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brbsoulnomming · 1 month ago

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Heart On Your Sleeve Part 10

-----

The town is a wreck, but there's still space for them at the hospital.

Nancy recognizes a few of the doctors - ones who know about the Upside Down - and they're all whisked away into two private rooms. One for Eddie, and one for Max.

Steve is stuck with Eddie. He hates thinking of it like that, because he wants to be with Eddie, but he wants to be with Max, too. He wants to prowl back and forth between them, like his presence will make any difference.

But Eddie's heart is still in his chest, and while the doctor had praised his quick thinking in helping his friend, it's too risky to have Eddie's heart far away from his body while he's healing.

So Steve's in the chair next to his bed, hooked up to the heart monitor and listening to the faint but steady sound of Eddie's heart as he feels it beat in his own chest.

Dustin and Robin go back and forth, one of them always with him and the other giving updates when they come to switch out.

It's Dustin in the chair next to his now, and he feels the echo of his own heart next to Dustin's, knows the kid must be feeling what he is - and probably a little bit of Eddie's, too.

Three hearts, all entwined. Robin could make something poetic from that, he thinks.

All he can do is let Dustin pillow his head on his shoulder, press his hand to his own chest and think come back to us.

Eddie's hand twitches.

Steve jolts up, reaching for it automatically.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, even though his eyes are closed and his expression hasn't changed. “Dustin?”

Dustin makes some kind of strangled noise, fumbling for Eddie's other hand. “Can he feel us?”

“I've got his heart, and you've got mine, so yeah, he has to, right?” Steve asks, aware he sounds a little desperate and not really caring.

“Come on, Eddie,” Dustin pleads. “You have to wake up, okay?”

Eddie wakes up.

—

“I should have died in there.”

Steve feels his jaw tense. “No, you shouldn't have.”

“No, I meant - doc says I would have died, if you hadn't taken my heart,” Eddie says.

Oh.

“I know,” Steve admits. “That's why I asked for it.”

Eddie exhales, long and slow. “Where'd you learn that?”

“Eighth grade science,” Steve replies, shooting a little grin at him.

Eddie gives a surprised little laugh. “Seriously?”

“Eh, kind of.” Steve considers for a moment. He's never talked about this with anyone, but - “My parents used to lock their hearts in a safe in my dad's study at night. When I was little, and I got upset at them leaving, they told me they put their hearts in there when they went on trips, too, and I had to stay behind to watch over them.”

Eddie looks at him, soft and tender. Steve'd think it was pity, if it wasn't for Eddie's heart in his chest. It's just sad, and a little angry.

“I told Mr. Clarke about that, and he said it was hogshit.”

Eddie snorts. “Mr. Clarke said hogshit?”

“Who's telling this story?” Steve retorts, then laughs when Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key.

“It was hogshit,” Steve continues. “But then he told us that people could survive potentially fatal injuries with heart exchanges. Then, after Starcourt…”

He trails off, not sure how to say it.

“Robin told me a little,” Eddie admits. “That it was the Russians and the Upside Down, and you let yourself get caught to cover for Dustin and Erica. That you tried to draw attention away from her.”

Oh.

That makes him sound more heroic than the moment felt, but at least it also makes this easier.

“The Russian spies, they had this thing that could open your chest. They didn't believe I was telling the truth, so they took my heart out.”

Eddie reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it tight. There's a faint trickle of horror and guilt and affection, and he knows that Eddie's put it together with the changes in his heart.

“I healed a lot faster because we were doing heart exchanges,” he finishes. “So I figured it'd keep you safe.”

Eddie's grip on his hand tightens. “I really am sorry,” he mutters. “About last summer. After - after that, you needed a friend, and I just left.”

Steve licks his lips, considering his response for a moment, before he goes with honesty. “I had friends. I had Robin and the kids, and they were enough. I didn't really need anything else. But - I wanted you.”

Eddie looks at him, and Steve can feel - hesitation, uncertainty, does he really want me?

“Eddie,” Steve says, slow and thoughtful. “I don't want you because I'm lonely, or I have no one else. Maybe there was a part of that when it first started, but - I'm okay, I'm happy. I want you because of you, not just because I want anyone.”

Shock filters through Eddie so hard that Steve feels it like an almost physical blow.

His heart aches.

He doesn't have to ask if that's something that Eddie hasn't been told before - he knows it already.

“I'm not letting you go,” Steve tells him, only because Eddie's heart is still beating in his chest and he's confident it will be well received. “Not this time.”

“I can live with that,” Eddie says, only a little shaky.

—

Dustin takes a turn swapping hearts with Eddie, and Steve heads immediately for Max's room.

Lucas is there, sitting by her bed and holding her hand.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. “How's she doing?”

“Same,” Lucas says flatly. “But she's in there, I can feel it.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks.

“We swapped before - before. Just in case. To give her another tether to the real world.”

Shit, that was a great idea. It gives him more hope, and he sags a little in his chair.

“Jesus, you kids are smart,” Steve says, impressed.

Lucas looks at him funny. “We learned that from you, Steve.”

He doesn't really think that's true, considering he learned it from them just as much, but he lets it be, just gripping the back of Lucas's neck and giving him a little squeeze.

Lucas unwinds, just a little bit, and Steve gets a better look at him - notices his swollen eye, his puffy jaw, and feels a cold surge of rage.

He waits for a moment to let the worst of it pass, then asks, “Swap?”

Lucas looks over at him, clearly hesitant.

“The three of us are kind of banged up,” Steve says. “Figure it can't hurt to have more heart power at work here.”

Lucas snorts. “Heart power?”

“Heart power,” Steve confirms, radiating as much confidence as possible.

He's not sure if it works, but Lucas does open his chest up and carefully pull out Max's heart. Steve's extra gentle as he swaps them, tucking her heart into his chest.

It's immediate, what Lucas was talking about. There's only the faintest sense of Max, and an equally faint sense of a fear and guilt and love that he recognizes as Lucas - the residual of what Max is feeling from him, he guesses. Even stranger is an echo he can feel of his own emotions - from him to Lucas to Max and back to him again, apparently.

“Huh,” he says, at the same time Lucas goes, “Woah.”

They sit there, together, and Steve must fall asleep at some point because the next thing he knows, there's the shifting of a chair as Lucas jumps up. Steve startles, only to see El and Will and Mike come flooding in. They sweep Lucas into a hug, and Steve watches them hold on, clinging and desperate.

Eventually, they peel apart, and El goes to Max's side, taking her hand. Her eyes close for a long while, then open again, looking sad.

“I can't reach her,” she whispers. “Not even with my powers back.”

“She's there, though, right? I can still feel her,” Lucas says.

El's brow furrows.

“Max and Lucas swapped before this happened,” Steve explains. “To keep her tethered here, so Vecna couldn't take her.”

Mike frowns. “Vecna?”

“One,” El says, which - okay, yeah, clearly there's a story there, but not the time. She holds her hands out to Lucas. “May I swap?”

Lucas looks over at Steve, and he takes Max's heart out and offers it to her.

“We figured the more helping, the better,” Lucas says.

El exchanges her heart for Max's, looking thoughtful. It's an even bigger rush, with El in the mix, and - even though Max's heart isn't in his chest anymore, he can feel the echo of her even more clearly.

Lucas sucks in a breath. “It's working,” he says. “She's stronger.”

“The more, the better,” El says thoughtfully.

“Eddie woke up from me and him and Dustin sharing,” Steve says, the realization coming over him. “I mean, it wasn't a real circle, but he was just regularly unconscious, not creepy wizard unconscious.”

El looks at Mike, who immediately turns on his heel and leaves. He comes back a few minutes later, with Dustin and Robin and Erica.

“We made Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle stay with Eddie,” Mike announces.

“Uh, yeah, do you want to tell us why?” Dustin asks.

El's eyes flash. “We're going to get Max back.”

Hearts change hands quicker than Steve can keep track of, but in the end, no one has their own heart in their chest. It's an avalanche of emotion that Steve can't make out - so much it’s almost overwhelming - until he feels something like a guiding hand, firm and insistent.

“Max,” El whispers.

Steve turns his thoughts completely on Max, focusing on her - on taking her to the arcade, on the skate park, on her hanging out in his kitchen as they cook dinner. One by one, everyone's emotions start to take focus - on how Max makes them feel, how much they care, how they need her here.

Max's eyes open.

—

They set up another rotation schedule, this time for Max, who looks a little shell shocked and overwhelmed by all the attention.

“Did you think we wouldn't do this for you?” Steve asks quietly when it's his turn, when Lucas and El are sleeping and it's just him and Max awake in her room.

She doesn't answer for a while, but he can feel her conflicted confusion and then unsteady acceptance.

“No,” she says after a while. “I knew you guys would.”

He breathes out, and they sit in silence for a bit.

“Did you read my letter?” she asks, purposefully not looking at him.

“Nah. You said it was just in case, and there wasn't going to be an in case. We weren't going to let Vecna have you.” He manages to keep his voice steady, though he knows she can feel the edge of the fear he'd had for her. “I wanted to hear what was in it from you.”

She makes a face, and he thinks she isn't going to tell him, but then she blurts out, “I said I wished you were my brother, not Billy.”

Oh.

His stomach drops out, and there's a rush of vertigo that leaves him breathless for a moment, but - not in a bad way.

He doesn't know how to respond to that, other than, “I am your brother.”

She scoffs. “It doesn't work like that.”

“Sure it does,” he counters, growing confident. “Billy was your brother just because of a piece of paper your parents signed, right?”

She frowns, finally looking at him again. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So what's stopping us?” He taps his chest, over where her heart beats. “We have each other's hearts. We'll always be family.”

Max looks away again, then, very quietly, says, “Okay.”

—

“Heard you call Max your sister when you were talking to the doctor earlier,” Eddie says.

Steve feels a little smile tug at his lips as he takes Eddie's hand. It grows when Eddie laces their fingers together.

“You know Dustin's going to throw a fit when he hears it, and insist that you were his brother first, right?” Eddie teases.

“Of course he is.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Welcome to my family. You sure you still want to stick around?”

He's joking, but Eddie's expression goes soft and contemplative.

“Welcome to your family, huh? You planning a proposal soon, big boy?” Eddie asks softly.

Steve's mouth goes dry. He thinks he should say something - anything - but nothing comes out.

“Swap?” Eddie asks, after a few minutes.

Steve's not sure if someone told him or if he figured it out himself, and part of him wants to ask Eddie if he's sure, but he decides to take Eddie at his word. He opens his chest up, holding out his heart.

Eddie copies him, and - it's his first real look at Eddie's heart. There's silver lines all over it, delicate scars mottling its surface, but it's almost as deep red as Steve's still is.

“Oh,” Steve breathes once Eddie's heart is safely tucked inside his chest again.

There's a love there so strong he almost doesn't know what to do with it - isn't sure if it's Eddie's or his for a moment before he realizes it's both of them feeding off each other.

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly.

Steve lifts Eddie's hand up, presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I know what I want my future to look like,” Steve admits. “And I want you in it.”

Eddie swallows, and Steve can feel an edge of trepidation before it solidifies into something sharp and determined. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve asks.

“I'm sticking around, this time,” Eddie confirms. “For good.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

He knows it's a risk, but - right now, they're alone, and so he leans in to seal the promise their hearts are making with a kiss.

-----

And that's the final part for now! I do have a sequel planned down the road for what happens after they get out of the hospital, folding Eddie into the heart sharing and settling Eddie and Steve and Robin into a trio - I plan on using the tag "hearts out steddie" if anyone would like to follow it for when it comes out!

Thank you so much to everyone who commented, reblogged, liked, or otherwise interacted with this! Everyone's reactions were so amazing, and I really love reading your thoughts!!

Final taglist: @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta @irregular-child @th30ra3k3n @powdeeee @theohohmoment @5ammi90 @ominous-pool-light @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeens @rebellatlas @blackpanzy

#steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie fic #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #eleven hopper #steve and dustin #steve and dustin and eddie #steve and max #lumax #im not saying elumax but im also not NOT saying elumax #hearts out steddie

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goshtoon · 1 month ago

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NEEDS

Jayce x gn!reader (established relationship)

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: 18+, fluff, sub!Jayce, Thighjob, hurt/comfort (a bit), pre mental illness influx, still crying while sex (male giving),

Heavy footfalls echo trough the silent floor, each one wearier than the last.

As former student, turned to up-starting inventor, now turned councilor: Jayce Talis commands his limbs to obey him for merely five minutes more.

The pressure of being a protector to not only his close circle but all of piltover weighing each step down more than the last.

On top of that he had a fall out with Viktor, who seemed to only get more weak by the day, as his illness festers within him.

Jayce suppresses a broken sob, lifting his palm to steady himself upon one of the walls, before regaining his ragged pace.

It’s all too much, he feels as though he might just crumble to the floor and sob waiting for his mothers grounding hands to comb through his locks.

But there’s something much more reachable, and arguably just as soothing.

You, and your firm presence, the perhaps only unchanging constant, waiting for him just through the door at the end of the stretching hall.

At the sight of your apartment door, Jayce’s body gets a rush, as if pricked by a needle, as something starts tugging within his chest.

An undeniable yearning pressing his feet to move faster, fishing out the key you had made for him.

It clicks in the lock and he moves in, pressing himself against the shut door heaving a low sigh.

„There you are…“ your voice drifts to his ears, almost as if cradling them each in some healing balm.

He finds himself unable to open his dry lips to speak back, almost as if something got stuck in his throat.

You’re clad in your sleep wear, having seemingly come from the kitchen, a steaming cup lodged between your hands.

Taking him in it doesn’t take a genius to take a guess at how he’s feeling. Tussled hair, a twitching hand, the slightly hunched back and his wobbling reddened bottom-lip.

These past few weeks it’s become a scarily common occurrence.

Brows furrowed, you step forward taking one of his shaky hands in your own, gently leading it to cradle the warm mug.

The warmth seeps into his skin, soothing the tension striking through his fingers. Letting out a small more content sigh he smiles at you, your own face mirroring his as you lean up to peck his lips. He almost collapsed into the kiss, desperately letting your warm soft lips mold against his own, bitten bloody on his own volition.

Pulling back, you give a gentle smile, partnered with his own lovestruck one.

„Don’t feel like talking right now?“ you incline your head, his own still too full of worry to form words, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

A slight tilt of his head confirms his intent to rest his voice for now, as you lead him into your living space.

It’s beyond dark out by now, and the main source of light are the fairylights strung all around the living room, that he made for you. They illuminate your shape in a golden like hue, as you cradle his unoccupied hand and draw him onto the couch.

„Now how about you sit here finish your tea and I give you a small massage?“ you quip up, a tender finger drawing circles on his palm.

The thought of your hands on him, gliding over his shoulders, his back and drifting lower and lower— do unspeakable things to his already spinning head. Mangled rotten worrisome thoughts are now partnered with guilt for the undeniable lust pulsing through him.

The thought of worrying about nothing at all, while you pamper him with all means at your disposal, a delightful prospect nesting in his emptying mind. Though the fear of not performing as he should, as he would want rips into the rosy notions.

He visibly deflates, rubbing his neck, giving a low hum.

„I’d love that“ he croaks, you perk up, moving behind the couch to rest your hands on his jacket. Slowly and gently you pry it off of him, with a little help from the wearer.

The mere ambience, you and the echoing silence seem to do wonders on Jayce’s static filled mind, as he closes his eyes and leans back into your touch.

You make sure to fold the jacket on the armrest, before starting of gently on his shoulders. Feeling the amount of tightness, as you give a considering hum, making sure to rub firm circles into them.

Jayce’s body goes slack under your calculated movements, his head falling back into the backrest, giving you a beautiful view of his visibly relaxing face.

His lashes flutter, as his lips part gently letting out small huffs of air and noises of distinct approval when you unfurl a particularly tight spot.

You almost lose yourself in the task, finding the sight of him and the noises to be the most rewarding of things.

“You’re incredible” he breaths, his eyes still closed and you believe the stray praise is more instinctive rather than targeted.

Making sure to firmly yet gently disperse all the knots within his muscles.

It doesn’t take long before Jayce is almost slipping off the couch, his body turning into putty beneath your firm touches.

“There we are” you mutter gently, earning a content sigh from the man who now gazes at you with his amber eyes, the most lovestruck expression gracing his sculpted features, the teacup long abandoned on the coffee table.

“Wow” he smiles at you, fumbling to upright himself. Having seemingly significant trouble, probably due to parts of his body having fallen asleep.

When he finally does his hands gently lay upon your hips as he presses a gentle kiss to the area above your stomach within reach of his still sitting frame.

“Thank you” he mumbles, snuggling into the previously kissed area, as you comb through his stray locks.

He’s still in his head you note, though his body may seem free of tension.

“How about you get ready for bed” you murmur, earning a huff from Jayce, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you steady like an anker.

Having to resist the urge to let him mope like this

As adorable as he is whiningly pouting like this, you have another idea how to get him to unwind even more— and for that you need him in bed.

