you for years.”

You allowed yourself another moment of indulgence, another kiss, and you could feel her longing, the hunger that had never left. You wanted to explore it, exploit it, make it yours in her arms.

“Stay with me,” Lottie said, and this time it wasn’t a question, it was a command.

A goddess of the wilderness, divinity personified and standing before you. The failures of the past were forgiven, and all was new. You allowed love to guide you, home found at last in her touch, and though years of fault had passed, in her presence you were eternal.

[the-fiction-witch]

Y/n!

Media The Artful Dodgert

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty

Requested : I absolutely love your Jack Dawkins fic, I've just added your Newt fic to my library. You are an absolutely amazing writer.This is also a request for the jack Dawkins fic, as in could you write one where jack is reunited with someone who he knew back in London?? I just think it would be cute and you can do anything you want from there, anything you want haha Thank you for writing xxxx

I sighed finishing up with the ward rolling my sleeves up heading towards the stairwell, 

"Jack. Patient. Room four," Hetty said having come chasing after me, 

"What about them?"

"She's refusing to let Dr Sneed see her." 

I sighed, great last thing I need some little whiner, "Will she let me see her?"

"She says yes." 

"Alright," I sighed heading back down and quickly went to room four, "Hello Miss, Dr Dawkins, I heard you refused Dr Sneeds treatment?" I asked taking her paperwork to see what I was actually dealing with, it wasn't much just a mild head injury nothing worth keeping her in over. 

"He's a snivelling, Pompous Git" her voice said from the bed,  

I admit I chuckled a little, "Well we agree on something." 

"What was your name again?"

"Dawkins. Dr Jack Dawkins." I told her setting her paperwork back and actually looking at her, but- I had a heart attack. 

She sat with her long tight curls against the headboard of the bed, a bandage for her wound around her head, her skin slightly red where she clearly had not yet gotten use to the sun here, a long violet dress been repaired and fixed a hundred times. 

I- I felt like I was in a dream, I could barely beleive my own eyes, I- I was utterly convinced I'd never see her again. 

Y/n. She was a London street girl a year or two older then me, abandoned by her family and forced to make her own way, Much as I was. She didn't run with Fagin, the boys and I. She more made her own way but still we crossed paths. We were pickpockets and petty theives breaching only death it if became nessesary. She... Was The Violet Widow. Known though out London. She'd walk the streets as a evening girl but a man who paid her never got to finish, He would be taken home, stripped, tied, and riden until she had reached her desires then she would kill him, steal his clothes, money, watch and sell what she wouldn't keep or give to us boys. She kept herself nicely I must say, and she even married a few older wealther men taking their name for a few weeks before butching them too taking all that remained and being left as a widow. She lived just down the road from us, and any clothes she thought would she'd pass along, even if she couldn't always feed herself she always tried to feed us too. 

We of course were freindly and we'd both gotten each other out of jams more times then I dare to think. 

And Admittedtly I had spent more nights then I care to remember as a bored excited teenage boy, knoitted with the sheets of her bed, and with her. But she never minded, and she never charged me, and never let any of the other boys near her. 

Last I had heard she had been arrested on her most recent husbands murder charge, but that was only a week or two before I was locked up myself. 

I had greived for her, beloived her hung for her crimes or... atleast locked away somewhere I would never see her. 

Never in my life would I have pictured her, Here in port victoria let alone, here infront of me.

I was... thrilled to see her alive! But also... suspcious. 

"Hi, Dodger." 

Immediately I shut the door, locked it tight, pulled the windows shut and the blinds drawn leaving us in complete darkness and secrecy. Standing catching my breath at the foot of her bed my hands on my waist, 

"Y/n!?"

"Hi,"

"The bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Got into a fight with a card cheat," She sighed adjusting her bandage, 

"No- I don't mean the hospital, I mean Australia!" 

"On my travels..."

"Travels?" I glared, "I'm getting pretty fucking concerned right now, first Fagin shows up like the bloody ghost of Christmas past, and now you! What Oliver bloody twist gonna show up next week!" 

"He what?" She glared,

"What?"

"Fagin! Is here!"

"Yeah. showed up a few weeks back." 

"What the hell is he doing here?" 

"Got himself arrested, sent down here."

"You believe that do you?"

"What choice have I got?" I sighed, "So what are you doing down here?"

"Traveling, making my way around," She shrugged,

"And you want me to believe that do you?"

"Why would I Iie? I didn't know you were here, or Fagin, and yes I'd be pretty damn surprised Oliver Twist showed up too. It's a weird ass coincidence." She explained, 

"Alright," I sighed I did want to see her, I was happy even if I was concerned by this coincidence I couldn't be angry at her, "How's your head?" I asked sitting on her bed a moment to check her over

"Never had any complaints," She giggled 

"I'm serious."

"I thought you'd remember."

"Y/n."

"I feel fine Jack" she smiled, "Are you alright?"

I softened a little all these little jokes reminding me that it is still y/n. "As I can be,"

"Made quite the life for yourself down here. I take it... Dodger's gone?"

