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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table.

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

“I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform.

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

Eddie –

I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #my fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #this has been a silly goofy wonderful labor of love I am now releasing into the wild for all of you <3 #also for those of you who voted in that poll #i elected to post the batches in about 4k or less parts because that's about my own personal cap for enjoyment in reading fics on tumblr #longer than that and i have a propensity to run out of time and lose it so!#here you go

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milkbobatyun · 1 month ago

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des fleurs pour vous — some flowers for you

pairing: neuvillette x reader

genre: fluff

summary: with a little bit of help, maybe neuvillette can win your heart

word count: 812

a/n: first post of the new year! hope everything goes well for everyone this year :D just an fyi that i might be posting less this year cus i'm in my final year of school ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! (it's gone by so fast oml) and i need to prepare for the exams ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )

neuvillette who doesn’t understand why he feels so nervous when he sees you. to this ancient dragon of old, he cannot fathom the reason why his mouth dries up and his palms become sweaty. every time he catches sight of you, the corners of his mouth twitch up involuntarily. butterflies brew a storm in his stomach as his heart dances erratically in his chest.

neuvillette who confides in the melusines about the foreign illness that has befallen him. in front of neuvillette, the melusines assure him, promising to do their best to cure him of this sickness that leaves his face burning and his ears flushed with red.

the moment his intimidating figure leaves the room, the melusines are huddling with their heads close together, whispering and brainstorming ideas.

“monseiur neuvillette has fallen in love!” menthe gasps dramatically, her tiny paws covering. the other melusines fawn over the notion, covering their mouths with their little paws, swooning over the fantasies their imagination has created. they’re overjoyed that the impartial iudex has found his other half, but without their help, this romance was heading nowhere.

after countless brainstorms and head whacks later, the melusines have a fool-proof plan. operation fleurs, they called it.

neuvillette who begins to think that he is losing his mind or getting too old for the job when he finds leaflets of local florist shops hidden between the legal files. when he’s pulling out books to consult, torn pages of various romance novels fall out, all citing love confessions, with one book on his desk even being swapped to “how to confess your love 101”.

neuvillette who after much coaxing from the melusines, decides to sit down at his desk, face impassive as he struggles to write a letter to convey his feelings. the melusines are ready to slam their heads on the table as they painfully watch the chief justice, who can hand down sanctions and orders without a moment of hesitation, is now terrified as he hopelessly stares at the blank pages, praying to the archons that he can express his feelings properly.

neuvillette who writes you such a formal letter stating that he wishes to meet you, that when you received it, you feared for the worst. as you stand beside the fontaine of lucine, anxiety gnaws at your stomach. did you do something wrong? were you about to lose your lawyer license? such thoughts chased each other in your mind, a silent mantra of your worst nightmares.

neuvillette who is so nervous about talking to you that he’s secretly mapping out 476 different escape routes and praying to the hydro archon that maybe today, at this exact moment, furina needs him for an urgent meeting.

your stomach drops when you see what could be described as neuvillette marching towards you, face set and stern, his arms held behind his back. somewhere in the back of your mind, your humour tries to throw light on the moment, silently commenting on how he looks like an old man eith his stance.

neuvillette, whose throat has dried up in fear and from the nerves that he has to awkwardly cough, but you’re so wound up by what is going on and end up jumping to conclusions, so you immediately begin bowing profusely and muttering apologies for some phantom mistake that you made.

neuvillette who gets so flustered he doesn't know what to respond and is reassuring you that you’re not in trouble. the melusines, who are very well hidden behind some bushes, are about to resort violence after hearing the both of you apologise to each other for the 500th time that day.

the melusines end up so frustrated with neuvillette’s lack of courage that they pop out from behind the bush and expose him to the whole of fontaine (there was only two other people there at the time)

a loud shout pierces through the tranquil barble of the fountain.

“OH MY ARCHONS, HES SO STUPIDLY IN LOVE WITH YOU HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION WHEN HE SEES YOU!”

the outburst from the usually softly spoken and quiet melusines leaves the two of you in stunned silence. your face is one of confusion as you point to yourself, as though trying to confirm what your ears heard.

when you look from the melusines to neuvillette to double check, scarlet red has coated his ears, warmth exploding over his face. hiding his face behind in embarrassment, neuvillette clears his throat before unveiling the bouquet of flowers he had hidden behind his back.

“well, it seems we started off with the wrong impressions, i sincerely wish that you forgive me for this. human emotion is…so difficult to grasp, but i believe this human tradition of giving flowers is meant to express… love? thus, i do hope that you may present me with the chance to court you?”

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2025 / づ ♡

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #neuvillete smut #neuvillette x you #x reader #genshin x you

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foldingfittedsheets · 6 months ago

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So with my new/old job I’ve been gone for seven years. The person I reached out to about coming back to the company was someone I’d worked with previously who is now a district manager.

He met with me and addressed some of the reasons I’d left before but basically the vibe was that he really wanted me back and was convincing me the company was in better shape now than when I’d left.

Well today I just learned from my store manager that he and that district manager read my resignation letter from seven years ago together. It was apparently scathing. I don’t remember anything I said except that I was really angry when I wrote it.

“What did it say?” I asked my manager, who was incoherently laughing about how pissed the resignation letter had been.

“I remember you sounded professional, but were clearly pissed off. So the district manager and I made a game plan to sell you on how much better the company is now. But it was a full ass letter. When [District Manager] checked with HR about rehiring you they said ‘Careful, she wrote a letter.’”

Apparently the moment my district manager had opened my file which the company keeps forever, the only document was this furious resignation letter. It has since been purged when I got rehired but I’ll keep it in mind for if I leave again that a short paragraph might read better than a full ass impassioned letter on everything wrong with the company.

In my defense, both the district manager and my store manager felt my anger was extremely justified and worked to show me things are better now.

#ramblies #funny #resignation letter

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velvetvexations · 7 months ago

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I'm a trans woman. You need to stop being weird about men.

The idea that trans women should be allowed in single sex spaces for cis women is completely contradicted by the man vs. bear discourse. Ignore that I keep going back to the meme - maybe it's still doing numbers, I don't know, but it's good shorthand either way. If you think men are inherently suspicious and dangerous, ask yourself: why does that not apply to trans women?

What, exactly, does a trans woman do to make herself different from cis men? How are you not advocating a belief in people being tainted by the way they were raised* which can only logically apply to trans women as much as it does cis men? It boggles the mind how, if that's a true concept, one could simply self-identify out it. Yet, the way transradfems talk, literally the only thing that distinguishes an AMAB better-than-bear from an AMAB worse-than-bear is that the former says they're totally better than a bear and you should take their word for it, which if men are really Like That should be of little comfort or security.

Some, even, will make impassioned defenses of butch trans women, which as a butch trans woman is great. But then they'll go on about how evil men are, and how innocent and victimized trans women are, and I wonder, what, exactly, differs an especially butch trans woman from a man to them? If, like me, a trans butch woman doesn't always wear clearly feminine clothes, has body hair, maybe even a shade of facial hair, and doesn't at all try to train her voice, are you going to be uncomfortable with her right up until she realizes she forgot to put their pin on and you see the she/her? Apparently that flips the switch from someone you desperately don't want to be alone with to someone you're totally fine undressing in front of?

All that sounds like TERFism, which is exactly the problem. The transradfem version of reality is one where TERF talking points are completely logical, because they're both based in the same radfem reality. That's not my reality, YOU have constructed a system perfect for them to operate in, that their ideology is fantastic for pointing out errors of reasoning in, as if it was deliberately crafted by them to be deconstructed. I would not at all be surprised if that's the origin of a lot of trans radical feminism, a psyop to make the trans community weaker with logic twists that TERFism can swing through like the Gordian Knot.

If you accept man vs. bear, TERFism is the only logical conclusion. If you don't, as I don't, then it isn't.

The only alternative is that you think being a woman is the only thing anyone should be and "choosing" to be a man is morally inferior. Which I shouldn't have to tell you is horrifying. It's also again incongruous with at least your defense of butch trans women - what exactly defines a "man" and a "woman" when a butch trans woman doesn't have to try to pass at all? You are literally saying all of this, gender, transmisogyny, misogyny, hinges entirely on pronouns and a difference of two letters in the name of what they call themselves, someone is dangerous or not depending on if they go by he/him.

TERFs will see this and be like "yeah! exactly!" BUT MY POINT IS USING THAT TO SHOW YOU SHARE THE SAME FOUNDATIONAL LOGIC AS THEM. If you don't want TERFs to have a point then you can stop accepting their worldview any day now! Come join me and frolic freely where we think TERFs are wrong!

*socialization is real and the idea pre-dates TERFs who incorrectly use the idea that to say that because a trans woman may or may not** have been pressured by external forces to play sportsball she must be hardcoded to be a sex offender, which is completely ridiculous

**no one can be said to have the same experiences, it's a generalization

#trans radical feminism #transandrophobia #transmisogyny #discourse

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acotarxreader · 8 months ago

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Papertrail

Azriel X Reader

Synopsis: For months Azriel had gotten to know you through the intelligence letters you penned from the Autumn Court but finally meeting reveals your twisted reality.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, descriptions of injury as a result of domestic violence.

A/N: I hope you guys like this fic, I enjoyed writing it despite the nature of the beast. Please proceed with caution or not at all if you believe the themes in this lil guy to be upsetting.

P.S this got equal votes with the silly one in the poll but I'm listening to Evermore rn so ye're getting the angsty one hehe

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

Azriel’s grin dashed across his face like a Cheshire cat as he tried and failed to tuck it away in the presence of his friends. He read through the words over and over again, a lighthearted quiet laugh leaving him.