“If you get to bed, I might have something for you” you whisper, his gaze snaps up as he gauges your mischievous smile and raises brow.

“I see” he grins up boyishly, before letting go of you and propping himself off the couch.

He wavers a bit, instinctively you reach out a steading hand though your lovers catches himself, uttering out a slight curse.

The plan forming in your mind, is to get Jayce to bed, knowing him though his body might be at ease no, his mind is most certainly still full of worry. Full of worry for Viktor, the council, the city both upper and under parts. You know it’s getting to him, having to take a place to make live changing decisions when you were just a mere inventor.

Hoping to be able to get him to lose himself for the night you gather a few things, hearing the unmistakable clatter of Jayce rifling through your stuff, most likely searching for some of his own clothes.

Though he has been around a lot more since joining the council, he technically hadn’t moved in yet.

“On the cupboard” you shout across the floor, hearing a pause before the clicking of his tongue.

Collecting a bottle of chamomile oil, taking a quick waft of it and a towel— you make your way to the bedroom yourself.

The scene upon entering is one which leaves your heart aching, Jayce fumbling with the top buttons of his shirt, seemingly a puzzle to his weary fingers.

Stepping forward, you lay the bought items on your bed, before laying your palms upon his own. His wide glittering eyes meet yours, as he pouts down in frustration. He lets his arms fall slack to his side as you gently undo the buttons.

„You’re still in your head“ you note, as you see his fingers twitch at his side, urging to do something.

„It feels wrong to rest“ he whispers frustrated, nursing his bottom lip between his teeth. He lets out a sigh as you press your fingers through the crevice of the open shirt, laying your warm palm upon his fuzzy chest.

It’s warm and rising as well as falling steadily, while his heart thumping beneath picks up speed when you coo at him.

„Jayce, pushing yourself like this, it’s taking from your ability to help when it might truly count..“

You’re meet with silence, your words might ring true within him tough he can’t accept them right now. He has a lot of people counting on him.

„It’s okay for now“ you move to turn, hands slipping of his chest.

Before your left hand can fall to your side he grasps for it, before pulling it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your wrist.

„Come here“ you shift to sit on the bed, tugging him along, his weight finding its place beside you.

„You can’t resolve all the cities troubles in one night“ you remind, his face a reflection of his inner turmoil, before he sighs and his shoulders sack.

„You’re right“ he smiles at you, though his eyebrows still mirror his distress.

Then his eyes shift onto the items laid upon the comforter. His face visibly flushing at the sight of the oil, knowing very well what its usage usually entails.

„I’m not sure if I could relax enough for—„ seeing where his thoughts are headed you are quick to lay your hand upon his thigh.

„No, that’s not what I had in mind— I was thinking of something else“ his initial thought rings in your mind, having thought about it earlier though sensing he might be in need of something else for now.

„And what’s that?“ he leans closer, you love him when he gets like this. It’s always such a stark contrast to when you both actually go at it, and he’s reduced to something more akin to a whining mutt.

„How about you lose the slacks and find out?“ you tease, shifting your form fully into the bed.

The pants are seemingly less of a challenge than the shirt was and in mere seconds Jayce’s frame clad in a lose linen shirt and a lose pair of underpants joins you.

„Those too“ you instruct, Jayce faltering as his gaze follows the point of your own, as you spread the towel you’ve brought earlier on the bed.

Gently he pries the underpants off, and no matter how many times you two do this it does not sway his face from flushing.

“Ah” he’s not only flush in his face you come to realize, but his cockhead has similarly flushed, a spurt of pre beading at the tip.

“My, Jayce, maybe I needn’t massage your insides anymore if a mere shoulder massage gets you just as excited” the remark gets him to gasp under his breath, furrowing his brows.

“I’m not opposed to either massages….” He counters, though its leverage falls short with his leaky cock out and twitching.

“Me neither” you remark, getting a hold of the oil, screwing open the cap to drizzle a decent amount onto your hand.

Jayce swallows sharply at the sight of the liquid pouring into your warm waiting palm, wishing it was an other substance.

You don’t need to lend him your pointed gaze to gauge his reaction. To most of Piltover who Jayce is, is by no means a mystery. Though only your sharp gaze truly can pick him apart and know him for what he truly is.

It pleases him to know end, knowing the power your attention holds over him.

Clasping your hands together you spread the oil across your skin, the scent wafting up your nostrils. When your hands are coated evenly you give Jayce an incline of your head.

His gaze is partially glazed over staring at your hands before meeting your gaze, the scent alone doesn’t fail to remind him off past intimacy, his cock already straining in his lose slacks.

“Please” it’s not exactly what you were hoping for, but what he pleads for is evident, when it’s punctuated with a jutting of his hips.

The warm digits of your fingers slowly take his twitching cock into their warm slick embrace. As you slowly nurse over the shaft, Jayce keeps the back of his hand over his face, his mouth agape in a silent moan.

Your left hand moves you the shaft, your palm doing circular motions over his leaking tip, whilst the other pays attention to his balls, gently coating them in a thin sheen of oil.

“I— can’t ah-“ Jayce is evidently overwhelmed, his face adopting one of your favorite expressions, with his eyes unfocused, face a flush and eyebrows furrowed.

Just when he starts to hump up into your hand you swiftly pull them both back. A whine bubbling from within Jayce’s chest as he heaves out a small sob.

The sound is not an uncommon indication for his pleasure to rough you lean over his lying frame to make sure he’s still with you.

“Hey there” you mumble

“Eh- hey” he responds, still breathing a bit heavily.

“Are you still okay with proceeding?” He finally meets your gaze, one you meet with a gentle smile. His own lips not quirking up but his eyes shimmer in determination as he eagerly nods.

“Good, now i need you to lay on your side like this” you pull back situating yourself on your side, Jayce slowly props himself up before paralleling your pose.

“Like this?”

“Yes, very good, a bit closer perhaps” his brow furrows a tad but he does as instructed without queries, his hand hovering above your hip.

Before he can move to do anything else you pull down your own sleep wear, your arousal very apparent.

Jayce’s eyes take you in immediately, his darkened gaze drinking in the sight of your wet twitching need, ultimately at arm’s length.

When his eyes drift up to your face again you’ve gotten a bit more oil into your hand, reaching down to spread it across your thighs.

Right about now he’s glad you took the time earlier to spread a towel on top of the blanket as he watched with bated breath how your thighs starts glistening much like his cock.

It’s probably about now that he realizes your intent, his face growing impossibly red as his lower lips starts shaking. He’s readily embarrassed, having admitted in a drunken stupor not long ago that he’s had a very similar fantasy akin to what you’ve constructed for a while now. With him being as busy as he is as of late, you’d both hadn’t come to have a lot of time to be intimate. Despite that, he had counted on you having forgotten about this particular confession, as he found himself embarrassed to have admitted it in a weakened state.

“Gods…” he whispers at the sight of your shining thighs so close to his pulsing need.

“You still in this sweetheart?” You murmur, leaning close to peek at the corner of his mouth.

He presses out a pathetic string of yes yes yes yes, as he tries chasing after your lips with his own.

“Good, put it between then.” You instruct gently, denying him of another kiss for now.

Instinctively Jayce juts his hip forward, the leaky tip of his cock pressing a brief kiss against the crevice between your thighs. You let out a sharp breath, gauging Jayce’s expression, as another whine slips from his lips.

“Slowly” you coo at him, laying your hand on his own, allowing him to find purchase against your waist.

Granted he tries to go slow, but pressing forth, the tight warmth of your slippery thighs, enclosing his throbbing cock, ultimate leads to an irrational thrust. Embracing his sensitive shaft fully.

Jayce head spins almost painfully as his thoughts wholly become consumed by the sensation of you.

“Wo— I- mu-ch better than anticipated…” he sobs and you see small tears pearl at the corner of his eyes.

Your hands reach up to cradle his cheeks as well as disperse the oncoming droplets.

“You’re doing amazing” the praise makes the hard appendage between your thighs throb, Jayce pulling at your hips to press his cock further through your thighs. His cock head jutting against your own arousal at the sudden movement.

“Jayce—“ you warn, when he burrows his face in your neck, his lips molding against your jaw to a leave a trail of apology kisses.

“‘M sorry” he sobs, and you gently embrace him, drawing small circles on his back.

“It’s okay” you whisper, as you start moving your hips back and forth gently. A shiver wreaks through his frame, as he buries his nose against the crock of your neck.

“There you are” you say pressing your thighs together putting pressure on jayces shaft.

The action makes him grow rigid as he Pulls you impossibly close. Spurts of his release pairing the inside of your thighs, bursting out below your ass.

Jayce tosses his head back, and you take the chance to nibble at his jaw, littering it with kisses as he rides out his orgasm high.

He suppresses a string on sobs, his face tear streaked as you part your thighs. His hand shots out, pressing it back down.

“Please” you stare at him, noting the need to just bask in this, your, warmth a bit more.

“Okay, we can stay like this for now”

You look behind yourself taking note of the mess

“Really glad I thought of a towel, such a mess” you playfully tsk, turning to Jayce as his face grows redder.

“It was definitely worth it” he utters “I think I wanna pull out now”

You slowly raise your thigh, as Jayce pulls back in tandem, falling onto his back.

Then shifts onto his side again facing from you, you’re familiar with the gesture, pulling around his frame from the back as he lets out a very content sigh.

“I need to tell you of fantasies while pissed beyond comprehension more often”

“You can tell me anytime, Jayce” he cuddles back into your frame, you pressing your lips against his shoulder blade.

“I know”

#jayce talis #arcane #jayce arcane #jayce talis x reader #sub!jayce #arcane fanfic #x Reader

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lovesculprit · 1 month ago

Text

乂 The Knight's Vow

Ft. Nanami Kento

sum: knight!nanami can't help but be captivated by a rival knight

contains: nsfw content {mdni}, fempov, pnv (unprotected), creampie, oral (reader giving), mentions of blood/fighting, out in the open but they're not caught, grabs a fistful of your hair wc: 4.3k

a/n: knights have too many layers so maybe the undressing is inaccurate but i do not care, you guys are here for smut (repost from yesterday, sorry :')

Your sword clashed against Nanami's, the scent of blood in the air. Every strike, every parry was powered only by hatred-or so you had been telling yourself.

Repeatedly you tried to force your blade past his defences. His eyes glittered in the shadow of his helm, following your every move with a terrorising precision, but there was something else dancing in his gaze now. Something unsettling.

Your feet slid in the mud, remnants of earlier battles mixing with the earth. You'd already taken one blow to your side, and with every breath, the sharp sting was fresh. You forced yourself through the pain; Nanami couldn't see weakness in you, you refused.

"You look exhausted," he sneered, twisting his wrist and forcing you back a step. His blade flashed in the dim light with a swift and merciless violence. "Maybe you should've stayed out of this fight."

Your mouth was full of the taste of copper as you wiped the blood from your split lip. His cuts were vicious, each swing of his sword meant to kill, yet you met his savagery with equal fervour, refusing to back down. Your very muscles ached in protest as you lifted your weapon and launched yourself at him once more, channelling every last measure of strength into the attack.

You manage to catch him off guard this time; your blade cutting a line across his chestplate. Not deep enough to do serious damage, yet enough to draw blood.

Nanami stumbled backward, breathing hard, his chest heaving beneath his armour. For one moment, you thought you had him-that maybe you could end this. But then you saw it: the way his eyes darkened, the slow smirk curling the corner of his mouth. His blood dripped from the cut, but rather than anger or pain, something far more dangerous lit up his face.

"You're… vicious," he breathed, tone thick with the sudden, uninhibited pleasure. His eyes roamed over you, drinking in every bruise, every drop of blood, and the rise and fall of your chest with the effort of the fight. "I didn't know you had it in you."

You struck again, and this time he didn't move to defend himself. He leaned into your attack, letting your blade graze his arm, as if he relished the pain. His groan-low and guttural-filled the space between you. And it wasn't from agony.

It was pleasure.

"You should stop before you get yourself killed, " you spat, though even as the words left your mouth the way he was watching you unnerved you. It wasn't fear in his eyes. It wasn't even hatred anymore. It was raw, carnal desire.

"Why would I stop?" Nanami rasped, closing the distance between them, his voice gravelly with arousal. "Look at you. Fierce. Beautiful. Dangerous." He was breathing hard now, not from exertion but from something very primeval. "The way you fight… I could watch it forever."

You swung at him again, desperate to shut him up, and he was faster this time, catching your blade in his gauntlet, the metal shrieking as he twisted your sword away from you. His bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you closer until your bodies slammed together. The heat of his breath against your neck, the tautness in his hold-how his fingers quivered, not with weakness, but with need.

"Do it," he growled, his lips brushing your ear. "You want to kill me so badly, don't you?"

Your other blade hovered at his throat, the tip pressing into his skin just hard enough to draw a small drop of crimson. His eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry. But instead of fear, he leaned into the blade, daring you. Daring you to finish it.

His body tensed against yours as his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and for a moment, you felt his heartbeat racing beneath his chestplate, wild and primal.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his voice thick and low with lust. "Do it. Or was this all what you wanted? You want me on my knees for you?"

The heat between you was unbearable, battle lines blurring into something far more dangerous. Nanami's lips curled into a wicked smile as his hand tightened around yours on the hilt of your sword, guided it closer to his throat—as if he craved the pain, craved the power you held over him.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice dipped in lust. "You're magnificent when you're trying to kill me."

You could feel the pulse of his desire throbbing, as undeniable as the blood spilling down his neck. It twisted in your chest, a knot of fury and confusion. This wasn't the way this was supposed to be. He was supposed to hate you, supposed to fight you.

But the way he looked at you now—with raw, unbridled hunger—made it clear that this was more than just a battle.

With a sudden movement, he wrenched your second blade from your grasp, the steel clattering to the ground. The action had been unexpected, violent—the proof of his strength that for a moment left you breathless. In one fluid motion, he closed the gap between you and pinned you against the rough bark of a tree.

Your heart was pounding as he pinned you against his body, holding you in place. The weight of his armour, crushing into your side, was a constant reminder of battle, but more than that was how he looked at you—his desire mixed with a hunter's gleam that made your breath hitch.

"Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a mix of lust and challenge. "Tell me you want me to break you."

You swallowed hard, torn between the fury of battle and the electrifying pull of his words. "You think I’m afraid of you? That I’d submit?" The defiance in your voice felt shaky, as if the very words were fighting against the heat building within you.

His lips curled into a smirk; confidence and amusement danced together in his dark eyes. "I don't believe you are scared though I can see how your body reacts to me. You're fighting it, but you want this just the same as I do."

He turned suddenly, his lips coming close to your ear. "Let go of that anger, just for a moment. Let yourself feel."

The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, bringing a fire that swirled deep within. Your heart raced between what was left of the violent fighter you'd been but seconds ago and the coursing tide that now coursed through you. You'd always clashed with him, battled against him, but this…this was something else altogether.

"You think you can manipulate me with your words?" You shot back, but even you could hear the unsureness in your tone. The bravado felt fragile in the face of his overwhelming presence.

"I don’t want to manipulate you," he replied, his voice low and genuine. "I want to challenge you. To see how far you’re willing to go."

He caught your wrist in one motion, firm, yet still soft enough to remind you of the line you were walking. He pulled back just enough to search your eyes, his expression an intoxicating mix of mischief and sincerity. "If you want to fight me, then fight me. But if you want something more, don't be afraid to take it."

Your pulse quickened as his grasp on your wrist remained, a silent challenge hanging between them. His eyes bored into yours, searching and daring you to step outside of your anger and pride, while every fibre in your body was screaming to wrench free, to push him away. But there, within his gaze, was a strange magnetism that held your surrender.

Something in you broke in that moment. The walls you had built around yourself began to tumble. You leaned in, closing the distance, your heart pounding. "You don't know what you're asking for," you whispered, barely letting the words pass your lips.

"Then show me," he dared, his eyes dark and intense, an invitation edged with danger and longing.

You lunged forward without another thought, closing the space between you in a heartbeat. Your lips crashed against his, a collision of heat and urgency that set your skin alight. The world around you simply dropped away, reduced to nothing but the two of you: the bitter rivalry forgotten in the heat of this singular moment.

His lips moved over yours, and a fire was lit that consumed you both. The kiss deepened into a hungry, fierce connection, moving from tentative exploration. The tension of your earlier battles unravelled and was replaced by fervent desire that pulsed through your veins like wildfire.

His hands went to your waist, fingers pressing against the cool metal of your armour as he pulled you closer, like he couldn't get enough. You melted against him, the intoxicating mix of heat and desire that flowed between you, even as the constricting weight of your armour felt both comforting and stifling. The rough bark of the tree presses against your back, holding you in place amidst the whirlwind of wild emotions swirling all around.

A low growl escaped him as he titled his head, deepening the kiss, the taste of victory mingling with the coppery tang of blood that lingered from the fight. You responded eagerly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, and pressed your body against his armoured chest, craving more. It was wild, it was reckless, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.

