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ohtobeleah · 5 months

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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Eight: [Oh, Honeybee]

Summary: Jake can’t accept why you’d keep such a life-threatening situation a secret and you can’t accept why he suddenly seems to care.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Word Count: 4K

Author Note: Smaller chapter, but still the same level of pain. Let me know what y’all think about the confrontation of it all.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“The fuck?” Bradley Bradshaw hated the festive season. He wasn't a Christmas guy. He didn't have an awful lot of family to celebrate with over the consumerist holiday that was shoved down your throat before mid November. He just wasn't the kinda guy who wanted to get involved in the festivities.

“Who's calling you at ten at night?” Natasha Trace would probably end up regretting her decision to sleep with her co-worker and friend, but the drunken antics she and Rooster had gotten up to earlier in the afternoon ended up with a trip back to his house.

“Its Hangman–” Bradley answered the naked woman beside him as he sat up in the bed he truly never should have brought her back to. He knew Phoenix would end up regretting her decision to sleep with him. A pity fuck they’d both end up calling it. “Hello?”

“Are you busy?” Jake asked as he continued to watch you sleep. It had been a few hours since he got to the hospital and about two since he told your mother to go home for some much deserved rest.

Bradley looked over his shoulder to see Phoenix rolling over, her chest laid flat against the mattress that smelled so much of Bradley. He sighed, peeled the covers up from over his legs and swung them over the side.

“Nah, what’s up? Everything good?” The pair hadn’t always been on good terms, but ever since Jake had ultimately risked his own life to save Roosters, the two had been able to put their differences aside and let bygones be bygones.

“I don’t think I’m coming back after Christmas.” Jake started as he let his head lean against the far too uncomfortable hospital chair he’d been sitting in for the better half of four hours. “Somethings’ happened and I dunno what I’m gonna do man.” It was the tone Jake was using that made Bradley frown as he slipped into his sweats.

“Something happen to one of the kids, man?” Rooster has never heard Jake sound so defeated before. But as he padded down the hall Rooster had to stop in his tracks as Jake explained your current situation. He read the notes right from your chart, from the type of cancer to the stroke you had, how he tried to tuck your hair behind your ear and it fell from your scalp. How he’d tried to win you back, how you’d slept together, how you told him you still loved him yet thought divorce was the best way to go about things. Jake emptied his heart on Bradley sleeve and Bradley didn’t know how to process the pain and anguish Jake was obviously feeling.

“Are you at the hospital right now? With Y/n?”

“Yeah—yeah I just sent Maz, Y/n’s mum home to rest and shit.” Jake ran his hand across his face as he watched the IV bag containing your sedative get smaller and smaller. He wasn’t sure how you were going to react when you woke up and saw he was here. “I’ll probably go between here and her house, the kids are at mum's place and I can’t imagine what they’re thinking knowing that we’re both not there.”

“I could uh—“ Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a Christmas guy, but he was a family first person. “I could fly out? Maybe get the kids from your mum's house and get them back to Rhode Island? I’m not doing anything this Christmas so I’ve got time.”

“Bradshaw,” Jake nearly sobbed. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“It’s nothing, really, you’re one guy man, stay with your wife, or ex wife? I don’t really wanna get into your business but just text me the details when you can and I’ll organise your kids.”

“I’ll text you my sister's number.” Jake replied. “She’ll help you out.” There was no real reason to argue, Jake knew that once Rooster had his mind set on something he was gonna do it.

“No worries, I’m uh—I don’t even know what to say man, I’m so sorry, no one deserves to go through this.” It hit Rooster too close to home, his mother died when he was seventeen from Breast Cancer very similar to yours. It took her quicker than doctors had ever anticipated.

He just hopes you wouldn’t meet the same untimely fate.

“Anything man, anything you need, I'm there.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Time seemed more like an artificial construct as Jake watched Lydia disconnect the line that had been slowly feeding your body with a moderate range sedative. The young nurse looked guilty as she tried to avoid eye contact with the man she had accidentally told private patient information to.

“She’ll slowly start to wake up over the next hour now that she isn’t slowly taking on the sedative.” Lydia explained. “She might be quite irritable and loopy but I’ll have her surgeon come by for assessment once she’s up.”

“When I was about your age I accidentally hit one of my commanding officers' car while pulling out of the car park at the Naval Base I was stationed at.” Jake mentioned as he let himself curl up in the world's most uncomfortable chair. “Point is we all

make mistakes, don’t beat yourself up about it, but I’d definitely be a little more cautious when reading patients emergency contacts.”

“You’re wife’s a pretty strong woman Mr. Seresin.” Lydia smiled. “I hope that despite whatever reason she was keeping all this from you, that she’s happy you’re by her side when she wakes up.” Jake chuckled as he slightly readjusted himself and pulled his hood over his head. There were a plethora of ways you could react to his presence running through his mind, he hoped though, that the young nurse who’d accidentally filled him in on your current fight was right.

“I hope so too kid, I hope so too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The slow steady rhythm of the many monitors currently tracking your vitals were the first sounds you heard as you slowly but surely woke from what you could only describe as one of the deepest states of complete and utter rest you’d ever experienced.

Next it was the multi coloured Christmas lights that were hanging around your room. The reds, greens, yellows and blues that reminded you of nineties joy were the first things you noticed in the dimly lit hospital room you knew you were in.

The third thing you noticed wasn’t a sound or an object, but it was the all too familiar sleeping man curled up in the most awkward position imaginable next to your bedside. Jake, your Jake. Sleeping with his mouth open wide and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Woah—“ You groggily cooed as you felt the presence of another man checking your vitals beside you. “Whatever the hell kinda drugs you’ve got me on right now Doc has me seeing my ex husband.” You smiled ear to ear as you kept looking at Jake, sleeping, a little bit of drool even tainted his chin as his arms remained crossed and his hood covered his head. “This shits strong as.”

Doctor Ignatii continued reading and recording your vitals the more you came to, he knew, judging by the time you’d finished your dose of intravenous sedative and how cognitive you were, you’d come to realise in about two, maybe three minutes indefinitely that it wasn’t the drugs making you see the mirage of a man at your bedside, but in fact the real deal.

