#BUT maybe after i finish singularity’s sequel
Note
singularity was literally so good. the writing and the pacing and the smut was all so well done!!! would you ever write something like that for bee x reader?
THANK YOU SO MUCH!! it genuinely is the best compliment when people go out of their way to send in an ask, i’m eternally grateful for yall 😭 as for bee x reader, it’s definitely a possibility in the future, but i don’t have anything for him in the works right now. i need to do a lot more research on his personality so i can nail it before writing him, but again, definitely a future possibility!!
#doq.txt#mirage is just much easier to write in terms of personality#bc he’s such a motormouth#bee’s a little tougher#BUT maybe after i finish singularity’s sequel
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Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader || Oneshot [PART 2]
Notes:
This is the sequel, to this Oneshot!: Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader || Oneshot
Plot: (Set in the Horror House, a year after the first Part)
After they were forced to 'come out', Y/N soon breaks it (Whatever 'it' was) off from Freddy, because things started getting weird with her and everyone else. They started thinking less of her, and it hurt, and Jason wouldn't even look at her anymore- and that hurt even more.
But will anyone else measure up? Will anyone else fit her as well?
Warnings: Sexual themes right off the bat (Much more than the last one). Not full-on smut, but ya know, lots of talk- and the actual actions are with Bo, mostly.
Previously:
~
“Princess… Daddy’s arm’s gettin’ tired.”
Your eyes widen and relax again at the terminology, turning back to Freddy, taking a deep breath. Well in that case…
You tilt your head and lean up, connecting your lips in a soft kiss- which he immediately takes up a level and makes it a rough one. You like how his hat kind of makes you feel disguised and protected, you like how, kind of ironically, he really is quite a good kisser, and you like the roughness. You just really like kissing him.
And maybe that’s why you got a little lost and it lasted a bit long and…
Chucky saw.
“Oh so you two are finally coming out? Fuck, and here I was having a good time torturing you.”
Your eyes snap open and you pull back, lips a little tingly but not caring as you look to the side and down to the damn doll and feel like your entire world explodes.
His voice was loud, and various villains in the room - Jennifer, Billy and Stu, Michael, Jason, - are looking at you with big, round eyed expressions on their faces (Well, the ones you can see anyway).
…
As you chew on the inside of your cheek and wonder what you could possibly say, Freddy - his dramatic ass, - points offendedly at Chucky, says ‘And to you sir, I say bah humbug!’ and then stomps off the other way- retreating. You double take after him. Can you… can you follow and hide? Or do you have to stay?-
Before you have to make the decision, he comes back, grabs your arm, and drags you back the way he was going along with him.
~
Current Time
~
"Bo... "
...
"Bo!... "
...
"... fuck... "
The room is relaxing and dark, the world is quiet around you; everyone else in the house being fast asleep.
Your fingers entangle themselves into Bo's hair, your hips lifting up off the mattress and your back arching under the sheets where he's nestled, between your parted thighs. Your cheeks are hot, and your hair is strewn out around you and over your face, and your breathing is heavy yet your words come out entirely breathless. Or- word; Singular. "Bo... Bo, Bo, Bo, B- "
Suddenly the man under the sheet does something that is apparently too much for you, and this time your breath hitches in your throat and you're so close to finishing, when-
"Not quite sweetheart."
"JESUS fuck- "
~
"-ing christ!" You whisper-shriek, as your eyes blow wide open and you jump up into a sitting position in the bed, throwing the doona and the sheets up to make sure you're alone- then peaking at the sleeping man beside you to make sure it was, in fact, BO. When you determined that it definitely is, you turn to your bedside table and pick up the prescription bottle sitting there; Squinting at the label as you just try to calm down your heart. Its beating erratically in your chest, like it’s trying to get out. And you don’t blame it! Not after that- God, how Bo didn’t wake up when you screamed, you have no idea. Man must sleep like the absolute dead.
Hypnocil is clearly printed on the bottle, and you took 2 as instructed before you went to bed, you know you did, so he shouldn't have been able to get in like that!
But he was. It was definitely him.
And you are pissed.
What are these??! Tic Tac's!?
Once you've gathered your bearings a little more, a moment later, you slam the stupid bottle back down on the bedside table and throw the blankets off of you- getting out of bed, dragging an over-sized hoodie on, you storm out of the room and down the hall. God, you should’ve known something fishy was up- Bo doesn’t put his mouth anywhere near down there.
When you get to Freddy's room you don't bother knocking, flinging it open and not caring that it’s an invasion of privacy or that you aren't wearing pants- he more than invaded your privacy 2 minutes ago! You look around, identify a stack of magazines on the dresser beside you, pick up one of the heavier ones, roll it up and promptly fling it at the carcass sprawled peacefully on the bed- that instantly flies up and falls off the other side of the bed at being disturbed in such a shocking and sudden fashion. "Fuck!- "
"Stay out of my head, you creep!"
"Ughh... creep?” Disoriented and getting hit with another magazine - this time to the face, as he tries to get up, causing him to just stay behind the bed this time, -, Freddy still manages to come up with something obnoxious to say to you. “Last time I checked, you liked that about me... "
A growl escapes you, frustrated and violated, and you pick up two magazines this time, roll them up together, and fling the make-shift missile directly at his head.
“Hmmm… “Twisting his face in an unamused sort of way, which make you want to throttle him, Freddy looks around on the floor on his side of the room. “Hey, I don’t have a white flag to waive- will these do?”
When a crumpled pair of white boxers come flying, you but wack them out of the way. Too pissed to be disgusted- and, honestly, besides! You’ve seen, touched, been apart of a lot worse when it comes to him. Oh… your stomach rolls at the memory. “I’ve been taking Hypnocil, you fuck! How did you- “
“What?” That seems to catch Freddy’s attention, as he looks up at you again. His eyes narrow. “How did I what?”
“Get in my dreams! I just wanna be free of you!- I thought Hypnocil was supposed to work!?”
Freddy just stares for a few moments, lost in thought… before his eyes slowly widen and an evil smirk spread across his ugly mug. “Hypnocil does work… it blocks me from getting in… I didn’t do anything to you. Which means,” Suddenly he gets up, rounds the bed and comes after you. You’re listening to his words, and slowly coming to the same horrifying conclusion; Eyes wide as you avert your gaze. No… No! No way- “Unless some other demon is after you, which is unlikely,.. you dreamt about me all on your little own.” There’s a definite mischievous tone in his voice and you fight not to hide your face. Because… fuck.
Did you?- No… No-
Absolutely not. No.
“Uhhh… “Coming down from your anger-high, now mortified for a different reason, you talk quietly under his revealing gaze- though you don’t look up to meet it. You don’t do that, anymore. Not ever. “Oh… “Your mind is racing. You couldn’t… you’re happy with Bo… you don’t need Freddy. Why would you- “Uh… “ God, why did you dream that!? Shit- “Sorry… for… bothering you, then… “
You back up with little steps, towards the exit, because you’re just now realising, you’re alone in a room with Freddy, and you… you can’t do that anymore. Not in any room, much less one with a bed. Because now that the realisation has dawned on you that he did not in fact sexually assault you, and nothing has changed between the two of you actually, you’re remembering what a damn sucker you are for him and how you can’t be anymore. How its not allowed. And you have put rules in place to help yourself.
And this situation definitely breaks a couple of those rules.
Wanting to facepalm, you very nearly groan at yourself. Shit.
“So… out of curiosity,” He takes another of those careful steps towards you and you look quickly towards the door; Heart beating too-fast inside your chest. “What did I do in this dream? You seemed pretty… shaken.” The grin is audible through his voice, and you flee immediately for the door; Hand on the knob.
“Nothing happened, forget about it, stop grilling me!” You exclaim desperately, yank at the door; Forgetting to twist it. Jesus christ Y/N, come on. Pull yourself together. This might as well be life or death.
He chuckles behind you, the sound closer than you thought. Spiders creep up your spine and you can’t help but grip the knob harder, like it’s your lifeline. Or self-control. “Interesting choice of words… Come on, tell me what happened.”
Blades slide over your shoulder, and you actually let out a yelp, flinging the door open finally and pulling it shut behind you immediately to the sound of his obnoxiously loud laughter. You collapse against the door and just try to calm your racing heartbeat, pressing the back of your head hard into the wood. You stay until the sound of Fredy’s laughter dies down.
Tiffany walks by you then, a toasted cheese sandwich in her hand to curb her midnight munchies. She stops in front of you, and you raise a brow down at her. “… Yes?”
Tiff is the only one in this house, including you, that thinks you being with Bo now makes zero sense. She holds the belief, probably because of her own less-than-typical relationship, that you’ve gone from ‘platinum to bronze’- Bo’s handsome, she’d told you before, but that burnt shit has something else. And that’s important- mark my words, honey. You’ll miss it before long when all you get from Bo are shitty handjobs and wall-quickies. You had laughed, then, but you know by the way she’s looking at you now that she knows your opinion, consciously or not, has changed. “Detox harder than you thought, sweetie?”
You just glare at the doll.
~
The next morning, after you had snuggled back into bed with Bo and managed to catch some uninterrupted sleep, and Bo left before you woke up to deal with Lester - he grunted something about mud and that’s all you needed to know, -, you find yourself sitting up at the kitchen table with Jennifer- sorting out phone numbers from the bottom of her purse and drinking the high fibre salad drink she sips so elegantly.
The two of you have 3 piles. The ‘Done’ pile - boy’s who are dead now, -, the ‘To Be Determined’ pile - Boy’s Jennifer thinks might be closeted gay’s and so would never work for her, - and the ‘Call Back’ pile, obviously. That one is looking slim, though, unfortunately; The Done pile being the biggest.
“Uhh, wh-what do we do with a number we can’t understand?” Carrie asks, looking troubled at a ripped piece of a business card. You lean towards her and peer around at the number, and find you can’t make out the crazy scribble, either.
Jennifer plucks it from Carrie’s finger’s and drops it on the ‘Call Back’ pile. “Doctor. I know where he works.”
Tiffany walks in not-too-long later, Chucky breaking off from her and heading to the living room. She sits down beside you, making you nervous and scootch a little closer to Carrie on your either side- practically half off the chair. For a good minute Tiff lets the obvious nervous energy surge between the two of you, causing Carrie and Jennifer to exchange concerned looks, wondering what has happened. Finally, Tiffany breathes in but you’re ready and before she can make even a word come out, you blurt out what you thought would be a good distraction. “So Tiff!! How was your toasted cheese last night??”
Jennifer screws up her nose. What?
“How was yours??” She shoots back, pointedly. Annnd, right. You think. Of course. That backfired. Damn.
You turn to her anyway and glare, sternly. “I didn’t have any.”
“So you just look that much like a frazzled squirrel monkey on a regular?” She blinks back, innocently.
“Look, Miss Sex Therapist,” You start, putting an elbow on the table between the two of you and trying to make out like you could be in any way intimidating to her. “Don’t you think if you could tell what I look like after I get fucked, you woulda found out about Freddy and me a long time ago? Like, months? Your insane husband figured it out and started acting like a cruel freak about it, and you still didn’t know!” At that she just looks bemusedly at you, a tiny grin quirking at her black lips. Your narrow your eyes- wait did she know the whole time?? When Tiffany breaks out into a full smile and looks away, you literally gasp. “You did know!!?”
Putting the pieces together on what this inane conversation is about, Jennifer gives her own gasp. “Wait- you knew Y/N was banging that burnt turd and you didn’t tell anyone?? We could’ve started damage repair way sooner!”
“I wasn’t about to ruin her fun.” Tiffany smirks, sifting through the ‘To Be Determined’ pile.
Carrie looks wide eyed. “Should I be listening to this??”
“Hey, you didn’t do anything.” Jenniferassures her, looking crossly at you and Tiffany. “You aren’t the one that let yourself be defiled- or kept it a secret!”
At that, you can’t help but laugh. “Defiled?? Jen, you’re literally a Succubus demon- If I’m going to hell,” Which you doubt. Just because you had the dreaded premarital sex? No. Jen has been spending too much time with Jason and Mrs Voorhees. “You already have a backstage pass.”
“Yeah,” Tiff agrees, beside you. “And that ship has sailed, for me too. A long time ago.”
Jennifer just makes a frustrated ‘Ugh’ sound. “Whatever.”
“I don’t think you’ll go to hell… “Carrie pipes up again, a tiny wonky smile flickering at her face. You smile, going to say thank you my only sweet friend, when she continues. “I don’t think anyone goes to hell because of who they fall in love with.”
The words die in your throat, immediately. Love? God, you feel like that word should be censored, suddenly. He could hear you Carrie!! She’s looking at you, though, waiting for an answer as you just stare back like a deer caught in headlights. And Jennifer is looking at you too, her arms crossed and a pert look on her face like she’s daring you to respond, and Tiffany, too- A look of encouragement on hers.
You’re just opening your mouth to say something, when the bastard in question actually walks into the kitchen - impeccable timing, honestly, - and both yours and Carrie eyes widen. You slump in your seat and hide the bottom half of your face in the collar of your hoodie, eyes downcast acting like suddenly Jennifer’s phone number tirade is something you’re really quite fascinated with- but you can’t focus on the numbers and just stare at them. Hold on, is that a seven or a four?? How many doctors has this girl got up her sleeve- can I have one? As you narrow your eyes at the napkin in your hands, Freddy smirks at you- but you don’t notice.
The other three more calmly return to a normal, like they hadn’t just been discussing him, and Tiffany even says good morning- whereas Jennifer shows him the iciest cold shoulder in the world. While Tiffany and her start discussing their plans for the day, Freddy comes up behind Carrie and slowly reaches his blades out close over her head and face, causing her to freeze.
You glance up from the number, see this, look back down, then do a double take. “-Hey!”
“Ohh, what? She’s not hurt.” Freddy teases, a devilish grin on his evil face. You narrow your eyes back at him, giving a powerful greasy that he doesn’t even have the decency to look bothered by as he returns his attention back to the little blonde bellow him- the blades landing on her shoulder. She jumps. “Carrie are you hurt?~” Jennifer rolls her eyes deeply and Tiffany gives a great sigh. “… Scared?” Carrie shifts in her seat, dragging her shoulder forward causing Freddy’s glove to fall off her as he returns his smirk to you.
Smirking back now, you point at him. “… I know something you don’t want Chucky to know.”
Freddy’s face instantly falls. He glares. “Chucky isn’t here.”
“Tiff is, though.”
At this point Freddy totally withdraws from Carrie, rounding the table to lean over you. Meanwhile Jen turns to Tiffany, mouthing ‘What did I tell her about eye-fucking?’- You don’t see that, though. You’re too busy putting Freddy in his place- an endeavour that you are, admittedly, quite good at. “Well if you tell her, I’ll just have to tell everyone all your dirty little secrets, wont I?”
Cockily, you shrug with a smug, airy smirk. “And what are these terrible secrets? I’m an open book.” Well, as far as the rest of the house thinks- you are. Stu and Jason took one look at you with Freddy and thought they knew everything about you. That you’re a whore- you’re easy- which is the whole reason you’re in this stupid, hard ‘detox’ mess to begin with.
He only seems to get happier, dropping his arm down on the table beside you and leaning in- over dramatic as usual. “Are you sure about that??... ”
Okay he’s got you thinking. “… Yeah?... I mean… I- I was with you, so… surely most of my kinks are self-explanatory… “Surely. SURELY!! And yet your mind is racing, trying to think of anything embarrassing he knows that you wouldn’t want anyone else to find ou-
“Okay then.” Theirs a terrible smirk on Freddy’s face as he gets up again, leaning both hands on the table and looking way-too-pleased at each of the other women- and suddenly you remember.
No. No!-
Purely to torture you he takes a deep breath before saying a damn thing, and that’s enough time for you to jump up, grab his sleeve and drag him out of the kitchen- all to the sound of horrible, smoky laughter. He’s still laughing when you shut the door in his face.
Then you take a deep breath and compose yourself, leaning against the door. You can’t let him get to you like that, you know it. It’s just so terribly easy to lose yourself in the person you are with him… because, admittedly, you really like that person… they can stand up for themselves and that has never come so easily to you before.
But, you sigh, taking your seat again at the kitchen table with the others who began talking among themselves again as soon as you yanked Freddy out of the room. You’re just going to have to find another way to be like that- because that particular rout is out of the question, forever and always.
No argument.
~
Freddy’s POV now:
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her I start to glare. I could so close… I could smell gas in her hair… Growling from the back of my throat, I turn away from the kitchen and head to the living room. Out the window I can see Coverall’s Redux layin’ under a car, getting even more gas on his hands to clean off in Y/N’s hair… For just a second, I think about how pretty his brains would look splattered all over the car port, my hands on the wheel and my boot on the gas pedal… I catch sight of the cabbage patch kid giving me a weird look, and raise my eyebrow at him. “What?”
“That’s crazy face you got there. Not that you’re not always funny-looking, don’t get me wrong. But what’s on your mind?”
“… How hard I’d have to kick for you to fit in the garbage disposal. The sound… would you make more a crunch sound or a clatter?... Mm, let’s give it a try~ ”
“Hey hey hey!... “Chucky raises his hands by his head, giving me some of the fakest wide-eyes I’ve ever seen on that fucked up, mangled, twisted doll-face. “Watch your fucken self.”
I just roll my eyes and sit down on the couch, back to the window. “Gimmie the remote, jackass.” Whatever, I think, as I snatch the remote right out of his tiny child-hands. I shouldn’t bother with the pathetic b-level slasher outside, anyway. I have bigger fish to fry… Elm street kids~ Mm, my favourite.
… He can do whatever the hell he likes with her fucken hair.
~
Your POV Again:
After the day’s insanity (It is never boring here. … Never. Not for an hour. … God, you wish it could be boring for a day or even just an hour around here!!) you’re plopped on the couch with your legs in Bo’s lap and an old atlas in your lap; Just flipping through, trying to ignore the sound of Michael’s TV blaring in front of you all. He always has the volume up as high as it can go, and right now he’s watching Formula 1!- its loud, to say the least.
You’re just exploring the streets of Cuba when Bo taps your shin with the tips of his fingers, catching your attention. Flashing him a small smile, you tilt your head to the side; Silently asking him what’s up?
“I think we gotta talk.” His voice cuts through Michael’s Formula 1, thankfully, but you’re a little nervous by his tone,.. You think back to Oliver, a guy that dated last year, and how he sounded exactly the same way- just before he told you that he loved you.
Eugh. You wince, and almost shiver, thinking about it.
“Okay… What about?”
“I wanna take ya home, little girl.”
“You- “Suddenly Michael switches the TV promptly off, and turns to you and Bo; Nothing-at-all subtle about it. Your mouth falls open, about to ask him what exactly he’s looking at, like excuse me sir- But Bo is not done with you. This is, apparently, a very important talk for him. You close your mouth, give Michael a look (To which he does nothing, just pulls the lever that makes his armchair suddenly pop out and recline), and turn slowly back to Bo. “Sorry, uh, you mean- you mean Ambrose??”
The immediately gives you a bad feeling. Like, the cringe. Like, you’ve been dating for months now but it’s still way too soon for this. You are not the kind of girl that goes ‘home’. You are not a promise ring, meet-the-family, always and forever kind of girl. At least not now! Slow down-
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” You glance to Michael, but he’s not even a lick of help, so you look back to Bo. “I wanna show you where I grew up.” Now you look around the rest of the room, but for once there is absolutely no one else around. For gods sake, of all times to get some privacy around here- You look back to Bo again; Looking attentive when really your mind is looking for the fastest ride a million miles from here. He doesn’t seem to have picked up on your squirrelly, ‘deer in headlights’ reaction, because he has that hot, country boy smirk on his face that almost make you weak. Almost makes your knees buckle. Almost makes you feel something. Almost. “Willya let me?” Well- … You almost would!
The atmosphere is so thick with tension that Michael suddenly slipping a straw under his mask and making a SLEURPsound at the volume of a jet engine absolutely make you jump. “… Um- “Michael stop sipping that coke, or so help me- “Well- “God, this never would have happened if you were still with-
“Yeah?... “
“… Okay Bo, here’s the thing, um, I don’t think this going to work… “
~
The next morning, Bo and his brothers are gone. Their stuff, their dog, their truck- everything. You’re asking about at the kitchen bench during breakfast, but you just give a helpless shrug over a steamy cup of coffee filled with sugar. You don’t really want to talk about it…
Quickly, you find Michael at the kitchen table. He’s perked up like a dog, looking at you, and you quickly squint at him. Like no. Tell them nothing. Michael, I swear-
Slowly, he tilts his head to the side at you; Pushing your buttons.
You turn your head too, giving him a threatening look. Like don’t you dare…
Tiffany, Jennifer, Stu, Billy, Freddy, Jason, Chucky and Carrie are all clumped together in the little kitchen as well and they watch this little, ongoing silent argument to the death; Some with amused chuckles, some looking baffled, some with their faces full of eggs.
When Tiffany finally sighs, and asks again about Bo and the others- Michael bolts for the fridge and the notepad on there. You flash across the kitchen after him, still begging him not to, but he writes on the notepad as if you’re not even there. You don’t bother him. You’re just a fly to Michael Myers.
Goddamn him.
When he’s done, having written ‘Y/N broke up with him’ on it as explanation, he puts the notepad and the pencil that goes with it back on the fridge and vacates the room.
Va- Leaves the room!! He doesn’t even care to see the disaster he’s created! Your mouth falls open, seriously considering chasing after the gremlin (Should never have fed him after midnight), but before you can even take a step- Freddy reaches you and grabs your arm and stops you from leaving. Hey, hey, hey-
“What?? What happened???” Tiffany asks immediately, a note of concern in her voice.
“What!?” Jennifer snaps, as you unlock Freddy’s fingers from your arm and throw his hand away. “Why the hell would you do that!? Oh I swear to god Y/N, if it was because of Krueger, I’ll- ” As soon as this comes out of Jennifer’s mouth, Jason looks towards the door- and- no. You’ve finally gotten him to start looking at you again! Quickly, you shut that down.
“No, it wasn’t.” … no… it wasn’t…
“So what you’re saying is you’re on the market again?~” Stu (Who has had it in his head since the climactic point of last years Christmas party that you're easy- ) asks, sticking out his tongue. Your mouth falls open once again, ready to tell him that no, you’re not on the market; you’re not fresh fish- but there are others who have things to say. Of course.
About your love life. Of course.
After all, why wouldn’t they? (ㆆ_ㆆ)
Billy sighs, setting down his own cup of coffee. He’s just trying to wake up, here. “Were you mean to this one, too?”
“Too???” You ask, baffled. “If you are talking about Oliver, that was not my fault! I didn’t know he was a cry baby- “Hopelessly, you search for an excuse for that phone call everyone heard. “it- it wasn’t on his profile- “
“She was mean.” Chucky pipes up, unhelpfully. He’s not really paying attention either, but he’s not one to let up a chance to pick on someone. “Oh don’t worry, doll, some of us are into that.” I’m about to be really mean, to you, Chucky-
“What happened?” Carrie finally speaks up, tilting her head. “Are you okay?”
