#thread the needle chapter 8

[the-kr8tor]

Out of Style

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 6k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than the reader, cw food mentions, cursing, cw spiders, tw arachnophobia, hurt/comfort, suggestive content, Fluff.

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Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

Closing the door quietly, you press your sleep deprived head on the wood, cursing your cowardice. You saw him yet you chose to ignore him.

You sit down on your cold bed, books and bag clattering on the floor. Pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes, your mind flips back to five minutes ago. How Hobie lingers on the sideline, waiting for you. From where you stood you couldn't possibly see his face. You have a hunch on what he feels though, maybe embarrassed that you saw him like that? Confused on why you ran from him? Probably. You imagine it, but one emotion you couldn't possibly wish to see: anger. Furious that you didn't let him say his peace, or annoyed that you disturbed his time with that woman.

You sigh, eyeing the package Peter gave you. Grabbing it from the carpet, opening the small paper bag, you see the spider that bit Hobie, body trapped inside a glass square casing.

You feel like that dead spider right now, the bug that bit more than it can chew, ending up hurting itself because it took a chance.

Looking at the arachnid, you spot its silhouette, circular body with eight arms protruding from the sides. You have a lightbulb moment.

Taking the leather vest you've thrifted on your own and tailored specifically for Hobie. You flip it on its back, showing the dreaded empty space. You bite your lip, striding over to your table, grabbing fabric chalk to draw the spider's outline.

Looking at it from a distance, from the spikes on the shoulder, to the various pins and patches you've placed on the leather. Some of them show your influence on the design, scattered flowers and references from your time together. A stereo that looks exactly like the one you two always brought everywhere you went, the pink notebook, a catalyst for the start of your friendship together. Even a green puppet that looks like Terry. You think it's perfect, now to paint the spider.

Excited to get started, you suddenly realize if he still wants to help you. After your dramatic exit, doubt lingers in the back of your mind. Will he even go to the show now that he's got someone? Someone better, someone who isn't so afraid of saying how they feel. Someone who's more like him.

Your heart shudders at the thought of standing alone from now on, fingers tracing over the cherry patch that you've painstakingly embroidered, peripheral glancing over the picture Yuri took of you two on the boat, it's a bit blurry, you're smiling as he carries you in his arms, he matches your expression, eyes closed in delight.

You make the choice, not wanting to cut off ties with your best mate just because you hurt yourself. Hobie doesn't know how much you like him, he's not a telepath that can read your mind.

You bravely face the truth.

Unrequited feelings bubbling to the surface, a sob breaks through, hot tears spilling over on the leather vest. Fabric chalk dissolving in your tears.

You decide, even if it kills you to do so.

—

You ran away again, mentally beating yourself up, lamenting all the things you should've done instead of running away.

You chew your bottom lip anxiously, shifting from leg to leg, playing with the frayed edges of a loose thread on the embroidered flowers that you've painstakingly stitched on your lace cami. Your eyes dart around the backstage of the fashion show, classmates running around to fix any last minute changes on their models. You on the other hand, sit by your lonesome, the plastic chair scrapes on the floor as you stand up by the umpteenth time, pacing around in your heavy platform boots that you've customized yourself. The little red butterfly wings painted on the back of the boots make it look like you're gliding around the wooden floors, chain rattling around the laces as you pace with unease.

The outfit you're wearing is a perfect partner to what was supposed to be Hobie's outfit. You worry that he won't show up, palms sweaty at the thought. But this is Hobie, he won't let you down, right? Unless he's with that woman right now then you have to accept your fate, which is you walking down that blasted runway.

Mrs. Williams peeks behind the curtain, you can briefly see the growing crowd behind her. Fuck, you internally curse biting at your nails, nail polish bitter as your tongue touches your nail.

"Five minutes till show time" Mrs. Williams roams her eyes around her frozen students and partners, eyes stopping on your form. "And only five minutes" she addresses you, your heart stops, fellow designers look at you with pity.

Your hope is dwindling.

You gulp down, lace cami hugging your torso uncomfortably, unbuttoning the sleeves of your white frilly blouse to give you some breathing room. You now regret wearing such an elaborate outfit, it was supposed to be a surprise for Hobie, wherever said man is.

Grabbing the bright red blazer draped on the back of the chair, you hug it against your chest, hand tracing the safety pins strategically placed on the back to look like wings. You calm down a bit, but not enough.

Someone taps your shoulder, hope blossoms, turning around, your hopeful smile fades, seeing your classmate Hannah looking at you apologetically.

"Sorry," she winces, knowing your predicament, bright pink hair noticeable against her darker clothing, "but can you help me with this stitch? Please, it'll only take a second, I just need you to hold this bit." she raises her partner's arm, a loose thread that has come undone in the seams sway slightly in the wind.

"Yeah, of course" you give her a polite smile.

"Thank you, y/n" she sighs, relieved. Her partner looks unbothered around the chaos.

Better be bored than not around, you thought. Maybe you shouldn't have come that day, you might've lived in ignorant bliss to what happened that fateful morning but at least your heart would still be in one piece. You miss him, even with what he did, Hobie is still your best friend after all, before you came to love him, first and foremost he's your friend.

You ignored his calls, too heartbroken to talk to him, even more so seeing him, that's why you told your RA not to let him inside your dorm, giving her the excuse that you're sick and want to be alone. With a raised eyebrow she accepted and understood, not asking any more questions. Maybe that was wrong of you to do, maybe talking to him like an adult was better. You can't blame him for finding someone else to warm his bed, you're not together, the only thing that cements his feelings for you was a very subtle confession and an almost kiss.

Your eyes start to glaze over again, lips trembling at the thought of him lying to you or worse you read the entire thing wrong. You have no idea what to make of everything, it doesn't help that he stopped trying to call days ago. You almost picked up one time, heartache taking over, you let the phone ring to what seemed to be endless.

"And done, thanks" Hannah smiles, you nod at her friendliness. "Don't worry he'll be here, maybe he's just stuck in traffic" she gives you a comforting pat on the back. "Thanks for telling about that embroidery trick by the way, it really helped"

"You're welcome" you don't acknowledge her theory. Turning around, you sit back down. Patchwork jeans made of scrap fabric from Hobie's own outfit uncomfortably scrape against your legs, feet bouncing anxiously. You want to get the show over with and rip your outfit off you. Blinking away tears at the thought of you repeating your final year just because of one (not so small) hiccup.

Watching as your classmates slowly filter out to the audience area to watch their creations walk down the runway, their partners staying behind to line up. You bravely stand up, breathing heavily. Draping the blazer on your shoulder, you make your way towards the line of models, already feeling out of place.

You hear Mrs. Williams announcing the start of the show. Tuning her out, you watch the double doors as if Hobie will miraculously appear behind it. Sniffing, you slyly try to wipe the tears that's been escaping from your eyes. Lining up at the far end, you hear the music starting, one by one they walk down the runway, loud cheers can be heard from the audience as their friends hype them up.

It was supposed to be a happy occasion for everyone, finally finishing the final year with a bang but your frown says otherwise, waiting like you're in line for the guillotine.

Wringing your hands nervously, you jump at the loud bang behind you, metal doors swinging, threatening to fall right off its hinges.

Your teary eyes widen at Hobie in all his glory, sporting the outfit you unceremoniously left on his doorstep.

The white shirt that you've painted to look like it has spray painted graffiti, barbed wire design on the collar, embroidered with silver thread. On top of it, he has a red blazer, matching yours. Numerous safety pins pinned on the lapel, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. The leather vest, the pièce de résistance sways in the gust of wind.

His leg halfway up from kicking the doors open. Ripped jeans in full display, lace peeking out from under the strategically placed rips. An asymmetrical half skirt made from red plaid fabric accentuates the outfit. To your surprise, he even added his own twist to it, wearing accessories that compliments your work. You find your own belt on his hips, belt buckle shining in the light. So that's where it went.

Hobie searches for you, chest heaving, looking like he ran a marathon just to get to the venue. His heart skips a beat when he finally spots you, lips parting in surprise at your clothes.

"Fuck me" he mumurs, glad he didn't yell the words out.

You stare at him flabbergasted, lips tugging into a smile. You don't have time to speak when Mrs. Williams announces your turn, saying Hobie's name instead of yours, like she has a sixth sense.

Hobie gives you a nod, conversing with him wordlessly, I've got this. Eyes staring intently at you as he passes through the curtains, loud roars and claps from the audience rings out. Peeking behind, you watch frozen as he walks like he owns the place, nonchalantly strutting the runway.

"Holy shit" You have no idea how someone can look a hundred times hotter than ever before. From where you're standing, you can see the giant spider you've stitched at the last minute on the back of his leather vest.

Hobie pauses for a second when he reaches the end of the runway, glaring at the photographer where everyone expected him to give a smolder. He turns around, determined to get back to your side.

You squeak when Hobie sees you peeking behind the curtains, Backing away, cherry earrings swinging wildly as you move. You stand alone in the middle of backstage, the place messy with discarded bags, scissors, threads and cloth.

Hobie ignores the cheering behind him, his eyes only on your form, face unreadable, taking long strides towards you. His heavy footfalls thump against the floor, acting like a countdown.

He moves as if a tether pulls him towards you.

Freezing in place, you have no idea what to do, whether to pull the loose thread or leave it completely. "Hobie, I–" he doesn't let you finish your sentence, crashing his lips to yours wordlessly. You hold your breath.

Teeth clashing to yours, Hobie holds your face with both hands, silver rings cold on your skin, afraid you'll disappear from his touch. His eyes tightly closed, he doesn't know whether it's adrenaline or the pressure of his affections for you, finally breaking the dam in one massive blast, pushing him to finally decide and kiss you. He lays his lips over yours, unmoving, waiting for you to reciprocate.

Your eyes are wide as saucers, hands floating right over his chest. Stomach in knots, heat rising to your cheeks. You're too surprised to kiss him back, he notices, pulling away. You see panic blooming on his face, breathing heavily against your lips.

"Fuck, I'm sorry" Hobie steps back, hurt written on his handsome face. Hands flying back to his sides.

"Shut the fuck up–" you quickly grab him by his vest's collar, pulling him with the same force he did, your lips meet his.

This time you kiss back, fervently. The thread is taut, snapping in the pressure.

His eyes widen for a second before he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you closer as humanly possible, his other hand holds yours that's gripping his vest tightly right above his hastening heart. He closes his eyes, savoring your lips. The idea of Unrequited love pops like a bubble in your mind, dissolving as he kisses you back.

Hobie's kisses match yours right to the beat, you pull him down by the scruff of his neck, legs tired from trying to reach him. He chuckles at your tenacity. The room filled with the sounds of your lips smacking against each other. The kiss is messy but steady, teeth gnashing, his lip piercing blocking you from feeling his entire lips, forcing you to tilt your head. The kiss was uncharted territory for the both of you but you're more than willing to explore it, you're sure Hobie feels the same, judging from how he moves with you in tandem, hand kneading at the soft skin of your nape.

Everything seems to click into place.

You don't want to pull away but your lungs are protesting against the lack of oxygen, Hobie feels like he could go on though. Reluctantly ending the kiss, you look at him breathlessly. Hobie has a growing grin on his kiss bitten lips, your lipgloss staining his.

Hobie swipes your lips with his thumb, cleaning the sheen he left on it, red staining his fingertip. "You alive in there?"

"You still have the gall to speak– after that?" You say through gulps of air.

He laughs deeply, pecking your lips once, twice, pausing for a second to admire your flustered face, he kisses again for the third time. He tries to stop again, this time you chase his lips before he could fully pull away.

Hobie chuckles deeply and full of endearment, you can feel his smile as you peck his lips.

Someone coughs loudly to get your attention, jumping away from his body, Hobie holds your hand firmly against him so that you don't fully leave his side. He glares at your professor, tapping her heeled foot impatiently.

"Whenever you're done, come outside and join the others we'll be announcing the top three" she raises a neat brow at you two, a rare smirk on her red lips.

The second she crosses the curtains, you give a knowing look at Hobie, laughing loudly. He lays his head on your shoulder, laughing with you.

"She caught us," you softly say in between laughs.

"And I'll do it again" he softly says against your soft blazer.

"Come on, let's not keep them waiting" you rub encouragingly at his arms.

He hums, leaving a quick peck on your lapel for good measure.

—

His familiar scent wafts on your right, calming your heart to a steadier beat. Hobie's arm is glued to your waist, hip to hip, holding you close. You can feel his lingering gaze on the side of your face, giving him a knowing side glance, a sly smile on your warm kiss bitten lips. For a moment you feel like you're the only two people in the crowd.

"What?" He asks coyly.

"You know what"

"Sure, Gromit" Hobie says against your hair, you playfully push him off with your hips, saving yourself from taking all the attention from your professor announcing the top three. Hobie chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around your form, playing with the flowers on your top.

You can't seem to concentrate on what Mrs Williams is talking about, mind still reeling from the kiss and his touch. His fingers fiddling with the lace of your cami doesn't help with your attention span.

People start clapping around you, copying them to look like you're listening. By how your classmates stand side by side with their models on stage, Hannah beams in second place. You give her a big thumbs up.

While everyone claps for Flash in third, another classmate jumps excitedly to first place, hugging her partner in a tight embrace.

You don't even care that you didn't win, you've got a better prize right next to you.

"You were robbed, love" He whispers in your ear, the roaring crowd makes it difficult to hear him.

"I don't care, honestly," you say giddily.

"You won in my eyes anyway" Hobie nuzzles his cheek on your hair.

"C'mon" he tugs at your belt loop, leading you towards the exit. You follow, grinning widely.

"Excuse me! You in red!" Someone yells for you, looking over your shoulder, you see a tall man in an expensive looking suit, tailored just for him. "Yeah you, hi"

"Hello," you politely smile, "what can I do for you?"

"Yes, I'm a friend of your professor, Mrs. Williams. You caught my attention with your style and we would love you at our fashion house." He hands you a business card. "It's all in there, I'm sorry I don't have time to talk right now" on cue Mrs. Williams beckons him over, "but I'll be here on campus looking for new designers, so call and let me know. Or just ask Caroline– I mean Williams"

"Thanks, I'll look into it. Mr?" You read the card, recognizing the name of the brand. "Mr. Riley" finishing your sentence.

He nods with a smile, "oh, we're also looking for models, if you're interested–" Mr. Riley gestures towards Hobie who cuts him off before he could finish his spiel.

"Not interested" Hobie grits his teeth, impatiently tugging you away.

"Alrighty! Bye!" Riley looks terrified, walking away with a slouched posture.

"I think you scared him off" You playfully shove him.

"Don't care." He rolls his eyes "Where are we off to? Yours or mine?" Hobie fixes your cherry earrings to face the right side, warm fingers staying on the shell of your ear.

"Ours" you correct him, smiling widely, eyes full of fondness for the man right in front of you.

"Right," He mirrors your smile, beaming at you, "ours"

—

Hobie watches you through his side mirror, grinning from ear to ear at how you tightly wrap your arms around his waist. Your eyes closed in content, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

Hobie stops at a red light, he taps your hand curled around the other, getting your attention.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head to face him.

Hobie wishes he can rotate his head much further just to face you fully. "Checkin' to see if you're still with me. Thought you fell off"

"Bullshit, you would've noticed" you chuckle.

"You got me" he smiles, "hold on" Hobie feels a slight tug, looking up, the light turns green. His new found enhanced senses have perks.

The bike lurches forward, Hobie drives carefully, he has precious cargo after all. You notice, snuggling closer to his back as a thank you.

The wind nips at your face, Hobie makes sure to avoid potholes, slowing down before he hits speed humps. Holding your hand every time he stops at a red light.

Finally reaching home, Hobie gets off first before he helps you down. Hand reaching for yours.

"One kiss and you're suddenly a gentleman" you tease him, taking his hand in yours, palm hot against your cold one; melting the chill right off.

"Snog me more and you'll find out how much of a gentleman I can be" Hobie waits for your flustered face, instead he sees you smirk, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Oh I intend to find out" tapping his chest, you leave Hobie standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk, you step over to the houseboat. Laughing triumphantly.

"Fuckin' hell" he mumbles out, flexing his hand.

"Come on! I'm hungry!" You wave him over, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You can't believe the last time you were here you had your heart shattered, trying not to think about it, you intend to ask him without ruining the mood.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get pissy" Hobie unlocks the door, opening it for you to step inside.

There's tools and mechanical parts on what looks like a new coffee table, stopping in your tracks, you look at Hobie in confusion.

"Huh?"

"What?" He scratches at the back of his neck, looking at you through narrowed eyes, daring you to ask.

"Are you making a robot or something?" You dare ask.

"No, just tryin' to fix my answering machine" he huffs, picking up fallen tiny jagged edged pieces so you don't accidentally step on them.

Unlacing your boots, you take in your surroundings, taking note of the difference since you were last in his houseboat. The door to his bedroom is missing, the wooden floors looked like it was scrubbed till it's nothing but splinters, leaving marks on the wood, the once rickety table now a pile of mess on the corner.

"Should I even ask?" You raise a curious brow.

"Ask" Hobie gestures for you to go on.

"What the fuck happened here? It looks like a tornado wrecked the place. And where's your bloody door?!" You walk towards his room to find sheets thrown about, bed littered with the same metal parts and various sizes of screwdrivers. He's clearly obsessing over his machine.

Hobie sighs, he has no idea how to explain it to you, so he doesn't try. He decides to just lie about it, for now at least. You wouldn't even believe him, right?

"Found out why this place was so cheap" he internally apologizes to Finn for throwing him under the bus. "The door has rotten hinges, faucet's fucked, sprayed water all over the bloody place, that's why the floor looks like that. I slipped and fell to that table, almost broke my hip"

"Oh" you exhale, trying to get the words out. "When was this?" You put two and two together, yet you still ask.

Hobie notices your change in mood, taking a few steps closer to you after he drops the metal objects on the coffee table. He starts the difficult conversation for you. "When you ran" he tries not to make you feel guilty, "it was a misunderstanding, love"

"Shit," you close your eyes as if you're in pain.

"No one was here, it was the damn answering machine goin' haywire." Continuing his explanation, Hobie raises his arms to you, waiting for you to move on your accord, careful not to have a repeat scenario. "No one was here, yeah?"

"I'm a fucking Idiot" you move to embrace him, "'m sorry" sniffing, voice thick with guilt, you hold him closer. "I should've waited–"

"None of that from you. We're both bloody idiots for taking this long" he softly says near your ear, breath fanning over your skin, calming you down.

"I just thought…after the museum–"

"I know," he pulls away, cupping your face in his hand, "you should've seen me in here. It was like some looney tunes shit"

"Oh, I would pay good money to see that" you lean into his touch. After a beat you continue. "I'm sorry you had a shitty morning, then I had to add to it"

"Stop," Hobie shakes you in his arms, "let me get this straight with you, more direct, yeah?" You nod, waiting for him to continue. "You're it for me, no one else matters" your eyes get glassy, "That voice?" He points at the damned answering machine, laying open on the settee. "Absolutely do not care for her. She's just a friend of the band, nothin' more" He makes good on his own promise, committing to it.

"I saw her on you before the concert" you say in a small voice. "I was…" shaking your head, you spot Terry perched on the floor of his bedroom. It would be easy for you to grab him to help find your words but you don't. Bravely choosing to stay in his arms. "Hurt, I know I didn't have the right to be. But…I don't fucking know" frustrated, you thump your head on his chest.

"I know," he understands, embracing you tighter, trying to absorb your pain so that you don't feel it anymore, for your sake. "I'm sorry" Hobie apologizes, voice muffled by your hair. "Sorry" he says much clearer this time, exhaling a shaky breath.

Hobie apologizes for everything, from entertaining Lacey to taking this long to say how he truly feels for you and everything in between. His hand lays comfortably on your back, rubbing softly. You feel at home in his arms.

You don't know what he's apologizing for since you think it's your own fault, but you still accept, not knowing how to ask him. Instead, you savor his warmth, leather scratching your cheeks.

After a few seconds, you pull away, hands holding his face like a fine jewel. You take a few breaths, admiring his face, tracing the lines on his skin, you want to wipe all the worry off his face. Hobie closes his eyes, heartbeat syncing with yours.

He opens his eyes, staring at you like you're the moon in the night sky, out of reach but mesmerizing nonetheless.

"You hungry?" Hobie clears his throat, pulling away. He kisses your knuckles before he heads to the kitchen, no idea that he just stopped you from saying your piece.

You stand in the middle of his room, lips pouting. "I was gonna kiss you, you absolute knobhead"

Hobie stops in his tracks, he plays along, hands on his hips, acting exasperated. "That right?"

"Don't make me beg" you frown, actually serious.

He chuckles at your cute expression, "I just thought you were hungry, can't let my girl starve"

My girl, you're done for. Your breath hitches in your throat, skin on fire. "I am hungry" you sigh, surrendering, you'll get that kiss after dinner even if it kills you. Your Index finger scratches at your nail polish painted on your thumb nail, shyness creeping back again.

Hobie bites his lip, also yearning to give you what you really want. He reels himself in, opening the fridge, cold wafts onto his hot skin. His eyes leave your face for a moment.

"Fuck" he finds it empty besides some bottled water and a half eaten burger.

"Christ, you live like this?" You suddenly appear by his side, grimacing at the bare fridge. "Looks like you need a roommate to keep you in check, huh?" You take a personal mission to rile him up again just to see his rare bewildered face even if for only a split second.

"D'you know anyone available?" He takes on your challenge, standing to his full height, he faces you, closing the fridge door with his foot.

"I think I know someone" you smile prettily at him, making grabby hands over to him.

"If I give you a bloody kiss will you buy us a shawarma?" Hobie steps in your arms, you immediately wrap yourself around his waist.

"Let's just say I'll make it worth your while" looking up at him, your lips curling into a teasing smirk.

"Look how far I've fallen, the things I have to do just so I don't starve" he holds your chin, fingers warm on your already searing skin. Leaning closer to your face.

"You ass!" You laugh, pinching his abdomen, finding a wall of muscle underneath his shirt. Huh, that's new, you thought. Pulling away, you narrow your eyes at Hobie. "Feels like you are starving"

"Hmm?"

"You got leaner, we're definitely ordering extra rice for you" Hobie gives you a thankful peck on the cheek, already on his way to grab the utensils.

—

Metal scraping on ceramic, you run the dirty plates on the sink as Hobie wipes down his new coffee table. You feel eyes on your back, looking over your shoulder, he watches you, eyes full of endearment.

"I'm almost done, Hobs. Need to at least run it with water or it'll stink in the morning" you beam back, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Hobie's heart swells at the domesticity of it all, imagining the house with traces of you in it. He could put your sewing machine in the corner near the window so you could get proper light. He imagines your shampoo side by side with his bottle in the small shower, favourite Mug next to his chipped ones. Your perfume lingering in the air, staying with him wherever he goes.

"Love" he says quietly like a secret to be kept between you. You hum in acknowledgement, rinsing the cups.

He calls your name this time, not love, not Gromit or Cherry, your name. He says it with so much love laced in it you forgot that it's yours for a second.

You turn off the faucet, splashing your hands on the sink. Turning around, you give him a soft smile. "Yeah?"

Hobie pats the cushion next to him, "C'mere" you don't miss a beat, already walking towards the settee. "I can do that tomorrow" he holds his arms towards you.

You place yourself in his hold, enveloping you like warm sunlight. Sitting in comfortable silence, ignoring how the lumpy couch pokes your legs.

"I saw you by the way" you break the silence. He moves his head on top of yours, making a point that he's listening. "In the parking lot, a few days ago"

"Why didn't you say anythin'?" Hobie doesn't sound angry, just forlorn at the thought of you intentionally ignoring him.

"I didn't know what to say" you finally look at him, eyes as big as the plates you were rinsing. "Then Peter came up to me–I," you exhale, "I'm a coward, Hobie. I should've at least tried to talk to you"

"Honestly, I didn't know what I was gonna say to you that day" He rubs a stray eyelash from your cheek. "I wouldn't know what would've happened if we did talk"

"Sorry for not answering your calls and barring you from my dorm" you apologize again, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Don't be," he kisses the crown of your head, assuring you.

"If it's any consolation…" you sniff, tamping down the tears threatening to spill. "Peter found out that the spider that bit you wasn't a regular one"

"What?"

"Yeah, he's a biology major, really likes spiders for some reason. Met him through an old study group. Anyway, he said it was some kind of mix? Not sure, but he practically gushed about it" you play with the lace on his pants while you ramble.

"Did he elaborate?" Hobie's fully invested, any clues to what's rushing in his veins right now is very much appreciated.

"The thing is, he didn't know what mix it was or how that sort of thing could happen. He called it a freak of nature" you chuckle. "You're fine though, right? You didn't feel weird or anything?" Rubbing his arm in concern, brows knitting together.

"It got a bit itchy but that's it" it hurts him to lie to you, but even Hobie himself doesn't completely know what's happening to his body. Just to be safe, he won't tell you, until he can figure it out at least.

"Okay, good" You lay your head back down on his chest with the intention to finally tell him how you truly feel for him. "Hobie, I–"

"You look good by the way– shit sorry go on" he accidentally cuts you off.

"No, you were complimenting me so please go on" your lips curl into a mischievous smile. Staring at him head on.

Hobie scoffs, rolling his eyes, smiling through it all. "I said you look bloody fit" he eyes your outfit a few seconds longer than he intended.

"You look really handsome," you turn his compliment around, "like holy shit, mate. It's unfair how good you looked on the runway"

"Mate? You havin' a laugh? Who you callin' mate?" He pokes your waist. "I just confessed my undying love for you and you're out here callin' me 'mate'?" Your giggling stops when he says that word.

"You love me?" You ask, face serious. Your pulse beats rapidly, palms sweaty.

"Yeah, too much I think" Too much for you. He thinks, afraid of stifling you with his love. He tried to play it off. Hobie doesn't throw that word around loosely but he has said it in his mind to you a thousand times before, it feels routine by now.

"I don't think it's too much" your eyes are starting to get glossy again. "I think it's the right amount"

You suddenly feel anxious saying it back, yet it's Hobie, your Hobie who taught you how to tie your shoelaces properly so that other kids won't make fun of your velcro trainers. Hobie who was there for you when you had your heart broken for the first time. Hobie who you came to love more with every passing year with him. Your Hobie.

"You don't have to say it back" He says with a small smile, voice thick, "won't force you–"

"You're a fucking idiot, Hobart Brown" you say, clinging to his shirt that you've lovingly made just for him, every stitch you've poured in has love written all over it. "And I love you too"

You lean in, eyes closed, hands placed fondly on his cheeks. This time, you're the one who takes his breath away. Hobie sighs into the kiss, content, feeling your emotions through it all.

This one felt more proper, more familiar than the first one, made sweeter with the love confession. No rushing, no one finally interrupting the moment, and yet still slightly unfamiliar, good thing you have a willing partner to get familiar with. Getting used to the kiss, you swipe your tongue, encouraging him to not hold back.

He kisses back fervently, warm and slow with no ounce of urgency. Hobie's stomach is in knots, hands flying to cup your face.

You move your leg over to his lap, straddling him. Hobie lets out a sound from the back of his throat as his shoulder blade hits the armrest of the sofa.

Pulling away, "Is this okay?" You tentatively ask, waiting for any signs of apprehension from Hobie.

"Yes" He says breathlessly, you can see stars in his eyes. Smiling, leaning down to continue kissing him.

Strong hands steadying you, yet still holding you respectfully, avoiding the bare skin where your blouse rode up. Electricity tingles from Hobie's fingertips, shocking you slightly through your blouse, you take it as your nerves acting up.

You feel a tear escape, it slides down on your cheek, landing directly on Hobie's thumb that's been caressing your skin. He pulls back, worried.

"I'm okay" you say, breathless, eyes roaming his concerned face. Another tear rolls down on your soft skin, "they're happy tears," smiling, more tears flow out of your eyes that's crinkling in the corners.

Hobie looks up at you with so much love, your heart inflates tenfold. He has a lopsided smile, eyes mirroring yours.

"Stay with me tonight?" He wipes your tears for you, careful with his rings.

Your eyes narrow at him teasingly, mustering your best flirty smile, brows wiggling, you wordlessly have a conversation with Hobie.

"Fuck off" He laughs breathlessly, "I didn't mean it like that" you felt the vibration on his chest when he laughed, laying down fully on him, eyes practically shaped like hearts, you follow through with your own laugh.

"I've never thought confessing would be so tiring" you joke, yawning for effect.

it's contagious, he follows your yawn with his own. "It's because we've been doing a lot of snogging"

"Mm-hmm, it's definitely better than exercise. More fun too"

"Wanna exercise again?" He rolls his dice.

"I could burn some calories" You play along, giggling against his waiting lips. Hobie rolls a perfect twenty.

A/N: LET'S GOOOOOO 🎉

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it, reblogging encourages me to write more ❤️

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 13

This is it guys, the chapter of this fic. I have had an absolute blast writing and even more so reading all the comments and tags.

This last chapter is dedicated to all those who wanted the moms to bring Steve into their fold. This was also chance for Steve to rip on the haters without fear of his parents ire.

Thank you so much for all the love and support for this little story.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Claudia was waiting at the Byers’ front door when Eddie pulled up in his van and Steve hopped out.

“Eddie!” she cried happily. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Hey, Mrs. H,” Eddie said with a wave. “I’m just dropping Stevie off. We’re hanging out later.”

“That was sweet of you, dear,” Claudia cooed.

Steve in the meantime was pulling things out of the backseat of the van. Eddie looked over at him.

“You need help, darlin’?” he asked over his shoulder.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” In lower voice he muttered, “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

Eddie gave Steve’s forearm a squeeze and then waved at Claudia. He backed out of the driveway and was soon gone from sight.

“We’ve got all sorts of surprises for you today, Steve,” she said gleefully clapping her hands together.”

Steve grinned at her. “Mrs. Peterson here yet?”

Claudia shook her head. “She’s always at least fifteen minutes late. Something we were banking on actually.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

But Claudia just ushered him inside. He set his stuff down and then handed her a tray.

“I made blondies,” he said, “I hope you ladies like them.”

She peeled back the foil and gasped. “Steve they look amazing!”

Joyce came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. “What looks amazing?” she asked peering over Claudia’s shoulder. She, too, gasped when she saw them. “Steve, you didn’t!”

Steve grinned. “Your sons always eat the ones I send home with them before they even get home, so I figured you’d appreciate these.”

She kissed his cheek. “You are a dear.”

Claudia laid them out on table next to all the other treats.

On the coffee table were a bunch of things under a large sheet with clowns on it.

“The three of us,” Karen began, “wanted to do something extra special for you after hearing what fun our children had at the Fair because you made sure they did. So we each contributed something toward your love of sewing.”

She lifted the sheet. Underneath was a beautiful sewing kit in navy blue, a light green Singer sewing machine that looked older than he was, and a stack of old patterns.

Steve’s lip wobbled as he raised his hand to his mouth in shock.

“You didn’t have to do this, ladies,” he whispered.

“The sewing kit is from me,” Karen continued. “It’s a beginner’s kit, but it has fabric scissors, a seam ripper, bobbins for your thread and different kinds of needles.”

Steve sat down and pulled it onto his lap. He opened it and as he lifted the lid, the top tray pulled back revealing the tray beneath. “Thank you.”

“The sewing machine,” Claudia said proudly, “is the first one I ever owned. When I got married I got a new one and I’ve been using that ever since. But this ol’ girl has a lot of love and life left in her, and I want you to have her.”

Steve looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll break it? Or that my parents will find it and destroy it?”

Claudia knelt in front of him. “It’s gonna be kept at my house until you get a place of your own. You’re there all the time to see Dusty anyway, no one is going to notice that you’re there to sew now, too.”

“Plus,” Joyce said with a grin. “It’s a Singer. They’re a little hard to break. They’re one of the best machines and it will probably outlast your children. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Steve nodded, his lip quivering. Claudia kissed his forehead and stood back up.

“The patterns are from me,” Joyce said. “Whenever I would have a little extra money I would pick up a pattern or two at the drug store and bring it home. I picked a handful that I thought you’d like since you’re primarily making costumes. And if those work for you, next week I’ll bring another handful you might like.”

Tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Thank you. All of you. This is best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh honey,” Joyce said softly and suddenly Steve was being hugged on all sides by the moms.

They stayed like that until there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Olive,” Claudia said with a sigh. “I bet she brought those brownies that are totally store bought even though she insists it her grandmother’s recipe.”

Steve snickered. “My mom used to do that. I don’t think she fooled anyone either.”

Joyce grinned over her shoulder as she went to go answer the door. “Olive, dear! We were just getting started.”

“Oh?” the bright voice on the other side of the door cooed. “You’re usually in the full swing of things by now.”

Steve bristled. That meant she knew she was late and was doing it intentionally. He hated people like that. Acting like the rest of them were peasants meant to be waiting on her.

“Steve was just showing us the costumes he made for the kids for the Fair over the weekend,” Karen said sweetly as Steve hurried to get the things he brought to show off out.

Olive stepped into the house with a sneer. “I think it’s so sweet you’re indulging the boy, but I doubt he can hold a candle to Claudia’s years of experience.”

Wow, Steve thought. Not only did she insult him, but she insinuated Claudia was old. What was with this old bag?

Claudia smirked. “It’s true that I’ve been doing it for longer, but Steve has a real talent for it. Come see.”

Olive walked into the front room and Steve was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. She had perfectly curled hair with not a single strand out of place. Her clothes were fitted and showed off her figure. Her makeup was flawless.

In short, Steve hated her on sight.

Joyce handed her the shirt he had made for underneath his tunic. It was flawless but understated.

Olive took the shirt and scoffed. “You couldn’t have done this, Harrington, you shouldn’t lie to your betters.”

Steve was already seeing red. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then.”

Joyce clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s get started. Steve, you can eat as much as you want, but just make sure to keep it away from other people’s projects.”

Steve smiled at her sweetly. “Of course!”

He knew that what she was really saying was that Olive Peterson might try something.

He sat in the armchair away from her and she glared at him.

“Is it all right if I work on my project first before you teach me how to use the sewing machine?” he asked just as she was taking a drink of punch.

Olive was forced to turn away and cough into her hand to avoid spraying everyone with the lemonade that Claudia had made.

Karen’s smile was feral. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, right, Claudia?”

“Of course not, Steve,” she replied warmly. “Just let me know when you want to learn and I’ll come over and help you.”

Steve nodded. He pulled out the materials that Eddie suggested he bring and got to work.

Eddie really liked that Steve’s bags had a lining because it protected the dice better, so Steve had brought along some materials he could use for that as well.

About halfway through his first bag, Joyce called out.

“Steve? What’s that pattern you’re putting on the bag?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s my signature! I embroider it on everything I do to make sure people can’t pass it off as their own.” He handed the bag over to her.

“Oh!” she cried in excitement. “This is the design you put on Will and El’s costumes when you did their alterations, right?”

Steve nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you made the clothes, but I thought it was a cute way to tie the two together like they were twins.”

“It was perfect,” Joyce said. “El still hasn’t stopped talking about how pretty your design made the dress.”

Steve blushed as he took the pouch back from her.

“I was talking to someone at the Renaissance Fair,” he said shyly, “and she wanted me make them clothes and things that she would sell for me. She even told me to make business cards in case someone wanted to commission me directly.”

“Oh Steve!” Karen cried. “That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and tilted her head. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. That pattern is beautiful. I would love a handkerchief with that on it.”

Steve straightened up. “Yeah?”

Karen nodded.

“What color would you like?” he asked excitedly.

Karen tried to protest but he wouldn’t let her. In fact he managed to convince all but Olive to let him make them one for them.

It did, unfortunately take him to the end of the two hours, but he was excited to come next week.

“I’ll even host it at my place!” he said with a grin.

Olive sputtered. “Well I won’t be there if it’s at this young man’s house. That’s so inappropriate.”

The three other ladies looked at each other and then shrugged.

“Your loss,” Karen said dryly.

Olive stormed out of the house vowing that as long as Steve was part of the group she would never come back.

“Well that is a relief,” Joyce said, “I’m not the kind to speak ill of anyone, but we really got quite the upgrade!”

Karen clapped her hands. “Indeed. I can’t wait for next week. I’ve got a new project I’m starting and I found the best recipe for a chocolate mousse that I’ve been dying to try out.”

“Same time next week, ladies?” Steve asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Claudia agreed.

Then there came a loud honk.

Steve looked out the window and smiled. “Looks like my ride is here.”

He gather up his stuff, including the patterns and sewing kit and walked out to Eddie’s van.

He slid into the front seat.

“You have fun today, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Steve said looking fondly at the house. “This has been the best weekend ever.”

Eddie grinned. “Well, it’s about to get even better, just wait to you see what I have planned for us today.”

Steve smiled as Eddie regaled him with his plans and nodded along.

Life was really looking up. He had a platonic soulmate, good friends, an amazing boyfriend, a hobby he enjoyed and could make real money from, and now a group of people to share that hobby with each week.