Time stopped existing, lost in the moment with every kiss that drew you closer into the chaos and passion that embraced both of you. The battleground dropped away, and with the pounding of your hearts, that electric connection holding you together, the weight of your armour became a simple backdrop to the fervour igniting between you.

As your lips met, the world outside melted entirely away, leaving only the heat and urgency of your pressed-together bodies. His hands, avid, a little clumsy, sought the edges of your armour; his fingers fumbled with the straps as he tried to find a way past the constricting barriers keeping you apart.

It was palpable, the power in his touch, the way he seemed almost to tremble with need as he fought with the buckles. "Damn this," he muttered, frustration threading through his voice. "Why do they make this so complicated?"

As he wrestled with the obstinate buckles of your armour, you took advantage of the distraction to direct your own attention to his. Your fingers met the cool metal of his chest plate, finding the straps that held it in place. You felt a shiver of excitement at the close contact, the barrier of armour that had always separated you slowly giving way.

"Be still," you said, voice a little breathless as your hands worked deftly at the intricate clasps. His body tensed under your touch, heat radiating off him growing stronger as you worked to free him from his armour's confines.

"Easier said than done," he returned, his low chuckle only feeding the fire kindling between you. "Especially with you this close."

You couldn't help but smile as with each passing moment, tension filled the air. Even the clinking of the metal echoed as you awkwardly fumbled with the straps, your hands brushing against the curvatures of his muscles and feeling the warmth of his skin just beneath the layers. Each touch ignited a fire within you, and you could not help but be further pulled into this moment.

With a final tug, the last strap came undone, and his armour fell away, revealing the hard contours of his chest. Your heart was pounding at the sight of some deep place inside you responding to the contrast between the battle-hardened knight and the vulnerable man standing before you.

You took a moment to regard him, how the muscles in his torso flexed under your gaze, the way his breathing quickened as your fingertips brushed against his skin. You could not deny the heat radiating between you, nor the way the outside world seemed to melt further into unimportance.

You kissed him before you could think twice, your lips crashing against his in that kiss of desperation. The touch sent shivers which blazed throughout your blood. The urgency of the moment swallowed you whole, pushed every thought except the two of you out of your mind.

His palms grazed over your waist as fingers splayed wide across the small of your back, pulling you closer in as though he could not stand to have any space between you. You leaned back into him, hands twisting through his hair, holding him as close as you could manage.

The kiss deepened, transforming from a hungry collision to a primal, passionate kiss. You could taste on his lips the remains of battle: blood and sweat mixed with the intoxicating sweetness of desire. It fed your hunger, demanding that you go deeper into him, hands trailing down the firm planes of his abdomen.

Your hands roam over the contours of his body, scars marking him—each one telling a story of battles fought and won. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, the heat of his body searing into yours.

"I want you," he whispered hotly against your ear. "I want to feel every inch of you, to claim you as mine."

The words washed over you like a wave of longing, and you felt yourself melting against him as your body gave in to his touch. The world around you simply dissolved, leaving nothing but the two of you afloat in this pool of passion.

As his hands roamed over your body, a soft moan escaped your lips.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, "I've wanted you for so long, fantasized about your body against mine."

Your heart was racing as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, the slight pain only adding to the intoxicating mix of sensations. His grip was firm, commanding—a stark reminder of the power he held over you in this moment.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice low and husky.

The words, they sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of anticipation and wanting. For a moment, you hesitated, your warrior's instinct rebelling against the submissive position. But there was no withstanding the heat in his eyes—the promise of pleasure.

You dropped down to your knees very slowly, in a highly intentional way, before him, locking your eyes with his. The earth was hard and cold under you, against the warmth of his body.

"Good girl," he purred, his free hand stroking your cheek, the touch both tender and possessive. "Always wanted you to yield to me in battle, just like this."

You looked up at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost took your breath away. His fingers still gripped your hair, reminding you just how he had complete control over you in that very moment.

"You're an interesting combination of rebellion and submission," he said, his voice low, imbued with need. "It was what attracted me to you from the very start."

With a rapid motion, he let go of your hair and started shedding the other barriers of his clothing, each article hitting the floor with a thudding sound.

He leaned closer, his hand cradling your chin, turning it up to face him. His thumb slid over your lower lip, and the touch sent a spark of electricity through you.

"Tell me how much you want this-" he whispered, his hot breath against your skin.

You felt a wave of heat run through your body at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, as if he could see right through to your very soul.

"I- I want this," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you."

The admission was a weight off your shoulders, the release of tension that had built up between you for so long. His eyes darkened, a mix of hunger and satisfaction flickering within them.

As you knelt before him, your breath caught in your throat as his cock sprang free from its confines. It was a sight to behold, thick and hard, aching, begging for attention.

"Take it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want it."

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. It was hot and throbbing, pulsing with need. You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum that had formed at the tip.

It was salty and musky, and a taste that was uniquely him. You moaned softly as you took him deeper into your mouth.

"That's it," he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding you as you bobbed your head up and down his length. "Just like that."

"Every time you drew my blood in battle, I imagined this," he admitted, his voice rough with desire. "Pictured you on your knees, worshipping my cock with that pretty mouth."

He thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding deeper into your mouth. "I'd think of all the ways I wanted to make you submit, to claim you as mine."

His grip on your hair tightened, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. "And now here you are, just as I dreamed. My perfect little warrior, kneeling before me."

You wrapped your lips around his thick shaft, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You bobbed your head up and down, setting a steady rhythm. Your hands gripped his muscular thighs for balance as you worked him over with your mouth. Lewd slurping noises filled the air as you sucked him with enthusiasm, determined to give him as much pleasure as possible.

You continued your relentless assault on his cock, your lips gliding up and down his shaft with practiced ease. Your tongue swirled around the sensitive head, teasing the slit and tracing the ridge.

"Ah, fuck!" he cried out, his hips thrusting forward to meet your mouth. "Just like that, baby. Don't stop."

You took him deeper, suppressing your gag reflex as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Your nose nestled in his pubic hair as you held him there, your throat muscles fluttering around his length.

"Holy shit," he gasped, his fingers digging into your scalp. "You're amazing."

You pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. You looked up at him, your eyes dark with lust.

The heat between you had reached a fever pitch, and it was clear that he had to have you, right here and now.

He leant down, gently guiding you as he lowered you down onto the grass. His body covered yours, pinning you beneath him. The weight of his muscular frame pressed against you, the heat of his skin searing into yours.

"I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I need to feel you, all of you."

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whispered, your body arching into his touch. "I need you too."

He removed the remaining barriers before tugging your underwear down, chucking it over towards his knight pouch, the action not lost on you.

With a low groan, he pushed your legs apart, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock slid along your folds and nudged against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

"Look at me," he demanded, his eyes locking with yours. "I want to see your face."

You met his gaze, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment.

"Don't look away," he said, his voice low and commanding. “Please-”

As he pushed forward, the head of his cock sliding inside your pussy, you let out a sharp gasp. The sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips stalling as he fought for control.

With a growl, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

"I'm not going to last," he panted, his hips moving in shallow thrusts. "You're too fucking perfect."

He bit down harder, the pain mixing with the pleasure, creating a dizzying cocktail of sensations. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you held on for dear life.

"That's it," he growled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you."

He thrust into you with a desperate hunger, his hips slamming against yours with each powerful stroke. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, a lewd symphony of passion and desire.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So fucking tight."

He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with abandon. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

He changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your back arched off the ground, a scream of ecstasy tearing from your throat.

"I want you to ride me," he growled, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you in control."

He rolled onto his back, pulling you atop him. Your hands braced against his chest as you positioned yourself above him.

"Take what you need," he urged, his hands gripping your hips. "Use me for your pleasure."

You sank down onto his cock, a moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely. Your hips began to move, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his head falling back against the grass. "Just like that, baby. You're so fucking sexy."

You rode him harder, your breasts bouncing with each movement. The friction was intense, the pleasure building with each thrust.

You rode him with increasing intensity, your hips undulating in a sensual dance. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over you with each thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect." he panted, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

His words spurred you on, driving you to take him deeper, harder. You leaned forward, changing the angle of your thrusts, and he let out a guttural moan.

"Shit-" he gasped, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Don't stop, baby. Don't you dare stop."

Your movements became more erratic, your body tensing as you neared your peak. He thrust up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke, his hips slamming against yours.

As you rode him, lost in the throes of passion, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Amidst the haze of lust and desire, there was a flicker of something deeper, something that looked suspiciously like love.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, stealing your breath and making your heart race. In that moment, you knew that this wasn't just a fleeting tryst born of battlefield frenzy. This was something real, something meaningful.

"Kento," you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion. "I... I think I..."

But before you could finish your sentence, he surged up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The kiss was different from the others, filled with a tenderness that took your breath away.

"I know," he whispered against your lips, his eyes locked on yours. "I feel it too."

You leaned back, bracing yourself against his thighs as you rode him with wild abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, and you cried out in ecstasy.

The pleasure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally exploded, sending shockwaves of bliss through you. You threw your head back, a loud moan tearing from your throat as you came.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hips thrusting up into you, prolonging your climax. "That's it, baby. Ride it out."

Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock for all it was worth. He let out a guttural moan, his own release fast approaching.

"I'm gonna come," he panted, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Gonna fill you up-”

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you, ropes of white painting your walls. You could feel the heat of his release, the sheer volume of it, and it only served to intensify your own pleasure.

"You're incredible." he gasped, his body shuddering beneath you.

You collapsed onto his chest, your body spent and sated. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"That was... intense," you panted, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Understatement of the century."

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with a playful grin. "I guess we both needed a break from the whole 'trying to kill each other' thing."

He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. "So, what happens now? Do we go back to trying to kill each other, or...?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. But for now..."

You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. He grinned, his hand sliding down your back.

"For now," he agreed, pulling you closer as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

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nrdmssgs · 3 months ago

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A deal

Masterlist

TW: smut

Nikto wouldn't dare to move - you already were way too generous when you let him in your life, granted him a permission to crawl into your beds in the most ungodly hours, lay next to you, drink in your warmth, listen to your deep breaths. He had much more than anyone in his position would dare to ask for - he had you.

"You can do better than me, you deserve better, Andre," you chanted on and on as he brought you from one peak to another, ravishing in your absolute treasure of a body. He didn't know, how to prove you wrong, how to make you feel what he felt, when you let him drown in the bliss of your lips. Nobody could do better, no one deserved you, the deity among people. And it became Niktos mission to prove you wrong.

One thought of your touch, of that incredibly soft skin on his, dragged Nikto back to reality despite his attempts to fall asleep next you. Two burning rings tightened around him: one made his throat run dry, the other one encircled the lower abdomen and now inexorably squeezed it, warming the body. Nikto rolled over onto his stomach and let out a long hiss.

Not now, for fuck's sake!

He held his breath and froze, counting the seconds. Sleeping next to you, next to his girl, his soft, most tender, so delicious girl… was unbearable sometimes. But he wouldn't dare to disturb your sleep. You let him sleep here, this should be enough as it is.

"Not anything is about fucking, you idiot!!" he grumbled into his pillow, burying his head deeper in order to muffle his own voice.

Yes, but if it's not about just fucking?

What if it is about her ragged breaths, her rushing heart, when we are close?

What if it is about a little tear rolling down her flushed cheek? Not because it hurts - because she likes how we manage to caress her everywhere.

What if it is about proving her wrong?

"We shouldn't-" he doesn't manage to finish his own thought. The inner discussion cuts off with Niktos unconscious hip thrust. The friction against the mattress is feather-light, but it's enough to make him bite his own pillow and groan dully.

And that's when you, his girl, his angel, his blessing, stretch your arms up and turn to him. Nikto freezes, praying to all the gods, that you don't wake up fully to discover him like that: painfully hard and desperate for you.

Weirdo.

Wanker.

Bloody pervert.

But your breath runs faster. Your hands reach out to him, caress Niktos ugly face, run over his scars, down his neck and chest to his waist.

"Come here," you try to pull him closer to you, but Nikto doesn't give in. So you open your eyes.

Nikto is embarrassed - his state of mind is obvious to you. He shoved you this part of him: darkened eyes, ragged breaths, lips bitten from inside to prevent himself from jumping on you. Must be a disgusting view...

"You need me, Andre?"

"I'm sorry. He's a creep! A pervert! I should go. Throw him out!" Nikto is so tense that his voices are spilling out of him, making his answer confusing.

"Sh-h-h-h, sh-h, it's ok," instead of pulling him closer, you move in his direction until you feel his hard hot shaft pressed against your thigh.

He keeps muttering something until you cup his face with one hand and cradle his length with the other.

"Andre. You need me?"

A nervous sigh leaves his lips, and he finally gives in, hides his face on the crook of your neck and whispers, warming your skin with his hot breath.

"Please..."

You make a first move, drawing a long low moan from him and smile. The man is desperate - he can't keep himself from meeting your moves, no matter how hard he tries.

"The next time you need me..."

He starts nodding even before you finish the sentence.

"...don't hesitate..."

With a deep growl, he turns you over onto your back, pressing you against the sheet with his weight.

"...just take me, ok?"

His scarred lips find yours in the same moment, when he drives himself all the way inside, making your back arch.

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cailinsblog · 2 months ago

Text

The Girl of His Dreams |Connor bedard

Connor bedard x reader

Masterlist

It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon, or so it seemed to Connor Bedard. He’d just finished a practice with the Chicago Blackhawks and was heading back to his apartment, mentally preparing for the upcoming game that weekend. But something in the air felt different today. Maybe it was the anticipation of his first full season in the NHL or maybe it was because of the event he couldn’t get out of his head—meeting her.

Y/N.

Connor had seen her across the room at a charity event a few weeks ago. She had caught his attention the moment she stepped into the venue, her warm smile lighting up the place. She wasn’t the type to draw attention, but there was something so magnetic about her presence that Connor couldn’t look away. He had been too shy to introduce himself that night, but it didn’t stop him from wondering who she was. The days that followed, Connor found himself thinking about her more than he wanted to admit. She was smart, kind, and beautiful in a way that was so effortless. He wasn’t even sure if he would ever see her again, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.

Then, by some stroke of luck, fate had intervened.

He had seen her again, this time at a coffee shop near the rink. She was sitting by herself, typing away on her laptop, completely unaware that the hockey star she’d caught the eye of was just a few feet away from her. Connor’s heart raced when he realized it was his chance. He had practiced this moment in his head so many times, yet he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous.

As he approached her table, his palms were sweaty, and his nerves were nearly unbearable. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Y/N looked up, surprised to see him standing there. But her reaction wasn’t what he had feared. Instead of being starstruck or awkward, she just smiled, her eyes soft and inviting. “No, go ahead.”

Connor hesitated for a moment before sitting down, his heart still beating faster than it probably should have been. “I… I’ve seen you before. At the charity event. I’m Connor.”

Her smile grew, and for the first time, Connor felt himself relax. “Y/N,” she replied warmly. “Nice to meet you, Connor.”

The small talk flowed easily after that. They talked about their favorite coffee orders, what brought them to the charity event, and how Connor was adjusting to life with the Blackhawks. But as much as they talked, Connor found himself becoming increasingly aware of how badly he wanted to ask for her number. Every moment he hesitated felt like a missed opportunity.

After what felt like an eternity of talking, Connor finally took a deep breath and said, “I know this is a little forward, but would you want to maybe grab dinner sometime? Or… I could give you my number, and you could text me if you’d like?”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, as if considering her answer. The silence between them felt deafening, and Connor could feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest. But then, to his relief, Y/N smiled again, her eyes twinkling. “I’d like that. I’ll text you,” she said as she jotted down her number on a napkin.

Connor smiled wider than he ever thought he could. His nerves were still there, but now they were replaced with a wave of happiness and excitement that was impossible to ignore.

Over the next few days, the two of them texted back and forth, getting to know each other better. Their conversations were effortless, filled with inside jokes and shared laughter. And then, after a couple of weeks, Connor finally worked up the courage to ask her to one of the Blackhawks games.

“Hey, so I know this is a little last-minute, but would you want to come to the game with me tomorrow? I’ll get you tickets,” he asked over text, his fingers hovering nervously over his phone screen.

Y/N didn’t even wait a minute to respond. “I’d love to!” she replied, and Connor could feel his heart race again.

He picked her up the next evening, his nerves threatening to get the best of him. But when he saw her standing outside her apartment in a cozy sweater and jeans, he forgot all about the nerves. Y/N looked incredible, and as she climbed into the car, she flashed him that same warm smile that had first captured his heart.

At the game, Connor could hardly focus. He was too busy sneaking glances at Y/N, watching the way her eyes lit up when the crowd cheered. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t just interested in the game; she was genuinely excited to be there, to be a part of this part of his life. During a break in play, he handed her a Blackhawks jersey, the number 98 stitched onto the back.

“For you,” he said shyly, his cheeks flushed.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “You’re a part of this now, too.”

She accepted it with a laugh, pulling it over her head right there in the stands. “Thanks, Connor. I’ll wear it proudly,” she said, looking down at the jersey.