Immediately your tone gets warm, responding to Carrie. “I’m fine- “
“The mean one’s always fine.” Freddy purrs, and you whirl on him with the mommy finger. Hush, you. When he backs up and shrugs, smirking, you promptly turn back to Carrie. Yeah yeah yeah, smirk all you like mr, just don’t speak.
“I’m fine, but ah… I just… had to let him go. He… wanted to take me home to Ambrose. And- I wasn’t ready for that.” You shrug.
You almost forgot anyone else was in the room except you and Carrie (And Freddy), so when Tiffany groans loudly and Chucky cackles, you give a little jump. Oh- right- Oh no-
“ -after 6 months!?”
“Fucks sake.”
“You’re never gonna find anyone.”
“Hopeless.”
~
Time Skip
The Christmas party this year a week later is at least less eventful than last year, you think, sitting with Carrie and Jerry at the non-drinkers table. Drayton was here, too, but he ran away to yell at someone… you’re not quite sure where he is now but you can hear him very faintly through the walls… You sort of wonder if Jason didn’t shove him in a cabinet somewhere.
Don’t get it twisted- it has still been eventful; Pennywise put whipped cream on absolutely everything including Chucky, Bubba tried to use the TV and accidentally set it to the porn channel (Jason turned it off and chucked the TV out the second story window after that. Michael was very upset), the twins crowned Freddy the Ugly Christmas Sweater King (Actually crowned him. You didn’t want to ask what the crown was made of, but it growled), and Hannibal and Pam had a very intense argument about how to properly prepare broccoli with cheese… but all-in-all, considering there haven’t been any casualties… just an old man lost in the walls… you’d say this has been a pretty mellow Christmas.
“Oookay,” You set down your red cup of lemonade, finally, and turn to Carrie. “I’m gonna go to bed, before Chucky and Tiffany start to make out on the dinner table.”
Carrie looks alarmed. “They did do that last year, didn’t they???”
“Wanna come?”
“Yes please.”
You giggle, getting up. “Let’s go. G’night, Jerr- “
Suddenly Chop Top goes flying by, chased by what was a crown (Now, possibly a racoon?) with a familiar fedora in its teeth, and Freddy chasing after it.
"... yes, definitely time to call it a night." You quickly turn, climbing out of your plastic chair.
"Yes."
Jerry gets up too, escaping his own chair with unjust grace. "Yes- "
~
After Jerry bid you both goodnight and you left Carrie at her room, you head towards your own around the corner. As soon as you turn that corner, though, you consider whipping right back around and getting into bed with Carrie.
Because- just- looking at Freddy leant on your door with his hat (Which has some chunks bitten out of it, now. And probably racoon rabies) tipped over his eyes like some Ohio cowboy, you just... want to run away. Or kick him. Why-
... Jerry walked right by here, to get to his room, you realise as you stand at the end of the hall... and silently curse him. That bastard-
"You just going to stand there all day princess or face me?"
"... " You open your mouth to reply, something snarky about sleeping in Jason's room tonight, or on the couch, or Drayton's van, but you're too tired- or you cant be bothered,.. or maybe because he called you princess, but-
Whichever one it was, you instead just sigh and approach- shooing him off your door and opening it. "I don't know what you're talking about." You shrug, chucking your Santa hat at your dresser. He follows you in and closes the door, but its so second nature even a year later that you don't really think much of it. "I'm in my room! All good... " And you maybe like it when he's there with you; Maybe you get a little buzzed. But we'll go with the second nature, thing. Less drama.
"Hmmm... you know what I'm talkin about... " You're just taking a drink out of your water bottle, any reason to not focus on Freddy, he comes up behind you. Miraculously he manages to not touch you (Something he has seemed to have a real issue with, you've noticed.) but he's that creepy 'too close' that is his signature. As soon as he speaks next, you almost choke realising he's that close to you again and jump, turning his way and stepping backwards. "You feel like tellin' Old Freddy the truth about what happened with your little boyfriend?~ Cuz some things are not adding up and I think I'm gonna like the answers, huh?"
"I told you, I - It wasn't- I just didn't like him enough, is that a crime?? Mind your own beeswax."
He makes a loud 'Err' sound. "Wrong answer. Try again." Your jaw drops open.
"... To which part!??"
"Okay. Let me give this a try for you, hm? Daddy'll figure this out for you, so don't worry your pretty little head, hm?" Freddy starts to prowl towards you again, and you try to back up!- but of course your back connects with a wall and you're stuck there like a trapped animal. Wha- you look around for an escape- hold on- your wide eyes land on him again. There's such a serious look on his face- Why- "Mommy's boy tries to get closer to you, asks you to go home with him, tries to make an honest bitch out of you, yeah?... You realise hold on- hold on-... I'm not havin' as good a time as I had before,.. Time to cut and run." Your heart is beating out of your chest, now looking up at him as he leans over you.
... Defiant, you open your mouth again to stop him- but he is not done. He holds a finger-knife up in front of your face and his voice gets impossibly rougher and you immediately close your mouth again. " -And then there's that dream you had about me last week... " That same blade falls forward now, towards you. A grin slips across his face. "That's the part I'm stuck on, sweetheart. Gonna need a little help, there."
Oh- "Nothing happened in that dream, Freddy!- "
"Defensive... It must have been good, huh?~ Too bad it wasn't one of mine- "
"Fine!" God- your cheeks are hot, your forehead is hot, your neck is hot, your ears are hot, you cant take anymore! He smirks and stays quiet while you talk. He's quiet... but the look on his face is obnoxiously loud. "Fine, you've got it. You know exactly what happened with Bo. He wasn't you. He wanted more of me then then I could ever give him, more then I ever wanted to give anyone, all that you never asked me for. And- he didn't do that tongue thing. There! That's everything, what- what- what now?- what do you- "
When Freddy's mouth crashes down onto yours the tension from a year is broken, and you're too worked up to talk sense into yourself. And you don't want to. You bunch your fists in his sweater and he fists your t-shirt to hold you against him (So you cant get away), and you crane your neck and feel the brim of his hat against your forehead again, and the tongue thing, and-
He takes it away again. Goddamnit, you want to curse at this man- "You're mine again now, understand? And don't tell a soul, this time... "
"... -Hey, oy!" Jabbing him in the chest, you give him a frown. "I am not the one who blew it the last time."
"... uh, no- "
"You wanted to kiss me so bad, you couldn't wait til later." A little grin slips across your face.
Freddy's avoiding eye contact, now. "That's not how I remember it... "
"That old mistletoe trick!- "
"Nope, I don't remember that at all." He grins back, and you roll your eyes at him.
"Lies."
"No lie, sugar."
You're almost forget the real problem here, but the realisation dawns on you. He wants to keep it a secret again??... Eyes downcast, you worry your bottom lip as you think... But- "... But- uh- isn't that kind of anti-productive??"
"Mmm... But the alternative is... well~ " Eyes flicking back upwards you catch the absolute dirtiest grin on his mouth and you groan; face hot again. No, don't- "Not that tongue thing, thats for sure~~ "
"Wh- No- "Weakly, you let go of him. Damnit it has a point, though- "Ughhhhhhh, that's it, out! Out, get away from me- " You try to slip around him and open the door so he can leave you to be mortified alone- but he catches your wrist and pulls you back.
You stumble immediately, and recover your dignity without missing a beat- by pressing your lips to his before he can say a word.
#you can really see the improvement of quality between the last one and this one 😅 (i think anyway) thats good! ^^#i do feel like i sacrifice comedy chops every time my writing gets better though /:#Freddy Krueger x Reader Oneshot#Freddy Krueger x Reader#Freddy Krueger#Horror House!AU#Horror House! AU#Horror House AU#Horror Villains#Slashers#the ending gave me a HEADACHE.
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20 Questions For Fic Writers
Tagged by: None, snatched from my timeline
How many works do you have on ao3?
63
What's your total ao3 word count?
1,227,603
What fandoms do you write for?
Various, I began with Detective Conan but lately have been more focused on Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail.
Top five fics by kudos:
Frozen Wings (1943)
Ground Zero (756)
Twelve Flowers of Hanafuda (653)
Gotei 13 watches anime - Pendulum Cast (612)
Created Life from Death (565)
Do you respond to comments?
Yes, I love engaging with readers.
What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Most of my fics are long fics that still are on-going. And I don't really do angst.
What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
See above. But maybe Gift: Last voice I hear is you which I wrote for Secret Santa.
Do you get hate on fics?
Occasionally. Which is why I've banned guest comments.
Do you write smut?
No. I've thought about it but never gone forward with it.
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Yes, some copying site snatched it from FFN.
Have you ever had a fic translated?
No.
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No.
All time favorite ship?
Hard to say... My interests in series flip all over so it is hard to decide one ship out of all of them... I think I love Nagano Trio interractions most...
What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Gotei 13 watches anime - Pendulum Cast
It requires... a certain mental state and effort put into each chapter. I don't really regret starting it but I do regret that I will not be continuing it. Sorry to dissappoint readers but it is a ginormous project that I probably should not have even started.
What are your writing strengths?
I have no idea. I just write. But people have liked my characterizations so I suppose those are good.
What are your writing weaknesses?
I probably should be describing places and atmosphere more...
Thoughts on dialogue in another language?
As long as it is grammatically correct and doesn't disrupt the fic's flow. And translation is provided in a way that feels organic to the reader. I've done some weebie stuff in adding Japanese words to otherwise English dialogue (mostly after I've been watching anime ad the language is stuck in my head) but I've tried not to be disruptive with it.
First fandom you wrote in?
DCMK (Detective Conan and Magic Kaito) and Harry Potter
Favorite fic you've written?
Well not a singular fic but a series: Leaping into the Dream
It is a DCMK Self-Insert story that was the second fic for the fandom. I began it in 2011, went through hiatus, continued, rewrote the first 20 chapters at some point, has another hiatus. Posted in on AO3 in 2017 when I made the account and in progress lost majority of my readers who remained in FFN or had dropped out of fandom... pity. The series itself contains a main fic, a side-fic, a sequel and various one-shots. I also have thoughts for an AU but I never got around writing it. The last instalment to the series was in 2020 after which I quite strongly began focusing on Genshin Impact (and of course I had other fandoms to write as well). I do hope to one day continue this series as well.
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What are your guys' thoughts about book sequels not being directly related to the original plot? Would it feel too much like a movie sequel, where the og plot is always different? (example: marvel movies)
EXAMPLE:
Book 1 is about a detective team trying to catch the murderer of a famous singer. By the end of Book 1, they find the killer and bring him to justice. The main story is considered "over".
Book 2 releases, the exact same characters are in it. It is set after the investigation. The detectives find themselves in a completely new plot, maybe it's not even detective related. Maybe one of them got fired and now they're trying to find a way to live without solving mysteries.
For those that might know why I'm asking this, here's an even more specific example:
Imagine if the whole TGCF series was just one singular book (without the extras). MXTX announces the release of TGCF vol 2. The story is already over, the villain is defeated, etc etc, so you KNOW that the plot of vol 2 would be COMPLETELY UNRELATED. Would you still read it?
I wanna know if I should extend the og plot of my book to fill my need for writing more content (bc I feel like the current skeleton is just not enough) or if I could finish the story normally and then do Vol 2 where it explores some of the things that were left unspoken bc the original plot didn't have time to pause itself for anything to happen.
#polls#polls about books#book opinions#novel opinions#novels#idk how to tag this#be honest#reader#author#reading opinions#story opinions
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4, 8, 11, 15 and 18 for AO3 wrapped!!
4.) What work of yours has the most hits?
The Man in the Lightning has gotten the most kudos of my fics this year, with 126 kudos. It's sequel, Closer and Closer Still, has almost as many at 121 kudos. I really didn't expect quite that much attention on either one, so I am a bit surprised.
Though my 'all time' highest kudos is currently on Seen in Evidence, written in 2020, with over 600 kudos. The Olivarry shippers seem to have enjoyed it a lot. I know last year the all time fav was still Poking the Poodle (And Other Ridiculous TvTropes), so Seen in Evidence must have gotten a lot of kudos this year.
8.) Pairing you wrote the most for this year?
I wrote 6 Cisco/Hartley ships which makes it the pairing I wrote the most for this year. It's closely followed by Cisco/Harry at 5 fics.
11.) What work took you the longest to write?
Well the latest chapter of The Curious Case of Harrison Wells was partially done for at least 2 years before I finally finished it this year. Though I don't know that it counts since the fic itself is still unfinished and, uh, I haven't started on the next chapter yet.
For a finished fic, probably Welcome to 2015 which I think was a WiP for at least a few months before I completed it.
15.) What WIP are you taking into next year with you?
A lot. Um... so just a few:
I had a WiP for Xander/Larry for BtVS but I forgot to save it and a post update forced reboot seems to have eaten it since libreoffice only retrieved a blank document (which is unusual, normally it's retrievals of unsaved docs go really well). So... I'm either gonna re-write it or wind up with something completely different. I'm a bit miffed about it, tbh, because I could have sworn I had saved it. But it is nowhere to be found. So I must not have. *sigh*
The Man in the Lightning series is gonna have a few more fics for it, taking it through parts of S1. Next up is Barry telling Iris that he's the Flash, Iris realizing Barry isn't joking about dating a time traveler with fuzzy morals, and Eobard learns that Iris does not need super powers to be intimidating when she gives him her version of a shovel speech.
Season 2 AU where Zoom kills Harry after taking Velocity for the first time, not realizing he'd need someone to fix the problems with it later. So it's E2 Jerrie Rathaway he kidnaps instead of Jesse, in order to manipulate Harry's successor at STAR Labs - E2 Hartley - into doing his bidding. Thus it's E2 Hartley, not Harry, who comes through to E1 looking for help to stop Zoom. - I feel bad killing off Harry, but the fic doesn't really work if I don't. Jesse will still wind up involved later on, though.
I think the time to rewatch Fringe has come, which I'm hoping will finally get me over the block I have on my Fringe x Flash fic, starting with Astrid pulling together her own Fringe investigation team to look into meta humans. I have lots of ideas for an alt Season 1 and Season 2 (for the Flash) for this series including Ronnie surviving the singularity. Don't want to give away how, though, since that's a long ways off. ;) I intend for William Bell to pop up as one of the recurring villains of the series, who sees metas as interesting test subjects. He may or may not team up with Eobard at some point, but that depends on where I take the S1 plot.
18.) The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?
Hmmm... I think maybe Iris? She's always a bit of a difficult character for me and I worry about getting her voice right a lot. Sometimes things will just click and I can churn out a fic for her in no time, but sometimes it's just a struggle to find the right words for her.
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Announcing...An Announcement
Part of me really wants to spill the beans on this but the other part of me knows me and knows that the LAST time I said I was working on a project of this caliber, it was completely dropped and I think I just deleted all my files on it too.
However, given the fact that A) I have multiple parts of this project already completed, B) I have a bunch of people already aware of said project who are eagerly awaiting its release, and C) I can't really go back on it considering I am in love with the parts of it I have made,I guess I will spill SOME of the beans.
I'm making a video for my YouTube for the first time in a little while. I'd say it came at random, but part of the reason I'm excited to make content there again is because my video 'Types of Fanfic Writers' has been blowing up for the last week. I jumped from 200 views to over 2,000 and I gained like twenty subscribers. That's not a lot, I'm aware, but dude that's NEVER happened to me before! It's exciting!
So of course, it spurred me to want to make more content for people through the platform. I've had loose video ideas floating around in my head for some time, a mix of wanting to do speedart and wanting to make a sequel to the Fanfic Writers video, etc.
But then, inspiration struck. I found the jackpot. And...ho boy, is this actually a pretty decently sized project too.
The last bean I will give you is that it's a Planes video, and it will be longer than all of my other videos, probably...I would say it's pushing two minutes, maybe. If I'm lucky I'll breach two, anyways XD
This is a big ass project for me though, so big that working on it has taken up my last two evenings and I'm still not even to a halfway mark yet. It's taking all of my combined abilities, between art, animation, video editing for everything (from keyframing to sound effects and everything in between) and lots of conversing ideas with my fellow Planefolk. But I want to do this. I am excited to do this. I've been wanting to make this project for - I shit you not - actual YEARS. And it is finally, finally happening.
I'm not going to share any updates on this project, because as I said before, I know me and I know that I'm spontaneous and I have a habit of abandoning projects halfway through it. So here is what you all can do!
Pressure the ever living fuck out of me. Please.
Demand that you want your Planes video. Demand that I get off my lazy ass and finish it, because the first - *counts files real quick* - four segments are already 100% done and I have the roadmap for the next three to four of them. I think this project is seriously going to be worth its weight in gold. Laughter is the best medicine, after all.
And WHEN I am finished or nearly finished, to the point that I know it will only take a few small steps left to victory, then and only then will I tell you a release date. Then and only then will you see singular leaked images of the shitshow I have going on behind the curtains. And I'm very excited to share this with you, I cannot wait to do this. This is probably the biggest creative task I have done in a while. Maybe biggest ever, or at least by video making standards.
I hope to update you soon! Til the morrow!
-Pen
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quick fic update/wip reveal post! “soon” is subjective and relative and not a guarantee of a n y t h i n g
“something” series - nothing new is written, i have a few ideas vaguely floating around, but i’m more motivated by other ideas atm. don’t expect more soon.
“the colors on our skin” series (unpublished, “something” is a prequel) - main fic is written with the exception of a couple hundred words. after that, the next step is editing, which is very overwhelming, and betaing, which is terrifying. i’m not going to say soon, but also not not saying in the next six months to a year. (this is not the first time i’ve said this about this series, so don’t get your hopes up lol.)
“days” series (unpublished, prequel to tcoos) - i have one singular oneshot written, which needs some adjustments to make it more cohesive with tcoos storyline. may end up being published pretty soon?
“stories” series (unpublished, prequel to tcoos) - a couple ideas are jotted down, nothing actually written though. (this is the first time i’ve known the title before the fic is written.) these ideas probably need to be adjusted/clarified. it’s probably not happening soon.
“dreams” series (unpublished, companion/sequel to tcoos) - ideas are developing, one fic has a few lines handwritten in my tcoos notebook. i definitely need to double check that the ideas fit with the tcoos timeline and if not then adjust one or the other. i really want to post it, but it’s unlikely to happen soon.
big bang fic - it’s... happening. slowly. very, very slowly. i have a general idea, just need to figure out one singular huge plot point and then it will be good to go. coming in august.
new year, old tropes - listen. listen. i want to write the rest of these so bad. january happened to be an unexpectedly exhausting and busy month and writing just wasn’t going to happen on the scale it needed to to complete nyot, but i have ideas for so many of the prompts. hopefully, new parts coming soon. (new parts do include sequels to quite a few soulmate september pieces as well so look forward to that!)
“crown prince remus” series - this au took me hostage and i have ideas for at least three (3) more fics. one is currently partially written in my wips folder. ideally, at least the current wip will be coming soon.
helping hands fic - i’m trying here, i really am. i have an outline for chapter 2 and a super vague idea for chapter 3. hopefully soon, but absolutely no guarantees.
analogical week/”you’re okay” fic - outlines for all chapters written, just need to sit down and write. i will really, really try to get the remaining chapters (plus a bonus chapter/alternate ch 6) out before may. this is almost certainly the soonest of anything else here.
“and they were roommates” fic - this has been in my wips since september 2020. apparently i havent edited the doc since june 30, 2021. iirc the main plot is actually fairly close to completion, so probably wouldn’t take too much time to finish. after that i would need to go over it to edit/make it sound less like it was written over >18 months. maybe soon, but looking at everything else i have here, probably not.
various other random oneshots - these are scattered and random and really don’t make much sense at all. they would need either serious reworking or massive suspension of disbelief. probably never going to be posted lol.
that one au - so self indulgent. maybe 3 people would read it. too many possible ways to go right now. it’s definitely not coming soon, but i’m not saying never.
--
irl life has been very very busy and stressful for the past few weeks, and as it’s switching into finals season that’s only getting worse. combined with bad mental health, it’s been tough to get the time and motivation to create something i’m proud of. yucky brain has been getting a little better over the last couple of days, so hopefully that’s a good sign for writing.
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Fic Writer Review
tagged by: @aj-itated <3
1. How many works do you have on AO3? 30!
2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 46,254 words
3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? based on my Ao3 and my old ff.net account: 3 - Fairy Tail, BNHA, DP (though I haven't written for Fairy Tail or bnha in years)
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? in order, that would be How to Take Out a Ghost by TooFineFoley, Bad Luck Tuck: The Sequel, ignorance is your new best friend, What Could Have Been, and, surprisingly, A Connoisseur of Fine Art (all DP or DP crossover fics)
5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for? both they're siblings, your honor and Big Boy Tucker. i can't choose, they both need love
6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? i used to respond to them as often as I could at the start, but i kinda slacked off sometime around the beginning of summer classes. I used to respond to them because they made me really happy and i wanted to let the commenters know I did actually read it and am very grateful for their comments, but after a while it became... idk, draining? I felt bad about leaving the same response to each commenter and got caught up in my own head so I just kinda,, stopped all together. I wanna start responding again at some point, but uh, probably not anytime soon.
7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
oh definitely One More Time; I think that's the only fic I've written without some kind of happy ending (anything in the Not Your Son series doesn't count since it's not finished yet :3) and I can't tell you how much it pained me not to make it happy. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing that for going angst week but hole-y shit did it fuck me up
8. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you’ve written? I do write crossovers! The craziest, I think, is my Strange vs. Work: Wife Swap AU, it's not done because I'm seriously stumped for it right now, but it's essentially a DP Marvel crossover where Clockwork and Dr. Strange are forced by a TV host ghost to switch bodies and mentor the other person's 'apprentice'. Peter and Danny have to help them get adjusted to their new environments/bodies and they all have to figure out how to turn things back to normal. This whole series is meant to be based off the show 'Wife Swap'. I have fun making Stephen suffer >:)
9. Have you ever received hate on a fic? not that i can remember? like i think it was more grammar and dialogue punctuation nitpicking on my old ff.net fics, never hate
10. Do you write smut? if so what kind? not really, but i have a singular wip that im working on that's definitely spicy
11. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope
12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no? (i was working on something a while ago but we havent finished so, I'm going with no)
13. What’s your all time favorite ship? i don't think I really have one. Usually I just read whichever fics have cool summaries or tags and just dive right in, ships be damned. Lately I've been reading a few TimKon fics and I've been thinking about Dark Ages, UFS, and Gray Ghost stuff a lot over the summer
14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? oh, oh god. I'm going to say it and I'm going to feel real shitty about it because it's such a good fucking concept, but I can't bring myself to write anything more than what I already have written and all the notes I just randomly add onto it every once in a while. It even has a title: "Ectoplasmic Pudding".
It's a DP DC crossover fic wip and the plot is about Danny being called by Batman to help with a kidnapping case he suspects to involve ghosts; he needs Danny's expertise and help to capture the ghost. Danny agrees and he meets Batman and Robin (Dick Grayson) on the roof of the police station (after dropping face first onto it because he got blinded by the bat signal). They go by Batmobile and arrive at the scene of the crime where Danny confirms a ghost is involved. A bunch of different scenes of Danny and Robin having a blast while Batman's trying his best to stay on task and then, eventually, they find a warehouse where the box ghost is interrogating a bored looking Mr. Trand, the victim, about some fancy box commissioned by Vlad.