And to think it all started with a flier about the Renaissance Fair coming back to Hawkins.

“I can’t wait,” he breathed once Eddie was done.

Eddie smiled that sweet smile at always turned Steve’s insides to mush.

Yeah, Steve could honestly say that he was happy.

****

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369 ​

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

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@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

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@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Seven: The GoverMint

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: Two men bring you into custody and some new information comes to light. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 2.1k

"What? Never had mornin’ wood before, Smoothie?” The Ghoul snickers as you shake your head in confusion. While yes, it’s a fairly natural thing to occur, you weren’t exactly expecting to see his hard-on first thing.

"Alright, love birds,” the man starts, causing both of you to glare at him. “Destroying a legitimate business? That's illegal 'round these parts.”

You exchange a quick glance with The Ghoul, both of you clearly annoyed by the man calling you ‘love birds’. "First of all, we are not together. And - will you please adjust yourself, Beef Jerky - second of all, this... was a legitimate business? Says who?” you ask, gesturing vaguely around the room as The Ghoul rolls his eyes and slowly covers himself with his hat.

"The government," the man proudly declares before abruptly striking The Ghoul in the face with his rifle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not get crazy here," you interject, raising your hands in protest, realizing that two against one isn't a smart choice at the moment. Your head is throbbing from the alcohol you drank the night before, leaving you in no condition to fight back.

“Don’t worry, miss. Your husband is okay, but you two gotta face justice,” the man replies. You huff a frustrated sigh at the continued assumption that you two are a couple. Looking the man over, you notice a crudely made sheriff badge with the name Troy etched onto it.

“May I call you Troy?” you ask, pointing to his badge. He gives you a smile, indicating it’s okay. “Now, Troy, this man right here isn’t my husband. We are just traveling companions who happened to come across this already destroyed business.”

Troy sighs, “We ain’t stupid, ma’am. We gotta bring ya both in. Rex!” He shouts at the other man, “Tie ‘em up and we’ll move out once that one wakes back up.”

Shortly after, The Ghoul wakes up and the four of you are on the move towards the supposed government. You keep stealing glances at him, hoping for any sign of a plan, but he remains silent and focused on the path ahead. The restraints around your wrists chafe against your skin, causing irritation. These two men seem dumb as hell but the one sure knows how to use rope.

Finally, the four of you approached a building sporting a sign that proudly proclaims "The GoverMint”. The Ghoul shot you a glance, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes in exasperation. The sight of the misspelled sign only reinforced your growing realization that you were dealing with a bunch of idiots. The building itself appeared run-down and neglected, a stark contrast to the grandeur one might expect from an actual government facility. The paint was peeling, the windows were dirty, and the overall atmosphere exuded an air of disarray. As you were escorted inside by Troy and Rex, you couldn't shake the feeling that this whole situation was more absurd than dangerous.

"Well, shit!" a hefty man exclaims, sitting at a table with a plate of food. "I heard it was a ghoul that messed up that Super Duper Mart. Nobody told me it was the ghoul."

"Why, Sorrel Booker," The Ghoul smirks.

You silently mouth to The Ghoul, "You know this guy?"

"You boys know who you just brought in? This sumbitch right here used to be the best bounty hunter to ever shoot a man in the ass," Sorrel chuckles as the two men usher you to sit in front of him. "Kids these days don’t know their goddamn history."

"Say, you got a needle and thread?” The Ghoul casually asks. “I think I got some in my bag, actually. Would you mind?"

Sorrel hesitates for a moment, eyeing him, but ultimately nods his head. Troy hands over the needle and thread, and The Ghoul's restraints are untied. With a calm demeanor, he picks up a perfectly cut finger and begins sewing it onto his missing one. You can't help but watch in disbelief, your mouth agape, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene unfolding before you. What the fuck is happening right now?

"Whose finger is that?!" You blurt out unintentionally, causing silence to take over the room.

Sorrel takes a good look at you as he spits out a piece of meat and puts it in a bowl labeled 'cysts’, turning his attention to the man next to you. “200 years. I don’t know what keeps you going. Maybe you just like the feeling of that good old California sunshine on your wrinkly-ass face. Or maybe you’re still looking for her. Maybe not though... this your girlfriend or somethin’?"

"You really think I’d shack up with some smoothskin? She ain’t even that pretty.” The Ghoul retorts, ignoring your offended look as he scrunches his newly sewn finger to make sure it's functional. “And I sure as hell ain't still alive so that I can have unintelligent conversations with dipshits like yourself."

“Mind your fucking mouth. That’s the president of the government you’re talking to.” Troy speaks up.

“Oh, you’re president now?” He raises a brow, “In that case, I am hearing a whole lot of chatter about some woman. Name of Moldaver. They call her the Flame Mother.”

This new information about a woman catches you off guard, as it's the first time you've heard about her on this journey. While the two men continue their conversation, you find yourself racking your brain as the mention of Moldaver triggers a memory in your mind. You vaguely recall whispers in the air about a woman who leads a group of people up in the mountains. Tension begins to build in the room as you find yourself deep in thought, analyzing her possible connection to the bounty you were originally after. You notice a shift in the dynamics between the men after The Ghoul taunts Troy about killing his father in Filly. It seems to have struck a nerve and Rex is ordered to take away Troy's weapons.

“Take him out back and feed him to the hogs,” Sorrel's harsh order snaps you out of your thoughts. "And this one might be good for the local brothel."

"Oh, hell no," you mutter as Troy pulls you up to take you away. Determined to fight back, you struggle to release yourself from his grasp, refusing to be taken without a fight. Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, causing chaos in the room. The Ghoul, seizing an opportunity, managed to grab Rex’s pistol and shot him.

With the distraction, you act quickly. In a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, you headbutt Troy, feeling the sharp pain of impact, and then tackle him to the ground. Overwhelmed by a surge of emotions and a fierce desire for survival, you unleash a flurry of tied fists striking his face repeatedly. Blood splatters across your face as you continue to pummel him. He’s surely dead by now but you can't stop - there is no way you are going to a brothel against your will.

Feeling a warm hand touch your shoulder, you are startled out of your frenzy. Looking up, you lock eyes with The Ghoul, who is standing over you with a small crooked smile playing on his lips. There is a glint of amusement in his gaze, as if he is savoring this violent side of you. His presence and subtle expression of approval offer a strange sense of validation for you.

“Goddamn it,” Sorrel exclaims in frustration, throwing his fork onto the table. As you slowly rise from the man you just bludgeoned to death, The Ghoul starts untying the rope around your wrists. Despite gloves covering his hands again, you find solace in his gentle touch as he works to release you from your bindings. Once finished, he strides over to the wall littered with wanted posters and tears off a sketch of a woman.

“I got one question for you, ol’ buddy. Why do you have this picture on your wall?” The Ghoul inquires, holding up the sketch.

“That’s Moldaver. Why?” Sorrel responds, a sense of curiosity evident in his voice.

“Well, that’s not how I remember her, is all,” He remarks cryptically.

“Yeah? Well, how do you remember her?”

The Ghoul doesn’t say a word and without further explanation he leads you both outside. The two of you stand facing each other in silence. He lets out a sigh and reaches for a dirty rag in his pocket, handing it to you without a word. You take it and begin to clean yourself up but it’s proves pointless as it’s just smearing the blood all over.

"Well, that didn't do shit," he remarks as he takes the rag back from you. His gaze scans the area until he spots a barrel of grimy water, prompting him to grab you by the base of your hair and drag you over to it. As he dunks your face into the water, you shout in protest, the shock of the cold liquid causing you to react instinctively. He lifts your head up and looks at you, his expression unreadable.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Do you just like waterboarding women in your free time?!" you yell angrily, spitting excess water onto his face.

"You're clean now," he states simply as he gestures to the now wet and cleansed skin on your face. “Come on, let’s get goin’.”

“Wait, you still want me around?” you question, surprised by his response.

“I saw you back there. Proved useful,” he acknowledges, wiping the spit off his face with a nonchalant expression. He starts walking away, and you instinctively follow his lead, the rhythm of his steps guiding you away from the ‘government’.

Trailing behind him for most of the day, you're left with nothing but the echo of your dream still etched in your mind. The surreal scene of a nuclear explosion as he touched you intimately felt oddly real, even in its absurdity. Your eyes study his form, his posture, the way he moves - every detail etching itself into your consciousness. He dunked you in cold, murky water, and yet here you are, daydreaming what it might actually feel like to have his body pressed against you.

Unknown to you, The Ghoul is wrestling with his own inner turmoil. The dream he experienced replays in his mind like a haunting loop, stirring up emotions he'd rather keep buried. He finds himself irrationally angry with you for making him feel so vulnerable, even though he knows it was just a dream. His mind is now filled with thoughts of you - the curves of your body, the softness of your lips, the gentle touch of your hands.

He feels the weight of your gaze on him, and it unnerves him more than he'd like to admit. His fingers clench tighter around the hunting knife hanging on his belt, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle he's experiencing. He doesn't dare glance back at you, afraid that the turmoil in his eyes might give away more than he intends.

"Will you stop starin'?" His abrupt words cut through the tension, causing you to freeze in your tracks. Embarrassment washes over you as you realize he's aware of your lingering gaze. Attempting to play it off nonchalantly, you open your mouth to respond, but only incoherent sputtering and mumbled words escape. He turns to face you, an intense gaze piercing you like a bullet.

“I am not staring,” you manage to assert, a hint of defensiveness in your tone. “I’m just focused on the path ahead.”

“Listen up, Smoothie. I ain't keepin' you 'round 'cause we're best buds. It's 'cause you're damn good at spillin' blood. So don't be gettin' any ideas about you and me sharin' heartfelt moments or takin' strolls in the wasteland." He snaps.

“What the fuck are you going on about?” You laugh, but then a realization dawns on you. "Oh, hang on.… Am I the reason your 'little friend' made an appearance this morning?"

“Now what do you mean litt-“ He cuts himself off abruptly, “Don’t flatter yourself, Smoothie. I ain’t one for sentimentality or... entanglements.”

A small smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, a reaction that visibly irks him, his annoyance evident in the way his features tighten. You can’t tell if he's contemplating strangling you or something even worse. Either way, there's a subtle thrill in knowing that you're the reason he’s so worked up. You approach him with a spring in your step and pat his chest, earning a fierce glare in return.

"Don't fret, sweetheart," you grin, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you use the endearing term, "I'll just pretend this never happened. Now, how about we find a spot to camp for the night?"

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @cheshirecat484 @capan-deveraux2 @rebelmarylou

[candycandy00]

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 1

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! I’m posting the first chapter just to check for interest. Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

The sky was red, and you hated it. You hated more the fact that you couldn't remember what it looked like when it was blue. The whole city looked like it was coated in blood. You saw enough blood already.

You walked along the littered, decaying streets of Gallica with a blue duffel bag on your shoulder. You kept the hood of your gray jacket pulled down over your head and your hands buried in your pockets. Standing out was never a good idea, at least not where they could see.

As you rounded a corner, you were suddenly sprayed with red liquid, and you only dared to steal a quick glance down the alley it came from. A body was tumbling to the ground, and you didn't even have time to see who it was or what sort of wound had drawn such a huge amount of blood. Your eyes had been drawn, in that brief moment, to the pair of black-clad figures standing frighteningly still beside the body. Their bi-colored eyes flicked upward, toward you, but you returned your gaze to the street in front of you and walked quickly away.

Your heart pounded and your hands trembled in your pockets until you were far enough down the street to safely assume they would not stop you. You knew what happened to those unlucky enough to somehow provoke the half-breeds, regardless of intention, so you hurried along toward the clinic without looking back once.

When you reached the small, rundown clinic, you were met at the door by a girl in a nurse's uniform who placed her hands on her hips and scowled at you. “You're late!”

You pushed by her and dropped the duffel bag from your shoulder, flopping it onto a nearby cot. You unzipped it and pulled out your own uniform. "My alarm clock didn't go off."

The other girl stood leaning in the door way as you stepped into an empty patient slot and slid the dirty curtain closed. "Terrian is gonna be pissed at you,” she said. 

You emerged from behind the curtain in a white button-up shirt that was a little too tight and a skirt that was way too short. “He'll get over it."

"Yeah, as soon as he see's you."

You laughed. "You're jealous, Anna."

"Because that perverted freak lets you get away with anything?" Anna asked. She was so petite that even the smallest, tightest uniforms Terrian had given them seemed to fit her just right.

"No, because I look better in the uniform."

Both of you laughed as you laid out your supplies on rickety metal tables, organizing them neatly into categories according to how often they were used. The alcohol, thread, and needles were first in line, followed by bandages, then ointments and creams.

The door leading to the main treatment room flung open and a man with shoulder-length, pale blonde hair tied into a short ponytail walked in. He wore wide-rimmed glasses and a lab coat covered in blood stains. He looked angry as he approached, glaring at you, but suddenly froze when he rounded the metal tables and the full length of you came into view.

He smiled brightly, wrapping you into a hug. "You wore it today!"

Anna rolled her eyes and brushed her bangs, the longest part of her auburn hair, away from her face with her hand.

You pulled free from Terrian and adjusted your ill-fitting clothes. "It's the only uniform I had clean."

"And it's my favorite," Terrian said, then glanced toward Anna. "Stingy Anna always wears pants, even though I beg her to wear the skirt with the slit up the side."

Anna gave him a dirty look and he gave her a grin in return. He looked over the supplies then held out a thick stack of papers. "Look at all this. These are all patients who left the clinic in the last month and haven't returned for their checkups. Next week I'll be making a lot of house calls."

Both you and Anna frowned. You hated it when Terrian made house calls. He was the only doctor at the clinic, and you two were the only nurses. Things were hectic enough with the three of you, but when he was gone, the clinic was thrown into absolute chaos.

"Anyway," he spoke up, "we have a lot of patients waiting already. Let's get to work!"

You and Anna had no formal training, had not even finished high school, but you had both been living on the streets three years ago when Terrian approached you about working for him. He taught you two the basics, and the rest you learned over time. In this city, injured people couldn't be picky.

Together, you and Anna wheeled your metal supply tables through the swinging doors into the main treatment area of the clinic. Cots were lined up in two rows, facing each other, for the entire length of the large room. There was only enough room for one person to walk between each cot, and all but a few were occupied. People were moaning, screaming, crying, or unconscious. Anyone not in mortal danger was sent home after being stitched or bandaged up.

Illnesses were not often treated, as serious diseases were most often fatal no matter what the doctor did, but injuries were extremely common. Blood dripped from nearly every cot in the room, and a few patients were bandaged to the point of looking like mummies. You and Anna had both learned quickly to develop strong stomachs.

The two of you were checking on a patient that had been brought in last night with a chopped off leg when Terrian came zooming past you, pushing a stretcher.

"Emergency surgery!" he called, disappearing into the room you had just changed in.

You both dropped what you were doing and ran after him, then stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you were through the doors, staring at the figure on the stretcher.

"Doctor, that's... one of them,” Anna said, her voice almost a whisper. 

The man on the stretcher wore an ornate military uniform - black pants and a long black jacket with golden buttons up the front and matching trim along the cuffs and collar. The uniform was instantly recognizable to every single person in the city, because only they wore them. His skin was ghostly white and his hair a jet-black mess scattered across his face.

Terrian was ripping that glorious black uniform from the man’s motionless body. "I know what he is, Anna, but he's still a patient. And right now, he's dying unless we can stop the bleeding."

You and Anna hesitated just inside the door, looking at each other and then back to the man. Anna shook her head. "I can't... I can't help him. Not after all they've done."

Terrian stopped and looked at her. At first, you were sure he would scold her, but he merely sighed and nodded. "I understand. Go tend to the other patients."

You watched the other girl leave, then turned to Terrian. He looked at you with a pleading expression. "He'll be dead within the hour if we don't do anything."

You took a deep breath, then rushed over to Terrian's side. He held out his hands while you poured alcohol over them, then rinsed your own. Looking down at the young man, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Almost human. His torso was exposed, revealing a long, deep cut across his abdomen that was gushing out blood. Funny how his body was absolutely impeccable, toned to lean perfection and resembling a stone statue, but marred by that huge red gash.

The cut was so long, and the bleeding so severe, that each of you began stitching on separate ends of the wound so that you would meet in the middle to tie things off. A sloppy job, yes, but the fastest route to closing the wound. He would heal faster than normal people, would probably be fine in a matter of hours, but only if you stopped the bleeding.

Once you and the doctor were finished, you again cleaned the wound and Terrian began bandaging the patient up. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asked when he was done, "It won't even leave a scar. Not on him."

You washed your hands in the nearby sink and thought of Anna. "It's not fair."

"Of course it's not," Terrian told you, wiping the blood from his hands on a stained towel. "Nothing in this world ever is.”

You dried your hands and walked again through the swinging doors. Anna was changing the bandages on a young girl's arm, but looked up when you approached. "How could you stand it? Helping that thing?"

"I didn't enjoy it, okay? But he would've died. This is a clinic, Anna. We're supposed to help dying people."

Anna stood up and stepped away from the young girl's bedside. "Yeah, people. Not them."

"But he's half human, isn't he? Isn't that enough?"

Anna snorted. "Was that enough to stop those creatures from barging into my house and slitting my mom's throat? Was it enough to stop them from crushing my brother's head under their boots? Was it enough to stop them from... from what they did to me?!"

You went silent. You didn't know what to say. You knew the half-breeds had killed most of Anna's family, but you had yet to hear any details before now. Finally, you reached out and took the other girl's hand. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm really sorry."

Anna pulled you into a hug. "I know. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. I just don't want to see you be hurt by them too."

"I don't think he's in a position to hurt anyone right now," you told her after you separated. "He's not even conscious."

Anna looked toward the swinging doors. "Be careful. Even when they look harmless, they're still dangerous."

You nodded, and wheeled your cart over to the other side of the room. You stopped at the bed of an elderly man who was missing both his feet. He was sweating and breathing heavily. You took his blood pressure and wrote the results in a tablet. He looked up at you with astonishingly kind eyes.

"If the nurses look like this, I'm gonna have to get my feet cut off more often," he said with a chuckle.

You pulled back the sheet to check his bandages. "You sure are a charmer, Mr. Renaldo," you said as you began unrolling the strips of cloth.

"Don't believe a word he says!" Anna called across the room, "I told him yesterday he could hold my hand while Terrian stitched him up and he said he'd rather hold my ass!"

Rhoswen stopped cleaning the bloody stumps where feet used to be long enough to lightly slap his shoulder. "You shameless flirt!"

He laughed and looked at the man in the bed next to him, who didn't seem to be in such good spirits. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

The other man gave a weak smile and looked away.

"Now now, let's not disturb the other patients," you said gently.

"Everybody's so glum. That's what those damn Pagoda want," he said.

You finished his bandages and patted him on the arm. You bent down and whispered to him, "Thanks for cheering us up, Mr. Renaldo."

The next few hours went by steadily but quickly, as you made your way around the room checking on people, giving out soup, changing bandages, and occasionally holding someone's hand while Terrian performed some sort of painful procedure.

Unfortunately, pain relievers were as rare and expensive as genuine jewels were in the olden days, when the sky was still blue. The only way to put a patient to sleep was to quite literally knock them out with a blunt instrument, which was a last resort.

The clinic was dirty and crowded and in shambles. The people were desperate, demanding, and understandably irritable. But you liked being there. You liked being with Anna and even Terrian, who could at least make you smile. You liked helping people who were suffering, because you enjoyed seeing a tiny flicker of hope in their eyes.

Because you could almost grasp a little bit of hope for yourself.

The clinic was all you had after your parents died. And everyday you dreaded returning to your tiny apartment where hope drained from every inch of you like red sun fading into black night. But at least you could always come back the next day, where you could laugh with Anna and everything else would fall away into dust.

It was almost time to go home, and all the patients had been taken care of. Anna left out the front door, not wanting to walk through the back room where she would have to see the lone patient on the stretcher.

You waved to Terrian, who was making one last run around the room to check everyone over, then walked into the back room. The young man was still unconscious and the rest of his clothes had been removed, a sheet draped over his body. You crept up to the stretcher and looked down, watching him breathe. After feeling certain that he was indeed unconscious, you walked into the empty patient slot you had changed in earlier and pulled the curtain closed.

You couldn't walk home in your uniform, as it was dangerous enough for a girl to be alone on the streets in the evenings, but wearing an outfit like that was a definite no. You quickly pulled it off, then reached for your jeans. But before you could even unfold them, you heard the curtain suddenly fly open.

You whirled around in anger, certain that perverted Terrian would be standing there grinning like an idiot. But you were not met with the smiling doctor, but the cold, expressionless face of the now conscious patient. His eyes, one blue and the other lime-green, bore into you, unblinking.

He was completely naked, save for the bandage across his abdomen, and you tried your best to keep your eyes on his face.

You suddenly realized that you were only in your underwear, and backed up until you bumped into a cot, holding your jeans in front of you. The man’s eyes never left you, and your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest. You had never been face-to-face with a half-breed before, not in this close proximity.

There was a pause, where both of you stared at each other for several moments, not moving. Then, in the blink of an eye, the man lunged forward and was inches away from you. You jerked backward, inadvertently ramming yourself into the cot where the metal collided with your bare back. You dropped to your knees, wincing.

When you looked back up, the half-breed was looming over you, and suddenly reached out one hand toward you. You had seen what the hands of half-breeds could do, had treated many a patient who had somehow ran into one of them. In fact, just today you had bandaged up a woman who's left arm had been pulled right off, like the wings off a fly, by a half-breed.

You curled into a defensive ball and screamed, your horrified voice ringing out through the clinic and undoubtedly to the buildings nearby.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

No Moon, No Stars

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, non-graphic descriptions of wounds and violence, heavy drinking, descriptions of making out, men being gross and controlling (nothing happens), slightly yandere!Frank if you squint, sunshine FINALLY standing up for herself

a/n: Hopefully this chapter is at least a little gratifying even though they haven't made up yet. You're halfway through the angst arc now, everyone. Resolution is coming! As always, please reply and reblog with your reactions/feedback!!

w/c: 4.5k

Jerking awake to the sounds of nonexistent screaming, Frank's eyes flew open, his limbs flailing to stabilize him as he nearly toppled out of bed. Gripping the headboard with one fist, he hauled himself upright, tugging at his sweaty hair with his other hand. His body was taught with stress and guilt, the images of your crumpling face and his wife's smile clashing in his brain relentlessly.

Something warm and slick trickled over his side. Absentmindedly swiping at what he thought was sweat, his thumb collided with a fresh set of stitches—sending a shock of pain through his skin.

Right. He'd been shot last night. Somewhere in a jumble of exhaustion and blind rage he'd neglected to protect his exposed waist while dismantling a trafficking operation.

After stumbling home with a palm pressed to the wound, he'd fished the bullet out and crudely stitched the gash before collapsing into bed for a mere 3 hours of unconsciousness. Apparently in the midst of a tumultuous sleep, he'd popped a few of the crappy sutures. Studying the blood that had coated his fingertips, he blew out a frustrated sigh, knowing this set of sheets and his shirt would need to be washed now.

Shoving that thought to the back of his mind, he slid off the bed, shuffling into the bathroom as every muscle in his body ached in protest. Despite his best intentions, his eyes landed on his reflection as the pallid bathroom light flickered on. His face was a mottled canvas of bruises—all in various stages of healing. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, accentuated by the parallel dark circles that had blossomed underneath them from his continuous loss of sleep.

He looked miserable. Pathetic. Broken. All of which were accurate descriptions and apt punishments for the hell he'd put his family through, put you through.

Gaze falling from the mirror, he scanned the various medical supplies still littering the bathroom counter, pulling out a fresh needle and thread from the mess. It took far too long to thread the damn thing, his hands trembling violently as he tried over and over to prep it. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to pull the filament through the eye.

Frank was no stranger to pain. In fact, he craved it. Pain was reliable, grounding. A focal point amidst life’s vile chaos. A reminder that he was alive, of what he had accomplished, what he'd been through. It was what he had left of his family, of Billy, of his past. Which is why he didn't regret it, or shy away from it. Not normally.

Until you'd come into his life, and everything had changed.

You were patient, sweet, and funny; You didn't judge him for his habits and quirks, you accepted him as he was. You treated him as if he was fragile, not out of pity, but out of kindness. You saw the pain he put himself through and made it your job to alleviate as much as you could. To help him bear the burden of everything he'd lost.

He had no idea what had compelled you to look twice at him, to treat him with respect and compassion so immediately. As far as he could tell, that's just who you were. The world continued to spew its current of cruelty and misfortune, and you'd smile through it–helping as many people remain afloat as you could.

It made no sense to him. You made no sense to him–which is why he found you fascinating. He was drawn to you in a way he hadn't expected to experience ever again. Every glance, every smile, every touch you'd given him...he had cherished them all. He still did.

Which is why each prick of the needle in and out of his skin was so agonizing. Every strike of the sliver of steel against his flesh was a reminder of what he'd given up when he broke off your friendship. The tenderness that he’d never feel again.

He regretted forcing you away, but it was necessary. If he didn't create distance...well, he had vague ideas of what would have happened given how far gone he already was for you. He couldn’t risk falling in love again. Not when Maria’s death still felt new to him or when he was still struggling to properly grieve. He couldn’t move one, didn’t want to move on–and it wouldn’t be fair to you or his family for him to try. So, he chose to distance himself.

The distance would help in time, but right now he was still weak.

It took every fiber of his resolve to keep from giving in to his deepest desires. To let Maria and Lisa and Frankie fade into oblivion for his own comfort. To crawl over to your place and beg for your forgiveness. To let you caress him and hold him and care for him in a way he didn't deserve.

But that wasn't an option for him anymore. He'd ruined that too.

Tearing his stained shirt over his head by the collar, he tossed it aside before tying off the new line of sutures. Breathing heavily, he held the needle in a white-knuckle grip before dropping it in the overflowing trash can. His vision blurred as he continued to stare wearily at the sink basin, tinged pink with remnants of his blood.

Cranking the sink on, he leaned forwards—resting his elbows on the grimy porcelain as he stuck his hands under the frigid stream. Bringing his face closer to the faucet, he threw a handful of water into his face, then another, using his fingers to rub it around and rid his skin of the leftover dirt and sweat he'd ignored last night.

Ripping the damp hand towel from its ring, he scrubbed at his face. With the evidence of his nightly activities washed off his hands and face, he stepped out the bathroom and returned to his mattress, tumbling onto the blood-streaked sheets with a shaky exhale.

Rocking your hips to the beat of the altered pop song, your lips parted with a grin as your hazy brain spun with the movement. You were pleasantly inebriated, limbs warmed from the inside by the few drinks you’d consumed moments ago. As you danced, the fabric of your short dress whisked over your thighs, letting the thick air of the club wrap around your exposed skin.

The atmosphere was stifling. Or, rather, should have been stifling. Given the alcohol in your system and your primal need to be held by someone, the closeness of the people around you was more comforting than bothersome. Linking your little finger with Stacy’s, your cheeks ached as your smile grew impossibly wider–the joy bubbling in your chest only encouraged by Stacy’s own enjoyment of the evening.

As the beat to a new song started playing, the small woman gasped, turning towards Leo who had been abandoned at the bar to fetch another round. “It’s our song, Leo!” She crowed, letting go of your pinky and shoving through the crowd towards your tall friend.

Swaying alone on the sticky floor, you wrinkled your nose as the bass blared wonkily for a moment. Once it had righted itself and the volume evened out, you hummed appreciatively, adjusting your movement to the tempo of the music.

The lack of a body leaning into yours allowed cooler air to surround you, making you shiver. Running a hand over your arms as they prickled, you exhaled in relief as you felt someone step in closer to you once again. “Thank god. I thought maybe you got lo–”

Turning to face them, the words retreated suddenly as you realized it was not Stacy returning with Leo in tow. Instead, an incredibly handsome, broad-shouldered man stood before you. His deep green eyes glinted in the flickering colored lights, as did his dangerously charming smile. Chuckling softly, he studied you with an expression all too similar to pity. “Expecting me, were you?”

Surprise wearing off, you found yourself unusually comfortable with the newcomer. Your biological desires were quickly taking a seat at the helm, overriding your critical thinking skills as you sidled towards the beautiful stranger.

“And what if I was?” You chirped seductively, hoping he could hear you over the music. His eyes widened and you tilted your head innocently.

“Then I’m sorry to have kept a beautiful thing like you waiting.” He apologized, holding out a hand to you. “I’m Blake, and you are?”

Shoving down the brief burst of displeasure at his comment, you introduced yourself. He chose to forego a handshake, instead bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing it delicately–making you giggle awkwardly.

A small voice in the back of your head pinged, trying to spark any persistent feelings of disgust over his demeanor, but your tequila-soaked brain wasn't listening. Curtsying clumsily in response, you beamed up at the man–the feeling of his five o’ clock shadow scratching against your clammy skin causing a shudder to roll down your spine. You couldn’t possibly be that touch starved, could you?

“So tell me,” Blake drawled, your name tumbling off his lips. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a shithole like this?”

Scoffing a laugh at his apt description of the run-down bar, you let him press in closer until he was practically on top of you. “Getting drunk, mostly. What brings you here?”

“Oh you know, mending a newly broken heart and all that.” He pouted, hanging his head dramatically as you brought your fingers up to run through his hair. Playing into what was likely a complete lie, your brow furrowed.

“Poor thing.” You cooed, tugging gently at his hair which was overly saturated with product. “Who would ever dare to break your heart?”

“Not you, would you sweetheart?” He asks raspily, scratching one finger on the underside of your jaw.

You shook your head, your dangling earrings chiming gently as they were swung back and forth. Cupping your chin, he pulled your face towards his. “Care to have some fun?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grinned at him, your flirtatious remark breaking off into a hitch of breath as he dove towards your neck. 

Tugging at the hem of his nondescript hoodie, Frank grit his teeth against the wave of annoyance that hit him. This bar was by no means his cup of tea. It was muggy and loud, packed to the brim with 30 year olds who were desperate to be 20 again. People trying too hard to be young, to be cool, to be liked. Assholes, the lot of them.

Taking a swig of his watered down beer, he clenched his hand around the glass as some preppy douchebag stumbled into him from behind.

“Woah, sorry man.” The kid chuckled, sending a sneer to his two friends as he held up a hand in faux apology.

Frank ignored him–turning back to his glass and the scantily clad employees behind the bar. The men laughed to themselves, wading into the crowd. As he felt himself bristle with annoyance, a familiar voice caught his attention.

“Another round of tequila shots, please!”

Sliding his gaze towards the speaker as innocuously as he could, he felt a wave of nausea when he spotted you. You were glistening from the heat of the bar, and probably the alcohol in your system, wearing a version of the beautiful smile that had haunted him all week.

His stomach twisted with a revolting combination of guilt and relief. After your awkward run-in when he took Max for a walk, he'd spiraled thinking about the sheer amount of alcohol you'd been carrying. Reason and conscience be damned, he wanted you to be safe. He needed you to be safe. So, when the hour of his evening had rolled around where his demons became unbearable without the help of liquor, he ventured down the street to this shithole rather than wasting away on his couch for the third night in a row.

He wasn't stupid. He knew why he ended up in the bar you'd repeatedly told him about–and it wasn't for a decently priced beer, of that much he was certain. He'd followed you here. Not literally–he'd just anticipated your plans accurately enough to be seated at the bar when you ordered your next drink.

And that was where the sparks of residual guilt over his blow-up had ignited a searing brand of shame deep in his gut. It was wrong to allow himself to close the distance between you after he’d demanded it so harshly. It was wrong to use his tactical knowledge to see your happiness again without your permission. More than anything it was still wrong to let himself crave your company even though he wasn’t over his wife–but he was helpless. Regardless of what he'd said and done, you were still firmly embedded under his skin.

Flagging down the bartender, Frank ordered a stiffer drink. Once the double pour of whiskey was in his grasp, he threw it back, stifling a grimace as it burned his tongue and throat. Nodding his thanks, he passed over a few bills to cover his tab, turning to stand from the stool and retreat to his apartment to atone for his decisions.

As he planted his feet on the wobbly floor boards, the aggressively fluorescent lights flashed over the crowd. His eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of yuppies on the dance floor whose mouths were interlocked. Another flare from the strobe illuminated the woman as she broke the kiss, and his heart sank.

Watching you bashfully blink your doe eyes at the asshole who'd nearly bowled him over 20 minutes ago was enough for him to spin back towards the bar. Yanking another handful of bills from his pocket, he ordered another double.

A pleased noise escaped you as lips touched your pulse point, locking onto the spot with fervor. Knees buckling, you let Blake tug you flush against his body as he drew back with a hefty exhale. “Liked that, huh? You’re a proper little slut. Out looking for a man in that skimpy dress.”

His chuckle turned almost sinister, your heart clenching as he insulted you. Smile weakening, you grit your teeth. He’s just trying to turn you on. You reminded yourself. You aren’t going home with him. It doesn’t matter if he’s nice.

Gripping your nape between his fingers, he yanked you upwards, locking his lips around yours when you parted them to allow his tongue entry. The kiss was sloppy. His nose mashed against yours with bruising force, his teeth clashing with yours as he asserted dominance. Your tongue slid against his, tasting the dry whiskey he’d apparently chugged before trying to devour you.

It wasn’t enjoyable, necessarily, but at least you knew what he was looking for. Sadly, it once again seemed that your interests didn't align. What was with you recently? A man was literally throwing himself at you and suddenly you weren't desperate for male attention? Mood souring, your heart sank into your stomach like a rock through water. The moment was over, and you needed to make your escape.

Unlatching his mouth from yours as you gave his chest a small shove, you laughed quietly. “Sorry handsome, need to catch my breath.”

Grinning deviously, he shrugged. “I don’t mind, sweetheart.” Diving back towards your neck, he licked a stripe under your jaw before beginning to drop nips and open-mouthed pecks in a line towards your clavicle.

Across the room, you caught a glimpse of your friends’ amused looks, a particularly bright beam from a nearby strobe light illuminating them in the distance. Sending an annoyed look back, their perception was the nail in the coffin. As Blake started to grind his pelvis towards your hips, you tried to untangle yourself from his hold.

“I’m so sorry, handsome. My friends are looking for me. Can we put a pin in this?” You asked, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes in an attempt to lessen his suspicions about your abrupt exit.

“Sure,” The guy was definitely miffed, the smile he flashed you nowhere close to reaching his eyes. “I'll just...grab another drink while I wait.“

Shoving down the guilt that blossomed in your chest as you lied to him, you waved goodbye and slid through the crowd towards your friends.

They were already on the edge of laughter when you reached them. You felt heat flood your cheeks as they gave you pitying looks.

”Time to eject?“ Leo asked, seemingly ok with the idea as they offered up your belongings that they'd been holding on to for safe keeping.

Nodding sheepishly, you took your purse from their outstretched hand. ”I thought it would help. It didn't. Can we go?“

”Ugh, already? We just got here!“ Stacy whined, her normal indifference relinquished about three shots ago.

”Stace–“ Leo patted her shoulder, sending a pointed nod towards you.

”It's ok, you two can stay, I'll just take a cab.” You assured, slinging your purse strap over your shoulder.

“Absolutely not, princess. You're stuck with us.” Stacy sighed, tossing the remainder of Leo's drink into her mouth before hopping down from her high-top seat.

“You owe me three dollars for that, missy.” Leo shook their head following the two of you as you maneuvered towards the door.

Given the size of the crowd, you weren't too worried about Blake spotting you. The lights were dim and strobing in random directions, your dress was cute but not particularly flashy. One variable you'd neglected to consider, however, was your ability to attract the worst case scenario at every opportunity.

As you and your friends wove through the crowd, your path was suddenly blocked by a sturdy man. The alcohol on his breath carried as he spoke. “Leaving so soon?”

Blake, backed by two men who could've been football players, frowned at you, eyes glowing with a barely concealed threat.

“Sorry, handsome!” You tried for a calm tone, but your voice and posture both wavered. Shrinking back ever so slightly, you turned your lips up in an attempt to explain. “Family emergency, I couldn't see you anywhere and thought–”

“Cut the crap.” Blake hissed, any charm he'd been using before was long forgotten.

“Ok fine. I recently got out of a...relationship of sorts and bit off more than I could chew. I'm sorry to have led you on, but I'm not ready to do anything tonight.” You reasoned, feeling Leo's hand rest on your shoulder in a display of support.

“And you think that's your decision to make?” The man to Blake's left snorted.

Disbelief and rage building in your chest, you crossed your arms. “Uh yah. I do, actually.”

The three men widened their stance, clearly trying to prevent you from leaving. Realization slowly dawned on you, your limbs going stiff as adrenaline flooded your body.

Leo wormed his way in between you and the aggressors, using their body as a barricade. ”Look, I get that this night isn't going how you imagined, but she doesn't owe you anything. Move aside and let us through.“

”Or what, pretty boy?“ The goon on the right side asked with a cocky smirk.

“They said get out of our fucking way, asshat.“ Stacy called, shoving her way between you and Leo and attempting to get past the human blockade.