“Mrs Seresin, can you follow the light for me?” Doctor Ignatii asked with a smile as he clicked on the small but effective flashlight at the end of his pen. He was gentle with the way he handled your head ever so cautiously, holding your eyelids open one by one as you followed the light accordingly. “Can you count to five?”

“One, two, three, four, five—“ You mumbled out. Jake heard your voice as he stirred next to you and shot up with a gasp that startled you. He looked like a deer caught in headlights as he sat upright and wiped the dry drool from his chin.

“Welcome back to the land of the living Mr Seresin, I've seen a lot of ways people have tried to sleep in those horrid chairs but I’ve never seen that particular position before.” Doctor Ignatii chuckled to himself as he clicked his pen light off and placed it back in his top pocket. “Alright Y/n, wiggle your toes and touch your nose for me.” All you did was stare at your husband. Why was he here? Who told him? “Mrs Seresin, wiggle your toes for me please.” Doctor Ignatii was a little firmer in his request, he wasn't sure if you were just distracted or if you simply couldn't comply with his request because you couldn't feel your toes.

But when you finally did wiggle your toes, when you finally brought your index finger up to your nose and when you finally spoke, Doctor Ignatii knew that in the next hour or so when he got you up and walking, that you were going to be just fine.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was rather horse from the sedative but you were able to ask Jake that all too powerful question that sliced his skin clean open like one of the sharpest knives never could. Doctor Ignatii knew that he had to give you some space when he was finished assessing your ability to wiggle your toes he cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'll give you two a moment alone, but Lydia will be in shortly.” He explained before making his way out of your hospital room. The silence was deafening as Jake cleared his throat and looked anywhere but in your eyes to begin with.

“Jake–” You immediately asked again as you tried to sit up a little straighter. “What are you doing here?” Jake ignored your initial question and instead pressed his tongue into the middle of his cheek. His blood was boiling, he was so full of rage that you hadn’t told him you were sick that he couldn't think straight now that he knew you were awake and talking. You were supposed to be the mother of his children if at the very least. He felt like you had an obligation to disclose medical diagnoses that could alter the course of your children's lives. Right?

“You have cancer and you didn't tell me?” Jake frowned as he spoke through a tired growl. “You have cancer and you didn’t think to mention it at all, not even a downplayed version of the truth? You just–” Jakes reaction wasn't something that surprised you, but his anger did. That anger was something you hadn’t seen in a long time, anger born from love and compassion. An anger so pure it rivalled empathy itself just in a different font. “You just negated the entire thing? Jesus Christ Y/n! You have–”

“Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma.” You interrupted Jake as tears welled in your eyes. “I know, I found out back in November, I hadn’t been feeling all that well since around March.” You kicked yourself everyday for not getting yourself to a doctor sooner, but with your separation, work, the kids, you just decided to self diagnose yourself as an overworked mum who had little to no time for herself. Finding the time to see a doctor was nearly impossible, it was only when you found that lump in the shower you panicked. “Jake I–”

“You–” Jake clenched his jaw as tight as he could, you swore he could have chipped his bottom teeth he was clenching that hard trying to control his frustration. “You don’t get to fucking do this to me do you understand?”

“Excuse me?” You questioned as Jake stood up from the chair he’d been cramped in for the better half of the last twelve hours. “I didn’t choose to do this willingly Jake are you fucking kidding me?” It may have come out more aggressive than Jake had intended it to, but his heart hurt so much he swore he was having a heart attack the more he looked at you in the hospital bed connected to machines and wires that told him what your heart was doing and what your blood pressure was. “I didn't choose to get fucking cancer!”

“No, no you didn’t Y/n but you chose not to tell me about it.” Jake sighed. “Am I really that bad of a person that you can't tell the father of your fuckings kids that you might be dying? Stage three!? I'd understand if you had a scare and didn’t mention it or a bad rash but stage three?” Jake spat as he walked around your hospital room like he was looking for a way out of this whole mess. “That’s closer to a death sentence than it is to a malignant mass!”

All you could do was listen, you couldn't run this time. You had to face the man who broke your heart more ways than one as he raised his voice and walked around your hospital room with his hands on his hips.

“You, you had a stroke too.” Jake's voice softened as did his eyes, the realisation had hit as the immediate love filled anger that clouded his judgement faded. The misguided anger that he might truly be losing the love of his life had begun to wash away as the sadness crept in.

“Yeah–” You didn't hold it against Jake, you'd had more time to process this than he did. “Apparently the chemotherapy was just causing havoc to my nervous system and caused a clot that travelled from my leg to my brain.” You said it with a shrug, like it was no big deal. Jake's eyes widened at the idea of something that was meant to help you had done so much damage. “I was given a pamphlet, strokes were a side effect, but I just didn’t think it would happen to me you know.”

“Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he came back over to your bedside. “I–” There was a distinct tentative pause in the way his hand automatically went to slip into yous, but even though Jake second guessed his own judgement there for a split second, he still placed his hand in yours and reveled in the way you squeezed him back. “I can't understand why you wouldn't tell me about this.” Jake had tried to understand, truly he did. He thought about it alot on the plane–all the ways in which he’d ever let you down. He understood he was a shitty husband, or had been, but this was life or death.

Jake almost wished he never asked why and had instead just silently accepted the fact you decided not to loop him in on what was probably your biggest health complication since Samuel was born. He almost wished he hadn’t asked because the way you looked right into his eyes as your bottom lip quivered and your eyes watered with such a heartbreaking cry of anguish that ripped through your chest, Jake wished he hadnt fucking asked.

“I didn't tell you because I just didn't think you’d care.” You cried violently as Jake helped you sit up. “I didnt–I just didnt think youd, you'd care about me.” Your cries were muffled into Jake's shoulder as he held you, he wanted to climb right into the hospital bed with you, but he couldn't. So Jake compromised and leaned over just enough to wrap you in his arms and rub small circles into your back as you buried your face in his chest and shoulder. “I didn't think you’d fucking care–because you haven’t cared about me in years!”