Danny figures out this guy is Bertrand in disguise and since Bertrand's essentially on vacation, they both agree to lie about how they know each other. And then I got stuck around here, but I imagine it just ends up being a series of dumb events where Batman, Robin, and Danny have to 'protect' Bertrand until they catch Boxy and throw him back into the Ghost Zone while the disguised ghost tries to make the most of the rest of his vacation.
Batman and Robin definitely don't believe whatever lie Danny came up with to explain how he knows Mr. Trand, but they go along with it until it's revealed in probably the worst way possible and leads to both of them trying to take the former kidnapping victim to the GIW while also trying to keep Danny from stopping them and barely listening to a word he says (maybe they think he's being threatened somehow or being controlled or smth, idk). Absolutely no clue how that whole fight goes, but in the end Danny kicks Box Ghost into the Zone and Bertrand is told very explicitly never to bring Spectra to Gotham.
15. What are your writing strengths? evoking emotion in my writing? yeah i'm going with that
16. What are your writing weaknesses? planning out plot ahead of time. I can write outlines and write a bunch of notes about what i want to include, that's not the problem. My problem is that all my motivation to write just drains away the moment I have a somewhat concrete plot planned out for a fic- this applies to one-shots and longfics exactly the same. And past that, sometimes I'll make one change to the planned plot and feel like tossing the whole thing out the window and going freehand without the 'constraints' of an outline or anything ..........
17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? try not to offend anybody? like, look at good examples of how others have done it and do a lot of research and stuff. Also, be aware that not everything will translate perfectly from the original language you wrote the fic in and whatever language you're translating it to.
18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Fairy Tail
19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hellbent. A few others come close, but I seriously cannot express the joy i felt writing that first chapter (and when I'm done my minibang fic, I literally cannot wait to get back to it)
20. What fic are you most proud of? that's a tough one, there are a bunch i fucking adore but i think it's tied between The Big Dipper and ignorance is your new best friend
Tagging: @guardianrex, @shinygoldstar, @cleanlenins, @princessfanonanona, and @ghost-pasta!
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for those of you who wanted to read the like, 4k words/chapter and a half of the “maybe it’s just us” sequel (i titled it “the road from where we been to where we’re going” in case you were curious) i started two years ago and then abandoned, here you go. i did not edit it, so what you see is what you get (not that that’s any different from anything else i’ve ever written in my life ig):
Chapter 1
You are You
Carol
“I can't change her, she's doing the thing,” Daryl said anxiously over the sound of high-pitched infant cries.
“What thing?” asked Carol. Her body was spent; she couldn't remember the last time she was this tired. She was sore, stitched, and her insides were trying to remember how to take care of one instead of two. From over in the corner, Daryl had their daughter on her back on a desk that was functioning as a makeshift changing table, and from the sounds of it, neither of them were doing that well.
“That flailin’ thing with her arms. She thinks she's fallin’. Shh, shh, baby, it's okay, I ain't gonna drop you, please don't cry.” His voice was so tense and scared, and Carol felt guilty for smiling, thankful his back was to her.
“She's fine, Daryl, why do you think she thinks she's falling?”
“'Cause it's true,” Daryl insisted. “Glenn—there you go, lil’ one, we got that on you, now lemme just figure out all these damn snaps—Glenn told me about it. It's some reflex babies have. When they flail their arms like this it means they think they're fallin’. Sarah even said so, so I know it ain't bullshit—goddamn, why is this thing so hard to snap? Baby, if you stopped kickin’ your legs so much, we'd be done already.”
“You aren't allowed to spend time alone with Glenn anymore,” Carol said, as Daryl finished torturing their child (or was she torturing him?). She took Rose from him and tucked her into the crook of her arm.
Carol hadn't really processed it yet. This baby that had been inside her for the past nine months had been out in the world with them for hours now, and she wasn't convinced it was real.
From the moment she peed on that stick and it glared positive, to as recently as 24 hours ago, Carol hadn't allowed herself to believe that this could possibly end well. She was too old, she figured, too stressed, too downright unlucky. When Daryl told her he wanted to keep the baby, she'd almost been angry; she'd hoped he'd make the hard decision so she wouldn't have to, and when he didn't, she found she couldn't either. How could she look him in the face and say, 'I want to get rid of it,’ when he had so much faith in their ability to do this?
And now they had a baby. In Carol's arms, Rose whimpered, sticking her thumb in her mouth and suckling.
She looked nothing like Sophia. If Carol had a baby picture of Sophia—which, of course, she didn't—and held it up to Rose, she bet no one in a million years would have ever guessed they were sisters. Everything of Carol's that Sophia had, Rose had the opposite. Sophia had had Carol's eyes; Rose had Daryl's. Sophia had had Ed's nose; Rose had hers. There was nothing familiar about looking at Rose, as Carol had both feared and hoped. She had wondered if meeting her new child would be like seeing a ghost, and she almost wished for it, if only because she wanted to see Sophia again.
But Rose wasn't Sophia, and she made sure to demonstrate that clearly. Sophia had been meek and quiet, even as an infant, but Rose was not remotely shy about letting them know when she was displeased.
Like right now, for example, as her tiny whimpers around her thumb turned into full-blown wails. Daryl tensed beside them on the bed.
“What's wrong?” he asked. He had asked that about every new noise Rose had made since birth. He was so much a new parent that Carol would have found it endearing if she weren't so tired.
Rose had tricked them. Just as exhausted as Carol, she had spent her first few hours on the planet in a deep sleep, lulling them into a sense of calm, even granting Carol a bit of a nap, but the second she woke up, she was ready to make demands.
“She's hungry,” Carol said. She'd attempted to get Rose to nurse earlier, but the baby had trouble latching, and was too tired to try that hard, and she was paying for it now, clearly having woken up with an empty belly. Carol maneuvered herself so she could offer her breast to Rose. She moved Rose's hand out of the way, and tried to get her to seek out Carol on her own, but instead she just cried and brought her thumb back to her mouth.
“You can't eat and suck your thumb at the same time,” Carol said, trying not to get frustrated.
When Sophia was born, she had rested on Carol's chest, skin-to-skin, and had latched perfectly on her own within the hour, and it had been a precious bonding moment—a precious bonding moment that Rose was adamantly refusing to have, despite her obvious hunger.
“C'mon kid, this ain't a five star restaurant, you don't get to be choosey,” Daryl said, rubbing Rose's back. Rose screamed bloody murder in response.
“It's right there, if you'd stop crying long enough to see it,” Carol said, trying and failing to not think about how Sophia had snuggled in close to her and had let Carol stroke her hand while she nursed. She had needed her mother right away, so why was Rose fighting her?
After several more minutes of this, Carol was getting overwhelmed. She thrust Rose at Daryl, who took her instinctively, and said, “Take her, please just take her, I need a minute.” She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and willed herself not to cry.
“Hey, you okay?” Daryl asked, adjusting Rose in his arms so that he could lean over and put a hand on Carol's shoulder.
“Fine, I'm just tired and wish she'd eat,” Carol said, not uncovering her eyes.
“It's just new to her, she'll get the hang of it,” Daryl insisted. Carol dropped her hands and, looking at him helplessly, said,
“It was never hard with Sophia,” and maybe it was months worth of worry coming to a head, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was hormones and frustration, or maybe it was the fact that she had been trying to pretend like this wasn't bringing all her grief back to surface, but Carol burst into tears; genuine tears, big, wet, and rolling down her face, and poor Daryl, bless him, was caught between his daughter and his girlfriend, as they both sobbed inconsolably.
“Shit,” Carol heard Daryl mutter. He pulled her to him, and she let him. He wrapped an arm around her tight, and allowed her to bury her face in his shoulder and bawl.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Carol said over and over, voice muffled. She wasn't sure if she was apologizing to Daryl for breaking down, or to Rose for being so shithouse at mothering already.
Daryl was muttering words of encouragement to her, while also trying to shush the fussing baby. Through her tears, Carol heard the door to the Warden's office open and close.
“Everything okay in here?” came Sarah's voice. What a stupid question, thought Carol. Yeah, we're peachy; the baby and I are just sobbing for fun! Ridiculous.
“We're fine,” said Daryl, as Carol tried to get control of herself, taking in deep breaths, but not lifting her head. “Lil’ one is havin’ trouble eating, and Carol's a bit... overwhelmed.”
“Do you need help getting her to latch?” Sarah asked.
“I know how to breastfeed, she just won't do it,” Carol snapped into Daryl's shoulder, harsher than she intended.
“Alright,” Sarah said calmly. “Do you want me to take Rose for a minute to give you a chance to breathe?”
“No,” Daryl said, sounding as harsh as Carol had. She wasn't surprised—he had caught the baby when she was born, and had hardly put her down since. Carol could tell he was reluctant to give her up even when he was passing Rose to her. His protectiveness had gone into overdrive the moment he and Rose met.
“Well,” Sarah said, sounding uncertain. “You know where to find me if you need me. Your friends keep asking for updates, by the way. I'll try and keep them away for a while longer.”
Daryl grunted something in response, and Carol clung to him, hiccuping, but not as hysterical. She waited until Sarah's footsteps went towards the door and she left the room before lifting her head up to look at Daryl.
“Hey,” he said quietly, looking at her with concern. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”
Not especially. What she wanted was to feed her daughter and then sleep for fourteen hours.
“Gotta deal with the baby,” she said.
“She ain't goin’ nowhere,” Daryl said, shifting so he could bounce Rose gently. She continued to cry, and Carol's body physically reacted to the sound, desperately aching to feed her. Carol shook her head.
“I'm just tired and got frustrated,” Carol said dismissively.
“Nah, it's more than that,” Daryl countered. “That was the first time you've said her name.”
Carol's lower lip trembled dangerously. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Of course Daryl would see right through her like glass.
“I feel so guilty,” she said, wincing at the crack in her watery voice. “I told myself I'd treat her like her own person, and already I'm making comparisons. No wonder she doesn't want me. But I don't know how to stop thinking about Sophia.” She let out a singular sob, and Daryl reached out and wiped a tear from her face
“Thinkin’ ‘bout Sophia don’t mean you don't love Rose,” he told her gently. “You miss your little girl, and you're exhausted, and it's bringin’ it all back up. Anyone would lose their shit over it, so don't go feelin’ guilty.”
Carol swallowed hard. “I don't get to lose my shit, I have to be her mother.”
“You lose your shit when you need to. I'm here to pick up the slack.”
“Yeah, well, you gonna breastfeed her, too?” It came out more irritable than joking, but Daryl smiled anyway.
“Nah,” he said. “Imma help you do it, though.” He handed Rose over. Carol was reluctant, not wanting to fail again, but Daryl was calm, and it made her calmer. She lowered the collar of her gown and presented her breast to her screaming daughter once more.
“That damn thumb. Just do that here and you'd be golden,” Carol mumbled.
“You're all tense,” Daryl said. “She don't know nothin’ about what you've lost, and she don't feel any resentment, but she can tell her momma's freaking out and it's freaking her out.”
“Since when are you a lactation consultant?”
“I dunno what that means.”
“When did you become an expert on getting babies to nurse?”
“I ain't an expert in anything havin’ to do with babies, but when you tense up, so does she. Look—her shoulders are all drawn up to her neck. She wasn't doin’ that when she was cryin’ earlier. You're her momma and she can feel it when you're unhappy, so we gotta get you calmer.”
An odd mix of affection and envy washed over Carol. Daryl observed and knew the people he loved so intrinsically that he was already picking up mannerisms on a person who hadn't been alive even a full day yet. Meanwhile, Carol couldn't even get her to do the one thing Rose needed her exclusively for.
“How?” Carol asked.
“Hum somethin’,” Daryl said with certainty. Carol furrowed her brow.
“Why?”
“You said all the time that whenever there was music she'd go batshit in there. Maybe she likes music.”
“Why don't you hum something then?”
“I don't do music. 'Sides, you're the one she needs right now.”
This was stupid, Carol decided, and Rose seemed to agree, yelling at her, absolutely red in the face. Carol sighed, and hummed the first thing that came to mind. After a few lines, Daryl huffed a breath of puzzled laughter.
“Is that Horse with No Name?” he asked. “Some lullaby.”
“It was on the CD you were playing on that old stereo when you were out skinning those rabbits the other day,” Carol said defensively. “It's been stuck in my head for ages.”
“Don't let me stop you.”
“Now I'm embarrassed.”
“Nah, don't be, look,” he nodded down at Rose. “She's calmin’ down. I mean, she's still pissed as all get out, but she's settling down. 'Sides, I like that song.”
“The others are gonna think we're torturing her.”
“Tell 'em it was me.”
“Tell them you were the one making her cry, or that you were the one crying?”
Daryl snorted. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
Carol smiled a little, feeling lighter. She leaned back against Daryl and continued to hum. Rose's screams fell to cries which fell to whimpers. She opened her big, blue eyes and sought out the sound of the music.
“Oh!” Carol startled a minute later, when Rose finally found her breast and latched on. She turned to Daryl in awe. “How'd you know that would work?”
Daryl shrugged.
“I know her,” he said simply. “You do, too, you just got other shit to deal with that makes it harder. Don't you worry, though, I still don't know half the shit I should. You'll be helpin’ me next.”
“That's how it's supposed to be, I think,” Carol said quietly, the room suddenly unfamiliar without the ringing of Rose’s cries. “A partnership. I never had that before.” She ran a hand over the top of Rose's soft head, which was covered in thin, red hair. Now that she accepted it, the baby was now eating like she was famished, and Carol couldn't help but laugh.
“You think she's gonna be this stubborn forever?” Daryl asked.
“You're the one who knows her, you tell me.”
“Nah,” Daryl said, grinning. “She won't be this stubborn. Being part me and part you? She's only gonna get worse.”
*
Daryl was finally asleep. Carol was beginning to think he was going to try and just stay up forever, for fear of missing a single moment of Rose's life, and frankly, if anyone could pull that off, it'd be him, but alas, it seemed his body finally got the better of him. He was curled on his side, breathing lightly though his mouth, one hand touching Carol's thigh, as though, even in sleep, he had to make sure she and Rose were within reach. She'd have to address that eventually, before his protectiveness got smothering, but for now she appreciated it. It felt nice to be so deeply loved.
Unlike her father, Rose was not asleep, but she wasn't fussing, either. She was alert in Carol's arms, taking it all in. Carol watched her, trying to see the things Daryl saw. Mostly, she just thought about how difficult it was gonna be to wean her from thumb sucking, since Rose seemed to have some magnetic attachment to the damn thing.
It hurt more than she wanted to admit, having Rose and not having Sophia, and as much as Daryl tried to tell her otherwise, she felt crushing guilt, because Rose didn't deserve to live in the shadow of a ghost. Carol loved this new little girl so much. She was bright-eyed and beautiful, and Carol could see the subtle hints of Daryl in her facial expressions already, and that was both heartwarming and hilarious, to see a newborn look so grumpy.
But Sophia refused to leave Carol alone—she lingered, haunting her with memories of what she'd been and what she could have become.
Carol knew Sophia hadn't been built for this world, and she was confident Rose could survive it, because this was her world; it was the only thing she would know. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though. If anything, it only made the cuts go deeper still.
“I'm gonna tell you my biggest secret right now so we start this relationship out with all the cards on the table, okay?” Carol whispered to Rose. Rose's eyes darted towards her, and watched as though she were truly paying attention. Carol said, “I'm a little broken, and I'm gonna make mistakes.
“You had a sister, and a part of me is always gonna be buried with her, but the rest of my heart is all yours. I don't want you to ever think I love you less, or wish you were her, because I don't, and I won't. I want you for exactly the person you are. But sweetheart, I'm gonna hurt sometimes, and I won't always be able to be the mother I want to be, but in those moments, you can't ever think it's because of you. You're the one who's always going to bring me back. You and your father, you're everything.
“I've made bad choices—far too many—but you are not one of them, Rose. You were a hard decision I will never regret. You are wanted, you are loved, and most importantly, you are you, and don't ever think I would change that for the world.”
Carol held a finger to Rose's free hand, and a tiny fist wrapped around it. They locked eyes, blue on blue, and Carol finally saw her new daughter for the very first time.
***
Chapter 2
Want For Nothing
Daryl
Cooing. There was so much cooing. Everybody was fucking cooing, and they were passing Rose back and forth like a football, and Daryl was going to lose his mind.
“Relax,” Carol said in his ear. He scowled. By the time dawn came, the two of them could no longer delay the inevitable—their family was demanding to meet the newest addition. Which, sure, fine, whatever, but did that mean they all had to hold her? Daryl's arms felt unbearably empty as he watched Glenn with suspicion while he rocked Rose to-and-fro.
“She's got your grouchy face look down pat,” Glenn said. “Good to know your newborn daughter is just as impressed by me as you are.”
That made Daryl feel a little better.
“I think she looks like Carol,” Maggie said, taking Rose from Glenn and cradling her. “In the nose and mouth, at least. Those are definitely Daryl's eyes.”
“I can't believe she's a ginger,” Beth giggled, peering over her sister's shoulder.
“How are you feeling, Carol?” asked Michonne.
“Exhausted,” she said with a tired smile. “But happy.”
“Sarah said the birth went perfectly; didn't need me at all,” Hershel said.
“All things considered, it couldn't have gone better,” Carol agreed. “But don't ask me about it until I've had a bit of time to repress the memory of the pain.”
“I didn't make it to five centimeters before I was screaming for drugs, I’m impressed,” said Michonne.
“How's it feel to be a dad, Daryl?” Rick asked.
It was the best thing he'd ever been, and he'd really like to have his daughter back so he could get back to parenting, thank you very much.
“‘S good,” he mumbled.
“Don’t let him fool you. He held a piss in for two hours because he didn't want to leave her. Did you know he was the one who caught her? I'm sure he's about to have an aneurysm from you all holding her, but is too polite to say,” Carol said, smiling sweetly at him.
“Ain't too polite. You told me I wasn't allowed to yell at nobody for touching her.”
“I was trying to keep that fact between us.”
“Mm.”
“Should we give her back now?” asked Maggie, grinning.
“Yes,” said Daryl.
“No, you haven't all had a chance yet. Michonne? Carl?”
“We ain't letting Carl hold her, he's just a kid.”
“Daryl,” Carol said flatly. “He holds Judith all the time.”
“I feel sorry for anything, walker or otherwise, that tries to threaten this kid,” Glenn said, running a hand over Rose's soft head. “Daryl is so possessive he'd rip them so many new assholes until there was nothing left.”
He was not wrong.
Daryl blew a thin breath of air through tight lips as Rose was handed over to Carl. It was a testament to how much he loved Carol that he hadn't already leapt up from the bed and stolen his child back.
“If looks could kill, you'd be obliterated right now,” Glenn told Carl. Carl glanced up at Daryl and blanched. Daryl, not realizing quite how murderous he must look, tried to rearrange his face into something in the neighborhood of encouraging. More than likely he just looked pained, but that was the best they were gonna get.
“Do you think Rose and Judith will get along?” asked Carl. He held his index finger out and Rose wrapped her entire tiny hand around it. Daryl's lip twitched up, just the tiniest bit, in spite of himself.
“They gotta, or it's gonna be real exhausting for them to live together,” he said.
“I bet they'll be best friends,” Michonne said.
“You and Glenn should have a baby,” Beth said to Maggie with a shit-eating grin. “Then they'd all be close together in age.”
“Maybe,” Maggie said, glancing at her father, who appeared a little conflicted, but didn't object.
“Judith and Rose would probably team up and pick on our kid,” Glenn said. That actually made Daryl snort. Glenn glared at him. Daryl just shrugged.
“Okay, let me see her before Mr. Grouchy over there banishes us,” said Michonne, taking her turn. She smiled a sad sort of smile at Rose. It was the same smile Daryl had seen both her and Carol make at Asskicker. It was a smile that read of bittersweetness; of love and loss at the same time.
Daryl had been a parent for roughly a day, give or take, and already he couldn't fathom the idea of losing that baby. He'd known Carol had hurt when Sophia died, and he could hear the pain in Michonne's voice whenever she mentioned her lost child, but he never really understood how deep that suffering must go. Just the mere thought of losing Rose gutted him—how did these two women get up every day with holes that big?
Rose began to wriggle around in Michonne's arms, and started to fuss a little, which Daryl was quickly learning was her way of warning them she was about to get mad. Despite who her parents were, that kid had no qualms about letting everyone know how she was feeling, loudly and with gusto.
“Sounds like she's telling us it's time to let her be with mom and dad,” Michonne said over Rose's cautionary whimpers. She handed her over to Daryl, who felt instant relief as soon as Rose was in his arms again.
“She's hungry,” Carol said apologetically. “She had trouble eating there at the beginning, but now that she's got the hang of it she acts like she's famished.”
“We'll give you some privacy, then,” said Rick, ushering everyone towards the door.
“We'll probably go back to our cell later tonight. We've just been too tired to bother,” Carol explained.
“We understand,” Maggie told her.
“Congrats, you guys,” said Glenn.
They all said their goodbyes, with Carol saying them back, but Daryl was distracted. Rose was staring up at him with a pouty lower lip, and in that instant the literal only thing he wanted was to make her happy again.
“You gotta feed her so she stops looking at me like that,” Daryl said to Carol before the door to the office had even been fully closed.
“Like what?” Carol asked, reaching out to take the baby, and pulling out her breast in a way that already seemed habitual.
“Sad.”
“She's not sad, she's just hungry,” Carol said with a light laugh, propping Rose up on a nursing pillow Daryl had gotten back on that run to the birth center.
“She cries about it, though.”
“Daryl. Babies cry about everything. It's how they communicate.”
He knew that, of course, but he didn't like it. If it were up to him, Rose would never want for anything. He wanted to anticipate her every need so she never felt uncomfortable or scared or sad. He wanted her to be happy.
What a horrifying thought.
Daryl anticipated his role as a parent to be about providing—providing food, shelter, safety—but he never once entertained the idea that it would be up to him to provide his daughter with happiness.
“I don't know how to make her happy when everything except you and her is bullshit,” he said. Carol frowned at him.
“Daryl, I told you she's fine, she just needs—”
“I don't mean right now,” Daryl interrupted. “I mean for the rest of her life, how do I give her what she deserves? Even if the world weren't the way it is, I ain't never been happy. Not before her; before you.”
Poor Carol, thought Daryl, having to deal with him running his mouth over abstract fears so soon after walking barefoot through the fires of Hell to bring an entire human being to life. To her credit, she spared him of exasperation. As always, she showered him with kindness he didn't feel entitled to. She said,
“No one is happy all the time. If they were, then happiness would have no meaning. There are going to be times when you're going to have to do the worst thing you can imagine.”
“What's that?” Daryl asked, anxiety mounting.
“Sometimes, you're going to have to let her be unhappy.”