You must've blinked at the exact moment the movement started, because you opened your eyes and everything had gone to shit. As Stacy pushed forward, she was thrown back into you. You both crashed to the ground, your head clanking against a chair leg in the process. Though the impact wasn't that hard, you were already slightly dizzy because of the alcohol you'd consumed, making the collision incredibly unpleasant.

Clambering back to your feet, you felt a pair of rough hands land on your shoulders. Your vision was swimming in all the commotion, the flashing lights behind you making the effect much worse, so the sensation of distinctly male hands against your bare skin made you screech.

Flailing away from him, you attempted to grapple your way to freedom. ”Let me go. Blake, I swear. Let me go or I'll scream.”

Whipping your head around to look for a way out, a familiar voice caught you off guard. “It's just me, sunshine. Just me.”

Your breath shook as your heart pounded in your throat. tilting your head to face forward, your clouded vision centered around a face you had been trying to forget.

Frank Castle was clad in his usual dark attire, surely dying of heat under his sweatshirt and beanie in the humidity of the bar. His face held a stony mix of fury and concern, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury.

For a moment, it seemed like time had stopped. You were frozen in place, staring incredulously at your rescuer. Apparently you'd been on the ground for longer than you thought, given that your friends were currently being escorted out by bouncers around the three vengeful men who were writhing in pain on the ground.

Mouth slightly ajar, you stared at Frank as your brain frantically tried to corral the myriad of emotions pinging around in your mind. Amazement and relief, then awe–quickly followed by hurt and pure anger.

Yanking yourself out of his grip, you shut your mouth forcefully as rage began to consume you. Before you could say anything, an irritated bouncer pointed a finger at you.

“You two, out. Now.”

Nodding in resignation, Frank reached for you again. “A'right, a'right. We're leavin'.”

“The fuck we are.” You bit out, glaring at him. “I'm not going anywhere with you, Frank.”

“Lady, don't make me haul your ass outta here.” Groaned the bouncer, not giving a single shit about your emotional distress.

“Give me a minute,” You grumbled, bending down to pick up your purse before you instigated anything else. As your gaze left Frank's face, you were left unguarded, his massive hands engulfing your waist and scooping you up to carry you out. “Christ! Frank, put me down!”

The large man ignored you, letting you meekly pummel him with your fists and hurl expletives at him as he carted you out of the bar. Eventually, crisp air wafted over your bare skin and Frank set you down on the concrete outside of the establishment.

The jarring shift from being draped over his shoulder to standing on your own two feet wasn't one your constitution could handle at the moment. Stumbling over the sidewalk, you splayed your hands out to regain your balance. Righting yourself, you saw Frank go to steady you and your bitter wrath boiled over.

“Absolutely not. Don't fucking touch me, Frank.” Arms crossing over your stomach, you curled in on yourself, backing away from him. His eyes widened, face stiffening into a grim expression.

“Ok, ok. I won't touch ya.” He withdrew his hands, intentionally exaggerating the movement to calm you down.

“Don’t touch me.” You murmured, huddling in your own embrace as your throat constricted. 

“Would ya rather I let you get thrown out yourself? Worse, you want me to let you get arrested?” Frank's scowl transitioned into a cocky smirk at the idea.

“Why?” You asked with a huff.

“Why..what?” He snorted, eyes sparkling with far too much pride for what he’d done. 

“Why do you care?” You threw your arms in the air. “I mean I’m sure you’re very busy taking care of people who actually matter to you.”

With a scoff, Frank's eyes flashed with displeasure–a reflection of the resentment in your tone. “Oh so that’s how it is?”

“Yeah that’s how it is, Frank. I didn’t need your help.” You pouted, arms wrapping back around yourself as your throat constricted.

“Sure. Next time I’ll let you stay on the floor like a piece of fuckin' furniture. Would that make ya happy?”

“I had it handled.” You groused, avoiding his eyes, though he saw right through your lie anyway.

Laughing sardonically at your childish argument, he nodded. “Sure you did, sunshine. Next time I’ll let you ‘handle it” ok?”

“Next time? What, like I’m some damsel in distress that needs a big man to come save her because she’s too helpless to take care of herself?” You were yelling now, attracting gazes from bystanders around the club.

“I wasn’t sayin’ that.” His jaw was set, an indication that he wasn't in the mood to listen to you. But you weren't about to let this slide after what he'd put you through.

“Then what were you saying, Frank? Because it sounds like you suddenly care if a man forces himself on me.” Tears were blurring your vision against your will. Hastily wiping them aside, you bit your tongue to avoid choking out a sob at the memory of leaving the construction site.

“Suddenly? What–” Anger momentarily vanishing, his face fell at the notion.

“Don’t play dumb, Frank, you’re  a man, you know how men think. How they act. How they... Don’t try to pretend that you give a shit now.” You glowered, keeping your eyes trained to the ground so he couldn't see them shining with your frustrated tears.

“I’m not–who forced themself on you?” Changing his focus mid-sentence, he stepped forward, as if to cradle you to his chest but you shuffled away stubbornly.

Despite your futile attempts to keep your face from betraying you, droplets of saline trailed down your cheeks as you laughed bitterly. “Who do you fucking think? You think those douchebags at your work only whale on you? No, a humiliated little girl is a lot less of a challenge.”

“Fuck, honey, I didn’t–” Tugging his hair, Frank growled

“I know you didn't. Because I'm not your wife, Frank.” Your voice broke as you voiced the words. “I’m not your ‘anything’ am I? Just another mistake to regret later, right?”

“Another mistake?” Frank called your name mournfully, his eyes locked on your crumpled face as you sobbed quietly just out of his reach.

 “Just… go home, Frank. I'll handle my own shit ‘next time’. Wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

Digging the heel of your hand into your glassy eyes, you saw Leo and Stacy jogging towards the pair of you, elbowing people out of the way. Striding past Frank, you didn't bother to look back before running to your friends.

”Are you ok?“ Leo, who was sporting a split lip, tilted your face up with two fingers, examining it while Stacy wrapped you in a one-armed hug.

”Yah.“ You exhaled shakily, your body tense from recent events and unused adrenaline. ”Can we get out of here?”

Pressing a kiss to your head, Leo nodded. “Of course. C'mon, you two are staying at mine tonight.”

As you were waiting for a taxi, you snuck a glance over your shoulder, but the man you'd chewed out was nowhere to be found.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 8

“If I ever were to lose you, I’d surely lose myself”

A/N: This chapter has taken me weeks to write, but I am so happy with the final results. This is another doozy, so tread carefully. Thank you for your endless support and love. 🤍

~word count: 7.0k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: Joel tells you what happened to him and Ellie before they returned to Jackson.

Warnings: angst, anxiety, trauma, mentions of death, child loss, grief, fluff, flirting, another almost kissing situation, lots of flashbacks, mentions of a miscarriage, mild alcohol consumption, Joel gets a little shy, hurt, comfort, protective! Joel, Joel whump, mentions of alcohol consumption, self deprecating thoughts/actions, anger, frustration, alluding to past traumas, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, reader's nickname is beanie (coffee beans) +18, minors dni! heed the warnings please this is a very very heavy chapter.

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Angie was a real sweetheart. A country classic that you’d want to play over and over again. Toffee butter sweet with pure southern charm. She was one of the kitchen staff ladies working in the mess hall. She loved to cook. She prepared food straight from her soul that warmed the hearts, and kept all the bellies full in Jackson. Her bubbly spirit was a decoy to mask her ceaseless grief that weighed heavy on her mangled heartstrings that were poorly sewn back together with a dull needle and thread. She recently went through a misscarriage. The brutal endless cycle of life in all its beauty and cruelty swinging like a pendulum. Angie was forever grateful when you and Joel appeared on her doorstep with Honey the fawn tucked protectively in your arms.

“She miscarried last fall. Right before the leaves started turnin.’” He whispered softly to you as he reached up and thrummed his knuckles against the chipped paint on the wooden doorframe.

Angie struggled to let go of her loss. She held onto the hand-me down infant clothes. The baby booties, swaddling cloths and the bottles. Grief causes even the strongest people to break as the world as they know it shatters around them. They try to claw and grasp what little remains of that person, whether they existed in the world yet did not matter. Angie took one look at that innocence bundled in your arms and she immediately darted off to the kitchen. She returned moments later with a swaddling cloth and baby bottle that showed the faint remnants of little hearts and flowers. The decals were peeling upwards like a bandaid, but it was a small token of kindness that this poor woman had to offer for the cost of nothing.

Joel thanked her with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. Tender hands that could bruise, tender hands that could heal.

Angie only could nod as she quickly wiped away her dewy tears that rolled down her cheeks and dripped down the curve of her chin. Her eyes were glassy, her lower lip trembled under the soft blooming glow of the porchlight overhead. She reached one quivering hand out to gently stroke the soft fur on Honey’s head.

A moment of silence followed by the swishing sound of the front door slamming shut.

Oh, Angie. You deserved so much better than the cards you were dealt.

The walk back to Joel’s home was one in deafening silence. He kicked a stray rock along the ground with the toe of his boot as his arms hung at his slides. He appeared to be deep in thought as you tried to meet his gaze. He was as hard as a stone with furrowed brows. Grief was so prominent, even in a town that was built around ‘peace.’ Grief was there in every corner. Every crack and crevice down to a grain of rice. Even in a garden of Eden, grief sprouted from the stems.

“She likes you.” He murmured gently as he pushed open his front door with a soft huff through his chapped lips. “Honey.” He added.

“I hope she survives the night.” Was the first thought that popped up into your mind as you met his thoughtful gaze.

“She will. She’s n’good hands with you’n me.” He reassured you as his hand came to gently rest along your lower back as he nudged you tenderly inside as the front door softly swung shut behind you.

Honey had curiously peeked her head up from the safety of your flannel to observe her new surroundings as you slowly walked towards the well loved couch in the living area. Your knees cracked noticeably as you sank down onto the cushion.

“Y’want anythin’ to eat or drink while I warm some milk up for our little one?” Joel asked you as he padded towards the kitchen. Seconds later you heard the soft squeak of the refrigerator door opening as you sunk further into the plush cushions.

“Oh, that’s alright. Thank you for asking.”

“Not a problem, darlin.’” He hummed soothingly under his breath as he turned the burner on the stove. Once the milk was adequately warm, but not too hot, he poured it into the baby bottle. It was hard for a wave of nostalgia to not pass through him as he slowly blinked.

“S’matter baby girl? Y’want your baba? S’okay, daddy’s gonna get it for ya.” a considerably younger Joel spoke to baby Sarah in her crib. On the nights she couldn’t sleep, he’d fix her a warm bottle of milk and rock her to sleep on the old rocking chair that he and Tommy built with their bare hands. He’d sing lullabies in her ear and kiss her little head of soft curls.

Fuck.

He stared down at the baby bottle that was nearly engulfed by the sheer mass of his hand as his thumb slowly brushed across one of the peeling faded floral decals.

Fuck.

Keep it together, Joel.

Be still, my foolish heart. Be still.

Please.

God, please.

I’m good.

I’m fine.

Really, I’m okay.

God, she was so tiny.

Used to nearly fit in the palm of my hand.

Remember when she would cry and cry and cry?

Only person that could calm her down was you.

“Joel?” Your voice sounded so far from his reach as if he was across the ocean desperately trying to hone in the almost sweet music of your voice. Not here, not now. Please. He couldn’t shake the feeling of crisp trepidation as he slowly sunk down to his knees in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Breathe.

Breathe.

In and out.

Through your nose, out through your mouth.

Y’can do it.

She was so tiny. So pure. She was my babygirl.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to wail and throw his fists up towards the heavens but instead he sat in stoic silence as his ears rang like a mocking symphony that had him cowering from the harsh reality that he was presently facing.

“Joel?..” There you were again, but closer. Much closer as you went to investigate. The sight that laid before you took your breath away in a morbid fashion. Joel Miller on his knees looking like a man that had the weight of the world constantly pushing down on his aching shoulders. He was vulnerable in this state. He looked ten times smaller with his chin tightly tucked into his collarbone as if he was trying to appear as small as physically possible.

Your heart split in two to see him in this state as you slowly sank down to your knees in front of him. Grief was indescribable. It gnawed at a person with jagged teeth and sharp claws. A constant reminder that what you once held in your grasp, was no longer attainable. It was ripped from the roots, dry and brittle as precious life is stolen so swiftly.

His lips moved as he struggled to speak. To say anything, but nothing. No words could be formed as he stared down at the bottle in his hand. The slightest flinch from your unsuspecting touch upon his cheekbones as the palms of your hands gently caressed his face. “You okay?..” You asked in a hushed tone, keeping the octave of your voice level and gentle.

“No.” He murmured in defeat as his freehand slowly traveled up the length of your arm before resting along your cheek with the utmost delicate care.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You wanted to give him that choice. The open space to speak his feelings only if he chose to.

“Dunno. I jus’ needed to sit down.” He confirmed with a soft wheeze as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“That’s okay, Joel. Sitting is good. It’s alright to rest. I’m right here.” You were, and you weren’t going anywhere.

“She was jus’ so tiny. Tiniest lil bean. With the cutest toes. A button nose. Used to have to give her a bottle at night when she couldn’t sleep. Would sit with her in the rockin’ chair for hours, singin’ her lullabies.” He croaked out as his chin slowly lifted as his dull faded eyes met yours.

You knew he was speaking of Sarah, and you also recognized his silent desperation for comfort. The baby bottle clutched in his trembling hand was the root cause for his current episode. Loss was so difficult to rationally explain sometimes. It was something that couldn’t be journalized as being the same for every person, because every single human being reacted in a different way. Loss was universal, and inevitable, but dealing with the grief that followed was structurally diverse in its nature.

“She was one lucky baby, getting to have you as her father. She loves you so much, Joel. She’s right here.” You slowly dropped one of your hands down from his face and gently rested it against the left side of his chest, right where his heart lay. “She’s always going to be right here.”

“Jus’ miss her so much. S’been creepin’ up on me lately. Feel like I’m seein’ her everywhere.” He felt discouraged as he slowly shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Thank you for being here with me. You don’t understand how much that means to me. To have..someone jus’ understand me.”

“I know how much you miss her, Joel. It’s better to let yourself feel everything instead of bottling it all up. I know how much it means to you. I’ll always be here to listen, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Hope to have you till the end of my days.

“Should–should probably give this to Honey before it gets too cold..” He trailed off as his thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone.

“Do you want to give it to her?..I bet she’d love it if you did. After all, you are the one who saved her.” You offered purely to encourage him only if he desired to.

“I’d love that. Help me up? Knees are feelin’ a little stiff.”

“Mine too.” You murmured as you slowly stood up and offered him your hand.

A ghost of a smile crossed over his features as he grasped your hand in his and pulled himself up from the floor.

He followed you into the living room where Honey was curled up in a fluffy little ball on the end of the couch. Her head perked up when she could smell the milk in the bottle as she struggled to stand on wobbly legs. Joel was right there to aid her as he gently scooped her up under his arm. Her fluffy little white tail wagged excitedly as she let out soft little bleating noises that sounded more like squeaks if anything.

“S’alright, baby. Got your bottle right here f’ya. Daddy’s got it for ya.” He softly cooed to the tiny creature.

You swore you saw a silent tear trail down his weathered cheek when Honey began to nurse from the baby bottle all the while he was gently petting down her tawny colored ears, and humming under his breath soothingly.

When Honey had consumed every last drop from the bottle she curled up right against Joel’s chest. She felt safe in the presence of you and Joel, which was quite obvious from the way she made herself right at home. Joel was careful to not disturb the sleeping creature as he reached his arm over and set the now empty bottle onto the nearby coffee table. The two of you fell into a comfortable relaxed silence, until the rumbling of Joel’s stomach interrupted it. The last meal he had was around breakfast time, and there wasn’t much substance to it. A cup of coffee, slightly rubbery scrambled eggs, and toast with butter. His appetite had been long forgotten since he and Tommy had stumbled upon the gruesome scene of the deceased doe while on patrol. Time seemingly had gone by in a whirlwind, and judging by the late evening light, it was far past dinnertime.

He shifted uncomfortably when his stomach rumbled again. This time it caught your attention from where you were sitting on the opposite end of the couch. You were currently reading one of Joel’s many coffee table books. Exploring Space, Dinosaur facts, The American Mustang, Woodworking for Dummies. You had chosen The American Mustang, and as soon as you heard his stomach grumble for the 5th time, you gently closed the book with your finger holding the page down before you looked over at him.

“Did you eat today, Joel?”

“Jus’ a bite of breakfast this mornin.’ Coffee, toast, and slightly rubbery eggs. Had the pan on a bit too high.” He softly responded as he lifted his chin slightly in your direction.

“I didn’t have much to eat today either. I could make us something?”

“Darlin,’ you ain’t gotta do that. You’re my guest after all. It wouldn’t be right if I just let ya cook f’me.” He was already attempting to gently lift Honey from her curled up position on his chest when you reached your hand out and gently grasped his forearm.

“Joel, it’s okay. I really don’t mind at all. We both should eat something.” You gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze before you pushed yourself up from the couch.

His eyes slowly followed your movements into the kitchen as he let out a deep sigh. “Y’know, it’s times like these where I wish that takeout still existed. What I wouldn’t do for a pizza right now.” He mumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Dominos, or Papa Johns? You better answer wisely, Miller.” You peeked your head around the corner with a playful smile playing on your lips.

“S’that even a question? Papa Johns. I’d order extra of those goddamn garlic sauces because the amount they gave you was truly never enough. I wish they would have started selling it in tubs or somethin.’” He stifled a chuckle. “Dominos was a last minute resort that I regretted every goddamn time.”

“That garlic dipping sauce was to die for. There was also that really good family owned pizza place on Main Street. Napoli Per Tutti I think is what it was called? They had the best Neapolitan pizza that I ever had the pleasure of trying.” You chatted casually as you opened his fridge.

“Darlin,’ you’re killin’ me over here with all this pizza talk. I actually never tried that place before. Sarah mentioned it a few times, but we Millers like to stick to our roots.” He chimed in as he managed to very carefully, and very gently, move Honey off of his chest and onto the couch where he then proceeded to cocoon her in a blanket that was draped across the armrest of the couch.

“I don’t know the first thing about making a Neapolitan pizza, but I can certainly try? That’s assuming that you have all the basic ingredients of course.” You could hear the wooden floorboards creak under the weight of his feet as you slowly turned around with your arms across your chest. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

He sheepishly grinned and rubbed the back of his neck with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Can’t stay away when there’s pizza involved, darlin.’”

“Fair enough. All we’ll need for the dough is flour, yeast, water, salt, and I think olive oil?”

“Well, we definitely have flour..water and salt. Olive oil maybe, but does it expire? I haven’t done much cookin’ around here lately so I really don’t know what I've got in the cupboards.” He stepped around you with his arm just barely grazing yours as he opened up one of the many cupboards in the kitchen. “I’ll be damned. Guess we do have yeast and olive oil jus’ layin’ around here.” He reached for the packet of yeast and the bottle of olive oil before setting them down on the counter.

There was something oddly comforting for the two of you to be putzing around the kitchen like an old married couple. You fit right into Joel’s domestic budding life without even grasping the idea of it just yet. You worked together at making the dough, but once it came down to the kneading part, you let Joel take over. Maybe it was your cheeky plan all along to see his hands at work, or perhaps it was totally innocent. Regardless, it was hard to not let your wandering eyes drift across his exposed skin where he had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel revealing strong, veiny forearms. Some areas of his skin were littered in scars, and indentations from years of survival, but his hands were the main part of the show. Strong, weathered, yet gentle as he didn’t want to knead the dough too much. The tendons in his fingers flexed as his eyes drifted upwards towards you.

Gotcha.

“Like what ya see?” He rasped with a teasing grin.

Fuck, were you really staring that long?

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as a nervous laugh bubbled up your throat. You struggled to find your words. “Joel, i’m so sorry I shouldn’t–”

“Hey, Beanie? S’alright. You can stare for as long, and as much as you’d like.” He reassured you with a slight nod of his head.

So, this is where you flirt back.

OH!

Right.

“You just..have really attractive hands.” You murmured softly.

Joel cocked a brow at your answer as he looked over at you. “My..hands? What about ‘em are attractive?” He held the same genuine curiosity like the time you had complimented his eyes.

“Well they’re just..strong looking? Maybe that’s not the right verbiage that I'm going for here.” You trailed off.

“S’you don’t mind that they’re a lil rough lookin'?’ Take this hand for example, I’m pretty sure it never really properly healed after I beat the livin’ daylights outta a FEDRA soldier shortly after Tess and I agreed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Sometimes I’ll get like these ghost pains n’my knuckles is what I like to call ‘em.” He shrugged as he grabbed a towel to wipe the flour off from his hands.

“No, I don’t mind at all. I’d honestly be surprised if your hands weren’t at least a little bit damaged. Y’know? I get what you mean with the ghost pains. I get them too, but usually in my wrists and ankles. It’s almost like a tingling sensation.”

Joel felt his heart slowly sink to the pit of his stomach like the sun gradually dipping behind the horizon. It was easy for him to draw the conclusion as to why you’d feel these sensations in your wrists and ankles. There were visible scar indentations along the inside of your wrists. Based on the scarred tissue, it was probably due to them being bound together by zip ties, rope, or possibly even chains. He felt a shiver roll down his spine when he remembered the charred women in the forest having their wrists and ankles bound together by chains.

“Well, I think your hands are beautiful too, Beanie.” He murmured.

I think you're more beautiful than the stars, sun, and moon combined.

You smiled at him. That same soft smile that sent his heart beat skipping every time he was graced by the simple beauty of it. It was as if there was a magnetic force between the two of you that was working on overdrive to bring the two of you closer in proximity.

“Thank you, Joel. I’ve got a real nasty nail biting habit that spurs up every so often. I guess..after you brought me home from the bar, I absolutely tore my nails to shreds, but I had no recollection of it happening..”

“If it makes ya feel any better, I also have a nasty habit of picking at the skin around my nails till it bleeds. Ellie’s yelled at me for it numerous times, but no matter what I do, I can’t stop.”

“Maybe we can help each other break these habits? Or, at least show encouragement when we’re struggling?” You suggested.

“Yeah, I'd like that a lot actually. It’ll be a good way to hold ourselves accountable. Lord knows I need to sometimes.” He agreed. “Well, this dough is gonna have to sit for a bit before we can roll it out..whad’ya wanna do in the meantime?” He had his hands resting along the edge of the countertop that was lightly dusted in flour as he awaited your response.

“That’s a good question. Do you happen to have any records? Maybe we could listen to one? I have a good feeling in my bones that you have impeccable music taste.” You mused with a small grin spreading across your lips.

“Y’know, I actually do have a box of records in the living room. They ain’t mine, unfortunately. They were here when I moved in. There’s a lot of classics in the collection though. I’m sure we can find somethin’ that we both enjoy.” He tilted his head towards the direction of the living room.

You let Joel lead the way as he showed you the box containing the records. There was everything from the Beatles, Prince, Queen, Zeppelin, Frank Sinatra, and so on. “Well,” You started, “whoever lived here, clearly loved their music.”

“Ain’t that right.” his tone was slightly rasped as you made yourself comfortable on the floor with your legs crossed.

“You want a pillow?” He asked softly. “Might be a lil’ more comfy.”

You gave him a small nod in response as you began to carefully flip through the record albums.

He grabbed two pillows from the nearby couch without disturbing Honey before he joined you on the floor.

“Who’s your favorite? I know it’s a tough choice t’make. I don’t even think I could narrow mine down to five.” He chuckled warmly as he rested his weight back on his hands.

“Oh, gosh. I also don’t know if I could narrow it down..Stevie is definitely at the top of my list.”

“Ah, yeah. She was incredible. I was a big fan of Linda Ronstadt back in the day. Although, growin’ up, there wasn’t a song or artist that I didn’t enjoy.”

You slowly looked over at him as your fingers gently played with a torn edge on one of the records. “Was music a big part of your life?..Before, y’know.” You chose your words carefully as you watched him take a deep inhale.

“Yeah, it was. Used to be a big dreamer, believe it or not. Always wanted t’be a singer. Taught myself how to play the guitar, wrote a few songs here and there. None of them were very good, but I got a lotta joy out of it. Then when Sarah was born, I knew I had’to hold down a real job, and push that dream to the backburner. Spent a lot of time playin’ the guitar for her though. She loved it. Used to tease me n’tell me that I had a god awful singin’ voice.” He snickered.

Your giggle was soft, sweet, floating like a warm breeze. “Hey, I’m sure your singing isn’t that bad! It's wonderful that you found a lot of joy in that hobby. What about now? Do you still play the guitar here and there? Perhaps..sing in the shower like the rest of us?”

“Wouldn’t ya like t’know?” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully in your direction. “Yeah, I’ve picked it up here n’there. Started writin’ some lyrics as well. Maybe..one day I can play for ya? Give ya your own lil’ private concert, front row.”

“Yeah, you dork. That’s why I'm asking!” You giggled. “Wow, a private concert, just for me? Well, I'd be honored.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, “don’t go gettin’ your hopes up jus’ yet, but I think I can manage.” He shot you a subtle, yet playful wink. “Now, whad’ya got there? Frank Sinatra, You Make Me Feel So Young?”

“An oldie, for the oldies.”

“I ain’t that old, darlin.’” He scoffed playfully.

“Mhm. Let’s face it, we’re a little old, but silver looks good on you.”

“Not nearly as good as it looks on you.” He countered smoothly.

“Charming.”

“Jus’ tellin’ the truth, darlin.’”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You were looking directly into his eyes which naturally sent a blush rising to his cheeks. Yeah, he had it pretty bad.

“Y’wanna give it a listen?” He offered with a sheepish grin.

“Absolutely.”

He reached for the vinyl, fingers gently brushing yours as he gently removed it from your grasp before he stood up. He shuffled over to the nearby record player that had been neglected for years. He blew off a bit of dust buildup that had naturally settled along the surface before he placed the vinyl down carefully.

The needle slowly fell into place as the old turntable crackled to life, flooding the small expanse of the room in sweet music.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel so Spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual

Joel watched the way your eyes suddenly lit up, bright, glassy, beautiful. Your energy was infectious as his knuckles lightly thrummed along the hardwood. He wanted to ask you to dance, to make up for what happened at the Tipsy Bison. Why was he so apprehensive? What did he have to fear?

Connection. Intimacy. Devotion.

You seemed to recognize the inner turmoil he was presently facing almost immediately. The nervous thrumming of his knuckles, the way his brows furrowed inward as if he was deep in thought. The light unmistakable pursing of his lips.

“Hey, Joel?”

He blinked once before his eyes hesitantly met yours, “Yeah, darlin?’”

“You wanna dance with me?..It can be like a redo for our first date?” Your thoughtful suggestion was as comforting as a warm summer breeze as his fingers absentmindedly inched closer towards yours.

“Y’wanna make up for that night?..Beanie, we don’t gotta–I mean..only if you want to?” He was nearly stumbling over his words by the time you had gently grabbed his hand and interlaced your fingers through his.

“C’mon,” You replied with a small smile tugging on the corner of your lips. “Dance with me, Joel.”

His hesitation was evident, at first, but your gentle smile, and kind eyes eased his nerves as you both slowly stood to your feet. You could feel how clammy his palm felt around your own as his other hand slowly dropped to his side. He wanted to hold your waist, but after everything that happened, he was apprehensive.

“It’s okay, Joel.” You reassured him as your free hand dipped down to his side and delicately wrapped your hand around his wrist before coaxing his hand to rest around your waist.

“I’m a shit dancer, honey.” He murmured low and soft as his fingers slightly flexed against your waist.

“Joel, don’t overthink it. Just dance.” You encouraged him with a reassuring smile.

When his nerves slowly began to dissipate, he fell into a rhythm as he spun you around playfully. He was less worried about accidentally stepping on your toes, and more focused on the way the soft glow of the kitchen lighting bounced off your skin. How pretty you looked. How your eyes never seemed to leave his. The increased thrum of his heart drowned out the soothing crackle from the tabletop. All he could see was you.

It was as if a magnet was slowly pulling you in closer. The gravitational pull, foreheads touching, noses brushing, exchange of breaths. So close. So close. You could nearly taste him on your tongue–

“Beanie..” He breathed out. Pausing. Thinking. Just ask her. The worst she can say is no.

“Can I–”

“Please. Please kiss me, Joel.” Your thoughts were swirling, tumbling like a shaken up jar of marbles. You wanted him so bad. Terribly. You wanted and yearned to know what it possibly felt like to be kissed by Joel Miller. The moment was there in your grasps, and gone in a flash from the distinct creaking sound of the front door opening.

Ellie’s footsteps were soft along the floorboard as she pulled the door shut behind her. She was hoping that Joel wasn’t home. She wasn’t ready to confront him after what took place at the Tipsy Bison just a few nights prior. She was still hurting. Her curiosity got the best of her in the end when she saw that the kitchen light was on.

“Joel?..” She rounded the corner, eyes going wide, cheeks turning a deep bright red as she caught the moment you and Joel nearly kissed. She squeaked a fast apology, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” before darting out of the room like a bat out of hell.

You and Joel were startled by her presence to say the least. His eyes went wide before he was dropping his hand from your waist. He murmured an apology of his own before he slipped out of the kitchen to follow his kid.

“Ellie, wait! Kiddo, can we please–” He was hot on her heels as she scurried up the stairs and b-lined to her bedroom. If he was there a second sooner, he would have stopped her from slamming the door in his face.

“Kiddo, please. I jus’ wanna talk.” He sounded gravely defeated as his forehead came to rest upon the chipping paint on her bedroom door. He could hear her muttering to herself as she stuffed her backpack with overnight clothes.

Moments later the door flung open as she brushed past him with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Ellie.” He tried one more time.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Joel. Sorry for interrupting your date.” She muttered before jogging down the staircase.

“Kiddo, please. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to Dina’s.” Was her short response. He could detect the hurt in her voice as he pathetically watched her disappear through the front door once more. The entire house was silent as he scrubbed a weathered hand across his patchy beard. Healing took time, he reminded himself. It didn’t happen overnight, but fuck. He missed his baby girl so much.

The old floorboards of the staircase groaned under his heavy footsteps as he trudged back down the stairs. His brain was telling him that it was time to call it a night. Send you home so you didn’t have to witness his pain at the forefront. His heart told him differently. His heart urged him to seek out your comfort, so he did.

He found you right in the kitchen where he left you. You had just taken the freshly made pizza dough out of the fridge and set it out on the counter. Your eyes slowly flitted upwards at the sound of his footsteps.

“Hey, I think the dough is ready to be rolled out. Want to give me a hand?”

Bless you.

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry for runnin’ off like that. She’s been avoidin’ me since that night at the Tipsy Bison.” He admitted in a hushed tone.

“It’s okay, Joel. You don’t have to apologize for that. Did you..want to talk about it?”

“No, not right now. Let's just..make these pizzas. I’m starving.” He sighed, feeling his own mental and emotional exhaustion begin to way down on him like a bag of cement.

He met you on the other side of the counter, shoulders brushing as he pulled out a rolling pin from one of the drawers. You rolled out half the dough in silence together. It was almost as if you were sharing the weight of his present grief, soaking it in and absorbing it like a sponge.

Once the pizzas were dressed and popped in the oven, he wiped down the counter before grabbing a glass from one of the overhead cabinets. “I uh–really could use a drink. Would you like one? I’ve got wine and some spirits.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having, Joel.”

“Whiskey it is then.” He murmured as he grabbed another glass. “I really don’t usually drink. I jus–’ need somethin’ right now.” He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to explain himself to you, but it was too late to take his words back when they were already spoken.

“Joel, you don’t have to give me a reason as to why you need a drink right now. We all have our vices, and I hold no judgment towards yours.”

“I know I don’t have to explain myself to you, Beanie. I’m jus–’ I'm not okay right now. I don’t know whether I should laugh, cry, punch a fucking wall in.” He muttered bitterly as closed the cabinet door a bit too harshly. He shuffled past you to the wet bar area where he snatched up the bottle of whiskey with trembling fingers. He popped the cap off with his teeth as he poured a hefty splash of amber-colored liquor into his glass. He was considerate enough to give you half of what he was having.

“Joel, I know you’re not okay right now. Do you want me to?..”

“No.” He croaked softly, “No. I don’t want you to leave, please.” He took a sizable sip from his glass before he returned to your side, sliding your glass over.

“Okay, I won’t go, but is there anything you..need from me?” Your hand slowly grasped the crystal glass before raising it to your lips. The warmth of the liquor coated your insides like sticky molasses. It had a twinge of smoke, finished off with a hint of cinnamon. In short, it was fucking delicious.

“I don’t know.” He admitted somberly before he slowly sank down to the kitchen floor with his back resting against the oak cabinets, and the glass resting in his hand between his knees as his head fell back with a soft thud.

You descended alongside him with your legs outstretched, and ankles crossed. Sometimes all a person needed was a gentle soul. A wordless extended notion of comfort. Sometimes that was enough, but sometimes a person needed more. Whatever Joel needed in those crucial moments, you’d be there.

“Can I be honest with you?” He broke through the growing silence with a heavy huff through his lips.

“Of course.”

“I am fucking terrified of losing every goddamn person that I love, Beanie. I’m terrified of losing my brother. I’m terrified of losing my daughter, and I'm terrified..of losing you. I feel like a broken record that can’t quite find its rhythm because the vinyl is scratched, and the needle keeps catching. Do..you get what i’m sayin?’” His head slowly turned to meet your eyes.

Your heart skipped a monumental beat when he said that he was terrified of losing every person that he loved, and that you had made the cut. (not that there was one to make). You ignored the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and focused on him, and his willingness to rawly communicate with you.

“Joel, I understand why you are terrified, but you haven’t lost Tommy, Ellie, or me. We’re all right here. I don’t think you sound like a broken record at all. Try and show yourself a bit of compassion, okay?”

He stifled a bitter chuckle as he brought the rim of the glass back to his lips. He took another sip before he closed his eyes.

“Beanie, I don’t think you’d be tellin’ me to have some compassion for myself if you knew what I've done, the people I've killed, the choices I've made. I ain’t a good person. No matter how many times I have tried to justify my actions, I ain’t a saint.”

“Joel, do you think that anyone is truly a saint? Do you believe that we’re all innately good? That we’ve never hurt a friend, or said words we didn’t mean? Joel, even if the outbreak never happened, and we didn’t lose the people we loved, we still would be making mistakes. We still would be hurting people whether it was intentional or not. I mean this with full honesty, your past isn’t going to scar me. It isn’t going to make me think of you in a darker light, because goddamnit, we all had to fucking make some hard choices in the name of survival. I’ve killed people too, you know that, right? I lost count years ago. I lost my fucking faith in the shreds left in the remants of humanity until–” you felt yourself choking up with tears welling along your waterline, and your words lodged in your throat, clawing to be set free.

“Beanie–”

“No, please. Please just let me finish, okay? Joel, you’re so incredibly hard on yourself, and hell, we all are. I just want you to realize that you are not a bad person. You’re not a bad man. You’re not some evil monster lurking in the shadows. You’re a fucking human being that has spent over 20 years trying to survive. You have endured and survived up until this point. You and Ellie will be okay. She’s hurting, and so are you, but one day she will forgive you, for whatever it is that you have done. She needs time to heal, and so do you.” You felt mildly exasperated from the energy you were exerting.

Joel was speechless. He was floored as his pupils were blown out wide. His jaw physically dropped. He scrambled to gather his thoughts so that he could come up with a well-rounded response. He struggled with his words, as you knew. All he knew is that he had to be just as vulnerable as you were being.

“I killed an entire hospital of fireflies. I killed every single one of them to save her. To save my Ellie. My light. They were going to kill her, Beanie. Ellie is immune. She’s the only one. Marlene told me that the doctor that was going to perform the surgery on her thinks that the Cordyceps has grown with her since birth. Because it’s adapted to her, it tricks the normal Cordyceps into thinking that Ellie is one of them. That’s the reason why she is immune. Tess and I were taking Ellie to the fireflies because I made a promise to Marlene. It turned into something else along the way. I grew to care for Ellie as if she was my own. I even–I even told her that we didn’t have to keep going. We could come back to Tommy’s and forget all about the fireflies. My baby girl didn’t want that. She wanted to save the fuckin’ world, but she didn’t want to die. I know she didn’t want to die, Beanie. She thought that after it was all said and done, that we would be going home together.

“And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want, Joel.” Ellie reassured him.

“Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere you go.”

“But there’s no halfway with this.”

“We finish what we started.”

Ellie was determined to use her immunity to save the world, and Joel couldn’t stop her.

“Ellie..is immune?” You whispered softly as the weight of Joel’s words sunk deep into your soul.

“Yes, she is. You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone, Beanie. Not even Maria knows. Only Tommy and I. The rest of the community would turn to chaos if they knew.”