“I have never stopped caring about you.” Jake cried too, he couldn't hold it in any longer. “I have never and I will never stop caring about you Honey.” It was a hard statement to believe especially with what the past four years had been. “I promised you in sickness and in health, I'm here, I've got you.” Jake cooed as he tried to soothe you, your cries of pure anguish for your own situation made him want to die. What more could he possibly do to ease this burden from you, what could he possibly do to take the pain away. “I'm here, I'm right here.”

“You don’t have to pretend.” You tried to calm yourself down as much as you could. “Please Jake you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore, I’m not yours.”

“No you’re not—“ Jake nodded in agreement as he pulled away to wipe your tears, you looked like hell but he wasn’t about to tell you that. To Jake you were still the most beautiful woman in the entire world, the only woman he ever needed, wanted. “But I’m still yours alright, you have me and I’m not pretending.” Jake wiped the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, he tried not to tug at the oxygen tube feeding into your nose. “I’ve got you yeah? You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I never wanted to do any of it alone.” You sobbed again, it was all too much. Jake knew what you meant by all, you never expected your marriage to fall apart. Neither did he. “I can’t do any of this, I’m so fucking scared.” If someone had asked Jake three years ago if his marriage would fall apart around him, he would have stood up and punched whoever had said such blasphemy in the mouth. But here he was.

“You’re okay.” Jake tried his best to console you, he did know what else he could do in the moment beside to hold you. The kiss he left atop your forehead was so pure and full of love you swore it sent an electric shock through your body, the same kind of electricity you felt when you slept with Jake the night before you said goodbye to your kids. “I'm not leaving your side alright, “I’m here, I've got you, I can't lose you this way– I wont.”

Jake knew this love was a burden that you both shared. The both of you were just two sinners who can't atone from a lone prayer. Two souls tied, intertwined by pride and guilt.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake was true to his word, he didn't leave your side for the rest of the day. He stayed right by your side hand in hand, just sitting there, talking, not talking, sleeping. All that mattered was that he was there.

“What do you mean Bradley Bradshaw offered to get the kids from your mum's house?” You thought for a split second that perhaps you hadnt woken up. Or maybe you'd actually woken up in some parallel universe where your husband never forgot how to love you and he didn't have a disdain for the man who gave him his Call Sign out of rage. “Bradley Bradshaw? As in Rooster?”

Jake couldn't help but to smile, there was so much he had to fill you in on, the two of you hadnt really sat down and spoken uninterrupted without the kids since January. Sure there were family functions and times where you and Jake had to coexist and coparents. But he never really saw a reason to tell you all about his time in North Island. You were with him when he was called to Togun the first time, there wasn't any need to really rub your nose in the fact he was called back again. After all, a part of the reason you left was because Jake prioritised his work life over his home life, more specifically, you.

“Would you believe me if I told you I saved his life?” Jake couldn't erase the grin that grew ear to ear from his face as he watched your eyes light up with shock and excitement. He missed this, the gentle moments.

“You did not–” In all the time you had known Jake while he was a loyalist to the United States Navy, he had never once put a toe out of line. Never pushed back, never rocked the boat. He had a goal and that goal was to reach the top. You couldn't do that while drawing unwanted attention to yourself.

“I did,” He chuckled through that very grin that you swore was permanently pinned to his cheeks. “Even went against orders to do it.” The look of pure shock on your face told Jake all he needed to know, you didn't believe what he was telling you.

“Who are you and what have you done with Jake Seresin?” You chuckled softly as Jake ran his thumb across your hand. “You? Going against the brace? Unheard of.” A lot of what made Jake, well, Jake–was that he loved his job.

“Trust me Honey I never thought I'd see the damn day either.” Jake sighed, he still couldn't believe how much his time in North Island had changed him. How it broadened his perspective on all the things that made him simply him. “But he was stuck in a pretty tight spot, so was Mav, our Captain.”

“Well–” You smiled as you readjusted yourself in your bed. Unbeknownst to both you and Jake, Lydia was watching just out of frame from her spot at the nurses station. She couldn't help but to notice the loving, all encompassing look the two of you shared. Perhaps her small mistake that usually would have been a carrier ending HIPAA violation wasn't so bad after all. “Look at The Hangman go huh, who says he's always leaving people out to dry.”

“Oh I could still name a few–” It was organic the way you and Jake fell into a rhythm with one another when the pair of you allowed each other to do so. “But yeah, he's gonna fly in, get the kids for us because I really don't want them there for too long without at least one of us there and bring them back to your mums for us.”

“Is she alright with that?” As always Jake knew you would think about everyone but yourself when the only person you should have been thinking about right now was you. “What if she–” Jake cut you off with a simple shake of his head.

“I already organised it.” Jake explained softly, his thumb never stopped stroking your hand as he held it. “Your mums gonna take the kids while we figure all this out, I don't want them with mine.” It wasn't that Jake didn't love his Ma, he did. But the idea of her having the kids for an extended amount of time gave him stomach issues he couldn't handle. “I saved his life, I trust him to escort our three terrors back here.”

“Have you met our kids? You asked with an all knowing look that Jake caught right away. Maybe Rooster wasn't the best person to call on, he had zero experience with kids, let alone Jake's twins and two year old.

Jake knew that you knew there was a darkness in the distance, but in the moment while everything felt normal, you both laughed together knowing exactly how the flight with your kids would go for Bradley Bradshaw.

“You’re totally right–” Jake cooed. “He might need to bring his flight helmet as a safety precaution.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

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#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: cancer #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x female!reader #jake hangman imagine #hangman top gun

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stevie-petey · 7 months

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episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them.

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways.

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good.

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds.

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her.

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit.

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.”

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her.

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence.

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation.

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed.

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.”

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure.

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.”

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts.

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.”

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her.

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow.

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.”

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touche.”

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside.

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open.

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot.

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does.

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end.

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.”

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know.

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow.

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you.

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan.

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him.

—

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in.

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity.

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing.

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will.

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down.

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.”