"Very much so. They hang escaped convicts here so... Dodger is dead. For all intensive purposes." I told her as I got up to finish her paperwork

"Understandable," she nodded "Dr Dawkins," She playfully smiled, 

"You still just Y/n?" I smiled, 

"Ohh god no uhhhhh... Y/n, Smith, Liswick, Warden, Petrecove, uhhh I'm sure there's a Llyod in there somewhere, I loose track" She said, "But just Y/n."

I smirked a little, "Humm... Still the Violet Widow I take it?"

"I see why you became a doctor, quiet the skills of deduction." she smiled,

"Yeah well I hope you're not here planning to add Dawkins to that lineup,"

"Why? Would it be so bad for... old friends to rekindle old flames now that they're all grown up," She smirked, 

"Don't even think about it." I warn her, "The issue there is I know what you do. and I know what you'll do to me on our wedding night."

"True." She smiled "You're letting me go then?"

"Yep, just keep it clean, and stay out of trouble" I told her, 

"I uhhh Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I only ask because it is you Jack, but do you think you could slip a girl a few coins before you send me away? just for an apple and a place to rest my head tonight," 

"You don't have anywhere to go? Or any money?"

"No."

"How'd you get here then?"

"Spent my last few coins on the boat trip here, figured I'd get a job or earn money my usual way, I haven't even all that lucky yet," 

I felt awful, nowing the girl who use to gived me soup and clothes kept me happy and better off then I ever could have been without her, now had to ask me for money just to rest her head, but... I don't get paid, meerly food and accomodation, What little I had was for me and I'd worked my ass numb at the card table to get it, But... I can't say not to her "I... I think I can."

"I'd pay you back," she said, 

"Yeah, how?"

she stopped short a moment expecting me to say no and she clearly did not actually having an answer, "How I always used to?"

"Yeah?" I smirked a little 

"mhm" she nodded moving her dress and opening her legs 

"...Deal" I smirked crawling into bed with her "I've missed you" I smirked pulling her into a kiss feeling the intensity of our time apart 

"I missed you too Jack," She smirked 

[specialagentlokitty]

Rosita x sibling!reader - we got each other

Hi! I saw that you have opened requests for TWD characters. Could I request a story where the reader is Rosita’s sibling, who (I have two ideas for the character; please pick which one you think is best ❤️) either gets taken by the Saviors like Darryl, and Rosita saves them and helps them with the aftermath - or one where the reader and Rosita reunite after a long time of being separated? - Anon💜

You had never stopped searching for your sister, not since you had lost her at the start of this all, because you knew she would be alive somewhere.

If you had to spend your whole life searching the whole country up and down then you did, because at this point you didn’t have anything to lose.

There was nothing.

No home. No job. No bills to stress about.

It was like freedom with a heavy price, the price of the dead wondering around, the the price that you hadn’t seen Rosita in so long you weren’t sure where she would even be.

Standing by the side of the road you looked at the map in your hand and sighed, stuffing it back into your pocket at looked around.

You decided to just follow the road, see where it was going to take you since you were bound to come across a town or something which you could hold up in for a few days rest.

Pulling your hat a little further down so you could block the sun from your eyes, and you squinted a little as you saw figures in the distance.

Reaching into your bag you pulled out some binoculars and looked to see it was a small group of people and a few horses.

“Well shit..” you whispered.

They were walking towards you, so you stuffed your binoculars away and your hand hovered over your gun.

You kept walking, and you could tell they noticed you by the way they got ready to grab their weapons and you stopped.

“Who are you?” You called.

“You first!” A man snapped.

He was aiming a crossbow at you.

“Nah, I asked first.”

Another man walked in front, raising both his hands, gesturing for his friend to back down a little.

“We mean no harm, we’re just travelling. That’s all. I’m Rick, what’s your name?”

You studied him for a moment.

“You a cop?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cop recognises cop. I’m (Y/N).”

You relaxed a little bit still didn’t move your hand, letting Rick know that you were ready to use it if it came to it.

He did the same thing, letting you see that his people were also armed and ready to attack if you tried to attack them.

“A lotta shit there for a small group, you got more people?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that. We’re not sure if you’re with another group.” Rick said.

“Well, seems we’re at a crossroad then, because I’m not moving, but I ain’t telling you shit about me either.”

“Want to tell us why you’re out here?”

You thought for a moment.

You hadn’t seen people in a long while, and knowing your sister she would’ve done the smart thing and gathered with a group.

“I’m reaching for a photo, don’t shoot.”

You reached into the pockets of your jeans and pulled out a photo, walking over to Rick and you held it out the him.

It was folded in half to hide you on the other side, and you showed him the woman.

“You seen her?”

“Who is she to you?”

“Have you see her?” You pressed.

Rick gestured to the photo then to his people.

“May I?”

You nodded your head, letting him take it and he walked over to the others where they had a hushed conversation.

A few of them glanced over at you, and a woman walked over.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“What is this? An interrogation? I don’t know. Lost count.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Two.”

“Why?”

“They were bit.”

She turned to Rick, and Rick gave a nod of his head and walked back over, placing his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

He handed your photo back to you.

“We know where your sister is.”

“How’d you know she was my sister?”

Rick smiled, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a photo just like yours.

“Rosita gives it to someone who’s going out just in case they come across you. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

There was a few minutes of introductions before they began to move again, and you were walking alongside of them.

They told you about how they came to meet your sister, and that she was alright, and as you got closer to their community you felt yourself growing nervous.