“The fireflies were looking for a cure, and Ellie was the answer? But, Cordyceps–”

“Grow inside the brain.” He deadpanned as he finished off what was left in the contents of his glass. “I did what I had to do to save her, and if I had to go back and do it all over again, I would. She didn’t want to die. She never consented to the surgery. Marlene never gave her the option, and neither did I. The worst bit? Beanie, I lied to her. I told her that there were more people like her. People who were immune. I told her there were dozens like her, and that the doctors couldn’t actually make any of it work. That they’ve stopped looking for a cure entirely.”

“They’ve stopped lookin’ for a cure.”

“Where are my clothes?” Ellie mumbled.

“Raiders attacked the hospital. I barely got ya outta there, kiddo.” he squeezed the steering wheel tightly as he lied through his teeth.

“Were people hurt?..”

“Yes.” He didn’t lie.

“Is Marlene okay?”

Joel paused as he glanced back at his daughter through the rearview mirror.

“I’m takin’ us home.”

“You never told her the truth, did you?” You knew the answer, but you wanted him to confirm it.

“No, I did tell her, and she hates me for lying and taking that choice away from her. She feels like..she holds no purpose in life now, and it’s all my fault.”

“Joel, you did what every parent would have done for their child. Biological or not, she is your daughter. She was in danger, and you saved her. I can’t blame her for the way she currently feels towards you. Her emotions are valid, and you should have never lied to her. You should have told her the truth from the start, but I understand why you didn’t tell her. You felt ashamed of your actions.”

“I just wanted to protect her.” He murmured as his eyes casted downwards.

You reached your hand out and gently grasped his shoulder and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze.

“Joel, you did just that. You protected her. You saved her. You saved the world.”

His own eyes began to water. His lower lip trembled, wobbled with uncertainty as his glassy irises met yours.

“You’re right. I did save the world.”

And then, you were hugging.

His tears and your own fell freely as you cradled his head protectively against your chest with your chin resting gently against the top of his head. Your fingers threaded through his soft salt and pepper tendrils as he enveloped your frame in his strong arms. The oven dinged signaling that the pizza was ready, but neither of you moved an inch.

“Spend the night with me, Beanie. Please.” His words fell heavy on his tongue. His heart begging you with a steady thrum to stay.

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[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There’s 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I’m excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy!

Also I have to go back to chapter 5 of my Kid Buggy fic since they talk most about their relationship beginnings in there, oops. I also wanted to write Buggy as the sort of "I'm a smooth operator until I'm not". And the Future Wife gets named in this chapter because I decided she needed a name.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 3

You saw him again a month later. He really was popping by for every little thing now, and this time was no different. You were working on a dress for a customer while the girls were ironing and hemming other orders. When Buggy burst into the shop he paused for a brief moment when he saw you before marching up to the counter where your boss waited.

“What now?” She demanded. Buggy glared at her but he held his ground, not backing down from her.

“I… need something fixed.” He said, glancing in your direction briefly before pointing to his shoes. “My socks.” 

“We don’t mend socks.” Your boss told him firmly. “Throw them out and get new ones.”

“You can’t fix them?!” He exclaimed. Miss Pins shook her head. Buggy took a deep breath, looking as though he was trying to think of something else. “Well, can you-”

“I can darn the socks.” You told him as you set your needle and thread down. Your boss glared at you, trying to tell you to sit down and stop helping this guy without speaking a word but you chose to ignore her. You pushed your chair back from the table and smiled at him. “But I’ll only do it if they’re washed. I assume you’re wearing them right now?”

Buggy turned red and looked away from you as he nodded. You chuckled softly and shook your head as you stood up. “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you taken care of.” 

Your boss and coworkers watched as the pirate followed after you to the backroom like a little puppy follows his owner. Miss Pins was going to have words with the both of you about this: he needed to stop coming around and you needed to stop being nice to him. He wasn’t some stray you needed to keep feeding. He was a damn pirate who needed to get back on his ship and sail away. While it wasn’t uncommon for the shop to have repeat customers, he was a thorn in Miss Pins side since he first showed up. She did not like him one bit and she did not like the way he looked at you.

You had Buggy sit down and remove his shoes while you got the washing bin ready. Since one of the services was to clean customers' clothes for them, you saw no reason why you wouldn’t wash his socks before mending them. Buggy said nothing as he removed his socks and held them out to you, but you grabbed a bowl and had him set them in there. He frowned but did as you asked before leaning forward in his seat, watching you as he tried to tuck his feet under the chair.

“I never know when to expect you, Captain.” You told him as you mixed the cleaning solution into the bin. Once it was ready you grabbed the bowl and tossed his socks into the soapy water. “But I enjoy the surprise of you showing up.”

“Well, I have things that need to be mended.” He shot back as he turned red. It wasn’t like he was coming here on purpose to have you fix his things. “And this is the only place that caters to pirates and does a decent job.”

You glanced at him with a smile as you added a small agitator into the bowl, stirring up the water and socks to get them clean. “I’m glad you chose us then, Captain.”

“Buggy.” He mumbled, looking down at his feet. You frowned, not hearing him at first but he cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “You can call me Buggy.”

“Oh.” You looked back at the water that was getting dirtier with each agitation. Calling him by his first name was a little personal. “Okay.”

“I… never learned your name.” He continued to mumble, looking incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of himself right then. 

“That’s because I never told you.” Was your response as you pulled the socks from the water to wring them out. You set them aside and dumped the dirty water before refilling the tub with fresh water. 

“Well, what’s your name then?” Buggy asked. “What should I call you?”

You winked at him and went back to cleaning the socks. “Whatever you want to call me, Buggy.” 

He felt a small surge of courage right then as he now leaned back in his chair with a smirk. The chair tilted backwards, resting on two legs while the other two were inches off the ground. “Can I call you Babe?”

The courage left as soon as it arrived because you turned to look at him, face unreadable, and he lost his balance and tipped the chair backwards with him in it, his legs flying up and over, his torso separating from his body and landing beside him. 

You just stared at him in shock for a moment before rushing over to grab his legs. This… was weird. Very weird. His body seemed to snap back together and he stared at you in horror. Was this something pirates were able to do, separate their body parts like that? 

“Are you okay?” You managed to ask. “Buggy, your body-”

“I’m fine!” He snapped as he pulled away from you, embarrassed by what you saw. He didn't want you to see that, not yet when he was trying to get to know you. “Don’t to-”

You took his hat off his head and set it aside, ignoring his temper as you touched his head, feeling for any bumps from the fall. His entire body went rigid, eyes wide, almost fearful as you cupped his cheeks, looking into his eyes. You were just checking for injury, maybe a concussion from the tumble, but then you smiled with relief.

“You didn’t hit your head too hard it seems.” You said as you started to pull your hands back, but he grabbed you and your eyes widened when you saw his hands on your wrists but with no arms attached to them. “Buggy, are you okay?”

“What’s all this noise?” Miss Pins demanded as she came into the back, Livia and Edith following behind her. “I swear, if you two are fu-”

She stopped when she saw the two of you: Buggy on the ground with you kneeling over him with disembodied hands on your wrists. At least Buggy had the mind to look embarrassed by the situation while you just smiled at your boss as you explained what happened.

“Chair tipped back and he took a tumble, but he’s okay.” You told her as his hands returned to his arms. “Sorry if we were loud.”

Everything was okay for a moment, but you and Buggy both saw Livia lean over to Edith and not so quietly whisper, I guess his nose is real since it stayed on when he fell.

What if it’s glued on? Edith whispered back. I still think it's fake. No one has a nose like that. 

He has a nose like that. Livia grinned as she glanced in his direction. I bet it honks.

Buggy didn’t even have the chance to react because you were scolding the teenagers for him; even Miss Pins had her arms crossed and was giving the apprentices both a look. 

“Don’t talk about his nose, you two!” You snapped at them, friendly demeanor gone and replaced with a fierce protectiveness, startling the two of them and even Buggy. “Honestly! Apologize for being rude now! I cannot believe you both!”

“But-” Livia started to say but Edith cut her off. 

“You’re not in charge!” The other teen exclaimed, looking up at Miss Pins. “He’s been nothing but rude to us since he first came here! Why do we have to be nice to him?”

“Because he’s a paying customer.” Miss Pins told her. “And he’s never been rude to you two, just me and Sunny, so you two apologize to the Captain now.” 

The two looked at their caretaker before reluctantly looking back at Buggy. With the way you were glaring at them they knew they needed to apologize or else. The look of absolute fury in your eyes terrified them more than Buggy’s behavior had so far. 

“I’m sorry.” They both said before you pointed to the door.

“Go clean the kitchen and start dinner, both of you.” You ordered. “You’ll also clean the kitchen again tonight after dinner.” You shook your head and sighed. “I’m so disappointed in the two of you.”

Livia and Edith’s jaws dropped and they looked at Miss Pins once more. She nodded in agreement with what you were saying. At this point she trusted you (kind of) to make certain decisions, and speaking about a customer like that in front of him was grounds for punishment. Both left the room, grumbling about it being unfair. 

“Fix his socks and then he leaves, understand?” Miss Pins said. “And be quieter in here.”

You nodded, swallowing heavily as you tried to calm yourself down. It wasn’t often you got angry like that, but you were upset for him that they would say that in front of him like that. Your hands were shaking as you stood up, reaching out to pull him to his feet. He reluctantly allowed help, but as soon as he got to his feet he turned to head to the door but you held onto his hand.

“Buggy, wait.”

“What?!” He snapped as he turned to face you, cheeks burning from embarrassment. You were just a tailor, a shopgirl, you had no business being nice to him apart from getting paid for it. He didn’t need you coming to his defense when people made comments about his appearance, it happened enough that he always handled it with yelling and violence. No one ever apologized, and yet you had the two do it. 

“I’m sorry.” You told him, giving his hand a squeeze. “They shouldn’t have said those things.”

Buggy stared at you for a moment. His brain was going a million miles a minute as he processed your words, the way you were looking at him with those kind eyes that minutes before were full of absolute fury. He felt your warmth through his gloved hand and he wondered if he should take it off so he could feel how soft your skin was. There was a brief flicker of familiarity of your words, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing someone say that before to him. It must have happened in a dream.

He finally jerked out of your grasp and grabbed his boots and hat before storming out of the backroom. Miss Pins looked up as he walked through the shop, eyebrow raised as she saw him carrying his boots, but she said nothing. Maybe he would finally stop coming around and being a nuisance after all this. 

Except he would need to come back for his socks.

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre: Romance, Canon-Divergent AU

cw: switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person), explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, non-canon compliant, canon-typical violence, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut, eventual time-skip

Summary: Student, big brother, sewing expert, and Second Division Caption of the Tokyo Manji Gang. Takashi Mitsuya is an 18-year-old boy who wears many different hats. With graduation approaching in a few short months, he must decide what path he wants to follow into his future: continue his life as a delinquent or live in normalcy, a concept he’s never been familiar with, an idea he’s only chased but never captured. Until one day, he meets Hana Shimizu, the very definition of ordinary. That’s what he thinks, at first. Little does he know that this “ordinary” girl would change his life.

Author's Notes: I binged all two seasons of Tokyo Revengers within the past two weeks and I'm OBSESSED with Mitsuya! He is absolutely husband material, so I was inspired to write this, I hope you like it! It's my first time writing a female original character, but I'm keeping it formatted like a reader-insert because I genuinely enjoy writing in that style. Heads up, she does have a name and a few distinct qualities - she has hair and is chubby (similar to me!), but it's not the main focus of the story. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!

Chapter Title and Summary (spoiler-free):

Chapter 1: Cut From the Same Cloth - Takashi Mitsuya has always lived his life being true to himself. Despite being the proud Second Division Captain of the notorious Tokyo Manji Gang, he never hides the softer side of him: He cares deeply for his two younger sisters and enjoys spending his free time sewing. When a classmate, Hana Shimizu, approaches him, asking for lessons in sewing, he agrees, not seeing any downsides to having some company.

Chapter 2: On Pins and Needles - Hana babysits Luna and Mana for the first time. Mitsuya catches up with Draken before attending a short, but tumultuous Toman meeting at Musashi Shrine.

Chapter 3: A Stitch Ahead - Mitsuya is asked to create jackets for the newly appointed captains, to which he reluctantly agrees. When the deadline arrives and he still hasn’t finished, he enlists your aid to help him complete his task. The same day, the two of you make dinner together for his sisters, leaving Mitsuya with a lasting impression.

Chapter 4: Cute as a Button - Mitsuya skips a session of sewing lessons, attempting to keep his distance after realizing his growing feelings for you. You’re left wondering where you stand with him, confused by his behavior the last time you saw him. Soon enough, you both realize that these feelings are too intense to ignore.

Chapter 5: Bursting at the Seams - You and Mitsuya make your newly blossomed relationship official. To commemorate this special occasion, he invites you to his house for breakfast, where you meet his mother. 

Chapter 6: Heart on a Sleeve - You and Mitsuya make your budding relationship public and things only continue to grow from there. The Tokyo Manji gang successfully absorbs the Leviathans all thanks to the efforts of new captains Tetta Kisaki and Shuji Hanma. Despite Mikey’s praise for them during this month’s meeting, Mitsuya remains wary of the two. His suspicions only increase when he runs into them while on a date with you. 

Chapter 7: Reap What You Sew - A dinner with you, Mitsuya, and your parents quickly goes south. Mitsuya makes a decision that could lead to dire consequences. 

Chapter 8: Hanging by a Thread - After leaving the Tokyo Manji Gang, Mitsuya feels like his life is on the right track. They have their fearless leader Mikey back to his usual self and Mitsuya’s relationship with Hana grows stronger day by day. They graduate, ready for the next big step in their lives. But with everything said and done, the past will always haunt the brothers of Toman, for better and for worse.  

Chapter 9: A Rough Patch (tbd)

Chapter 10: Mending What's Broken (tbd)

Please do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission! Thank you!

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 13

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 3,795

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Read on Ao3

The next morning after breakfast, you draft a pattern for your new gown, then start making a mock-up. By sunset, the mock-up is sewn and has been tried on about four times, adjustments being made in between, until at last you are happy with it.

The next day, you cut the pattern pieces from silk and begin sewing the proper gown, working non-stop after breakfast until you are interrupted by a knock at your door. You put down your needle and cross the room, opening the door to find Gwaine looking back at you.

“You’re up and about!” You exclaim.

“And glad of it too. I was beginning to wonder if one could die of boredom,” He replies. “Anyway, want to walk down to the market with me and get some lunch?”

“Isn’t it a little early for lunch?”

Gwaine quirks a brow. “I don’t believe so. This is about the usual time,”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so focused, I didn’t realise how much time has passed,”

“You’ve been working? I thought you’d finished the king and queen’s attire?”

“I did. I’m working on something for myself,”

“For the feast?”

“Yes,”

Gwaine peers over your shoulder. “May I see?”

“No, you may not,” You give a sly smile as you close the door a little, so it’s just wide enough for your face. “I want it to be a surprise,”

He crosses his arms. “Now you’ve got me curious,”

“Well, you’ll have to be patient,” You smirk. “Wait here. I’ll just grab my shawl and then we can go,”

~

Gwaine asks you to show him where you bought the pies for the indoor picnic, so you lead him to the shop and he purchases one for each of you. You sit on a bench just outside the shop to eat them, before heading back up market street. Gwaine seems to take an interest in the market stalls, his eyes darting over their wares.

“Looking for something in particular?” You ask.

“Hmm?” Gwaine snaps to attention. “Oh, not really. Just taking in all that our glorious city has to offer,” He grins.

You continue up market street at a leisurely pace, allowing yourself time to peruse since Gwaine seems to be doing so.

“It’s so good to see you up and about again,” You say once you reach the end of the traders’ stalls. “Does your wound still cause you any pain?”

“Occasionally, if I move a certain way,” Gwaine replies. “But it’s mostly alright,”

“I’m so thankful Merlin helped,” You sigh, dreading to think what the outcome may have been if he hadn’t.

“Merlin?” Gwaine frowns. “It was Gaius who healed me,”

“He did initially, yes. But whatever he was doing wasn’t working fast enough. Him and Merlin argued about how to treat you, and Merlin had to apply his remedy behind Gaius’ back,”

“Well, I’ll make sure to thank Merlin then,” Gwaine smiles. “Sounds like you were quite the regular visitor to my bedside,”

“Of course I was, I was worried sick! I… thought you might die,”

Gwaine halts and takes your hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze. “It means a lot that you were there with me,” He says seriously, before smiling. “But it’ll take a lot more than bandits to get rid of me,”

Your hand remains in his as you continue up the street.

“Merlin said you tended to me while I was unconscious, helped keep my fever down,” Gwaine says.

You nod.

“Spent a lot of time seeing me shirtless,” He smirks.

Your cheeks flood with warmth.

“Did you like what you saw?” Gwaine asks, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You give him a playful shove. “Being improper, and fishing for compliments,” You shake your head, but can’t hold back a smile. “I shan’t say anything,”

“I shall take that as a yes,”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

You continue walking, biting your bottom lip to hold back your grin, while Gwaine keeps step beside you, looking very amused and pleased with himself.

It’s not until you arrive at your chambers that you realise your hand remained entwined with Gwaine’s the entire way back. He unthreads his fingers and hooks his hand under yours, raising it to his lips. He plants a soft but lengthy kiss at the base of your fingers, his eyes locked onto yours. Your heart thumps as you hold his gaze, a flare of desire tearing through your body. He pulls his lips away and he lowers your hand, but still holds it in his.

“I shall leave you to your secret business now, my lady,”

At last, he pulls his hand away from yours, agonisingly slowly, so his fingers caress your skin from your palm to your fingertips, until the contact is finally broken. Heat pools in your core, the skin on your hand buzzing, as if it can still feel his touch. Gwaine gives you a warm but slightly mischievous smile, as if he knows exactly what kind of reaction he has stirred within you, before he turns and heads down the corridor, disappearing around a corner. You step into your chambers, resting your back against the door as you close it behind you, relishing the pleasant sensation coursing through you. You raise your hand to your face, the feeling of his lips still lingering on your fingers, and press it against your cheek, longing for more of his touch. You recall the long talk between you those days ago, the feeling of his arms around you when you were upset, and wish for him to hold you again, but in a moment of joy rather than sorrow.

You stand with those feelings for a time, unaware how many minutes have passed, until your heartbeat settles and you come to your senses. You must refocus your thoughts. You have a lot of work to do before the feast.

~

You spend the last few hours of daylight sewing before stopping to make dinner. Your thoughts remain on the gown as you eat, visualising it finished and how you will look in it, but your imaginings stop short at one detail: your hair. What are you to do with it? You can’t wear your cap to an event like this. Not only is it inappropriate for the occasion, it will completely ruin the look. But your hair length is also inappropriate for any occasion. You would be gawked at and you’d be an embarrassment.

Once you’ve finished washing up, you go to your bedchamber and sit in front of the mirror, unpinning your cap and removing it. Your hair has grown some since it was cut, but nowhere near enough to be socially acceptable. Your mood darkens as you wonder if you should bother continuing with the gown, and the part of you that still fears Gwaine will find your true appearance repellent rises to the surface.

You stare back at your reflection, hair flat and frizzy from being under the cap all day. You tear your gaze away, fists clenched, and prepare for bed.

~

You continue on the gown the next day, though your mind drifts and progress is slow, since your previous ambition has dwindled. As your length of thread is running short, you finish your current line of stitching and fiddle with the needle between your fingers, trying to decide whether you should rethread it or stop for the day, when there’s a knock at your door. Placing the needle down, you stand and cross the room, opening the door to find Gwen.

“I just thought I’d check in,” She smiles. “I haven’t seen you since receiving my gown,”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy. Though I still should have made time for you,” You step aside to allow Gwen to enter.

“It’s quite alright. Have you been spending a lot of time with a certain knight?” She raises a brow mischievously.

“I have,” You admit, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But I’ve also been working on my own gown for the harvest feast,”

“Oh, may I see?”

You nod and lead Gwen to your work table where the gown is currently laid out, though a bit crumpled.

“That’s coming along nicely,” Gwen carefully smooths out the fabric with her hands, inspecting your work. “I can’t wait to see when it’s finished,”

She looks up at you with a smile, but upon seeing your expression, and your lack of response, her smile falters.

“Are you not happy with it?”

“It’s not that, it’s just,” You sigh. “I don’t know what to do about this,”

You remove your cap, hair falling against your neck and brushing along your collarbones. Gwen approaches, lifting a hand and running a lock of your hair through her fingers.

“It’s grown some,” She says.

“But not nearly enough,”

Gwen’s gaze wanders over your hair thoughtfully. “Have you ever curled your hair before?”

“No,”

“I wonder if we should try it, then it wouldn’t look so flat. I think once it’s got a bit of curl to it, it could look quite pretty,”

“Perhaps,” You shrug. “But I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never been good at styling hair,”

“Well, I am. I did used to be a lady’s maid,” She smiles and glances toward your fabric shelves. “Do you have any linen scraps?”

“I should have something,” You walk over to the shelves and rummage through the collection of fabric, until you find a square scrap of white linen. “Will this do?”

“That will do very nicely,” Gwen holds out her hand and you pass her the linen. “May I borrow your scissors?” She asks.

“Of course,” You retrieve them from your sewing box and give them to her.

Gwen thanks you and she lays out the piece of fabric on a clear section of your work table, before cutting it into strips. Once all the fabric is cut, she stacks the strips into a neat pile.

“Wet your hair tonight,” She says. “But don’t soak it. It needs to be just damp. I’ll come back after dinner and show you what to do. This can be a trial run. If you like the results, we can repeat the process the night before the harvest feast. If not, we can try something else,”

~

Gwen arrives at your chambers about an hour after you finish your dinner, and you carry a chair to your bedchamber, Gwen refusing one for herself since she says it’ll be easier to do the process while standing. You place the chair in front of the mirror and sit, while Gwen arranges the fabric strips and comb on the vanity. She takes a section of hair in one hand, and with the other, places one of the strips, which is much longer than the hair, beside it, then wraps the lock of hair round the strip in a spiral. Once the entire length of the hair has been coiled around, Gwen holds it in place with one hand, while with the other, she wraps the remaining length of fabric around the hair, working from the bottom up this time, until the hair is completely covered, then ties the two ends of the strips together, securing the hair inside. She repeats this process until all your hair is secured.

“While you sleep tonight, your hair shall dry and set into the curls,” Gwen says, looking at you through the mirror, a hand on your shoulder. “Take them out tomorrow and see. It might look silly at first, as they will require a fair bit of brushing, but I think you will like the result,”

You reach up and rest your hand over Gwen’s. “Thank you for this,”

“You are welcome,” She smiles. “I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your night. I might stop by tomorrow to see how our little experiment has gone,”

~

After breakfast the next morning, you return to the mirror and remove the rags from your hair, revealing tight ringlets. You are alarmed at first, but remember what Gwen said about brushing, so you pick up your hairbrush from beside the basin and begin working on your hair. At first, the curls seem to just bounce back to exactly how they were once the brush has run through them, but after a time, you notice them begin to soften.

After about fifteen minutes of continuous brushing, the hair has taken on some kind of style. You put down the brush and turn your head side to side, inspecting yourself in the mirror. You still look odd compared to other women about the castle, but… perhaps you could be seen like this?

You rush from your bedchamber and grab your unfinished gown, returning to hold it in front of you before the mirror. With a little squinting and imagination, you envision the final look and think it may just work. You leave your bedchamber again, gown draped over one arm, with a renewed vigour for sewing, when there’s a knock at your door. Placing the gown down, you move to answer it, before remembering your hair and stopping in your tracks.

“Who is it?” You call out.

“It’s Gwen,” A voice says from the other side of the door.

You continue to the door and open it, Gwen gasping when she sees you.

“(Y/N), that looks lovely!”

You grin and show her inside, closing the door behind her.

“I just came by to see how it went, but I can see right away that it’s gone very well!” She beams.

“You think so?”

“I do!”

“So, you think I could go to the feast like this?”

“(Y/N), you can go to the feast however you like. I know you are afraid of being different, but different doesn’t mean bad. I don’t believe anyone there will think poorly of you. If anything, they will be intrigued by your unique beauty,”

You chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that,”

A thought occurs to you and in an instant, your newfound excitement dissipates. There could be someone there who thinks very poorly of you.

“Will Gwaine’s sister be at the feast?” You ask.

Gwen frowns. “The nobility are invited, so I suppose she will be,”

“I can’t possibly go if she is going to be there,” You shake your head and begin to pace.

“I’m sure you will still have a good time,”

“I don’t think I could have a good time with her there. I wouldn’t be able to ignore her, I’d be waiting for her to say something unkind, or do something. Who knows, she might purposely spill her wine on my gown or something,”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I wish I could tell her she can’t attend, but I’m afraid I cannot,” Gwen purses her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could engage her in conversation for the whole evening, so she won’t have the chance to do or say anything to you,”

You cease your pacing. “But then your night would be unpleasant,”

Gwen shrugs. “I have gotten rather good at talking to people I don’t like since becoming queen,”

“I don’t know,” You sigh. “That is a kind offer Gwen, thank you, but I think I should work this out myself,”

“Alright, but please don’t let the prospect of Erika being there quell your excitement. Your hair is going to look beautiful, and I can already tell that your gown is going to be stunning. Not to mention, you’ll be going with Sir Gwaine. He’s known for being lots of fun, not to mention the fact that he adores you. Everything will work out,” Gwen smiles and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “But if you are still feeling apprehensive, please talk to Gwaine about it. Don’t keep your feelings to yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” You nod. “I will speak with him today,”

“Good,” Gwen smiles. “I shall leave you to it,”

~

After working on your gown for another two hours or so, you leave your chambers to see Gwaine.

You reach his door, raising your hand to knock, but falter. You shouldn’t bother him with this. It’s your issue, so you should work it out for yourself. Besides, what do you expect him to do? You lower your hand and turn around, taking a few steps back the way you came, when you hear a door unlatch and someone call your name. You turn around to see Gwaine standing at his chamber door.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” You force a smile.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, you turn to see Sir Elyan striding down the corridor. He nods in your direction and smiles.

“Good day, (Y/N),” He says, before disappearing into presumably his own chambers.

Gwaine steps out into the corridor, dressed very casually in his grey tunic and trousers, with only socks covering his feet, and closes the gap between you.

“If there’s something on your mind, I’m happy to hear it,” He offers.

The sound of approaching chatter has you turn around again to see Sirs Leon and Percival appear at the end of the corridor. They incline their heads in your direction as they advance, as Sir Elyan did.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Leon says kindly.

His hair is damp, some of his curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. They must have just come back from training.

“I hope you’re well?” Percival says from beside Leon, with a grin, his gaze flicking between you and Gwaine beside you.

“I am well, thank you,” You reply.

Gwaine grimaces and watches his comrades until they enter their respective chambers, before addressing you again.

“Would you like to come inside?” He takes a step back toward his chamber door. “Then we might have some privacy,” His eyes flick to the entrances to the other knights’ rooms.

You nod and follow him inside, where he invites you to sit at the table. You take a seat and he closes the door before sitting down across from you.

“I shouldn’t bother you with it,” You say quietly.

“(Y/N),” Gwaine smiles sadly. “You never have, and never could, bother me. What’s the matter?”

You sigh. “I just realised today that… well, it hadn’t occurred to me that Erika would be at the harvest feast,”

“Ah,” Gwaine crosses his arms. “I spoke with her today,”

“You did? What about?”

“Just… everything you and I spoke of. I suppose I wanted to confront her, but also try to understand why she did what she did,”

“I see,”

“I needn’t speak of it,” Gwaine shakes his head.

“No… I would like to know what she had to say for herself,”

“Alright,” Gwaine straightens in his chair. “It turns out she’s been bitter all these years about me leaving home when I did. She felt I left her to fend for herself, while I had an easy escape. She’s been cruel to you because you make me happy and she thinks I don’t deserve to be happy. She came to Camelot to try to find a place for herself here. Supposedly none of the men back home are good enough for her,”

“When I overheard her in the courtiers’ wing, her companion mentioned something about Erika’s ‘quest’, and Erika replied, saying something about someone falling in love with her,”

Gwaine nods. “She’s been speaking to the other knights, clearly trying to gain their favour. Leon, Percival and Elyan have all had her approach them. They’ve all managed to shrug her off, though she was quite persistent for a time,”

“So, she was hoping to secure one of the knights and what, get married and live in Camelot? What about your mother?”

“If Erika was to settle here, I would see about finding a place for my mother as well. That is if she’d even want to live here,”

“Why wouldn’t she? Isn’t she in, please excuse the term, a reduced position?”

“Not so much anymore,”

You raise your brows in question.

“Since I became a knight,” Gwaine continues. “I’ve been sending her a portion of my wages in an attempt to better her and Erika’s circumstances,”

“And still Erika treats you so poorly?”

Gwaine shrugs. You reach a hand across the table and he places one of his own around it.

“Sending part of my wages was the least I could do after I ran away. There was no money being sent to them then,”

“You mustn’t punish yourself for your past mistakes, especially since you are doing what you can now,”

“You are kind to say so,” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand: Erika being at the feast,”

“Do you think she’ll behave, now that you’ve spoken to her?”

Gwaine sighs, running a hand over his chin. “I don’t know. She never actually said she was sorry,”

“Oh,” Your heart sinks.

“I’ll work something out,” He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “I won’t let anyone spoil our night,”

~

Gwaine waits beside the courtyard steps, greeting his fellow knights as they approach, chests heaving and brows sweaty from their afternoon training.

“Enjoy your respite while you can, Gwaine,” Percival grins, giving Gwaine a playful slap on the shoulder as he passes.

About a quarter of an hour goes by, and the man he’s been waiting for comes into view, a bundle of swords and shields slung over his back.

“Merlin!” Gwaine calls out as he crosses the courtyard to meet his friend. “Let me help you with that,”

“You shouldn’t, it could aggravate your injury,” Merlin says in a strained voice.

“I think I can manage carrying a few swords,” Gwaine says, already taking some from Merlin’s bundle.

Merlin nods in thanks and keeps walking.

“Everything alright?” He asks as they climb the courtyard steps.

“Yes and no,” Gwaine replies. “(Y/N) is going to the feast with me,”

“I heard,” Merlin grins. “I’m glad you two were able to sort things out,”

Gwaine smiles. “Me too. There is a problem though. My sister is going to be there and it’s making (Y/N) anxious. Honestly, it’s making me anxious too,”

“You’re worried she’ll try to ruin yours and (Y/N)’s night?” Merlin asks, stepping inside the castle and turning down a passage.

“I am,”

“What are you going to do?”

“I wondered if you, being the physician’s apprentice, might know of something that could… prevent Erika from attending,”

Merlin stops in his tracks. “What, like poison?” He says in an alarmed whisper.

“No! Who do you think I am, Merlin?” Gwaine shakes his head, wide-eyed. “I mean something that might make her a bit… unwell, or unsightly, so she won’t want to be seen in public,”

Merlin purses his lips thoughtfully. “Leave it to me,”

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VII]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: You start a new life on the planet Olega with the man you love. If your life were a novel, this would be the happy ending. But fate never lets you rest. One day, you find yourself facing three unfamiliar Jedi, and one of them, a Jedi Knight named Yord, captures your attention in an inexplicable way.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Since there are more chapters now, if you don’t want to miss any updates, you can ask me to add your username for notifications whenever a new chapter is posted. Just let me know in a reply, and I’ll make sure you’re included in the next update.

ps. I'll be in Singapore for the F1 from this Thursday until next Tuesday, so I'll pause updating my fic for one week. I hope you can wait patiently.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 7] It is impossible to live in the past, difficult to live in the present, and a waste to live in the future.

It’s often said that the safest place is also the most dangerous one. 

Perhaps that’s why Qimir chose to remain hidden on Olega, despite it being home to the Jedi Temple, a major stronghold of the galaxy’s peacekeepers.

For most people, there was no reason to fear the Jedi, who were meant to protect them from harm. But that wasn’t the case for you. You remembered well what Qimir had told you: the Jedi were looking for you, too. Even though their exact motives remained unclear, the sense of paranoia never left your mind. Especially after the massacre on Tatooine, you and Qimir felt like fugitives—always just one step away from being caught if any evidence linking you to the crime surfaced and exposed your secret.

You hated being here. Given a choice, you would have fled to some remote planet at the edge of the galaxy. But Qimir had different ideas. “Most of those who know about your bounty are outlaws or trade federations. Neither group gets along with the Jedi, so they won’t be snooping around places where Jedi gather,” he reasoned. “And the Jedi? They’re too preoccupied with galactic affairs to pay much attention to the planet they’re on. Besides, you don’t have the Force, so finding you would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Qimir wasn’t wrong. Life on Olega had turned out to be unexpectedly peaceful. Despite the city’s persistent chaos, it made hiding much easier. You and Qimir had managed to stay under the radar for over a year without major problems. Everything had settled so seamlessly that you almost forgot what it was like to be on the run from other planets.

With no need to keep moving, Qimir had shifted from his life as an illegal mercenary to opening a modest pharmacy. He also worked as a broker, selling medicines and various odds and ends to travelers passing through. Meanwhile, you had taken on the role of his assistant and personal apprentice. Qimir was dedicated to teaching you both the theory and practice of his knowledge, especially in combat. He also encouraged you to continue developing your powers rather than suppressing them as you had before. Like your mother, Qimir believed your abilities were too valuable to be wasted.

“Haven’t you ever thought,” Qimir once said, “that someone like you could rise to replace the Jedi one day? With your power, you could bring far more to the galaxy than they ever could.”

His words seemed absurd, like a far-fetched joke meant to tease you. You laughed every time, confident that such a thing would never happen.

Never getting involved with the Jedi, no matter what, had always been your rule for survival.

But sometimes, fate can be cruelly ironic, and this was a joke that wasn’t amusing at all.

That's what occurs at noon on a Friday—one of fate's cruel jokes when you unexpectedly find yourself face-to-face with a group of Jedi.

It all takes place at Qimir’s pharmacy on a day he isn’t around. Lately, he has been disappearing more frequently—sometimes for two or three hours, or even the better part of a day—claiming he has business to attend to involving herbal shipments from other planets. As a result, you’re left to run the store in his absence, handling the medicines and assisting customers as usual.

But everything changes the moment the shop’s bell rings and the door swings open. Brilliant sunlight floods the store, heralding the arrival of three strangers you’ve never seen before.

One of them is a teenage theelin-human hybrid girl, with paper-white skin adorned with spots and orange hair with small horns encircling her head like a crown. The other two are human men—one middle-aged, with long black hair tied in a half-ponytail, his face stern and serious; the other younger, with sharp features, sun-bronzed skin, and a tall, muscular frame, likely not much older than you.

They couldn’t be more different from each other, except for their identical attire. They’re dressed in light yellow tunics, covered by long brown robes, and each wears a large belt with the unmistakable emblem of the Jedi Order.

Jedi—The realization hits you like a bolt of lightning the moment your eyes land on their belts, and you instinctively draw in a sharp breath.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt, composing yourself with practiced ease. Lifting your head from behind the counter, you address them with a polite, businesslike smile. “How may I assist the three of you today?”

The older man, likely a Jedi Master, introduces himself with courtesy as Sol, while the young girl, his Padawan, is named Jecki. The other young man, a Jedi Knight, is introduced as Yord. “We’re here on a mission,” Sol informs you, his voice laced with concern. “We’re investigating a serious incident that occurred in this city.”

You have no idea what serious incident he’s referring to or how severe it must be to involve the Jedi. For a moment, your mind jumps to the possibility that it might be connected to you—until Jecki explains further, warning you to keep the information strictly confidential.

It turns out that the serious incident is a series of murders currently happening on Olega. Four bodies in four months—each victim a high-ranking Jedi responsible for overseeing the temple here.

"Since the incident is still recent, the killer might be someone who just moved here or snuck into the city illegally," Sol continues. "There are many of these types around the spaceports, which is why we need to increase security in those areas to ensure the safety of the citizens."

You can tell Sol's words hold only a half truth. The Jedi aren't particularly concerned about the lives of citizens since the killer's targets are not random people but specifically high-ranking Jedi.

The presence of the three Jedi at the pharmacy today is no coincidence. As a newcomer here, you're automatically placed among the suspects, though none of them have the nerve to say it outright to your face.

Understanding this, you begin to relax a little. After all, you have nothing to do with these murders, so there's no reason to worry. You just need to play along with the Jedi's charade until it's over.

Sol, the group's leader, takes charge of questioning you, with Jecki also taking part in the interrogation. Most of their questions are basic: had you noticed anything strange or seen any unusual people recently? They also delve into your personal history—your identity, background, and reasons for ending up on this planet.

You respond naturally, mixing truth with lies, careful not to arouse suspicion. You're confident in your ability to act convincingly—that is, until you sense the sharp gaze of the one Jedi in the group who hasn’t said a word.

You furrow your brow, the intense scrutiny from the Jedi named Yord making you increasingly uncomfortable. You try to ignore him, but there's something inexplicably magnetic about his presence—an instinctive urge that draws you to meet his gaze.

At first, you think he's trying to catch you in a lie, but when you see his expression, you're surprised.