#i liked this story#it was a nice place to start in this fandom#caryl#caryl fic#miju#dunlap writes shit#or wrote shit#once upon a time
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A question has occurred to me -
Did you always know dissolution was gearing up to have a sequel? Or was it more like 'I've finished/am finishing this up and it turns out there is MORE! Which I am now going to tell.' ?
actually when i finished it after much suffering i swore i was never going to write something that long ever again 😂
and then one month later i was like... dammit... i miss this universe...
and there wasn't even more to tell cuz i was really specific about offering closure for all the emotional beats that i wanted to address. i just INVENTED more to tell out of whole cloth 😂😭 and now it's going to be 100 thousand words 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i guess there was more...
this is why the sequel is less a sequel in the traditional sense and more like... the yin to dissolution's yang. i mean it is a sequel but it's like a whole thing. i think of them more as a duology that feed into each other rather than a strictly linear conventional tale. idk 😂 they don't really make a singular cohesive narrative arc when held together, but they make something - a circle, maybe. a comprehensive examination of how trauma informs relationships, hopefully 😂😔
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WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.
chapter four: advent
word count: 8.7k
rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.
warnings: naughty language, brief mentions of what could-be prenatal depression. elliot considers the logistics of murder. nothing new.
notes: i am so sorry that this chapter took so long to come around, but i hope it's worth the wait! we're finally getting somewhere with these two dummies, as well as a few little things starting to develop along the way. i'm really pleased with how this chapter finally came out, because it was giving me some trouble to start with, but thankfully i have some wonderful people around to help keep me motivated and not letting me get discouraged!
special thank you to my beta reader, @starcrier, for helping me with the barebones skeleton of this chapter and not letting me get too in my head about it. and a thank you to my loves, @shallow-gravy and @baeogorath, for lending me their eyes as well as i tried to muddle through the parts of this that felt so, so difficult. i adore you all so much!!
Isolde fucking hated Montana.
Maybe “hated” was a bit strong of a term, but all she could feel as she cinched her coat tighter around her and waded through crowds of milling, purposeless passersby in the airport was that she could not wait to leave—and she had only touched down minutes ago.
That she was even here at all was a miracle in and of itself: she didn’t owe John Seed anything. Not a favor, not the time of day, not the firing of her neurons to process her furious disdain for him. If anything, John owed her for up and fucking off for no good reason. If anything, he should be the one doing her a favor. Strapping him to a bed of nails on the hood of a car and watching him suffer while she drove over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake would have been a good start.
I need your help, Sol, he’d said, like he didn’t have two fucking hands and eyes and a mediocre brain of his own to get things done.
“Fucker,” Isolde gritted out between her teeth. “Fucking—stupid—fuckface. Fuck I hate him. I hate him.”
But that wasn’t really true, was it? She didn’t hate John, not in the same capacity that she actually hated people, like the ex-husband that so rarely registered in her brain nowadays. For all of his posturing and Napoleon syndrome, John had been her only friend, the only person that she trusted, for a very long time.
Fuck me, she thought, I’m in a bad spot if that’s the case.
It was.
Isolde stepped out of the airport and into the frigid air of the outside pick-up area. Her eyes scanned the area, and while she thought for certain she saw a familiar redhead right away, he was leaned up against a beat-up, mud-splattered truck and surely Jacob Seed did not think he was going to put her in a metal death trap that looked like it wasn’t going to make it five minutes on the highway.
He waved to catch her attention. Isolde stayed firmly put, and she saw—with a little lick of amusement whispering inside of her—Jacob’s teeth flash in a grin.
“Sol,” he called, beginning to saunter over, “I know you can see me.”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked tartly. “I was supposed to be getting picked up by an actual vehicle, not...” She leaned around Jacob’s broad-shouldered figure to peer pointedly at the beater truck, which had not miraculously become better in the last thirty seconds. “...three pieces of metal loosely held together by a shit welding job.”
Jacob’s wolfish smile did not dim. “Good to see you, too.”
“Hello, my darling.” She beckoned him with one hand, giving him a one-armed hug once he was within range. “I suppose you are the transportation John promised, then.”
“None other,” Jacob replied.
“Surely, no expense was spared.”
“Surely.”
Jacob relinquished her of the weight of her suitcase, lifting it with ease and beckoning with a tilt of his head for her to follow. She did, even though her reservations about getting into a fucked up Toyota had not abated; as the eldest Seed brother loaded the suitcase into the back “seat” (being used loosely in this context), Isolde hoisted herself up into the passenger seat.
“Hm,” was what came out of her once she was buckled in, a singular expression of her displeasure, and the redhead settled into the driver’s seat next to her.
He glanced over, his smile having relaxed into something more ambivalent. He said, “I love that you haven’t changed a bit,” and began to pull out of the pick-up lane.
“It is one of my most charming qualities, I think.”
“How did Johnny convince you to come all this way?” he asked, and Isolde stifled a long-suffering sigh that tried to worm its way out of her.
“He told me what helpless idiots you are without him,” she replied. Shrugging out of her jacket, she pushed it into the back seat and turned the heat in the truck down. “Did a whole bit. You would have found it entertaining, I think. It was all Sol, you’re so tall and threatening, please help me. I hate that he knows exactly how I like to be complimented.”
“Well, he’d have to really pull out the stops to get you to come back and help Joseph,” Jacob acquiesced, with the same kind of visceral, gut-punch perception he had always operated and which Soli had expected and still hoped he wouldn’t apply.
Isolde’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Fuck you, she thought, but there was no venom, because he wasn’t wrong. She wouldn’t have come back if John hadn’t really tried, if he hadn’t made it obvious that he was desperate. It did bother her, a little, to see John like that—haphazard and urgent, scrabbling for a foothold wherever he could get one. She just hoped he wasn’t overshooting his shot with the mother of his unborn child.
“Yeah,” Sol said after a moment, “I guess he did.”
Jacob gave her a look. It was a look that said, come on now, Sol, because if there was one unfortunate thing about having dated Joseph Seed and worked with the baby brother for years on end, it was that Jacob—arguably the most perceptive and intelligent of the whole brood—had come to understand her quite well. So annoying.
“I’m glad you’re here,” is what he said after a minute. “Be nice to have a fresh face around, all things considered.”
“You mean all the killing.” Her words came out clipped, but if Jacob felt any particular way about it, it didn’t show on his face.
“Well,” he acquiesced, and that was all that came out of his mouth for at least two heartbeats.
Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching the redhead move methodically as he hit cruise control and settled back against his seat a bit.
She prompted, tightly, “Well?”
“Don’t give me that, Sol,” he cautioned her. “You can use that tone on Johnny and Joseph, but you can’t use it on me. We neither fuck nor run a business together.”
“I remember now why you’re unbearable. How silly of me, to have forgotten.”
“I was going to say,” Jacob continued, as though she had not spoken at all, “that the killing really shouldn’t be a point of contention for you.”
And then, with the kind of spiteful accuracy that she truly detested: “Of all people.”
Shut up. The words sat there, on the tip of her tongue, threatening. Only Jacob would get away speaking to her like this. She supposed that made them hearty exceptions for each other, didn’t it? All the same, the things that she had done—or rather, the things that Joseph had done, for her —were in the past, and long-since buried. Literally and figuratively.
“Here I was, thinking you were my favorite,” she replied primly, and this elicited a laugh out of Jacob, short and barked out but nonetheless genuine. “Tell me you didn’t volunteer to pick me up just so you could start a fight with me. Is it that boring, out there in God’s Country?”
“I never said I volunteered.”
“But you did,” she countered, “didn’t you?”
Jacob glanced at her, then focused his gaze back on the road. “God’s Country is pretty boring, right about now. But there’s been a bit of excitement.”
“Ah, yes,” she replied, foregoing her irritation with his little jab. “Why don’t we compare what John told me with the truth, then?”
“Sounds like a fun game to pass the time.”
Isolde had the feeling they’d at least have a lot to fill the time, at any rate.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Eden’s Gate was not what she had anticipated.
The cult aspect—that was one thing. She could deal with a cult. She could deal with two cults, even, which if what Jacob told her was accurate—and she assumed that it was, because he had no motive to lie to her—sounded like it was actively happening, or had just finished happening.
The compound’s yard looked like a graveyard. As the truck, guided by Jacob’s hands on the steering wheel, rolled in, Isolde took a moment to sweep her eyes over everything as meticulously as possible. Small, meek buildings, the white wiring of a long trellis stretching over the yard, and—blood. Splattered across some of the buildings. Sins in their most classical names, graffitied here and there.
It was dirty. Nothing looked well-insulated. The media would absolutely have had a fucking field day with this. What few people she saw out and about, milling around and regarding the truck’s arrival with quiet, venomous curiosity, might as well have been plucked straight out of the homeless shelter.
When Joseph had told her what his plans were, when he had started dropping tiny scraps of information—because he wanted her to ask for more, wanted to pique her interest—he had never told her it would be...Well.
This.
“This is a fucking joke,” Isolde said, without thinking, turning to look at Jacob. The redhead regarded her with an even-keel gaze, putting the truck in park and tilting his chin, almost defiantly.
“What is?” he asked, and it was sort of there—a tiny, tiny little threat. A demand. What’s funny, Isolde? What do you think is a joke? Surely, the eldest Seed had regarded many defectors and insurgents with the same kind of look. Surely, she knew, he was waiting for her to say something that would make her regret having voiced her opinion.
Purposefully, Isolde replied, “This place.” When Jacob exhaled out of his nose, sharp and impatient, she watched the muscle of his jaw flex, his teeth clenching; before he could open his mouth, she plunged on, “Jacob, you’re not a fucking idiot.”
“Thank you,” Jacob snipped, not sounding very grateful at all.
“The media would lose their fucking shit over this place. It would be a madhouse .”
The redhead sucked his teeth. “You really aren’t getting it, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment of silence had lapsed between them. “There won’t be any fuckin’ media, Isolde. Not if Joseph’s right. And he’s been right about everything else. There won’t be fuck all left to care about beyond your own life.”
“Yeah, except I have to care about them like they’re going to be here!” Isolde snapped. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, you know. In case. John sent me to do damage control because he knows you and Joseph are so tunnel-vision you don’t have any kind of back-up plan.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. A back-up plan, for the collapse of the world as we know it.”
“Finally,” she bit out, “you get my sense of humor.” She grabbed the handle of the door, but before she opened it, she said, “ If Joseph’s right.”
Jacob stilled beside her, head cocked as though he were really listening to her, taking in her words. “What?”
“You said,” Isolde replied tartly, “ if Joseph’s right.”
She turned her head to look at him, trying to discern anything in his expression that might have let her glean some insight on where it was that Jacob really stood. Of all of the Seed children, he had always struck her as the least fanatical—devoted, surely. Structured and disciplined and rigorous and devoted, yes. But not in the way that John had been about Joseph, and maybe was still.
Of course, she saw nothing that indicated Jacob was going to bite the bait.
“Just remember,” Isolde told him, pushing the passenger door open and feeling the bite of winter dig straight into her bones, “ you said that, not me.”
She slid out of the passenger seat, grabbing her suitcase from the back seat and hauling it out. Jacob sighed from the front seat, passing a hand over his face before he climbed out of the driver’s seat and came around the front, stilling her hands over the handle of her suitcase.
“Joseph doesn’t know you’re here,” he told her, glossing over her little barb as though it had never happened. He disengaged her suitcase from the back of the truck with ease, lifting it over her head and keeping it out of the snow. “Just as a heads up.”
“He doesn’t—?” She felt the incredulous spike in her voice. “Bloody fucking hell, did you not tell him?”
“Why would I?” the redhead replied idly, beginning to walk toward the chapel without waiting for her. The implication lay there— why would I, when it’s so much more interesting to have not? —reminding Isolde that in many ways, Jacob Seed was still a Big Brother that did not so often enjoy bending to the will and request of his younger sibling.
She picked her way across the yard, stomping the snow off of her shoes before she stepped into the chapel that Jacob had disappeared into. It was empty, and dark; a heater ran, fruitless and futile, in the far corner. That’s going to change, she thought tiredly. I won’t be losing my fingers for this shithole.
“Look who I found at the airport,” Jacob announced to the figure standing at the front of the church. Isolde felt her insides twist with a strange kind of dreadful anticipation, because the second the figure turned around, she recognized him immediately. Even dimly backlit by the cold winter light filtering through the symbol carved out of the front of the chapel, even after so much time apart. Of course, she thought, she would have recognized him anywhere.
Joseph said, “Isolde,” like he wasn’t at all surprised to find her there.
“Hello, Joseph,” she greeted, managing to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “I’ve only just learned John did not choose to inform you of my impending arrival.” And apparently, neither did God.
“No,” the man agreed. He was bundled up in a dark-colored sweater, high-necked, the hair pulled back from his face. “But I haven’t spoken to John recently. And what did he send you for?”
Isolde blinked at him, brows lifting on her face. “Pardon?”
“What purpose?” he reiterated. “To what end?”
It was so completely and utterly dismissive that Isolde thought she had hallucinated Joseph’s blatant disrespect. The Joseph she had known had, at least, more grace and tact when it came to being a thoughtless bastard.
“To what—?” Fuck you fuck you fuck you, that vicious, still-wounded thing inside of her whispered, furious. Fuck you, you stupid smug fucker, fuck you so fucking hard. To what end? He couldn’t have possibly descended into sheer stupidity as well as delusional grandeur, could he have?
Jacob said, almost in an effort to mediate, “Johnny thought we could use the support.”
“To what end?” Soli demanded, incredulous. “You’ve got half of Montana’s homeless population dragging their emaciated corpses through the snow outside, Joseph. What ‘purpose’ do you think I’m here for?”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed. His expression remained serene otherwise, no flex of irritated muscle that she could see. He’d always been nearly impossible for her to read—plenty of times she’d said things just to push his buttons, just to see him flinch, just to see what he’d do. It had both pleased and infuriated him, then.
Now, she hoped only for the latter.
“You’re here for PR, then,” is what he said, at last. “A fall-back. Because John has doubts.”
“Taking one quick look at your congregation, I can see why.”
“Faith and devotion are not always the easiest routes,” Joseph replied, lifting his chin in a tiny spark of defiance. “And they are. Devoted.”
“They are,” Isolde said tightly, “ filthy, Joseph.”
There was a tiny, almost imperceptible click, and she realized with a sense of satisfaction that it was Joseph’s molars, setting and grinding together. The moment stretched between the two of them like that, drawn tight and tense by her blatant disdain and Joseph’s refusal to acknowledge that they probably needed her, and finally Jacob cleared his throat.
“So glad,” he said lightly, rubbing his hands together. “So glad to have you back around, Sol. Why don’t I show you where you’ll be staying?”
Isolde sucked her teeth. “Fine,” she replied tartly. “And it ought to have a better fucking heater than this.”
“Whatever you want, princess.”
As Jacob swung her suitcase over his shoulder, heading for the door that led out through the back of the chapel, Isolde cinched her coat tight around her waist and followed.
“Soli,” Joseph said, the utterance of a nickname so few had ever been allowed to use for her grinding her movements to a halt. She took in a short, sharp breath through her nose, turning to look at the man over her shoulder.
He was regarding her curiously, his eyes taking a relaxed, leisurely sweep over her despite the unpleasant interaction they had just endured.
“What, Joseph?” she asked, her words coming out short and biting.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “I’m glad you’re here.”
It wasn’t what she had expected or anticipated. Even in a perfect world where they were absolutely cordial with each other, she would haven’t expected this. The whole thing had to be some kind of game: already, the mental chess game had begun, and she had been caught lagging unpleasantly behind on the first move.
So she said, “Good,” and turned back around, marching devoutly after Jacob.
“You should be.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
He had been this close.
John hadn’t intended on being as loud as he was, when he got out of his car. But the sight of Elliot wandering out of her front door, barefoot and in nothing but shorts and t-shirt, had inspired quite a bit of concern; he’d still waited, watching her. Watching her walk out to the fence that he knew led out to the pastures and eventually the woods, and then stood there.
Much like the other night, she only stood. He couldn’t see her do anything except be there—standing, watching the woods, her face relaxed and serene.
It filled him with the same kind of dread it had when he’d seen her do it through the windows, standing at the top of the stairs with her face lax and her eyes open. Seeing it again, he was now more certain than ever it was a recent development, and that she had not been sleep-walking back in Hope County; at the very least, not when he had been around her.
And red. Her hair was so red—the same kind of coppery-ginger that he’d seen the man in their family photos sporting, the man who had been entirely absent from any other photos past what seemed to be the age of eight. Her hair was so red, and so long, sprawling down to her shoulder blades and sweeping across the thin white cotton of her sleep shirt.
When ten minutes passed and he saw no change, he thought, that just won’t fucking do, and opened the car door, shutting it behind him with a new sense of urgency. He hadn’t wanted to get her like this when something was so clearly unsettling her, but if that’s what it had to be, then—
But the front door of her house opened, and he heard the woman that he thought had to be Elliot’s mother calling for her, and he’d stopped himself. It would have been worse if he’d been halfway down the drive to her, but this far away he could duck behind the Honda he’d been calling his home and act like he hadn’t gotten out at all.
Somewhere down the street—down in the far end of the widely-spaced row of old money houses—the sound of a car starting and pulling away echoed.
It could have been nothing, he thought. It could have been, but what if it wasn’t?
What if it wasn’t nothing?
John listened to the sound of Elliot muddle through a response to her mother, words slurring tiredly as she stepped through the snow. It wasn’t until he heard the front door of the house close and the voices fade out of existence that he finally allowed himself to climb back into his car, turning the key in the ignition and cranking the heat up.
He had been this close to her. As he sat in his car, listening to the heat tick against the cold metal of the engine, John thought that maybe he would not be able to be as careful as he would have liked with this whole thing. Time was rapidly running out, and things were only going to get worse the longer he spent dallying.
Besides—if memory served him correctly, Elliot had always slept better with him there. Even if it wasn’t the most ideal reunion he could have pictured, he thought it was as close as he was going to get.
It certainly wasn’t how he anticipated meeting his mother-in-law, at any rate.
In the console, the rattling vibration of plastic on plastic broke him out of his thoughts. John fished around absently, eyes burning with exhaustion, until he could pull the cell phone out and regard the unregistered number for a moment. It had to be either Jacob or Joseph, given they were the only ones who had access to this phone number, but that thought was oddly uncomfortable.
He hit the green accept button, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“John. How are you doing?”
It was Joseph’s voice, familiar but altogether strange, too. They hadn’t spoken before he’d left the compound, and Hope County—in part because Joseph had been deep in his singular loneliness, convening with God, and in part because John had not wanted to think about the conversation they would have had regarding bringing Elliot back. There was too much there to unpack, really; Joseph’s dislike (hatred?) of what she had done was abundantly clear, but his elder brother couldn’t find it in himself to deny, either, the importance of returning her back to the fold.
“I’m alright,” John replied, cautiously. He thought about whether or not to mention Elliot’s sleepwalking, and then decided against it. “How are things at the compound?”
“They’re good.” There was a pause. “You sent Isolde here.”
It was a statement, not a question. John pressed his mouth into a thin line. He wondered if Isolde had been polite—and then reminded himself that it was Isolde, and no amount of bad blood or past history would ever get her to shut up.
So he said, “She’s the next best thing, after me.”
“I see.” Joseph seemed to want to say something else, his voice lingering absently on the other end of their phone call: but if he was going to say what it was, he didn’t make any move to, and John felt that nervous, anxious energy pushing up high in his throat.
“It’s important to me,” John managed out after a minute, “that you and the others are well taken care of while I’m here dealing with…”
“Our wayward lamb.”
The tightness in Joseph’s voice was not lost on John, and he cleared his throat.
“Right. But I’m going to be—touching base with her soon, and we’ll be back on the road in no time.”
Touching base didn’t sound quite right. It didn’t feel quite as momentous as it was going to feel, he thought—but making contact also didn’t hit the same. It was going to be near-disastrous, he was sure, no matter how he went about it.
At first, anyway. And then she would understand, of course, that everything he had done had been for them; everything had been done for her sake, for her future with him, and she would finally, finally be fucking grateful.
“See that you do, and are,” Joseph said after a minute. “We need our brother here, John. You, and our sister and nephew.”
Our sister, Joseph said. Something about that didn’t feel good at all, John thought, but he swallowed back the uneasy bile in his throat.
“Of course,” he replied after a moment. “I understand completely.”
“Goodnight, John.”
The call clicked off before John could even open his mouth to reply, leaving him with only the dead air and the stifling silence of steady snowfall around him.
Good night indeed.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
When Elliot awoke that morning, it was to the sound of conversation downstairs and Boomer’s frantic barking.
She struggled out of bed, eyes blurry from exhaustion. Her body ached, dull and faintly reminiscent of her late-night jaunt out into the snow; she pushed the door open, only for Boomer to instantly race down the stairs.
“Elliot,” her mother called, her voice pitching high with frustration, “ please come control your beast.”
Boomer was barking mad. He was barking angry, the kind of vicious alert noise he made when he saw someone he did not like. Elliot barely managed to collect herself to get down the stairs to apologize profusely to whoever it was her hound was currently yelling at when she stopped short at the end of the stairs.
It was John. John, sitting on her couch. John, coming to a stand when she came down the stairs. John, hair tousled out from its normally perfectly-gelled slick-back style, John in street clothes, John John John existing in her space and breathing her air and flashing her a stupid smile that she wanted to immediately punch in.
Her brain fizzed and sputtered to a stop. She had thought, should this moment ever come, that she would feel scared. Panicked. But she didn’t feel any of those things. She only felt—
Furious.
The kind of strange, quiet fury that arrived like death, sudden and violent and crashing over her in waves until all she could think about was getting her hands around John’s throat.
She was vividly, ferociously reminded of the drag of John’s finger along her sternum. Yours must surely be the sin of Wrath.
It felt something close to nirvana, though, in a strange, intoxicating way. All this time she had spent being worried that someone was hunting her, someone like Burke—desperate to Do Right by the law—or maybe even the Seeds themselves, because some kind of cosmic force had been on their side for reasons even she couldn’t formulate. But now?
Now, the man who had been the apex predator, the man who had dragged her through a drug-riddled nightmare, the man who had lied and lied and lied endlessly, ceaselessly, who had
(I love you, Elliot)
pretended to give a shit about the things that she wanted, was here.
Within reach.
It was a different kind of adrenaline rush, one that she hadn’t realized she had missed until her attention had zeroed in directly on John and the imminent threat that he posed. The things he could tell her mother, the things she had worked so hard to keep at bay and far behind her—John was the manifestation of all of those things, and she was fucking mad.
“Elliot,” her mother said, breaking her from the strange, dreamlike haze her fury had plunged her into, “John tells me that he’s your...”
And then Scarlet’s voice trailed off.
“What?” Elliot bit out, crushing the bones of the words between her teeth. “ John says he’s my what, mother?”
John exhaled through his mouth. There was an infuriatingly charming smile planted on his face, but if she looked close enough, she could see lines of tension there, too; she wondered if he’d really thought her mother would be a safer bet than her. “Ell,” he began, the nickname grinding Elliot’s good nature to a halt, “I think it’s important that we—”
But before he could finish his thought, Elliot interjected, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. ”
Boomer’s barking had dwindled into low, threatening growls, his hackles fully raised like little pin needles along his spine. He was laser-focused on John, with one ear cocked in her direction, waiting. On the couch, John shifted uncomfortably.
“Bunny,” her mother said, her voice tight and her mouth set in a prim line at the expletive she’d just barked out, “tell the hound to be quiet.”