It had been a while since you had been around people, so knowing that just beyond those gates was even more people made you uncomfortable.

You flinched a little as they creaked loudly, the gates slowly opening, and you were led inside where you just stood awkwardly to the side.

Michonne stood next to you.

“Has it really been that long since you saw Rosita?”

“We had an argument before this started, I decided to leave. Then the world went to shit.”

“And you’ve spent all these years trying to find her?”

“She’s my sister, my family, course I have.”

She smiled, gesturing behind you and you turned around.

You both just stared at one another, and you slowly set your bag on the ground, giving a little smile.

“Hey…”

Rosita walked over, and she stood in front of you, not saying a word.

You noticed a small scar on her face, and you frowned a little bit.

“You been causing shit?”

“Shut up.”

She pulled you in for a hug and you laughed, hugging her back tightly, letting tears fall from your eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot…” you whispered.

You held her hit your back.

“You’re the dumbass who ran away…”

Pulling back, you nodded your head, running a hand down your face in order to wipe your tears.

“Yeah, I know…”

“Come on.”

Rosita grabbed your bag, leading you away from all the prying eyes that were watching the pair of you and she took you somewhere quiet.

She set your bag down in her room, and you sat down against the wall while she sat down on the bed.

“Looks like you got a pretty cozy place here.”

“Yeah, ain’t bad really. A good group of people.”

You nodded your head, taking the photo out of your pocket in order to look at it.

Rosita watched your for a moment, not really sure what to say.

You had both been looking for each other for so long, she had given up, but you? You kept going, you kept looking for her and she began to feel regret.

Getting up, she walked in front of your and sat down.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you…” she whispered.

You just smiled, that same smile you would always give her whenever she did something stupid when you guys were kids.

You reached out, placing your hand on her head.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you found a place to stay safe, and people to look after you.”

Rosita moved over, sitting next to you so she could lay her head on your shoulder, and you held her hand tightly.

“Don’t leave…” she whispered.

“I’m not…”

Rosita was beyond excited to show you everything she had been doing here at Alexandria, she wanted you to love the place like she did.

Whether it was the people, or the things they were trying to do she wanted to show you how worth it it was, and she wanted you to stay.

“Rosita?”

She hummed a little bit.

You reached out and lightly back handed her stomach.

“Wanna go kill some dead fuckers?”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

You both jumped up, grabbing your weapons and you ran out of the house with her on your heels, turning it into a race.

Because everything was a competition between siblings, especially in the middle of the apocalypse

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 14: The Photograph

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: The team look at photos.

Read chapter 14 on AO3 or under the cut. Please check AO3 for content warnings. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3 I would love to know what you like about the story :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

The photographs formed a storyboard of the past year of their lives.

They must have been at it for hours, meticulously sorting them into what they figured was as close as they could get to chronological order. They lined the photos up side by side on the floor, taking up the length of an entire 30 foot wall two rows deep, a colorful collage of their shared violation.

They process was clinical and procedural. This was as much hard data as they'd had since they got there and unassailable professional instinct made the next steps clear. It felt good to have something tangible to work with, even if the subject matter was unsettling.

There was a silent agreement not to press each other for context on any of the photographs beyond time, date, and location: All the details needed for a detailed timeline and geographical profile.

They didn’t comment on the photograph of JJ in a bar with a half empty pint of beer and tears in her eyes, still wearing her work clothes. They didn’t ask Hotch about the photo of him and Jack in a parking lot clearly in the middle of an argument.

Even a person with nothing in the world to hide would have moments they didn't want to share over the course of an entire year of their lives.

At one point Derek deviated just a moment from their agreement and chuckled at a photo of Spencer in an expensive apartment sitting on a leather sofa, very close to a rather pretty woman. The picture was taken through the wall to ceiling windows from somewhere in the high-rise across the road. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

“Sort of,” said Spencer, taking the photo and examining the details so he could date it. He looked at both of their outfits, at the length of his hair, at the drink in her hand. He closed his eyes and sifted through every interaction he’d had with that woman in that apartment until he landed on the one with the corresponding details. “3rd of August 2023, 1:30am, Washington D.C. I was there to buy narcotics,” he said, tight lipped. “She’s my dealer.”

With shaky hands, he passed the photo back to Derek, who stared at it again, dashed of any humor.

After a while, he set the picture in its place in the timeline and made no further comments on any of his photos. He noticed the others all stopping to take a look at it with varying degrees of subtlety.

Well, except for Emily, who bent down to look and said, “God damn,” and wolf whistled. “You two look pretty cozy."

“It's not like that," he said sheepishly. "For one, I think you're more her type than I am," he said with a shrug. "I wouldn't call her a friend, but I guess it was good having someone to talk to who already knew how screwed up I was. She's nice enough."

"For a drug dealer," muttered Derek, shuffling through a stack of photos.

Spencer quirked his lip. "I'm not exactly in a position to judge, am I?"

Derek tapped the photos in his hand, straightening them out. "I guess not."

A few minutes later, when Derek handed Spencer a photo taken in that same apartment, he did so wordlessly, extending his arm without even looking up from the photos in his other hand.