“What do you have there Az?”

“Nothing” he replied too quickly to Mor thrown across the sofa of the Town House, her eyebrow raising as he began to carefully fold it back away.

“They’re his love letters” Cassian cooed from the hallway, shaking off his jacket as the Spymaster tried to do the same to the maroon growing in his cheeks.

“Leave it Cass” the letter found safety within Azriel's jacket pocket again, usually these would be disposed of after reading but Azriel knew he’d need the comfort of your words again after this trip.

“I think it's cute”

“It's not cute Feyre, it's intel”

“Intel? Is that what you single people call it these days” Cassian smirked, finding his place next to Nesta on the couch, arm thrown over the back of the seat behind her. Azriel fought the way the word single made his heart twinge even if it was said in jest.

“It's none of your business is what it is, where's Rhys, we'll be late” Azriel tried his best to change the topic but it became like a cat playing with a mouse.

“You should see him when they arrive Mor, he blushes so much you'd swear he was from Dawn”

“I do not blush!” A playful couch cushion met Cassian's laughing face, the group joining in, a smile escaped Azriel to his own annoyance.

“Tell us Az, do you have as much correspondence with your other insiders?”

“Yes”

“Liar” Mor laughed, the sound of Rhysand landing in the garden echoing through the joyous house.

“You write her more than anyone, your face betrays you when you're writing”

“It does n-”

“Who’s face betrays them?” Rhysand flexed his wings gently after the long flight before planting a kiss on the top of Feyre's head and joining his family gathered in the living room. The group looked in unison towards Azriel, all grinning widely.

“Ah, Az’ little love affair”

“It's not a love affair! I've never even met her, she writes me intel and I writ-”

“-That you love her on bathroom stall doors” The group laughed at Mor's quip as the group stood to leave Velaris for another laborious visit to the Autumn Court.

“I don’t-I don’t love her”

“Sur Az, maybe try telling your face that” Cassian called back to him as he draped his coat across his broad shoulders once again.

—------

The meeting with the Autumn Court had its usual turbulence but thanks to the information you had provided, no major surprises were brought before the Inner Circle. Azriel watched from his usual perch in the corner of the meeting room, Rhysand and Beron engaged in their typical vitriol. The Spymaster's gaze landed on Beron’s particularly brutish General as he stood to the side of his High Lord.

“Kelvin, show our dear guests their way out, we've reached an impasse” Beron bit out to the tower of a male who stood obligingly, the negotiations reaching their usual stalemate.

“Your High Lord seemed especially prepared for this meeting, Shadowsinger” Kelvin whispered to Azriel as the group made their way to the exit of Forest House.

“That’s his job”

“Even still, interesting how there seemed to be a prepared argument for every notion that was put before him, I would hate to hear that people aren’t playing by the rules” Azriel didn’t let any part of the thinly veiled threat rattle him, only a scoff left him, brushing off the accusation.

The group ducked out into the Summer air through a large door they were directed to, Kelvin stopping Azriel to continue their conversation just before the threshold. Azriels hand went into his trouser pocket in a practised nonchalant movement, his jacket draping over his scarred hand. A shadow leapt to the ground of the now empty hallway before Azriel even noticed, his beloved slip of paper meeting the ground with softness. Kelvin was quicker to retrieve than the shadows were to conceal, a rookie mistake Azriel cursed himself for mentally.

“Hmm, your correspondence Shadowsinger” The paper sat slotted between the General's first and middle finger towards Azriel, he moved to take it back, much too quickly, it being pulled back from his grasp again.

“Hm, eager to retrieve?”

“It’s nothing” Azriel lied through his teeth, wondering how much damage to diplomacy would be caused by slaughtering Kelvin where he stood. Kelvin splayed his two fingers slightly, pulling the folded paper apart to reveal a small sliver of your penmanship, his face hardening instantly as a shadow shot to snatch the paper back. Azriel was just glad that that particular letter had been personal and not vital intel, no major security threat in its exposure could be achieved.

“Right well, enjoy your night” Kelvin's abrupt, frosty end to the conversation was not lost on Azriel as he watched the giant male seemingly stomp down the stone corridor.

“C’mon Az, it's time to go” Cassian's voice tore Azriels eyes from Kelvin's back.

Further meetings between the Courts were relatively uneventful, Kelvin kept his distance from the group and made himself unavailable for meetings with any of the inner circle. Azriel had contacted all the Autumn Court spies he had to ensure they stayed on alert, all had replied except for you. Every night Azriel would wait for the note he’d sent down the line to you to reappear, but it never did. After a month of radio silence, Azriel had become increasingly irritable and restless in his work, had even tried to contact the Fae who had initially put you in touch, but nothing came of that lead. He paced his small living quarters in the residence the Night Court used in the Autumn Court, unable to take his mind away from the imaginary scenarios in his head.

“Az, you’re going to put a hole in the floor” Cassian stepped squarely into his brother's path, his arms catching hold of the paling Illyrian's shoulders.

“We have to get downstairs, the ball is starting and if you’re not there, Beron will think you’re off snooping and get spooked” Azriel shook his head in agreement to the logic, moving from Cassian's grasp to fix his suit jacket.

The two entered the already bustling ballroom with the coordinated power that comes with centuries of familiarity. The Autumn Court guests meshed in with the Court of Nightmares guests Rhysand had invited, this attempt at building bridges seeming to work, as long as the alcohol was freely flowing.

An hour or so later, Azriel had managed to escape a particularly persistent fae in favour of a darkened corner of the space. His eyes traced over the various members of the gathering, all deeply swirled in an alcohol-induced truce. He watched the tower he knew to be Kelvin tip his head back in laughter at some comment one of his lackeys had made. His gaze was pulled back to the General with the sudden appearance of a much smaller fae at his side, a smile that didn’t meet her eyes gracing her face. Azriel’s shadows instinctively shot with quiet excellence to wrap softly around your ankles beneath your dress. You cautiously tore your attention from the conversation, locking eyes with the Spymaster across the dance floor. The colour drained from your face and almost as quickly reappeared, you just gave the smallest of nods towards the Illyrian. Azriel’s thoughts went wild at the sight of you, feeling every cell in his body confirm to him that you were who he’d spent all his time thinking about these days. He moved a step forward in your direction, your head ever so slightly shaking no to the movement. Azriel felt his nerves scream at him to walk towards you, fighting some level of primal instinct as he stayed fixed on the spot.

“Drink Shadowsinger?” Eris’ voice caused his head to snap in the direction of the source.

“Not poisoned is it?” Azriel took the flute of shimmering gold, some of his shadows returning to glass, swirling around it before confirming to him it was safe.

“One day you’ll trust me”

“Maybe it’ll be the day you keel over and die” Eris laughed at the sarcasm before noticing Azriel’s eyes land back on you.

“Ah, YN” Azriel’s head darted back to the eldest son of Autumn, his somewhat amused words confirming your identity to what his instincts had already told him. The female he had spent months learning so much about but never dreamed of meeting was stood in the flesh mere metres away and you seemed to want to keep it that way.

“You know her?”

“In a social sense, she is Kelvin’s wife-” he took a deep drink from his glass, seemingly drowning a comment in the liquid. Wife. You were married. Azriel fought to keep upright, you had never mentioned anything about being involved with anyone, how could you be married to someone else, you both had shared such love through your correspondence, all for it to be a lie, Azriel thought. It became clear then how you had such unbridled access to the workings and plans of the Autumn Court, that you were married to the male who made them.

“-She hasn’t been around much lately-” Eris continued “-she tends to avoid these kinds of gatherings, he must have let her out to play”

“Let her?” Eris necked the remainder of his drink, depositing the glassware on the tray of a passing server.

“This isn’t the Night Court Shadowsinger, Kelvin belongs to a very relic-like line of thought, she belongs to him, he controls the reins and she has to go along for the ride. He probably has something to gain from her presence here” Azriel’s heat boiled in his veins, threatening to come out as steam from his ears. Eris rolled his eyes at Azriel’s silence, growing bored of the interaction and heading to find someone else to play with.

You stood at the edge of the circle of large males, seemingly enjoying the conversation alongside your husband. Azriel noticed the way your long dress clung to your bones, sleeves as long as your arms with a neckline that practically touched your ears, an odd choice for the Summer, even in the Autumn Court Azriel thought. You dipped your head slightly as Azriel watched you make your exit from the group, Kelvin’s eyes heating your back until you entered an adjacent hallway. Before Kelvin would notice, Azriel dissolved into the shadowy corner, his shadows eager to reunite with you.

“Just a moment” you called back to the soft tapping on the bathroom door. You supported your weight on the counter of the sink, glaring into your own reflection as you tilted your head side to side to inspect the coverage of the make-up you had applied over any traces of betrayal. Your attention was taken from the mirror as a shadow slipped beneath the entrance, you watched it approach you with such gentle caution until you moved to unlock the door with a shaking hand. Hazel eyes looked deeply into yours, afraid to blink in case it was all a dream.

“Hello stranger” You couldn’t find a reply to him, only reaching for his shirt and hauling him into the bathroom.

“Are you fucking crazy?! Did anyone see you!?” You rattled out, pacing up and down the small space, Azriels shadows wrapping around you. You looked down at them with a loving smile, a sense of familiarity between you and them.

“No, no one saw me, I-I can’t believe you’re here and…and you’re married!” you stopped dead in your tracks at Azriel’s slightly raised tone. You dragged a hand down your face, trying to pull some control back to the tiled space.

“I-I didn’t think it was relevant”

“Not relevant!?” Azriel rasped out, his hands partially flailing out in exasperation, and your eyes clung to their movement.