“Sit,” Elliot ordered, which did not equate to quiet, but which Boomer obeyed anyway. She thought maybe she would have been more stressed about it if she were not fully confident in her ability to heel him, should the need arise.
“I only wanted,” John tried again, raising his hands like he was trying not to spook a wild bronco, “for us to have a moment—”
“It’s nice to want things,” she bit out viciously. “There are a lot of things I want, too.”
Her mother came to a stand, clearing her throat and instantly drawing their eyes.
“Mr. Seed,” Scarlet said, her voice mild, “please take a seat. You’re raising my blood pressure, looming in my vision like that.”
John took in a breath and then re-seated himself, planting a smile on his face. “John is fine, Mrs. Honeysett.”
Her mother gave him a scathing once-over before she said, very pointedly, “Mr. Seed tells me he is your husband.”
It might as well have been a slap to the face. Elliot was viciously reminded of their last interaction—the threat of murder, the oh-so-satisfying sting of her palm connecting with his face. The last well-and-true violation John had committed against their wobbly, new-born trust.
Her stomach lurched. The kind of nausea that came with rage welled up inside of her, and she blinked furiously, wishing for once that the adrenaline did not make her so very focused and hyper-aware and instead that she could actively choose to check-out of reality.
“He’s a fucking liar,” was what ended up coming out of her mouth, because it wasn’t incriminating either way. John Seed was a liar. A deceiver. And while they might —maybe, tenuously, questionably—be married in the eyes of the law (something which Elliot could, unfortunately, not prove one way or the other), that didn’t mean fuck all.
“At the very least, you won’t be having a baby out of wedlock,” her mother continued, her voice tight with some unreadable emotion that implied she was not pleased by this development at all. She was eyeing Elliot, studying her, and for once a scolding for her poor language did not ensue. “I imagine you’ll want a moment to discuss in private what our next steps are.”
There are no next steps, Elliot thought viciously, loosening the vice-clench of her hands and feeling the blood come rushing, stinging back into her palms. She watched the corner of John’s mouth tick upward, amused; infuriatingly handsome, per usual, so much so that she wanted to just punch his fucking teeth in. There are no next steps for John Seed, not with me.
“Yeah,” she said finally, eyes narrowing, gritting the words out between her teeth. “I would love to have a moment alone with John.”
The casual smile on John’s face downturned, just a little. It was the kind of uneasy expression that came with getting what he wanted so easily, too easily, that he didn’t know if it was really what he wanted anymore. Good. She wanted him to squirm.
“I’ll be upstairs,” Scarlet replied, sweeping past her. “And you just call if you need me, bunny.”
Elliot made a small noise of agreement. The tense, drawn line of her mother’s shoulders implied a distinct dislike, and she could already feel the judgments welling up—things that John would certainly deserve. Things that her mother would wait to slip into idle, polite conversation, if it ever got to that point. Which she would do her fucking damnedest to make sure that it didn’t.
As soon as her mother had drifted wraithlike up the stairs, a moment of silence stretched between them. John came to a stand, keeping his hands up and in plain view as he took a few steps forward, inspiring in Boomer a few short, vicious barks that reminded him their friendship had been temporary and fleeting.
“Ell,” John began, “I know that you’re—”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
He exhaled, once, out of his nose. “ Elliot,” he tried again, “a lot of things were said—”
Elliot felt the anger spike in her violently. “Oh, were there?”
“My God, are you going to let me finish a sentence?”
“I should rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth, you lying rat,” Elliot snapped viciously. “What are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you fucking—how are the police not—the government —”
John flashed her a half-cocked smile that she was sure had inspired homicidal tendencies before, and would do so again. “Are you really that surprised they weren’t able to keep us?”
“This is not the fucking time,” she hissed, pitching her voice low, “to be playing games with me, John Seed.”
“No game,” he promised as he mimicked her volume. “We found a way out. I’m presuming, not unlike the same strategy with which you found a way out, isn’t that right?”
She felt her teeth clench. Of course he fucking knows, something inside of her whispered viciously. Of course he knows, he’s not stupid about things like that. Just everything else.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally. “You have no way of knowing that Burke didn’t send me off to a therapist and let me go.”
“Sure, Elliot,” John murmured, his voice slick, “Cameron Burke, U.S. Federal Marshal, shipped you off to a therapist who found out you were perfectly well-adjusted after caving a man’s face in with a blunt object and now you’re here, living in bumfuck nowhere Georgia. How’s mama Honeysett feel about that, anyway?” He tilted his chin, eyes sly. “About all the killing—”
She swung without thinking. It was a knee-jerk reaction, no thought and no pre-meditation, only pure and unadulterated gut-instinct to impact her fist with his face. Unfortunately, John seemed to have been prepared for it, and stepped back just in time, catching her wrist.
“I’m a quick study,” John murmured, his voice pitching low into a threat, “and I’m not interested in losing any teeth.”
“Brave of you to put your hand so close to my face,” Elliot snapped in a hiss. She jerked her wrist out of his grip like it had burned her, and it might as well have—the contact of skin, not unlike the ways John had touched and grabbed her before, when he’d had a right to.
Regarding her warily, he dropped his hand to his side. “You ran away with our baby.”
“I would hardly call leaving you to your own devices as I made a leisurely departure with government officials ‘running away’.”
“You ran away with our baby,” he repeated, cocking his head to the side. “I think the exact words were ‘you should have considered that before you fucking came inside me, you cunt’.”
Elliot’s mouth twisted. She was trying not to smile, because despite the absolute absurdity of the situation—the punch of those words still felt satisfying, in a strange, twisted way. Even though it was for that exact reason that she found herself in this situation now: pregnant, and struggling to feel like she was really that, like she was anything more than a temporary vessel for the baby who didn’t quite feel real to her yet.
John’s eyes flickered. “Find that amusing?”
“Yeah,” she replied sharply, “I think it’s some of my best work. Short of slapping you in the face. I do wish I’d made it a closed-fist punch, if I’m being honest.”
He seemed pleased at that, as though the reminder of her Wrath was a comforting familiarity, and she wished she hadn’t fallen so easily back into their old cadence. Steeling herself, she said, “You need to leave.”
“I think I’m exactly where I need to be,” John assured her. “With my unborn child, and my wife —”
“Don’t you fucking—”
“—and my mother-in-law,” he finished demurely, “who surely knows everything about what we’ve been up to these last few weeks. Doesn’t she?”
Elliot stared at him. No was the correct and truthful answer. No, her mother did not know what had been happening these last few weeks, was blissfully unaware of the extent of Eden’s Gate and their evil as well as the things that Elliot herself had done. If her mother had known what she’d done—if her mother had known the things John had done—she would have been horrified. Disgusted. Repulsed.
I’m it for you, John had said, and
(maybe that was true, maybe he was the only person who would ever be able to get her, accept her, love her)
fuck him for saying so.
“The irony of you threatening me with pure honesty isn’t lost on me. And I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish,” Elliot said sourly, after a moment. “Blackmail isn’t exactly the way to a girl’s heart, and certainly doesn’t convince me of your qualifications as a father.”
“Desperate times,” John allowed, tilting his chin up playfully, “desperate measures. And it isn’t blackmailing, per se. You could have just as easily told your mother everything that had happened and I’d have nothing working in my favor.”
But of course, he had known her better than that. John had seen the way killing Kian had affected her, the way it affected her when she was faced with the mountain of bodies she had left behind her, the shame and disconcertion at finding something wretched and wrathful inside of herself and liking it.
So he hadn’t gambled at all, really, and she supposed that she wasn’t that surprised.
He paused, studying her for a moment, before he added, “Not to mention, you are carrying my baby.”
My baby, something hissed inside of Elliot, wretched and protective, something that had otherwise been dormant inside of her up until now; not your baby, my baby.
“All I want,” he continued as he kept his voice low, sauntering closer, trying to do that thing that he did where he crowded up against her and made her brain go fuzzy, “is a chance.”
“Fuck you,” Elliot snapped. “I should have throttled you the second you walked through my fucking door.”
“But you didn’t,” he pointed out. The arrogance bled through and into his voice, bright and sharp. “And you haven’t. And that’s because you lo—”
This time, Elliot’s swing wasn’t anticipated at all, and she landed a sharp, open-palm slap to the side of John’s face. He reached up, working his jaw, his eyes narrowed as that tell-tale anger colored his expression. Good, she thought venomously, watching the red bloom just under his skin, good, I hope it fucking hurts, you stupid fucker.
“Next time you presume to tell me how I feel about you,” she warned, “it will be closed-fist. And I won’t fucking miss.”
John’s eyes flashed with something dangerous and angry. But he said, “I’m glad I didn’t break that wrathful streak out of you,” with no absence of affection-tipped venom.
“Elliot?”
It was Scarlet’s voice, drifting down from the stairs. Elliot gave John one hard, vicious look before she turned to see her mother standing at the landing where the two stairways converged at the top of the main staircase, regarding them with a critical eye.
“Have you sorted it all out?” she asked after a moment. “All of this…business?”
“I’m going to be in town for a while longer,” John said, before Elliot could formulate a response, inspiring in her yet another bout of homicidal rage that she had to quickly reel in. “I’m determined to make this work, no matter how long it takes.” And then, in what he surely thought was a very charming gesture: “I’m very pleased to get to know my mother-in-law a little better, as well.”
“Ah,” Scarlet replied. She then refused to elaborate.
“I hope,” John continued after a moment, “that’s alright with you, Mrs. Honeysett.”
Her brow arched upward, looking between Elliot and John expectantly, making it clear that was all she had to say on that. It was satisfying, to watch her mother operate as she always did without even knowing the true nature of John Seed. It was the least he deserved
“I really think you should just go,” Elliot said tightly as she turned her attention to him. “Back to Hope County, I mean. Your brothers probably need your help.”
“They’re fine,” John said, feigning sweetness despite the red sting of her slap still fresh on his skin and her mother's very apparent disdain, “and nothing is more important to me than you and the baby, Elliot.”
Saccharine and venomous. Fuck, I hate him.
“I’ll get a room in the motel here,” he continued, brightly. “That way we’ll have plenty of time to spend together. Catch up. Has Elliot told you much about Hope County these last few weeks, Mrs. Honeysett?”
"Fine," Elliot bit out, just as her mother cut in, "That won't do at all," and they looked at each other with the same amount of wounded incredulity.
"He'll stay with us." Her mother's voice was decisive. "Not in that run-down motel."
"Mother," Elliot bit out.
"I won't have a man traipsing in and out of my house at all hours of the night, living like some vagabond," Scarlet asserted. "Especially not the father of my grandchild. And you certainly don’t expect me to explain that to people."
Elliot could feel the headache blistering behind her eyes. She didn't even need to look at John to know he was grinning, ear to ear, like a fucking Cheshire Cat. It was the blatant and unimpressive downside to her mother remaining completely in the dark about what had happened in Hope County—and if John had thought he had leverage over her before, he certainly thought so now. There was no way Scarlet would have insisted he stay if she really knew.
This was bad. Devastatingly, infuriatingly, chop-her-hair-off-and-run-away bad. The kind of bad that only happened in horror comedies. Suddenly, she thought that dyeing her hair had been the most reasonable thing to do, and that her margin for acting out had increased exponentially.
"That's so kind of you," John said pleasantly from behind her. "Thank you."
"It is kind of me," was her mother's clipped agreement. "Make sure you move your…" Scarlet gestured vaguely with one elegant hand. "Vehicle behind the garage, Mr. Seed. I do not need my driveway looking like a scrapyard." Her head tilted, eyes narrowed. "Bunny, help me prepare the guest room."
She resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that if there was one thing her mother would not tolerate, it was an insolent child. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Her mother gave the two of them one more leisurely, scathing sweep-over with her eyes, making a noise that bordered skillfully between discontent and acquiescence before she departed up the stairs to leave them alone once again.
“Do we really need separate rooms?” John mused, as though he had not hunted her down five states away and showed up unannounced at her home after systematically lying to her. “I mean—you are carrying my child.”
There it was, that little spark again, pure defiance: my baby, I’m carrying them, you’ve done nothing, like all of a sudden this baby had become more hers than it had ever felt before the second John tried to stake his claim on it. “I’m going to punch your fucking teeth in,” she hissed, “if you don’t get the fuck out of swinging range.”
“I did so miss our rapport.”
“Final warning.”
He flashed her a grin that was all teeth, and she regretted, in fact, having given him a warning at all; it seemed that even though their time together had been short, old habits did die hard.
The brunette swung around on his heel, pulling the keys out of his pocket and sauntering toward the door. He truly did embody the cat that had caught the canary, more so than Elliot would have liked to admit, turning to look at her through playfully narrowed eyes. “In case you were wondering—”
“I’m not.”
“I like the red,” he finished, voice bleeding with self-satisfaction, “bunny.”
It was good, for his sake, that he had waited until he was out of reach to say so.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“ That one, Elliot?”
“Mama,” she gritted out, her fingers digging viciously into the fabric of the sheets, “please, I do not want to have this conversation.”
“I just think,” her mother amended curtly as she passed a scathing look over the brunette Elliot was currently considering shoving through the stained glass of the front door, “you could have at least picked the tall one.”
Elliot stared at her mother from across the king-sized guest bed, blinking rapidly. “You mean...Jacob?” Ugh, she thought, remembering the way John’s eldest brother had grinned at her when she’d threatened to kill him and said, yeah, you think you can, little girl? Fucker.
“Is that the redhead?”
“Yes.”
Scarlet nodded sagely. “You have to be mindful of who you pick to build a life with,” her mother intoned dutifully. “Genes, and the like. Both your daddy and I are tall, and you’re so short, honey. You want to set the baby up for success, don’t you?”
“I’m not—” Absurd. Absolutely absurd, this conversation she was having, not only that her mother thought she would just have her fucking pick of Seed brothers to be impregnated by, let alone that she would ever fucking want Jacob Seed that close to her. “I’m not discussing whether or not I’d let Jacob Seed into my bed, mother.”
“Well,” Scarlet replied primly, smoothing out the comforter meticulously with her hand, “John’s quite...alternative, anyway. I just never knew you liked...” Her voice trailed off again, and she gestured vaguely.
Elliot arched a brow at her. “Liked?”
“That,” her mother finished after a moment, and then sighed, like it had been excruciating for her to say so. It wasn’t as though they’d had many heart-to-hearts about what kind of boy Elliot liked, anyway. “You know, the—tattoos. And whatnot.”
“They don’t bother me one way or another, mama.”
“I find your taste in men quite eclectic. What happened to that nice young man you went to high school with? And all of those school dances? He was nice. Didn’t you two work together at the sheriff’s office?”
The last person that Elliot wanted to discuss in terms of a romantic relationship was the one man she’d dated in high school. Staci Pratt had been evacuated with the others, and was hopefully living his life with a steadfast therapist somewhere far from Hope County, just like the rest of the Resistance. She cleared her throat.
“I’m not having a baby with Staci Pratt.”
“I know that.”
“Can we please,” she started, “can we please stop talking about this? I really don’t even want John staying here, but you insisted, and—”
Scarlet crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “Well, why not? Don’t you like him? Enough to marry him and have a baby with him, anyway.”
I don’t, that vicious little voice inside of Elliot hissed, I didn’t say yes, I didn’t want to marry him, I don’t think I even want to marry anyone, stop talking about it, please.
It made her sick to her stomach, to think about John being her husband, to think about the fact that she was having his baby, and maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to feel quite so much like herself as of late; maybe that was why she had been feeling so disconnected from the baby, because she hadn’t quite reconciled how they had come to be in the first place.
She hadn’t reconciled that she had been so, so, incredibly, wretchedly stupid.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Scarlet asked after a moment, watching her from across the bed, her mouth turning into a firmer, more deep-set frown. “You seemed awfully unhappy to have him here.”
“We didn’t leave on good terms,” Elliot muttered, clearing her throat and busying herself with pulling pillowcases onto the pillows. Fuck, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Making up a bed in her guest room for John fucking Seed.
Her mother moved around to the foot of the bed, stepping carefully over Boomer so as not to disturb him where he lay. She paused at the door, just long enough without saying anything to draw Elliot’s attention back to her, before she exhaled softly.
“It’s Christmas next week,” her mother said after moment, completely ruining the illusion she’d had of her mother actually asking her something meaningful. “The perfect time to practice patience.”
Elliot felt her mouth twist viciously, turning away and dropping the pillows on the bed so that her mother wouldn’t see. The last thing she needed to give John Seed was patience. Least of all Christmas-spirit-induced patience. He deserved far, far less, and much worse, than that.
“Don’t forget about your doctor’s appointment,” her mother called as she departed the room, “and hurry down to eat something before you run your beast.”
It was better this way, anyway. To have John here. If he wasn’t in the custody of Federal agents, the next best place he could be was where she could see him—keep tabs on him, keep aware of what kinds of shit he was up to. And maybe he’d get so tired with her mother’s particular brand of vitriol that he’d fucking leave.
I should be so lucky.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“What is this?”
Kajsa’s voice broke her out of her reverie. She had been watching the snowfall, flecking against the window in crystalline geometrics, methodical and variable all at the same time—but the surprise peaking in her harbinger’s voice was enough to draw her eyes away.
The heater in the car rattled, straining against the cold temperatures. Kajsa’s dark eyes had narrowed, and when Helmi followed her gaze, it was to the front of the mother’s house. Their little interloper was heading up the front steps, having apparently come from behind the two-story shop and garage to head back inside.
And then he let himself in.
“He is moving quickly, this little snake of ours,” Kajsa murmured, her voice flecked with amusement. “I thought he’d be exercising more caution.”
Helmi made a low noise. This was...displeasing, to say the least. They had been counting on John’s interference being minimal, given that he was away from home and all of his little pets. Apparently, it had only made him more bold.
And that just wouldn’t do at all.
“You will go back,” the black-haired woman beside her announced, decisively.
“What?” Helmi asked, brows furrowing together at the center of her forehead. “Back to Hope County? But—I should be here, with you. My place is—I belong with you. What about...”
Kajsa leaned back against her seat, her eyes never once having left the house. As Helmi’s voice trailed off, unused to presenting distress or dislike of a decision made by her superior, the woman’s jaw worked absently, the brush of her dark, sooty lashes caressing the top of her cheekbones. Singularly devastating and beautiful, as always, though in moments like this Helmi wished it weren’t so distracting.
“I can open our mother to the influence on my own,” she said at last, and finally turned her slate-gray gaze to Helmi. “I want you to return to our family back in Montana. Do whatever you would like, but make sure you are making them sweat. ”
She turned in her seat now, so that they were facing each other, taking Hel’s face in her hands. The pads of Kajsa’s thumbs swept across her cheeks, affectionate.
“Strangle them,” Kajsa murmured. “I want you to be my tourniquet. Stop the bleeding where you can. Tighten so ferociously around those apostates that John Seed will have no choice but to abandon our mother and leave her to me.”
I don’t want to leave, Helmi thought, watching the woman’s dark eyes—so dark, so dark, faded and distant while her pupils ate away at her irises. I don’t want to leave you.
“It is best.” Her voice pitched, soft and low, almost lulling. “For the end. For our winter, Helmi. I do not want you to go, and I will grieve, just like you will.” She tilted her head, drawing Helmi’s eyes to the wisps of dark hair spilling like black moonlight against the porcelain of her throat. “And what do we say to our grief?”
“Sorrow shared,” Helmi whispered, “sorrow halved.”
“That is exactly right.” Kajsa leaned back, the curve of her dark mouth, feline and sharp, wrenching right on Helmi’s resolve. “You will go for me, won’t you?”
I don’t want to, she thought again, the idea of leaving Kajsa alone to sit in the dark, to peel apart the mother’s layers one by one, unthread her, a distressing one. They had never been so far apart. I don’t want to be away from you.
“Helmi.”
“I will,” she managed out at last. “For you.” I would do anything, for you.
Kajsa’s smile widened, razor-sharp.
“And that is why," the woman murmured, "you are perfect to me."
#my writing#fic: witching hour#ch: elliot honeysett#ch: john seed#otp: death keep off; i am your enemy#john's impending death is near on the horizon#i can feel it in my bones#far cry 5 fic#fc5 fic#john seed/deputy#fc5 oc#john seed x deputy#poor mans about to get eviscerated by scarlet honeysett#jskjdaskjd
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Disappear Here - What Comes After
A/N: Hi friends! So here is the very much requested sequel to Disappear Here. I had a lot of fun writing of it, and I love these idiots so much, and you guys did too, which just warmed my heart so much. I hope you enjoy, and feedback and comments are always welcome! Surprise, I guess! PS - I am also writing an alternative ending, which is coming soon!
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Word Count: 5.5k
Warning: some language and violence
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4
ALTERNATIVE ENDING
MASTERLIST
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Mexico was hot. Muggy. Dangerous. But it was yours. There was no one to compete with, no one to impress, no one to prove a point to.
No, rather it was much better and fresh; your current partner and yourself had arrived at the same time and set up shop under the close supervision of Walt Breslin and Jaime Kuykendall. And it had worked. For once in your life, at least at that time, everything seemed to fall into place without a hitch. It had worried you at the beginning, surely something was bound to go wrong. Things couldn’t be this easy, right?
But a year in and everything was cherries, for the most part. Everything was fine, normal; sometimes you were almost able to convince yourself that you had a typical job just everyone else. Until, of course, the occasional bloodshed and capture of a stash of narcotics.
But...no major hiccups. It was quiet, almost too quiet, and you felt like something was going to break soon. You knew all too well that there was only so much build up before the snap and all hell broke loose. But you pushed that all out of your mind. Why worry about something that may or may not happen? You’d just have to hope that things continued on their current trajectory. Good begets good, right?
“Y/N? Hello, earth to Y/N,” you blinked a few times as you pulled your attention out of your thoughts and back into reality. You were still clutching your cup of coffee, paused halfway to your mouth. Sighing, you set it back down and turned your attention to your current partner, Dan. He was looking at you with an expectant expression on his features, clearly having just asked something, “what do you think?”
“What do I think?” you repeated and he let out a long sigh, but there was an amused expression on his face nonetheless. He’d quickly become your best friend in the foreign county, which was not a surprise since the two of you knew no one else there besides yourselves and your supervisors. The other friends you had acquired had learned to trust you slowly, which didn’t not come as much of a shocker. But with Dan, it was never forced, or awkward, you easily fell into a natural rapport, similar to that of a brother and sister.
“You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said, have you?” he teased and you were determined to prove him wrong. You gave him a firm smile and he just raised an eyebrow.
“I have,” you lied, “and I think we should do it.”
He almost burst out in laughter as you realized you might provided the very incorrect response. Shit. Maybe you should have tried harder to pay attention.
“So what you’re telling me is that you agree with Walt that we should just storm the warehouse,” yup, you had definitely agreed to the wrong thing. While you and Dan were both headstrong and tended to rush into things, just going in somewhere blindly was practical suicide and not either of your styles. He was thorough and calculating, much like you were. Everything was a risk, but with careful planning, things usually went well.
“Ugh….yes?” you tried to suppress the laugh that was bubbling up, but it was hard to keep yourself together. You just didn’t want to give in and give him the satisfaction at that moment. He laughed as well, shaking his head at you.