A shiver ran down his spine at the confronting image. It was a picture of him slumped back on that same nice leather couch, sleeve rolled up with a tourniquet loosened on his arm and a used needle on the coffee table next to him. His dealer was smoking a joint on the armchair across from him.

He almost forgot why he was looking at the photo, transfixed as he was by the completely sickening thought of the others seeing him like this.

It occurred to him that he had never seen himself like this, either. He looked so sick. That wasn't surprising. He usually waited until he got home to shoot up. The only exceptions to that were when he was particularly desperate for a fix. Or when he couldn't bear to be alone.

As he stared at the photo, a violent vision of digging his nails into his scar and tearing it open intruded into his mind.

He shook his head, clearing it of the disturbing thoughts.

“Um... September 13th 2023. 1pm,” he said, reminding himself of the task at hand.

He handed the photo back to Derek, not sure if the other man was avoiding looking at him out of respect or disgust, but grateful for it either way. As he passed it over, he fumbled, dropping the photograph, which floated dully to the floor and landed face down.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling his hand back and clenching his fist as best he could, trying to control the trembling and biting back a hiss at the pain that shot through his forearm. “Sorry.”

Derek ignored the dropped photo and finally looked Spencer in the face. “That’s like the fifth time you’ve dropped something since we started this,” he said seriously. “Let me look at your hand,” he said, reaching out for Spencer's left hand without waiting for an answer.

He pulled it away. “It’s fine,” he said. “I'm just shaky. It's mild withdrawal symptoms. It’s not that bad.”

After two weeks on a high dose of fentanyl, some withdrawals were inescapable, but it was nothing compared to what he went through before. It still pretty much sucked, but at least he wasn’t feverish.

"It's not just withdrawal," interjected Hotch, stepping up behind Derek and folding his arms. "Every time you fumble, it's your left hand. This isn't going to go away just because you ignore it," he said firmly. "Let Morgan take a look."

Spencer knew he was right, even though he was trying very hard not to know it. The others had stopped what they were doing and were watching the interaction with interest.

He sighed, bracing himself. He held out his mangled left arm to Derek, who grasped his wrist and turned his hand palm-up. He studied it, prodding the muscles around the scar.

Spencer stared at the wall behind Derek's head, looking anywhere except the horrible, foreign flesh that he used to recognize as his arm.

“Any numbness or tingling?” asked Derek.

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Some.”

Derek pursed his lips unconsciously. He put his fingers on Spencer’s and gave a probing scratch with his own fingernail. “Can you feel that?”

He shrugged halfheartedly. “A bit. The sensation is limited.”

Derek moved his fingers to Spencer’s palm and repeated the previous action. “Here?”

Spencer shook his head. “Barely.”

“Okay,” Derek said, sounding decidedly less than okay. “Tell me when you feel normal sensation again.”

He dragged his fingernail from Spencer’s palm, up to his wrist, and then to the forearm. He was halfway up Spencer’s forearm before he stopped him.

It wasn’t as if this was news to him, but having it validated in the furrow of Derek’s brow was an unexpected blow.

It would have been easier to keep telling himself it was just detox messing with his nervous system.

The others were all gathered in close now, unabashedly observing the impromptu examination.

Derek held out both of his own hands, three fingers raised to the roof on each side. “Try and squeeze both of my fingers as hard as you can,” he instructed.

Spencer did as he was asked, already knowing what the result would be, but somewhat morbidly curious to figure out just how fucked he was.

His right hand squeezed just fine, but the left struggled to form itself into a proper fist, let alone apply meaningful pressure. A burning pain shot through his forearm at the effort.

He dropped his hands pathetically to his sides, finally able to look at Derek now that he didn’t have to risk looking at his scar in the process. He felt the urge to shove his hands in his pockets and was irritated that the scrub pants didn’t have any.

“What’s your diagnosis?” he asked sardonically.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “You tell me, genius. Numbness, weakness, loss of fine motor function, and I’m willing to bet you’ve got some pain you’re not talking about.”

“I must have severed the median nerve,” he said tiredly. “It’s unlikely that I’ll ever recover full function.”

“It’s still early days,” chimed in Emily. “You’ve barely healed and haven’t exactly had world class medical care. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

He once again resisted the urge to shove his hands into his non-existent pockets and settled for crossing his arms instead. “It’s fine, guys,” he said flatly. “We have a job to do. This can wait.”

There was no arguing with that. The damage was already done and worrying about it wasn't going to fix it.

With a few lingering looks of concern, they all returned to the task at hand. Derek bent down and picked up the fallen photo, glancing at it one last time before putting it in its proper place.

When they were done, they had an imperfect but extensive timeline, including geographical information.

Spencer studied every photograph and sifted through every detail of date time and geography in his mind. He pictured a map, marking each location with pushpins, just like he had on the walls of so many police precincts around the country. 

Eventually, he came to one inarguable conclusion.

“There was more than two of them.”

“Are you sure?” asked Emily.