He’s not scrutinizing you for deception—he’s staring at you in shock, as if you’re some kind of ghost.

As you peer deeply into his brown eyes with curiosity, time seems to stretch unnaturally long. You find yourself not looking at the present but plunging into the past. Every moment flashes before your eyes like pages of a book flipping by—one year, ten years, a hundred years, up to a thousand years.

Suddenly, your consciousness is yanked back to the present. You startle as your entire body trembles with the icy chill sweeping over you. Pain surges through you like a jolt of electricity, followed by the sticky sensation of blood trickling from your nose.

You know exactly what’s happening. The side effects of your vision are punishing you for seeing what was not meant to be seen.

Closing your eyes, you take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady yourself and acclimate to the pain. As your senses return, you hear Sol’s concerned voice. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," you quickly reply, shaking your head while wiping the blood from your nose with a handkerchief. You feign composure, even though the lingering pain continues to gnaw at you from within.

Sol looks at you with disbelief, but he doesn’t press further. His face betrays concern, and you can’t help but think how fitting he is as a Jedi. His every gesture screams 'purity' If goodness had a color, this man would be the brightest white—so blinding it hurts to look at.

The awkward silence breaks as Sol clears his throat, returning to the topic at hand. “We still don’t have any more leads on the perpetrator, other than the fact that they’re highly skilled with weapons—probably a former soldier or maybe...” He trails off, as if he almost let something slip, but catches himself just in time. "Anyway, if you find any suspicious leads, don’t hesitate to contact me or any other Jedi.”

You watch as Sol places a thin metal card on the counter before bidding you farewell with the classic phrase, "May the Force be with you." He and the other Jedi then leave the pharmacy quietly.

You reach for the card, running your fingers along its cold metallic edge. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s an electronic contact card, storing his information. The front clearly reads, ‘Sol, Human, Jedi Master.

For a brief moment, you consider throwing it far away, but something compels you to tuck it into your pocket instead.

The sun slowly sinks, signaling the approach of evening. Hours have passed, but you're still lost in thought, pondering the group of Jedi you encountered—especially Sol’s story of the horrifying Jedi murder case. Though it has nothing to do with you directly, you can't shake the unease creeping into your mind. It's an inexplicable feeling of foreboding, devoid of any logical reason, as if instinct itself is whispering from deep within, warning you to be cautious. Yet you have no idea what or whom you should be wary of.

And then, there's another matter weighing heavily on your mind—the Jedi Knight named Yord.

His name has settled deep into your thoughts, etched onto your lips. A strange sense of familiarity fills your chest, as though you’ve known him before, despite seeing his face and hearing his name for the first time today.

How odd you think, fragments of a past you can barely recall flicker in your mind, disjointed and unclear. You want to focus your power on a vision, to delve deeper into the memory, but your body is too frail. It would only bring more pain. All you can do now is predict the hazy path of the future, as far as your bruised mind will allow.

You close your eyes, adjusting your breathing to a slow, steady rhythm. You let your mind sink into the stream of consciousness of possible futures.

There’s a ninety percent chance.

Certainty rises inside you—the answer you seek will come when you meet him again... soon.

The Bene Gesserit meditation gradually envelops your mind, nurturing it with such calm and a cold, almost numb detachment. Your fingers gently brush against the knife hidden in your cloak, recognizing that it may become necessary if things spiral out of control.

You step toward the front door of the shop, hand reaching for the handle, but a sudden hesitation grips you, freezing you in place.

A moment of silence surrounds you. You feel like a fish swimming towards a hook, drawn into a dangerous situation you shouldn't be involved with. The closer you get, the harder it becomes to turn back.

But in the end, you open the door anyway.

You stand there, waiting for something to happen. It doesn’t take long before someone grabs your arm, pulling you swiftly into the narrow alley beside the shop, hidden from the bustling street.

Your back hits the wooden wall of a nearby house—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to knock the wind out of you. You look up, meeting Yord's eyes with a calm expression, showing no sign of surprise. You know he is waiting for you, just as you are waiting for him.

“Be careful. You’re in a place you shouldn’t be,” he warns in a firm voice. “Get out while you still can.”

That’s all he says before releasing your shoulder and quickly walking back to the street, disappearing into the crowd while you stay still, watching his broad back in the yellow Jedi uniform fade from view.

In that moment, it's as if a veil of uncertainty is lifted, revealing a truth you had suspected before.

You are certain now. That Jedi can see the future—just like you.[1]

Footnotes:

[1] In Star Wars canon, some Jedi can see the future, but only a few—usually masters with strong Force abilities like Yoda (though as he got older, his visions became less reliable). You can see that Jedi powers and the Bene Gesserit abilities are somewhat similar (because Dune inspired Star Wars). However, in this fic, the author wanted to create a special distinction between the Reader (who is a Bene Gesserit) and the Jedi, so regular Jedi can’t have visions like the Reader. Yord’s case is unique and will have significant importance to the plot later on.

[the-real-treasure]

Treasure Treasure!

An OPLA Sanji x Reader

Master List Here

Previous Chapter: Big Big Top Troubles and the Risks of Show Business

Chapter Five: Sweet Syrupy Lies

Summary : A sinking ship leads the crew to an island where liars mean well and pale girls are fed strange stories, and stranger soup.

Trigger Warnings: Threats and descriptions of violence, scars, swearing, threatening language and behaviour, Reader's Devil Fruit power is overwhelming and overstimulating, graphic descriptions of sensory overload and overstimulation, selfharm caused by scratching, blood, body mutilation? Sort of? Word Count: 8, 100 **Edited: 16/09/24**

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Your arms were itchy.

Under the long sleeves of your aqua jacket and the clean cream top you had changed into under it, stretching up your arms past the end point of the wrapped bandages on your hands, they were itching again.

The deep, carved imprint of chain links, the grooves creating deep ravines around your arms from wrists to your elbows, scarring around your upper arm and across the expanse of back between your shoulders.

If you were lucky, it was just the scarring on your fingers and hands that itched, the old hard skin hidden away under wraps of fabric dry and cracking with the heat and salt of sea travel, but today you weren’t lucky.

Nami was perched at the prow of the boat, map unfurled across her knee and glasses on her face. With her and Luffy out here and Zoro inside, there was no where private, no where secluded enough for you to tear off the fabric driving you to sensory mania and bathe yourself in cool water and ointments to relieve the feeling for a while, like Sanji and Zeff would encourage.

So instead you stood, sweat on your forehead and dripping down your back and you scratched.

You were drawing blood.

But you scratched.

"Hey Nami! Nami, Y/n! Look!" Luffy called from beside you, pulling you out of the fevered itching of your skin.

"What?" Standing from his crouched position beside you, he pulls up a huge swathe of black fabric he had been decorating, supposedly under your supervision as "an expert tailor" since you know how to use a needle and thread. Explaining your passion for embroidery to him had been a mistake as you looked at his work, the incredibly lopsided skull wearing an oddly shaped hat at a jaunty angle left much to be desired.

"It's ready!" He cheered from behind the mangled fabric.

"And what is it?" You took in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes closed. The skin on your arms was screaming.

"Please tell me it's not-"

"Our Jolly Roger." You groaned and dropped your face into your hands. "Every pirate crew has to have one. And now we do!"

"If that's what you were doing," you yanked the length of fabric from his hands and inspect the stitching around the edge of the skull, tutting as you pull loose the weakly sewn threads, "you could have just let me handle it. This is..." you look up, eyes meeting his hopeful grin, "it could use some work, you should've asked me."

"Nah. You seemed like you needed a minute for yourself there." He gave your arm a gently poke, where blood had seeped through the fabric just below your shoulder. He keeps surprising you, this captain of yours.

"We're not a crew, and you are not hanging that on my boat."

"You know where you could have hung it."

Nami's eyes roll. "I swear if you say 'my boat, the Guppy,'" her voice turns nasily as she mocks the beginning of your sentence.

"You see the Guppy,"

"Y/n I swear, your boat was not that much better!" she sighs, "And it wouldn't have been much of a pirate ship either, so there would be no point in hanging any Jolly Rogers."

"More of a pirate vessel than this one."

"Zoro!" Luffy called as the swordsman finally left the small cabin, "Zoro, check it out." Zoro stares at the flag for a moment before he smacks his lips together.

"That's unique. Nami, I think the toilet's busted." Nami stared at him reproachfully.

"We don't have a toilet."

"Oh." Zoro turned away from her again. "Well, then something back there's leaking."

"WHAT?!" She jumped up and rushed into the cabin, returning moments later and storming towards Zoro in anger. "We're taking in water. What did you do?"

Hearing the state of the ship, you grab Luffy by the arm and scramble up on to the cabin's roof with him.

"I didn't do anything, what are you two doing now?"

"The way you're clanging those swords around, you must have broken something."

"Maybe if you're such a good thief, maybe you should've stolen a better boat."

"I don't care who did or didn't do whatever, our crew is half made up of Devil Fruit users who, need I remind you both, don't do well in sea water?"

"Guys, guys guys. Ok, crew meeting." Luffy let his torso hang down towards the pair arguing as you clung on to the back of his shirt, eyes sweeping the deck for any sign of sea water that wasn't already there.

"Not a crew." the two chimed together, turning to him anyway.

"We're gonna need a better ship to make it to the Grand Line. A real pirate ship. Not this holey ship, not the Guppy," his head swivelled 180 degrees to look at you as you opened your mouth to let out an indignant "She could make it!", "A ship, worthy of the Straw Hat Crew."

"Wait." Nami interrupted his impassioned speech. "Straw Hat Crew? Really?"

"Yeah! I thought it had a nice ring to it."

"'Demon' had a nice ring to it, headgear? Not scary." Luffy shrugged at the green haired swordsman.

"Who says pirates have to be scary?" The pair look around in confusion as Luffy let's you pull him upright and hops easily down to the main deck, leaving you perched above the trio. "The point is, we need a new ship. So, where do we get one?" Nami sighs and pulls open her map journal, searching around for a moment before answering.

"Our closest bet is the Gecko Islands. We can probably make it there before our ship sinks. Ditch this one and get a better one."

"Good. With a working toilet." Luffy tapped his finger towards Nami happily.

"Great job, navigator." Nami frowned as he lifted the flag from the deck.

"You're still not hanging that on my ship." Luffy smiles at her before clambering back on to the cabin roof beside you. He plonks down on the wood as you stare out to the horizon behind you, pulling the flag into his lap to inspect the threads you had tugged loose in your inspection.

"Hey Y/n.." He mumbled thoughtfully as he looked over his lopsided design.

"Yea?"

"Do you think," he sighs quietly, joining your observation of the wake of your boat in the sea, "that everyone has a dream? Or a wish or whatever you call it?" You hummed.

"Yeah, I would think so, though it might be different then what they think, or they might not even know."

"What about everything?" You turned your head to face him. He shrugged at you. "Like, I don't know..."

"A boat?" You finished his question for him, a smile slowly spreading across both your faces, the itching on your skin long forgotten. "What did you have in mind?"

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"You got to be kidding me." You stood looking over the bulletin board in the small square of Syrup Village, staring at the wanted posted of Buggy, where underneath his name it read 15 million. "That clown was worth 15 million Berry." Zoro was quietly fuming. "We should've stuffed his head in a bag and brought it with us."

"What Marine would pay you that bounty anyway?" Luffy was laying with his back on the ground, legs stretched up the wall, looking up at you and Zoro. He giggled. "You're kind of a wanted man yourself now." Zoro grunted in unhappy agreement.

"Didn't think of that." And, not for the first time, you wondered if word of your actions had reached Baratie yet. If Sanji and Zeff were arguing about what happened to you, if Patty had successfully rescued your beloved baby blue Guppy from the docks at Shells Town. If that fucking merchant had done his job and got that order shipped out yet.

Luffy rolled himself upright and stood. "All the more reason to get to the Grand Line. Fresh start!"

Your chains itched. You resist the urge to drag your nails down your arms or try and scrub your skin off.

"Right." Luffy turned to the returning Nami happily.

"Hey! You got us a ship?"

"Working on it. Did you push the sloop out to sea like I told you?"

"Yeah! No Marines are gonna be following us here." Nami and Zoro eyed each other.

"Well, we're not gonna be here very long. Turns out Syrup Village is known for their ship building. Lots of options!" Luffy grinned.

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" Luffy happily took of in, what you assume, is the wrong direction, Nami quickly following behind. Your pace is more leisurely as Zoro rips the wanted poster off the wall and scrunched it into a ball.

"Stupid clown.

Your quartet traipse through the shipyard, casting critical eyes over the hollowed out hulls and local craftsmen doing their work. At Luffy's request, you keep your sixth sense peeled, hoping some glimmer of want would ripple across the yard and pull you in the right direction.

"Look at 'em all!" He glances back at you, and you shake your head. Just the normal everyday deepest wishes of desperation and desire, like normal. No heart wrenching yearning for the sea, not yet.

"How much do these even cost?" Zoro asks from beside you.

"If you have to ask, you can't afford it."

"Okay, so we need to get one with a very, very impressive figurehead. At least two," he counts on his fingers quickly, "no, no three masts! And a really high crow's nest. Y/n is keeping an ear out for what we need, so we follow their que and we'll work from there!"

Nami shakes her head at your and Luffy's new shared delusion. "We are not gonna be able to sail a ship anywhere near that size. There's only four of us." Luffy's smile doesn't fade.

"Four of us, right now!"

"Well, unless you can find another weird, desperate soul to help us." Something echoes through you gently, the whisper reminiscent of your time aboard the Orbit.

"Speak for yourself." Zoro grunts. You push past him and Nami, falling into step with your captain a moment before your pace pulls you past him too. Nami's hand grabs at the fabric of your sleeve as you start to pull ahead.

"Listen, we are going to need something a little less flashy if we wanna sneak out of here." Her words pull both you and Luffy to a stop.

"You want to steal a ship?" She scoffs at the pair of you.

"How else did you expect us to get one?"

"I don't know. But we can't steal one."

"What kind of pirate are you?"

"One who knows the value of 1) a ship and 2) what he wants!" Luffy nods along with your words.

"A ship is not just a ship-"

"It's our home!"

"-it's a part of our crew! We need to find the perfect one. And we're gonna get it the right way."

"Okay, pitch that to the salesman. I'm sure that'll win him over." Luffy smiles at her understanding.

"Exactly!" And he takes off again, heading closer to the main docks. She turns from watching him go to meet your eyes, aqua and gold staring almost through her.

"No one and nothing does well in a role they're forced into," you whisper. "That's not something I'll let happen, not on this crew." And you turn, following behind your captain as he bobs between boats.

(Please please please)

You continues through the maze of boats and ships, darting past builders and workmen, as the yearning for adventure, for returning to the sea ripples through you.

(Just once more, one more adventure)

Turning a final corner, your eyes rest on the joyful figure head of a beaming sheep, horns curving out and towards you. Slowing to a stop, Luffy follows and lets out a small happy sigh as his eyes meet the boat as well.

(Golden sunsets spread as far as the eye can see. Glorious crisp white peaks on cobalt waves cresting the horizon. Murky green rich with seaweed and stories)

Your chest burns with the want of the sea, it echoes through you, ripples bouncing off of you and back to the boat, going in and out and in over and over.  The more you listen, the more you realise it's not jus the boat the ripples are bouncing off. You let Luffy climb the ladder ahead of you, a quiet reverence having taken over him as he approaches the ship. The wishes thrum through the air around you, the tips of your ears tingling with the energy. The overwhelming itch on your skin fades to a dull throbbing as you both stand below the figurehead. Luffy, with extreme care, raises his hand to the chin of sheep and rests his fingers on it.

"Real beauty huh?" Luffy stares in wonder as you dart your head over the edge of the platform, looking towards the main body of the boat.

"You can talk?" A young man in a red bandana and green vest pops his head over the edge of the boat.

"No! Over here." Luffy joins you for a moment, also spotting the young man. "Yo." Luffy pushes past you to lean further past the platform.

"This ship is amazing." The man's eyes drift up the figure head as he agrees. "What can you tell me about her?"

"Caravel class, top-of-the-line. Ninety-six feet of pure luxury. Whipstaff rudder, full galley." Both your ears prick up for a moment, eyes glancing to each others with a grin. "Cannon decks fore and aft." He gives a small chef's kiss at the perfection of the craft. Luffy asks the obvious question,

"Is she fast?"

"The fastest," he replies with a grin, "Not a ship in the East Blue can keep up with this baby." Luffy smiled with glee and tapped the side of the boat.

"She's perfect."

"You can say that again." You stare at him curiously.

This boy seemed to belong more with the majority of people, with less focus or surety on his true dream, though the tingling in your ears and the fuzziness in your head of your power sends swirling echoes of the crafts' dream of crystal blue water surrounding you, but also that of a pretty, pale girl with big eyes and a big smile fluttering past your mind's eye.

"There you two are." Nami's voice calls from below you as she and Zoro arrive from the smoky air.

"Guys!" Luffy's voice is loud as it rings out beside you, crashing you back to reality, eyes flickering back into focus as the boy in the boat smiles at you warily. You had been staring, finger raised but not sure which way to point. Oops. "We found it! We found our ship. And this guy will sell it to us." The boy stutters as you and Luffy clamber back down the ladders to your crewmates current and temporary travelling companions.

"Uh, wait. Wh-what? Uh..."

"Yeah!" Luffy replies happily, "The ship, we'll take it."

"Technically, she's not for sale." You both look at him.

"Huh?"

"And technically, I'm not a salesman."

"Impressive salesmanship skills for someone who isn't a salesman and has nothing to sell." You have to give him that. He grins in reponse.

"Thanks."

"Do you even work here?" Nami asks, ignoring you.

"Of course I do. I'm Chief Technician in charge of encrustation removal and aviary waste eradication." The speed of his speech stalls your brain out for a moment, and though the title sounds impressive, something doesn't add up.

"Encru-wha?" Luffy is in the same boat.

"He scrubs barnacles and cleans bird shit." Zoro answers plainly.

"He can't help us."

"Wait-wait-wait-wait! I can help you. The owner of this ship just happens to be my closest friend in the world." Smugness layers his speech.

"Your friend owns this ship."

"Not just this one, she owns the whole shipyard. She's," turning to look at you and Luffy from the side of his eye. "rich rich." You and your captain look at each other excitedly. "I'm sure you could strike a deal with her."

Luffy slaps his legs excitedly and you and the young man mimic him immediately. "See?" Nami looks between the two of you.

"Well I guess it couldn't hurt to say hello."

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There are eyes on you. You can feel them.

"I've never seen a house this big before." You and Luffy stand side by side staring up at the mansion past the well, paved courtyard and topiary bushes. Your eyes travel across the garden, you skin itching again as you look for whoever is spying on you and your crew captain.

"Impressive right?" The boy pushes past you both and walks, backwards, towards the house. "Kaya's given me an open invitation to drop by anytime I want." There's movement in the bushes to your left, but you don't turn your head to observe it, yet. "We just have to keep an eye out for, uh, Roku. He doesn't like people wandering near his plants, ya see."

"Wow. All this for just one person?"

"And staff, I suspect. Gardeners, foreman, cooks. If she's a lady, she must have workers of some kind." You ask him.

"Yeah, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff." You hum, eyes sweeping the bushes again.

"Interesting choice, a butler for a young lady. Normally its a maid, or lady in waiting if there position is high enough." He squints at you.

"How'd you know all that?" You shrug.

"I work in a restaurant, clientele varies, so we've had some posher folk come through." He nods. Nami mutters behind you as he and Luffy flop forward over the well and look down at the depth of it.

"Money really shows you who people truly are. Most people only care about themselves and what's theirs."

"Sounds like someone I know." Zoro snides back.

"And a small staff makes for easy pickings." You glance back at them as you follow Luffy and your guide further into the garden.

"Why? Gonna rob the place blind?"

"At least a little blurry." Moving to turn back to your captain, your eyes land on a figure amongst the tall flowers, creeping steadily towards your group, short but dark silver hair peeking out from under a bucket shaped hat.

"So if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?" As you all climb the steps and start past the lovely lily ponds, your eyes don't wander from your stalker, the man's figure coming in and out of focus as he sticks to the shadows of the trees at the edge of the property.

"Oh, I never use the front entrance. This is a more of a VIP entrance reserved for special guests." As you hop across the giant lily pads to the other side, Zoro mutters behind you,

"This guys full of shit."

"Yeah, but as long as he get us inside the house, who cares?" Your eyes dart over to the shadows of the trees. The man's gone.

As you all are forced to a stop behind him, the boy peels around and tries to usher you all back in the other direction.

"Oops, you know, there's actually a more exclusive entrance back this way." As he speaks, a knife goes whizzing between his feet, landing in the bed of the lily pad and the (unusually sharp) prongs of a garden rake catch the strap of his bag, pulling him to a stop as it tightens around his chest.

"Going somewhere Usopp?" The voice sounds like its been gargling gravel, the stupid hat tilted low over the man's face to protect his eyes from the sun. His head lifts, and you can see the scrabbly lengths of his fringe curling around and covering both of his eyebrows, his green irises reflecting the sunlight away from slanted gold pupils.

As he straightens, pulling Usopp easily off the overcrowded lily pad and on to the grass, towering over you all easily in scruffy gardeners clothes and stinking of grass clippings. The other man, the one who threw the knife, comes stalking up behind the large man, sneering around him at the boy.

"The hell are you doing here, Usopp?" Usopp stutters nervously

"Buchi, Roku, buddies, uh, Kaya's expecting me." The maid further back lifts their mop as Roku drops his grip on the back of Usopp's bag, stepping aside as Buchi easily grabs a hold of him instead.

"Another one of your lies." He yanks Usopp forward, nearly knocking him to his knees as he struggles against the older man's grip. "You ain't welcome here and you know it."

"I know nothing of the sort," He replies with false bravado, "I'm here to give Kaya an extra-special gift." As Buchi's lips curl away from his teeth, a girls voice calls from further in the garden.

"Usopp!" You all turn to look at the girl as she approaches, arm curled into that of the tall dark butler beside her. Her skin and hair were pale, though her skin more sickly so then natural, and her pink dress, edged with frills, was lifted clear of her feet as she carefully stepped down the stone stairs towards them. "What a wonderful surprise!"

Usopp smiles smugly at Buchi for a moment before pushing off his grip, skirting past the foreboding figure of Roku as he moves towards the girl.

"Kaya! Happy birthday." She smiles sweetly at him.

"You remembered."

"Of course I did." The butler clears his throat and pushes the glasses on his face up with the palm of his hand before looking down at the boy in front of him.

"Usopp. We've had this discussion. You mustn't show up unannounced." Kaya squeezes his arm gently, pulling his attention to her.

"Nonsense, Klahadore. Have you come to tell me another story? I do love hearing about your adventures." Usopp smiled at her gently.

"I'll do you one better. I brought some of my crew." As Usopp turns, you turn with him, searching for any sign of this supposed crew as Luffy joins you in confusion.

"Is he talking about us?" You all glance at each other awkwardly as Kaya speaks.

"It's so nice to meet you. You all must stay for dinner." A smile grows on Luffy's face at the mention of food before the butler interrupts.

"Miss Kaya. It is a bit last minute. I'm afraid the kitchen hasn't prepared for any extra guests."

"Please, Klahadore. It's my birthday. Can't be too much trouble, can it?" She asked, looking up at him hopefully. Aside from Klahadore, the rest of Kaya's staff all restrain eye rolls and try to hide pulled faces.

"Of course, Miss Kaya. Anything for you." He hadn't even finished speaking before Kaya had turned to Usopp smiling happily at the prospect of them joining her for dinner.

"All right!" Luffy clapped his hands in excitement. "When do we eat?"

"You don't. Not dressed like that." Klahadore looks them up and down judgementally, nose turned up at them. "Sham, kindly show Usopp and his friends to the guest suites. You will bathe and change before dinner."

Nami smiles over at you and you join her. "A bath does sound nice."

"You're telling me!"

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Luffy stares dumbly at the ceiling of the dressing room/closet as you and Nami pick through the cloths hanging wall to wall in the large space.

"Why would anyone even need this many clothes?"

"It's not about need with these people," Nami calls back to him, "It's about want."

"What are we even supposed to wear?"

"Anything you want! When are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?"

If you were being honest, you were struggling to find something yourself. The nicest thing you had ever owned was the knee length aqua coat, with the gold filigree embroidery edging the bottom and cuffs of the sleeves. Now you stood surrounded by lavish cloths and you were at a loss. Wrapped in a towel so big it dragged along the floor and covered you chest to toes, you had left your hair to dry in the crisp cool air of the evening. The curling expanse fell down past your shoulders, almost to your hips. The itching skin of your tattooed shoulders grated at your nervous, but the cool water and salts had soothed some of it away, though the need to scratch still lingered.

You pause your flicking through the dresses, shirts and suits as Nami emerges from behind the dressing screen. She wore a black dress with navy metallic squares and rectangles crossing the body and skirt.

"Well?" she asks, "What do you think?" Luffy looked at her confused.

"You look like Nami." With a blank face, she turns to look at you. In that moment a memory from your childhood sparks, of a girl only a few years your senior, turning away from her brothers to you with the same blank but unimpressed stare, her big eyes full of disappointment but hiding behind pink hair.

"You look gorgeous," a small smile rolls across her lips as she swishes the skirt around her legs, "but I don't know if the colour suits you. Too dark, I think."

"Yeah.." she looks down at the dress thoughtfully and turns back to go behind the dressing screen again calling out a "thanks!" as she disappeared.

You turn back to the rows and rows of cloths, flicking through more and more until one set catches your eye, just as Zoro finally enters.

"Hey Zoro!" Luffy cheered, finally given a distraction from you and Nami fussy about your outfits. "Whatcha gonna wear?"

"Something black." You don't look up as he passes by you, eyes captivated with what you had found as you pull it free of its brethren.

The suit was a darker shade then what you would normally wear, closer to a teal green than your usual aqua or seafoam shades. The waistcoat would fit well over your chest, and the high waist, wide legged trousers were in keeping with your preferred leg wear. And while it was missing a shirt, you could go without, even if the suit jacket was lighter in weight and material compared to your own coat. Shorter too. It would look good draped across your shoulders, leaving your arms free of restriction like the broad sleeved shirts and coats you liked to wear.

You moved further into the room yourself, bypassing Zoro and Luffy to reach another secluded dressing screen as Nami commented "How edgy."

"Hey, does that butler seem familiar to you guys?" You call out a "no" as you throw your towel over the partition, pulling the trousers up your legs, fabric trailing through the air as you kicked up experimentally. No pulling or tightness. Good.

"Yeah, I think he was at the last dinner party I attended." Nami sassed as you buttoned the waistcoat up your chest, the smooth material cool and soothing across your easily irritated skin. You may have to steal this. (Sorry Kaya.)

"I swear I've seen him somewhere." Listening to the clicking of his swords and scabbards, you drape the suit jacket across you shoulders and shuffle your hands into the trouser pockets. Stepping out from behind the dressing screen, you eye Nami as she reappears as well, this time in a slim fitting black dress with a sparkly sequined cardigan over the top.

"How's this?" You smile as the sparkles catch your eye.

"You look amazing Nami." She smiles bashfully as the boys make their thoughts known.

"Still Nami."

"I said I'm wearing black." You give them both deadpan stares as you stride across the room, trouser legs billowing behind you, in search of some shoes to go along with your chosen outfit.

"I hate you guys. At least someone appreciates good fashion. You look fantastic in that suit by the way." You beam up at her from where you're crouched on the floor, hoking for shoes.

"Thank you!" you reply warmly and she replies with an equally warm,

"You're welcome." Before glaring at the boys once more and going back to looking at clothes.

"I feel kinda bad for Kaya. All this stuff. All this space. It's gotta make a person feel... lonely." Your eyes catch on a pair of pointed black boots hidden behind some red silk.

"Rich people don't have the same emotions we do. This stuff doesn't make her feel lonely. It makes her feel important." Pulling out the boots, you tug the red silk dress out as well, knocking Nami's leg with your elbow and gesturing the dress towards her. She 'ooh's quietly and pulls it out fully to inspect.

"Well, Usopp likes her. And she invited us to dinner. I'm sure we can work out a way to get that ship."

"No way." Nami responds eyes trailing across the patterns on the dress you had pulled for her as you struggled the boots on to your feet as your jacket falls to the floor, "Rich people don't stay rich by giving things away." Luffy smiled at her mischievously.

"You wanna bet?" Nami stares at him, before dropping her arms to her sides.

"What are the terms?"

"I bet I can convince Kaya to give us that ship."

"And when you can't?"

"We go with your plan." You look up at him, startled by the decision. "Steal one and move on."

"Uhh, no, let's? Let's not do that?" you stutter up at them, one boot still laying on the ground. They ignore you as they shake on the deal.

"You're on." You stare at Luffy as he walks away, barely registering the fabric whipping past your head as Nami throws a black silk shirt at Zoro.

"Nice."

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You stood with Luffy and Usopp, picking at the tray of hors d'œuvres Sham carried past you. You bit into one of the miniature quiches , exploring the texture like Zeff taught you, while the boys scarfed theirs down. Your hair was partially pulled up and away from your face, curtesy of Nami corralling you before you could stick it into you usual bandana and ponytail combo and the bandages normally wound around your hands are replaced by a pair of leather gloves.

"Eggs a bit gritty for some reason." You feel eyes piercing your head, and turn slightly to spot the chef, Buchi, glaring daggers at you. You lean closer to the boys. "Might be cooked at too high a temperature."

"Mm! But they're so good."

"I know right? Reminds me of that one time I slayed a dragon, cooked it over an open flame, ate the whole thing myself. You ever had dragon?"

"Nope." He spun to look at Sham. "Do you have dragon?" She looks at him bewildered for a second.

"Afraid we're fresh out."

"Oh well. Hey Zoro!" Luffy called to the swordsman as he picked up a champagne glass. "You gotta try this!"

"I've got all I need right here."

"May I present..." Klahadore's voice echoes from the top of the stairs. "Miss Kaya." He carefully walked her down the stairs to join the rest of them, as the accountant, Merry, climbed up to meet them. You scooted out and away from the boys to stand beside Nami as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Nami, I love that dress on you!"

"Thanks."

She replied, a smile crawling up her faces at the compliment. Kaya reaches out and touches the fabric of the dress gently.

"It belonged to my mother. It was one of her favourites."

"Oh-" Nami stuttered, "I'm sorry, I-I,"

"Not at all. I'm sure she would agree it suits you splendidly." Nami's eyes darted to you for assistance in this awkward conversation and you come to her aid as well as you can.

"You look lovely tonight yourself, Miss Kaya." The girl beams at you, skin pale and washed out from sickness but still radiating joy. "You look," you hesitate for a second but finish quietly, "Happy. You look incredibly happy."

"Oh I am. I'm so glad Usopp brought you all here, it's so so good to have people around. And you look wonderful as well, the colour suits you." And you laugh, gesturing your half uneaten quiche down yourself in amusement.

"Ha! Suit, because of the colour, but also because," Nami's eyes widen at you and Kaya's smile grows mischievous, "It's what, uh, what I'm wearing, because it's a suit, it was, yes. Hm, clever." You grit your teeth in an awkward smile and stuff the rest of your hors d'œuvre into your mouth to escape taking anymore nonsense. Kaya snorts and giggles at you as Nami's eyes nearly roll into the back of her skull, and you're saved speaking anymore by Merry approaching Kaya quietly.

"Kaya, I wondered if I may have your ear. There are matters concerning the transfer of ownership of the shipyard we need to discuss."

"Merry," Klahadore cuts in, "Dear friend, it's always business with you." The sheep man sighs, "Tonight is about celebration. Shall we all move to the dining room?"

"YES!" Luffy cheers excitedly at the promise of dinner, "Oh! Oh, I'm so ready for this!" As you all move to your seats, you eye the man Roku, confused why the gardener was working at this time of night, and inside as well. His own reflective green iris meet your glowing swirling clouds of aqua and gold, both shifting and catching the candle light around you in the colours. You say nothing, but you hold eye contact as you sit, him standing with back to the wall now.

Sham moves through the dining room as the rest of you eat, carrying a tray of smoked fish. Kaya calls out to her as she passes,

"I'd love to try the fish tonight."

"I'm sorry, Miss Kaya, but that is not possible."

"Maybe just a small piece." Your eyes move up the table to them from your seat between Luffy and Nami.

"Now, you know that certain foods can affect your constitution."

"Are you allergic to any seafood, miss Kaya?" You call up the table. Your own plate sat mostly untouched in front of you, the under seasoned fish and too hard potatoes causing an echo of Zeff roar through your mind.

"No, she is not-"

"Then fish should surely help her here, there are plenty of good fats and beneficial oils and omegas in fish, and with how unseasoned it is, the flavour is hardly going to upset her stomach." You're almost sure you hear a hiss from the cook situated behind her, but you ignore it in favour of keeping eye contact with the silently fuming butler.

"And, I'm sorry you'll forgive me for querying, where did you get your expertise about food from, precisely?" The last word is hissed out through grit teeth. Nami spoke from beside you.

"They grew up and work in a restaurant. A successful one, given the stories of the patrons we've discussed." Nami eyes were narrowed at the butler.

"Yeah!" Luffy chimed helpfully with a mouthful of food, "They clean the dishes!" You screw your eyes and mouth shut as you pair of you turn to glare at your captain, who smiles shamelessly at you.

"Well." Klahadore cuts with a smug smile, "You'll forgive me for not taking the word of a dish washer over an expert medical opinion. Here, Buchi has prepared your special soup." The chef gingerly places the bowl down in front of her, shooting a glare over at you, which you returned.

"Kaya, it's your birthday. You should be able to eat what you want."

"Miss Kaya's medical condition," Klahadore once again cuts in your and Nami's pleas to allow the girl some freedom, "necessitates that I closely monitor her dietary needs."

"Does it mean you also speak for her?" Luffy raises his hand from beside you.

"I'll take her fish." Usopp gulps and tries to divert the conversation.

"Luffy, isn't there something that you wanted to talk to Kaya about?"

"Oh! Yes! Usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard." Kaya smiles slightly.

"Well, actually my parents founded the shipyard, and Merry's been running the business since... well, since they passed." Merry raises his glass to her. "But all of that's about to change. Tonight, at midnight, I will become the sole owner."

"Ah, well. That's great, because we want to buy a ship from you."

"I see! Usopp mentioned that you're sailors." The two share a small smile before Luffy opens his big mouth and ruins it.

"Nope, not sailors. We're pirates." You, very very slowly, lower your head to the table and begin to bang it against the wood surface gently. Usopp spits his drink back into his glass as both Zoro and Nami take longs sips of their own.

"This oughta be good." Kaya's eyes glance between you in confusion.

"Pirates?"

"Yep. We haven't sailed together for very long, but we have already defeated an evil clown, raided a Marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe for a hand and a nasty lieutenant." Your shoulders start to shake in quiet laughter. You couldn't help it, this is going so badly already, and you've all barely started.

"These sound a lot like your adventures, Usopp." He laughs breathlessly,

"Yeah, that's, that's crazy."

"Oh yeah! And we're just getting started." Luffy happily climbs on to his chair and stands on the table, glass in hand.

"What are you doing? Get down from there at once!" Klahadore starts to move around the table, making for Luffy, and you stand to block his way, wanting to allow your captain to at least finish his point. The butler sneers down at you, but you don't move.

"Being a pirate has been my dream for as long as I can remember. And I'm finally making it a reality." He drops his elbow to his knee, making direct eye contact with Kaya. "We're heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us. And at the end of the journey, I'm gonna find the ultimate treasure," he starts walking down the table, "the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates." Kaya stares up at him.

"You're... serious?" Taking a gulp, he pushes the still mostly full glass into Klahadore's face, breaking up the staring competition you had going on with him, though you don't sit. He growls as he takes it out of Luffy's hand. Reaching down, he takes Kaya by the shoulders gently.

"Kaya. You have a beautiful ship out there. A caravel with a sheep figurehead. It spoke to me. To us! That's the ship we need to follow our dreams. I promise you we'll take care of it. Maintain it. Treat it like any other member of our crew, because a ship is also a home." A small smile begins to form on Kaya's face before Klahadore roars out.

"That will be quite enough! I should've known Usopp would bring riffraff to our doorstep."

"Klahadore, it's okay, I-" but before she could finish her sentence, she begins to cough.

"Now look what you've done. You've upset Miss Kaya. All of you, out of this house at once!" Kaya shakes her head and wheezes out a

"No. It's late. Let them stay the night." Klahadore helps her up as she stands, shakily.

"As you wish, Miss Kaya. But they are out, first thing in the morning." And he rushes her out of the dining room, leaving you all in stunned silence.

"That went pretty well." Luffy chirps as you pull him by the shoulder off his perch on the table, shooting sidelong glares at the hovering staff who were glaring back at you. "Don't you think?"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You follow Nami quietly as she makes her way through the dark hallways. Watching her pick up different items and feeling the weight of them in her hands before stashing them in her pillow case sack. She had changed out of her dress, but you had kept the waistcoat and trousers on, fancy pointed boots swapped for your wide toed ones instead.