“Alright, Agent L/N,” he put on a serious tone and gave you a firm nod, “we go in guns blazing-”
“Wait!” you almost shouted at him, eyes wide, “it appears I’ve suffered a change of heart. Perhaps a subtle infiltration after scoping the warehouse out will work…”
“Hmm,” he mused as he slid a portfolio over towards you, “that sounds more like the Y/N I know and love. So you weren’t paying attention at all…”
“I was…I was just…momentarily distracted,” you tried to shrug it off and hoped he wouldn’t pry any further. He was good at reading you, but maybe this time he’d realize it wasn’t anything you wanted to discuss.
Your hope was fruitless.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as you fiddled with the corner of the portfolio, eyes refusing to meet his. You just your head, “you’ve been distracted lately. Where do you go?”
You stilled at the words as time seemed to freeze. Those words were familiar, oh so familiar. Except last time you were on the other end of them. You looked at him and swallowed the lump in your throat, “what do you mean? I’m here, right here, all the time.”
“I think you know what I mean,” he insisted and you felt your heart drop, “your body is here but where does your head go?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“If you’re not completely focused or all in, anything we do can be comprised. This is a dangerous job, you know that. I want you to stay safe,” he leaned across the table and gave your hand a small squeeze. You knew he meant well, that he cared, but that knowledge didn’t relieve the moment. How could you politely ask him to stop without being too rude?
“Nothing is wrong,” you tried your best to reassure him, sure your smile was probably too fake and strained, “I’m just tired. But I promise nothing is wrong.”
“Tired,” he didn’t believe you for you a second. You didn’t even know what to do besides telling him the truth, which was probably going to be a long and arduous task, one you didn’t want to get into.
“Yes,” you were short and firm in your response as you pushed your chair back and stood up. Rubbing a hand over your face, you grabbed the file and clutched it tightly to your chest, “I’m going to head out for the day. I’ll go over this tonight and we can come with a plan tomorrow.”
“Y/N-”
“I…I’m sorry, I have to go,” you didn’t even let him finish as you hastily grabbed your things off of your desk and headed towards the door to your shared office. Something had snapped suddenly, just as you had anticipated something would. You just hadn’t expected it to be you.
You heard him calling after you in your rush to leave, but you ignored him, apologizing to all the unsuspecting passersby that you rammed into. Everything had blurred and you only had tunnel vision, and the door out of the embassy was the end goal.
When you burst out into the street, the fresh was a welcome relief. You bent over and tried to catch your breath, cursing yourself for forgetting that you had accepted a ride from Dan that morning. You’d either have to swallow your pride and go back inside and play off what had happened, try and get a cab in the busy traffic, or walk home. It was a few miles, but your pride was much too high to go and grovel, and you were short on cash and luck, so you decided to take your chances and walk home. If you had a singular goal, hopefully your mind wouldn’t wander too much. You didn’t dare let it stray far. Not again.
But it was no use.
Despite your best efforts, he still invaded your mind; your every thought and feeling. He’d been on your mind a lot lately. No matter how much you tried to suppress the memories, they kept bubbling up in your mind; how he tasted, how he touched you, how he kissed you, how he used to tell you that he loved you. Everything.
It had been 389 days since you’d last seen Javier Peña.
Not that you were keeping count...not in a physical place, but mentally you marked down each day that passed.
And he still managed to invade all of your senses no matter how hard you’d trying erasing him from every part of your life.
You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts, too far gone to pay attention. You were on autopilot, so deeply entangled in your thoughts that you completely the fact that someone had been following you.
Not until they were right behind you and the sound of stomping footsteps reached your ears. Turning on your heels, you tensed up at the sight of the large man looming over you and pointing a gun directly at your face. Dropping everything you in your arms from the sheer shock, your instincts took over and reached for the pistol in the back of your waistband. But he easily had the drop on you and the gun was kicked from your hand. The kick was hard and you clutched your sore hand immediately, trying to figure out what to do.
You hissed at the pain before holding your hands in surrender. You weren’t giving up, but were trying to quickly come up with a plan. If managed to somehow gain trust and he went easy on you, you could break away and fight for your freedom.
But before you could react or anything else, the loud pop of a gun reached your ears and the man that had been formerly threatening you dropped to the ground, right at your feet. Your hands flew to your face in horror as you watched flow from his skull onto the hot concrete, gun discarded and a look of terror permanently etched on his face. Your stomach twisted as you looked around to see where the shot could have some from. But you couldn’t anyone on the quiet street. No one was panicking, hell, no one was even around. Despite your best efforts, you could spy no one.
Gathering your things off the ground quietly, you shoved everything in your bag and retrieved your discard pistol off the ground. You prayed that it was a good sign that no one was nearby, hopefully that meant this couldn’t be traced back to you. Not that you had done anything wrong, but you knew how the system worked, and you wanted to avoid it all costs. Taking one last glance around, eyes wide and wild, you figured it was safe to leave. You had no clue who this man was, or what he wanted, but you figured it couldn’t be anything good. No one would be targeting you without knowing who you were; he had to know.
Almost tripping over your own feet in haste, you ran, almost sprinted, the rest of the way home. It was only a few more blocks, but by the time you reached the door to your apartment, your lungs felt like they were on fire, and the stitch in your side felt like it was tearing your body apart. Dripping in sweat, you were sure you were a sight and if any of your neighbors saw you they might have thought you had just run some kind of marathon. But at least you were home, safe, at least as safe as you could get in the middle of this mess.
Everything seemed to catch up with you at once and your vision ran blurry, and your stomach churned; before you could stop anything from happening, the entire contents of your breakfast and lunch came up, and you grabbed the nearby planter and upchucked into it. Once you were done, you slid to the floor, worn out, mentally and physically, pushing the planter as far away as possible, wiping your mouth with the the sleeve of your blouse.
Casting a small grimace at the flowers, you felt bad; they had been beautiful but were now ruined. Not that you could help it. It was a totally unexpected accident. Hopefully the kind woman who lived at the end of the hall and tended to the small garden and all the plants wouldn’t be mad, or figure out it was you. She was always kind, making sure you were taken care of, and you didn’t want to ruin all of that. You reached up and tried to unlocked your front door from the floor, doing the best thing to use the key and ending up fumbling with the lock for more than a few minutes.
A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you finally managed to get it open, and dragged yourself inside, kicking the door shut again and locking it immediately, making sure everything was well sealed. Your mind was racing as you tried to figure out what to do; the rational part of your brain told you to call the embassy then and there and tell Dan or Walt what had happened. They would have been all over it within seconds. But you didn’t even know what to tell them really; you barely even know what happened, it was over so fast. How would it sound if you just called and said ‘hey, a man just tried to attack me and someone else killed him and I just ran home’?
Instead, you managed to pick yourself up on shaky legs and tossed everything onto the counter, before dragging yourself to the bathroom. Perhaps a shower would be able to help calm you down; at least to scrub away the remainder of the strange occurrence. You turned the water up as high as possible before hastily discarding your clothes onto the cool tile of the floor and step in, letting the stream hit your tired body.
You stood there for a long time, not moving, not bothering to do anything but let the water run down your skin. It was scalding, probably too hot to be a good idea, but it was all you could focus on. If your mind focused on the feeling of the hot water, it couldn’t think about anything else. You definitely weren’t ready to rethink and relive the events of the afternoon.
You wanted those memories as far gone as possible. You’d been working in the field for some time now, getting used to the violence and horrors that you did witness; but you never had a man fall dead at your feet. That was a whole different sight altogether; already burned into your mind, and you would no doubt have nightmares about it.
Only once the water had run lukewarm did you even make a move to clean your body. You made quick work of washing your hair and scrubbing your skin until was raw and clean. When it turned ice cold, you finally stepped out and wrapped yourself up in a towel, traversing to your bedroom and collapsing on your bed. You didn’t even bother to grab clean clothes or pull on pajamas before slipping under the covers. The sweet pull of sleep had started when you were standing under the cascade of hot water, and you while you were worried about nightmares, you were happy to at least try sleeping. Maybe your mind would calm down.
You didn’t have much time to think about any of that because you were lost to the land of sleep before you knew it. Witnessing an unintended murder had that affect, you supposed.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
The next morning, you woke up in a cold sweat, unrested and just as unsettled as the evening before. It was strange, but nothing felt real in the moment. It was all a bad play and you were in the starring role. But you couldn’t let this keep you from going to work, not if you wanted to keep up a normal facade. They were likely already suspicious after your rapid departure from yesterday. So much for keeping a low profile.
“What’s up with you?” Dan was cheery and he looked well rested, like he had not a care in the world. You cursed him silently. Why hadn’t this happened to him? He probably would have handled it much better.
You remained silent as you put your things down and your desk, flopping into your squeaky desk chair and letting out a long sigh. Before you knew, Dan was at the other side of your desk and set a pipping cup of weak cafeteria coffee in front of you. You gave it a dismal look, but saw that he had prepared just how you liked; he was making an effort at least.
“Truce?” he asked quietly as you picked up the coffee and took a sip, savoring the weak flavor of the liquid in your mouth. It was better than nothing for now. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I just...you’re my partner and I want to make sure you’re safe. Okay?”
“Okay,” a small smile spread across your lips at his kindness. You could tell he was just being honest, which caused you to pause for a moment as you wrestled with whether or not to tell him what had happened yesterday. You should have...but just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What if it was all for naught? You didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, there was enough of that going around anyway, “truce. How about later we go and find some better coffee than this shitty excuse?”
“Deal.”
It was clear denial and deflection, but it was all you could muster up at the moment. it was something anyway. Maybe, once you were back in your right mindset, you’d tell him. But for now you preferred to keep everything at bay, pushed to the fair recesses of your mind.
As you had been only a few other times in life, you were once again thankful to be stuck doing mind numbing, menial paperwork for the day.
You were glad to had driven to work that day, not wanting a repeat of what had happened the previous day to occur again. Not that you just expected it would...that surely had to be a fluke. Something that was never going to happen again...or so you hoped.
As soon as you got home, you slipped inside and made sure everything was secure before grabbing a bottle of cold white wine from the near empty fridge. You’d have to make sure yourself face the world and go to the market soon and restock on groceries. But that was a problem for future you.
You eyed the cupboard and decided against it, instead quickly uncorking the bottle and taking a large swig from it. When you swallowed that down, you followed it up with a few more gulps, finishing almost half the bottle in rapid succession.
Knowing you’d need something in your stomach to avoid a headache or some form of handover, you were about to settle the bottle down on the counter when a loud knock came at your door. It startled you so much, the bottle totally missed the counter and ended up falling to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. Shit.
Cursing yourself and whoever was at the door, you hopped around the mess and scurried to your bag where you had your trusty gun stashed. Maybe it was all overreaction, but you weren’t expecting any visitors and weren’t about to take any chances. But then again, what kind of intruder would take the time to knock? Either way, you’d rather act first and apologize later, than take the risk.
You slowly made your way to the door as the knocking continued. Using the peephole proved to be unhelpful and you couldn’t see anything through it. Fuck.
Without thinking, you threw open the door and help up the gun, ready to defend yourself with whatever you were faced with.
“Jesus Christ! Were you going to shoot me!?”
You lowered your gun at the familiar voice, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to make sense of everything. That voice, you knew that voice so well; but you just never thought you’d hear it again. Slowly looking up, you found those damned velvet honeyed eyes starting back at you.
“Javi?” your voice cracked as you looked at the man in question starting back at you. The same man that had broken you 390 days earlier. He looked the same, but different. Perhaps it was just you that was different. But everything was different.
“Y/N-”
“I told you I never wanted to see you again,” anger immediately flowed through your body. How dare he? You were ready to slam the door in his face and shut him out again. It was like he could read your mind, like he knew he had been occupying everything single one of your thoughts lately and decided to make himself known. But you couldn’t deal with him again. Not now. Probably not ever, “so leave.”
“Y/N,” there was a difficult tone to read in his voice as he put his foot in the doorway to prevent you from closing it completely, “please. I can’t leave. Not without telling you...I...the way things ended, I can’t leave things like that.”
“I have nothing left to say to you,” you insisted, rolling your eyes in a defensive manner. You couldn’t let him see you weak, vulnerable, and go back to him with open arms. He had hurt you in the worst way possible. But here you were, a part of you insanely happy to see his beautiful face again.
“I have things I need to say to you. I can’t not say them,” he was pleading with you now, and for some reason, the emotional part of your brain took over and you slowly opened the back up, sighing as you walked away and waited for him to follow.
“Speak,” you told him, removing the magazine from the gun and throwing them both back into your bag, “you’ve got ten minutes.”
“What if takes longer?”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck,” you shrugged as you leaned against the counter and waited for him to speak.
“Y/N...” he ran his hands over his tired face as he tried to figure out where to begin. He had all of this planned out, a whole big speech, but it somehow was going exactly the opposite. Everything he had thought of was going out the window and his mind was blank. He wasn’t exactly sure of how you were going to react, but for some reason, he expected a little more than this. But somehow, seeing your face and hearing your voice again, reminded him exactly of how badly he had fucked up, “I’m sorry. First and foremost, I am so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” you almost laughed with bitterness, “it took you over a year to figure out to say that? I gave up everything for you, and you had no problem tearing it all down and then you just come back and say I’m sorry?”
“I know what I did was wrong,” he leaned against the counter directly across from you and let out a long breath. He was wringing his hands nervously as he seemed to be looking anywhere but your eyes. He didn’t think he could stand if there was hate in them. But he knew you weren’t capable of that; your heart was too kind and pure to ever truly hate anyone. Even if he did deserve it, “and I never should have done it. I regretted it at the time and every single day since you left.”
“Did you regret it when you’d come into my bed after you fucked your informants? Did you think of them when you were fucking me?” all the words that had been built up for all this time were bubbling to the surface suddenly, and there was prickling at the back of your eyes despite how hard you to tried to keep it together.
“I never thought of anyone but you,” he said quietly, “and I regretted it as soon as I started...”
“Then why the fuck did you do it?” you wished you were stronger, that you could yell and be mad and tell him to curl up and die in a hole or under the hot Mexican sun, but you couldn’t. Instead, you trained your eyes on the floor, counting every single piece of broken glass from your forgotten wine as you tried not to cry. But you didn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him. Truth was, at your core, you’d never stopped loving him, “I-I asked you for one thing, Javi. And that’s the very thing you did. Why? Why? I thought you loved me...”
“I did love you, baby, I still love you,” he thought about reaching out and pulling you into his arms but he stopped himself; he wasn’t sure if he could take that kind of rejection, “I have always loved you.”
“Then why did you do it?” a few tears had run down your cheeks at his words, but you quickly wiped them away, refusing to let them linger. His heart broke at your teary voice,”why?”
“I was scared,” he admitted after a long bout of silence as your eyes finally met his. His dark eyes were glossy as he gave you a pained look, “so scared.”
“Scared?”
“Scared because I never felt the way I feel about you about anyone else before,” he confessed softly, and you couldn’t deny the butterflies that were erupting in your stomach, “I’d never felt so strongly, never loved someone so much before. It was all I could think about. And it scared me to death. So I tried to convince myself in other ways that it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t love. It was easier for me turn to what I knew, then to...just admit that I was in love with you. It was never my thing before, especially not after the first with Lorraine...I didn’t know how to deal.”
“Why would being in love with me scare you?” your question was quiet, barely above a whisper as the tension in the air grew thicker and thicker, “am that I repulsive to you?”
“No,” it was immediate and firm, “never. Do you now what’ it’s like to be loved by you? Someone who is much too good for me, someone so smart, kind, beautiful, lovely? Someone who I absolutely do not deserve? I wondered everyday why someone like you would love me. Surely, you’re much too good for me, and you could do so much better than me. But you still chose me, you loved me. And I fucked it up because I was an idiot and I was scared. And it cost me the best damn thing in my life. Nothing’s been the same since you left. Nothing.”
You remained silent for a long time, letting his words wash over you. It was hard to hear, but a part of your heart felt like it was finally healed now. Like you’d gotten the resolution and closure you deserved. Even if you didn’t agree with his logic, or how he’d handled things, at least you knew now. And he’d been honest; you could tell by the way this all seemed to tear him apart that he was being truthful with you.
“You’re an idiot, Javier Peña,” you straightened up and wiped away the drying tear tracks, “truly. But you’re wrong, you know.”
“Oh?”
“You weren’t just loved by me then, back before I left,” you decided that you might as well lay it all out now. He was honest with you and deserved that much back at least, “you’ve always been loved by me. Even now, even after I left. I never stopped.”
“You probably should have,” he teased with a small chuckle before the two of shared a laugh. It almost felt the same like it used, warm and familiar, “a horrible decision, really.”
“I know,” you shrugged your shoulders, “but I’ve never been known to make the best decisions. Besides, you don’t chose who you love...it just happens.”
“How lucky I am, “ he mused quietly, “to be loved by you.”
“I just...yeah...Javi, how did you even find me?” you were curious...not that it was probably that hard to track down another DEA agent, but you still wondered. He’d come from Colombia all the way to Mexico...for you.
“It wasn’t hard,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “there’s only one embassy here in Mexico. And then finding you wasn’t too hard. I’ve been around a little while.”
“What?!” your heart was doing all sorts of flips in your chest.
“I wasn’t going to come at first, at least not to talk to you,” your whole mind was running wild with questions as you looked him with a confused expression, “I just…I had to make sure you were safe…because I can’t be the one to protect you anymore. I just had to know for myself that you were okay.”
“I don’t understand…” you looked at him as he waited for you to put two and two together, “you’ve just been here…watching me…”
“Yes.”
“It was you,” it finally clicked. The reason you were safe, the reason you were alive, was because of Javi. He’d been the one who had gotten the drop on the man that had come after you the day before, “the man yesterday...you killed him.”
“Yes,” he nodded, “I saw him and I couldn’t just let him do something to you-”
“Why didn’t you just say it was you then and there?”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me,” he shrugged, “I followed you home and made sure you were okay. Safe anyway...I know it must have been hard, what happened.”
“What changed today?” your voice was shaky and every part of your body was screaming at you to just grab him and hold him.
“I had to see you.”
“After all this time?”
“Always,” he reassured, “you’ve been on my mind every single day. And even if you didn’t want to see or to talk to me, I had to come and say sorry. I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I had to at least get it out.”
“Oh,” fuck. You hadn’t expected this in a million years. Suddenly all the old feelings bubbled up inside you, feelings you had tried so hard to repress. They’d never left, just been ignored. But now? You were sure of nothing. All the rules were out the window.
“Yeah,” he scratched the back of neck awkwardly as an air of confusion hung around you thickly. What now?
Javi moved from his place against the counter and started to head out towards the door. You didn’t move to stop him.
“Well, I guess my ten minutes is up,” his hand was on the door and he opened it slowly with a loud creak. Your stomach was in knots as you debated what to do, “thank you for listening. I know this doesn’t make anything better or change anything, but I just had to tell you. I’m sorry, amor, for everything.”
He gave you a last quick glance before walking out and closing the door quietly behind him. You let out a long sigh, listening to his retreating footsteps for a few moments before turning back to the long forgotten mess on the kitchen floor.
You picked up a few pieces, tossing them absentmindedly onto the worn tile of the counter top. Then it hit you - revelation.
Jumping to your feet, you ran to the door and flung it open, popping out of your apartment and booking it out of the building. It was getting dark now, but you could still make out Javi’s retreating back.
“Javi!” you kicked off your work heels so you could easily run. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care, but it didn’t stop you from running after him, “Javi!”
Just before you reached him, he turned on his heel, a surprised but soft expression on his face. You stopped and almost rammed into him, trying to catch your breath, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”
“I…” where did you start? You still had a million things you wanted to say, a million things you still needed to hash out, but you couldn’t just let him walk away, “don’t go.”
“What?”
“I love you,” you spit out as he took a step closer and left very little distance between your bodies, “and you’re an idiot and I’m still mad, so mad, at you, but I can’t just let you go. Not again. Don’t go. Not like this.”
Only a few moments passed before Javi put his hands on the sides of your face. He trailed a few fingers over your cheek, the familiar feeling warming his soul. A grin crossed his face before he crashed his lips onto yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. It was suddenly like no time had passed. You were safe again; you were home.
Javi placed a hand on your waist and held you as close as possible. For a moment he wasn’t sure if this was real or a beautiful dream. But the little moan that spilled from your lips reminded him that this was real, very real.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. You still felt the same, smelled the same, tasted the same. But better. Because he finally realized just how madly in love he was with you.
“I’ve missed you too,” you sighed in content. The moment was perfect; back in your lover’s arms after all this time.
“I owe you so much,” he whispered as he pressed a few soft, featherlight kisses to your lips and cheeks, “I’m not perfect, by any means, you know this, but I want to try and make it up to you. I really do…if you’ll have me.”
“You came all this way just to apologize to me?
"Yes…”
“You’re an idiot, Javier Peña. Truly,” you kissed the tip of his nose that you adored so much, “but you have me. All of me. You always have.”
“Does that mean that you’re willing to try this again?”
“Only if you never do anything like what happened in the past again,” you cradled the side of his face, “because if you ever do that anything like again, I will chop your dick off and feed it to the wolves.”
“That’s only fair,” he agreed, “I love you, Y/N. Truly, completely, you and only you.”
“And I you,” you let him wrapped his arms around you and hold you tightly. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had lulled you do many times, “come back home with me?”
He nodded as he reached down and picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, as he started to head back to your apartment. You let your head drop on his shoulder and relaxed, “so about this new partner of yours..this Dan guy-”
“Javi, are you jealous?”
“What!? Of that guy?”
“You totally are! You’re jealous of Dan!”
“Never. He seems like a little dork that follows you around like a puppy dog-”
“You’re jealous,” you giggled as kissed his neck, which was your biggest weakness of all, always had been and always would be, “you have nothing to be jealous of.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” you reassured, “I’ve missed you, Javi. Please don’t ever leave me.”
“Never,” he promised firmly. Something in your bones told you he meant it. This was it, this was everything, “never.”
»»————- ♡ ————-««
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Home Ch.4
The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn’t quite had the chance at a normal life.
Distant Lands sequel.
Spinel/Reader
collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants
Today is another hot, bright day outside, and you have not had enough coffee to deal with it. Or any at all, actually.
Currently it's about an hour before your first lesson, and you're at Kiki's place - sitting on the toilet inside her bathroom in particular - trying to not panic.
"-and then! I told her if she wants to keep borrowing my jacket, the least she can do is NOT get mustard all over it! Can you believe her?!" Kiki huffs out next to your ear, dabbing more pigmented cover-up against your collarbone.
"Why the hell do you buy clothes that you know she'll keep stealing? You know she's not going to stop since you basically wear the same size." You reply, leaning into her brush. It tickles your skin, and you feel yourself almost sneezing.
"Because they're cuuuuuute, okay?" She whines, twisting her face in concentration as she smears makeup on a particular spot on your neck. "Wow she really did a number on you here.. are these teeth marks?"
"Pretend you didn't see them, just cover them up as best as you can," You plead, giving her The Face you know she can't resist. She rolls her eyes. "I just wanna look professional, you know?"