“It-its a need-to-know basis”

“I would think I would be a part of that, fuck it we told each other practically everything else about one another!” His volume grew moderately, heat rising at the back of your neck.

“Don’t be mad at me Azriel, please” A shiver shot down his spine at the sound of his name on your lips, any semblance of annoyance fleeing the scene.

“I’m not, I’m just glad that you’re okay, the radio silence frightened me” he closed the distance between you, the smell of mist and mint flowing around you as his hands laced into yours.

“Azriel, I’m-I’m married”

“Happily?” he laughed out, it dying in the air with your lack of reply, worry starting to transverse his face.

“YN?”

“I-”

“YN!” Kelvin’s voice accompanied by heavy pounding against the solid oak door, your whole body flinching at the interruption.

“Coming!” you called back, the rattle in your voice cutting into Azriel’s ears, your hands pulled from his soft hold.

“Azriel please go”

“YN, I don’t like this” his hushed tone matching yours, Kelvin's footsteps haunting the hallway.

“Azriel, please just go”

“I’ll go if you promise to meet me later”

“Azriel”

“YN! Come on!” the pounding on the door returning, the handle vibrating much like your bones.

“Fine, fine, I promise, go” you rushed over to the door, your hand landing on the handle tremulously and after whispering where to meet you later, Azriel reluctantly dissolved into shadow once again.

Azriel reentered the party like a bull in a china shop, unable to refocus after your encounter, he waited for you and your husband to reappear, but you didn’t, the party swirling around him. He counted the minutes down until the party had come to a natural stopping point and he could escape to meet you in the wooded area behind your house, allowing conversations to ebb and flow around him.

Finally, he could make his excuses to head to bed, spending all of a minute changing into his training clothing for easier agility. He snuck through the shadows of Forest House as though made of their atoms, moving with precision through passageways until he found his way to the city, slinking through the dwindling crowd with ease.

Azriel waited in the wooded area for nearly an hour, his shadows casing the vast forest for your presence with nothing to show for it. He decided to take things into his own hands as the depths of nights swaddled him. He moved closer to the two-storey property, the glow of the kitchen light filling the small patio beneath a colossal oak tree.

Azriel could make out the outline of Kelvin and a few others from the party, clearly having decided to continue the revelry in his home. Music flowed out through the opened window, his shadows sneaking through the cracks to scope out the ground floor, returning to Azriel with no knowledge of your presence in the private party. Azriels eyes landed on the flicker of a candle from the upstairs of the property, his shadows beginning to leap around him. Scaling the large tree was an easy feat for the skilled Illyrian and soon he was level to the window.

The blood drained entirely from the Shadowsingers face at the scene through the window. You sat in a ball, knees split open and huddled into your chest, the dress that shielded you earlier now in tatters around your ankles leaving the cruel water colouring decorating your body on full display. The beautiful colours of Autumn coated your flesh in their brutality as crimson flowed from a gash, tinging your hair.

Downstairs Azriel could hear booming laughter from the group, fresh new thoughts of slaughter entering his mind. A shadow faintly tipped against the window, the sound rocketing through every cell of your body as you jolted with the fright. Your tear-stained eyes landed on the Night Court’s Spymaster who clung to the trunk of the tree outside your chamber. Your tremoring muscles lifted you from the splitting wood, over a shattered lamp covered in your blood. You delicately pushed into the hinges of the window until it gave in under your weak strength, the Summer air rushing in to meet you. Azriel skirted across the limb of the tree to slip into the space, your eyes fixated on the wood as he landed nimbly.

“Y-YN?” he approached you like a wild deer stuck in a bear trap, afraid speed would cause you to bolt and lead to further injury.

“I-I’m so-rry I didn’t-didn’t come meet y-you” you managed through your quivering throat, the taste of blood and bile poisoning the words. Azriel gave you a small hush, his shadows surveying every stretch of your skin they could.

“We need to get you out of here” he spoke so quietly you almost missed it in the drumming of your ears.

“I-I can’t go with you”

“YN, theres-theres so much blood in your hair” his hand calmly raised to brush the maroon matting away from your face, the source at the crown of your head gleaming in the moonlight.

“He-I shouldn’t have been so-so long away from him ear-earlier” You fought every urge to lean into Azriel’s touch, an unfamiliar sense of trust towards a male's hand growing in you.

“Fuck that” Was all Azriel could think to say, moving quickly and quietly away from you again. His shadows wrapped around you to support you as you stood watching the fleet-footed Illyrian grab some things from around the room, the sound of the brutish males merrymaking downstairs covering his movements.

“Azriel”

“YN, you’re coming with me” some of his shadows returned to his ears in almost an excited fashion.

“Good idea” he replied to them as they darted out the window again, your heartbroken eyes began to swell with tears of pain and anguish.

“Will you be warm enough in this?” He pulled a thick coat from the splintering wardrobe, Azriel getting the feeling it had been a heavy feature of your battlefield, wishing the thought away.

“Azriel, I-I can’t go, I’m his”

“No-” he turned to face you as he spoke, seriousness coating the entire word as he held out the coat to you again “-You belong to no one other than yourself YN”

“Azriel, that’s not how that-that works here”

“Well it is now” He sheathed your mottled skin, the thick fabric, its weight causing your exhausted legs to buckle slightly, Azriel’s arm instinctively wrapping around your chest to support you from the side. You sucked air sharply through your teeth, Azriel releasing you again.

“Sorry YN, I didn’t mean to hurt you” his eyes searched yours frantically as you folded your arms across yourself, your hand tracing the growing deep magenta along your ribcage.

“It's ok-okay Azriel” he turned back to the small satchel he had begun to fill, slipping it over his shoulders. He moved back to the climb to the reach of the tree, arm outstretched inviting you to take hold of him.

“Azriel”

“YN, either you come with me or we both stay” his soft but firm voice had you rocking from foot to foot trying to decide what to do, caught between your potential future and your definitive present.

You looked towards the destroyed room in front of you and back again at the Illyrian offering you the answer to your prayers. You exhaled as deep as your chest would allow you to, moving closer to the window, the sound of crunching ceramic beneath your feet the only sound in the room. The only sound in the room. The only sound in the room.

The door swung screeching on its rusting hinges as the General of the Autumn Court crashed into the room in a drunk swirl of rage, amplified by the sight of his wife’s rescue. Azriel leapt from his perch to block you as a blood-curdling scream left you, instinctively hitting the ground for cover. Before Kelvin could reach for you, Truth-Teller found its home in the thigh of the male, his blood springing free from his network of vessels, reaching and mixing with your own on the floor. The giant hit the flooring with an almost deafening thud, writhing in pain, alcohol stealing any chance of a coordinated retaliation. Azriel retrieved the knife, hovering over his new greatest enemy.

“You will suffer a thousand deaths for this, but not right now, not when it would be merciful” Venom dripped from his bone-chilling tone, a cadence you knew would never be directed at you. Shadows once again filled the room, scraps of paper in their grasp covered the space as Azriel crossed back towards you, pulling you back to your feet and into his arms. Swarms of multiplying shadow cascaded and concealed you both until they dissolved, leaving the two of you in the warmth of a small living area.

“Now, home again” Azriel breathed out in relief, you found a small smile grow, mirroring his ease as he pulled you to his side and over to a plush loveseat.

“Azriel I-I can’t believe what-what just happened”

“And I can’t believe I had enough restraint not to murder him where he stood, but Rhysand hates paperwork and besides, I have bigger plans for him” Shadows nipped the side of his shoulder playfully as he retrieved a cup of floral tea from the kitchenette in his small studio apartment.

“Fine, we have plans for him, so praise starved my little friends. Go fetch Madja for me sweeties” he played back to them as they darted off happily.

“And what exactly have you all planned?”

“Well, Beron is suspicious the Court has a leak and with some careful…editing, now he’ll find his leak” he passed the cup down to you, covering your legs in a throw blanket.

“You had the shadows plant letters in the house for Beron to find?”

“Well, in the morning we’ll send Eris word that you found the letters and he attacked you for trying to tell the truth” he slotted into the seat next to you, a damp cloth in hand to run along your tangled hair, freeing up the clumps of blood.

“And when they ask why I’m here?”

“Eris will award you with an emissary to the Night Court position, so loyal to the Autumn Court, the perfect fae to keep an eye on us” You found a slight laugh leave you, the sound bringing a grin to Azriel’s face. The sound of light tapping on the front door accompanied by Azriels returning shadows signalled Madjas arrival.

—-------------------

You awoke the next morning to the plush fabric of Azriel’s king size bed, the fabric swaddling your freshly stitched skin. You reluctantly opened your eyes, afraid you had dreamed the past twenty-four hours as you forced yourself upright in the bed. You looked around the cosy well-loved space, hints of Azriel everywhere, except for the Illyrian himself. He had left his makeshift bed on his couch early in the morning, eager to begin his ruse.

You crossed the room to the small kitchenette on your world-weary legs, a tray sat gleaming on the counter with fresh scones and the fixings to make the floral tea you loved last night. A smile grew as you heated water on the stove for the tea.

While the water rolled to a boil, you wandered around the space, taking in the world that Azriel had let you into in his letters, still in disbelief, that this had all happened. Your hand crossed over the bag on his desk, the random assortment of wares Azriel had packed making you laugh slightly. The water hissing as it boiled over the rim of the saucepan had you rushing over to it, bumping into a tall tower of boxes as you reached for the stove. You jumped at the sound of crashing files from behind you, scrunching your face before reluctantly turning to the mess you had made. You cursed aloud, kneeling to collect the reams of paper as Azriel knocked before entering his own home.