He knelt down, picking up three photos that were placed next to each other on the floor. “Here I am near the West Virginia border on the same day Hotch is in Kentucky. Fine, we know that they work as a pair. It’s possible they had an equal division of labor with the stalking. It’s an unusual dynamic, but we knew that already. But this,” he said, holding up a picture of Emily having lunch with her mother in DC, “was taken at lunchtime on the same day. In ideal traffic, the earliest time they could have gotten from me to Emily is 5 hours, which would have been closer to 3.30pm. Now, theoretically, you could make it from Hotch’s house to Louisville airport in an around 90 minutes, with check in 40 minutes before hand, and be in DC just in time to get this picture. But why? Why go that effort and expense just to get a picture of you at lunch with your mom? Not to mention, they would have to locate you within the city first. How many time a year do you even see your mom? Twice? Three times?”

“Less if I can help it,” said Emily with a grimace.

“Exactly. This isn’t a routine part of your schedule. And you said it was a last-minute arrangement. She wasn’t even supposed to be in the city.”

“That’s right. They couldn’t have known where I was going to be. I didn’t even know where I was going be until the time where they would have been on the plane with no cell service,” she said, clicking her finger as she followed his train of thought.

“And the other one would have been in rural Virginia in a location that was intentionally without cell service-”

“So even in the absolute worst case scenario where they bugged our phones somehow, it wouldn’t have been possible for them to listen in on my mom’s call. They couldn’t have known where I would be.”

“And the most generous timeline would still require them knowing exactly where to go as soon as they landed in DC,” Spencer finished. “They must have had help.”

“You don’t think there could be a third Unsub, do you?” asked JJ worriedly.

“No,” said Spencer. “I doubt it. The way he talked about her, I don't think he would even be capable of forming any kind of meaningful trusting relationship with another person. I don't think their dynamic allows for a third party.”

“What if they didn’t have just one person helping them?” said Rossi. “Think about it. Not one of us noticed that we were being stalked for over a year? Reid, you have an eidetic memory. No matter how careful they are, the fact is if you see the same face enough times, eventually you’ll notice, right?” Spencer nodded. “Never mind that we’re all profilers, most of whom are more than a bit hypervigilant. But if it was four, five, a dozen people sharing the load? That’s a lot harder to spot.”

“You think they contracted their stalking out?” said Hotch, a touch incredulous. “That’s a pretty high risk approach.”

“I don’t think they contracted out all of it,” clarified Rossi. “They’re too obsessive and controlling for that. They would have done the more intimate digging into our lives themselves. But I think they may have hired on PIs for a lot of the day-to-day stuff, including actively following us, photographing us, and learning our routines. Unless anyone has a better theory.”

“Something like that would take a lot of money,” pointed out Derek. “Especially to have people following FBI agents. Buying discretion for a job like that isn’t cheap. Not to mention the associated costs of keeping their identities hidden from the people they hired. It kind of makes sense. I mean, look at this place. It would have taken them a lot of time and resources to set this up. It would be pretty difficult to do that while stalking six people full time.”

“If our profile is correct and we’re dealing with a former prisoner and prison nurse, then how would they have access to that kind of money?” asked Spencer.

They all traded looks before settling on Emily, their default leader. Funny, even Hotch was looking to her.

She sputtered, giving a half shrug. “I wish I had a theory, but I don’t think we have enough information. All of these conclusions are speculative at best, for now. We’ll keep working on it. But for the moment, let’s focus on the positive. If they really were hiring outside help, that’s great for us. Every person involved in this is a weak link in the chain. It doesn’t matter how careful they were or how well they concealed their identities. Things like this leave a trail.”

"I don't think they meant for us to figure this out," said Spencer. "These photos are carefully curated, and everything they presented us was within a plausible time frame. If this is information they didn't want us to know, then it's information we might be able to leverage somehow."

"That's great," said Emily with a smile. "Every new thing we learn is helpful. Good work, everyone."

The congratulatory moment was short lived when a clang at the door made them all jump

A moment later, one paper bag was deposited in the door chamber, followed by another, both by the same single gloved hand that had become so familiar.

Spencer sprung into action. He’d been waiting for this chance. He stepped quickly to the door, leaning down to speak through the hatch.

“I heard you,” he said. “You were in the room with me. I remember you.”

The hatch was halfway to being closed, but it halted before it could fully seal.

Adrenalin surged and his brain kicked into overdrive. She had never responded to their attempts to talk to her.

This was new.

“You saved my life,” he said, taking another step forward. “He wanted to let me die but you said no. Thank you."

He paused, leaving a space he hoped she would fill with a response.

Silence.

 He pressed on. "He’s a sadist. He's not like you. He doesn't want what you want. He won’t indulge you forever.”

The hatch pulled shut and resealed itself.

Apparently, that was not what she wanted to hear.

He looked back at the others. Nobody said anything. What could they say? It was too soon to know what kind of affect his words might have had.

"That's more of a reaction than any of the rest of us have ever got," JJ pointed out. "That's progress."

"Yeah," he said simply.

Being closest to the door, Spencer opened the hatch. He grabbed one of the bags, feeling instantly from the weight that it contained their food. He tried to grab the second bag, but received a viscous reminder that his other hand didn’t work anymore when searing nerve pain shot up his entire arm. He pulled back, cringing.

Emily stepped in, grabbing the second bag for him.

They all watched as he and Emily opened their respective deliveries. His contained fruit and nutritional shakes, as expected. He sifted through in case there was a note inside, and when he found nothing, he placed the bag on the floor for everyone to help themselves to food.

“Huh,” said Emily next to him, staring into the bag.