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are.

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation.

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it.

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up.

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.”

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.”

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities.

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.”

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her.

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay.

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions.

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks.

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes.

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?”

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours.

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.”

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred.

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off.

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.”

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare.

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him.

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world.

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house.

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief.

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.”

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you.

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.”

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you.

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over).

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made.

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam.

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.”

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.”

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone.

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you.

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit.

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.”

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.”

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then.

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding.

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.”

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.”

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions.

Just peachy.

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well.

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.”

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices.

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…”

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone.

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.”

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him.

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks.

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.”

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh.

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him.

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now.

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty.

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation.

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused.

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.”

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen.

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.”

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns.

“Sorry.”

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.”

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?”

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.”

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son.

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class.

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that.

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor.

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will.

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.”

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.”

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either.

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind.

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out.

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door.

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.”

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now.

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?”

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed.

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl.

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down.

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive.

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?”

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose.

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you.

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess.

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay.

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying.

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.”

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once.

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks.

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up.

You all face her now. “You can?”

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide.

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table.

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face.

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?”

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that.

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.”

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool.

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down.

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given.

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El.

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head.

“Will is hiding?”

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

–

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions.

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find.

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet…

You fear he’s done something stupid.

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you.

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused.

“Mrs. Byers-”

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you.

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.”

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her.

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.”

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her.

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonthan’s room.

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you.

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him.

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised.

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal.

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.”

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!”

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.”

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!”

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days.

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.”

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance.

–

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then.

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight.

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes.

You’ve never felt so alone before.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #the thought of steve just taking will's missing poster and then being like oh shit was so funny to me i had to add it #also sad ending #sorry #but also not

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kaizdreamz · 8 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Maybe I've Fallen for you. . .

Lyney + GN!reader || modern au ;; romantic Fluff || summary :: You and Lyney stop by an Apple orchard that also grows pumpkins, there's a little festival going on for the Autumn season, Lyney is unsure what he's feeling for you... maybe he finally fell for you.

"so..." he starts, flicking a card through his fingers. "I've never been to one of these before, what should I expect?" He leans on your shoulder, the bumpy road on the bus makes the two of you rock a bit.

"hmm~ probably a lot of things, Ive only been to one when I was younger." You grab a card from his sleeve, attempting to flick it through your own fingers.

"is it fun?"

"I remember it being fun but to be honest, I was a child. So who knows?" You laugh a bit, glancing down at Lyney. "You look cold," you mumble, pulling his beanie over his ears. The tip of his nose dusted pink from the chill in the air.

"it is almost winter." He scrunches his face as he flicks his violet eyes up to meet yours. He studies your face as you turn back to look out the window.

strange... he thinks to himself, the back of his neck feels hot, luckily his hoodie covers his nape.

The bus comes to stop and you glance at your phone, "it's our stop, Lyney." You stand grabbing your backpack. Lyney does the same, following you out of the bus.

The pleasant chill of autumn passes through your frame, Lyney scrunches his face bringing his hands to his face to heat them up. He glances over at you, a gentle shiver goes through your spine. You glance down at your phone before grabbing his sleeve and continues to walk down a path, soon small wooden signs that say things such as "Apple Orchard - Harvesting." And cute pumpkin and apple wooden signs with a man sitting at the entrance, welcoming everyone who walks in.

"Ah, Good evening!" His face creases as he smiles nodding to you and Lyney. Lyney gives a small wave with a friendly smile as you also smile. "Enjoy your time!" He calls as you two past the decorated entrance.

"what do you think so far?" You glance at the blonde man next to you, the gentle crunch of leaves beneath your feet and the sounds of children laughing and screaming ahead of you fills your heart with joy.

"it seems fun, I've never been to something like this. I'm sure Lynette and Freminet would love going to a place like this..." he trails off, sending a text to them showing them pictures and even video calling them at one point.

You two are at the pumpkin patch, picking out pumpkins for your friends and his siblings. You pick up a small white one, Lyney is at another end of the patch, on the phone with Lynette. You decide not to disturb him but you put it in the basket they provided.

Lyney is showing Lynette all the apples you two picked along with some ciders to try and sweets the orchard sells, collaborating with small businesses.

"Lyney," Lynette starts, her voice is hoarse and wobbly. She has a cold and that's why she couldn't join you two, Ferminet decided to stay with her to help her feel better. "You know, when will you show your true feelings?" She sips her tea.

"Haha.. what could you mean, my dear sister?" He smiles as he glances over at you picking pumpkins.

"that." She deadpans, setting her cup down. She pulls her blanket further up her lap, she was wearing the sweater you got her before you two left for the harvest. "Looking at them like that,"

"like what?" He blushes, adverting his gaze as he turns away from the patch going up to one of the many makeshift shops. Lynette rolls her eyes. Lyney gets a hot chocolate from the lady working at the shop.

"you like them, don't you?" Lynette watches as Lyney coughs on his hot chocolate, burning his tongue. "Perhaps you're in love?"

"Not so loud, Lynette!" He whines, sticking his tongue out to cool off. You took notice of him coughing and quickly hurried over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"hey.." he turns to you, his tongue still sticking out like a cats. "Are you alright?— oh hello, Lynette!" You smile waving to his phone.

"Hello," she sips her tea, stifling a giggle as Lyney sends a soft glare at his sister.

"Oh! I'm okay.. just burnt myself on the drink... I wasn't expecting it to be so hot!" He smiles embarrassingly, "how was your adventure picking pumpkins?" He notices you have three small pumpkins in your basket.

"it was good, I haven't found any good big ones to carve with everyone yet... I found one for everyone else though!" You mumble the last part in his ear, wanting to surprise Lynette when you two are home.

He blushes faintly underneath his beanie as your breath tickles his ear. Lynette rolls her eyes, snuggling under her blanket more. He nods sending you a knowing glance and a thumbs up.

"Also! Lyney, I heard there was a haunted house attraction we can go through!" You grin.

"what??" His eyes widen, taken back from your suggestion. "Don't tell me.. you wanna go through it?"