He couldn’t help but grin, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness. It was all so surreal—the idea that this amazing woman was now a part of his world.

But little did Y/N know, the real challenge for Connor was yet to come.

The night after the game, Connor found himself tossing and turning in bed. The Blackhawks had just finished a tough game, one where Connor had missed a crucial shot on goal. He knew he was capable of so much more, and the weight of letting his team down started to eat away at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed.

So, at 3:00 AM, he did something completely out of character—he got in his car and drove to Y/N’s apartment, convinced that he needed to talk to someone who could help him put his thoughts at ease.

He knocked gently on her door, his nerves back in full force as he waited for her to answer. A few moments later, the door opened, and Y/N stood there, her hair tousled from sleep but her eyes soft with concern when she saw who it was.

“Connor? What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately stepping aside to let him in.

“I just… I don’t know. I had a bad game, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down,” Connor admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s heart ached as she walked toward him, gently taking his hands in hers. “You’re not letting anyone down, Connor. You’re young, and you’re still learning. You have so much potential, and there’s so much more to come. This is just the beginning for you.”

He looked at her, feeling the weight of her words settle into his chest. For the first time that night, the tight knot of anxiety loosened, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him.

Y/N reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re going to do amazing things, Connor. But you need to be kind to yourself, too.”

Connor smiled, the burden lifting off his shoulders. He leaned in, his lips brushing gently against hers in a soft kiss. It was full of warmth and comfort, a kiss that reassured him everything would be okay.

When they pulled away, Connor rested his forehead against hers, feeling safe and secure in her arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled softly. “Anytime, Connor. You’re not alone in this.”

As he held her close, Connor realized that meeting Y/N had been the best thing to ever happen to him. She wasn’t just the girl of his dreams; she was the one who would help him believe in himself when everything seemed overwhelming.

And in that moment, Connor knew that no matter what happened on the ice, he had someone who would always be there for him—someone who would love him not for his successes, but for who he was.

And that, more than anything, was enough.

---

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #connor bedard x reader #connor x reader #connor bedard x you #connor bedard x y/n #connor bedard blurb #connor bedard #nhl blackhawks #chicago blackhawks #nhl98 #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 months ago

Note

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking.

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation.

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy.

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat.

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind.

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke.

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?”

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room.

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat.

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?”

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect.

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now.

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve.

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure.

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else.

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up.

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline.

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders.

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster.

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw.

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs.

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?”

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again?

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again.

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face.

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous.

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago.

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it.

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket.

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes.

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes.

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead.

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order.

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them?

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor.

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia.

“What did you do, while I was here?”

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down.

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room.

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value.

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up.

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you.

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling.

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself.

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--”

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you.

“Come sit.”

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog.

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language.

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts.

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact.

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask.

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this.

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way.

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you.

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch.

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion.

“...Thank you.” This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping.

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down.

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed.

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive.

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator.

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable.

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth.

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged.

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh?

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room?

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead?

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck.

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken.

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole.

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’

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just-some-trans-nobody · 1 year ago

Text

December Christmas Monstet stories

December 8.) Horny Krampus

Sorry everyone this one was supposed to br way longer than this but I'm having really bad writers block. I might try to rewrite it eventually I just had to finish what little I had if I want stick to the schedule.

Warnings: NSFW, spit as lube, bare minimum prep, swearing, possessive behavior, stalking behavior

Minors Don't Interact!

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Three weeks.

You only got three weeks a year with him and then you had to wait longing for his touch until next year.

It was like clock work. December 1st at midnight the sound of heavy hooves landing on your roof waking you. The last two years you would wake up a minute or two before the stroke of midnight in anticipation of his arrival.

Giddier than a kid on Christmas day you threw the blankets off yourself and rushed to the living room. Some years he came down the chimney, sometimes the window. He always kept you on your toes never fully knowing where he was going to enter. You weren't sure how a man of such a large size could fit down a chimney but your brain always turned off when he was around. Too dick whipped to think about anything but him and the pleasure he gave you.

Hearing his low growl rumble from behind you, your body trembled in response. He had come through your bedroom window expecting you to be there. Seeing you weren't there made him mad, he wanted his cock in you immediately. Having to wait irritated him. Turning you smiled at him before letting out a gasp when he grabbed you pushing you against the nearest wall. “Fuck.” You moaned out, leaning your head back. He let out a low rumble hearing your moan. The sounds you make when he's with you calmed his raging soul, if only a little bit. Seeing that you were still dressed he growled before ripping off your clothes. His clawed hands tearing your clothes to shreds. You know you should be mad about it but the act had only served to turn you on even more.

Heart pounding in your chest you reached out to hold onto him as he lifted you up pinning you to the wall with one hand. Your legs dangled, unable to reach the floor by a good foot or two. He effortlessly freed his cock from its restraints with his free hand. Lifting a leg up you rested it on his hip spreading your legs for the large man.

Biting your bottom lip you trembled at his touch as he held your chin. “Open.” He growled in a low voice that rumbled in your chest. Obediently you opened your mouth, lightly sticking your tongue out. His fingers immediately slide into your mouth causing you to close it around them. He hardly ever took the time to lube you up first so this felt special for you. Keeping eye contact with him you made sure to lube up his fingers with your saliva as much as you could before he finally pulled them out of your mouth leaving a trail of saliva from his fingers to your plump lips. The trail broke after a second landing on your chin causing him to let out a low rumble at the sight.

Lowering his hand to your entrance he pushed the lubed up fingers inside of you causing you to moan. He wanted to take you so much it hurt but he knew you haven't had him in such a long time you would need to be stretched out first. By the end of the month he would be able to slip it in without reliance, but that was then and this was now. He would never admit it to himself or anyone else that he cared deeply about you to the point it scared him. As much as he loved making you scream out in painful pleasure he didn't want to hurt you so badly he scared you off. He needed you more than he realized.

Hearing you moan from just his fingers made him smirk in pride. He loved hearing how well he pleasured you, he wanted to hear more. Spreading his fingers wide he continued to pump them into you faster drawing out more moans from your lips. “O-oh oh fuck keep going! Gonna cum!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. Your words encouraging him to pump his fingers harder. Reaching your orgasm with a cry you clung to his arms closing his eyes.

You barely had a moment to come down from your orgasm when he slid his fingers out and replaced them with the tip of his cock. Gasping you opened your eyes to be met with his hungry gaze. Letting out a quiet moan you rolled your hips against his taking in more of his cock. He let out a low moan feeling his cock go deeper into you. It drove him mad. Growling he snapped his hips forward pushing all of his cock into you causing you to sob lightly. It stung but felt good at the same time. Whimpering softly you clung to him as tears welled in your eyes. He waited for a moment letting you adjust for a moment before he started to slowly rock his hips. Once your face started showing more pleasure than pain he sped his pace up thrusting faster into you. Pressing against you harder he pushed you against the wall even more making you feel a little squished. “Harder.” You moaned scratching at his arms. It was a request he was more than happy to comply with.

The room was filled with the sounds of your needy moans and the relentless thrusts of Krampus. It was utter bliss being with him. December was by far your favorite time of the year and Christmas had nothing to do with it.

#monster #monster fucker #monster stories #monster smut #december christmas monster stories #krampus x reader #fluffy monster #monster x male #monster x female #monster x human #monster x girl #monster x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

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Steve was doing this for Robin.

He had to keep telling himself this. He could get through the day, the weekend, life, if he just kept repeating this to himself.

But an hour into their day, his pants ripped.

Not in a place it can be hidden, not a small one.

Right along his ass.

And because Robin insisted he’d be fine, he didn’t bring a bag with a change of clothes.

He could buy some, sure, if he wanted to spend $60 on special convention sweatpants that would be entirely too hot, unflattering, and ruin the costume Robin insisted he wear to match hers.

He was hiding in the bathroom currently, furiously texting Robin to let her know he was just going to stay there until it was time to leave.

She’d be mad at him, but she’d be more mad at herself for not letting him bring a change of clothes.

His pants weren’t even tight. Luke Skywalker doesn’t exactly wear tight clothes. He had no reason behind the rip other than the universe just hating him as much as possible.

Robin told him she would find someone to help, whatever that means, but he didn’t think that was possible without just buying new pants.

He stood in the corner of the continuously crowded bathroom, trying not to draw attention, but knowing it was incredibly odd to just stand in the corner of a public bathroom.

Ten minutes passed and a guy walked in with a backpack and a sign that says “Free Cosplay Repair” and Steve knew what Robin had done.

The man was pretty, and not dressed up, but seemed like he wished he was. Maybe it was difficult to repair if he was wearing some elaborate costume.

Steve didn’t know how this worked.

“Are you Steve?”

Steve nodded.

His voice was calming, and Steve instantly trusted him to fix the problem.

“Heard you’ve got a bit of a problem with the costume. Big or small?”

“Uh. Pretty big, man.”

“Ah. Tear along the ass, then. Happens all the time.”

He set his backpack down and started rummaging through the front pocket. When he pulled out a sewing kit, Steve realized he was going to have to get this fixed in a public bathroom with this very attractive man staring at and touching his ass for who knows how long.

“Um.”

“It’ll be better if you can take them off. I’ll be able to sew it much faster.”

Steve couldn’t just stand around in his boxers. That was not part of the plan or the agreement with Robin. People were coming and going from the bathroom at a rapid rate.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?”

“Awww, Stevie, feeling shy?”

Steve’s face was beet red. He was feeling a little shy, and being called out on it by a hot guy kind of made him think about being called out on other things in other ways and his brain was not doing well.

“My name’s Eddie. I come with my friend Chrissy to a bunch of these every year. We have a tent set up on the show floor for privacy, but you’d have to walk to it. I could walk behind you if you want?”

“Oh. Okay. Um. Sure.”

It was better than standing half naked in this bathroom.

So they left, and Eddie stayed right behind him, covering him from possible exposure to the growing crowd.

He would lean forward and direct him to the tent every few seconds, leaving goosebumps behind from how close he got to his ear to be heard.

When they arrived, Chrissy was finishing up with supergluing something to a mask. Eddie touched her shoulder and whispered something to her. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him before turning back to the person she was helping.

Eddie nudged Steve into their tent.

“Alright, shouldn’t take too long. Take them off, Luke.”

Steve rolled his eyes but followed directions. The faster this was done, the faster he could get back to Robin, who was probably so deep into the crowd by now that he’d never find her anyways.

Maybe he should just stay here. Learn to sew. Become a part of their traveling repair team.

They seemed nice enough.

Eddie got started immediately, and Steve was grateful for the privacy the tent provided. He sat down on a stool they had set up in the corner and put his hands in his lap, covering as much of himself as he could. He was definitely not confident in this place.

He’d embraced that he liked some nerdy things. He was fine with it.

But he was way out of his element here.

“You come to these a lot?”

“No. Just supporting my friend.”

“Explains not being as prepared as the pros.”

“I did try to be. My friend said I’d be fine. Don’t know why I listened to her.”

Eddie snorted. “She a friend or a…friend?”

Steve laughed so loudly, Eddie jumped. “Sorry. She’s very much not straight and I am very much not interested.”

“Is she Leia?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone will assume you’re together, you know?”

“Yeah, well. She said I had to and I owed her.”

“Must’ve done you a big favor.”

“You could say that.”

Eddie’s hands were moving quickly, and Steve couldn’t help watching in amazement.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“What? Sewing? Or conventions?”

“Both.”

Eddie smiled while he worked.

“Sewing since I was 11. I was in charge of fixing my and my uncle’s clothes since we couldn’t really afford new ones unless I outgrew them. Then in high school I did costumes for drama and cheerleaders. That’s how I met Chrissy. She was a secret nerd so she took me to a convention and I saw too many people crying over broken and torn cosplays so I started doing this.”

“For free?”

“Yeah. I already had most of the supplies on hand and I’m not using them all so why not?”

“That’s really…kind.”

He saw Eddie’s cheeks blush, but he didn’t comment.

Maybe he’d gain some upper hand here despite being half naked in a tent with a stranger.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is, man. Just take the compliment. It’s really selfless.”

“Okay. Yeah. I guess. Thanks.”

They settled into a comfortable silence and Steve really took in the tent. There were things hanging up that he vaguely recognized as D&D monsters from Dustin’s room.

“Hey, the kid I babysit is into that.”

“What?”

“The dungeons game.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I think he even has that exact print in his room.”

“No shit? I made these. I have an Etsy shop.”

“You’re kidding. He’s gonna freak out that I met you.”

“Well, shit. Take one for him.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah you could. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

Steve felt his heart flutter.

Dustin was like his little brother and he loved him so much. Any time someone did something kind for him, it melted his heart.

He didn’t have time for feelings for a stranger.

Not at a convention where he was the outcast.

“I guess if you insist.”

“I do.”

Steve was a fucking mess. Emotionally, he was the type to get really attached really quickly. It’s why all of his relationships ended within weeks. He was ready to be completely committed and they never were. He fell hard and fast for anyone who showed him even a tiny bit of interest.

He had to get out of this tent.

“I’m not rushing you, but how much longer?”

“I’m almost done. Few more minutes. Doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanna find Robin.”

“Text her to meet you here. She knows where it is.”

“How would she know that?”

“I’ve met her a few times at other conventions and she always stops by to say hello.”

Robin knew this guy?

Suddenly, he realized what was going on.

She was setting him up.

“Take your time. She can wait.”

Eddie slowed his hands and looked up at Steve.

“Uh. Okay.”

“She’s a traitor who did this to me on purpose.”

“Ripped your pants?”

“Yes.”

Eddie stopped what he was doing completely.

“She ripped your pants on purpose? How would she have done that?”

“She pulled a seam out or something.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s trying to set us up.”

“Us?!”

“Yep. Sorry. I promise I don’t expect anything. She just does this sometimes. Thinks I’m lonely or whatever.”

Eddie searched his face for a minute, then looked back down at his work.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Lonely.”

Well, yeah. Robin didn’t get the assumption from nowhere. But he didn’t really want to admit that to a stranger.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Apparently, he was going to anyways.

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“Mhm.”

Steve huffed out a breath.

Eddie stood suddenly and came over to Steve, pushing his shoulder back and his legs apart so he could fit between them.

Eddie’s hand cupped his chin, pulling it up so he could look at him.

Steve gulped.

He was feeling more than vulnerable at this point and wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Your friend must really love you to want to make sure you aren’t lonely.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“You know, I’m taking a lunch break in about an hour if you wanna hang around. I could use some company.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. One condition though.”

“What’s that?”

“You take the pants off again.”

Steve laughed and Eddie couldn’t help the smile he aimed down at him.

“You want me to eat in just my boxers?”

“Well, not just your boxers. That’ll be later at the hotel.”

God, this guy was good. Smoother than Steve’s ever been and he was known for his charming nature for years.

“You think I’ll come back to your hotel?”

“I know you will.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I only temporarily fixed these pants. The stuff you need is back at my room.”

“What if I don’t care about the pants?”

“All the more reason to leave them off when you come to my room.”

They smiled at each other.

Steve felt brave. He felt a little ridiculous. Most of all, he felt like he couldn’t pass up the opportunity literally staring him in the face.

He leaned up a bit more and waited for Eddie to lean down.

When their lips met, Steve knew he was completely fucked.

Robin had fucked him over and he’d never been so grateful.

#steddie #Steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #inspired by the amazing people who walk around conventions fixing cosplay for free #and inspired by people like me who don’t have a clue what they’re doing but just there for the ride #I wrote this in my car in a parking garage in Orlando lmao #sorry for typos or if it feels ridiculous and rushed #it’s because it is

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mintmatcha · 10 months ago

Text

Inevitable Things: chapter two

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. no porn in first two chapters, sorry gang :)

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When you arrive at 8:35, all of the lights in the building are already on, a warm, yellow hued light against the stormy sky. The exterior almost melts into the overcast; it makes you think of that ‘bye-bye blue' that Disney coined for its buildings, only much more depressing. Sometimes you look at this build and think about the hours of your life that it’s stolen, but not today. No, for once, you decide to have a good day.

It’s your birthday, after all.

The dash across the parking lot is a bit wobbly, your heels catching the gravel and potholes. Mic had texted you last night to remind you to wear something special, since he and a couple other office friends were taking you out, so you had dawned the only pair of heels you actually liked: a red pair you found at a thrift shop years ago. The stilettos are a bit high and much too sexy for your taste, but there’s an unknowable something about them that you love.

You did, however, forget your umbrella.

One of the interns is by the door, jacket pulled over his head to protect himself and his cigarette from the rain. Izuku, chubby cheeked and doe eyed, is shorter than most of his peers, with thick green curls that puff up and frizz in the humidity. For his stature, he’s surprisingly built; he and his boyfriend -no, fiance now- go to the gym together every morning and the hard work shows. You can’t help but notice the curve of bicep that flexes as he moves his arm back to his face.

“Good morning!” you call out. The weather is cool, so you wrap both hands around your special little birthday latte. Izuku seems unphased by the weather; he sniffles a bit as he pulls another drag, freckled nose wrinkling. The red stained rims of his eyes are stark against his tan skin.