“What?” asked Hotch.

Emily reached in and pulled out a deck of cards. She tossed it to Hotch, who caught it easily and turned it over curiously. She reached back in and pulled out a soft rubber ball next, just big enough to fit in her hand. She tossed that one to Derek.

“What the fuck?” said a bewildered Rossi.

“There’s a note, I think,” said Emily. “Hold on.”

She dug into the bag with a rattling that indicated at least another couple of items were in there, and she pulled out a folded piece of paper. She put the bag down and unfolded the note.

“When you put me in a cage I saw many who wanted to die but I knew better. Truth is the only freedom that matters. You will understand in time. Be good and it does not need to hurt. Dr Reid,” she stopped abruptly, eyes skimming the page.

“What?” he asked nervously.

It couldn't be another secret. That didn't fit the pattern. It would be JJ, Hotch, or Derek next.

Emily glanced down at the discarded bag, picking it up and digging through it, scrunching the note in her hand as she did so.

“Prentiss?” queried Hotch, approaching her.

She stopped what she was doing for a moment to wordlessly hand him the note, then went back to the bag. She tossed items on the floor as she went. A self-help book titled Radical Honesty: How to Transform Your Life by Telling the Truth, which was entirely too on the nose to the point where he almost rolled his eyes. A pack of crayons and an adult coloring in book.

“What in the actual hell is going on?” said JJ, looking at the strange assortment of objects. "Cheesy self-help books? A mindfulness coloring book? Does she have a 'live love laugh' throw pillow in there, too?"

Emily ignored her. She dropped the bag, apparently finding what she'd been looking for.

She held a triangular leather case, like the kind you’d put glasses in. Hotch, who had finished reading the note, stared at the case like it might come to life and bite Emily’s hand off. She peaked inside then closed it back up, shooting Hotch a significant look and gripping it tight in her hand.

Spurred on by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and their infuriating silence, Spencer reached out and snatched the note from Hotch’s hand.

“Spencer…” said Emily helplessly, and the instant he glanced at the note he understood why.

Dr Reid, you are hurting. You can make it stop. It is your truth. Nobody else can chose for you. You cannot dispose of or destroy it. Break these rules and you will all be hurting.

He looked at the case in Emily’s hand.

He dropped the note on the floor, hands trembling more than ever. Someone behind him picked it up, but he wasn’t paying attention to who.

“What’s in the case?”

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” she said sadly. "It's not fair."

“You read the note, Emily. The last thing we need right now is to get gassed again or to lose our food supply or whatever the hell the next so called punishment is going to be. Let’s just get this over with,” he demanded.

After one last silent check in with Hotch, who could only shake his head helplessly, she extended the case to him. It was within an inch of his hand when Derek reached over from behind him and snatched it away.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he said, the note scrunched in his hand.

He tossed the ball of paper over to JJ, who read it alongside Rossi. A moment later, “What fresh fucking psychodrama are we in now?” from Rossi signaled that everyone in the room was up to date.

Derek opened the pouch and pulled out a single syringe filled with a clear liquid.

His heart skipped a beat as Derek’s thumb raised up to the capped needle, ready to snap it off.

“Morgan, wait!” yelled Hotch, hands raised to Derek in a halting gesture.

Derek froze, lip twitching with the heavy effort of self-restraint. “We're not doing this, Hotch, I swear to fucking god I don’t care what the consequences are.”

“I don’t…” Hotch struggled to string together a thought. His face was pallid and he looked like he might be sick. “None of us want to be here, but we’re here. We’re all going to do what we need to in order to survive. That’s what we agreed.”

“This is an escalation,” said JJ. “She’s moving beyond coercing us into revealing information. If we let her coerce us into physical action, where does this stop?”

The argument continued around him, but he wasn’t listening. His whole body itched. It was just him, alone in the room, staring at a syringe and weighing up the value of his life against the prick of a needle like he had a thousand times before.

“Everyone just shut up!” yelled Emily, snapping him back to reality. He locked eyes with her. They were all watching him. “What do you want to do?” she asked, paying no mind to the others.

What did he want to do?

He turned his back on all of them, raising his one functioning hand to rub at his forehead.

What did he want to do?

His words to Derek rang in his ears. I would shoot up right now, right here in this fucking room while you watched. He’d meant it. He’d really meant it at the time.

Then he decided to go and open a vein right here in this fucking room while they all watched.

He'd only just got back to them. Everything was different now and would be different forever and he hadn't even had time to understand how and the only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that every functional nerve remaining in his body was screaming for him to just take the needle and-

He swung around to face them all. “Give it to me,” he demanded, holding out his hand to Derek.

Derek looked him up and down. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What difference does it really make at this point?” he asked, sighing. “This wouldn't be the first needle I've stuck myself with. It wouldn't be the hundredth. You think this one is the difference between me being a junkie or not? This isn’t worth putting everyone at further risk for. Just give it to me.”

Derek’s nostrils flared. The fist that wasn’t threatening to snap the needle clenched and unclenched by his side. After a long, excruciating moment, he looked away from Spencer and loosened his grip on the syringe, holding it out to him.

He didn’t look at Spencer as he took it from his hand.