"They're gems, Y/N." She makes a point to jab you particularly hard on the side of your neck with her brush. "You seriously think they're going to care? Or notice?"
"Well, apparently a few humans signed up too, and I really would prefer to not get any more looks, er - more than the usual, anyway." You feel your phone vibrate in hand, and look down to see Steven giving you several thumbs up to your earlier text.
"Why are humans signing up?" She asks, pausing momentarily.
"Not sure? But I'm blaming Steven on that." You reply, remembering to shoot Garnet a message as well about having her attend just in case you make a fool out of yourself in front of a crowd.
"Maybe they saw you with Spinel, and thought, hey, maybe the rest of us could-"
A door slams against a wall, and you hear a resounding 'HEYYYYYYYY' from the hallway in a very familiar voice. Several pairs of footsteps are walking towards the bathroom the two of you are in.
Oh god, you need to go. You attempt to stand up from sitting on the toilet, and Kiki forces a hand on your shoulder with an "I'm not done!"
"Kiki!" Jenny pops her face into the bathroom doorway with an infectious smile. "What are you dooooooooo- whoa, Y/N?!"
If you could clap your hands and disappear, you would.
"Heyyyyy Jenny," You greet her as flatly as you can, and then Lars also pops his head into the doorway. Oh. Great. "Lars. What are you guys doing here?"
Lars gasps dramatically, pointing to your neck. "YOOOOOOOUUUUUU-"
Kiki silences him with her palm over his mouth. "Dude I already told you, why are you being so dramatic right now,"
"You TOLD him?!" You screech, feeling completely betrayed.
"Well, YEAH, clearly you were going to just internalize it and dance around the subject!" She places her hands on her hips, makeup brush still in her fist. "I'm just expediting the process!"
"Tell him what!?" Jenny pipes in, completely engrossed.
"That Y/N's dating Spinel!" Kiki huffs out, like this is obvious information, and Jenny gasps.
“I wasn’t going to dance around the subject!! I just haven’t had the chance to shoot him a text yet..” You mumble, trailing off sheepishly. Okay, so, you know you should’ve told Lars already! It’s just.. Ugh. Talking about your feelings is hard. The face Jenny’s making is making you wish you could flush yourself down the toilet.
“You dumbass, were you seeing how long you could hide this from me?! After all I did for you.” Lars crosses his arms over his chest, miffed. “It’s whatever, I knew that was going to happen sooner rather than later, anyway. I was expecting like, two days, tops - with how you had talked about her.”
“Am I that obvious?” You ask flatly.
“Uh, yeah.” Jenny gives you a look. “Girl, you avoided me for an entire year after I asked you out, and then acted like nothing ever happened. I probably would have recovered my ego a lot faster if I knew your type was Gems.”
“My type isn’t GEMS,” You sputter, utterly amazed at the audacity of the three of them.
“Yeah but your neck says otherwise,” Lars teases, and you groan, covering your face as the other two howl in laughter.
“Remind me why I’m friends with any of you?” You say, muffled behind your hands.
“Um, because you have no other options?” Kiki grins, and you put your hands down just to lightly kick her on the shins, and she chokes out a snort.
“So, what’s the occasion? Why are you dolling up Y/N?” Jenny peers over at you, taking in the new.. upgrades to your appearance.
“She’s got some lessons today, and wanted to look more professional,” Kiki rolls her eyes, like somehow you wanting to not talk to a class looking like you got half-mauled by a sea lion is ridiculous. “Speaking of, did you want me to cover the scar on your face?”
“Ehhh, leave it. I don’t really care about that.” You look at the time on your phone, knowing you need to leave soon. Spinel has texted you a few words of encouragement coupled with quite a pile of heart emojis, and you have to school your face into not smiling at it like some sort of cheese ball.
"I think you look cooler with it anyway," Jenny tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her gold earrings shining in the light of the bathroom. "Makes you look like you won't take shit from anyone."
"What about my scar?" Lars asks. "Is my face scar not cool??"
"Yours looks more like you fought a raccoon in a dumpster." Jenny grins, and you can't help the laugh that comes out of your mouth as Lars sputters at her response.
The four of you chat for a little while longer while you finish up with Kiki, Jenny asking way too many questions about your personal life - but this time, you don't feel uneasy at all about sharing some of the details with her.
-
You're standing in the middle of Little Homeworld near the town center, coffee in hand - surveying the area as people and gems hustle around you. You probably should've also grabbed something to eat, but it's kind of too late now. Steven's bringing you lunch after this anyway.
It's twenty minutes until your first lesson, and you're starting to see a few gems show up early. They had to relocate where you'd be having the class - originally they had given you a decent spot under some coverage, but because the attendance got so high they moved you to the literal town center for the space. There's a lot of gems (and some humans) around, and most of them are either working on small construction or going about doing their other jobs. You watch three Amethysts a few yards away struggle to lift a large sheet of glass for what looks like a new cafe. Huh. The gems are really trying for inclusivity here.
You turn around to look at your chalkboard that Garnet placed here for you, and write out a giant welcome sign on it, along with the class title and your name. You could've probably written it a little more eloquently.. eh. The gems aren't going to care. There's some sudden yelling coming from around you, so you turn to look - one of the Amethysts nearly dropped her side of the glass because someone bumped her — aaaand it's Spinel, with Bismuth next to her, who are reading over some blueprints.
You stand there, hoping Spinel hasn't seen you. She doesn't know your class got moved, but you're positive she was supposed to be working with not Bismuth today. Great. You don't need a reason to be any more anxious about this than you are, even if seeing her pink hair kind of sets you also at ease.
More people and gems walk by loudly, and you start to wonder if you're going to need a megaphone. You grab your stack of papers, and go over your notes on your bench while you bide your time until it's noon.
About five minutes pass, and someone sits next to you on your bench.
"Heyyyy." A familiar voice speaks, and you look up - you're greeted with the smiling face of that rose quartz you've bumped into twice. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Oh, it's you," You reply, a bit off-guard. You weren't expecting anyone to sit and chat with you, nonetheless the very specific gem you keep randomly meeting.
"Saw you sitting here, and wanted to say hello before I went to this class I signed up for," She holds out her hand, her bright smile not making you feel as uneasy as it did the previous day. "I realized I never introduced myself. You can call me Rosie, if you want. The other quartzes have taken a liking to it."
"Rosie, huh.. that's actually a nice name. Mine's Y/N." You return her smile, and shake her hand.. which is strangely soft.
"Are you here for the lesson too? I'm pretty excited about this one, this has to be the most interesting class they've got on the current schedule right now." She leans in, putting an arm up on the bench back for support. More gems have started to gather in the centre now.
"I am, but I'm actually the one teaching it.." You reply almost sheepishly, and her eyes widen in response.
"You're teaching it?!" She lights up immediately. "I thought it was just gonna be one of the other gems! No wonder so many came here from Homeworld for this!"
"... you're pulling my leg, right? How would any of them have heard of this? We only posted this class within the last week, and just on the singular board." You feel the bubbles of dread in your stomach. Or maybe that's just the excessive caffeine.
"I heard a couple talking about fliers over there, I'm not sure, but they were so excited." She takes a second to look around, and lowers her voice briefly. "I heard that one of the Diamonds wanted to attend, even."
WHAT. Your brain cannot deal with this information.
"B-but they're not, right?" You hear your voice waver, and you push your creeping anxiety down. "I don't think I can deal with a Diamond here, today."
She laughs, and it's not mockingly. It's almost sweet, actually.
"That would be something, wouldn't it?" She winks at you, a light smile on her face. "But no. I don't see their gaudy ships, so I think you can rest easy."
“Phewwwww,” You dramatically wipe your hands down your face, and let out a groan. “I was so worried there for a sec. What would the Diamonds care about interacting with humans, anyway? So absurd.”
“I have no idea,” She giggles at your antics. “Your guess would be about as good as mine.”
You see Spinel staring in your general direction, and your heart rate speeds up when you see her eyes connect with yours. Her face lights up like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen in her life, and you can’t stop the goofy smile that breaks out on your face. You wave at her, and she nearly drops the box she’s holding to enthusiastically wave back.
“Who’s that?” Rosie asks, face turned to peer at Spinel way over there.
“My girlfriend.” Is what comes out of your mouth automatically, and she whips her head back to stare at you with a strange face.
“You’re dating a gem?!” She hisses out, clearly shocked as her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.
“Yes - jeez, why does everyone always react this way - and it’s not THAT weird, before you ask,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.
“And a Spinel, of all gems? No offense.” She looks back over to stare at said pink-haired gem, before turning back to you.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You give her a look, taking immediate offense to her statement. She brings her hands up in defense.
“I didn’t mean it like - It’s just, Spinels seemed to always be designed for friendship; not romance. I’ve physically witnessed three dating catastrophes between them and other gems, in my time.”
“Well, my Spinel is perfectly fine.” You say, and it comes out a little more aggressively than you had wanted, and she recoils a bit. “But thanks for your concern.”
“I'm sorry, it wasn’t my intention to offend you.” She at least has the decency to look apologetic. “How long have you two been dating?”
“We just started this week..” You answer.
“New relationship, huh.” She looks like she’s studying your face, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. “I do wish you two the best,”- There’s a sudden low murmur in the group of gems nearby you, and you look over to see what they’re mumbling about.
Fucking hell.
Jasper, yeah THAT Jasper, is standing over in the now pretty fucking large crowd of gems that’s gathered to attend your class, and you don’t know whether to laugh or scream.
“Whoa, she’s huge.” Rosie does a double-take at said gem, eyes widening hilariously.
“Yeah, a huge bitch. Jasper fucking hates humans, why the hell is she even here?” You groan, hoping that maybe she’ll just sit quietly and not make any remarks or heckle the other students.
"You know her?" She asks, amused by your response.
"Unfortunately, thanks to Steven."
"That kid is some kind of magnet for problems of all shapes and sizes." She laughs, shaking her head.
"You don't even know the half of it.." You give her a tired look, and she laughs even more. She asks you a few more questions about Steven and your life, and you answer them truthfully while attempting to distract your anxiety.
-
A hundred gems is your turnout. A bit over, actually, and a handful of humans too.
You maybe feel just a little in over your head with this, but, well.. it's too late now. You spot quite a few gems you've seen before in the crowd, as well as Onion of course, and your neighbor George. You even spot Buck sitting in the middle of a group of Lapis who look like they're discussing heavy gossip with him, and he's actually engaged. Interesting.
There are.. so many eyes peering at you. You've never talked to a crowd this big in your entire life, and public speaking has never been your strong suit. But these gems came here for a specific reason, and goddammit, the thought of Pearl or Sour Cream teaching this instead in your place just doesn't sit right with you at this point.
You greet the class once the volume dies down enough, and a wave of enthusiastic greetings come back at you. You see Garnet in the corner and she gives you a thumbs up, and honestly it makes you feel a lot better that she's here.
You start off with your orientation notes, and talk generally about the basics, mainly about the similarities between gems and humans as common ground. Literally only about three minutes into this class, and a quartz that is most likely from Homeworld raises her hand. You call on her.
"Is it true that humans eat their younglings?" She shouts out from the middle of the crowd, her vibrant purple hair half covering one of her eyes.
"Er," You stumble on your words, a little perturbed that that's the first question you get. "No, humans don't eat their young at all, you're probably confusing us with some other species."
She nods, like that sounds like the right answer, and then about twenty more hands shoot up.
"Let's save the questions until I at least get through this pile of papers, guys," You insist, and a noise of disapproval comes from near the front left side of the group. You turn your head, and.. it's fucking Jasper. Does she know that you'd throw hands with her if it were not for the fact that you're trying to be professional?
You completely ignore her, and continue on with what you were previously talking about.
A good 20-25 minutes pass, and you're now in a good place to stop so people can ask their questions. A few humans you don't recognize ask you about how you know so much, and you answer truthfully. You briefly talk about living with Steven and the Crystal Gems, and how easy it was to co-exist.
A LOT more hands pop up after that.
"This might sound strange, but how do you ask a human to be friends?" The Lapis you call on asks.
"You can just ask. Humans do it too. Sometimes people prefer to form them naturally though, but if you guys are already talking then it's a good sign."
"But what about if they scream at you?" Another gem blurts out, and you curb the bark of laughter that wants to escape from your mouth.
"Generally speaking, what do you do if a gem screams at you? Same principle. Guys, humans and gems are way more similar than you think, and communication is key in this." At least your voice is steady, and you don't really feel as anxious as you were before, since the class seems to actually be going smoother than you had thought.
The giant hand of the Morganite in the middle of the crowd waves frantically, and you call on her with amusement. It's kind of cute how excited and interested a lot of the gems are. "You seem to have a ton of gem friends, and I have no human friends! Could you be my first?" She yells at you.
"Oh, I don't see why not," You answer truthfully, feeling a bit sheepish and taken aback by her request. Once those words leave your lips though, half the crowd starts shouting - ME! ME TOO! COULD YOU BE MY FRIEND?? - and you can't help feeling a little flustered as you try to calm the class down, taking a few more regular questions to keep it going.
You don't even realize through the noise of the center of little Homeworld when you spot a camera crew at the edge of your crowd, setting something up. It's the fucking local news station, what the FUUUUUUUUCK. You try not to outwardly display your internal panic and it's proving to be one of the hardest things you've ever done.
"When did you get that scar?" Jasper stares at you from her seat, pointing to your face.
You freeze momentarily at the lack of tact in that question, and that's when you spot Spinel off to the side of the class, at the edge of the crowd of students. Your brain stutters.
"U-um. It was during an accident with my girlfriend." You blurt out quickly, and instantly regret those words. You should've fucking lied or something because you can see Rosie narrowing her eyes at you in the front.
"Is that why you look like that now?" Jasper grunts out, crossing her arms. If you could throttle her you would in a heartbeat.
"Yes." You state firmly, meeting her gaze. She looks a little surprised at your answers. "Anyway, moving on." You hear a few murmurs in the crowd after that, opting to ignore how anxious it makes you.
You answer a few more questions, and try to not look at Spinel who keeps raising her hand with the rest of the gems. Shouldn't she be working?! Oh god, of course the camera crew is actually filming something - you can barely offhandedly hear the reporter spouting off something about little Homeworld into the camera as it pans around him.
Your heartbeats are hammering in your chest, but you move onto more questions and try to keep your cool. Eventually you can't ignore how obnoxiously your girlfriend is raising and waving her hand trying to get your attention - several gems around her keep pointing at her so you'll give her a chance.
Oh, little do they know.
You sigh, resigning to letting her ask a question.
"Spinel." You call on her with a pointer finger as neutrally as possible, which is way harder than you had thought.
"Finally!" She cries with a fist pump, and a few people around her chuckle. "I just wanted ‘ta ask, is it possible for a gem and a human to fuse?”
You feel yourself freeze on the spot, taken completely by surprise. There’s a couple murmurs among the crowd.
Why the fuck is she asking that.
“U-um, no, unfortunately there’s no way to do that because of the differences in our biological make-up,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment - there are so many eyes staring at you.
“Well that sucks!” A random gem in the crowd shouts, and quite a few gems erupt in laughter.
You try your best to wind them down and finish with their many, many questions.
It isn’t long until the class is over - you had only taken up hour sessions, and you’re so thankful for it. The class went over well, and many gems walk up to you to chat and shake your hand, and the local news station seems to be interviewing a couple gems on what went on - you guess there’s some sort or segment they’re doing on Little Homeworld, and today just happens to be the day they chose to do that.
You avoid the camera crew as much as possible as you tidy up your belongings, and Spinel walks up to you as you gather your papers in your arms.
“That went pretty good!” She beams at you, looking proud. You squash your feelings of affection that overwhelm you - you wish you could kiss her if you were not in public.
“Yeah, and if you ever ask me a question like that in my classes again, I’m actually going to ban you. I’ll even put up a photo of your face so the other’s know to barr you from the class.” You scoff at her, and she completely disregards it, getting a little closer to you to give you a look that you recognise as her challenging you.
“That wouldn’t work on me anyway,” She grins, hand raising up to tuck the stray hair that just flew into your face - she looks to the side of you briefly as you hear footsteps and speaking -
FUCKKK, THE REPORTER IS WALKING RIGHT OVER HERE.
Your eyes dart back to Spinel, body posed to leave. “U-Um, I gotta-”
“Ma’am! Maaaaa’am!” You hear the reporter shout at you.
Cool cool, keep it cool. Just breathe. You want to vomit.
"You two look pretty close." He remarks as he jogs up to you, slightly out of breath. The cameraman follows him, and if you could run you would. But you'd rather not be turned into a local meme, so your feet are firmly planted in the spot. "I wanted to catch you before you left, Miss Teacher!" He smiles brightly at you - that you know is just for the camera.
"I was just finishing up." You smile politely.
"I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding the class you just held if that's alright with you?" He asks, adjusting the small mic on his collar. He also holds up the microphone that the logo of the local news station is emblazoned on.
"Sure." You feel your nerves go haywire. This is way, waaaay too much pressure for you, you feel like you're going to faint, the fucking cameraman just winked at you.
"What's your name, firstly."
"Y/N." You answer him with just your first name, and he gives you a look.
"Last name? You gotta have a last name." He insists.
You tell him your last name, and his eyebrows furrow before they shoot up into his hairline.
"Last name, last name?" He implores, holding the microphone closer to your face. "Like, -last name- the lawyer working on that Gem case in Empire city, -last name-!?"
Oh. You forgot about your father.
"Y-yes," You stutter out in a panic, and instantly regret waking up this morning.
God fucking dammit.
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Love & Brotherhood Epilogue (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy!AU, mob!AU)
Summary: Sequel to Ride & Prejudice. Now that you’re married to Steve, ghosts from both your pasts are coming to haunt you. A power move by your brother-in-law sets off a chain reaction: many truths are uncovered and your beloved cowboy’s righteous nature may lead him to getting his hands dirty.
Warnings: kidnapping, non-con, gang/mob violence, gun violence, death, physical altercations, sibling abuse (mental/physical), trauma, swearing, major angst, smut. This will be darker compared to Ride & Prejudice.
A/N: And suddenly...this story has come to an end. maybe.
Main Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Previous Chapter
The rest of September paints the leaves bright, warm colors. Sam delivers beautiful pumpkins for you and Nat to turn into various desserts. At night, when Steve breathes in your hair, he comments that you smell of cinnamon and clove.
October brought plans to build an extension for your home, one that will allow Peter to have a more private space. Though, after some convincing, there’s a need to expand more.
Steve, ever stubborn, refuses to leave your side unless it’s absolutely necessary. With Bucky and Nat taking turns going out with the cows to pasture with Thor and Peter, sometimes three isn’t enough to handle twenty cows. Above that, Thor still has the hardware store to run, despite his younger brother taking up some management roles in his absence.
It’s then that Steve decides (after much persuasion from you) to post a job listing for a new cattle hand, bringing in one Carol Danvers into the picture.
Tall, thin and blonde, the woman was truly a formidable goddess. She moved with an air that said “Don’t mess with me” and clearly possessed a domineering aura that competed with Steve’s. Completely adept, she’s the perfect addition, easily adjusting to life on the ranch.
November brings many tasks. After plans for expanding the house were approved, Steve, Bucky, Peter, Carol and occasionally Thor got to working straight away. Setting foundations in what was formerly your backyard, they built a deck and started construction on a two bedroom casita. At the end of the days, you would patch up not only Steve, but Peter and Thor as well. Their construction was set to be finished by the end of your pregnancy if all went well.
Just before Thanksgiving, Steve brings you to the hospital for an ultrasound.
You change into a hospital gown, laying back and trying to get comfortable despite your nerves.
“Hey,” Steve says, taking one of your hands in his, “Everything’s gonna be fine. Doctor said there’s no need to be worried.”
Exhaling slowly, you nod. Pulling your hand out of his grasp, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Back to its normal length, you smile as you continue running your fingers through the locks. The hand that once held yours gravitates to rest on your belly.
There’s a knock at the door and you both look, seeing your OB/GYN come in.
Handshakes and pats on the shoulders are exchanged before she starts giving a quick rundown of items this scan will cover. Once everything’s been discussed, she puts on a pair of gloves and grabs a bottle of the infamous gel that is used during ultrasounds (infamous because you’ve seen it on TV and heard it from your friends back home...it’s cold). You do indeed flinch at the temperature, causing Steve to jump.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you answer, putting your hand up, “It’s just cold.”
He relaxes and chuckles, taking your hand again.
The doctor smoothes the gel over your entire belly, a little swollen, and turns on the machine before retrieving the transducer to press on your belly.
“I’m just going to push down slightly…”
Once she gets a good placement of the device on your stomach, she turns her attention to the monitor.
The black screen shows fuzzy splashes of gray and the picture changes as you feel the transducer move lower. You take a few deep breaths--it tickles a little.
Suddenly, all the thoughts in your mind give way to dread when you hear something that sounds like an alarmingly fast heart rate. Concern curtains your face and your doctor furrows her brows. Fuzzy gray spots splash across the screen before you see it: a singular...wait...
“I think…! Hold on,” your doctor says excitedly, moving the transducer again, trying to catch the image from another angle. “Oh, look at that!”
“What?” Steve asks, completely in the dark, “What is it?”
He frantically looks at the screen before looking at you, then the doctor.
“You’re having twins!” she answers, absolutely tickled pink.
You remember what your husband had said to you months ago, when you decided to start trying for a baby.
“Well, I’m just thinkin’ if I’m a twin, we should probably be prepared for that. Genetics and all.”
He sputters for a moment, choppy “t” and “tw” sounds escaping his mouth before he gets up and leans in very close to the screen. A finger points to one gray blob and then moves to the other.
“Twins?” he asks, “Two?”
“Yes,” the doctor smiles.
“Two!!!”
When he looks at you, you can see the exhilaration in his face. His whole body shakes with it and he almost looks like he’s going to explode.
“Steve,” you laugh, “Calm down, I don’t want you to combust.”
“Oh but I could!” he nearly shouts, causing some chuckles to bubble from the doctor. When he sits down next to you, his momentum causes the chair to roll a little too far and you laugh. You’ve never seen him so spastic since your wedding day.
The doctor timidly tells you she does still need to take some measurements and do a checkup, so Steve reins in his emotions to sit through the rest of the appointment. After ballparking your pregnancy at three months, she sends you home with more information packets and a list of recommended maternity books to pick up.
After coming home, you share the news at dinner, drawing excitement from everyone around the table. Bucky grabs Steve by the shoulders and gives him a good shake to express his congratulations. Nat’s elation mimics what you saw when you first discovered your pregnancy and Carol gives you a light punch on the arm before completely socking Steve in the arm. He doesn’t expect it, flinching back and throwing her a glare while holding his hand over the now tender spot on his bicep. She just shrugged and returned to eating her pasta. Peter, who’s holding Winnie in his lap, makes her clap her hands as she giggles.
From dinner to tucking Winnie in with Nat, she gushes about all the baby prep that she can’t wait to help you with. Steve holds your hand while you walk home with Peter and Carol, and you bid them goodnight before retreating to your respective bedrooms.