“Yeah.” He sucks in a breath, trying to keep his voice light and failing. His Southern draw sits heavy on his tongue. “Not quite.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Rain drives a shiver up your spine and so does the look in his eyes.

“Like, okay, it was so-” He takes another thick pull and exhales it too quickly, coughing a bit as he talks. His ideas come faster than his mouth can handle. “First thing this morning-- well, actually, Ka-chan and I got here before anybody, so it wasn’t, like, first thing-first thing, you know? Anyway, like- thirty minutes after the first thing, when Mr. Aizawa arrived, he like, didn’t even set his stuff down before he told me to get into the conference room, which is crazy because he usually won’t do anything until you’re here and-”

“Izuku, focus.”

“I am focused-- these are important details! Mr. Aizawa pulled me into a conference room this morning and reamed me out. Incompetent: he called me lazy and incompetent, which is crazy because I do so much in this department! You wouldn’t believe it! And you know what Ka did? Laughed. He could hear it from the cubicle and he laughed, isn’t that awful? We’re getting married and yet he thinks it's okay to laugh at my misfortun-?”

“Wait, slow down,” you say. “Why were you yelled at?”

Izuku takes a dramatic gulp of air to slow himself, but it clearly does nothing. His finger twiddle the cigarette back and forth, ash falling to the puddle at his feet.. “He told me the work I turned in yesterday wasn't acceptable.”

It couldn't be the things you did. There’s no way; you’re smart -- well, okay, maybe not. You’re competent at least-- competent enough that you’ve done the reports previously without any complaints.

“No.”

“It's my fault.” Izuku continues. His accent gets thicker when it’s holding worry, clipping words and rounding out other sounds. “I should have finished them myself, but Denki offered to help me out-- and I had a meeting with the wedding planner yesterday so I had to leave early; if i was late again I would have upset Mitsuki and I couldn’t upset Mitsuki again because she’s intense, like, way more intense that Katsuki ever is, so I’m a little terrified of her-”

Fuck. You can’t listen- you’re trying to focus on keeping your breakfast down. That was your work. You’re the one that made Izuku and Denki look bad.

“-Biomedical engineering. Why did I pick biomedical engineering? I should have chosen law school like Iida. That would have been a better career path.”

“What about Denki?” You interrupt his rambling and he seems to snap out of his panic loop. For once, he’s quiet. “What about Denki, Izuku?”

“Oh.” Izuku says. “Yeah. Well.”

He places the cigarette between his teeth and goes to suck, only to realize he’s hit the filter. With a tsk, he smashes the embers against the concrete side of the building, but doesn’t drop the butt, instead holding it in his palm. A trickle of rain runs down your cheek, just enough to make you shiver.

“Allegedly,” Now, he speaks too slowly, chewing on every word. “HR is working on his off boarding.”

Your body forgets how to breathe. The interns are all part of a specific college program- if they aren’t working, they don’t get credit towards their summer graduation. Because of you, Denki will not be graduating this spring-- in fact, he’s going to have to wait another full school year until he can apply for graduating again. Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and you have to manually force yourself to suck in a breath.

“He’s fired?” you ask, stupidly.

“I’m not surprised, to be honest.” Izuku says. His pretty little curls are flattened now, heavy with wet. “This was his fifth big mistake and Mr. Aizawa is, well… he’s Mr. Aizawa. He doesn’t pull any punches.”

“Oh, geez.” You want to barf. “Oh, no, oh, geez.”

You’re ruining someone's life. One mistake and you’ve fucked everything up. Tears prickle hot behind your eyes as you think; what are your options here? You can’t just let this happen. Your job is to fix things-- that’s the only thing you’re good for. Discussing this with Aizawa would be a dead end; he’d probably just fire you too. You need to go above him.

“I’ll fix this,” you say, mostly to reassure yourself. You turn on your heel and march inside, a plan already forming in your mind. “Don’t worry.”

“Fix what?” Izuku calls after you. “Denki getting fired?”

You flash the security officer your badge, not bothering to turn around. There’s no time for that. The head of HR is usually punctual, so you only have a couple minutes before he arrives and sees the termination paperwork. It’ll take time to process, of course, but you’d rather fix this before it’s even reached that point. You scramble to your desk and don’t bother to sit down before you’re picking up your phone and dialing. The number is posted on a little sticky note, right under ‘emergencies only’ written in big red letters. This… counts, right? This is an emergency in its own regard.

The line rings once, then twice. Then, it clicks.

“Good morning.” The voice on the other side is unusually smooth, a clear timbre despite it all. In between words he takes long, drawing breaths, pulling through his nasal cannula. “Is my company? On fire?”

You laugh at that and you aren’t sure why. Maybe it’s the trill of fear in your gut, burrowing its way out anyway it can. “Good morning, sir. No, the building is still standing, luckily.”

“Please," he says, and you understand immediately.

“Yagi.” The informality of it all feels weird, even after all this time. He's the CEO and he wants you to address him like a friend. It’s been that way since you first started, but it still feels undeserved. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” Behind him you can hear the mumble of the television: a children’s show, you think. “My niece is visiting. So, I’ve been. Spending a lot of time. By the pond, feeding the ducks.”

He mentioned once that he had wanted children, but the company had taken up too much of his time. That memory makes your gut twist in a different way as you remember just how finite his time really is.

“That sounds lovely.”

“It is lovely.” He pauses. Then, clears his throat. “Not that I’m. Not happy to hear from you, but… why are you calling?”

“Well, I-” You’re not sure where to start. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, swaying like you have to pee. “I made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“Not a company ruining one, but…” Oh, geez. Maybe you'll end up being the one without a job today. “I finalized some work for the engineering department interns and it wasn’t up to standard. And the manager-”

“-Shouta?”

“Yes, uh. Aizawa. He wasn’t aware of that fact and he fired the intern for work that I did.”

There's a pause.

“Are you sure?” He sniffles a bit. You can picture how he itches his nose with the back of his hand. He hates that tube. “I know he isn’t. The warmest man, but Aizawa. Isn’t one to fire. An employee without. Apt reason. Have you tried. Speaking to him?”

You can’t. The idea of confrontation makes your skin itch. Besides, you can’t just look him in the eyes and admit you fucked up-- he’d lose his mind.

“I just can’t let Kaminari get in trouble for my work.”

Yagi hums a low tone.

“I’ll bring it. To Shouta’s attention.” You almost jump for joy at that. “And I’ll let HR. Know.”

“Oh, thank you.” You’re physically bouncing. “I felt so guilty.”

“That’s under. Standable.” he says. “Maybe we. Have the engineers. Do their own work from now on, okay?”

“I know, I know, I just--” Can’t say no? “I like to be useful.”

“You’re more than useful.” His voice is warm, almost paternal. “I’m being told that I have an episode of Bluey to watch, so…”

“Goodbye, have fun, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You hang up, then wait a couple beats before sighing with relief. Crisis avoided! Happy birthday to you! Maybe, against all odds, this will be a good day.

You drop into your seat and let it spin. Your latte isn’t hot anymore, but even lukewarm it’s still pretty damn good. After it boots up, your computer notifications are alight with companies wishing you a happy day and a merry 30% off. There’s a couple of DMs from coworkers that you haven’t opened yet as well and the attention makes you glitter.You almost forget that Touya still hasn't read your messages. It's not a surprise; he always forgets your birthday. It shouldn’t upset you at this point.

The workday official starts and, for once, it’s calm. There’s time to organize your desk and check on your facebook. Maybe, just maybe, the universe has decided to be kind to you. Yagi sounded better than he usually does, if not a bit winded.

You’re thirty, but you don’t feel older. 18 feels like last week, 25 is still your friend. Being this old almost feels like a joke-- especially being this old and single, with a job you’re not passionate about. You thought, maybe, that things would be okay by now. You’d be successful, with more than a couple hundred in your checking account, and a husband that could return a fucking text. Life, of course, had other plans.

It’s not that you don’t love Touya. You do. You really do. You just wish that you didn’t. It's easier to love someone like Hizashi or a boring man from R&D, but being with him feels like running on sand as it sinks down an hourglass. You're too far gone already, too intertwined with him; fate has linked you to a man that will inevitably break your heart, over and over again.

You almost don’t notice the stomp of boots down the hallway until it’s too late. You’ve been eclipsed.

Aizawa turns the corner so quickly that you jump and spill your coffee. His brow furrowed so deeply that his ‘11’ lines have gained an extra 1, and extra wrinkles have puckered around his straight drawn mouth. When he speaks, his lips curl up in one corner in revulsion, giving you a hint of canine. Someone from marketing walks down the hall, meets your eyes, then turns back around, fleeing it away from this situation. You wish you could do the same.

His hands press flat against your desk. The space he takes up alone makes you wilt, drawing back into your chair. Oh, he's pissed. Beyond pissed. His hair is down for once, falling in front of his face as he talks, and his hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows, revealing the punched, tense muscle underneath. The finer hairs on his arms are raised up into goosebumps, standing straight like pins.

“If you have a problem with the way I run my department,” Aizawa seethes. “At least have the balls to say it to my face.”

The air in your lungs turns icy. You’re frozen there, hands hovering above your keyboard, unsure if you should even pick up your drink.

“On what planet is it acceptable to tattle on me to the CEO?” His voice carries down the hall as he growls at you, the low, rolling tone of his voice somehow more terrifying than actual yelling. He reminds you of a wild dog, ears pinned back and ready to bite. And you’re just the poor rabbit in his path. “And to HR? Are you fucking kidding? You’re better than this.”

Oh, this is the type of interaction you were trying to avoid. Heat flares across your cheeks as you sputter and you frantically look anywhere else to avoid the burn. “I-- uh--”

“Did the interns come crying to you again?” Aizawa continues. “Did you let them walk all over you again?”

He leans in even closer.

“You are not their mother or their friend. They are adults. With jobs. And they do not need the secretary saving them from work they are paid to do-- especially Kaminari, who regularly abuses your good faith.”

Your shoes. You focus on those. Your pretty, candy red heels with the delicate strap, the ones Touya always compliments and the ones that make you feel beautiful.

“Calling Toshinori? May I remind you that he is actively dying? May I remind you that you are actively wasting his time with this?"

Shoes, look at your shoes.

"I also don’t have the fucking time for this. We are a business in a time crunch-- I don’t have the energy or brain power or man power to be dragging around dead weight," he says. "If I decide someone isn't fit enough to work here, they are not fit to work here. Do you understand that?”

Oh. A sudden, horrible realization hits you. All of the weeks of stress and loneliness and heartbreak and other random bullshit that’s built up in your life is hitting all at once and, despite how hard you’re trying not to, you are going to cry. Tears are prickling hot against the corners of your eyes, burning to come out, and you know there’s only second before they spill over-

“Do you understand that?”

You look up. He looks down. Your lip quivers.

Aizawa immediately draws back, eyes widening with realization. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, drawing in a short breath. His brows are pinched together differently now; if he was anyone else, you’d assume he was sorry. If he was anyone else, you might care.

“I didn’t mean to…” he tries.

“You’re-” You want to scream and fight and curse, but all you can say is: “I hate you.”

It’s incredibly juvenile, but saying it feels good. With all of the fury you can muster, you stand, chair bouncing back against the wall behind you, and march out of there and straight into the women’s bathroom. You hold your chin high until the door slams behind you.

Then, you sob. It’s loud enough that you know it can be heard in the hall, wet enough that all of your make-up ends on the back of your hands, hard enough that you lose one of your contacts, but you just can’t stop. It comes in a torrent, one that doesn’t stop until you’re all blurry eyed and swollen and absolutely, positively destroyed.

Fucking astrology. Fucking Aizawa. Fucking work. Fucking Touya. Fucking turning thirty.

Your heels look stupid against the blue and white linoleum. The faux leather no longer looks convincing, but like cheap, normal plastic. Your cellphone is still on your desk and covered in an 8 dollar latte, so there's nothing to distract you from your own downward spiral. You want to be helpful. You want to be a good person, but nothing seems to work out that way.

By the time you manage to peel yourself out of the bathroom stall, the world has started to turn again. Someone’s at the coffee station, stirring in way too many sugars, someone else is taking on the phone just out of earshot. Aizawa is thankfully gone. You’re not sure you could have handled more of that.

Frankly, you’re not sure you can handle more of anything. You strip your other contact from your eye and throw on your only other option: the emergency glasses you have stashed in your desk. Great, as if you didn't feel bad enough already, now you feel ugly too.

A ping comes through from HR, letting you know that you have sick time available 'if need be.’ For once, the office gossip works in your favor. You shoot off a quick reply, confirming that you're going to head out, then grab your phone. It's sticky and wet, but it still works.

do you want to leave work early and go get drunk?<-

Hizashi’s response is almost immediate.

->leave work early????? who is this and what have you done with my babygirl?????

-is that a no? ): <-

->are you kidding?????? I’ll be at your desk in 15

You are going to get drunk. Very. Very. Drunk.

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kailoraurelius · 3 months ago

Note

I’ve been crying over “Falling in love with Chloe was an accident.” for the past 10 minutes wtf lmao 😭😭 thats so her I cant

That line alone needs its own story

Beca tried to read the dictionary once, back in elementary school. Her classes were boring and the kids around her were boring and she figured—with the logic of a child—reading the dictionary would mean she knew what everything meant and she'd be smarter and could finish school faster. It was a brilliant, flawless plan.

She didn't even make it through the A's, because reading the dictionary was boring too. Obviously.

But she remembers some of the words she read pretty well. And one in particular has been bugging her for a while now.

Accident—An event that happens by chance or that is without apparent or deliberate cause.

There's other, less cool definitions that pop up when she googles it to make sure she remembers right. But this is the definition that sticks out to her.

A lot of things in her life have happened by accident, she thinks. Accepting her dad's college deal to get him off her back accidentally led to her finishing out her degree. Landing the job in New York accidentally led to her and Jesse breaking up. (There was another, more pressing reason, but they've silently agreed to let this be the story for now.) Not being able to afford the ridiculous rent on her own accidentally led to her having to roommate with Chloe and Amy. And, related, not being able to afford more than a studio apartment, even with the three of them chipping in, accidentally led to her sharing a bed with Chloe. For the foreseeable future.

Which brings everything back around to that more pressing reason for her and Jesse's breakup...

Falling in love with Chloe was an accident. There was Jesse and he was cool. Not a great boyfriend, but a good one. And a great friend. Which felt like a good enough balance back then. It should have worked for her.

But there was also Chloe and she was...everything. Shockingly bold, hopelessly optimistic, and undyingly kind. And beautiful. The kind of beautiful that artists desperately attempt to create. The kind that makes Beca's stomach flutter when it's too close.

Jesse noticed it first. And it wasn't until he flat out said, "You're in love with Chloe" that she was able to fully accept it herself.

Falling in love with Chloe was an accident. Except...she doesn't think it was. Because how can there not be "apparent or deliberate cause" when Chloe is constantly running her fingers along Beca’s forearms just the way she likes or waking her in the mornings by shaking her with soft hands and even softer whispers. Is it "chance" that Chloe always knows exactly how Beca wants the music she makes to be interpreted? Just chance that Chloe can sense Beca's mood without her even speaking?

It can't be, Beca thinks as she sits on the end of their bed, watching Chloe. It's just the two of them, Amy out with Bumper for the evening, and Beca's just staring as Chloe dances around the kitchen while she cooks. She hums and sways her hips to whatever song is stuck in her head today. When it comes time to add the cheese to her pasta, she opens the fridge and pulls out the cheddar. Amy's favorite is cheddar. Chloe's is pepper jack and Beca knows for a fact that there's a bag of it in the fridge, right beside where the cheddar was. The spoon taps gently against the side of the pot, musically, as Chloe stirs with one hand and conducts a silent orchestra with the other.

And that can't all be chance. Can't all be without apparent or deliberate cause. Because Chloe was made to be loved. Designed to draw people in and make them want to build a home in her presence. Everyone falls in love with her, because how could they not? And Beca, in particular, feels targeted. Because it can't be an accident that this girl who is Beca's opposite in so many ways harmonizes with her so perfectly. It just can't be.

And maybe that's why Beca speaks up.

"I love you, you know."

Chloe nearly drops the spoon as she spins around. "What did you say?"

Another time, another version of herself, she may have taken it back. Or turned it into a joke so nothing would get weird or awkward. But right here and now, she's so certain that none of this is happenstance. It was inevitable. "I'm in love with you," Beca says, shrugging. "I have been for forever. And I don't know why the hell I decided to tell you right now, but uh." She shrugs again and stands up.

Chloe hasn't moved from her place at the stove and she watches with wide eyes and trembling hands as Beca crosses the distance between them.

"I don't know, dude. You just..." Awkwardly, Beca motions to the dinner on the stove and the kitchen in general that Chloe has been dancing in for the last hour. "I just wanted to...say it. I guess. And it's totally cool if you—"

Chloe kisses her like she was made to do just that. Her arms wrap around Beca's neck with the kind of ease born of years and years of friendly hugs and maybe cosmic design. And when Beca grabs her hips to pull her in closer, Chloe’s sigh sounds so much like, "Finally".