Spencer looked down at it, studying it. He twirled it in his fingers for a second, the way he would with a coin in a magic trick. For just a moment, he let himself feel, once again, like he was alone in the room with it.

Then, he took three strides to the door, opened the chamber, and dropped the syringe inside. He slammed the hatch shut with quite a bit more force than was necessary and made an exodus to far side of the room.

A ripple of relief spread through his companions. “Thank god,” he heard JJ sigh.

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Derek.

“Thank you,” he said.

Spencer nodded.

He faced the others. “Look, I’ve been back here less than a day. I’m literally sweating fentanyl right now and I can't think about any of this, so if we can agree to pretend it isn’t there and this isn’t happening until she removes the trash at the next food delivery, that would really help me out.” He looked up at the camera, meeting it’s blinking red light with a stony glare. “I won’t play this fucking game with you.”

He couldn't dispose of it, as per the note, but that didn't mean he had to engage. He could exhibit an iota of self-control, for once.

“Hey, it’s alright, Spence. You’re right, let’s not think about it,” said Emily. “Besides, we need to talk about what all this other shit is,” she said with a sweeping gesture at the odd assortment of objects that were strewn across the floor.

“I think what you did really scared them,” said Hotch. “They’re starting to realize you can’t just lock people up indefinitely with no stimuli and expect them to just endure.”

Emily picked up the self-help book and scrunched her nose at it. “If their goal is to stop us all from killing ourselves, the thought of this being the only book I’ll ever get to read again is having the opposite effect.”

Spencer was the only one who met her with a laugh instead of a chastising look.

“Why don’t we take a short break from profiling, put our respective breakdowns on hold, and just for one second pretend that this situation isn’t completely, irrevocably fucked up?” said Rossi, holding up the new deck of cards with a playful wave.

“Rossi’s right,” said Emily. “Sorting through those photographs was rough on all of us, and we've been at it for hours. We can discuss what all of this means for the profile after we’ve eaten and had a break.”

In agreement, they all helped themselves to a piece of food, though Spencer could hardly stomach the thought of eating and was doing so for their benefit more than his own, and arranged themselves in a circle.

He sat with his back to the door. He was not going to turn his head. He was not going to look at it. He was not going to look at it. He was not going to look at it.

Rossi shuffled up the deck. Derek had grabbed the small rubber ball for himself and was absently throwing and catching it where he sat while they settled in.

“So, should I let you all win a round of cards in order to boost morale?” smirked Spencer.

He had a tendency to clean up when they played together on longer trips on the BAU jet, much to both Rossi and Luke’s continuous annoyance, both of whom fancied themselves pretty good players.

There was a pang in his chest at the thought of his absent teammate. How were Luke and Penelope and Tara coping? They must be out of their minds. He missed them all deeply.

“Glad to see your piercing wit remains intact despite everything,” shot back Rossi. “Don’t do us any favors, kid, because I know you’re at less than peak performance and I fully intend to use it against you. Five card draw, aces high, no mercy,” he quipped, dealing out the hand.

With the game agreed on, they politely pretended not to notice as he struggled to rest his cards in his bad hand in order to free up his dominant hand for play. By pulling up his knee and resting his arm on it, he managed to finagle a position that allowed him to maintain a loose grip without much pain. Both his hands were shaking from withdrawal, but if he moved slow he could make it work.

A few hands in, and Spencer was surprised by how immersed he was. The only person who had managed to win a hand against him so far was JJ. She wasn't usually as into it as the rest of them, but the stress was bringing out a competitive streak that he'd rarely seen in her, including a fair bit more swearing than he'd heard from her since she had kids.

“The pattern is obvious,” said Hotch, unprompted, halfway through a hand. He had been putting in the bare minimum effort to participate, being the first to fold most rounds.

“The pattern where Reid keeps kicking our butts?” said Rossi, raising an eyebrow.

“Not my fault,” said Spencer. “You all know-”

“You’re from Vegas, yes, my god, we know,” said Emily, discarding her hand in exasperation. “You’ll feel right at home when we ban you from playing cards just like all the casinos did.”

“After this hand,” said Rossi, “we’re switching to Snap.”

Spencer huffed a laugh and looked at his trembling hands. “That, you might have an advantage in.”

He was almost having fun.

If he focused hard enough on the game and made the effort to joke around with them he could forget for a moment that he wanted to rip his own skin off. He could ignore the sickness, the flashes of vivid red that saturated his brain every time he caught sight of his scar, the loaded syringe sequestered in the hatch behind him.

Smile, laugh, joke, win another hand, joke, laugh, promise them, promise them he wants to keep living. If they wouldn’t believe his words, then he could show them. He’s laughing, he’s joking, he loves them. He wouldn’t hurt himself because he loves them. He’s not going to hurt himself. He promises. Different to the last time he promised because this time, he means it.

None of them were okay either but for his benefit, for all their benefits, they played the game. The least he could do is return the favor.

The least he could do is play the fucking game and stop thinking about where he’d stick the needle since his left arm was too freshly scarred to shoot up in right now and his dexterity was too fucked in his left hand to inject in his right arm, so he’d probably have to do it between his toes. That’s fine, he’s done it before, but it’s not the most hygienic-

“That’s not what I meant,” said Hotch, blessedly interrupting his train of thought. Hotch placed his cards down, face up, giving up any pretense of caring about the game. “The cycle of withholding and rewarding. It’s escalating. She trying to foster co-dependency, with her as some kind of maternal figure and us cast in the role of her children.”