“Hey YN, all don- what’s going on here?” He laughed before panic started to dash across his face, rushing to conceal the content of the parchments.

“Azriel…are these….are these my notes to you?” you held a small collection in your hands, Azriel reaching to snatch them from you in a protective manner.

“Don’t…don’t tell Rhys I’ve kept them” he said with almost shame, crouched across from you as he carefully folded the paper.

“Wh-why did you keep them?”

“Because they’re you YN” he looked from the penmanship to the female who gifted him the words that kept him company for months. You leaned off the backs of your legs to reach across the piles of history between you both until you met Azriel’s mouth with yours. He leaned further into the kiss, the two of you still kneeling in the nest of paper. His hands traced gently across your waist as yours wrapped around his shoulders, your inner gravities pulling one another together with tender force. Scarred hands ran up the length of your back, meeting equal chasms and fissures, both of your marred stretches of skin feeling whole again. The feelings of true safety and security flowed between you both coupled with the energy of shadow and fire finding home in one another. It felt as time no longer existed, never-ending and final, like nothing beyond the pools of paper mattered. You separated as the need for air sailed towards critical, your hands slid down his chest as his slipped around the nape of your neck, you both leaning in to rest your foreheads together, careful to not reopen your wound.

“YN, you’re my…”

“Mate” your glowing soft eyes landed on his smiling hazel as they seemingly sparkled.

“I was going to say my everything but I believe those are both the same from here on in”

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

Whatcha think friends??

The lovelies: @milswrites @sarawritestories

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hellishjoel · 1 month ago

Text

once strangers

929 words / pairing: javier peña x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: scarf

warnings/information: fluff, meet-cute

a/n: @iknowisoundcrazy inboxed me a super adorable meet-cute a few months back, and I haven't stopped thinking about it! I tweaked it a little with the setting because I also wanted to send some new year's love to @jolapeno and pay homage to her masterpiece, late night texts! I love you both! - my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

Moving to the city felt like an appropriate change.

Your life before was stagnant. Same friends and hobbies, no new boyfriend, same old job. And in many ways, moving to the city did give you a lot of new opportunities. You were fresh-faced in a new career path, meeting cool people through work and social outings, and you picked up different ways to keep your hands busy while watching TV and stuffing your face with Chinese takeout.

One constant in your routine has always been taking a moment to step outside for fresh air during the workday. Even in the most corporate of settings, staying cooped up indoors all day is never an option.

Perched on your favorite park bench, you sip a coffee and stare menacingly down at the daily crossword in the paper. You wiggle your pen back and forth between your middle and index finger, glaring at the puzzle as if it offended you.

“Norma blank. Three letters across,” you mutter to yourself. Norma Jean? Isn’t that a Michael Jackson song? No, that’s Billie Jean. You bite down on the top of your pen and let out a slow sigh.

“Rae,” a low, raspy voice mutters beside you. The stranger meets your eyeline and tips his chin towards your crossword. “Norma Rae. It’s a movie before your time. Sally Fields plays a factory worker who becomes involved in a trade union at the factory she works at. It’s good.”

Your crossword lies forgotten on your lap as your attention drifts to the striking man nearby. His black leather jacket shields him from the city’s biting wind, while aviators with yellow-tinted lenses add a touch of intrigue. A ’70s-style mustache frames his face, perfectly complementing his jet-black hair. Handsome, older, and effortlessly confident, he doesn’t hesitate to strike up a conversation, teasing you about your glaring gaps in film trivia.

“Thanks,” you whisper, back in concentration mode as your pen fills in the missing letters r-a-e.

It’s a rare thing, sharing the same bench with a stranger in this city, but somehow, there he is beside you, his presence an unexpected disruption to the quiet rhythm of your break.

A quiet tension lingers between the two ends of the park bench. Part of you hesitates, worried that breaking the silence might make you seem unhinged. Yet another part of you silently wills him to speak first, hoping he'll bridge the gap.

You both sip your coffees in unison before you’re back at it.

Frodo’s burden, ring. Bird food, seed.

The grip on your pen falters as you encounter another impasse.

Your work break is meant to be a sacred reprieve, but instead, you're faced with a fiendishly challenging crossword that has every mental gear turning at full speed.

“Pen.” The stranger notes. He’s already glancing at you and your half-filled crossword puzzle once again. His shades are off this time, revealing eyes as dark and intoxicating as aged whiskey—both dangerous in excess.

“I’m sorry?”

“Pen. Bold choice, you must be pretty confident,” He remarks, sliding closer to you on the bench, his voice warm and teasing. He extends his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate, unsure if he’s expecting a handshake or the crossword. Then his smirk deepens, his palm steady and waiting. Without a word, you place the pen in his hand, feeling the brush of his fingers against yours.

“Dryer accumulation, lint. Old hag, witch.” His handwriting is vastly different from yours. He sketches in the letters with messy dashes and capital letters that make your dainty lowercases look sweet and delicate. “Hawaiian volcano, Mauna blank… Mauna Kea.”

“Loa,” you intercept the pen before he can fill in the empty squares incorrectly. The stranger connects the dots and nods slowly with a stolen smile. “It’s Loa because 38 down is… Lotus for Sacred flower.”

You find yourselves inching closer as you focus on filling in the missing letters. His hand is still holding the ghost of your pen and what was once a casual gesture shifts into a firm handshake, his grip confident, his eyes roaming over you without a hint of hesitation. There's an undeniable weight to his gaze, one that holds no shame.

“Javier. Six letters across, phone number’s ten down,” he murmurs, his voice low and assured. Before you can respond, he takes the pen from your grasp, casually scrawling his name in elegant cursive over the top of your crossword. As he writes, the phone number stretches down the page. Javi. Just like that, he’s left his mark.

“As fun and embarrassing as this was, I should get back to work,” you say, the heat rising from your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears. Wow, was he smooth.

With your nerves in a jumble, you scramble to pack up your belongings, already bracing yourself to scream about the cute stranger you met when you meet up with your girlfriends later tonight.

Javi is quick to his feet, something familiar outstretched in his hand. “Woah, hold on, hermosa,” his deep, commanding baritone washed over you as the compliment slipped effortlessly from his lips. “Your scarf.”

You could not be more uncouth if you tried.

“Thanks,” you say with shy smile, your fingers weaving around the fabric, but he doesn’t let go.

“You’ll call me?”

He steals a small laugh from you, the wind sending a shiver up your spine. “I think I have to,” you say. “There’s a new crossword every day with nuanced references.”

“So, same time and place tomorrow? Let me buy your coffee.”

Y-e-s.

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mreowsu · 1 month ago

Text

woke up to a multitude of notifs from the previous one, it appears to have been well-recieved. in return, here is a thank you from me :)

DRABBLES, ONESHOTS / itoshi sae x fem!reader

part one

It didn't take long for friends and family back home to hear of you and Sae's rendezvous in España, and boy are they not happy.

cw my writing. both are 14-15. profanities. itoshi rin appearance yay. fluff

wc 4.1k

The ride back to the academy dorms was uneventful, save for the occasional celebratory chatter from the boys' team. You had tagged along on their bus after the match—what? Belonging to the female Re Al team, how could they possibly refuse their up and coming female striker?

Seated a few rows ahead of you, Sae kept his usual quiet, earbuds in and his focus elsewhere.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket. Notifications piled up, missed calls and texts flashing one after another. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as hopefully post-game excitement and congratulatory messages to be passed to Sae for those that couldn’t reach him. But once the bus pulled into the academy grounds, the increasing persistence became impossible to overlook.

Everyone got off the bus, leaving you and Sae to walking side-by-side homeward to the dorms. Sae barely spared you a glance as you sighed and pulled your phone out, scrolling through the chaos. The screen lit up with an endless flood of notifications—mentions, retweets, likes—your feed practically bursting at the seams.

It didn’t take long for the stunt you pulled to spread like wildfire. With cameras and the media stationed all over the stadium, both you and him in your little world had been immortalized from all possible perspectives.

X (or twt?) was most especially on fire.

“Did y’all see the way she just touched his hair? 😭” “Japan’s prodigies or Spain’s new power couple?” “The power she holds. I’m in shambles. Goodbye.” “#Hair goalz” “Sae is so real, I mean, if I were to be sweating with people watching, I’d want to look my best” “I dunno if I wanna be him or her” “Guys, may I remind you all that these are 14 year olds??”—

You scrolled further, only to be greeted by memes that sent a fresh wave of horror washing over you. Screenshots of Sae’s faintly pink ears were captioned with things like, “Bros blush is heard around the world” and “BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s prodigy caught slipping.”

Your personal favorite (if you could call it that) was a photo of you brushing back his bangs, captioned:

“Y/N L/N, certified hairdresser for future world cup winner LMFAOOOO”

“Ugh,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why do they have to make memes out of everything?”

Sae’s gaze flicked to your phone for a second before he returned his attention to the road ahead. “You’re surprised?”

You sighed, shoving the phone into your pocket. “No, but I can’t believe they got that angle.”

“They got every angle,” Sae replied dryly, his tone as flat as ever.

Your steps slowed as you neared the dorms. You pulled out your phone again, scrolling through the messages until you found one that made your blood run cold.

You paled.

Among the sea of notifications was one from your mother. Her text was simple yet loaded:

Mom: “Call me. Now.”

All thoughts of internet chaos evaporated as you stared at your mother’s menacing message. The bold lettering glared ominously at you through the screen, carrying more weight than it had any right to.

You groaned, slumping against Sae’s side with all the subtlety of a boulder rolling downhill. His body stiffened at the sudden contact, and his eyes darted toward you, a flicker of annoyance crossing his usually impassive face.