When Chloe eventually pulls back, it's with a smile Beca knows well. She saw it that day in the showers of Barden, on stages around the world, and almost every morning since they moved in together.

"I'm in love with you too. Totes ridiculously in love." Chloe laughs against her lips as she steals another kiss. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"You should tell me." Beca grins when Chloe kisses her again for it.

"I will. But first." Chloe winces apologetically as she removes one arm from around Beca's neck and reveals she's still holding the cheese sauce-covered spoon. "I think I just got sauce on your shirt." She tugs Beca to the side to check her back. "Shit, I totally did. I'm sorry!"

Beca just laughs. "It's okay. It was an accident."

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #did I write this in twenty minutes as I was rushing off to work #yes I did so excuse any typos #the muse literally attacked me and I had no choice #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fandom #bechloe fanfic #pitch perfect fanfiction

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diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

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The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall.

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter.

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours.

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

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soraviie · 2 years ago

Text

he's not your bias.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ masterlist

━ about: fluff ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: requested and thank you for it! Please, like, reblog and leave a comment, you know the drill :]

NAMJOON: "It's Yoongi, isn't it?"

"Please, shut up."

"You shut up!...traitor."

Sighing, you adjusted your spine from where it was comfortably settled in the mattress and turn to the other side where Namjoon was grumbling, fingers tightly gripping the duvet and stare transfixed on a meaningless spot in the ceiling. His jaw was slowly working up into a full blown clench.

Cautiously, you reach to tug his hand into yours, rubbing slow circles on the back of his palm. Thankfully, he allows this and in due time the tension leaves his tightened body.

"Why do you think it's Yoongi?" you wonder aloud once more. When you accidentally let it slip that he wasn't the first one who caught your attention, he said he didn't care, tossing that remark over his shoulder but you should have known better.

"I don't know," he trails off, shrugging. "He's cool, quiet, determined, caring. A perfect guy, really."

"So are you."

You smile into the duskened air of the dim bedroom, hoping this will be the straw the breaks the back of his worried camel but then he turns up his nose, offended.

"Not enough to be your bias."

Your head slams against the pillow - exhausted.

"I'm with you not him. I admit there are a lot of admirable qualities he has but it's just that. To me he's an idol, but you're Kim Namjoon."

Tepidly, he takes the bait and glances at you from the corner of the eye, imperceptibly scooching closer, sheets rustling in the quiet.

"And is he so great? This Kim Namjoon?"

"The greatest," you press a soft kiss against his cheek. "Now be a good boy and go to sleep."

You place his hand firmly over your waist, relaxing once more and you hear him do the same thing as well. He did not need to know who you actually biased - that certain bandmate would get his ego stroked far too much than even a fan such as yourself could allow.

YOONGI: "I'm completely fine about meeting him! Now just pretend we don't know each other and be casual about it."

Yoongi draws a deep inhale, refusing to let your hand go.

"There's only two of us here," he remarks, pointedly glimpsing around his studio. The air was laced with the stench of paint whilst the canvas you both worked on dried away in the dark corner.

"So? I could be a new staff member."

"You're sitting in my lap."

You glance down to where your thighs rested on top of his.

"Perhaps you're a pervert," you state off-handedly. This offends him and rolling his eyes, Yoongi unceremoniously shoves you onto the floor. It was exactly in this moment when you fought to preserve your balance, the door cracks open and to your great mortification Jimin comes in.

The easy smile on his lips drops faster than your gut can and with gaze hastily flickering between you and Yoongi, he steps cautiously forth.

"Oh, hello," he greets, trying to mask the awkwardness streaming out of his very pores. "I don't think I've seen you around...?"

"Yes, I'm just..." you floundered, quickly growing breathless in the presence of someone shaped like a sheer perfection. The pixels truly did not do him justice.

"Your biggest fan," Yoongi concluded dryly from his seat. "So if you could be so kind and sign a scarf or something, I'd be grateful. This one is slobbering up all my studio."

You could only turn around with mouth wide open despite no sound falling out of it. Innocently, Yoongi meets your gaze, daring to be so aggravating and proceeding to flutter his unfairly pretty eyelashes.

"Oh," Jimin laughs brightly in the background. "I don't mind signing something..."

Whilst the blood in your head boils to the degree, a straying fear arises of it simply pOpPing off your head, Jimin so graciously loops his signature on the back of a ripped note containing your and Yoongi's grocery list. Once he finishes, he lifts his head, gives an absolutely paralyzing smile and...

...winks.

WINKS!

"Ehhhhheheheheh, thankyou."

You think that somewhere in the back of Yoongi's throat there rises a sentence of "that's just embarrassing" but as you whip around, murder in the eyes, he chooses to ultimately stay diplomatically silent.

"I just remembered, there's a thing I need to do," Jimin excuses himself, bowing politely and you try to do the same but it comes out as a bit too deep. More like you're ready to accidentally worship him. As he leaves, lingering for a second too long in the doorway, his gaze jumps curiously between you and Yoongi.

"Interesting," is all he says to himself before leaving altogether.

Deep silence veils the room, interrupted only by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.

"We're breaking up," numbly, you announce.

"No, we're not," smugly, Yoongi remarks over the shoulder.

JIN: "Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Jin speaks over the rim of his steaming cup, overtly self-satisfied. "With a face such as this and my perfect personality to boot, you really stood no chance."

Personally, you have had a very, very long day. The kind of which leaves your brain leaking from the side of the ear and the soul from the bottom of the waterline, so hearing that coming out of his mouth, accompanied with a smug expression that just begged to be humbled, you slammed him down with no hesitation.

"I was talking about Jungkook. Jungkook is my bias."

The cup in between the saucer and his lips freezes halfway and you can even vaguely hear an error noise drawn from the depths of his perplexing mind.

"The sexy brunette, hitting all the notes with a grace of an angel..." he clarifies, closing his eyes. Does he think - see no evil, hear no evil?

"Is Jeon Jungkook. 190811 concert to be specifically."

The error noise grows louder.

"He was very sexy in that one. Absolutely mesmerizing. My core memory actually."

Calmly, Jin places the cup back onto the saucer, daintily pushing back a strand of unkempt hair.

"I see," he concludes and after a prolonged moment of stretching inaction during which you almost grow to believe he has entirely turned into a statue, Jin states with nothing short of cornucopia of attitude.

"Well, I raised him so by any good business model, 25% of affection belongs to me anyhow."

"Oh, only 25%?" you grumble. "How gracious of you."

"You're right," he leans his head to the side as though genuinely thinking it over. "Inflation. Make it 45%."

And to your surprise no fuss was made. He went to sleep and kicked you twice in his sleep - as per the standard rate. A year went by and the fact was never brought up, be it in passing or even when conversation was on the topic, he merely sat smiling politely in the sidelines. You assumed that the piece of this knowledge was so traumatic, he suppressed the memory of it altogether.

"Hey, Jin," you called out, rifling through the bedsheets. "Have you seen my phone?"

Over the sounds of his infuriated screams about losing yet another game, there comes a hasty "no, sorry".

"Okay, can I use your phone to call myself?"

"Su-AH YOU GODDAMN TOE BRAINED ASSHOLE-re, honey!"

The password on his phone - your birth year, not exactly hacker worthy. You hover over the contacts list not finding in the appropriate section. Babe? Nothing. Honey? Nothing. Annoyance? Not even that. You trail purposelessly throughout the small splattering of contacts - an outcome of being forced to change numbers every - accidentally stumbling on a particularly suspicious name.

"Traitor 💔"

"Drama queen," you mutter fondly, deciding to let him and the name be.

HOSEOK: "He's a sweetheart," Hoseok whispers in the vicinity of his elbow where you were using him as an impenetrable shield. "He's literally going to be happy to learn you biased him."

"Look at his face! He thinks I'm annoying!"

"That's just how his face looks, silly. As Tae-biased you must know that."

"But he's scary," you whimper. "I adore him as a bias but I also want to run away. I do not want to be perceived."

You shrink smaller the second those soulful, weary eyes glide over to where Hoseok was so suspiciously angled. You squeak and hide even further behind Hoseok's back, praying Taehyung doesn't come over.

"Get me out of here, please," you mutter and with a quick wave, Hoseok leads you out of the building. There, in the chilly air of the oncoming night, the awkwardness and, truthfully, no small amount of panic evaporates into the black sky. For a while, both of you are simply content in holding hands and watching them swing back and forth.

"Ugh, I'm so lame," you whine.

"No, you're not. It's natural to be shy around people you idolize," he scolds you gently. "You don't think I'm soaring on the ninth wave of confidence when meeting my stars?"

"Well, you're cool yourself so there's no reason why you shouldn't," you scoff.

"And you're cool as well."

There's that tone again - it's useless to argue. Hoseok was not here to entertain your insecurities, he made sure of that from the very start. You smile to yourself, gazing out across the slowly running river. Walks like these were precious. Treasured even as they were so rare.

"You're not upset by it, right?" you clarify cautiously. Partially knowing that of course such a minuscule thing as this would not upset him but...it just didn't hurt to make sure.

"No," he chuckled airily, before awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Actually I'm kind of glad about it."

"Glad?"

"Well, it'd be difficult to date you if you kept running away from embarrassment."

You chuckled, facing the ground as the streets and the river slowly molded themselves into a nondescript background.

JIMIN: "So...Namjoon told me you hung out?"

Easy. Casual. Even somewhat in passing. But you know him better than that and the second your sixth sense catches onto the lingering shadow in the background of his chords, you lift your head from the magazine and stray to where he was leaning against the countertop.

"I don't like him like that. Please, do not misunderstand."

"I'm just asking," Jimin defends, more so out of instinct. The very best and simultaneously the worst thing about the relationship you'd both cradled like a gentle flame is that by now you could read each other's mind. Despite not being there with him in person you know of the pang in his heart he'd felt when seeing a picture of you trailing next to Namjoon as you both were immersed in a conversation about art, one that'd surely make him bored quite easily. And despite Jimin not literally finding himself dug deep into your brain, he knows you worry, he knows you suspect, knows you're working overtime into scheming all possible future scenarios.

"Stop overthinking," he chides but there's no malice behind it and simply just as that the tension stretches and unwinds until there's only the soft ambient noise of life swirling all around.

"Does he know? You go rabid over him?"

Fully offended, you point the spoonful of yoghurt in his direction, a fat glob of peach splattering clumsily onto the tiles.

"I do not! Go rabid over him!"

Before you get the chance to reach for the paper towel, Jimin has already snatched a ply, wiped up the peach yoghurt and discarded it into the trash.

"Thank you. But I do not go rabid over him!"

Jimin pointedly stares at the your keychain where not one, not two but three Koya's hung limply around the metal circles.

"Of course, absolutely sane."

"Do not patronize me, Park," you glare at him but once geared to amuse himself in your miffed state, he shows no sign of stopping.

"You are so chill about it. Not like you spent hours creating TikTok edits of his dimples."

"You swore to take that to the grave," you growled underneath the nose, your clenched fist indicating you were extremely close to choking him. Which Jimin didn't exactly mind. In fact, such was his goal.

"Oh, make me take it there," he winked.

TAEHYUNG: "I'm not going to share Hobi with you."

"I'm your partner!"

"And? You're not getting Hoseok privileges."

You pouted the rest of the day away, grumbling about the unfairness of the whole situation. But secretly you felt your heart draw a heavy sigh of relief. It'd been so hard to get together with Taehyung that unwillingly it felt that even the smallest of things got inflated to magnitude you feared could drown you whole. But it was fine. If anything he seemed overjoyed in hearing that it was Hoseok who'd caught your attention first and kept a rather brutal chokehold over the course of these few years. Yes, it was fine. However, should Taehyung ever reveal you had drooled on yourself while watching "MORE", you would kill him and then yourself. A promise you'd made loud and clear to which he swore to obey.

And it wasn't like meeting Hoseok was something so necessary for you to live, feeling rather content watching him from the sidelines. In between life, Yeontan, Taehyung and all the secrecy that one had to accept came with him, your life was...full. So when one of these factors suddenly became absent, you grew suspicious.

Why did he sneak away before you woke up and came home when you were asleep? He couldn't be mad at you, could he? You think back, absent-mindedly tapping at the phone screen. "Daydream" blasts into your ears all too loudly and flinching you yank them away much to Tannie's disappointment. As of late, he appeared to be even more judgmental. You reckon the little rascal never grew to be quite okay with you taking so much of his dad's attention. But to be fair his dad's attention was on whatever third party that kept him away the entire day.

The slowly running anxiety prodded your eyes wide open so it's not like you planned to stay awake for when unmistakably Taehyung shut the front doors cautiously behind him. No, there was nothing for him to be angry about. He hadn't been home often enough for it to happen. As such, guided by latent curiosity, you pretended to be wholly asleep, cracking the barest sliver of one eye open to observe him through the dark.

Stumbling ungainly through the minefield that was your bedroom, it was no surprise he stubbed a toe against the dresser and choking on a series of half-withheld curses, collapsed onto the duvet.

"Good evening," you greet him smoothly. "Fun night?"

He yelps from the shock whilst you turn on the lights. Though you find him not with guilt gleaming in the eye or lipstick on the collar but rather brandishing two dozen of balloons and a photo album.

A photo album of carefully and might you say, artistically gathered collection of photocards, signed at the end by Hoseok himself.

JUNGKOOK: His eyes never left your figure, analyzing each and every interaction with a hawk-like precision.

Jimin? No, you were far too unperturbed talking to him. Jin? No, he'd been in your home far too many times drunk of his ass. Frankly, after he'd slathered your favourite plushie in the contents of his stomach, Jungkook doubted you could hold any sense of idealization towards the man, regardless if he was your initial bias or not.

Jungkook hummed to himself. Decisions, decisions. All of them wrong. His investigation was fruitless for so long Jungkook had all but abandoned it, resigning himself to sitting quietly by the stewing pot when at last something in you changes. Yoongi casually recommends a dish as he'd taken notice of your befuddled stare upon the cornucopia of the dinner table and you lover your gaze, bidding a very quiet, meek "thank you". As a year old boyfriend of yours, Jungkook could definitively say - you were not meek.

Ah, so it was Yoongi.

Why did he want to know so bad? He himself did not even know. Perhaps because you hid it away and the spitefulness of your action flared his own competitive nature. Or perhaps it was nothing at all.

Laying down in the sparse room of the lakeside guest house, he listened to you shower, weighing should he bring the matter . You loved him, not Yoongi. After all you were his partner, but...

No "but's", he scolds himself, turning to lay on the other side. You pad softly to the bed and with a drawn out sigh of utter content jump down next to him.

"Why do you keep sleeping with your hair wet?" Jungkokk nags, twirling a strand between the fingers. "It's bad for you health."

"I sleep better that way."

He gives a non-committal hum, knowing so much already. He briefly opens his mouth as though the words were already there - in the papillae of his tongue but then he closes it shut once more, leaving things unspoken

It doesn't much matter, he reckons happily, while you were still by his side, he would not doubt a thing.

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months ago

Text

Yearling - Ch. 31: Warmth

You cope with the aftermath of patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-30 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Fall out from canon-typical violence. Plot points from TLOU2. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 8k

A/N: Hi y'all. This does have a continuation of the spoilers from TLOU2. Again, I'm so sorry for not warning about these further in advance. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a DM (or you can always yell in the comments or in my asks. I don't delete things if they're not the kindest so I'll leave whatever you want to send my way up, I totally get it.) Thanks for being here ❤️

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It shouldn’t be this hard to stay conscious when the world is ending.

You’d had the thought before, in the early days of the outbreak. When you were trying to find someplace safe and had no idea where to start, when you were just riding and riding and hoping you’d be alive to see the next morning.

But now was different. It wasn’t your life, it was Joel’s. His was so much more important than your own and the fear of losing him was keeping you awake. You’d nod off for a second - you thought, anyway - only to jerk back awake when your grip on his wrist slipped and his pulse wasn’t a constant - if weak - drumbeat below your fingers.

You weren’t quite sure how long you’d been on the floor with him. Things were fuzzy. You’d lost a lot of blood, you were familiar with that sensation now, you could identify it even as your mind was foggy. You still weren’t entirely sure what had happened. You remembered Joel screaming - you didn’t think you’d ever forget that horrific sound - and running to find him. You remembered watching as that girl swung the golf club down on his body. It wasn’t until you were already in the room, fighting for control of your gun with someone who looked like he was about Ellie’s age that you realized this was probably a mistake. You’d charged in without a plan to get backup, you were hugely outnumbered, no one knew where the fuck you were. You should have at least gone back for your horse, you were pretty sure she could have fit down here and you could have used sheer size and weight to clear the room.

But they were killing him. That’s all that could force that sound from someone, life and death, and you couldn’t risk it. If there was a chance, even a tiny one, that you could save him, you were going to take it. Even if it killed you, you were going to take it.