Rossi rubbed at his forehead, tossing his own cards down. “Yeah,” he agreed sombrely. “We don’t clean our room, we don’t get dinner. We follow the rules, she ‘rewards’ us with the means of survival and demands gratitude. She’s likely recreating the same dynamic from her own childhood. If I had to guess, I’d say that imprisonment wasn’t her first experience with confinement. Her arrest and incarceration acted as a trigger, forcing her to relive that original trauma.”

"That's why she's so fixated on us. She perceives us as being responsible for her reliving her abuse and she wants to force us to live through it too, only this time, with her in the position of power," said Emily.

They all leaned in, thoughtful and considered, just as he’d seen them on hundreds of cases before.

“And what happens when abusive parents finally realize that their children can leave them?” asked JJ pointedly.

“Love bombing,” said Derek. “They do a 180 on the withholding behavior and do everything in their power to convince their victims that they’re safe, and to foster dependence in the process.”

Emily picked up the thread. “The gifts, the photographs and their tacit implication that they could be involving our families in this, but choose not to, the additional privileges and luxuries are all ways to make us stay. You know, this place is so secure, if there was a way out, we would have found it a long time ago. Whatever abuse she may have experienced, my bet is she compensated by developing an exaggerated self-preservation instinct. She’s someone who would do anything to survive, no matter the circumstances. She twists her trauma in her mind, re-contextualizing it as something that made her stronger and better. If she sees us as extensions of herself, she may not have anticipated that we could respond in ways she wouldn’t have.”

Spencer rubbed at his arm uncomfortably. “She leaned on deprivation and punishment as primary means of control because it never occurred to her that we might need to be persuaded to endure it.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind Spencer’s head. To the spot on the door that he was diligently refusing to look. “That’s why she’s doing this to you,” he said. “What you did has thrown her plans off balance. She wants you to be dependent, but she’ll take it away as soon as you aren’t playing into her fantasy effectively enough.”

“I know,” he said tersely.

Of course she was trying to control him. She was trying to control all of them. He just had the misfortune of having a convenient dependence ready to go before they were even kidnapped.

Hotch’s face softened. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier,” he said sympathetically.

Spencer wrapped his arms around his knees. “Not particularly,” he admitted.

The crinkles around Hotch's eyes were deeper than they used to be, but there was more than that. He had laughter lines. Even as he frowned, the lines were visible. They hadn’t been there when he was with the BAU.

His jawline was softer when they had first woken up in the bunker, and while the weight had dropped off all of them during their detour into starvation, the skin hadn’t quite tightened up. The affects of age were showing in more than just the salt and pepper hair.

Everything that was different about Aaron Hotchner, yet the look he gave Spencer that made him feel like he could see right through him was exactly the same as it ever was.

He knew there was a question coming before the other man even opened his mouth to speak.

“Is there any part of you that’s doing this for yourself or is it all for our benefit?” There was no reprisal in his tone. Just sincere, morbid curiosity. “I know the only reason you're not using that needle is guilt. Do you care at all about what happens to you next?”

He sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

Not for the first time, Hotch needed something from him. All these questions and there was something he needed Spencer to say. He wanted to give it to him, but try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Spencer rubbed at his eyes, allowing himself a split second fantasy that he would look up and be alone, with nobody there to hurt when he opened that hatch and claimed the only ‘next’ that had mattered to him for a long time: His next fix.

“I’m glad I didn’t die, I don't plan to hurt myself, and I don’t intend to get high,” he said carefully. “Those statements are true. Does it really matter why they’re true?”

Hotch mused, pursing his lips. “I suppose it doesn’t right now,” he said eventually.

Spencer looked at him. Really looked at him. He caught the looks on the others faces in his peripheral vision, an array of fascination and worry. Something clicked.

"What about you, Hotch?" asked Spencer.

Hotch blinked, straightening up minutely. He looked as if he'd just remembered that they weren't the only two people in the room.

"What about me?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

Hotch looked taken aback. He reached down and picked up his discarded hand of cards, shuffling them absently. He glanced around the circle at the others, all of whom were awaiting his response.

Eventually, with the utmost composure, he said, "We're all alive, which means it's still possible we'll all make it out of here and get back to our families. As long as that's true, I'm fine." He picked up the rest of the deck that was sat in front of Rossi and started shuffling that too. "I'm sick of poker. Let's play something else."

They all accepted the diversion, chiming in with suggestions for different games. Now wasn't the time to push. There was only so much they could all take at once.

Was this what Hotch felt like with him? Why he was so intent on trying to figure him out?

It was such a lonely feeling, to be a stranger to someone who used to be family. There were times where he felt like they were all a team again, but then these little moments would come along and remind him that they didn't know each other anymore.

He turned away, chancing a glance at the door that contained the hatch that contained the one solution to his problems. The room felt smaller than it ever had.

"Spencer," whispered Emily. "Ignore it," she reminded him.

Right. Ignore it. There was nothing there. There was nothing in the world except the people in front of him.

He picked up the hand of cards that had just been dealt in front of him, ready to play.