How had she even managed to make two words sound so menacing? “How did she even make it bold?” you muttered under your breath, staring at the text like it might explain itself. You held the phone up for emphasis, and for your companion to see. “Where did she get the bold font? Why is it in bold?” You cried.

He sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. “Maybe she just wants you to call her.”

“No kidding, genius,” you shot back, glaring at him for his unhelpfulness. “But it’s scary when it’s in the bold font.”

Sae rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about your overreaction before leaning just far enough to escape your weight. “Just call her already.”

You groaned again, dragging yourself upright and glaring at your phone one last time. “If I don’t survive this call, tell her it was because of the bold font.”

Sae’s expression didn’t budge, but you caught the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll send flowers to your funeral.”

You shot him a glare, “very funny.”

Resigning yourself to your fate, you tapped the call button and braced for impact. The line barely rang twice before your mother’s voice burst through.

“You’re too young for this nonsense!” she started, her tone a mix of exasperation and concern. “You went to Spain to play football, not to… to… canoodle!! Do you know how many relatives have called me asking what’s going on between the two of you?!”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh at her tone, though you quickly tried to stifle it, but upon realizing what she just said, your face heated up.

“It wasn’t like that!” you protested.

“Then why does it look like that?!” she snapped back.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “It’s just the media blowing things out of proportion. Sae and I are just friends.”

Friends. The word tasted bitter, foreign, almost hollow when it came to you. But were you guys really? It didn't quite fit the shape of what your relationship had become. It didn’t feel right—not with the way he always lingered just a little too long by your side, or the way your heart skipped at his smallest actions. Hearing the word friends, Sae would be lying if he said he didn't so much as feel an undeniable pang in his chest.

Neither of you said anything more, or lack-thereof, though. The moment passed like a fleeting shadow.

“Good,” she said, but her tone didn’t soften. “Now go find him. He’s not getting out of this.”

“MOM!” you exclaimed, your voice shooting up an octave in sheer disbelief.

“You’re in it together. If you’re getting scolded, so is he. That’s how teamwork works.”

“I don’t think that’s how teamwork works.”

“Don’t argue with me,” she snapped through gritted teeth. “Go find him. Now.”

You stared at your phone, utterly baffled, before slumping with an exasperated groan. “How does she do that?” you muttered.

Sae, who had been observing your side of the conversation with mild interest, raised an eyebrow when you lowered the phone.

“Well?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “Do what?”

“She sounds bold-lettered again,” you complained, gesturing dramatically at the phone. “Like, how does she make it sound like that? Bold and threatening all at once? Is this a skill all mothers have?”

“Maybe you should just listen to her,” Sae deadpanned.

You glared at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “She wants—”

Just then, the unthinkable happened. Your mother, seemingly defying all odds and cellphones, suddenly went on speaker without warning, her voice ringing out loud and clear.

“I can hear him, let me talk to him now!” She demanded, the exclamation marks practically visible in her tone. “NOW!”

“—to yell at you too.”

You froze, and he blinked, looking at the device in your hand, utterly unfazed. “You know,” Sae began, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness, “I think this is a good time for me to leave.”

You turned to glare at him, pulling him back toward you with a surprising amount of force, making him stumble slightly.

“Get back here!” you hissed, your hand still gripping his arm as he tried to step away. “You’re not leaving me to face her alone!”

Sae, who had been halfway through his dorm, sighed. “You’re not exactly giving me much of a choice.”

But you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. With a determination, you pulled him back outside the room, holding the phone between the two of you as your mother’s voice filled the space.

“You both are in so much trouble!” Your mother practically shouted from the phone, her frustration evident. “I should’ve known something was going on when I saw the media coverage. I’m not having my kids make headlines for this!”

Sae, who had remained unfazed so far, leaned casually against the wall, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t make headlines. That’s all on you,” he teased lightly.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his response. "What the hell do you mean? You literally walked toward me with a fucking spotlight on your head!"

“WATCH THAT TONGUE—I’m not done with this nonsense!”

You shot him a warning look, silently begging him not to make it worse. But that only seemed to entertain him more.

“Look, I get it,” you said, speaking directly into the phone, trying to regain some control of the situation. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Like I said, it’s just the media blowing things out of proportion.”

“I don’t care about the media! I care about you two being sensible!” your mother’s voice cracked a little, clearly not impressed by your attempt to defuse the situation. “Now, Sae, you better not be leading my child astray. I want you both to keep your heads in the game.”

Without a word, you shoved the phone toward Sae, who had barely reacted to the situation. He shot you a look, you mouthed: ‘she’s talking to you’. You gestured dramatically at ‘you’.

He stared at the device like it was an inconvenience, but eventually took it, his usual indifference in place.

You were both just standing there, patiently, albeit strained, waiting in silence for the next round of scolding from your mother when a new, unmistakable voice entered the boxing ring somewhere in the background.

You both froze. Sae nearly dropped the phone, his grip faltering. You couldn't help but snicker at the rare look on his face. The last thing you expected was to hear that sweet but dangerously knowing voice—his mother, unmistakably. That sweet but unnerving voice was enough to snap him out of whatever bravado he'd been putting on. He looked at the phone as though it might bite him.

“Hi, Mrs. L/n, is my son on the line? I’d like to talk to him,” she said again, though the distance made it sound muffled, like she was halfway across the room.

Sae had managed to escape his parents’ wrath for a while, but that was about to change, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit victorious.

His brow furrowed, unable to mask his surprise. Sae ran a hand through his hair with a resigned sigh, clearly not surprised by the turn of events. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, the weight of it all sinking in. "My family would have contacted yours the moment they caught wind of whatever the hell the two of us were doing in Spain."

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. "Oh, so you knew this was coming?"

He looked at you with a dry smirk. "I mean, it's not like we were exactly being subtle, huh?" he added, his usual smugness creeping back into his tone. "It wasn’t my fault you decided to get all touchy in front of the cameras."

You glared at him with all your might, but your argument died on your tongue, clearly defeated. "Unbelievable," you muttered.

The phone crackled slightly, and then his mother’s voice came through.

"Hello?"

The both of you stayed silent, catching each other's staring before you took the liberty to answer. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice slightly uncertain.

"Ah, Y/n, so sorry for the sudden intrusion," Sae’s mother chimed in, her voice full of sweetness, but you knew carried a weight behind it. Locked and loaded, reserved to open fire only at Sae. "My son is always so unpredictable… He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?"

You couldn’t help but grin. “No trouble at all, I promise.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, but it didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Well, I do hope he’s keeping you focused. I did hear something about hairdressers…” She trailed off, clearly referencing the media frenzy from earlier. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you to take care of each other.”

You blinked in surprise. The sudden shift from the playful teasing to genuine concern caught you off guard, but you did your best to play it cool. “We’re doing fine, really.”

“I’m sure you are, darling,” she continued, her voice warm, but there was an undeniable edge to it. “Just remember to keep your heads in the game. I want you both succeeding, not making headlines for nonsense.”

You glanced at Sae, who was clearly pretending not to listen. “Don’t worry, we’re focusing on football,” you reassured, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to hear,” she said, her tone finally lightening up. "From you, atleast."

You raised an eyebrow at her words, catching the subtle jab aimed at Sae. You could feel his irritation radiating off him, though his face betrayed nothing more than a slight twitch of his brow. Smirking, you mouthed; 'you’re not off the hook yet.'

Then her voice came through the speaker again, calm but firm. “Now, darling, be a dear and hand the phone over to Sae. I’d like a word with my son.”

Your grin widened. “Of course,” you said sweetly, holding the phone out to him. “It’s for you.”

Sae sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Tell her I’m not here,” he muttered.

“Pretty sure she already knows you are,” you replied, shaking the phone for emphasis. “No escaping this one, superstar.”

He shot you one last glare. "You’re not gonna let me forget this, are you?"

“Not a chance,” you replied, your grin widening as he took the phone from your hands. “But hey, at least now we know what happens when you get too cocky.”

Sae let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly resigned to all this. His usual deflection didn’t work as well this time.

He lifted the phone to his ear, "Hi, Mom." He muttered, trying his best to sound nonchalant, but his posture had stiffened. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Don’t you “Hi, Mom” me, ITOSHI SAE!” his mother’s voice finally snapped. “What’s this nonsense I’m hearing about you two? Running around Spain causing a spectacle for the media, playing to their little games!?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “So she’s got the bold font superpower too, huh?” you muttered mostly to yourself, but loud enough for also him to hear. The sheer power of that 'ITOSHI SAE' was like a force of nature.

His teal eyes hardened, shooting you a glare, his discomfort obvious, but you could tell he wasn’t used to this level of public embarrassment. His mother had always been a force to be reckoned with, but now she was using her bold-letter power on him too. “It’s not like that,” he started, his voice dry and flat. “We’re just—”

“No excuses, Sae. I’ve seen the footage. I’ve heard the rumors. You’re not going to get away with this one. Not while I’m around,” she interrupted, her voice unyielding.

You leaned against the doorframe, biting back a laugh as his mother’s voice carried through the speaker, scolding him in rapid-fire Japanese. Sae’s expression didn’t change, though his lips pressed into a thin line.

After a few minutes, he handed the phone back to you. “She’s done,” he said flatly, though the faint pink tint to his ears gave him away.

You took the phone, grinning. “She gave you the ‘focus on football, not nonsense’ speech, didn’t she?”

“She’s very thorough,” he deadpanned.

“Welcome to my world,” you said with a shrug, bringing your phone on speaker to bid your farewells.