You and Steve go through your bedtime routine, brushing your teeth and flossing and changing into pajamas because you ask him to braid your hair. Sat between his legs, you feel so relaxed as he weaves pieces of your hair into a neat plait and fastens the ends with a hair tie. He doesn’t give you a chance to move, wrapping his arms around your middle to rest his palms over your belly. You feel the prickle of his beard on the crook of your neck when he rests his chin there.
“They’re in there,” he whispers. You can hear the smile in his voice. Resting your hands over his, you weave your fingers in with his as best you can.
“Yeah,” you smile, “They are.”
“My babies,” he mutters, sounding a little watery.
You giggle and pinch the back of his hand, “Our babies, you doofus.”
He hums in agreement. “Of course,” he chuckles, pressing bristly kisses up your neck and into your cheek. More giggles bubble from you and you lean back to give him access to your mouth. His kiss is firm and says so many things without him needing to use words.
You settle into bed, warm and safe in the corner, cuddled next to Steve. Looking into his eyes, you have no doubts that you will be able to weather anything the future holds for you as long as he’s next to you. One more kiss is placed on your forehead.
“Goodnight, sugar cube.”
Tagging: @andiebell2023 @jhayes6984 @downheartedboi @deidrashouseofpain @what-is-your-plan-today @brooklyn-1918 @dumblani @leosandbuckysgirl @jamielea81 @pinkleopardss @ntlmundy @widowvinter @loveleighwhannell @inactivewhore @buchanansebba @asiaaisa77 @icanfeelastormbrewing @saiyanprincessswanie @fckdeusername @asleepywirewolf @abbyalee @patzammit @mycornerofthefandoms @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @disneylovingal
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fic#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x you#avengers fanfiction#avengers x reader#mcu fanfiction#mcu fic#Love & Brotherhood#ficsofpagesoflauren
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kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue vi. finale
the day of
Warnings: non/dub con sex (intercourse, oral)
This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.
Summary: Things are laid out for the reader.
Note: So this is the last part of the epilogue. I’m not gonna promise a sequel but I will leave the possibility open in the future. Maybe we’ll see our reader again somewhere down the road. But to all those who have read and supported this series, thank you. I appreciate you and I love you. You guys don’t realize how much you mean. I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog or like (feel free to leave your thoughts in a reply if you don’t wanna reblog)!
...
On Wednesday, you sat your midterm in the morning and if it wasn’t for your still tender ass, it would’ve been perfect. You walked out confident. You were one of the first to finish and that allotted you a whole hour and a half between the exam and your next class.
You took out your phone, on airplane mode for the test, and flipped it back into service. Several messages littered your inbox, all from one man. Steve texted last night after your meeting with Bucky but hadn’t shown up to your relief. For once, his business kept him from you.
You scrolled through the bubbles: ‘good luck, sweetie,’ ‘call me when your done’, etc. His impatience was obvious even though he’d known you wouldn’t see til now. You headed for the cafe below the library and ordered your usual before you hit call.
You sat in the corner as the steam rose from the paper cup and the other end picked up almost immediately. “Uh, hey,” You turned and looked out the window onto campus. The trees were barren and the leaves dried and dying. The city’s first snow was imminent.
“Hey, sweetie,” You could hear him moving around as he spoke. “How was the exam?”
“Good, good,” You bent a leg over the other and sat nervously on the edge of your chair. “I think, at least.”
“Great. You got classes too?” He asked and you rubbed your chin. Should you mention Bucky and the evening appointment. Let him know that you’d been sussed out.
“Till five,” You answered and pushed back your dread. “Mostly review. The rest of my midterms are next week.”
“Well, you got early classes tomorrow?” He prodded.
“Why do you ask?” You glanced around and blew over the top of your cup.
“Why do you think?” You could hear his smirk. “I’ve got dinner with Kylie tonight. Should be done by eight. I thought maybe you’d wanna meet up after.”
“Oh…” You tapped your fingers on the side of the cup. “I don’t know…” It felt wrong, sneaking in after a visit from his daughter; your friend. “Maybe I should just have a quiet night in.”
“It’s your call but I leave Friday morning. It might be our last chance.” He sounded disappointed despite his nonchalant words.
“Hmm,” You thought and silence buzzed on the line. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“When you leave, is this all...over?” You had to force the last word out. It didn’t want to rise though you knew it needed to.
He laughed softly. It was comforting, not mocking. “Sweetie, we’ll talk about all that tonight. So, how about I pick you up at nine?”
You sat back and swung your leg nervously. “Okay, nine,” You acquiesced.
“See ya then, sweetie,” He replied smugly. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yeah?” Your heart fluttered. You wondered for a moment if Bucky had confronted him too. You braced the table and held your breath.
“Check your mailbox.” He said. “And wear something nice.”
“O-okay,” You stuttered as you exhaled, your chest ready to burst. “I’ll see you at nine.”
The line clicked and you set your phone face down beside your coffee. You sat back and crossed your arms. This was all getting very complicated. And messy.
-
Your classes passed slowly. You scribbled down the notes for your review and tried not to let your mind wander. As you walked across campus and headed for the subway, your phone vibrated. You huffed and pulled it out as you walked blindly by the buildings.
‘You free tonight, girl. Party at 10.’ Kylie’s message blinked at you. You stopped and once more a storm of nerves swept over you. Your finger hovered over the screen as you tried to muster your latest lie. ‘Sorry. Studying tonight. Maybe this weekend.’ Her response was quick; terse. ‘Boo’.
As you stood in the middle of campus, the last few days mounted on your shoulders. What were you doing? You were sneaking around like some character on an HBO serial. You should’ve been on your way home to study and not to wait around for you illicit lover. Or thinking about the night you’d just spent with your professor.
You broke from your shameful trance and rushed past the other students. You didn’t want to wait around for the third train of the hour. You reached the platform just as the train was ready to close its doors. You clung to the bar as it sped along the tunnels and counted the stops.
You had more than enough time to eat before your little rendezvous. Your building was grim as you walked up to it. You almost forgot to stop at your mailbox as you entered and you found a small black box inside. You took it and the monthly university newsletter and head up to your bachelor.
You shoved a thin crust in the oven and sat on your bed as you streamed to your small television. You waited for the timer to tick down and opened the small black box. You rolled your eyes as you pulled out the folded lace. Sheer white with floral embroidery; it offered little cover, if any. The panties were high-waisted and the bra thinly strapped. Steve had more than just another meet-up in mind.
You texted him as you ate your pizza. ‘Really?’ He replied with a winky emoji and nothing else. You finished your dinner, washed your face and freshened your hair. You wore a simple. long-sleeved dress over the lingerie; a blush coloured sheath you still had the tags on. Your legs would be cold but you didn’t expect to be outside much.
As time wore on, your anxiety piqued. You paced in your wedged boots. Second thoughts and eager expectations mingled into a maelstrom inside of you. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand and you unplugged it as the clock read 9:07. The singular text greeted you. ‘Here.’
You took a breath and grabbed your plain black coat and buttoned it up to your chin. Your purse hung from your elbow as you locked the door behind you and tripped down the stairs two at a time. You nearly fell on your face as you emerged onto the crooked walkway and Steve’s rover loomed along the curb.
You opened the door and slipped inside. “Hey,” You said breathily as you buckled up. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. When you were strapped in he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips to yours. He was eager.
“Hey,” He pulled away and looked out on the street. “You look nice, sweetie.”
You smiled and thanked him quietly as he pulled out.
“Did you eat?” He asked as he stared at the road.
“Yes, I did, dad,” You said mockingly but your voice cracked and died in a deathly silence.
He stopped at a sign and looked over at you. You shyly glanced over and he smiled the moment your eyes met. “I’d prefer daddy, but whatever you like, sweetie.” Your cheeks burned as he chuckled and you played nervously with a button on your coat.
“I didn’t mean too…” You muttered.
“It was funny.” He assured you as he turned his attention back to driving. “Cute.”
You nodded and kept quiet, afraid of another slip. Freud would be all too excited to be a passenger on this ride. You tilted your head as he turned away from downtown; away from his hotel.
“Where are we going?” You asked meekly.
“It’s a surprise,” He said coyly. “Are you wearing it?”
“Y-yes.” You crossed your arms and kept track of each turn in your head.
When he stopped, you looked up at the high-rise and blinked in confusion. Your apartment was little more than a closet compared to the penthouses housed in this upscale building. You still had no idea what was going on.
Steve got out and came around to open your door as you gaped. Your heels wobbled beneath you as you stepped out and he typed on his phone with one hand as he offered you his other. He tucked his phone away and led you up the broad steps of the building and past the tall fountain that crested the lawn.
“Steve...?” Your eyes lit up as you took in the extravagance. Well, compared to your digs.
“I told you, it’s a surprise, sweetie.” He let go of your hand and opened the front door for you.
He was past you in an instant and rang the buzzer with the touch pad. Only a long buzz sounded in response and he opened the next door. You were fidgety in the elevator. The ascent was silent as you peeked over at Steve several times. Only a knowing smirk in response; devious.
As the doors opened, you stepped out into the single floor penthouse. The dark hardwood floors were pristine and polished and the large living room was bookmarked between a tall brick fireplace and a set of glass shelves decorated with degrees, awards, and a menagerie of ornaments.
You stopped as Steve closed the elevator lock up behind you. You turned back to him and shook your head in confusion. He neared and framed your face with his hands as he leaned in to kiss you.
“Be good, sweetie.” He kissed you again and stood straight. He smiled over your head and you sensed another.
“Why don’t you take off your coats and settle in?” Bucky asked and his blue eyes flicked towards you. “You want anything from the bar?”
You looked between them. Your heartbeat had doubled and you felt light headed. “What’s going on?”
“We talked,” He said cryptically. “It’s all good, sweetie.”
He unbuttoned your coat for you as you stared at him dumbly. He slipped it down your arms and you snapped out of your trance. You watched him hang your coat next to his and turned back to the room. Bucky was behind the bar with three glasses set out.
“So, what’s it gonna be? Gin, scotch, I’ve got some wine.” He offered.
“I…” Steve nudged you and you edge into the living room. Steve passed you and sat on the chaise, his hand patted the space beside him. “Gin and ice is fine, thank you.”
You sat beside Steve and clasped your hands together. You wondered if alcohol was a wise decision but it would help with your nerves. Your mind began to run wild with possibilities. Whatever they had planned couldn’t just be talking.
Steve’s hand went to your lower back as Bucky neared with the glasses. He handed you one and Steve another, and sat with his own on the other side of you. You were trapped between the two men on the chaise. You gulped down half the drink and crossed your legs.
“Slow down, baby, it’s gonna be a long night,” Bucky grinned and sipped from his own glass. “Did you talk to her?”
“I figured there wasn’t much to say,” Steve shrugged. “You want both of us, don’t you, sweetie?”
Your eyes threatened to pop out of your head as you glanced between them. You drained the last of your gin and bent over to set it on the table. “Uh, yeah, I…” You blinked and focused on the ice, “Well, I mean...I…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow.” Steve assured you. “We just wanna get this all sorted out before I leave. When I’m gone, Bucky will look after you.”
Bucky placed his glass beside yours, the dark alcohol barely touched. His hand went to your thigh and Steve rubbed your back soothingly. You were tempted to drink Bucky’s whiskey for him. Steve took another swig and added a third tumbler to the table. He grabbed your other thigh and both men squeezed as they leaned closer.
“Why don’t you show Bucky your little surprise?” Steve purred.
You tilted your head, confused at first, and Steve’s fingers ran up your back. The lingerie. You nodded and stood, glad to be free of their touch. You looked down at your body and slowly turned to face them. You bent to unzip your scuffed wedges and stepped out of them. Your dress felt thinner as you lifted your eyes to them. Steve nodded for you to go on.
You reached back and tugged down your zipper. As the dress loosened you paused and both men watched eagerly. What were you doing? Six months ago, you were a reticent virgin and now you were in some sordid ritual with these two men.
The heat of their gaze nipped at your doubts and you pulled the zipper down entirely. You let the sleeves fall down your arms and the swish of the skirts as the dress fell to your feet was your white flag. It was done. There was no turning back.
You dared to look at them. Steve grinned and Bucky’s brows shot up. They both shifted on the chaise and you kept your hands to your sides, nervously waiting for the next move.
“It’s all you,” Steve intoned as he stood. He brushed past you, his hand tickled your thigh and he pinched your ass. You watched as he crossed the room and sat on the couch opposite. He sank into the cushion and draped his arm along the back. “Take your time.”
Bucky’s hand on yours drew you back to him. He pulled you closer until you stood between his knees. You looked down at him as his hands explored your body. He cupped your tits through the sheer fabric, your nipples hardened against his palm. He tickled along your waist and hips and snaked around to squeeze your ass.
“Sit down,” He nodded beside him.
You did as he said without thinking. He turned to you and brought his hand up behind your neck. He kissed you forcefully and pushed his hand between your thighs. You opened your mouth to his as he devoured you and tucked your fingers beneath his belt. He groaned as you clung to the top of his pants.
He pulled your legs apart and dragged his fingers along the crotch of your pants. You moaned and he slid his fingers beneath the fabric. He pushed between your folds and circled your clit. You parted and gasped at the sudden tingle.
He slipped from the chaise and to his knees. He came up between your legs and continued to play with you. He hooked his fingers under the panties and pulled them aside as he replaced his hand with his mouth. You were entranced by the sight of him knelt before you. His dark hair was streaked with silver but thick. You leaned back on your hands as he teased you with his tongue.
Your eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. Steve hadn’t moved. His eyes sparkled as he watched intently. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back as you sank into Bucky. He licked and suckled as his hand crawled along your thigh. He traced around your entrance and shoved two fingers inside. Your legs tensed and your nails dug into the cushion.
He curled his fingers and you moaned louder. His tongue never stopped as he started to move his hand. The last of your insecurity disappeared and you could think of was the whirlwind of nerves spiraling around your core. You latched onto the back of Bucky’s head and pushed him deeper as you beckoned your climax closer. He hummed as his tongue lured you onward until you were shaking and sputtering in unyielding ecstasy.
He didn't stop until you were out of breath and mewling. He lifted his head and let your panties go. "Lay down, baby."
You pulled your legs up and spread out on the chaise as you came down from your high. Bucky stood and undressed as his eyes roved your body. He was thicker than Steve, his stomach not as toned but still in good shape. You realized you'd never seen him naked despite your lurid meetings.
He climbed up with you, again between your legs. He grabbed your legs and pulled them up to rest against his chest. Next he gripped you hips and dragged you down the chaise. His tip pressed against you and slipped between your folds.
He entered you and let out a long breath. You whined as he bottomed out. A flood of relief flowed through you and you reached back to claw the end of the chaise.
As he began to thrust, the chaise groaned and world seemed to quake beneath you. Each time he rocked his hips, he sped up just a little; faster, deeper. Your moans kept time with him and your voice rose in a symphony.
Your eyes rolled back and Bucky held your ankles against his shoulders as he hammered into you. Your back arched and you growled like an animal in heat. Your voice, his, the sound of your flesh together, drove you wild and bloomed in a paralysing orgasm.
Bucky's hand slipped down to your thighs and pushed your legs higher. He pounded into you and grunted louder and louder as he neared his peak. You egged him on as you reached around your hip to touch his thigh.
He let go of your legs and pinned your hands beside your head as he raised himself on his knees. He fucked you harder as he held you to the plush cushion and you whimpered as another explosion shook your core.
He sank into you with drawn out thrusts and snarled. He pulled out and released your wrists. His cum shot out along your pelvis and along your pussy. He spread it between your folds with his cock and leaned back on his heels. Satisfied.
"Bring her over here," Steve's voice scared you. You'd forgotten he was there.
Bucky, panting and sweaty, took your hand and pulled you off the chaise. You followed him blindly, your head in a spin. Steve stood too, as methodical in undressing as Bucky. He smirked as Bucky sat you down and you slumped onto your side.
Bucky backed away as Steve lowered himself onto the couch. He pulled your leg up as he slid between you and the back of the couch. He hooked his thick arm under you and draped your leg over his. He played with your thrumming clit before he lined himself up with your entrance.
He impaled you slowly. He breath whisked across your cheek and he continued to play with your bud as he moved inside you.
"She was a virgin, you know that?" He said to Bucky as he rocked his hips. "When we met. She's still tight, isn't she?" He nibbled your ear and growled as Bucky's shadow loomed in your peripheral.
"A quick learner," Bucky remarked.
You barely heard their little aside. You were too bound up in this bliss to care. That voice in the back of your head was smothered by that louder one which had taken over of late.
Who cared if they were using you, you were using them too. You enjoyed it just as much and why shouldn't you? Sex was sex and you were only human.
You lifted your head as Bucky neared and sat on the other end of the couch. He shifted so that your head was in his lap as Steve continued to fuck you. He turned your head and forced your mouth around his cock. He was still a little soft but quickly stiffened as you began to bob your head.
You found it harder to keep your mouth working as Steve's fingers and cock stoked your core. Bucky held the back of your neck to keep you from pulling away. You hummed around his cock and squeaked as you came in a series of twitches.
Steve turned you onto your stomach as Bucky stayed in your mouth. Steve pinned your legs with his thighs as he pounded into you and the cushions bounced under you. Their grunts were deep and rhythmic. Hypnotic, even.
"Ah, fuck, sweetie, I'm gonna cum," Steve growled. "Shit."
He slammed into you one last time before he pulled out. He came on your pussy and added to the mess you'd become. Bucky didn't stop, didn't waver as he guided your mouth up and down his length. You pushed yourself up just a little and tended to him fervently.
"Shit," Bucky swore and caressed the top of your head. "I'm gonna cum all over your face, baby. Come on."
He tugged on your hair and you removed your mouth with a pop. You stroked him with your hand and his cum spurted out along your lips and cheeks and dribbled down your chin.
You let go, out of breath, and Steve pulled you up by your arm and let you pant against the couch. You were shaky, numb but oversensitive, your vision hazy and yet vivid. You tasted Bucky's salty cum and your fingers dipped between your legs to feel the slickness there.
"Do you understand, sweetie?" Steve spoke softly as he pushed your hair back and kissed your temple. "When I leave, Bucky will take care of everything you need. Can you be a good girl for him?"
You nodded dully and your eyes lolled over to look at Bucky as he leaned back and sighed. Steve's hand fell, traced the line of your collar bone, cupped your tit, and walked along your stomach to the top of your vee.
"You want another drink, sweetie?" He coaxed. "A little break?"
You blinked and licked your lips, the cool cum was sticky. You placed your hand on Steve's and pushed it between your legs. "I don't need a break."
#dad!steve rogers x reader#dad!steve rogers#Professor Barnes#professor!bucky barnes#professor!bucky barnes x reader#Bucky Barnes#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#stucky x reader#dark!fic#fic#au#series#kiss me in the d-a-r-k#mcu#marvel fanfiction#captain america#dark!#more manipulative I guess with some dubcon mixed in
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Author Spotlight : InsightfulInsomniac Day 3
Author Spotlight : InsightfulInsomniac (@zigxzag-klaine)
How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?
Um. I rarely ever revise before posting. I’ve maybe revised once or twice. Once I post it, I’ll read through it on AO3 and fix any accidental typos that I catch, but that’s it. I churn it out and post it often on the same day... so. That’s my style, and it’s a bit insane, but that’s me!
If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?
I think I’d like to revisit “A Tale of Two Toothbrushes.” I love it, and it’s a really sweet fic of mine, but I could see myself revising it a bit. I just think that’s I’ve grown in my writing since then, and I have a better grasp on the characters than I did at that moment. That being said, I still love it.
What do you look for in a beta?
I actually don’t have one... oops. However, my younger sister does read over every fanfic I write and lets me bounce ideas off of her when I have writer’s block, so she’s definitely my unofficial beta. What I’d look for is a genuine interest in the characters and storylines that they’re subjected to!
If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
I’d choose to write the sequel of one of my favorite one shots of all time, “I Saw the Signs,” by Skivvysupreme. It’s about Burt realizing everything about the aftermath of 3x05 “The First Time,” and I’d love to continue that fic. I’ve written a little around my own take on that arc, but theirs is just so perfect that I’d love to continue it.
Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?
I am the definition of being strictly canon-compliant. That’s where I exist comfortably in my writing, and I’m always so impressed by people who can write beyond it! However, I genuinely love being confined to canon, because it allows for analysis and expansion of tangible concepts that exist in the Glee universe!
Talk about a review that made your day.
Oh wow, literally every review makes my day, but one that sticks out to me as of recently was from a lovely returning reader. They had noted at the beginning of their very long comment that they started reading and then decided to open up the comment window in another tab so they could comment as they went because they knew they’d forget everything they’d want to say. They then proceeded to point out their favorite lines and moments within the entire 7000 word story, and it made my day! I also love the reviews that say that my canon is now their canon, because I write a lot of future fics — knowing that I’ve stuck true to the characters even while continuing their lives according to my own universe is always such an encouraging compliment.
Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?
I find that most of the community on AO3 is exceedingly sweet, so it’s very rare. That being said, I do occasionally get criticism, such as little notes like “I don’t understand this plot point” or “(character) probably wouldn’t say/think that because ____.” Most of the time, I’ll agree with or understand their criticism, and either fix the issue noted or explain why I made that creative choice, and then leave it at that. Sometimes, however, you just have to let it go. I’ve had a few suggestions or criticisms that I just didn’t agree with, so I didn’t respond to them! Again, most of the Glee community on Ao3 is so wonderful, so that’s extremely rare.
What advice do you have for people just starting to write?
Just go for it! Write those ideas that are swimming around in your head, even if they come out incomplete or in need of revision. Don’t ever think that your story is one that’s already been told — you will always offer a new perspective. Don’t be afraid to write what you love, even if it’s been done before. Just write, and if you’re ready to share it with people, take that leap of faith! It’ll be worth it in the end, and you always have room to grow.
Which fic do you most like to discuss with other people? Why?
I’m going to go with a series of mine instead of a singular fic — my dads!klaine series is SO fun to discuss because I adore seeing how people interpret my Klaine kids. They’re all original characters that I’ve created, and they’ve really cemented their individual places in my verse. I love that people get attached to my version Klaine’s kids and accept them as their canon, and I love that they care just as much about them as they do Kurt and Blaine (because I do too)!
What's one aspect of writing fic that gets you really excited?
I’ve talked about this a lot, but the opportunity to fill in and expand upon bits of canon that were either rushed or overlooked in the greater picture that was Glee. I love diving in deep to characters or small moments in time, and fanfic allows authors to do that on their own terms through their own interpretations. I really care about this show and its characters, and I try to show that through my fics.
***
Check out InsightfulInsomniac’s Fics
Missing Moments: The Wedding - Missing moments from 6x08 “The Wedding.” Basically everything we wanted to see that the show didn’t give us, from their decision to get married all the way to the quiet moments alone after the wedding is over.
A Tale of Two Toothbrushes - On Burt’s day off, he decides to do some spring cleaning. When he cleans Kurt’s bathroom, he discovers not one, but two toothbrushes. When he realizes why that is, he decides to make something to help Blaine feel more at home.
Caught Red-Handed - Kurt and Blaine are staying with Burt and Carole for the few days before they leave for their honeymoon. Being newlyweds is one thing, but being newlyweds two doors down from your in-laws is another. Kurt doesn’t seem to care, but Blaine cares a lot.
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