"If you don't like me stealing from her, either say your piece or go back to your room, there's no point in following behind me and judging silently."

"I don't like you stealing from her, but given that I won't be returning this suit, I'm not one to talk." She stops and turns back to you, eyes trailing up your arms and shoulders, following the length of chains embedded in your skin.

"I didn't know you had tattoos. Adds to the whole 'why I thought you were a pirate' thing." She did air quotes around the words and laughed softly.

"Tattoos?" she looked at you frowning and gestured to your still bare arms, jacket abandoned. "Oh! Oh yeah, I don't-" You laugh awkwardly, "I don't know where I got these. Had them as long as I can remember." You shrugged as she looked them over, quietly stunned.

"As long as you can rememb- like even when you were a baby?" She asks, gobsmacked, and you nod thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I don't know if they are, ya know." She looks at you, "Tattoos, I mean, they're- deep, like, really deep, here feel." And without warning you grab her hand, running it up and down the chain links marred across your arm. Instead of the raised skin of an old scarred tattoo, or the smooth skin of a well healed one, the skin under the chains is sunken, like their buried deep into the flesh of your arm, leaving a gap deep and wide enough for you to easily slot your ring finger into. She gagged and pulled away quickly and you chortled at her over reaction. 

"You're right, those-" she gags softly and looks at them horrified, "Those aren't tattoos." Shaking her hand to rid herself of the feeling she turns back to her heisting, dropping a solid, probably silver candlestick in her sack. "Why are you following me then, if not to disapprove?" You hummed, peering out through the curtains to the dark gardens below.

"I don't trust that gardener. Or the maid. Or the chef. Or the butler as it happens." She smirks at you.

"So you don't trust any of them."

"Yea."

"And that means you're following me because...?"

"I know you can handle yourself, but something here feels... off. I thought maybe we should, ya know, stick together. Where we can." You shrug lamely, peering down the dark corridors as she moves further through the labyrinth of halls.

"Well, you're not wrong. I can handle myself, and unlike you," she glares down at your boots, "and those shoes, I know how to be quiet when I'm looting so maybe you should just-"

Footsteps echoing down the corridor drag both your attentions away from the small argument you had started, and in a flash you separate, assuming the other would be following behind. As she books it to the nearest door and slips inside, you twirl around and dash, as quietly as you can, down the hall from where you came, catching hold of one of the floor length curtains and wrapping yourself, perching up on to the windowsill and obscuring your shape behind it.

As the footsteps pass by, you hold your breath and watch the reflection in the glass. A tall looming figure passes, and the sound of rattling follows, the sound dragging along with a "shuff-shuff" against the carpet.

Peeking out from behind the dark fabric, you watch the figure move deeper into the darkness. It is hard to make out but the shape of the floppy dark hat atop their head cause your eyes to widen as you recognise who it is.

The gardener Roku carrying a large sack over his shoulder, with lengths of chains dragging along behind him in the darkness.

As he slips around another corner, the chain clipping the wall as he goes. There's a near silent rustling of fabric as you move beneath the curtain, carefully, carefully, unbuckling and unzipping the black boots on your feet before placing them down on the ground, toes no longer hidden under the length of the fabric. Now bare foot, you drop on to the carpet and look around.

"Nami?" You whisper into the darkness, listening for the noise of dragging chains returning. "Nami?!"

You get no response.

You suck in a deep breathe through your nose and stop. Your hands are shaking as you pull your gold bandana from the pocket of the waistcoat and try to tie it deftly around your head. The scar tissue of your skin and the leather gloves make it hard to bend your fingers, the lack of sensation and tremors from the damage done making them even harder to control.

Your arms were itchy.

Your body aches and you're tired.

You didn't eat much of the disgusting dinner, so you're hungry.

You're head is pulsing and your powers are screaming at you as energy whistles around your ears.

It's dark.

But you focus. And you follow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Silently, you follow Roku through the mansion, down, down, down, until he stops in the doorway of the wine cellar.

You stop as well, peering down at him from around the corner as he stands, chains coiled around his feet. He pulls off the stupid hat, revealing two pointed horns of hair, almost mimicking cat ears. One is made from a patch of bright white, a stark difference to the dark hue of grey the rest of his hair is made up off.

There's someone talking in the cellar itself, the low familiar drone alerting you to Zoro's presence. There's the "shing" of a sword being drawn and the twang of thin sheets of metal bouncing off each other before another figure in dark clothing appears in front of the gardener, hands sporting five sharp blades at the end of each figure. Damn those look cool. The shattering of glass breaks the moment as well as the bottle and you realise with a start, that this is very bad. Very bad indeed.

You're standing at the point of a bottle neck, down one Zoro, and up potentially four assailants. And you have no idea where anyone else has gone. Ignoring the scuffling from the room, you turn tail and sprint back up the stairs of the cellar, the only indication you've been heard is the thump of Roku's sack onto the ground and the loud, heavy footsteps following behind your own.

The noise echoes all around you as you make a mad dash through the halls, the gardener hot on your tail as he hisses and snarls in the darkness, voice mocking and raspy as he calls out to you.

"Here, little kitty, come here!"

"Big ol' Roku won't do you no harm!"

"We just needs you to stay very quiet for a very long time!"

"COME HERE I SAY!"

Shooting around one more corner, you spot a door ahead of you, unbarred and hopefully unlocked. As you barrel into it, you're relieved to learn you were right, the latch giving way immediately as you all but tear it from its hinges.

The cool night air stings your lungs and your skin, small sharp rocks in the gravel digging into your feet and burying themselves into your skin. You think, you hope, you pray you had escaped him as your mad dash pushes you out past the topiary bushes and glorious flowerbeds. 

Your eyes just barely spot the faint lights from the distant village before something winds around your foot and lurches you back, sending you plummeting face first into the gravel. Rolling over, you catch sight of Roku's arm outstretched, the length of chain and shockingly familiar grooves cut through his skin. With a yank, the chain on your ankle tightens and hauls you back, your skin scoured by the rocks beneath you, and, in a moment of awful, gut churning panic, you copy his motion, reeling your arm back and swing it forward.

Weight chases up your arm as the chains on your arm shift and pull and snap out of your flesh, the end of the length whipping through the air and cracking him right in the centre of his forehead. For a moment, silence rings out, and then as one.

You both release blood curdling screams.

Next Chapter: Let Sleeping Cats Die

[the-kr8tor]

Thread The Needle

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 48.6k (complete)

Synopsis: You've been pining for your best friend of ten years, unbeknownst to you he's also hopelessly in love with you. Will your final college project bring you closer and finally admit your feelings? Or will it drive a wedge between you?

Tags: Best friend! Hobie, fashion student! reader, fem! Reader. Best friends to lovers, idiots in love, lots of pining, is it still slow burn if they're already in love? Hurt/comfort, FLUFF. Specific warnings are listed per chapter.

Disclaimer: I have no experience in fashion design or went to school for it. I've based my knowledge on my own research and what I've seen in various media.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

All images used are from pinterest

Main Masterlist

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 - Pin my heart

CHAPTER 2- Loose thread

CHAPTER 3- Knee Socks

CHAPTER 4- Threadbare

CHAPTER 5- Woven Wheel

CHAPTER 6- Lace

CHAPTER 7- Crossed Stitch

CHAPTER 8- Out of Style

CHAPTER 9- Threaded Through

CHAPTER 10- Parallel Cut

EPILOGUE

TTN one shots (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

Classroom inspo

Chapter 8 outfit inspos

TTN secrets (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Submitted by the readers ❤️

Chapter 8 fanart by @thesevenofstaves

TTN Memes by @hunx147 (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Songs recommended by readers to listen to while reading ❤️

Spotify playlist

From the start by Laufey, Chemtrails over the country club by Lana Del Rey, good old fashioned lover boy by Queen, Just a friend to you by Meghan Trainor, I bet on losing dogs by Mitski, Everything in you by adventure time, What a wonderful world cover by the Brooklyn duo, me and your mama by Childish Gambino, A thousand years by Cristina Perry, Tis the damn season by Taylor Swift, thousand years cover by new found glory, Outset island by Hot freaks, Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo.

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 8

Benadryl

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~ 13.2K words (I made y'all wait, but you get all of this and two spicy scenes)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / fingering, car sex, dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), comeshot, come eating / language / mentions of past drug use / hostage extraction / canon-consistent violence / Minors DNI

A/N: I know nothing about fixing cars. I know nothing about helicopters. I know that these two love each other. Special guest appearance this chapter by Ben Miller. Benny fans, your boy is a menace and he's wonderful.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your lovely comments, for recommending this story, and for screaming with me about these two.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

MONDAY

AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN HONDURAS.

“MOOSE,” Santiago barks at where Audrey’s bent double over the hood of a Land Rover as he slams their truck door. 

She doesn’t bother to drop what she’s doing, perimeter alarms two miles down the hill had already alerted her to their arrival.

One of them thwaks her on the ass and she knows it's Santi.

Frankie doesn’t do it like that.

“Whatcha got, what’s going on here?” He peers down at wires and tubes. 

“Auxiliary belt’s fucked, where’s my…”

“Catfish get over here, she’s talkin’ your shit, I’ve got no idea.” Pope calls over his shoulder, not realizing that “Frankie” and not the name of some obscure tool is actually the intended end of her sentence. “This thing armored?” He kicks a tire.

“Yep.”

A massive palm spreads over her back, the shadow of his body a cooling balm.

She looks up now.

“Hi,” Frankie smiles.

“Hi,” she grins over her shoulder, craning her neck back for a kiss, and Frankie briefly slips her his tongue because he’s never been able to resist a girl who’s good with her hands. 

“Serpentine belt?” He asks when she breaks away.

‘Yeah, it’s cracked to shit. Gonna swap the tensioner too. Let me get the breaker bar?”

“Like a different fucking language,” Pope quips as he opens the driver’s side door and slips inside.

And Frankie’s torn between letting her continue and wanting desperately to take over the job, lest a speck of grease mar her lovely skin. She’s clearly capable of doing this herself, but chivalry wins out and he grabs the long metal rod from the toolbox on the ground.

“Top or bottom?” Meaning which tensioner.

“Bottom, it’s got too much play in it,” she answers, pressing on the bearing to show him.

“Oh shit yeah, that’s loose.”

“God, get a room,” Santi quips from where he’s reclining in the driver’s seat, brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes against the sun.

“Why don’t you do something useful like unload the truck?” Frankie calls as he slots the breaker bar into place. “Hold on let me get a picture of how it’s sitting,” and he reaches in his back pocket as she slides her left arm in front of his face. She’s drawn the belt’s path on the inside of her forearm in pen to help with re-threading the new strip of rubber.

Frankie’s cock twitches.

She knows what she’s doing. 

She always does.

She would have done this without him.

And she lets him in anyway.

He applies pressure to the bar, forcing the tensioner away from the belt and Audrey reaches over him to slip the old rubber strap from the pulleys, her chest grazing his arm as she does.

God if Santiago wasn’t fucking here right now flits across his mind. 

If this isn’t all of his teenage fantasies come to life…

She has the belt off in seconds and disappears as he hits the inside of the breaker bar with his palm to unlatch it. Audrey returns with a wrench, new belt slung diagonally across her torso.

“Crack that nut off for me, baby?” She doesn’t need to tell him, but she enjoys needling Pope, who scoffs from his leather cradle.

Fish’s broad shoulders briefly strain under the cotton of his t-shirt as he gets it loose, winding it off the bolt with deft fingers. He slots the nut into his back pocket out of habit and the mechanism comes away in his hands. 

“Don’t need that, it came with one,” and Audrey dives in with the new tensioner, lining the lugs of the new part up before screwing the new nut part-way on. She slips the new belt off of where she’s wearing it and Frankie helps her line it up, pausing occasionally to check her arm for the positioning, landing a kiss on her shoulder here, dragging his nose up her tricep there. 

Once they have the belt back in place, Frankie tightens the nut on the new tensioner and they both step back.

“Oi,” Frankie pounds on the headlight to get Santiago’s attention. 

“Start her up?” Audrey rests one hand on her hip and shields her eyes with the other.

Santi gropes around for the keys before starting the truck and Audrey and Frankie let it run for a second before stepping forward to inspect their work. 

“Yeah, looks good.” 

“Sounds better than it did,” Audrey adds. 

Fish raises his voice to be heard over the engine, “shut her off, Pope.”

Frankie fiddles around, checking the tightness on all of the bolts within his reach before they work together to replace the fanbelt shroud and reconnect the air filter pipes.

“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” Fish rubs the heels of his palms together when it’s through, squinting against the sun.

Audrey slams the hood closed. “Friend with a Messerschmitt has a thing for old cars too.” 

Frankie’s gotta meet this guy.

But right now he has a more–pressing–problem and he excuses himself with a “gotta hit the head.” He figures cool water on the back of his neck will unwind him enough that he can face them again.

_____

Hours later the three of them are hunched over the dining table, staring daggers at a site plan that’s dotted with an array of plastic army figurines.

There’s a poker chip in the center. A four-year-old hostage that needs extracting. The daughter of a diplomat being held for political leverage.

None of them are happy about it.

But they’re also among the handful of people in the world who can get her out alive. 

Each of them feels that obligation acutely.

“We need another man,” Audrey crosses her arms over her chest.

“The compound is just too big. Too many fucking people,” Santi scratches at his beard. “If we need Fish in the bird ready to run, that’s already too sparse. And if we need you up here,” he points to tight concentric circles on the plan that signify high ground, “keeping the path to the bird clear, I can get in quietly, no problem, but I can’t get out with a hostage in tow.”

“What if I go with you?” Frankie pipes up, “it takes less than 90 seconds to get this in the air,” he points at a toy helicopter with an index finger.

“90 seconds could be too long. And god forbid something happens to you in there and you can’t fly that bird,” she taps inside the building. “Then we have two sets of dead weight and a hornet’s nest on high alert. I wouldn’t be able to get there in time to fly everyone  out.”

Pope twirls a pen between his fingers and Frankie places and replaces the helicopter at different points around the map before returning it to its original position at the private airstrip.

“That’s the only spot that works. Anywhere else draws attention and/or goes against the intel on their route,” he concludes, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers. 

“How do we know that’s not drawing attention anyway?” Santi bites the inside of his cheek as he gestures at the helicopter.

“There’s been a nature documentary crew in and out of that airstrip for weeks. The bird Davis’ guys lined up is  the same make and model with all the same markings,” Frankie answers. “It’s just bulletproof.”

Santi turns to Audrey, “can he get someone else out here?” Meaning their boss.

“Getting someone out here isn’t the problem, getting someone out here that I trust is. Everyone I knew in there is long gone.”

“You still got any friends?” Santi’s brow knits.

“Not ones who do this kind of shit anymore.”

“Pope,” Frankie pipes up after a beat. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” Santiago lights up, “yeah, you think he’d be up for it?”

Frankie shrugs, “worth a shot. Benny’s down for anything.”

“Ben is…Miller?” Her brain reaches back and spits out what she can remember of the Lorea briefing and bits of the stories they’ve told about a “Benny.”

“Yeah.” They both look at her expectantly. 

They need the final party’s buy-in.

“Tell me more.”

“He’s solid. Ready to do whatever it takes to get a job done,” Santi starts.

“A bit brash at times, maybe,” Frankie tempers Pope’s enthusiasm. “A little wild when he drinks, a little hot under the collar,” he scratches at this beard. “But not in the way that disobeys orders.”

“He runs clean during a mission, Aud. Doesn’t like an operation that doesn’t go to plan. Doesn’t leave messes. Puts his own life on the line when it matters.” Santi says firmly. “Might be a bit of an adjustment period though.” 

“Might be.” Francisco apparently agrees.

“In what way.” She stares them both down.

“He, uh…might have a little bit of a hard time taking your orders at first.” Santi runs a hand through his hair.

“He’ll push you a bit,” Frankie again scratches at his chin. “Not because he wants to run it.”

“Just because he doesn’t know you,” Santi finishes, arms crossed, hip resting against the edge of the table. “But he’ll fall in line.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“He uh,” Santi takes his eyes over her form, “might come on a bit strong,” Santi says.

“He’s gonna want to fuck you, Aud.” Frankie translates.

“That I can handle. All of this I can handle. Do you trust him?” Her green gaze slides between the two men.

“I do.” Pope answers with conviction. 

Frankie responds, “with my life.”

She stares hard at Frankie before drumming her fingers on the table. “Okay. I’d like not to lose time and waste the intel on this. Davis can have a screen run on him tonight if he’s game. Can he get on a plane tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask,” Frankie sits up and reaches for his phone. 

It dings in response thirty seconds later. 

“He’s in.”

And she immediately slips her cell phone out of her back pocket, stepping into the other room to make arrangements with Davis. 

_____

“Nothing more to do tonight. We’re gonna take this thing out on a test run,” Frankie tips the brim of his cap up far enough to swipe curls off of his forehead as he makes his way through the kitchen.

“It’s 9pm, it’s dark,” and no sooner is it out of Santiago’s mouth than he catches Frankie’s drift.

“Mind your business, Pope.”

“Roger,” Santi turns back to his beer and the baseball game he’s watching on his phone. “If you aren’t back by midnight I’m calling in a BOLO for two idiots fucking in the back seat of a Land Rover.”

“I was actually in the mood to do it on the hood,” Audrey quips as she appears at the foot of the stairs.

“Fine, just don’t leave come stains that I have to look at when I’m driving it tomorrow.”

“No promises,” Audrey winks and Pope scoffs.

Frankie slaps him on the shoulder on his way out the door.

“Lucky fuckin’ bastard,” Pope murmurs under his breath and takes a swig of beer.

_____

Half an hour later, Frankie has her naked in the sea, legs wrapped around his waist, lips at her throat before the brim of his cap knocks her in the chin.

“Francisco, what is the deal with this thing, you shower with it on?” She reaches to spin it around backwards.

“Just my favorite hat,” he returns to sucking on her collarbone, tongue accepting the bitter burn of salt water so long as it’s laced with the taste of her skin.

“What is Standard Heating Oil?”

“No clue. Found it in the dollar bin at Goodwill one day.”

“Fascinating.” He has no tie to this hat save for the fact that it’s his and it goes everywhere with him.

“Used to get made fun of as a kid. For having curly hair,” he tucks his chin into the juncture of her shoulder.

The brush of his beard tickles her skin as he continues.

“Just always preferred to cover it up, I guess.”

Audrey takes the hat off and slips it backwards onto her own head. 

Her fingers wind in his curls.

And she holds him without prying.

“Used to get made fun of a lot as a kid. My hair. My nose. Wasn’t really into sports either.”

“You’ve just named some of the things I like most about you,” Audrey kisses at his jaw. “What were you into, Frankie?” She whispers.

“Liked to read, I suppose,” he muses.

And she hums, nuzzling her face into Frankie’s shoulder. “I like that about you too.”

He’s warm and open like this as they listen to the soft lap of waves against the shore. She holds him as if it could seep into her bones.

After a moment Frankie whispers, “I, um. I used to—not—be good at handling all of this. My past and my present.”

And she pulls back a fraction to gaze softly into dark eyes.

“I used to use.”

And her hand in his hair strokes gently over the nape of his neck as un-shed tears set brown eyes swimming.

“Coke. I just kind of fell off the wagon,” he nods like he needs her to agree that this doesn’t change him. 

Audrey holds his face in her palms, thumbs gently skimming over the apples of his cheeks.

“Got hit with a license suspension a few years ago. Then Pope came through with the Lorea job and that—that didn’t—” he trails off.

“Ended up getting the license back but—”

Frankie stares over her right shoulder out into the horizon.

“Everything else fell ap—”

And Audrey presses her lips to his because she doesn’t know what more to do than allow her body to speak where the prospect of words seems trite in comparison. She presses her lips to his cheek and wraps her arms tight to his neck until he returns her hold, tighter than before.

“I haven’t, though,” he murmurs against her skin, nodding his head again.

“In two years. I haven’t used.”

And she knows what lives in the spaces between those words.

I haven’t used since you.

And it terrifies her.

I can’t save you.

I can’t fix you.

I can’t be that for you, Frankie.

And yet.

She is. 

He’s quiet for a long while in her arms. Body slowly giving up its tension to the water before he murmurs, “you float, baby.”

And her brow furrows in the moonlight.

“I sink. In the ocean,” he muses as he pulls back to look at her. “You’re like a life vest.”

And Audrey chances a joke, looking down at her full chest and muttering, “well…”

Frankie’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip. “Nuh uh this too,” his hands slip down to grip hard at her ass.

And whatever that was before has passed.

Audrey welcomes it with a laugh and a kiss at his jaw. 

“I missed you,” he whispers and again fits his chin into the curve of her shoulder.

“Oh, Francisco,” she sighs and presses her nose to his wet hair, inhaling the salted smell of him.

“I know it’s only been three weeks,” he starts to apologize. 

For his attachment.

“I missed you too,” she preempts and arches into him, gripping his neck tighter.

“Can I tell you something?” Frankie pulls back, whispering against her chin.

“Of course,” is her answer, but she stiffens ever so slightly.

Because he’s said it far too intimately.

And mercifully more than three words tumble out of his mouth.

“I saw you fixing that truck today,” he noses at her jaw to whisper against her lips. “I could have fucked you right there on the hood.”

“Oh yeah?” Audrey whispers with the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips.

“I was so fucking hard.” 

“Is that why you ran away?” She laughs. “You know Pope was half asleep.”

“Yeah, but you’re loud, baby,” he lets out a sly murmur. “Would have been a hell of a wakeup call.”

“Ah, and you’re quiet as a church mouse.”

Frankiee grins with guilty teeth in his bottom lip. 

“Could have taken me with you,” she presses her lips to his, opening just a fraction to allow his tongue into her mouth, “to wherever you absconded to.”

“The lady deserves better.”

“Mm, like the hood of a car?”

“Done.”

She lets him go and starts racing towards the shore.

Frankie follows after her, catching her around the waist and hoisting her onto the hood of the Rover, massive hand hooked around the nape of her neck with a grin splitting his face.

Audrey reaches for him, hand wrapping around the girth of his half-hard cock, working him as his forehead briefly thumps against hers. 

“Oh, fuckk—,” Frankie hisses. “Baby. Baby, baby, baby—” he rumbles through the lowest registers of his voice as the fingers of one hand trail up the back of her calf. Frankie’s palm settles on one knee before he roughly pushes her thighs open wider. 

“Look at me,” he whispers.

Audrey slants her gaze down at him as he stares back from under hazy half-closed lids.

Frankie slips his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from them as her jaw drops open, brows knitted with want. His fingers slip between her folds in time with his tongue between her teeth to deliver the taste of salt to her the moment his fingers slip inside.

“Wet already? Ohh baby,” Frankie purrs into her mouth. “My pretty, dirty baby,” he pants, hips thrusting his cock into her fist now.

She moans into his mouth and arches, pressing her breasts against his chest before she freezes.

“Frankie, get in the car.”

“I want you right here,” he skates his nose up her neck.

“Frankie, there’s a truck coming, get the fuck inside.”

And no sooner does she say it than his ears catch the distant whine of a diesel engine winding up the coastal highway.

“Oh, fuck,” he chuckles, corseting her waist in his generous hands and picking her up off the hood, making sure she has her feet before grabbing the pile of their clothes from off the hood. 

They dive into the backseat of the truck, Audrey first and Frankie close behind such that they end up a tangle of limbs, leather squeaking under wet skin. 

Frankie drapes himself over her, a wet curl falling into his eyes as he peeks up out of the window, tracking the truck’s path.

“Fifty meters,” he reports before mumbling “fuck, I’m sorry baby,” as Audrey shifts under him where knees and elbows fell at painful angles.

“‘S okay, how are we doing?” She glances up at the thick column of his neck above her.

“Ten meters,” Frankie counts it down, “five,” he ducks down out of view momentarily before tracking the truck the other way. 

“I think we’re clear, baby.” 

And the moonlight streaming through the sunroof catches in her eyes, turning them a shade of seafoam. 

Illuminating something that he can’t quite unpack right now through the haze of lust.

Frankie fits his mouth to hers again, suddenly possessed with the need to feel. His palm slides down to cup one breast, pinching her nipple before spreading wide over her ribcage. 

He runs greedy fingertips over her skin as he moves, kissing at her stomach and biting at her inner thigh.

She props herself up on her elbows and takes his cap from her head, tossing it onto the driver’s seat before raking a hand through her curls and reaching for his cheek.

He turns his face to kiss her palm.

And Frankie almost lets something slip on a sigh.

“I—”

“Need you,” he swallows hard. “I need you, Aud,” Frankie’s voice is a cracked whisper when he pauses to look up at her. 

“Have me, Frankie.”

And he again kisses her palm before sucking her thumb into his mouth, crawling back up her body. His right hand snakes down to pump his cock, the other fitting into the crease of her thigh. 

“Are you—?” He murmurs against her lips.

“Frankie—” she chokes on a desperate breath and he thrusts inside of her such that they both cry out, Audrey’s nails sinking into his tricep, Frankie’s mouth open, teeth catching at her jawline. 

“Oh God,” he rests his forehead against hers as she tangles her fingers in his wet curls, tipping her face to suck on his bottom lip.

“Frankie, move,” she urges and he does, slowly at first. Long, deep strokes before he sits up, hands settling on her hips as his speed builds. 

He’s not slow about chasing his own release. 

One knee on the floorboards, the other foot hiked up on the seat with her leg over his hip, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, yanking her against him to meet his every thrust. Audrey braces one hand against the door, and the other on the back of the seat.

Frankie’s a man in a trance. 

Breath hissing through clenched teeth, gaze fixed on where he sinks inside of her. A curl falls loose across a forehead growing damp with sweat. 

Audrey arches in his hold, “you feel so good Frankie.”

“You’re so tight, baby.” 

When he reaches up to grip one shoulder he pulls her ass clear off the seat.

But even in this one-track haze Frankie is quick to protect her, arm looping around the small of her back, and the other coming to the crown of her head, guarding it against the roof as he twists to sit on the seat with her on top of him. 

He pauses a moment with wide, panicked eyes, as though he’s surprised even himself. 

“Smooth, Morales,” she grabs his face between her hands and slips her tongue into his mouth. “Very. Fucking. Smooth.”

And she’s in control now. 

Audrey leans back to brace her hands on his thighs, rolling her hips, allowing them both to feel every inch of each other. Frankie’s head falls back into the space between the headrests, hands roaming her skin, squeezing at her breasts, fingers fitting into the spaces between her ribs, thumbs running down over her abs before settling below her navel, feeling how his cock fills her from the outside. 

“Oh shit,” Frankie’s head snaps back, lip curled as he watches in lurid fascination. Audrey indulges him for a moment before she shifts forward, one hand on the seat, the other on his chin. 

“Look at me.”

And he angles big brown eyes up at her before she kisses him with an open mouth. 

Frankie licks warm and wet down her neck, sucking at the salt of her skin mixed with seawater. He buries his nose between her breasts as he meets her hips halfway, palms skating over her back, one hand tangling in the curls at the base of her neck.

It’s too much when she meets his gaze again.

The way that lust has blown her green eyes dark. The way that plush lips hang open and wet from his tongue. The humid heat of bodies and the smack of flesh.

The way she looks at him with something he can’t name.

And Frankie can’t hold back anymore. He’s rough with her now. Building with frantic speed that has her bracing one palm against sunroof glass with her head thrown back, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing around the truck.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she keens.

“Yeah?”

He knows.

One hand moves to cup the base of her skull and roughly pulls her face back to his. 

“You like that?” Frankie presses his forehead to hers, grabbing her hard by the hips, and thrusts up hard into her cunt.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

“Yeahh you do,” he smirks, tipping his face to kiss her. “I know what my girl likes.”

He holds her hips, fully inside of her, the head of his cock pressed deep, guiding her back and forth to grind against him. Putting pressure on her clit. 

“Frankie, Frankie, Fr—ohh,” she breathes.

She can feel him smile against her mouth. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

She moans and tries to roll her hips but Frankie’s fingers dig in. 

“My pace, baby.”

And she groans in frustration.

“No, none of that,” he chuckles darkly, one hand sliding along the crease of her hip to rub circles against her clit.

Audrey digs the nails of one hand into the seat and wraps the other hand around the back of Frankie’s neck.

His tongue slips back into her mouth and he rolls his hips without pulling out, just barely teasing at that spot deep inside of her that makes her fall apart. 

“Jesus, Frankie,” she throws her head back. He watches her chest heave. The way the curves of her breasts catch the moonlight shining through the sunroof. He latches his mouth to one, tongue laving over sensitive skin.

The hand on the back of his neck grips hard at his hair and Frankie slips the flat of his teeth over her nipple before she tugs, bringing his mouth back to hers.

Frankie’s arm wraps around the small of her back as his thumb and his hips speed up, growling now. She reaches down, skating her hand over where his rests. Her fingers replace his thumb on her clit and Frankie squeezes the globes of her ass.

“Frankie, I don’t think…”

“Turn around,” he commands.

And she arches an eyebrow, slowly climbing off of him, both moaning at the loss of contact. Frankie urges her around, a palm skating between her shoulder blades, pressing her forward to lean against the back of the passenger’s seat. She languidly drapes her arms over either side of the headrest. 

Frankie shifts on the seat and slowly sinks inside of her again.

“Ohh fuck,” she sighs, forehead thumping against leather. 

Frankie spreads his thighs wider.

“Sit, baby,” but he doesn’t allow her time to react before yanking her down onto his lap, fully sheathed inside of her. He moves slowly at first testing this new angle before leaning forward, dropping kisses down her spine.

“That better?”

And she hums a laugh, glancing back over her shoulder. Frankie’s eyes flick up to her and he grins, nipping at her skin. 

He hooks a hand over her shoulder as he fucks her with the other on her waist, building in pace until his hips lift off the seat with every thrust as she bucks her hips back against him. Audrey reaches between her legs to rub her clit and Frankie growls.

“Yeah, baby.”

And the angle is perfect now and Audrey starts to cry out from the depths of her chest. “Frankie, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s—OH.” She braces her free hand on the back of the seat and Frankie feels his balls tighten when she pushes back against him as pleasure sears through her.  

Frankie slows his thrusts, moaning as her walls milk his cock.

Audrey finally exhales on a ragged cry and Frankie wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his skin as hips pick up speed, chasing his own release. 

She arches in his hold, head falling back against his shoulder. Frankie hips snap hard with a shout as his cock pulses, his body shuddering with it. 

Nose smashing against her cheekbone. 

Teeth softly nipping at her jaw.

Audrey reaches up to cup his cheek, lips pressing softly to the corner of his mouth. Frankie kisses her properly, slow and wet as palms rub across her stomach, up her ribs and over her breasts as his tongue slips into her mouth.

The windows of the Rover have gone foggy with heat.

He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her to him, softening cock still inside of her, chest heaving as she moans softly through ragged breaths, still tingling.

Frankie kisses at her cheek and up to her temple before whispering, “was that…?”

“So good.” She shifts and Frankie holds her tighter, head thumping against hers.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me yet,” he pants.

“Frankie,” she scratches lovingly at his scalp. “Baby. I really have to pee.”

And he laughs a self-satisfied laugh against her hairline.

“Okay,” he shifts her, pulling out of her heat with a moan. “Wait,” he holds her with an iron arm around her waist, swiping a hand through the fog on the window, checking that it’s clear before he cracks the door. 

He shifts her onto the seat as he steps out first.

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can…”

He holds both hands out to her, corseting her waist, intending to half lift her down onto the beach. “You’re gonna fall, Bambi Legs.”

And she can’t help the hearty laugh that it pulls from her.

True to form, her legs falter the moment her feet hit the sand, but Frankie holds her to his chest, staring down at her through warm brown eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear with a wink. 

Frankie kisses her on the forehead and spins her around towards a small outcropping of rocks. “Go on, Bambi,” he swats her on the ass.

“Can I have my underwear at least?”

“No,” Frankie screws up his face and scoffs, reaching into the tangle of clothes in the backseat to fish out her thong. He has it crushed to his nose when he turns around.

“Perv,” she quips with a grin, swatting him on the arm with them after he hands them over.

She returns to find Frankie leaning against a tire, back door open, barefoot and clad in his jeans and cap, one of her cigarettes dangling between his lips. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke there,” she quips as she molds her body against his, slipping her hands into his back pockets. Frankie lights the cigarette and blows the first puff out of the corner of his mouth before holding it to her lips. She inhales before Frankie follows suit.

Audrey pulls away from him, reaching for her sports bra and linen pants. Frankie presses his chest to her back after she pulls them both on, reaching for his t-shirt.

“Leave it,” she spins around and Frankie pops the cigarette between her lips as she runs her hand over his bare stomach.

“Yes, ma’am.” Frankie smiles before his eyes fall on the backseat. 

“We gotta clean this.”

Audrey slips around him, cigarette dangling from her lips, and pops the trunk open, rummaging around for a moment before tossing a packet of Clorox wipes in his direction.

Frankie cleans the seats as she starts the truck and rolls the windows down.

They drive back to the safehouse along the coastal road in companionable silence, wind whipping around the cabin, carrying wisps of cigarette smoke on salted breeze. 

Audrey drives with one hand, fingers of the other laced with Frankie’s.

_____

TUESDAY

When Santiago slips into the driver’s seat the next day for their early morning recon run, the first thing he does is briefly peer over the top of his sunglasses.

“Goddard, I can see your ass-print on the hood.”

“How do you know that’s not Morales,” she quips from the backseat.

“Morales has no ass.”

“Well, you said no come stains.” She pops her gum in the backseat as she loads another magazine into her rifle. “Nothing about ass prints.”  

Frankie pulls the brim of his cap down against Pope’s searing stare and bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.

“Unbelievable,” Santi starts the ignition. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably good at fixing that belt.” Frankie quips, banging one palm on the dashboard as they pull out of the drive.

“Fuck you, Fish.”

“She did that already.”

Audrey cackles from the backseat.

_____

Six hours later, Benny shows up on the doorstep of their safehouse.

Audrey greets him in leggings and a worn green t-shirt. 

“Well hell-o,” Benny peers down at her over the frames of his aviators.

“Miller?”

“Yup, yeah. Ben Miller,” he holds out his hand. 

“Audrey Goddard,” she offers a sturdy shake. “Come in, come in. The boys are just through in the back here,” she gestures through to the backyard.

Fish and Pope are locked in a sparring match, Frankie’s arm around Pope’s throat, wooden knife pulled out, ready to jab between Santi’s ribs before Pope taps him twice on the arm.

“Boys?’ Audrey calls.

Both of their heads turn in her direction and immediately they erupt in camaraderie. 

Hugs and claps on the back, big smiles all around. 

Audrey slips back inside, allowing them a moment to catch up.

After they’ve said their hellos Benny nods towards the house, “so uh, who’s that? She come with the place?”

“Moose? Nah. She’s running this thing.” Santi grins. 

“Like the coordinator?”

“No, like the Mission Commander, Benny.” Frankie scoffs. 

“No shit,” Benny perches his hands on his hips.

“Well. She technically outranks you,” Santi whacks Benny’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t overstep.”

And overstep is the first thing that Benny does.

“So you’re the Mission Commander?” Benny barks when she returns.

“Yes,” Audrey sets a fresh pitcher of water on the patio table.

“What’s your background?”

“I’ll have Davis email you my full roster,” she slips dark shades over her eyes against the sharp afternoon sun.

“Can’t tell me yourself?”

“We don’t have that much time.”

“What branch?”

“Never served under a branch.”

“So you never served.”

“I’ve been serving for almost 25 years, Miller.”

“Benny, did you not get—” Santi starts.

“I did. Didn’t read it.” Benny’s eyes are still locked on hers from behind mirrored aviators. “Alright,” he nods toward the lawn. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Frankie lets out a low whistle. “You’re about to be humbled, Benjamin.”

“Maybe,” he calls, not believing it for a second. “You’re tiny, though,” he says to Audrey, who slips off her shades and tosses them to Frankie.

Audrey’s no waif, but Benny is nine inches taller and has fifty pounds on her. 

And Benny fights guys bigger than he is down at the gym all the time. And wins. 

There’s no way in his mind that she can best him. 

“Take those off, pretty boy,” she points at his shades.

“‘S fine.”

“Alrigh,” she toes at the dirt, “not on me if they break.”

“Alright, keep it clean you two. No punches, no kicks, nothing permanent,” Santi calls. “Aud, you got knives on you?”

She reaches into her boots and pulls two out to hand over.

“Benny?”

“Nah, I just got off a plane, man.”

“Alright, set it up.”

 Benny jumps a few times before holding his fists up to his cheeks in a guard.

Audrey drops her right foot back and crouches.

And Santi gives the cue.

Immediately Benny closes the distance between the two of them, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. She’s quick to react, twisting to hook the inside of her elbow around the back of her knee, pulling tight such that the crease of her hip and the top of her thigh apply pressure on Benny’s neck, choking off his carotid artery.