The threat was gone now - or you hoped it was, at least. Gatling was still on guard. You could feel how tense she was behind you, her body engaged and ready to strike. If they came back armed to the teeth before help arrived, though, you’d be finished.

Joel’s wrist, the one you’d been holding, relaxed some and you forced yourself to sit up.

“Joel?” You managed, adjusting your hold on him. His whole arm was limp now. Your heart beat faster. You released his wrist and pressed your fingers into his neck, where you liked to kiss him and feel the vital thrum of his pulse through his skin. It was faint but it was there. You adjusted yourself, propping yourself up on your elbow as your cut side screamed in pain, and you ran your fingers through his hair. You took comfort in the fact that you still could do that. While the rest of his body had been brutalized, Joel’s head was intact outside of where it looked like someone had landed a punch on his cheek near his eye, a bruise blossoming on his skin but no blood shed. It was like the girl had been saving his head for last, like she was trying to draw it out, make sure he was alive and awake while she hurt him. It turned your stomach.

“You’re OK Joel,” you held face gently in your hand. “Gonna get you out of here, get you back to Ellie. You’re OK.”

You stayed propped up like that for a while, just talking to him and running your fingers gently through his hair and feeling his breath on your skin until you were too weak to hold yourself up anymore. You collapsed alongside him then, trying to shield his body with yours as much as you could in case the people came back.

Just a little sleep. That’s all. That’s what you needed, just enough rest to be able to think straight. Then you could figure out how to get Tommy and Joel back to Jackson.

“Gatling,” you managed before you passed out. “Guard.”

You woke up to snarling.

Your head was swimming and you could feel the strength of the dog at your side, her body pressed back against you as she growled and barked. You tried to get your bearings as quickly as you could, fumbling for the rifles you’d brought to Joel’s side.

“Bambi!” You recognized Ellie’s voice. “Bambi, call off Gatling, she won’t listen to me, we can’t get close enough…”

“Gatling,” you gritted your teeth, your cut side burning and pulling as you tried to sit up. “Down.”

You felt her relax and she gave a little whine before curling up against you and giving you a lick. You managed to prop yourself up on your uninjured side, eyes fighting to focus as Ellie, Jesse, Julie and Gene came in. Ellie ran for Joel, Gatling giving a little whine as she tracked her with her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Gene said as he got a good look at Joel.

“He’s alive,” Ellie said, her voice cracking. “I thought…”

“I know,” you adjusted so you could see him, check on his bandages. Your side protested, damaged skin pulling painfully. “But we have to get him to the doctor, we have to move him now…”

“I don’t know that we can,” Gene knelt next to Ellie, looking Joel up and down.

You frowned.

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know.”

“I mean,” he said gently. “We need to move quick, already been here too long, and we only have so many hands. I don’t know that he can make it back to Jackson and we should focus on…”

“Fuck you,” your teeth were clenched, sweat starting at your temples from the strain of sitting upright. “We are not just gonna leave him out here…”

“If we can save you and Tommy?” Gene said. “Then that’s what we should do. That’s what he’d want.”

“Fuck you!” Ellie looked murderous. “Bambi’s right…”

“C’mon,” Julie’s hands gently enveloped your shoulders. “Let’s try to get you up…”

“I’m not going!” You wrenched yourself out of her grip and cried out in pain, a gush of blood coming from the wound at your side. “I’m not going without him, I’m not leaving him here!”

Julie’s hands were on you again but you pulled yourself free, forcing yourself to your knees.

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt,” Gene warned, moving for you, too, but you ignored him.

“Gatling!” You managed through clenched teeth. Her head sprang up. “Guard!”

She jumped to her feet and jumped between you and Gene.

“Bambi,” he said cautiously, hands up, as your dog snapped her jaws and snarled at him.

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” you were panting for breath. “You can’t make me, not with her like this. She’ll kill you and I’ll fuckin’ let her. Take him. Now.”

Gene looked back at Jesse, who was helping Tommy sit up. He just shrugged. Gene looked back to you.

“Fine,” he said. “But you gotta give us some space to work, can’t move him with her like this…”

You struggled to your feet, using Julie’s shoulder as leverage, and you limped to the wall, all but collapsing against it. Gatling stayed on you, staring Gene down, seeming to trust Julie as you leaned against her.

“She’s guardin’ me,” you said. “Won’t bother you over there. Move him. Do it.”

You watched as Gene, Jesse and Ellie got Joel off the floor and out of the room. There was a perverse spot on the ground where his body had been, his blood pooled there. There was so much of it, so much it didn’t seem like there would be any left inside of him. You remembered, suddenly, Justin on the night of the outbreak. How you’d tried to put his blood back inside of him in the hopes that it would save him. How could you save the man you loved if all his blood was on the floor?

“He’s alive?” Tommy asked from his place propped against the wall. There was a streak of blood down his face.

“He’s alive,” you said. He closed his eyes and nodded, leaning his head against the wall.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly enough that you could barely hear him. “I can’t…”

“It’s OK,” you said. “We’ll get him back. He’ll be OK. He will.”

You weren’t sure you believed it.

Jesse came back down and helped Tommy up before stopping near the door, keeping a safe distance from you and Gatling.

“We got him on a horse,” he said. “We gotta move.”

You gave him a nod and watched him get Tommy started on the stairs before you looked down at Gatling, her body drawn tight, ready to spring into action.

“Gatling. Heel.”

She looked up at you, muscle relaxing, and licked her lips.

“You’re a good girl,” you said, trying to imbue as much praise into your voice as you could manage. “You did real good.”

She wagged a little uncertainly and watched, waiting to follow you. Julie looped your arm around her shoulders while hers slipped around your waist and she helped you toward the stairs, taking it slow. You had to stop and rest once, not able to breathe, the warm gush of your blood when you pulled the air down low in your lungs making your head spin.

“Think you can make it?” Julie asked, concerned.

You nodded, wincing.

“I’ll make it,” you said. “I know, we have to move.”

She held you a little tighter and the cold air burned your lungs when you made it outside. Joel was draped over Ares, Gene mounted up behind him. Tommy was on his own horse, blood still on his face as he stared blankly at Joel’s limp body.

“You can ride with me,” Julie said but you shook your head. You weren’t about to not be in control of a horse, not in this situation. You needed to have the power if something went wrong. You couldn’t trust anyone else to make Joel a priority if there were infected or raiders or, worst of all, the people who had attacked him to begin with. You needed to be able to move to protect him.

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, even though you knew getting on Renaissance was going to hurt something fierce. “Don’t need to be slowin’ us down any more by putting two of us on a horse.”

She went to protest but you pulled away from her and swallowed the sounds of your pain as you went to Renaissance and pulled yourself onto her. You called Gatling onto your saddle, too, and she settled there, still on high alert. You guided the horse to be alongside Gene and Joel and stared Gene down, almost daring him to fight you on it.

“I want to get everyone back,” he said gently. “But if it’s not everyone, I want as many as I can get.”

“Then let’s go,” you bit out.

The ride back to Jackson felt long, longer than it really was, you were sure. Every step Renaissance made was painful. It was hard to stay conscious when you’d lost so much blood and the pain was blinding. You were terrified that something was going to happen, that someone was going to pick now to attack people from Jackson and that you wouldn’t be strong enough to save Joel. The thought was constant and overbearing, hollowing out your chest and making your stomach clench.

By the time the walls of the city were in view, you were barely able to stay on your horse. Dina had ridden ahead to tell the doctors and the council what was happening and you were thankful for it as your head spun and vision grew spotty as you neared the gates. You were too out of it to notice that someone was there to catch you as your strength started to give out.

“Woah there!” You vaguely recognized Ryan, a guard you regularly saw when he went out on patrol, stomach turning as he lowered you to the snow. “Hey Doc! Got one here!”

“No,” you shook your head, words starting to slur. The blood on your clothes was cold against your skin. “M’fine… Joel, need to help Joel…”

“They’re getting him,” he said, looking down at you. He had a nice face, you thought. Pleasant and calming. “You got him back here, it’s OK. We’ll get you taken care of, it’s alright…”

“Joel,” you closed your eyes. At least things were warmer here. It hurt less. “Need… Joel…”

“We’ve got him,” Ryan said. His voice sounded so far away. “It’s alright, we’ve got him.”

You barely remembered nodding before you passed out.

You were warmer when you woke up.

Sound came first. It took a moment before you could open your eyes but you could hear the muffled sounds of bickering not far away. For half a moment, you thought you were in Joel’s bed. That he and Ellie were in a tiff just outside his bedroom door, going back and forth about some harebrained scheme that one of them had latched onto. You thought about pressing your face into the pillow and trying to go back to sleep, hoping that Joel would come in once one of them wore the other down. He did that sometimes when he woke up before you, bringing you a cup of tea and setting it on the nightstand before wrapping around you, pulling you into his broad chest and burying his face in your hair or your neck, kissing you and breathing you in until you stirred in his arms.

And then you remembered. Waking up next to Joel. Going on Patrol. The storm. The blood.

You tried to sit up before your eyes were open, side pulling and head spinning.

“Hey guys, she’s waking up!”

Your eyes had never been heavier but you forced them open anyway, already reaching and groping to figure out where you’d ended up.

The room was bright, the bed soft. It was the third time you’d managed to dodge death and awoken, confused and lightheaded, in Jackson’s clinic. The other bed was empty.

“Joel,” you started trying to get up but two small hands held you in bed and you frowned, ready to fight whoever was holding you back, but it was Savvy, her eyebrows drawn tightly together, curls springing in every direction.

“Mom, you have to be calm, you’ll rip your stitches…”

She was here. She was with you, willing to talk to you, touch you. The sound of her voice, all gentle concern, made your chest tighten. You just looked at her for a moment, seeking out the minute changes in her since you’d gotten a chance to see her - really see her - last. You thought she might be having her last growth spurt. She looked a little longer, her face a little thinner. There was a scratch on her cheek that you wanted to kiss like you did when she was little. There were tears in her eyes.

“Savvy…”

“I was so scared,” her voice cracked. “I thought you might be dead, I thought…”

“Oh honey,” you pulled her against you and held her to your chest, one arm looping around her waist, the other hand cradling her head to you, the wet of her tears on your neck. You kissed her temple and tried to keep the tears that were starting to cling to your eyelashes from falling. “It’s OK, you’re alright, I’ve got you. Don’t have to be scared, you’re OK.”

“I’ve never seen you like that,” she sniffed from her place against your skin. “You’re always so strong, you’re never hurt, not like that…”

“I know,” you said softly, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry, Honey, I wish you hadn’t seen that. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never see it again and we can talk all about it but baby, I need to know where Joel is. Is he here? Is he OK? Is he alive?”

She sniffed and started to pull back from you as the door opened, Ellie, Tommy, Maria and Dr. Livingston coming in. They moved slowly, cautiously. Like they were worried you would startle if they behaved normally. Tommy looked washed out, Ellie exhausted, both with grim looks on their faces. Your arms went limp and Savvy sat back from you, looking between you and them.

“No,” you shook your head, a lump growing in your throat. “No, no, you’re wrong, he’s not…”

“He’s alive,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “Barely. But you got him here just in time, it was very very close while we worked on him…”

“Where is he,” you tried to get up again but Savvy held you down. “I need to see him, just for a second, please…”

“He’s still unconscious,” Dr. Livingston continued.

You frowned, looking between everyone.

“That’s bad,” you said, reading their expressions. “Why… How long has it been?”

“We’ve been back about two and a half days,” Tommy said, his arms crossed over his chest.

You nodded slowly. That made sense to you.

“He was hurt bad,” you said, looking between them again. “He lost a lot of blood…”

“He did,” Dr. Livingston said. “But… well, we’d normally expect to see more from him by now. He’s breathing on his own - we don’t have the facilities to keep him alive if he can’t - but that’s the best we can really say for him. He’s… he’s unresponsive.”

You processed what she said for a moment.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, her mouth a thin line.

“Are you…” You had to close your eyes and focus for a second. None of this came easy or naturally. It was utterly unnatural, thinking of Joel in that way. He was so strong, so vital. He couldn’t just stop being like that. He couldn’t just fade away into nothing like that. “Are you saying he might not wake up?”

“The longer he’s like this, the more likely it becomes,” Dr. Livingston said.

“But he’s still alive,” you said, looking back toward Ellie and Tommy again, looking for that reassurance that you weren’t crazy. They knew him, they knew that he wouldn’t just disappear from his body like that. “He’s still breathing.”

“He’s alive,” she said. “But he might be brain dead, we have no way of knowing right now, no way of scanning for brain function like we did before… I’m so sorry, but you have to consider the possibility that…”

“Take me to see him,” you cut her off. She looked at Maria, worry in her eyes, like she thought you might be unstable. “Please.”

Dr. Livingston sighed.

“You’ve got a fair few fresh stitches and you’re still down plenty of blood yourself. We’ll have to take it slow.”

Ellie and Savvy helped you stand up and you could feel the wounds on your leg and stomach protesting the movement. For a moment, you thought you might be able to count the number of stitches in your skin because the way it pulled and strained. You hissed and clutched the girls’ hands, squeezing their fingers so hard that you could only hope it didn’t hurt them.

They helped you across a short hallway to a room that was almost identical to the one you’d been in, just with one fewer bed, giving people more room to work. Joel was there, flat on his back, his arms down straight at his sides over the top of the blanket. But he looked strange, unnatural.

It took you a moment to recognized the part of it that was wrong. His chest rose and fell, the worst of his injuries hidden by the quilt. He looked like he was sleeping. But it was off. He never slept like that, straight as a board with his arms at his sides in that way. It wasn’t like him, it wasn’t the way his body arranged itself when he was relaxed. Even when he wasn’t curled around you, he slept on his side or, if he was on his back, his hands were folded and resting where his chest met his stomach. He napped on the couch that way sometimes, when he was sleeping lightly, waiting for you. You could come in and press a kiss to his forehead and he would open one eye and cock a smile at you, just big enough that his cheek would dimple.

But if your lips touched him now, you knew he’d be still. He wouldn’t look at you like you made him happy just by existing. His cheek wouldn’t dimple.

You made your way to a chair near the head of the bed and lowered yourself into it slowly. His skin was pale, his face totally lax in a way that wasn’t peaceful and was, instead, like an echo.

“Oh God,” you breathed, one hand going to your lips.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “We have ways to get him fluids and nutrients but… it’s nothing long term. We’ll just have to hope he makes a turn for the better.”

You nodded, not able to stop looking at him. His body was so empty, so unlike him.

“Can I stay with him?” You asked quietly. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying but you were.

“Sure,” she said. “For now. But you need rest…”

You just nodded. You’d fight that battle when the time came.

The doctor left you with the girls, Tommy and Maria. Joel’s family and yours. All the people you had in the world in this one, small room.

“I was going to go home and get changed, take a nap…” Ellie said quietly. “Can I bring you something?”

“One of his shirts?” You asked.

“Sure,” she said. You heard the door open and she paused. “You did everything you could, Bambi. We all did.”

You nodded, not willing to argue with her.

“I think Tommy and I will get out of here for a bit, too,” Maria said. “Give you some time. We’ll be back in a few hours unless I can actually get my husband to get some real sleep…”

“He wouldn’t be sleepin’ if it were me,” Tommy said, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

Maria sighed.

“Come on, honey,” she said. “You need rest, too.”

The room was quiet for a moment, so quiet you could hear the sound of Joel’s shallow breaths. You wanted to put your head on his chest and listen to the life inside him, reassure yourself that he was still in there somewhere, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You’d already done enough.

“Mom?” Savvy’s voice was soft. “Is it… can I stay? For a bit?”

You managed to pull your eyes away from Joel to find her, standing to the side, her arms tight over her chest.

“Of course baby,” you said, looking for another chair. She found one first, moving it to be beside yours. She settled in there, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a heavy sigh. She was looking at Joel, her face drawn. “How have you been?”

She shrugged noncommittally.

“Alright, I guess,” she said. “School is OK. Math is stupid.”

You laughed lightly once.

“Math’s not stupid but… I know what you mean. Wasn’t ever my strong suit. I liked history best. And music, of course.”

“Course,” she smiled a little. “I like Ellie and… I like staying where I have been but… I missed you. Missed home.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat.

“I missed you, too,” you said, voice wet. “So much. More than anything.”

She nodded slowly, not looking at you.

“I heard the doctors and some other people talking,” she said hesitantly. “What they were saying… It’s not the first time they’ve seen you hurt like this.”

You waited for a moment, to make sure she was done.

“It’s not,” you said.

She nodded again.

“How did you end up here?” She asked quietly.

“I…” You sighed and tried to find the best way to phrase it. “I’d wound up with some bad people. I got hurt. Joel found me when I was in real bad shape. He brought me here. He saved me.”

“When was that?”

“About two years ago,” you said.

“So you weren’t just here the whole time,” she said, more like a statement than a question.

“No,” you said softly. “I wasn’t.”