Your mother’s voice came through the speaker, her tone still a little sharp. “Sae, this better not happen again…”

Sae braced himself, his expression turning completely blank as he muttered a weak greeting. “Hi, Ma'am.” He visibly straightened, his usual confidence momentarily chipped away by the dual maternal interrogation.

“Sae, behave,” his mother chimed in. “And don’t get each other in trouble. I’m trusting you to be the responsible one here. You should know better.”

Your mother didn’t miss a beat, her tone taking on a teasing edge. “Exactly. Boys are supposed to protect, not cause chaos. How could you let this happen under your watch, Sae?”

You shot a glance at Sae, his face betrayed none of the usual confidence, just a tense concentration.

You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a grin as Sae’s blank expression barely wavered, save for the faintest furrow of his brow. His mother’s voice, now layered with a hint of amusement, added to the jab. “Honestly, Sae, I thought you were more sensible than this. I expected better from you.”

You could almost hear the corners of your mother’s mouth curve up. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m taking care of it,” she replied with a playful note. “You know how it is with these kids—they think they’re invincible.”

Despite the constant jabs, you knew Sae wasn’t the type to let anything truly reckless happen—not to you, not to himself. If anything, he was the one who kept everything grounded, often steering things back on track. Yet here he was, taking the brunt of both mothers’ wrath, enduring their playful scolding like the stoic shield he was.

Sae sighed quietly, and you nudged his arm gently. “Hey, just look at it this way—you’re their golden boy, hm?”

Sae's teal eyes rolled a sideways glance at you, his lips twitching as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

"Well, Y/n.." His mother trailed off. “Please make sure my son is behaving himself. He has a tendency to… push boundaries when he thinks no one’s watching.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden turn of the conversation. “Uh, I’ll do my best?” you replied hesitantly, shooting a glance at Sae, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“And one more thing,” she added, her voice firm but tinged with an almost playful seriousness. “Don’t let him get away with anything when it comes to you. Don’t let him have his way, understand?”

Your face flushed instantly, the implication of her words hitting you like a freight train. “W-Wait, what—”

Sae, who had been silently enduring the conversation, finally turned his head sharply toward the phone, his ears turning a suspicious shade of pink. “Mom.” He interjected, his tone low and warning.

But his mother was undeterred. “Oh, don’t ‘Mom’ me, Sae! I mean it." Then, his mother released a sigh. “It’s just.. the two of you are out there in Spain... no one else can keep an eye on you. Be rational, okay? Don’t give us a reason to fly over there and check on you myself.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, despite the heat still burning your cheeks. “Noted, Mrs. Itoshi. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sae groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you done?”

“For now,” she replied smoothly. “I’m just making sure things are in order. Y/n, thank you for putting up with him. You’re a saint.”

Sae muttered something under his breath, “unbelievable.”

You snorted. “Of course, Mrs. Itoshi. Someone's gotta bash him in his head from time to time.”

Even with his mom’s playful but pointed implication, you knew better. Sae would never do anything out of line with you, nor anything that would make you uncomfortable. For all his aloofness and sharp edges, he’d always been careful around you—attentive in his own way.

The thought softened the embarrassment lingering in your chest, and you glanced at him, his hand still dragging down his face as he muttered under his breath despite his irritation.

“But don’t think I won’t call again if I hear more nonsense.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath at the thought, but the tension didn’t seem to break on Sae’s side. He eventually muttered, “We'll do our best, Mom, Mrs. L/n.”

“Good,” Sae’s mom said firmly, a slight note of relief in her voice. There was a faint shuffling sound on the other end, like the phone being passed, until your mother’s voice entered the conversation. “I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior.”

You chimed in quickly, trying to get the conversation over with. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Itoshi, Mom. We’ll keep things in check.”

Your mother let out a hum of approval. “Good. And remember, we’re just a call away if you need a reminder.”

“Duly noted,” you replied with a nervous laugh, glancing at Sae.

With that, the call ended, leaving you standing there, Sae released an exasperated sigh and immediately dropped his shoulders in relief. You couldn’t help but laugh.

Sae shook his head, stepping back into his room. “Next time, leave me out of it.”

You smiled. Despite the scolding and the embarrassment, there was something undeniably comforting about moments like these—a reminder of home, even when you were miles away.

You were about to turn and leave when something inside you decided it wasn’t time to bail just yet. You stepped forward, casually walking right past Sae into his room before the door could fully shut behind him.

Sae froze, slitted eyes widening in surprise. “What—”

You shrugged again, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “No reason. Just hanging around.”

Before he could protest, a sudden ring cut through the air. The sound was familiar, but louder than usual. You glanced at Sae, eyebrow raised, but his face shifted quickly from surprise to annoyance as he grabbed his phone.

“Who’s calling you now?” you asked, leaning back against his desk as he answered the phone.

At first, Sae’s face was unreadable, but then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You could hear his voice, but just barely. You noticed and gave a slight smirk. “Guess it’s your turn for Rin’s wrath.”

Rin. The name was almost like a curse for Sae—he loved his brother, of course, but when it came to their sibling dynamics, it was always a bit chaotic.

You couldn’t help but lean in, curiosity piqued. Expecting his mom to be back on the line, you were caught off guard when Sae’s little brother spoke up from the other end.

“Hey, nii-chan,” Rin’s voice sounded loud and clear, filled with that usual mix of child-like wonder and boyish innocence. “I’m hearing things from the media again... What’s going on with you and Y/n? You two are seriously causing a stir.”

Sae’s face flushed even more, a mix of frustration and, if you were reading him right, embarrassment.

“You’re already hearing about that, huh?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Of course I am!” Rin responded, completely unbothered by his brother’s apparent discomfort. “But seriously, are you two that close now? Should I be worried?”

You almost snorted at the lighthearted tone in Rin’s voice. It was all teasing, but there was an undertone of real curiosity—or maybe just a little bit of jealousy? You couldn’t help but smirk at how Rin always found ways to poke fun at Sae, no matter how far apart they were.

Sae didn’t answer right away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment as he sighed. “Just... keep your nose out of this, Rin.”

You snickered at his reaction, walking closer and casually sitting down on Sae’s bed, still enjoying his discomfort. You decided to butt in, taking hold of his phone.

“Hey, Rin—”

“Y/n! What in the world are you two doing over there?” Rin’s voice came through sharp.

“Uh, playing football?” you tried, his sudden change in tone was something you weren’t expecting, but has anything ever went your way ever for the past day?

“You know what I mean,” he whined. “I can’t go five minutes without seeing some clip of you two looking… weird! People are saying stuff!”

You leaned back against the headboard, glancing at Sae, who had now propped himself up on one elbow on his desk, silently listening. “Rin, it’s nothing. The media’s just exaggerating.”

“Oh, really? Because it doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ when she’s running her hands through your hair, Sae,” Rin shot, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Sae, finally engaging, sat up and snatched his phone from your hand, holding it to his ear. “What’s your problem, Rin?” he asked bluntly.

“My problem?” Rin’s voice grew louder. “My problem is that you two are over there acting all… close, while I’m stuck here dealing with everything alone!”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Sae sighed. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not like we’re having fun. We’re working, just like you.”

“You don’t get it,” Rin muttered, his voice quieter now. “You both left. And it’s… it’s hard seeing you two together there. Without me.”

Your chest ached at his words. Taking the phone back, you softened your tone. “Rin, we miss you, too. It’s hard for us here, you know that. But we’ll come back—this isn’t forever.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though it sounded half-hearted. “Just… stop making headlines, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

You laughed, and even Sae’s lips twitched upward. “No promises,” you teased, earning a low groan from Rin before he hung up.

As you set the phone aside, Sae leaned back against his desk-chair, arms crossed. “He’s such a pain,” he muttered, though there was a faint fondness in his voice.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But he’s our pain.”

“Whatever, I want you out of my room before dinner time. I have to take a shower.”

“Bleh!”

“💢💢💢”

* * *

#mreowriting #canon character x reader #blue lock #blue lock manga #blue lock season 2 #reader insert #blue lock x reader #blue lock x anime #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae fluff

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pricetagged · 3 months ago

Text

lorica

Dark November nights aren't safe, especially not for women lingering outside pubs. A taxi should get you home, and it would have if you'd remembered to double-check the license plates.

Here is 2.2k drabbly nonsense since I feel bad about my month-long lack of posting. Ghost/Reader/Price (with implied 141/Reader at the end).

Content: Dark, MDNI, kidnapping, threat of violence, guns, body neutral, f-reader, unedited.

_____________________

White whisps danced and swirled in the air before you, your breath given substance in the chill of the night.

You shuffled from foot to foot, cold air and anxiety swirling in a discomforting soup that sunk down to your bones A glance up and down the street confirmed that yes, your taxi still hadn't arrived. You unlocked your phone once more, foolish in the hope that staring at the screen would make the car appear sooner. The little black icon on the app mocked you. Your driver is 2.6km away!

A sudden cheer split the silence, flooding from the frosted windows of The White Hart. You and your friends had agreed to leave by 8 p.m., hoping to avoid the jeering and jostling of impassioned football fans. A quiet drink after work was one thing; you hadn't, however, planned on lingering to catch up with the Premier League. The noise of rowdy punters and drunk men spilled once more into the street behind you, making your heart race a little. They were just watching a match, just in their cups…

But standing solitary as you were in the dimly lit street it reminded you that you were alone.

A single streetlight buzzed and flickered its dim companionship.