He has no choice but to tap out, aviators hanging awkwardly off of the end of his nose.

“Okay,” he finally hands them off to Santi, raking his hair out of his eyes, “two out of three.”

Santi gives the signal again and Benny goes for her knees this time, immediately dropping her to the ground. They tussle for a moment before Audrey locks Benny in a triangle choke that he can’t find his way out of.

He taps out against her collarbone.

“Okay, three tries,” Benny grunts, blue shirt starting to darken with sweat.

“Benny, that’s—” Fish tries to intervene.

“It’s fine, Frankie,” Audrey’s chest is heaving as she holds up a hand in his direction. “Let him have it.”

They get back into position and when Santi gives the signal Benny is immediately behind her, trapping her neck in a chokehold between his arms, huge palm applying pressure to the back of her skull.

Frankie twitches but Santi holds out a hand.

Audrey jumps with her legs in the air, using their weight to swing Benny forward, turning as she lands and slipping her head from between his arms. Benny braces himself on his palms and immediately constricts, balling himself in an effort to cut off her ability to hook any of his limbs. In a flash she leans on his back, wrapping an arm over one shoulder and the other under the opposite armpit, prying one elbow away from his torso with a jab of her knee. Her leg hooks it and kicks back, taking Benny’s arm with it to its full span. She locks the top of her foot over her calf with his outstretched limb between her legs and spreads her knees, the pressure from her hips bending Benny’s arm the wrong way until he frantically slaps at a patch of dirt.

She instantly unfolds from him and rolls away into the grass.

“Alright,” he pants, holding out a fist, still face-down on his stomach. “You win.”

Audrey taps it with her own knuckles, fighting for breath. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Benny swallows hard through his panting, “Yeah I’m good.”

He sits up and stretches his arm for good measure.

“Can we be done here?” Frankie asks, unsure that his heart can handle seeing her in danger, and positive that his dick is going to act up seeing her get herself out of it. “It’s fuckin’ hot.”

They take turns with showers between the safehouse’s two bathrooms, until Frankie slips in with Audrey.

“Thoughts?” He asks quietly, wetting his hair under the spray.

“He made good choices out there,” she hands him the bottle of shampoo. “Smart in a fight.”

“Yeah, Benny fights down at the local gym. Kind of a small-town celebrity.” He sneaks a kiss at the nape of her neck as he scrubs at his scalp before rinsing. “I didn’t know you could do that, though.” 

“Getting too old for much hand-to-hand these days,” she winks over her shoulder at him as he grabs the conditioner bottle from her, raking cream through her curls before slicking the excess through his own hair.

“He got you good back here,” Frankie delicately runs thick fingers over the bruises blossoming on the wings of her hip bones from when Benny took her knees out from under her. 

Frankie wraps his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest a moment.

“Don’t like seeing you like that.”

“This is what we do, Frankie,” she soothes a palm over his forearm.

“Yeah.”

And he gently turns her head to slip his tongue into her mouth, enjoying this moment to themselves.

Frankie warmed by the water. 

Audrey warmed by Frankie.

_____

They rejoin the boys in the kitchen where Santi has started on steaks and Benny has thrown in to whip up roasted vegetables. 

Frankie cracks open beers and passes them around.

Afternoon flows into evening. Beer flows into liquor. 

Camaraderie abounds.

Somewhere around 10pm, when Audrey excuses herself to the restroom, the whiskey in Benny’s veins springs a question loose.

“Alright, boys,” his voice is low. “Which one of you is hittin’ that because if you’re not, I’m gonna.”

“That’s pretty bold of you to assume she’d have you, Benny,” Pope reaches for his glass.

“It’s that white boy confidence,” Frankie quips from where he’s leaned back in his chair and Santi snorts, nearly spitting out his drink.

“I mean—” and Benny makes a show of running his hand through his hair. “But seriously, is she single?”

“She’s not gonna fuck you, Benny.” Santi grins.

“Alright, okay. I see you, Pope,” Benny smacks the back of his hand against Santi’s arm.

“I think I have to turn in, boys,” Audrey sighs when she returns, reaching for her glass without sitting and tossing back the last of her gin. “We’ll run it through top to bottom tomorrow and get you geared up,” she nods at Benny. “I have Davis’ guys refreshing the intel. Provided everything still checks out, we’ll execute on Thursday as originally planned.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny nods. Bourbon eyes starting to fall heavy on the sway of her hips. 

She places her glass in the sink before moving to gently grab Frankie’s chin one hand, thumb and middle fingers fitting in the bare patches in his beard, and bends to give him a quick, chaste kiss.

He hooks an arm around her waist when she moves away, hauling her against him again, “I’ll be there in a sec,” he assures her before craning his head up for her lips again.

“No rush,” she soothes a hand over the span of his chest, “I might be back down for water, but you boys enjoy. G’night.”

When she’s upstairs and out of earshot, Benny erupts in hushed tones.

“CATFISH, YOU DOG.”

Frankie grins and blushes in that order.

“Damn,” Benny muses to himself as he takes another sip of whiskey. “I would not have guessed.”

“Ah c’mon you should know better, Benny.” Santi jabs a thumb in Frankie’s direction. “Big Dick Morales, remember?”

“BIG. DICK. MORALES.” And Benny holds his hand up for a high-five that Frankie rolls his eyes at, crossing his arms against his chest instead. “Damn.”

“Bastard finally found his glass slipper,” Santi quips.

“Jesus Christ, Pope,” an agitated Frankie rubs at his eyes. “Okay can we—” Frankie winds his hand forward through the air, wanting desperately to move away from this line of conversation. 

Benny leans in across the table, finger pointed at the ceiling in reference to the woman upstairs, “the whole thing? Fuuuck.”

“Dude, you can hear the two of them like three rooms over,” Santi snarks.

“Oh well you gotta enlighten us, Catfish,” Benny spreads his arms and leans back in his chair.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Benjamin.” Frankie quips, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey.

“Ah, c’mon, Fish. You know me and this one are painfully single.” Benny smacks Pope on the arm again. Like literally, my balls ache.”

“That’s not a real thing,” Frankie shakes his head.

“It is!”

“Then get acquainted with your hand, Benny, I dunno what to tell you.”

“She is smokin’ hot, Catfish. Can I at least get some material here…”

Frankie shakes his head and starts, “I’d suggest you try www dot p-o-r…”

And there’s a snort from the stairwell

Audrey in black sleep shorts and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, metal waterbottle in hand.

And she watches the tips of Benny’s ears start to burn.

Even Santiago sits up a bit straighter.

Frankie covers the smirk on his face with the heel of his palm.

Because he knows Audrey’s about to put Benny back in line for the second time today.

“Don’t let me stop you, boys,” she pads over to the sink on bare feet to fill her bottle.

Fraught silence hangs in the air until Benny pipes up.

“We uh, we were just asking Big Dick Morales over here to tell us his secret.” Bourbon has made Benny’s tongue loose. “Seems like you could have anyone and yet you chose this guy. Must know something we don’t.”

Audrey has a measured tolerance for many things. 

Slandering her lover is not one of them. 

“Benny,” she places her water bottle on the table. “Benjamin?” And she drapes her arm across Benny’s shoulders in a move that sends him rigid in his chair from the slouch he was in.

“You really want to know his secret?”

Benny swallows hard. 

“He’s sweet. He’s smart. He’s funny. There’s no peacocking with him. It’s that easy, Benny.”

Benny snorts like he doesn't believe her. 

Sober Ben Miller would never steal a friend’s girl. Drunk Ben Miller is a 6’3” blue-eyed, dirty dishwater blonde who’s never been told ‘no.’

And Audrey needs to disavow him of whatever little fantasy he has that distracts him from the task at hand and makes him think she’ll end up in his bed after the celebratory round of drinks when this is all through.

She cranes low to whisper near Benny’s ear, eyes glinting where they’re locked on Frankie’s mischievous, half-lidded ones. “Okay, here’s a secret, Benny. You ever found that spot that’s so deep it makes your lady see stars? Not the one up front, any idiot can find that. It’s way back in there, tucked away because it’s the most precious place you’ll ever go. That one spot that sets her whole body reeling for minutes afterward. You ever found that?”

And she waits until Benny answers, “no.”

“No? Santi, you ever done that?” She doesn’t move, and doesn’t break Frankie’s stare as she asks it.

“Once or twice,” it’s the truth, but Santiago smirks because he knows what she’s doing and agrees that it needs done. “It’s been years though.”

“Wild. Frankie hits that every. time.”

She claps him on the back, “you should try it, Benny. Good communication is key, but you’ll get there.”

And she hooks a finger into the cap of her water bottle and heads for the stairs.

Frankie throws them a salute with two fingers and follows right behind her.

“Was that too harsh?” She whispers when Frankie turns the lock on the bedroom door, brown eyes wide.

“Baby,” he grabs her around the waist, peppering her face with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his scruff. “That was so. fucking. sexy.” He trails his nose down her neck, licking and sucking at her skin.

“I only told the truth, Francisco,” she throws her arms around his neck.

And Frankie presses her to him, palm accidentally catching on her bruises and she winces.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes with lips on her neck.

“‘S okay,” a kiss, “get in bed, Frankie.”

Frankie hums, tongue licking behind her teeth. 

And she crawls under the duvet, settling on her side as Frankie quietly strips down to his boxer briefs, placing his cap on the nightstand.

Frankie hums as his lips find her ear and his hand cups her breast, making her arch back against him with a moan.

“Shhh baby,” Frankie soothes. “Not sure how thin these walls are.”

“Pope doesn’t give a shit.”

“Benny might. Wouldn’t want to scare the kid.”

“That’s a grown man, Francisco,” she whispers as she twists in his hold, hand cupping his jaw. “And I don’t really care what Benny hears,” her fingers slip down his stomach, nails catching on the trail of hair leading under his waistband.

She smirks against his lips, “how did that conversation even start?”

“Mhmm,” Frankie squeezes her thigh and pulls her closer to him, nose skimming her cheek. “Benny wanted to know if you’re single.”

“Am I not?”

“No. You’re mine.”

And he moves before Audrey can process Frankie having laid their situation that bare in front of her. He rolls and pulls her with him to lie on his chest, hand cradling her skull as his lips find hers.

But he senses her hesitation.

“Do—do you want to fuck Benny?” His eyes are suddenly soft. Unsure of himself.

“No, Frankie, I don’t want to fuck Benny.” She adjusts to straddle his hips and sits up, raking her hair out of her eyes.

“Then wh—”

“Shhh, Frankie, please,” she soothes both hands over the slight swell of his belly. “Tonight, I’m yours,” she cranes down to kiss him, “and for the rest of this trip, I’m yours.”

But it all sounds so temporary.

And he wants so desperately to push back. To ask what happens in the after. 

What happens when she goes home? Does she lay in bed alone, sleeping like a baby, or is her bed warmed by someone else? 

Does she wish for his company when she goes to the movies, does she need someone to hold her shopping bags at the mall, who packs her groceries in her fridge, or does she do it all alone?

Does she make herself come and wish it was him?

Is he some secret she keeps stashed away?

Is there another?

Does she think of him at all?

“But—”

“Francisco. Leave it.” Her gaze is granite. “Please. Please let us just have this. Right here. Right now.”

And the thing in her eyes is back again. The thing he can’t quite name.

But there’s want there too.

And it’s only the whiskey with a side of beer that allows him to acquiesce.

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing her deeply before sitting up, palms skating up the panes of her back before flipping her over, parting her legs with his shoulders.

And he means okay out of desperation. The visceral need to prove his worth to a woman that could slip through his fingers and into another man’s bed on a whim.

There would be a taker downstairs.

And okay he’s going to do his best.

Okay, he’ll pour want—need—through his fingertips.

Okay.

He’ll crack granite.

And Frankie has all the right moves. The skillful flick of his tongue, the hollowing of his cheeks, and the pump of his fingers.

But Audrey’s brain won’t let her come.

“Baby,” he looks up from between her thighs, rubbing a palm down her stomach, “where are you?”

She takes a deep breath as he rakes his hair off of his forehead and runs his tongue over a bottom lip wet with her slick.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” She props herself up on her elbows and Frankie gently lets her legs fall open to climb up her body, the tip of his nose brushing hers.

“What’s wrong, gatita?” He whispers.

And that word feels a world away from where they are now.

“Think I’m just distracted, Frankie.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, that’s okay, baby,” he tucks a stray curl behind her ear before shifting around to lay next to her. He settles on his side, pulling the duvet up enough to take the tent in his boxer briefs out of the equation.

She stares into the middle distance while Frankie sits with her in the silence. 

Palm still rubbing her stomach under her t-shirt.

Trying to soothe himself with her skin.

He’s losing her.

She settles down next to him, his hand settling on her ribcage, thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin.

Big green eyes settling on brown ones that are doing their best to hide panic.

When she reaches for his cheek his lids flutter closed, her cold hand a balm to his burn.

Audrey maps the contours of his face with reverent fingers. Palm curving over the roundness of his cheeks. Nails catching on his beard. Thumb tracing echoes of the joy that accumulates in the corners of tired eyes. 

She runs her index finger lightly over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

She presses a kiss to his lips.

And he offers a soft smile when he opens his eyes again.

“Frankie,” she whispers, running her thumb feather-light over his bottom lip, “do you remember what I told you. That second night?”

“You told me a lot of things that second night,” he runs his fingertips down her spine.

“But what I always come back to is—”

“You’re beautiful.”

They both whisper it at the same time.

The corner of Frankie’s lips quirk in a gentle smile that dimples one cheek.

“You’re beautiful Frankie,” she kisses his chin. “I need you to know. You’re beautiful.”

And it soothes him in the moment. Enough that his eyes start to slip closed, pulled at first by the weight in his chest. The need to shut out this reality. 

She turns in his arms to press her back to his chest and he pulls her in to him, tucking his nose against her neck.

Settling into each other like they do every night they share a borrowed bed.

And Frankie slips off, warm breath skating over her skin.

But Audrey’s heart still pounds in her ears.

_____

They shift around each other in the night.

Frankie’s legs tangling with hers.

Her fist clenching in the cotton of his shirt.

His palm cupping her warm breast. Staying there.

Audrey’s tongue slipping into his mouth.

Frankie pulling at her waist urging her on top of him.

“Baby, I need you—” he swallows hard. Unable, through the haze of sleep, to stave off the seep of apprehension into his viscera. 

Desperation.

It bleeds into the haze of his dreams and back out into reality when her weight blankets him.

He skates his nose up the side of her neck, hot puffs of breath dampening her skin before he nips at her ear, “now. Right now baby.”

Take this feeling from me.

Let me prove that you’re mine.

She sits up from where she straddles his hips, pulling her t-shirt off as Frankie rights himself to lave his tongue over one tight nipple.

Audrey wraps her arms around his neck and his hands settle over her shoulder blades before he lays her backwards, kissing a path down her form as her fingers tangle in his hair.

He feasts until her body goes taught with pleasure, every throb of her walls around his fingers a beat of reassurance to his buzzing mind.

She keens his name when she breathes again.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he hurriedly tugs his boxer briefs down, pumping his thick, weeping cock.

He rubs the head of his cock through her folds before sinking in slowly, mouth dropping open a fraction with each inch that he gives her. 

Audrey’s back arches off the bed, hand flying to cover her mouth.

Frankie weights her form with his, kissing at her knuckles, begging for the moans trapped behind them.

She allows it.

Allows Frankie’s tongue into the wet of her mouth, still tasting of her.

Allows him to sit up and bring both of her legs together, holding her ankles with one massive hand as she reaches back to grip the edge of the bed. He guides one to each shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs. 

Knocking against something sacred.

And she’s trying. 

Trying not to scream for him.

Not to let slip how she needs him.

Here. Like this.

All ways. Always.

But Frankie settles one palm low on her stomach and applies pressure with the heel of it. Feeling the bulge of his cock as he fucks into her. 

A bit more pressure and the crown of his cock catches her g-spot. Over and over.

Sending sparks across her vision.

And Audrey loses it.

Composure.

Sanity.

The scream choked in the back of her throat.

The tenuous hold she had on the tide of pleasure that breaks over her now, causing frantic hands to reach for his wrist and nails to sink into his thigh.

Walls throbbing around his cock.

She’s probably woken the whole house.

Good.

Frankie’s jaw clenches through the pulsing of her cunt, thumb slipping through the slick he pulls from her core to wind against her clit.

He can’t keep the moans in now.

And so he gives them to her.

Leaning forward with one leg still over his shoulder to bite at her bottom lip.

“You’ve got one more in you,” he inhales through his teeth, “don’t you, baby? One more, come on baby.”

“Frankie,” she sobs, swallowing hard, “you know better,” she grips at the sweaty roots of his hair. “You know better than that, baby.”

And he growls from somewhere deep in his chest, sitting up enough to let her leg down.

But he lets it down across his body, slipping his cock from her heat and flipping her over onto her stomach with the momentum of it.

Audrey immediately braces herself on her forearms as Frankie thrusts back inside of her, the weight of his body falling against her not a moment after.

“I do know better,” he mashes his nose to her temple. “I know my baby likes it like this, doesn’t she?”

And it’s so sordid. The speed with which Frankie’s hips move now, skin slapping against hers. The way his tongue licks a stripe over her ear. The wet squelch of his cock through her slick.

The grunts he can’t help when he’s this close. 

Audrey grins with teeth in her bottom lip from under a cascade of black curls.

“I can feel it, you know,” Frankie purrs, beard scraping against her cheek before his nose follows suit. “Feel when I’m in that spot.” He sucks on her neck before sliding the flat of his teeth against her skin.

She lets out a sultry hum.

“Like it was made for me. So fucking tight around my cock.”

And all she can do is moan in response because he’s slowed his pace. There’s the slightest circle to his hips with every thrust.

Grinding deep—hard—as if to prove his point.

He’s doing it spectacularly.

“Jesus, Frankie,” she moans, head dropping into the space between her forearms. 

She’s warm gold in his hands, pliable and glistening. Bending with his attention. Made malleable with his want.

Something precious.

He props himself up with one arm and runs a reverent palm down her spine before fitting fingers to the curve of her waist and slipping under her hips.

She keens the moment he starts toying with her clit.

“Harder, Frankie,” she gasps with the breath that he hasn’t stolen from her ribcage.

He moans, a deep, cracked thing as he buries his face between her shoulder blades.

The snap of his hips jostles her against the mattress, slowly at first before Frankie’s rational brain shuts off.

He slips his fingers from her, reaching for her thigh and pulling it up towards her waist, fitting his knee behind it.

Hips grinding her clit against the bed.

His pace builds until his moans drown out her fractured sobs of pleasure, teeth scraping at her shoulder, her body blanketed by the breadth of his form. 

She slips one hand down to work her clit. “Frankie, yes, yes, ye—”

“C’mon, baby. Yeahhh—”

“Oh fuck. Frankie. Frankie, Frankie, Fr—” Her body bows, back colliding with his chest the moment he moves to kiss her with a open, uncoordinated mouth as her walls clench hard around him.

“‘M gonna fucking come,” he hisses in her ear. “Gonna come. Gonna—fucking—cover you with it.”

And she keens between the aftershocks and Frankie’s promise, burying her face in the tangle of sheets.

“You—yeahh—you want that? Want my come? Fuck, baby—” he chokes out.

And it takes everything he has to pull out of the grip of her cunt at the last minute, wrapping his fist around his heavy length, pumping his cock twice before thick ropes of come streak across her spine.

Frankie roars, rushing to slam his cock back inside of her, still throbbing with his release, body twitching and trembling with pleasure before he stills.

Audrey’s soft moans call him back to her. 

Fragile, wrecked things, tangled with heaving breath.

Frankie pulls out with a groan from them both as Audrey protests the loss of his heat at her back.

Until the hot wet of Frankie’s tongue slides over her skin.

He cleans her of his come with a greedy mouth, lips sucking up her spine as he does.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

Finally he returns his full weight to her, one hand splaying against her jaw and bringing her face back towards his.

He tastes of himself. 

Bitter salt and insatiable lips.

Audrey’s face drops back into the sheets when he lets her go, arching up against him with the need to feel his solid weight.

His warmth.

Frankie gently gathers her hair in one hand, peppering her neck and back with kisses before he rests his chin into the curve of one shoulder.

She’s molten now.

“W’s that okay?” He whispers.

And she’s incapable of doing anything more than letting out a throaty, satisfied hum and pressing a kiss to the scruff of his cheek.

Frankie musters enough strength to pull her with him back up to the head of the bed, tucking her against his chest, palm soothing over her back as she nuzzles her nose against his neck.

Audrey’s hazy, murmured, “you’re beautiful,” is the last thing either of them hear before sleep takes them again.

_____

THURSDAY

“Boys, we have a slight wrinkle. They’ve got three more jeeps out here than they did yesterday,” Audrey reports as she stares through a pair of binoculars from where she’s parked a mile away from the compound.

“Benny and I could slash those tires before heading in,” Santiago’s voice crackles over comms.

“Too risky and you wouldn’t have time. They’re on the opposite side of the compound from your entry point.”

“Problem is, more trucks means more men,” Benny chimes in.

“It also means unfamiliar faces. Might actually make it easier to slip in,” Frankie muses.

“I have a distraction in my back pocket, but report back when you’re in position,” Audrey radios.

“I bet you do.”

Frankie growls, “she means an RPG, Benny.”

They suffer through fifteen minutes of silence before Santi reports back. “You were right, Fish.”

“Let us walk right in,” Benny murmurs.

“Consensus seems to be they’re prepping to move the hostage in about an hour. We’ll ingratiate ourselves until then.”

“This’ll be easier than we thought, boys.”

Frankie hisses, Audrey shushes, and Santi shoots him a pointed stare.

“Don’t fuckin’ say that Benjamin.” Fish growls.

“It’s not done yet,” Audrey murmurs.

Ten minutes later, Benny asks, “Moose, did those Jeeps look armored?”

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

“Okay, we have a slight hiccup,” Benny’s voice is low. “Their planned extraction route has changed. They’re heading in the opposite direction from the airstrip.”

“Great,” Frankie mutters.

“So, my way,” Audrey chimes in.

“The planned route runs right past you, Moose,” Santiago adds.

“We could still take the risk. Break at the last minute?” Benny suggests.

“Too dangerous if those Jeeps aren’t armored. Aud can start knocking them off but they’ve got more men than we accounted for and we dunno how many vehicles they’re going to mobilize,” Fish scratches at his chin and reaches for a map.

“Moose, that Rover have a turbo on it?”

“It’s got two, Benny. But we still can’t make that run to the safehouse. The jungle’s too dense and they’ll be too hot on our tail the minute they get wise. We have to get the hostage into the chopper and Frankie’s gotta make the final run.”

And it’s like she and Frankie have the same idea at the same time.

“So, this is risky—” Fish starts.

“The beach.” Audrey says.

“Think that would give you enough space?”

“If you can be there the minute we break through.”

“I can.”

Audrey’s quiet for a moment, running through contingencies. “Okay boys, we’re gonna do a live handoff.”

“You’re not gonna stop, Aud?” Santi asks, voice jumping half an octave.

“I don’t think we’ll have time. Think you and Benny can handle that switch?”

“You hop in the bird and I can hand her up,” Benny mumbles to Santi.

“Yeah,” Pope nods with bright eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“We’re good if you both are,” Benny reports.

“Frankie, you good?” Audrey asks.

“I’m good. Give me a five minute warning before hostage extraction, I’ll get this up and hold the area.”

“Okay. Santi and Benny, you come straight to me. No sense in taking men out if they’re headed this direction anyway, it’ll just tip them off. But that means you boys are gonna have to floor it. Give me as much lead time as you can.”

“Done.” Benny answers.

“I’ll drive. You get in the back with the girl,” Pope nods.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone have any questions?” Audrey asks.

She gets three ‘no’s.’

“Everyone clear on their role?”

She gets three ‘yes’s.’

“If anyone has any doubts, speak up now. If not, everyone confirm, individually, that this plan is a go.”

Without hesitation, everyone answers ‘confirmed.’

“Alright boys. Benny and Pope, are you both in position to start the clock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m officially marking five minutes until extraction. Frankie, get her up.”

“Roger.”

Ninety seconds later Frankie confirms he’s in the air and has cleared the airstrip.

“Benny and Pope, you’re cleared to move in accordance with the timeframe.”

They’re out and in the back of the Jeep in another seven minutes. An unknown man slips into the passenger seat thinking he’ll hitch a ride with the boys, and Benny covers the girl’s eyes and ears with two massive hands as Pope fires a silenced shot at the man’s temple before he floors the truck.

They catch up to Audrey in another two minutes.

“They’re sixty seconds behind us,” Benny blurts out as he opens the door, immediately grabbing the girl out of the backseat. “Sorry about this, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he picks her up and hurriedly transfers her into the Rover, sliding in behind her and slamming the door.

She’s quiet and pliant, but there’s panic in her eyes. 

“Santi, there’s two minutes on that,” Audrey simultaneously tosses a live charge to Santi who slaps it onto the Jeep, right over the gas tank, before he slips into the passenger seat, slamming his door as Audrey hits the accelerator.

“Frankie, we’re on the move. ETA to the beach is seven minutes.” Santiago reports.

Audrey catches the little girl’s wide brown eyes in the mirror.

“Hey Diana,” she says with far more calm in her voice than she has any right to have. “I’m Moose. This is Pope,” she gestures to Santi who turns around and offers the girl a winning smile, “and that’s Ben next to you.”

“I know all of this is a lot. But we’re here to get you home.” Santi assures her.

“You ever been on a helicopter, Diana?” Audrey asks again and the boys pick up on where she’s going with it.

“One time,” the girl answers in a soft voice.

“That’s awesome!” Benny chimes in. “Did you like it?”

She nods.

“Well, there’s a helicopter coming around just for you that’s going to fly you to your parents.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna help get you inside, but we’re gonna need you to be really brave, okay?” Santi says. “The guy flying the helicopter is called Catfish, he’s my best friend. And I’m going to be with you the whole time.”

She nods, eyes still wide with fear.

“We’re gonna have to move pretty fast once we get down to the beach okay?” Benny says as they hear the charge Santi set go off in the background.

“We’re gonna crawl out through there,” Pope points at the sunroof.

And she starts shaking her head ‘no.’

“Hey, Diana?”

This from Audrey.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?”

“I really do!”

She brightens a bit at that.

“I know you can do this. And these boys are going to keep you safe, that’s what they do best. Keep people safe. And then in less than an hour, you’ll be with your parents.” She meets the girl’s eyes in the mirror again. “I promise.”

“You pinky swear?”

Audrey laughs and reaches one gloved hand behind her.

“I pinky swear.”

And she feels a small tug at her hand.

Benny holds his pinky out and Diana wraps her small finger around it before doing the same with Santi.

“Frankie, beach in one,” Audrey reports.

“Roger,” he returns over coms and thirty seconds later they hear the thump of rotor blades. “They’re about two minutes behind you.”

“That’s your ride, Diana,” Santi flips the switch to open the sunroof as he crouches on the passenger seat.

“Diana?” Audrey asks.

“Yeah?”

“Keep your eyes shut real tight for me until Pope tells you to open them again, okay?”

And the little girl shuts her eyes and covers her ears as Audrey wrenches the wheel to the right and hits sand.

“Frankie, I’m going to aim for 60 mph, or I’ll run out of beach too quickly,” she reports.

“Roger.”

And Audrey lines the Rover up on firm sand as the thump of rotor blades grows louder. Wind and sand whip around the cabin as Santiago climbs out of the sunroof.

When Frankie gets the bird close enough, the downdraft from the rotor blades keeps sand in the cabin to a minimum, but creates a wake around the Rover.

Audrey’s only able to see about a hundred feet in front of her at any given time.

“Frankie, my vis is shit, callout if we’re gonna hit anything.”

“You’re clear for at least two miles if you hold it straight. Rock outcrop that would take some maneuvering just short of mile three.”

Two minutes. They have two minutes.

Santiago grips the roof rack in a crouch until Fish brings the helicopter skids within two feet of the truck. 

He easily launches himself onto the skids, Frankie expertly accounting for the impact. 

The bird doesn’t even rock.

Audrey chances a glance up at the chopper.

This is gonna work.

She gestures for Benny to get into position. 

He urges Diana onto the front seat, and mercifully she doesn’t put up a fight.

Benny climbs onto the center console, but the moment he sticks his head out of the sunroof, bullets start flying.

Santiago instantly reacts, laying down suppressive fire as Benny hoists himself up, hooking one foot under a bar of the roof rack, knee on sunroof glass to straddle the open space before he reaches down into the cabin, hoisting Diana up off of her seat with a hand under each arm, his back to the gunfire, shielding her.

Immediately she clings to his neck.

It’s a small blessing when bullets pause.

They don’t want to hit the girl, and Audrey mutters “thank fuck,” under her breath.

Benny assesses their angle and makes eye contact with Santiago who lays his rifle down. 

“Close the sunroof!” Benny yells over rotor blades and wind, and immediately Audrey reaches up to comply, giving Benny more space for solid footing.

It takes less than three seconds for the motor to slide glass closed, but Audrey swears it takes at least a year off of her life.

Benny’s dialed in and readjusts in an instant, standing to his full height.

Frankie and Audrey hold the vehicles dead even with each other, hurtling across the beach at highway speed.

Benny doesn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the skid of the chopper before gently loosening Diana’s hold on him. Santi puts a foot on the skid next to Benny’s and gets well within arms reach. 

Benny still holds Diana close to his body, Pope instead reaching for her.

“On three!” Benny yells, blonde hair whipping around his face.

“ONE.”

Santiago places his hands under Benny’s, making sure he has a firm grip on the girl.

“TWO.”

Benny holds her out just a little farther.

They lock eyes and both nod.

“THREE.”

Benny’s hands drop away and Santiago pulls her in tight to his chest, falling backward into the helicopter as Benny takes his foot off the skid.

“FISH, WE’RE CLEAR GET OUTTA HERE,” Benny crouches down on the roof, screaming into comms as Audrey flips the switch to open the sunroof again.

Benny drops back into the Rover as Frankie pulls hard to the right, peeling out over the ocean and out of range of the bullets that have once again started flying.

Benny reaches through the cabin to grab his rifle off of the back seat and immediately starts firing out of the sunroof as Audrey slows down enough to turn around without rolling the Rover, bringing the truck to a stop.

There’s half a mile between them and the rocks.

Thirty seconds.

She scrambles into the back seat and reaches into the trunk before slowly poking her head up in front of Benny.

Audrey shuffles to the right for clearance, stands on the back seat, and slings a metal tube up over her shoulder.

Half a second later she launches off an RPG.

Anything that remains when the smoke clears is easy work.

Benny takes out three men and Audrey picks off the tires of the one Jeep that made it through.

Everything finally falls silent, save for the muted sounds of the ocean and the crackling of fire—dulled by their ringing ears. 

Audrey reaches for the transmit button on her comms.

“Beach is clear.”

She glances back at where Benny is standing on the passenger seat behind her.

Audrey reaches out a hand.

And Benny shakes it with a laugh.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Benjamin.”

“Roger that, Moose. Roger. That.”

_____

Benny tries to hail Pope and Fish over comms periodically on their way back to their safehouse, but between the distance and the terrain, he doesn’t get anything back.

He tries calling and texting, but nothing gets through.

“They’ll have ditched the bird, and it’s probably four hours by car,” Audrey muses as she pulls into the safehouse drive.

“So maybe 6:30? 7?”

“Probably about that.”

“‘Kay.”

But the pauses between their words are thick with worry despite everything still going according to plan. 

They both shower and change into comfortable clothes, Audrey calling in a status report and cleanup while Benny makes hotdogs for their late lunch. 

They fall into conversation that’s far more comfortable now.

He pours Audrey a gin and soda around 5 pm when he can tell she’s still on edge. 

He fixes one for himself too and suggests they sit on the front porch.

6:30 pm comes and goes and Audrey parks herself on the hood of the Rover to light up a smoke.

Benny sits down next to her, propping sandaled feet up on the bullbar.

“Want one?” She angles her packet of Parliaments in his direction.

“Nah,” he politely shakes his head. “Don’t smoke. But you’re good, I don’t mind.”

And she huffs a laugh because Benny’s the one who followed her over here.

He tells her fight night stories to pass the time as she chain smokes, hoping to distract her enough to soothe her buzzing nerves. 

And his.

Audrey pulls a sweatshirt on to guard against the chill.

When 7:30 rolls around, Benny slips a cigarette out of the box and asks if she can give him a light.

Audrey smirks and acquiesces. 

At 8:15pm, Audrey’s phone lights up, notifying her that something has tripped the perimeter alarm.

She quickly unlocks it and holds it up between her and Benny as she presses play on the video.

It’s a car they don’t expect, and in the fading light, it’s too dark to make out who’s inside. 

Benny calmly slides off the hood and opens the Rover, tossing Audrey a rifle and grabbing a pistol for himself before quietly shutting the door. They move in silence to meet behind the truck, staring through the cabin out through the front windscreen, waiting for the car to appear.

It slips calmly into the drive as they both hold guns at the ready. 

Santiago steps out first with a smile on his face. The moment Frankie appears from behind the driver’s seat, Audrey drops her rifle and takes off running.

“Audrey,” Frankie sighs as she collides with his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He wraps one arm around her back and cups the base of her skull, pressing her tight to him.

“The FUCK took you so long?” Benny booms as he lays his pistol on the hood.

“Stopped for coffee,” Santiago quips, giving Benny a hug and a pat on the back. “Nah, their security detail had car trouble, so we swapped them out so they could move. Frankie fixed this piece of shit up, but it took some time.”

“Gave Benny and I some time to bond,” Audrey moves to give Santi a quick hug now as Benny wraps Frankie in his arms and thumps him on the back.

“That was some real Fast and Furious shit, boys!” Benny whoops.

“Yeah it was,” Frankie returns to Audrey’s side, arm draped around her shoulders.

A smile of pride playing on his mouth.

“Y’all hungry? We’ve got hot dogs,” Benny throws a thumb over his shoulder at the house.

“Fucking starving.” Frankie laughs.

_____

Mirth and liquor flow freely for the rest of the night.

“Okay, so wait, wait. Y’all gave me shit, but Benny doesn’t have a callsign—” Audrey points at the man in question..

“Benny’s callsign is ‘Benny’,” Santi swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“Sorry, what?”

“Well,” Frankie braces both hands on his thighs with a grin. “This one—this one ti—” but he can’t get it out without dissolving into a fit of laughter. “Benny is ‘Benny’—like Benadryl.”

“Yeah, walk me through that,” she rakes a hand through her curls.

“He got stung by a bee one day, took two Benadryl and slept through an entire training exercise.” Santi is grinning so hard that his face hurts.

“Benadryl can do that, yeah.”

“No. Babe,” Frankie laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder, “he slept through the training exercise WHILE he was out in the field.”

Benny is blushing now.

“He would come to enough to get into a helo, but then he’d fall asleep. Strapped into the seat,” Santiago gestures at his chest through howls of laughter.

“He got out of the bird, got into position on the ground with his rifle like he was about to line up a shot and fell the fuck asleep again,” Frankie wheezes, bracing his hand on Santi’s shoulder as he folds forward in his chair.

And she can’t help but laugh at the sight of Frankie having lost all composure.

“Fucking blanks flying everywhere,” Pope makes a cutting motion with his hand, “my man is OUT COLD.”

“There are pictures,” Frankie wipes at his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Benny grumbles, but there’s a smile hiding just behind his lips. “I assume you know about these two idiots.” This to Audrey.

“I do, yeah,” she smiles as she takes a sip of gin.

“You gotta tell me how you got Moose now.”

“Oh,” Santiago reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone, finding the picture before sliding it over to Benny. “She saved our asses by nailing that shot.”

“Oh, cool.”

Benny isn’t quite impressed.

“Through night vision from a mile away, Benny.” Frankie adds.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline now and he holds Santiago’s phone closer to his face.

“Damn, Moose. That’s sick,” he slides the phone back to Santi, “thought it was because of your tattoo.”

“YOU’VE SEEN IT?” Santiago screams.

Benny holds his hands up in front of his chest, “she had a tank top on earlier, I didn’t know it was some kind of secret.”

“It’s not, Benny. Santi just thinks it is,” she winks as one hand idly winds in Frankie’s curls.

“Unbelievable,” Santiago shakes his head.

“I like you, Moose.” Benny holds his glass up in her direction.

She taps the side of hers to his, “I like you too, Benny.”

“You do excellent work,” he swallows a sip, “clean, precise, efficient. Think on your feet. Hell of a shot. You wind this one up,” he points to Santi, “and this one is in love with you,” he gestures towards Frankie. 

And Audrey hides it in the moment, pulling her hand away from Frankie’s hair under the guise of reaching for her glass.

The truth is.

Benny’s just said the last thing she wants to hear.

next

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[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: Depiction of wounds on feet, details of gore.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: If Aemond showed up into my room all feral.... I would simply drop to my knees. Yes sir, what do you need sir? I am a simp 8 days a week.