She nodded again. You could see her processing the information, her eyes slightly squinting as she did, so like her father used to do. It still tugged at your heart, bits and pieces of a man you’d loved still alive in his child.

“I’m still not sure how I feel,” she said, gnawing on her lower lip. “But… I don’t want to keep being mad at you. I miss you. I’d… I’d like to find a way to see you. At least some. For now.”

“I’d like that,” you said, sniffing a little. “I’d like that a lot. As much time as you want, honey, I’m here.”

“OK,” she smiled a tight lipped smile at you before looking to Joel. “Do you really think he’ll wake up?”

You sighed, looking at him, too.

“I don’t really know anything about medicine,” you said. “But… I do know Joel. And I don’t knot that there’s anything that can keep him from taking care of the people he loves. And I know he knows Ellie needs him, you need him. And I…” your voice cracked. “I need him. He’s strong. He can pull through.”

She nodded and slowly, gently, rested her head on your shoulder. You froze for a moment, not wanting to disturb her. But, eventually, you had to take a breath and she stayed there beside you, keeping vigil over the man who had become her guardian.

Savvy ended up staying until after dark. Ellie came back only about an hour and a half after she left, bringing some clothes for you. You immediately put on the shirt, pressing your nose to the collar and breathing in Joel’s scent. She told you then that Savvy hadn’t left the clinic since you’d come in, always at your bedside, nearly ripping off the doctors’ heads when they dared suggest that she go home and get some rest.

Ellie got her to go home that evening, though, after she gave you a delicate hug that, you thought, might be one of the best ones you’d ever gotten. Dr. Livingston wanted to keep you there for another few days, not something you were going to argue with since you weren’t about to leave while Joel was still there, anyway. She did make you move back to the other room and you gave up the fight quickly, waiting until you heard her leave for the night before going back across the hall, anyway. It was tricky, walking on your own when you were still healing, but you made it without any more blood leaking from you. You pulled your chair close to Joel and looked him over, tracing one finger over the soft skin of his cheek. He still looked so unnatural in this position, so unlike himself. You ran your fingers through his hair, arranging it just so, before you gently took his hands and put them at the base of his chest, one on top of the other. Not quite right, but better. It felt like his body was more his that way.

“I’m here, Joel,” you said quietly, wanting more than anything to be able to curl up in his lap. “I’m here.”

You sat on the floor next to the bed - not able to get comfortable enough in the chair to doze off - and rested your head on the mattress near his hip. This wasn’t exactly ideal, either, your stitches itching and pulling as you settled in, but you didn’t care. You had to be close to Joel. Some pain was worth that.

The next day, you were shaken awake by a frustrated Dr. Palmer who was taking over so Dr. Livingston could get some rest.

“You are bound and determined to be your own worst enemy,” she muttered, forcing you back to your own bed. She checked you over, reluctantly told you that you were healing well with no sign of infection. The second her back was turned, you were back in Joel’s room.

Ellie, Tommy and Maria came by again, all of you sitting in near silence, watching Joel, waiting for him to do something - anything - to indicate that he was still in there.

The next day was less quiet. You were in your usual position in the seat by the head of Joel’s bed when Tommy and Ellie started getting into it. It didn’t sound like a new argument and, you realized, the bickering you’d been only vaguely aware of as you regained consciousness was probably them.

“I’m not going to sit around here and fucking wait forever,” Ellie snapped. “I’m going out there, I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill every last fucking one of them.”

“We need to wait,” Tommy said, voice strained. Ellie didn’t seem to care.

“Wait for them to get further and further away?” She snapped. “Wait for them to come back with more people? No, it’s too big of a fucking risk. I’m going out there.”

“Need to wait until I can go with you,” Tommy snapped. “Need to wait until we know…”

Tommy’s voice trailed off.

“Until we know what?” Ellie demanded. “Until we know whether or not they successfully murdered him? No, fuck that, I’m going to beat the shit out of her with a goddamn golf club, make her fucking feel it…”

“No, you won’t,” you cut her off.

“I won’t?” She asked, brows raised, almost daring you to argue with her. “You’re not my fucking mom, Bambi, you don’t get to tell me what the fuck I do or don’t get to do.”

“You ever killed anyone, kid?” You asked, chin resting on your fist as you watched her. She just blinked at you for a moment. “And I mean people. Real people, not infected.”

“Yeah,” she said, though her voice was less sharp. “Yeah, I have. Two.”

“Alright,” you replied. “You torture them? You like killing them?”

She was silent and just looked at her feet.

“That’s what I thought,” you looked back to Joel. “You’re not going after shit, kid…”

“I’m not a fucking kid!”

“You’re his kid,” you shot her a glare before looking back at Joel. “And he wouldn’t want you murdering and torturing people for him.”

“But…”

“No,” you said. “If… If he… If someone needs to handle it, it will be me and Tommy. We can take them and we can make it hurt. You’ll stay here. Not gonna just let you turn into a killer for him, he’d never forgive me. He’d never forgive either of us. One of the last things he said to me was to look out for you and you better goddamn well believe that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. You’re not going any damn place.”

She stormed out but Savvy came that evening. She brought a deck of cards and the two of you played Go Fish like you used to when she was little. She told you Ellie was cooling off but she thought she’d be OK.

“I don’t blame her,” she said, arranging some cards in her hand. “If someone did that to you, I’d want to kill them, too.”

You looked at her for a moment.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” you said gently. She looked at you over the cards, skeptical. “I mean it. You hear that something bad happened to me, you take it and move on. Don’t hurt yourself thinking that will fix it. It would only make it worse.”

The day after that, Ellie brought you your guitar. It made Dr. Palmer look nervous but you promised to take it easy and that music was how you relaxed.

“Just don’t get all worked up and play Freebird,” she muttered, leaving you alone with Joel and your instrument.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with Freebird?” You asked a silent Joel as you delicately arranged the guitar on your lap, dodging the stitches in your stomach and leg as you did. “There’s better shit out there…”

You played for him whatever came to mind. The song you’d written for him kept cropping up. So did the songs you’d played with him, slower and gentler things that you tried to pull from memory, even Take on Me because it got stuck in your head.

“Do you think he can hear me?” You asked Dr. Palmer that afternoon.

She stepped back from him and sighed for a moment, looking at you as though she were going to gauge her answer around your demeanor.

“No one knows for sure,” she said eventually. “But… if he could hear anybody, I think it would be you.”

By the end of the second day with your guitar, your whole body was sore and tired but you didn’t move to go back to your own room. Both doctors had given up on forcing you. You nearly ripped their heads off when they suggested you go to your house for a day or two, try to get some real rest. It was bad enough that they’d surrendered to your stubborn need to be where you could see Joel at all times, no longer willing to fight over what they thought was better for you.

It was quiet, dark. You weren’t entirely sure what time it was but you thought everyone in town besides those on watch were at home. You were as close to home as you got now, home could only be where Joel was. You weren’t sure how to find home without him now.

You played the song you’d written for him one more time, soft and slow, before propping the guitar against the wall and sitting delicately on the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb him. You adjusted his arms a bit, putting them where you knew he would rest them if he could move them on his own. You gently brushed his hair back. His patchy beard was getting long in spots and you wondered if Ellie could bring scissors and a razor the next time she came so you could trim it for him, keep it how he liked. You drew the shirt of his you wore tighter to yourself and just looked at him for a moment. He was so beautiful, even like this. You needed him so badly, needed him to be OK. You needed to be able to wake up next to him again, kiss him on your way out the door again, make love to him again. He couldn’t be gone, not now. Not like this.

“Joel,” you said softly, barely even a whisper. “I know… I know I should probably tell you that if you need to go, it’s OK, that we’ll be OK but… I don’t think I can. I don’t know how to do this without you, I don’t want to do this without you. I need you, I’m not sure I can be a real person without you. If you’re already gone then… then knowing you was one of the best things that ever happened to me and I’m thankful for every goddamn second of it. But if you’re still there, if you can hear me… I need you to come back to me, Joel. Just… please. Don’t leave me, don’t leave the girls, I just… I will do whatever you want, just stay. Just come back to me. Please.”

He was still below your touch but you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, anyway, his skin soft and warm. A tear slipped from your eyelash and fell to his cheek but you didn’t move to wipe it away. You had the odd thought that maybe he would absorb it, that his skin would soak up your salt and your sadness and then, even if he didn’t come back, at least he’d have part of you in him when you put him in the ground. You wondered if you’d be able to join him. You slid off the bed and tucked your legs up against yourself, crossing your arms atop the mattress and resting your head there, drifting off to the sound of his breathing.

***

All Joel really knew was that he was somewhere warm and soft. Warm and soft and kinder than where he’d been before, though the memory of just before was fuzzy. He remembered you, waking up with you, being inside of you, kissing you goodbye. He remembered watching Ellie ride off with her friend for their patrol. He remembered laughing with his brother about something but didn’t remember what. Everything after that was a haze of blood and pain.

But he was warm now, somewhere that was familiar but he was having a hard time placing it. Grass and trees and a park bench that was more comfortable than it had any right to be, the sound of birds and cicadas on the air. But there were no other people. None that he could see, anyway.

He heard voices now and then. There were some he knew were familiar but he couldn’t quite place. Others he’d have known anywhere. You, Ellie, Savvy, Tommy, Maria. It was a haze, he could make out the tones and the melodies of your speech but not the words. But that was OK. He knew all of you were close and that was enough.

There was music, too. He would have recognized your playing from anywhere but it still seemed so obvious from wherever he was. But your music sounded sad, some kind of longing in it that wasn’t there when you usually played for him. He wanted to fix it, wanted to come from wherever he was and make it better. He just wasn’t sure that he could. But he kept hearing the song you made for him. That song was clearer than any other, so present he almost thought it was the version of it you’d recorded for him. But it wasn’t followed by the words he’d come to know so well in the months without you, the ones you’d added to the end of the tape that he listened to every night since you left. Every night until the one you came back to him.

Come back to me, Joel.

“Dad?”

Joel looked around for a moment, heart pounding. He knew that voice, had heard it inside his head so many times through the years. But never like this, never this close. And then Sarah was in front of him, her curls a halo around her head, skin almost glowing in the golden sun.

“Baby girl.”

He realized where he knew this place from. It was a park in Austin that he took her to all the time when she was a little girl. The skyline was at his back if he could turn to face it, a playground down the hill to the right. She’d loved the open field, though. She loved being able to just run and run and run with nothing to hold her back. He tried to make himself get to his feet but he couldn’t. She just smiled. It was warm, gentle but more knowing than he’d remembered it being. But then, maybe he’d forgotten. Because otherwise, she looked exactly the same as the last time Joel had seen her, down to the clothes. Except her purple shirt wasn’t bloodstained now, her ankle wasn’t hurt. She was whole, healthy, the way she always should have been.

“Long time no see,” she sat beside him on the bench and he was able to reach her then. He reached for her slowly, cautiously, but he didn’t need to worry. She reached back, putting her arms around his neck. He held her, close and tight. She was warm and soft but the heat wasn’t coming from her. Instead it was like she was part of the place where he was, warm like the sun. She pulled back from him before too long but left a delicate hand on his knee. He tried to memorize her, make sure he knew the precise constellations of her freckles and the way her lashes framed her eyes. She looked him over and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “You’re getting old, old man.”

“Yeah,” he laughed a little, still not sure what to say to her. “Yeah, I know, baby girl. I know.”

“I’ve missed you,” she was still smiling but it was sadder now. “A lot.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, his voice wet. “So, so much. You have no idea how much…”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen. You’ve been through a lot, Dad. So much. I wish I could have been there, I wish I could have helped you.”

“That’s not your job…”

“I know,” she said again. “But I still wanted to.”

“How are you?” He asked. “I want to know everything, everything…”

“I’ve been good,” she smiled. “I met your friend Tess. I like her. I liked her before, too, but even more now. She’s a lot like you, I’m glad you had her.”

“How…”

“Dad, I would love to tell you everything,” she cut him off. “But we don’t have time.”

He frowned.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, we didn’t get enough time before, but we should now, we…”

“We will,” she reached out and took his hands. “Eventually. But not yet. You’ve gotten old, old man, but not old enough. You’re not supposed to be here yet. You still have a lot to do. You have people who need you, people who love you. They really, really love you, Dad. You need to go back for them. You’ve been here long enough.”

Don’t leave me.

He looked up, looking for where your voice was coming from. Sarah just smiled.

“She needs you,” she said. “And you need her.”

She was right. He could feel that in every inch of him. He wanted to be next to you, wanted the life that he could have with you that had been so close when he’d left Jackson that morning. Just you and him and your girls. He wanted it so much it hurt. But how could he leave his daughter? His baby girl, the first baby girl he’d held, the first one he’d failed. How could he leave her again?

“Baby girl, I love them, too but I can’t just leave you here alone…”

She smiled gently.

“I’m not alone, Dad. And it’s OK if I’m not your whole world anymore,” she gave his leg a squeeze. “It’s OK if you have another purpose. I want you to be happy. Her, Ellie, Savvy… they make you happy. They’re your purpose now. You deserve that. Go be happy. I’ll be here when you’re done. We’ll have time then, too. I promise.”

Just stay.

“Go be with them, Dad,” she said. “Go be happy. We’ll be together when it’s time.”

Just come back to me.

“I love you so much, Sarah,” he said, reaching out and holding her face in his hand. “So, so much.”

Please.

“I know,” she smiled. “And I love you too.”

There was a wet spot on his cheek but he wasn’t crying. He frowned, touching his skin there, a tear clinging to his finger when he pulled it away. The place he was glowed brighter. Sarah’s face was somehow further away though neither of them had moved. He could feel himself fading from here, going back to where he was before. Part of him hurt with that, clinging to Sarah so hard that it seemed as though he was going to leave that part of him behind. But the rest of him was bringing him back, desperate to get to you, be beside you. That’s where he was supposed to be. He knew that now. He was always supposed to live. He was always supposed to flinch. He was always supposed to find you.

“I’ll see you around,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Take care of them. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.

Everything hurt.

It was sudden and sharp, the place where he was abruptly dark and cold. He wasn’t sure he could move much, every part of him impossibly heavy. But he forced his eyes open, at least. He was flat on his back and in a bed. It took him a moment to realize where, but the fact that there was medical equipment near his head narrowed it down. He heard a soft, sleepy sound and forced himself to lift his head enough to look for it. It didn’t take him long to find you there, head resting near his waist. He smiled to himself. Part of him was just relieved that he hadn’t dreamed you coming back to him, relieved that you’d want anything to do with him at all now.

He forced his arm to move, the limb unnaturally clunky, every motion pulling and tugging on damaged skin but he didn’t really care. He rested a hand on your head, smoothing your hair down, thumb brushing against your forehead. You startled and jerked awake, sitting up quickly and blinking sleep from your eyes. His hand fell to your arm when you did and looked around for a moment before your eyes fell on him, the glow of the moon on the snow illuminating your face in the dark. You frowned for a moment, your brows knitting together.

“Hey sweetheart,” Joel managed, his voice dry and cracking.

“Joel!” You scrambled to your feet, taking his hand and clinging to it as you did. “You’re here, you’re alive, you’re…”

“I’m alright, baby,” he said gently. You sank slowly onto the bed at his waist, clutching onto his hand. “You OK?”

“I’m OK,” you nodded quickly, your voice wet. “Tommy’s OK, Ellie’s OK, we’re all OK. I was so afraid, Joel. I was so afraid. I thought you were gone, I thought I lost you…”

“I know,” he winced as he reached the hand you weren’t latched onto over to cup your face. “I’m so sorry, baby. Wasn’t tryin’ to go anywhere…”

You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles before holding his arm to your chest, clinging to it like a child does to a security blanket.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, looking him up an down. “I can go wake up a doctor and…”

“M’fine sweetheart,” he said, brushing a thumb over the arch of your cheekbone. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere, need you close. Just…” He did his best to shift himself so he wasn’t in the middle of the bed, wincing as he did. “Just be here. Let me hold you, OK?”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t,” he said gently. “Need to feel you. Just stay with me, baby. Please.”

You sniffed but nodded before you moved gingerly to slip into bed beside him. You lay your head gently on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. It took a moment but he felt you relax against him, body molding to his own. He turned his head enough to brush his lips against your forehead.

“I can’t lose you, Joel,” you said softly. “I can’t, I need you to stay.”

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, holding you as close as he could, everywhere your body met his a welcome distraction from the pain. “Not going anywhere.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Yeah, sorry, I can't bring myself to kill Joel lol I love him too much, I need to let him have all the beautiful things he deserves to have.

Thank you so so much for being so patient with this chapter. I promise, I didn't intend to leave you hanging for weeks on end and I feel so bad that I did. Thank you for still reading and for being here. I feel like I've messed up a lot on how I've handled this fic lately - between not understanding how many folks didn't know the TLOU2 stuff and not giving proper warning and then posting that last chapter and not having this one lined up and ready to go - so thank you for not ditching me and this fic. It really does mean so much that you spend your time here with these characters.

Thank you again ❤️ Love you!

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#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tlou2 spoilers

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