"why not? Lynette said you liked attractions like them!" Lyney gives Lynette a glare, Lynette smiles.

"... I, I mean.." he sighs, not wanting to disappoint you. "We can go if you want," he pretends to be excited.

"really?!" You smile excitedly, your eyes basically sparkling. He nods, dreading as you take him by the hand to the haunted house.

Lynette gives Lyney a wink before hanging up the video call. He blushes as he follows your lead to the over exaggerated haunted house, he sighs of relief... it doesn't look that scary. Yet your smile never seems to fade, he squeezes your hand as you two talk with the employees of the house, before walking in.

Cliche scary music plays, it's dark and he only knows your there by the squeeze of your hand. Suddenly a loud noise makes him jump and basically cling onto you. A zombie actor jumps out in front of you two, making him release a high pitched yelp. You scream too, but it was replaced with laughter and it was a game of clinging onto each other as the actors continued to jump out and make loud noises.

by time the two of you are out of the house, Lyney is holding your arm. His cheeks are flushed and his heart is racing. "That was terrifying..." he breathes out, you lead him to a bench nearby. He sends a quick text to Lynette, presumably one along the lines of "I hate you so much" in a loving way.

You smile as you notice the way he acts with his siblings, it's endearing. You catch your breath checking the time, "do you want to go pick out the giant pumpkins?" You lean over his shoulder, he shivers slightly turning to face you. The red streak in his hair looks out of place and his hair is messy.

You raise your hand to move his hair out of his eyes, faint blush is visible along his cheeks. He blinks a few times, the temporary tear tattoo on his cheek looks cracked. A faint smile tugs at your lips, despite the cold weather he made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

He takes notice of the sweets shop behind you, an idea sparking in his head as he laughs, "do you want to go try the sweets they are selling? I'm intrigued by the 'Autumn's Delight'..." he smiles, still holding your hand.

You nod, coming to a stand, you two walk to the small shop. The lady operating the shop smiles as she notices you two holding hands, you look like a couple. Lyney orders the autumn delight and you order simple donut holes with pumpkin spice and cinnamon sprinkled on them.

You two go back to the bench you were sitting before, you offer one of your donuts holes to lyney and he opens his mouth as if asking you to feed him. It was a wholesome sight, honestly. The faint blush on his cheeks, his lips are red from the chill, you almost hold yourself back from doing something that may change the coarse of you and his friendship.

You smile, bringing the pumpkin spiced donuts to his lips. He takes a bite and his eyes basically sparkle from how the flavors melt on his tongue. "You did a wonderful job choosing, darl—" he stops the sentence short, pushing back the urge to call you an endearing petname. He takes a bite of the crepe he bought, it was covered with powder sugar, drizzled chocolate and cinnamon with slices of apples inside.

A huge smile grows on his face, savoring the sweetness of the crepe. He notices your looking at your phone in your lap, texting someone. He immediately turns his head, not wanting to read your messages.

"do you wanna try mine?" He says adverting his gaze from your phone, holding up the crepe to your face.

"sure!" You smile, taking a small bite of the crepe, your eyes swirl with stars and sparkles as you hum, kicking your feet back and forth. "That's so good Lyney!!" You smile, he notices a bit of powder sugar on your cheek and his eyes soften as he uses his thumb to wipe it away.

You and him blush as he turns away, the tips of his ears burning from how close he got with you. "S-sorry! You had sugar on your face.." he mumbles continuing to eat the dessert.

You blink a few times before you respond, "it's alright, thank you," he nods his head shyly. A soft ding emits from your phone which makes you both jump. "Lynette said Freminet wanted to know if we were having fun" you mumble showing him the text.

"Tell them we are! And to be prepared for when we come home" he grins, he eyes sparkling. You nod sending Lynette a quick text In which she responds by sending a cat with it's thumbs up.

"ahh, we should get going, hm?" He sighs, finishing his crepe. He stands helping you up, you carry the pumpkins to the bus stop, after picking out some trinkets and other goodies for everyone at home.

"today was fun," you yawned, holding the pumpkins close to your chest. Lyney sat down next to you on the bus, his violet eyes softened at the sight of how sleepy you were.

"it was very fun, thank you for taking me," he bumps his forehead against yours, it was a silly thing you two started doing, you both saw a cat doing it to another cat and it stuck ever since. "I had a lot of fun," he purrs.

You smile tiredly, leaning your head against his shoulder, he rested his arm on your shoulder as he texted Lynette and scrolled through social media. The soft rumbling of the bus as it made it's way back to home kept you close to him. He twirls your hair through his fingers, holding back the urge to brush them away and give you a gentle kiss. Your eyes were closed and you looked so comfy at his side.

The bus pulls to the stop, he gently shakes you awake. You groggily carry two pumpkins and Lyney carries the other two. Stepping out of the large vehicle to the cold air sends a shiver down both of your spines, a soft "Brrr" noise comes from both of you. You quickly make your way to Lyney's home, you were spending the night so it didn't matter how you stayed.

Lynette opened the door as you two hurried inside and walked to the dining table, both of your hands were crisp and cold. You placed the pumpkins and your bag down and ran over to Lyney to place your cold hands on his face.

"AH!" he squeals like a girl, his eyes widen as you giggle chasing Lynette to do the same. Lynette runs up the stairs and you don't chase her, Lyney comes up behind you and places his hands underneath your shirt at the base of your neck.

"EE—!" you jump watching as Lyney laughs and rubs his hands together, something in you churns. Your heart flutters as you grab his hands, placing him over your mouth and you breathe, rubbing them gently.

His laughter calms and he looks at you with curious eyes as you warm his hands up. If it wasn't for the cold his face would've been ten times more red. You hear Freminet come down the stairs.

"Oh, you're back..." he gives you a soft smile and you let go of Lyney's hands.

"OH! We have gifts!" You basically jump up and down as you slide off your hoodie, now wearing the thin sweater you stole from Lyney. Freminet and Lynette follow you to the dining table as Lyney stays behind.

He has a smile on his face as he recalls what you did, "Lyney?" Lynette calls.