You could see your breath puffing out in front of you, white on black as the night stretched on. Perhaps you should've agreed to the lift that your friends' offered, cursing your politeness. Don't want to inconvenience you! I'm headed in the opposite direction - let me just call a cab. Dark nights weren't often kind to lone women. Winter, too. It left you shivering, trussed up in fleecy fabrics as the wind bit at your numb nose and made your eyes stream. You looked like some soft, gentle thing huddled in a doorstep, hoping to pass the night safely. You panted a little, unease quickening your breath. The misty vapor furled upwards; you imagined it carrying off your hopes. Your desperation. Please, let this car arrive. Let me get home.

A nondescript black car slowed along the curbside, wheels slick and splashing in the stagnant water gathered by the gutters. You caught the tail end of the license plates, mud splattered yes, but you could see some numbers and letters shining through. Finally. You puffed out your relief, tucking your phone away as you reached for the door. Prayer answered, it seemed.

A wave of warm air kissed your cheeks as you slid in, dry and comfortable.

'Hi, how's it going? 2350, right?' You sent a half-glance at the driver, pulling your seatbelt on as you waited for confirmation.

The gears of the belt buckle clicked in the silence. Heavy, noticeable silence.

Turning back towards the front seat, your polite smile wavered slightly. The driver was a big man. Strange that you hadn’t noticed it before, but he was hulking in the seat, shoulders stretching beyond the limits of the side panels. You swallowed slightly as you noticed the headrest barely brushing the nape of his neck.

Two unwavering, dark eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror.

'Uh…' you faltered slightly, perched like bird in the backseat eager to take off, feathers ruffling and twitching. 'This is- you're the car I called? Confirmation number 2350?'

You could feel your face heating -from the chill outside, the AC inside, the mounting embarrassment - skin feeling itchy and tight. Still, you were reluctant to break his gaze. Your instincts sparked, flared to life illuminating only the thought to keep him in your sights. You felt altogether too cramped in the car, his presence spilling across the back seats.

'Yeah, 2350,' his voice rumbled over the hum of the engine. 'Tha's right.'

He made no move, didn't even blink as he stared you down. You could just about make out the arch of blond eyebrows, the craggy lines of a well-worn face but a black barrier mask halted any further consideration. You cracked first, glancing down to his thick, gloved hand resting on the gearstick. The entire dash was dark, no blue light or luminosity from his phone. No digital dials or screens anywhere.

'Aren't you gonna type it in the app? Confirm it from your end?' You hoped he didn’t notice the shake in your voice, unease plucking at your vocal chords weaving nerves into noise.

'Waitin' on yer rideshare, aren't I?'

'I didn't book a rideshare, this is just-' You cut yourself off as your numb, clumsy fingers groped for your phone. 'Let me check, I should've just booked a solo journey-'

'No need, 's'a busy night. Friday. Match on, lots of punters.' His voice was deep, tumbling like gravel from his chest. It was disjointing, actually, with his mouth covered and the lights off. His voice seemed to echo around, filling all the dark curves and corners of the car's interior. Coming from nowhere but this beast of a man with no mouth.

You shook off the thought like waterdrops from your hair. He was just a working man. Big, yes, gruff, but no need to tar him with the sticky, resinous pitch of your paranoia.

'Yer lucky to get a ride,' he continued. 'Car pool's better than standin' out in the street by y'rself. S'not safe.'

You relaxed a little into the seat, tension trickling away. Slightly. It lingered still at the base of your spine, on the back of your neck.

'Right,' you puffed out a breath as you slid your hand from your pocket. 'Do you know how long they'll be? It's just that I've been out since work this morning and I'm looking to get home sharpish.'

He snorted at that, loud and curt, "'e'll be out when he's out. Someone waitin' for ya to get home, or wot?'

'No,' you hesitated, awkwardness cutting you short, 'sorry. Just tired.'

He hummed at that, flicking his eyes around the silent street outside. Murky, orange light cut through the condensation of the pub windows, casting a faint haze on the shutters and bars of the nearby shops. All closed for the night. All empty.

'Wot you doin' out by y'rself anyway?'

Odd. He didn't seem the type for small talk.

'I wasn't out by myself,' you cringed at how pandering it seemed. How you felt you had to justify yourself. 'Was out for drinks with some colleagues and friends.'

He huffed at that, muttering something too low for you to hear. It made you prickle, for sure that it was at your expense. Maybe you should stick in your earphones, stop talking and just treat this like the transaction that it was. You drummed your fingers against the door panel, breath fogging up the window as you stared out aimlessly.

A few beats passed like that, quiet settling uncomfortably in the car like an itchy blanket. You could feel it, wanted to shift away or throw it off or something, but a glance outside at the damp, litter-strewn street kept you still. Better just to endure the discomfort if it got you home.

The snick of the locks disengaging made you jolt, drowsiness dispersing at the sudden shock of cool air from in front.

A man, almost as tall and broad as your driver, settled into the front passenger seat. His eyes, flinty under his stern brow, mapped the length and breadth of your bundled form. His lips twitched under his mustache, amusement or disbelief carved into the burgeoning smile.

'What's this, then? Picked up a stray?'

You bristled a little, scintilla of apprehension raising the hairs on your arms. They shared a look, something warm and familiar passing between them as the idling engine hummed back to life. They sat in front, black-clad and broad shoulder to broad shoulder nearly blocking your entire view of the dash.

'It's your rideshare, in't it?' the driver grunted as he pulled away from the curb.

'Booked a cab, did you sweetheart?' the stranger turned to you, strong face in profile. You could make out fragments - high nose bridge, dark hair, mutton chops obscuring most of his face. The darkness veiled the details, like staring at a painting through gauze. He was the image, the impression of a man, yes, but distant. Unsettling.

'Clearly,' tiredness and nerves made you sharp. Brittle. You sunk further into the seat, clutching your bag on your lap. As if it could act as a barrier. A shield.

A string of tension hummed, taut and quavering. You tried to ignore, watching streetlamps blur together outside, it but it whirred high and distracting. They noticed it too, you thought, shoulders squaring up as muscles tensed and flexed. The stranger huffed through his nose, proud and steady as an ox. You swore that you heard the driver chuckle under his breath, a low hehehe as he indicated right and turned off from the M60.

'Testy one, I see,' he hummed, disapproving. 'Gonna have to fix that attitude.'

The string snapped, you snapped, 'Look, Sir, I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't fancy a chat. I'm just trying to get home.'

You fumbled in your bag for your earphones, hoping to drown out any awkward silences or terse comments.

'Alright, that's enough of that. Simon, pull over.'

You looked up, half in alarm and half at the authoritative tone of his voice. The driver, Simon apparently, swerved into the hard shoulder with a 'roger that'.

The tattoo beat of your heart drowned out your thoughts, heavy thumps rushing past your ears and thrumming down to your fingertips. You scrambled for the doorhandle, scratching clumsily like a mouse.

'What are you doing? Is this some kind of Chuckle Brothers double act because if so, it's not funny,' your words fell like fragile little shards, hoping to cut but shattering in the air. Your pitch rose, 'You want the bag, my things? I'll report you, you shouldn't be fucking working this job.'

Your phone felt heavy in your hand, shaking fingers missing the keypad as you tried to type the password.

The stranger sighed heavily, patronising. Like you were inconveniencing him in some way. You licked you lips and glanced up, ready to run your mouth again as the app loaded.

A steely glint by the central console strangled the words in your throat.

'Didn't want to have to do this sweetheart,' the stranger's lips quirked up in a sad, half-smile. You scanned his face, seeing no note of hesitation. Just cool, steady eyes and that stupid, fake smile. 'Hand that over, nice and easy.'

Neurons fired, trying to make connections or plans. Trying to assess. Here you were, alone in a car with two strange men. You shouldn't hand your phone to them, you could barely feel your fingers anymore, never mind unfurl them from the edges of the case. If you handed over your phone - your lifeline- then what?

If you didn't hand it over, you had the answer to that question from the barrel of the gun pointed your way.

You stared at it, dull silver in the dark. Like a cynosure, it pulled your gaze towards it. A sick facsimile of the North Star, leading you away from safety and further into the den of the wolves ahead.

Your animal instincts screamed, struggled, but lost as you passed your phone into his large, calloused grasp.

'Good girl,' he smiled fully then, round cheeks and bright eyes masking the coldness beneath. 'Don't get fussy now - Simon, the locks - just sit tight and you'll be home in no time.'

You tugged futilely at the handle, useless now that Simon had engaged the child-safety lock.

'I don't live down this way, I- this is not the right way,' you licked your lips again, mouth dry and bitter with the taste of rising bile. You could see, now, that you wouldn't be going home that night. Your next words tasted acrid, tinged with defeat. 'Why are you doing this?'

'Thought ya wanted to come wiv us,' Simon's gravelly voice cut in, amusement warming the pitch into something mocking. 'Why else jump into a strange car?'

'You said you were my taxi, you confirmed-'

'Did I?' you saw his eyebrow quirk, dead predator eyes meeting yours once more through the rear-view mirror. 'Not very good at lookin' after y'rself, are ya?'

Your quick little breaths fogged up the window beside you. It was hard to see, hard to think. But clearly, not thinking had brought you this far. You didn’t think to accept your friends' offer, didn’t think to properly check the license plates, didn't think open the app and check the journey status.

There must have been something of surrender in the tremble of your lips. In the flickering of your wide, glossy eyes. It scented the air, whetting the appetite of the beasts in front of you, swirling around their chops.

'S'alright, love. We'll get ya home. Get ya taken care of.'

Lacrima painted your lash line, salty and hot as it brimmed over and down your cheeks.

You heard a rustle, felt a rough thumb brushing at your tears. The stranger had reached back, large hand nudging your face back up to look at him.