Chapter 7: Little Dragon

The door shut with thud, and a whoosh of air slipped past your lips that you had been holding. Your hand came up to gently touch the skin beneath your eye.

He had not maimed you. Aemond had taunted you instead. His intimidation causing you to chew your lips raw. You gulped in air, bringing your hand down to look at it, only the smallest pinprick of blood sat on your finger.

You stumbled back, the adrenaline from the evening slowly dwindling and fatigue from the night rapidly growing. Your feet throbbed and head strummed as you stumbled on your feet. Your vision swam as you moved.

Limping over to the arm chair you dropped into the seat holding your head in your hands. Why did he leave you unharmed? What did he want now? Was this all just a game? How did he get into your chambers? 

The knight would have let him in, or at least known he was in there. This meant that Aemond could come back into your chambers at any time or moment, his unknown intentions causing you to become frantic.

You felt bile rise in your throat as your stomach turned in knots. Would he return back into your chambers when you slept? How long had he been watching you? Do you tell your parents? Or would the news create more tension and divide?

You felt your head spin from all the thoughts that raced into your head.

The doors opened suddenly and you let out a small shriek, Aella and Saria standing at the door in shock.

“Are you alright my lady?” Aella asked in a hushed voice, eyes scanning the room beofre looking down towards the small bloodied footprints that were littered across the floor. 

You blinked. Were you? How could this be okay? What could you even say to her question, for you did not even know yourself. You looked to the girls blinking, yet not finding the words to respond.

Aella and Saria slowly walked over, bringing a small footstool with them and two bowls. Saria picked up one foot and rested it on the wooden stool, sucking in a sharp breath, 

“Have the Knight fetch milk of the poppy.” She rushed, turning to Aella.

“No. I don’t wish to sleep.” You quickly spoke.

“Your grace you must sleep” Aella insisted.

“I will not.” Your tongue sharp from stress and pain.

Aella bowed her head and began to sit on her hands and knees, slowly wiping the floor with a wet cloth, cleaning the blood away from the tiles with each swipe. You watched as streaks of blood moved across the tile back and forth, her hands dipping them back into the bowl before rinsing, wringing and wiping again.

Saria was quiet as she gently washed your feet, pouring water over the soles to clear the clotting blood, shards of glass becoming visible as they were embedded in your flesh. 

“We may need the Maester, these wounds look deep, Princess.”

“No Maester. I do not trust the snakes in this keep.” You sneered.

Saria became concerned, having slowed her movements on your feet. Then turning to face Aella, she murmured for her to collect the items whilst she tended to your feet.

“Boil some water, bring it up as fast as you can. Go down to the Maesters quarters, collect what we need, needle, thread, you will know the rest.” Saria spoke, still looking down at your feet, inspecting them as she turned them gently in her hand to show Aella, who looked pale looking at the gashes.

Aella stood quickly, moving to leave your chambers.

“Wait,”  You stopped her, “You can’t let anyone see you. If you are caught, say that Saria has hurt herself.” 

You were to keep this quiet, the risk of exposing Aemonds behaviour would lead to a war, your father would demand his head. Showing your wounds to the vultures that circle your Grandsire would only show weakness.

Only Aemond would know of your injury.

Aella nodded and slipped out the door quietly, returning a short while later with the boiling water and a large copper bowl. Kneeling next to Saria, she placed the bowl near the stool, placing the needle and tweezers inside. The older girl dipped a cloth into the steaming water.

Her slender fingers sunk into the boiling water, her face scrunched slightly at the sting. You leant forward to prevent her from doing it again but she gave you a reassuring smile.

Saria began to softly dab at your feet again, the burning hot cloth sending searing pain up into your cuts. Gritting your teeth you hissed, and Aella grabbed your hand gently, allowing you to squeeze it. 

Saria started on your left foot first, a large chunk of jagged glass sat deep inside the heel, sticking out at an odd angle, as blood began to ooze out of the would slowly. Grabbing the tweezers, she stuck the long points into your open wound. 

You sucked in a shaking breath as you whined, peeling the odd sensation of the tweezers sliding up against the glass. Slowly she pinched the shard of glass, tweezers slipping slightly as she pulled the shard out. The sharp edges sliced through your flesh as she pulled it free, agony ripping up through your foot.

Blood dribbled down your heel and onto the stool, dripping thickly onto the floor beneath it. Saria moved onto a smaller shard next to that and then two more small pieces. All whilst you let silent tears fall down your cheeks. 

Going back with the cloth she gently wiped the new blood away and held your foot up higher, the gentle wipes of the cloth causing a stinging, irritating pain to crawl through your feet. You grit your teeth and grunted.

“You’re doing so well Princess.” She praised, looking up at you as she did, eyes kind.

“Ha,” You scoffed, huffing a breath out blowing a small strand of hair away from your face, “I am crying like a child.”

“Not at all your grace, the feet are sensitive, and the wounds are quite deep.” Aella chimed in, smiling gently at you as she went back to scrubbing the blood off of the floors. She looked more comfortable looking at the floors rather than your feet.

Lifting a hand to roughly wipe the tears from your face you took a deep breath in. 

“Right. Let's finish.”

Saria nodded, grabbing the needle from the bowl and threading it gently, resting your heel back onto the stool in the process. She looked up at you for confirmation as you nodded back, looking at the fireplace which slowly licked against a new log that had been placed on top.

You felt a pulling popping sensation as the first part of the curved needle penetrated your flesh, the sharp pain spreading to your toes. You ground your teeth together, clenching your jaw as she pulled the thread through the wound, the strange feeling making your skin crawl. You sniffed and continued to look into the flames.

After finally sewing the large cuts in your left foot, she then began on the right. There were no large gashes that needed to be stitched, but Saria still had the task of painstakingly pulling out the smaller shards of glass, gently wiping the foot clean in the process.

The water in the bowl beside her had turned a soft pink by the time she had finished. The girl rinsed her hands, wiping them with a cloth to get the off blood. She reached to her side once more, long cream bandage strips were bundles tightly in a ball.

Saria unravelled the bandages slowly, wrapping it around each foot methodically, making sure that each bandage was sufficiently tight and protective of the open cuts. Soon both feet were wrapped tightly, the pressure of the bandages causing your feet to throb with your pulse.

Saria once finished collected the items around her, placing them into the bowl of water, wiping the stool clean of blood. Aella finished scrubbing the floor and began to help tidy with Saria. 

Releasing a breath you leant your head back and sighed, closing your eyes, listening as the girls moved about you. Deep steady breaths. Do not think of the pulsating fire in your feet. Do not think of how Aemond looked as he held the blade to your face, or how it felt to have him so close to you. Do not think. This was your new mantra.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Would you like help to the bed, Princess?” Saria enquired, appearing in front of you.

“No, I wish to stay up.” You replied, fatigue heavy in your voice.

Saria and Aella bowed and began to collect their belongings, quietly slipping out the room to leave you with the storm that brewed inside of you.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Your feet throbbed and your throat felt raw. Your entire body felt heavy, but the fear he would return once you closed your eyes kept you awake.

So you sat up straighter and looked out at the storm.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Do not think of Aemond. Do not think of how it would feel to twist a blade into his throat. Do not think of the evenings events. Do not think of tomorrow. Do not think of taking Aemonds only eye for your own. Do not think of gifting it to your mother. Do not think of his lips. Do not think of how he devoured you with his gaze. Do not think.

So instead, you recited a song that your father Daemon would sing to you often, a song made for dragons and those with their blood. 

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis,” 

(Fire breather, Winged leader, But two heads, To a third sing)

You rolled your head back to stared at the ceiling, breathing in deeply as you continued, 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī :  Perzyssy vestretis, Se gēlȳn irūdaks, Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon”

(From my voice: The fires have spoken, And the price has been paid, With blood magic, With words of flame, With clear eyes, To bind the three)

You paused shutting your eyes once more letting your head slump against the wing of the chair.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī.” 

(To you I sing, As one we gather, And with three heads, We shall fly as we were destined, Beautifully, freely.)

You sighed, finishing the song, before starting once more. 

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

You continued to sing until the sky changed from a dark grey to a warm blush, the sun rising higher in the sky, the storm having moved on during the night. The pain from your feet ached up into your legs and your lips were swollen and raw from biting them.

You watched as the sky turned a beautiful red, to soft warm yellows, then finally to a striking blue. Voices could be heard from outside as people began their day, the birds whistled their morning song and you did not think.

However, the day break brought a new warnin.

Another yet to come.

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Tag List:

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[jungkookslipring]

I Will Never Make You Lonely: Ch 4

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works. If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope 

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non-idol AU

PSA: this in no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

AU/Chapter TW: Mentions of su!c!de, su!c!dal thoughts, graphic descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, and so much crying. If any of this is triggering please refrain from reading this chapter.

CH 4

The car accident wasn’t an accident. There was no animal in the road that caused her to swerve and hit the tree; there was none of that, she planned it. Your brain went numb but your body felt a sharp pain like someone took a dagger and rammed it into your chest. It was getting a little harder to breathe. You got up from your bed and started pacing. You had your hands above your head trying to expand your lungs, but you were already too far into your panic attack to get back down. You let out the first sob since Carter’s death. 

Is this what dying feels like?

“Y/n?” Changbin called out.

As soon as you saw two of your best friends at the doorway, your vision got blurry. Chris could see how broken you were and he felt like crying right there. He was almost relieved that you were grieving properly, but this wasn't the way he wanted it to happen.

“Sweetheart…” Chris approached stepped foot into your room and you ran towards the boys, their hearts breaking into pieces as you covered your mouth, muffling another heartwrenching sob.

“Oh baby girl, come here,” he said gently as he pulled you against his chest. You spent a lot of time trying to distract yourself from the truth, doing anything and everything to avoid facing it. But eventually, you can't keep your mind numb forever. You cried and buried your face into Chris's shoulder, and he held you while Changbin rubbed your back for comfort. Your tears soaked into Chris's sweatshirt as he swayed you back and forth.

“We got you, we got you,” Changbin whispered as he threaded his fingers through your hair. You gripped Chris’s sweatshirt until your knuckles turned white. The sadness and anger that you kept under the surface came out without warning, and you completely lost it.

“Please bring her back, please!” You cried at whatever higher power was out there. Chris held you tightly as you cried into his shoulder. Changbin's hands had let go of you, but another set of arms reached out to comfort you. Though you missed Changbin's touch, you were grateful for Chris's warm hands on your shoulders, which helped steady you. Unbeknownst to you, your breathing had become more rapid.

“Hey y/n, hey let's take a deep breath okay? We don’t want you passing out on us, yeah?” Minho said calmly. You don’t know when he got in the room, but you were so out of it you didn’t know everyone was in your room. Before you knew it, you started panicking. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t breathe,” you exclaim shakily. You cried harder than you have all month, and maybe even in your entire life. Your body was convulsing with sobs so forcefully and rapidly that you found yourself gasping for air. You knew that you would never see Carter again. No more trips to the lake, no more spontaneous visits to the Space Needle, no more concerts, no more walks to Pike Place. All of it was gone. You held your chest tightly as you struggled to take in air. Your mind was in a fog, you felt nauseous, you weren't getting enough oxygen, and it felt like you were living through a nightmare.

“I *cough cough* I want her *gasp*, back *gasp* *cough cough* please” you pant out. The younger ones were in a state of panic. You were hunched forward with your hands on your knees. Changbin walked to the center of the room and embraced Seungmin, who was frantically reaching out for his hand. Hyunjin was hugging Felix and cradling the younger's head, who was shaking in fear. Han was standing in shock with his arms wrapped around Jeongin, who was hiding his face in his shoulder blade. Minho moved a little closer and spoke as gently as possible.

“Y/n? Honey? Can I touch you?” He asked, waiting patiently until you nodded. Chris slowly let go of your shoulders once Minho had a steady hold of you. He took his time to gently take your hands off your knees, squatting in front of you so he could look you in the eyes. He slowly stood you up and put your hands behind your head so your lungs could expand. 

“Breathe with me love. Let's do it nice and slow, alright?” He asked gently. Minho led you through a series of breathing exercises until you were able to control your breathing. Once you were no longer hyperventilating, you collapsed and Minho caught you, slowly lowering you to the ground and into Chris's arms. He embraced you from behind, holding you close to his chest with one hand on your forehead to help calm you down and the other arm wrapped gently around your waist. You covered your eyes, hoping to escape the overwhelming pain.

“Why did she have to go…” you wailed, relieving all the pressure that built up over time. The hurt, the sadness, and the anger were all being let out as Chris and Minho let you crumble because they would be there to pick up the pieces once you were done.

“Y/n…” Jeongin said tearfully. Your heart stopped. Shit. How long were they in your room? You could hear Felix crying into Hyunjin's neck while the taller of the pair gently shushed the sweet boy in his arms, shedding his own silent tears. You kept your hand over your eyes, not wanting to see their reactions, especially the kids.

“Binnie, can you take the kids into the living room please?” Minho asked calmly and kindly. Changbin nodded immediately and guided the Dongsaengs out of your bedroom. Chris held you close and kissed the top of your head. His lips lingered as he rocked you gently back and forth. 

“Oh bubs…,” Minho whispered as he watched you break down. After what felt like an eternity, your hysterical crying died down to hiccups. Chris continued rocking you gently and Minho was rubbing your knee with his thumb.

“I’m *hiccup* I’m so sorry,” you said, working yourself up. Chris quickly and quietly shushed you. He couldn’t bear to watch you go into another panic attack. 

“Shhh shhh shhh it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n,” he whispered as he petted your hair.

“Why are you apologizing, honey? You did nothing wrong,” Minho asked. You shook your head as more tears streamed down your face.

“D-did I scare the kids?” you ask tearfully. You swore you heard someone else bawling in the hallway; it sounded like Jeongin. Chris shook his head while rubbing your stomach with his thumb. 

“They’re just worried about you, we’re all worried about you, angel,” he said calmly. 

“What did I do w-wrong? Why couldn’t she come to m-me? D-did she really think I can just live without h-her??” you beg for someone to have the answer, but Minho only looked at you with sadness and confusion. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and Chris’s. You grab a hold of your skull, your head pulsating. 

“Carter…t-took…she took her own- *hic* oh my god,” you cried as you dug the heels of your hand into your eyes, Chris and Minho exchanging looks of terror. Chris rocked you while kissing your head repeatedly, and Minho took both of your hands into his. Outside of your bedroom, Changbin guided the younger ones down the hall and into the living room. A bunch of them were sniffling, but Jeongin was crying hard. Changbin pulled the youngest into his side, handing Seungmin off to Han. 

“Hey, hey we’re here baby, Hyungs have y/n” he reassured the youngest, but the poor thing couldn’t calm down. 

“I got the others, Binnie Hyung, we’ll be okay,” Hyunjin said, never letting go of the sweet freckled boy in his arms. Changbin nodded as he led their youngest to the bedroom, the rest of the guys going the opposite direction to sit on the couch. Changbin opened the door with one hand, keeping a secure arm around Jeongin. 

“Binnie Hyung?” Jeongin whimpered. Changbin rubbed Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Changbin whispered. More droplets fell from Jeongin’s eyes.

“Y/n…” he said brokenly before Changbin pulled him into a hug, running his fingers through his hair.

“Shh shh shh, she’s going to be okay. I promise she’s going to be okay, baby,” he said while trying to keep his voice steady. They were all a little shaken up from what happened, but Jeongin seemed to be taking it the hardest. 

“I want to see her, Hyungie, I want to see if she’s okay,” he cried, gripping the back of Changbin’s shirt. 

“We’ll get to see her love, but first we need to calm our bodies, okay? Can you do that for me?” He asked kindly as he rubbed his back. Jeongin nodded as he got into bed. Changbin promised to send you over to Jeongin once you were ready. After tucking Jeongin under the covers, he sat beside him, soothing him by wiping away his tears. Later, the three of you settled down in your bedroom, with Chris propped up against a pillow and you cuddled up on his side while Minho lay next to you two. They comforted you with soft touches and even whispered words of encouragement long after your tears had stopped. They waited until your breathing was back to normal before speaking.

“I know you want nothing more than to sleep, but let’s get you cleaned up, y/n, does that sound okay?” Chris asked as he moved a stray hair out of your face. You nodded as you let out a tired sigh. They took you to the bathroom and had you sit on the toilet lid. You looked in the mirror for a brief second before turning away. Your face and eyes were extremely puffy and red. Once he found the makeup wipes, Minho gently held your chin as he oh so carefully used a makeup wipe to remove the mascara that trailed down your face. You thought he’d stop there, but you were wrong.

“Minho it’s okay we don’t have to do all of that,” you say when he starts pulling out all of the products you use for your nighttime skincare routine. He gave you a kind smile.

“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go to bed without your holy grail, huh?” He asked with the sweetest smile, holding up your sleeping mask he gave you as a Christmas gift. You couldn’t help but giggle and you gave him the okay to proceed. Once the makeup was all gone, he took a warm washcloth and dabbed under your eyes and around your cheeks. You let out a sigh and closed your eyes; you were exhausted. Minho applied all the products necessary, because your routine was exactly like his, and hummed a random medley out loud to help with the tension in the bathroom. He wiped off his hands and put his hands on your shoulders.

“You are the strongest person we know, but don’t ever feel like you have to go through this by yourself, yeah?” He pulled you into his arms and rubbed your back as Chris smiled at you two fondly. 

“It's just really hard…” your voice breaks as your eyes sting. Minho continued to rub your back.

“I know sweetie, I know, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now…” he whispered.

“I wanted to handle everything on my own, so you wouldn’t have to see me like this *sniff* so we wouldn’t be where we are now,” you admitted as Chris comes up beside Minho and throws his arms around the both of you.

“You’re grieving, y/n, and that’s okay, it’s perfectly okay, happy or sad, stressed or angry, we have your back no matter what. We love you, sweetheart, let us be there for you,” he said gently as he rubbed a hand up and down both yours and Minho’s back. You sniffed looking up at Chris.

“You’re always there for me,” you said with so much gratitude in your voice. You looked back at the clock before looking at the boys. 

“Can I go out there and tell them what happened? So they don’t have to worry?” you ask hesitantly. They both nodded, even though they knew you weren’t okay, you were at least okay physically… sort of. The younger ones were going to worry regardless, but maybe they would feel a little better seeing you. The two let them know you don’t have to feel obligated to, and that you could just get under the covers, but you wanted to see the kids. They helped you up and guided you into the living room where four of the guys were. Two were missing. 

“Binnie Hyung is with Jeongin right now,” Han whispered. Your heart broke even more if that was even possible. You nodded as you sat down on the couch. After a few seconds of silence, you spoke up. 

“Are you guys okay?” you ask, cringing at how much your throat was hurting. You heard sniffling immediately after you started talking. You looked over at the source of the sniffles and then immediately looked down again. Felix’s face was red with dried-up tear tracks that trailed over his freckles.

“Y/n, shouldn’t we be asking you that?” Han asked, voice laced with sadness. He was wondering how even with everything that just happened, you continue to put their well-being over your own. Now you were questioning if you wanted to tell them the news, seeing how they reacted to you having a panic attack. Anxiety filled your chest before Changbin squatted in front of you and pulled you into a hug. When did he come back out? 

“Breathe for us y/n, breathe,” he shushed you gently as he rubbed your back. Seungmin came up next to Changbin to hug you as well. You took a deep breath. 

“Peyton found a note,” you said as Seungmin’s breath hitched, his arms wrapping tighter around you. 

“Oh y/n…” Changbin mumbled as he rested his head against yours. As the tears streamed down Seungmin's face, you started rubbing his back in circular motions hoping to provide some comfort. You tried to compose yourself so that you wouldn't break down again, and everyone could see that. While you were in Seungmin’s embrace, Changbin carefully pulled back and gently took your face into his hands.

“Hey…you know you don’t always have to be so strong,” he said reassuringly. Hyunjin still had Felix in his arms while you looked back at him. He got up from the opposite side of the couch, knelt in front of you and tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears under your eyes with his thumb. Seungmin and Changbin got up so you could wrap your arms around Hyunjin's neck. Hyunjin kissed your cheek, and rocked you in his embrace. Felix got up soon after and came to kneel behind him, grabbing onto the side of your shirt. You reached behind Hyunjin to stroke Felix's hair; he looked just as devastated as everyone else.

“You’re allowed to lean on us y/n, you don’t have to go through this alone,” he whimpered as he wiped away your tears. You loved your boys so much, and they loved you more than anything. You pulled Felix’s head in to kiss him on the forehead. The three of you held onto each other until Changbin spoke up. 

“You’ve had a long day, let's call it a night, yeah?” he asked gently as he patted your back. You nodded while still in Hyunjin’s hold, and the two didn’t let go until you did. Changbin wrapped an arm around your waist and walked you to your room. Everyone else scooted impossibly closer together and did a brief wellness check on each other. Back in your room, Changbin grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that you stole from Han and handed them to you with the kindest smile. You silently thanked him as you went into your bathroom to change. After you came out, Changbin smiled at you. 

“How many of our clothing items are in your closet?” he joked. You shrugged with a chuckle, and even if it was small, he would take that over anything.

“Not too many, I’m usually fighting with the kids over Chris and Minho’s clothes,” you giggle. Changbin smiles even bigger and pulls you into a hug. You hold him tight and let out a deep sigh. 

“Do you think he’s still awake?” You ask Changbin as you pull away from the hug.

“He might be; he was hoping to see you,” Changbin said. You nodded looking into the hallway. Changbin squeezed your hand one more time before you walked out. Back in the living room, Chris suggested everyone get some sleep. Han roomed with Jeongin but he decided to go bunk with Seungmin. Once all of the younger ones were out of the living room, it was just Chris and Minho. Minho was about to walk out of the room before he felt a hand circle around his wrist. He looked back at Chris questionably.

“Hyung?” He asked. Chris looked at him with sympathetic eyes. 

“How are you doing?” He asked gently. Minho shook his head.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re asking, Hyung,” he said quietly, looking down at their hands. He did, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I know that was a lot,” he said as Minho looked away, pretending like he didn't feel stinging behind his eyes. He let out a shaky sigh. Chris’s eyes softened even more. 

"Min, if you need to cry, it's okay," Chris said, as he rubbed his thumb over Minho's wrist. Minho had always been the strong one for his brothers, but even he had a breaking point. His lip quivered when he made eye contact with Chris. The older of the two gently tugged on Minho's wrist, pulling him into his arms. Minho closed his eyes and let the tears flow. Chris rubbed his back as Minho silently cried.

“You did well Minho, you did so well,” he praised as Minho sniffled. He drew circles on Minho’s back, bringing up his other hand to leave gentle touches on his nape. 

“I’ve n-never seen her like t-that,” Minho stuttered thickly. 

“Neither have I,” he whispered. “But she’ll be okay,” he said. “She’s going to be okay,”. He wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, but they both needed to hear it. After some time, Minho and Chris parted and wiped their eyes. 

“Are you ready for bed?” He asked kindly. Minho nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. As Chris was about to head to his room, Minho grabbed his hand. Chris stopped and looked back at Minho. The younger one didn't say anything, but Chris knew what he was going to ask. He gave Minho a warm smile and squeezed his hand, pulling him to their shared bedroom. Once they were under the covers, Chris held Minho in his arms, and the second youngest buried his face into Chris's neck. Chris ran his fingers through Minho's hair and over his neck, while Minho rubbed his hand up and down Chris's arms. They lay in silence for a while until Minho finally spoke up.

“Do you think y/n will want to go back to America?” He asked hesitantly. They knew that your internship was highly competitive and that you wanted to stay in Seoul, regardless of whether you got selected for it or not. However, considering the recent events, Minho had been wondering for a while if you would get homesick and want to go back to stay with Peyton. Chris took a moment to ponder upon it.

“Gosh Minho….I’m not sure. I want her to stay here but if she wants to go back, that’s her decision, you know?” he answered. If he was being selfish, he wanted you to stay, they all did, but they respected your wishes if you chose to go back to Seattle. The idea of not seeing you every other day if not every day made his heart ache. Minho nodded. 

"I know... I just... I don't know... I want her to know she's her own person and is allowed to make her own decisions, but... the thought of her not living here anymore..." Minho couldn't finish his sentence. He pushed himself closer into Chris's hold.

"I know, agi, I know," Chris whispered as he pulled Minho even closer and stroked his hair when he felt wetness on his shoulder. The two lay there in each other's embrace, and by the grace of whatever higher power was up there, they fell asleep. As you walked down the hall, you ran into Han who was stepping out of the bathroom. He noticed the sweatshirt you were wearing and smirked.

“I was wondering where that was,” he said cheekily. His eyes were a tiny bit moist. Your heart hurt and he sensed that.

“If you need anything at all, we’re always here for you y/n, I hope you know that,” he said before pulling you into a tight hug. You let out a deep breath and nodded. 

“I do, thank you, Hannie. Same goes for you, yeah?” you said. He chuckled. Their health was always your priority, they wished you could take care of yourself the way you took care of them. He squeezed your hand before retreating to Seungmin’s room. You took a deep breath and knocked on Jeongin’s door, waiting patiently for a response.

“Come in,” he quietly called out. You opened the door slowly. Jeongin gave you a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly. He was wrapped up snuggly in a bunch of blankets; you remembered Changbin tucked him in. 

“Hi,” you whispered. Jeongin sat up in bed once you closed the door.

“Are you okay?…” you asked. You knew it was a ridiculous question given you could see he clearly wasn’t okay but you still wanted to ask. Jeongin nodded slowly as you saw tears fill his eyes.

“Please don’t cry, sweet boy,” you whispered. Jeongin’s lip wobbled. Turned out he heard your conversation with Chris and Minho before everyone went into the living room.

“I just don’t- I…I can’t, I can't even fathom going through what you're going through right now,” he whimpered. You quickly sit down and pull him into your arms, and even though he is taller than you, he feels so small in your hold.

“I’m so sorry y/n” he choked out. You rested your head on his temple, shushing him gently. Jeongin’s tears were immediately soaking into your shirt.

“I can’t lose you, I-I can’t lose any of you” he cried out, fear evident in his voice. You cradled his head as he let out one of his worst fears.

“Shhh shhh shhh shhh…you boys mean so much to me, more than you will ever know,” you said, kissing his head and rocking him gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, I am so sorry.” He shook his head. 

“I’m not m-mad I n-never could be. I-I understand. Just- you can always talk to us y-you know?” he said whimpering. 

“I do know that bug and I love you all so much,” you said sincerely as you pet his hair. 

“We love you too,” he whispered, hugging you impossibly tighter. Before you could respond, there was a small knock at the door. The door creaked open slightly and there stood a Felix, looking at the two figures huddled in the dim lighting.

“Are you two okay?” He asks, voice a little raspy. You look up at the angel and gave him a small grin.

“I think we will be, thank you Lixie,” you say stroking Jeongin’s head. Felix nodded and whispered “love you” before closing the door. You both stayed cuddled in each other's embrace, trying to provide comfort to each other, both absolutely exhausted from earlier. Eventually, you got under the covers and held each other tightly. Jeongin rested his head on your shoulder, and you were soothed by the sound of his even breaths. Finally, you both drifted off to sleep.

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

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

[gotham-ruaidh]

Who I Am - a 7x07 and 7x08 story

Set in the “Tell Me About Your Family” universe – where William visits the new Big House at Fraser’s Ridge together with Jamie, Claire, Brianna and Roger and their kids, Ian and Rachel and wee Oggy, Fanny, and Jenny Fraser Murray, in an imagined Book 9-ish timeline. He’s known that Jamie is his father for some time, but this is his first “family” visit.

Catch up on the story here:

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

--

“I thought ye said ye were raised on a farm.”

Jenny Fraser Murray reached across to undo the knot that William had somehow tangled in the wool. “Here. Ye pull the strands apart like this, and then ye wind them together.”

William flushed but kept his head bent to his work. “I lived on my stepfather’s plantation for a time, but I was always busy riding or studying with my tutors or helping him entertain guests. I’m afraid I’m not much of a farmer, Auntie Jenny.”

She tsked. “So I assume ye never learned to clickit, either?”

“Pardon?”

“To make socks or scarves wi’ yarn using needles.”

Carefully he wound the strands of raw wool. “To knit? No, I never learned that either. Though I do remember my grandmother Dunsany had a basket full of yarn and thread and thimbles in her sitting room. I got into it once when I was a boy and she was not too happy with me.”

Jenny expertly tied off a handful of raw wool, and carefully took the wool from William’s hands. “Jamie and I learned to clickit from our Mam when we were bairns. My husband Ian – we grew up together, and one year for Hogmanay before we were courting, we knit each other hats wi’out knowing.” She smiled at the memory. “No’ like I needed one, mind. But it was a nice gift all the same.”

William gathered the tied-off piles of wool from the table and began stacking them on the tray Jenny had brought out onto the porch. “Was that before or after he lost his leg?”

“Oh, before. And he didnae lose the whole leg, just the part below the knee. He took grapeshot to the leg when he and Jamie were mercenaries in Flanders.”

That got William’s attention. “Da was a mercenary?”

Jenny nodded, stretching the cramp out of her neck and shoulders. “Aye, for the year after Father died. He had a price on his heid, so he needed to be somewhere else. He spoke French, so the choice was simple.” She turned to look at her nephew. “Did ye not ken that? Weel, I suppose there’s still a lot you don’t ken about my brother.”

William pursed his lips. “I didn’t know, no. It must have been his first time serving with an army, I suppose. And a foreign one, too.”

They watched a hawk glide soundlessly over the mountain. Smiled at Jem and Germaine sitting high up in the oak tree at the edge of the dooryard, swinging their legs from a high branch.

“He’s no’ spoken to me about it. Ever. Ian came home wounded, but Jamie didnae come back to Lallybroch wi’ him, on account of him being a wanted man. It took months until Ian was back on his feet, and while I mended him he told me a few things here and there about what it was like with the army. But then we turned back to running Lallybroch, and we were marrit not too long afterward, so…”

William stood, and extended a hand to help Jenny to her feet. Carefully he gathered the tray, now heaped high with wool. “Where may I take this for you, Auntie?”

--

It was a fine, crisp late summer evening. Roger supervised Jem, Germaine, Mandy, and Fanny washing the supper dishes at the trough in the dooryard, taking advantage of the last light. Jenny and Brianna’s voices drifted from somewhere inside the house, planning for the next day’s spinning of the raw wool into yarn. Ian and Rachel had retreated to their cabin with Oggy, who had fussed quite a bit during supper and clearly needed somewhere quiet to rest.

“Here.” William looked up to see his father holding out a pewter cup, took it, and shifted a bit on the bench to allow room for Jamie to sit beside him.

“I still can’t believe how peaceful it is here,” William remarked, watching the last rays of sun touch the treetops on the mountain.

“Aye. I’ve a short list of things I’m most happy about in my life. Getting the grant for this land is on it.” Jamie held out his own pewter cup, and William tapped it. “Slainte.”

“Slan-juh,” William echoed, taking a sip, feeling proud he did not immediately grimace.

Jamie smiled. “Good lad. We’ll have ye speaking the Gaidhlig fluently before too long.”

“You speak French?”

Jamie frowned, a bit surprised at the sudden question. “I do. And the Latin and Greek, a bit of Cherokee, and a wee bit of Chinese as weel.” He sipped his whisky. “And you, wee William? You must have the Latin and Greek, if your education was as good as Lord John has told me.”

“Yes. And French, and now some of the Prussian language as well.”

“Of course, on account of the Hessians.”

William nodded. Sipped his whisky. “I’m asking because Auntie Jenny told me today that you had served as a mercenary.”

“In Flanders. Aye. That was a long time ago.”

“Was that your first time serving in an army?”

Jamie stretched out his long legs, exposing his kneecaps as the drapes of the kilt fell away, pocked with scars.

“It was. I didnae have much choice, mind you. I had escaped from the English at Fort William, in the Highlands. I was being held for murdering an officer. I hadnae murdered him, mind you, but there was no reasoning with the garrison commander. That man had had me flogged twice in the space of a week, after all.”

William’s eyes bugged at this information.

Claire emerged onto the porch, medical apron tied over her skirts. “There you are. Is now a good time?”

Jamie shifted his pewter cup to his left hand, and extended his right hand over the rail of the bench. Claire pulled up a chair so that Jamie’s four-fingered hand lay in her lap, and pulled a jar out of a pocket.

William blinked, remembering his manners, and craned his neck to see. “What’s that?”

Claire opened the jar and set it between her knees. “It’s a salve I make for Jamie, on account of the pain he still feels in his hand. Helps to loosen the tension. Especially on days like today when I know he’s been using it too much.”

“Near every bone in this hand was broken when I was no’ much older than you,” Jamie explained casually, grimacing a bit as Claire’s sure fingers kneaded the salve into the tissue. “Pained me for years. And then at Saratoga I injured it again. Both times, Claire mended me. She promised me I’d have a working hand, and I do.”

“My first real surgery, this hand was,” she murmured, massaging the palm with both thumbs.

Jamie leaned over to kiss her forehead.

William cleared his throat. “I knew that Saratoga was not your first battle.”

“But it was yours,” Jamie interjected.

William took a sip of whisky. “Yes. I – I thought I would be better prepared.”

“There’s nothing that can prepare you, lad. I was but twenty years old when I fought my first true battle. I’d done the occasional cattle raid here and there, so I thought I’d be ready.”

“I wager you weren’t.”

“No. Drilling is easy. Knowing what to do in the heat of battle, right after you see your comrades die in front of you…that’s something else entirely.”

William watched Fanny and Mandy carefully carry a stack of clean plates and pewter cups across the dooryard and back into the house. Smelled the sharp, clean tang of the ointment.

“I am ashamed to tell you this, but I do not think I acted too honorably in the first battle.”

“At Saratoga, you mean?”

William nodded, looking down at his hands. “I froze. My comrade…my friend…took a bullet right next to me. All I remember is General Fraser screaming at me, but I couldn’t hear any of the words.”

He watched Jamie’s hand slide on to his, gripping it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, son. It’s the hell of a shock. I’ve experienced it myself, a time or two.”

“Prestonpans. Culloden. The war with the Regulators,” Claire murmured.

William swallowed. “I recovered, of course, and led the next charge. Though now I realize it was you and your men I was fighting, and that fact makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.”

Jamie squeezed his son’s hand. “Take that feeling, lad, and multiply it by the largest number ye can think of. And then you’ll know just how I felt, when in the second battle I shot your hat right off your heid.”

William raised his mug to his lips, watching the liquid slosh as his hand shook. Feeling his body seize up with tension. “Dear God.”

His vision swam. His pulse dropped.

Steps – Mother Claire. Gently taking away his mug, and resting her hands on his shoulders. “William. It’s all right. You’re here with us now. Breathe deep.”

Jamie’s hand gripping his. “In and out, lad. Follow me.”

Claire undoing his stock, settling a hand on the clammy back of his neck. “Slowly now.”

He did not know if it was minutes or hours that Jamie and Claire surrounded him, comforted him, soothed him.

But when he did return to himself, he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

Jamie squeezed his shoulder, and kissed his temple. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, lad.”

“It’s called a panic attack.” Claire felt his cheeks and forehead with the back of a cool hand. “Have you had them before?”

He licked his parched lips. “Yes, but never that strong. Only when I’m truly upset.”

“I can give you some guidance on what to do, should it happen again and we’re not here to help,” she said gently. “But there’s no cure. I’m sorry to tell you that even in my time, these things happen. Perhaps even more frequently.”

William swallowed. “Have men not discovered a way to end all wars, then?”

She knelt on the porch, still holding his pulse between her fingers. “I’m afraid not. You know that Jamie’s endured several wars. I endured a war of my own, in the years right before I met him. England and France and the Americans were all on the same side of this war, if you can believe it. Fighting the Prussians, in the fields of France.”

“They called it a world war,” Jamie added. “Men fighting each other wi’out swords, but with guns, and with bombs dropped from the sky.”

“I worked in an aid station, right at the edge of the combat zone.” Claire looked at him, but her eyes were so far away. “Patched up many men not too much older than you. So, I understand.”

William swallowed. “I – I am a soldier. Being a soldier is what I’ve aspired to for my whole life. To be like my stepfather, and the men in his family.”

Jamie and Claire listened, patient.

“But I like this – being with all of you, here in the quiet. Perhaps I’m more cut out to be a farmer. I love my men, but this life here…”

“We understand, William.” Jamie reached to cup his son’s cheek, for the first time in his life, as if he were a wee lad. “And we will love you and support you no matter what you choose.”

“The Americans will win this war, will they not?”

“They will,” Claire said softly. “Of that I’m certain.”

William set his jaw. “Perhaps I should start spending a lot more time here.”

“There’s nothing we’d love more. But you have a life outside of this place, William – we cannae keep you from it.”

“Being here, with all of you, this past week – it makes me wonder whether this life here is more important. I need more time with you, Da – and with you, Mother Claire – and with Brianna and her family. I need to know who I am.”

Jamie smiled. “You already do, lad.”