"Oh, sorry! I'll be right here! Lemme go warm up," He gives her a convincing smile and climbs up the stairs. His slides his beanie off, his normally styled blonde hair, askew and messy. He throws it on his bed as he walks to the bathroom.

He looks at himself in the mirror, his cheeks were flushed and his nose was dusted red. He looked silly, and it made him smile. He can hear your laughter downstairs and he feels warm and fuzzy inside.

His eyes flutter close as he turns the light off, opening once more as he realizes the flutter in his heart from hearing your laughter, wasn't because you two were such good friends... it was perhaps something he wasn't used too,

Maybe it was love.

RAAHHH I'LL MAKE A PART TWO MAYBE, PROBABLY—

#junesl1ght_#genshin fanfic #female reader #male reader #fluff #gn reader #lyney x reader #Lyney fluff #lyney x gn reader #lyney #genshin impact lyney #genshin fic #Genshin fluff

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aphroditesmoon · 9 months

Text

sea, swallow me (part IV)

jacaerys velaryon x fem!velaryon!reader

summary: when jacaerys finally meets the hidden bastard of corlys velaryon, he loses interests in his betrothed Baela and intends to make her aunt his, but are you really what your family has made you up to be?

warnings: MAKING OUT, this fic is inspired by the movie 'song of the sea', CANON DIVERGENCE, slowburn, aged up jace (18 yrs old), reader has selective mutism (she CAN talk), reader is 5 years older than jace, selkie! reader, reader's race is NOT specified(adopted!reader), cursing, nsfw content in future chapters,typical ASOIAF sexism, typical asoiaf targcest.

a/n: yall want baela and reader to have a homoerotic friendship or homoerotic friendship to rival to friendship, say rn.

wordcount: 5.3k

taglist: @marytargaryen , @cdragons , @libdarkheart , @bellstwd , @dianxiaxiexie

@cumslutforaemond , @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @literatureluster, @itszzmoon

♧♣︎♧

Rhaenyra Targaryen was in no state of panic or upset when his son had entered her chambers, answering her call. They both had known what she called him for, therefore both sides were more prepared and rational. The princess was standing by her window, watching Lucerys and Rhaena practicing their sword fighting. She remembered how worried she was when the two sisters voiced their want of being included with the same fighting curriculum as their men. But Daemon beamed at the idea and granted permission. My daughters will not be weak, They shall be as good as me in swordsmanship by the gods’ will. Those were his words. And so they were.

“You called, mother?” The prince spoke after a minute of silence watching her gaze out the window.

Rhaenyra snaps out of herself and turns to her eldest son. “Jacaerys, have you eaten?” The mother in her acquires first. He hummed positively before taking a seat on the long chair. “That’s all well. I wanted to ask you of your aunt.” She states. “The two of you have grown close since the feast- do not deny it.” She shushes him when he opened his mouth to interject.

“I am not upset, we’re not in Driftmark nor Kingslanding, so I doubt there’ll be any rumours brought up from it. And that is not my current concern, no. My concern is on how she fares so far. That girl smiles and bows all the time, you can’t really tell if she’s genuinely comfortable most of the time.”

“She’s fine, I think.” The prince answers simply, receiving a raised brow from his mother. "Well, It’s not like she speaks.” He lies.

“But, she does seem quite excited for a tour here. I’m sure she’’ll find our library to her liking, Rhaena mentioned she likes to read.” The blonde woman smiled in relief of that. “Oh how nice, Perhaps you and your brother could take her to night market as well, there’s more sailing boats this season.” She suggests, making him frown. “I thought you said it’s dangerous. What if anyone recognizes us?” Rhaenyra waves her arm in a careless motion as she moves to sit by him. “You’ll be covered up. Besides, it’s a good thing neither of you have my white hair, the streets get so busy at nught, they won’t give you a double glance.” Jace nods understandingly at her words, still confused at her enthusiasm. His mother was never cruel, he knew that. But he also wonders why She’d worry herself over a small matter such as you.

“Is that all?” Rhaenyra gives a resigned sigh before nodding her head, permitting Jace to leave.

The weather had been bleak so far, thunders and thick clouds hiding the sun. If by tonight, the hints of rain doesn’t disappear altogether, the night market trip would have to wait for tomorrow. He knocked on your door and found no reply, which was of course, expected. But after several moments of waiting, he opens the them to find an empty room. The bed was already made and there was no one besides himself. It looks like you have taken it to yourself in making yourself comfortable here. Jacaerys scans the empty halls and corridors for you but receives no luck.

Bumping into Baela, he halts her to ask; “Is there a possibility that you’ve seen our dear guest around, I can’t find her.” He confesses. Baela, with a book of the Valyrian language under her arm, shoots him an amused smile. “She’s playing a boardgame.” He frowns. “Chess?” Baela gives a single nod. “Yes, with my father. So far she’s lost all 3 rounds. You’re welcome to go watch her fail the fourth.” He does just that, entering the library.

He was met with a tense sight of you and Daemon sitting opposite of each other, Rhaena sits close to you. If she’s trying to help you win, her father cares not for it.

The curtains in the library were all pulled open today, something it’s rarely been done. And the stack of books littered on top of shelves and tables everywhere, made it seem more homely than messy somehow. All three of you are staring down at the board, anticipating your next move, no one notices his entrance. Jacaerys can’t really blame anyone, even he was getting nervous. You lift a pawn, it stands in the air for a second before you gently place it two squares forward near Daemon’s queen.

The prince consort smiles, and everyone groans. “Checkmate.”

“Your best pawns aren’t the usual ones, the knights and the-“ His words were cut off by the loud sound of the pieces smashing onto each other and falling into the ground as you flip the board off, glaring at him. “Alright then, enough board games for today.” Rhaena concludes as her father shrugs nonchalantly. “I told you I’m good.”