'No more tears, now, c'mon,' he dug his into the corner of your mouth, tugging your lips into a coy, marionette simper. 'Smile, sweetheart. The rest of the boys are dying to meet you.'

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Bit rushed, but hey 🤷‍♀️. This has probs been done before but here's my spin. Apologies for the lack of fics lately! Feel like I'm getting my groove back so should have some actual content out soon.

#yeah idk simon and price were on a mission and are using a stolen car #and poor little reader got all mixed in it #simon is an opportunist ey #báirseach writes #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley/reader #captain john price #john price/reader #john price x reader #simon riley/john price/reader #dark 141 #reader x 141 #dark fic

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eu-nicola · 3 months ago

Text

her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders

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m00nlight-ramblings · 1 year ago

Text

Bright Like The Sun

You and Halsin reunite after months apart, and you have a surprise waiting for him.

Pairings: Halsin x AFAB reader

Warnings: pregnancy, fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Requested: yes

A/N: Graphic created by me. I do not give permission for my work (both graphic and writing) to be used without my permission.

The caravan of adventures stood at the ready, a few people milling about to make sure everything was loaded correctly. Others were tearfully saying goodbye to loved ones, tear-stained cheeks and soft cries filling the main square of the area.

Others, like you and Halsin.

Wiping a tear, Halsin’s finger gently ran over your lip, staying their for a brief moment. The gentle display of affection caused you to smile softly – sadly – and you looked at him, his beautiful hazel eyes brimming with tears as well.

“My love,” His voice was gently and he stayed close, his larger body nearly covering yours as he held you tightly. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he rested his head on top of yours, his soft hair falling on to your face. “Not a day nor night will go by where you are not in my mind, and in my heart,” Pulling back again, he looked at you, holding you by the shoulders, “I will write you letters. Hundreds of letters – not five days will go by where you don’t receive a letter from me.”

“I know,” You spoke, your hands finding their way to Halsin’s. They rested on top of his as your curled your fingers around his. He laid a gentle kiss on your forehead before you spoke again, “I will miss you until we are reunited – I hope my thoughts and memories are enough to satiate me for a full year.”

“The memories of last night will be burning in my mind for all of time,” Halsin said lightly, joking to break some tension. You laughed softly as he tipped his eyed, forcing you to look into his eyes, “Your body…your moans…you saying my name is more beautiful than any song ever created. Last night was one of the most beautiful nights in all of history.”

While Halsin waxed poetic about your lovemaking, as he often did, you couldn’t help but smile. Your heart hurt, thinking of spending any time apart from him.

Halsin had agreed to travel back to Moonrise Towers to help rebuild the land and re-instate the surrounding towns. Baldur’s Gate needed you to stay behind, to help with everything now that the Elder Brain was destroyed – so you two were at an impasse. Your love had blossomed and grown on the adventure to rid the tadpoles and defeat the Shadowlands curse, and you were more than excited to start your life together with Halsin…but both of your respective people needed you now, and neither of you were in a position to say no.

One year, You thought, the tears springing to life again at your eyes, Twelve months and we will be together again. Halsin wiped your tears and wrapped you in a kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth. The shiver of arousal rippled through your body and you held on to him tighter, desperate to keep him locked in place.

Someone from the caravan shouted, causing you to both to pull away from the kiss. They were leaving now, there was no more goodbyes able to be shared. Halsin looked to you again as your burst into tears. He held you tight and peppered kisses on your cheeks.

“My heart, you will always be with me. And I will always be with you. Remember that on the long nights, or cold days. I will always be thinking of you. This temporary pain will be nothing compared to the beautiful eternity we get to share together.” He promised, wiping away the last of your tears. You nodded and looked at him, finally ready to say goodbye.

“Goodbye, Halsin. I love you so.”

Halsin smiled and kissed you, “I love you more than there are stars in the sky.” With a final kiss on your forehead he joined the others at the caravan. The large group left through the city, and as he walked through the gates, Halsin looked back at you, blowing a kiss. You smiled sadly and waved to him, pretending to grab the kiss in the air.

Twelve months may be temporary, but you wouldn’t stop longing for him for the entirety of that time.

The birds chirped as the traveling group came upon Moonrise Towers, the sun shining brightly in the sky. You took a deep breath in – the whole journey there, you couldn’t stop smiling. The last time you were here, the Shadow Curse had barely started to lift, and you could only spare a look back as you journeyed on. Now, however months later, the area was bustling back to life, once decrepit buildings now flourishing, and once shadows, now life.

You pulled your coat closer to you, the crisp morning air bristling around you. Your heat thumped rapidly and the group came to a stop, a gentleman helping you off of the traveling cart. Thanking him, you hopped off gently, walking a few steps to take in the scenery. Still smiling, you put your hand to your eyes to shield the sun as you looked up to the now beautiful Moonrise Towers.

Guards, workers, and pedestrians strode by you on the grounds, gardeners maintaining the foliage in the front. Flowers burst in clay pots, and giant trees littered the front area. Tears glimmered in your eyes as you saw what seemed to be a completely different place from before. You heart swelled with pride – Halsin and the rest of the crew were doing a fantastic job.

“Ma’am, may I help you?” A guard came to you, smiling. You turned to him, dropping your hand. Instinctively, you laid your hand gently on the mound in your coat. “I see you’ve arrived with the other travelers that just came. Are you needing assistance at all – someone to find, or such?”

You nodded, “I’m looking for Halsin?” You peeked around the guard. He nodded.

“Master Halsin is usually very busy around this time, but let me see what I can do. Come this way.” The guard took you through the entrance of Moonrise Towers. The grand entryway had sprung to life in its new rebuild, decadent golds and red tapestries decorating the halls. Candles burned on every wall and in every corner, and the strong sense of spicy incense filled the air.

A far cry from the last time you had visited.

The guard slowly weaved in and out of groups of people and took you to another grand room, right of off the main entryway. There, a group of important-looking citizens gathered, discussing something in motion in front of a large fireplace. Two guards stood at attention at the entrance of the room.

The guard signaled for you to wait at the entrance and he strode into the room. You followed him with your eyes and realized he made his way to Halsin.

My Halsin.

Your heart thumped in your chest, the blood pounding in your brain. You couldn’t fight the smile on your face if you tried. You watched the guard touch Halsin’s shoulder, alerting him to your arrival. Halsin, obviously not expecting anyone, looked confused for a moment but followed where the guard was pointing to. When his eyes locked yours, his mouth fell agape and he rushed to you, closing the distance between you two in only a few steps.

“My heart!” He cried, holding your shoulders. The feeling of his touch was indescribable – you could feel the tears in your eyes as you both smiled at each other, lovesick. He went to hug you but you gently stopped him, a flicker of confusion on his face. “What are you doing here? What is the meaning of this surprise – to what gods do I thank to see your face sooner than twelve months?”

“I have a surprise for you,” You said, taking a step back. “I know we agreed upon twelve months, but…” You unbuttoned the fabric of your spring coat, revealing the mound you kept inside.

You son, with his perfect tiny elf-pointed ears, and button shaped nose, laid in your homemade sling, sleeping peacefully. Though his eyes were closed, when open, the stunning hazel orbs would always wildly inspect everything they could get their sight on. His tiny little fingers would grab for anything within reach, and his giggle was the sweetest lullaby you had ever head.

You looked up at Halsin, watching his reactive. Instinctively, you gently placed a hand on your son’s head, “We just couldn’t wait.”

Halsin stood agape, looking between you and your baby. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally spoke, “He is…?”

“Yours, of course. Ours,” You slid the jacket off and placed it on the nearest chair, “The night before you left for Moonrise brought more than just vivid memories. It brought us our son.”

Halsin gazed upon the baby in wonderment. Once the words finally settled over him, tears brimmed in his eyes and he grinned, reaching for his son. You smiled as you undid the sling, gently passing him to Halsin. Though the baby was covered by Halsin’s giant hands, he was gently with his touch, cradling the baby as if he was the most precious gift in the world.

Which, to the two of you, he was.

“Our son…” Halsin whispered, looking upon him. He kissed his forehead gently and rocked him back and forth.

“I haven’t named him yet,” You said, coming to Halsin’s side and peering at the two of them, “He’s been ‘My Sweet Baby Boy’ for some time now…I wouldn’t want to have done that without you, of course.”

“Forgive me, my heart,” Halsin said, almost breathless, “I just…am overwhelmed. I cannot believe not only that you are here but…our son.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“Altan,” Halsin finally said, “For him. I like the name ‘Altan’…‘bright like the sun’.” He looked at me and bent his head down to gently kiss me, leaving me breathless. I smiled into the kiss, pressing my lips on to his. When he pulled away, he looked at me. “Our son.” He said again. I chuckled and nodded, looking at our baby.

“Our son. Altan…our son.”

Halsin smiled and leaned into me. Altan slowly opened his eyes and cooed, looking right at Halsin. He gasped and looked at him, still as stone. Altan smiled, reaching his arm up to grab at Halsin’s face. Halsin tipped his head down so Altan could reach, and Altan pressed his fingers to Halsin’s chin.

You giggled and watched the interaction, your heart feeling like it was about to burst. In all your life, you never had any idea that happiness could feel so big, so expansive.

Halsin looked at you and kissed your temple. Returning his gaze back to Altan, he smiled. He spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Our son.”

---

A/N: "Daddy Halsin" has a whole new meaning. Okay...I'll shut up now. ANYWAY reblogs/likes/comments are so so so appreciated if you enjoyed my work!

#bg3 #halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #bg3 halsin #halsin fan fic #halsin fanfic #halsin fluff #halsin x oc #halsin fan fiction #baldurs gate 3

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