Jace’s shoes creaks slightly as he walks closer, drawing the attentions of all 3 people there. “Jacaerys, have you seen your mother? She called for you earlier.” Daemon asks while getting up and moving to his opposite. Jace nods and gives a barely comprehensible answer as the older man leaves the room. He spares him a glance until he’s gone before turning back to you. “No one wins with him, he has the age advantage, been practicing for ages.” The prince attempts to comfort you, ignoring your glowering glare. Rhaena gives up on the comforting as she buries her face on the table, laughing quietly. "Lunch time now, you two hungry?"

The elders had not joined you all for lunch. You’re sat in between Baela and Rhanea with Jacaerys and Lucerys in front of you. You were glad it was Luc that’s facing you. You have feared since last night that if either you or Jace meet eachother’s eyes again, something terrible might occur.

You were born of anxious possibilities. When it’s become your life to go through and witness tragedies repeating themselves, even the smallest of things could trigger the war in your mind. So you keep your eyes down and pretend you can’t see him sneaking glances at you every two seconds, and you pretend that you can’t see Baela noticing him sneaking in glances every two seconds. If you don’t look, and if you don’t react the way they’re both expecting you to, then it’s not your problem. The steak is excellently cooked, the anxious thoughts you bear can’t help getting distracted by this nice meal, and it's special sauce you’ve never had before. But of course, considering that Rhaena who’s next to you, is currently ravaging a salmon fillet, any meal is better than the ones from sea.

“I’ve heard you’ve never seen a dragon up close before?” Jacaerys’ voice fills the silent, snapping you in reality. You’re forced to look at him and shook your head. “Really? What about Vhagar? Mother must’ve taken you on a ride once a while.” Baela asks in disbelief. You gave her a short smile and shook your head again uncomfortably before going back to your steak. “Then I guess we know where the first stop of our tour will be.” He joked and you brave yourself to raise a brow at him.

“You’re giving her a tour? Have you not anything better to do with your time?” Baela scoffs at him, her temper seems fair but eyes bore a challenge. “Would you like to show her around instead?” He answers the question with another. The girl’s eyes relaxes as she scoops her spoon of soup to blow it.

“No, I’m afraid I’ll be occupied for the day.” She drinks up her soup. The steak is really good dipped in blackpepper sauce, you’ve find. You hummed delightfully, dipping another cut piece of it in the sauce. “Here.” Luc passes the sauce closer. You grinned gratefully at him before continuing your meal. Oblivion of the small smile painted on Jacaerys’ face, who’s now no longer eating anymore.

♧♣︎♧

You’ve never told anyone before, but you have met Vhagar before.

A cranky one, the old lady. It was long past midnight, Laena and her husband Daemon along with their children had returned to Driftmark for two moons. You had waited until you were sure the whole place was asleep before sneaking inside the dragonpit. There’s only one dragon available, seeing as Laenor and Rhaenyra were still in Kingslanding.

You’re not sure how the pit had managed to cover her, but with her singular appearance, a space was made big enough for the beast.

You still remember the flick open of vhagar’s large eyes, staring straight into your soul. You had flinched at the singular acknowledgement, standing as far from it as possible without drifting too further that you couldn’t see her. She had not blow fire straight onto your face as expected, in fact, she barely budged. You took it as a sign to get nearer, until you’re inches away from the beast, who had also moved it’s face closer before laying her head down again, eyes remaining open. You stretched an arm towards her, risking spoke at her hard head, receiving a low whine, as if she’s scolding you. You had never pulled your arm back as fast as that moment.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” You remember telling her. In which she had blinked her eyes slowly at you in response before closing it for good and falling asleep. An understanding was made that night, between two rare animals, often caged against their will.

But that was almost a decade ago.

You’ve heard of Vermax, mostly from Jacaerys himself, telling you stories of his little beasts’ quirks and habits.

“You should stand behind me, He gets protective of me, especially around strangers.”

You knew what he meant, but a laugh almost escapes you, still. You’ve known him for less than a week, but your heart was very sure, that he is no stranger inhabiting there. You only smiled in response, one too bold to reassure him. “I’m serious, my mother and rhaena will kill me if he blows you hair off or something.” You sigh loudly, to show your annoyance before moving to stand beside him.

The two of you walked in a straight line, the prince confident in his steps while you try to ignore the judgmental looks of the other dragons you passed by. You wonder if the dragons ever talk shit about their owners together when everyone is asleep. Too bad you don’t speak their language. Roaring and grunting.

His dragon, conveniently, was in the furthest pit. And as much as you wouldn’t admit I, you were excited to meet Vermax. You’ve only had one sole interaction with a dragon, who’s reaction had been very disappointing. With the speed Jacaerys is walking as he leads, you reach his pit finally. The light from the hanging orbs all over the place had shed onto his face. You nudged Jacaerys aside and let out an audible gasp. Breaking the ‘no talking’ vow you’ve made yourself do earlier that day, you swore under your breath. “He is…small.” The prince snaps his head fiercely to you. “He is growing.” You pursed your lips and nod your head sympathetically.

“Course’ he is.” The dragon groaned loud enough for the two of you to hear, as if defending himself. “No offence.” You mutter to him quickly.

“He is adorable.” You admit, earning more frowns from the rider. “Fierce?” He scoffs at your attempt. “You’re very judgy for someone who’s never seen a dragon up close.” You couldn’t tell him of course, that in comparison to Vhagar, Vermax is unfortunately, very adorable.

“I am impressed.” You tell him as you bent yourself forward to meet the dragon’s sad eyes. “I think you are very mighty, Vermax.” The beast huffs out lazily. “You know I’m surprised he’s barely having a reaction to you, the first time Baela met him, he flinched and ran away, poor boy.” You tilt your head towards Jacaerys, grinning wildly. “He recognizes me as a friend.” He returns the smile. “Maybe.” Perhaps Vermax knew, that we wild creatures must stick together. “He trusts you so easily, one might mistake you as one who shares Valyrian blood.”

You say nothing, smiling softy at the dragon who’s now leaning his head closer to your hand. “Oh, you brat.” Jacaerys chides him, annoyed. You laugh at their antics, It was definitely true though, Vermax seems very young still, you’d bet he’d be as big Caraxes or Meleys in a couple years time.

After a few more pettings and complimenting the dragon, Jacaerys decided it’s time for the touring to continue, parting you away from his baby. “We don’t have all day. If we finish up the castle touring quick, we’d have much more time to rest before tonight.” He explains as the both of you move to exit the dragon pit. “What’s tonight?” He sends a smirk your way, wiggling his brows. “Something more exciting.” You huffed and rolled you eyes, striding beside to him. “All right, keep your secrets.”

He makes a quick tour of the garden, which was much more prettier than you’d expect. Seeing as Rhaenys wasn’t much of garden person, the one in Driftmark was much more underwhelming. He asked you what your favorite flowers, and you had to take a moment to think.

“I don’t know, they’re all pretty.” You said. “So you like them all?” You shrugged, “What’s yours?” You ask him instead, receiving a quick answer. “Hydrangeas. They’re not everyone’s favourite, but they look magical together.” You nod yourself, placing your hand under your chin in a thinking motion. “Then my favorites are also Hydrangeas.” His brows meet as he lets out a small laugh. “Is it now?”

“Hmm.” You ignore his lingering gaze as you move to the bush of Hydrangeas. “I’m looking at them right now, see. I think they’re pretty, they shall be my favorite if I must choose.” You declared. “Alright, I’ll keep a note of that.”

The two of you moved to the throne room after. A rather contradicting view to the garden. The throne was smaller than you expected, but it looked terrifying enough, being sat in the middle of the dark, silvery room. “Have you ever sat on it?” You ask curiously. His eyes widen and he shook his head immediately. “Gods no, that’s only for my mother.” You raise a brow suspiciously. “Not even for fun, not even as a child.”

“Nope.” He insisted, “Although, Lucerys had, once. He’d thought it’d be funny, pretending to be mother. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast when Daemon and her enter the room out of nowhere.” He chuckled at the memory, making you laugh with him as you move out. “See, he knows how to have fun at least.” The prince snorted at that. “And I didn’t get an arse whooping, guess who really won?”

Jace mentally crosses out every place he’s shown you. Honest to the gods, he knew he’s probably the shittiest tour guide ever. But he tries his best, and he knows that it doesn’t really matter. Hopefully tonight, there’ll be less talking and more discovering. Since he himself have not sneaked out to the night market in ages. And with his mother’s permission, there needn’t be any sneaking around. “So, where to next?” You ask, when he keeps quiet through the walking. “My chambers.” You almost choked. “And pray tell, why, are we going to your very forgettable room out of anywhere else?” He laughs in surprise at your forwardness. “So, you’ll know where to go tonight.” Your frown deepens. “Why am I going there again, tonight?”

“Because we’re off to the night market tonight. And although my mother knows we’re going, leaving by the front door would make such a fuss. Next thing you know, they all would want to tag along. So we leave by the hidden exit in my chambers."

“And you don’t want them to tag along?” You ask almost teasingly, testing the waters. “No.” He says. “I do not.”

♧♣︎♧

It was night enough after dinner. The skies had darkened themselves so well that you could barely even see any stars from your window. The rest of your company had resolved to their own business. You’ve barely seen Baela for the whole day, the young lady had been so busy studying and reading like the scholar she is. Meanwhile Rhaena had spent a good half of her day with Lucerys, swordfighting, and then to their high Valyrian studies.

You had thought that you may find it feeling odd and awkward to be spending the whole day with Jacaerys, but your nerves had lied to you once again.

You were much more comfortable around him than you expected. For one thing, You hadn’t have to mind your speaking. You still stayed silent whenever you found it necesarry to speak, but the need to tiptoe around every person you meet was not needed when you are around him. Sometimes he’ll speak to you like he’s known you for ages, and it takes you by surprise every time.

You know his history, the rumours that has surrounded him since birth. Those same rumors you have faced since you were found by Corlys.

But you wonder how does one like him could still find it in himself to still be kind and trusting, despite being treated the opposite by his own family. It was no secret that his uncles and the queen have a strong distaste for Rhaenyra and her children. Corlys makes jokes of the queen often with his ladywife, the green queen. And now that you’ve known him, you wonder why exactly would such distaste exists at all. A true Targaryen, with the traits of a true king to be.

You brush off your unimportant questions as you tie your shoelaces properly. There was no guarantee what the activities tonight would enquire, but just to be safe, you dressed lightly with a hoodie to cover yourself on top of it all. Peaking out your door, you leave after making sure the doors are shut and no familiar faces are detected.

Jacaerys, who has been waiting for you 15 minutes earlier than the time he’s set, wastes no time opening his doors after two knocks by you.

Closing the door behind you, he fails to resists the grin blooming on his face as he leads you into a small entrance of staircase behind the curtains of his bed. “Ever been on a boat before?” He asks as his fingers make quick to find yours, walking you through the dark pathway.

“The small one?” He grins largens. “Yes, that would be a boat.”

“Then no, I have not.” The two of you finally reaches the end of the way, a small door, heavy of stones is the end, You help him push it to the right, revealing the dim light of the moon, accompanied by loud noises made by the pigeons. Walking out of the castle, you let him close shut the secret entrance while admiring the jet black sky, engulfing the unrivalled sight of the moon. The wind was gentle too, caressing your visible skin, making your goosebumps rise. Your head turns to the boat placed on the sand when you hear Jacaerys’ nearing footsteps.

“We’ll be rowing on that?” he gives you a nod before pushing it onto the water.

“Come on, get in.” You do as he tells you to, pulling your long skirt up, Passing you the giant paddle, He follows suit hopping into the boat once he’s pushed it further into the long river. “It’s barely a few minutes to get there, if we could just walk, that’ll be easier, but water has been rising up since three years ago, so they dug a long hole to make a river, rowing it is.” You nod understandingly at his words as you move your arms with the paddle as he does, rowing fast. True to his words, after a good 15 minutes, You begin to saw patches of grass and sand, along with bright lights and what had sounded like people.

You fix your hood as advised as the boat reaches it end. Tying the simple craft onto a wooden post, the prince stretches a hand for you to grab on as he helps you up. He pulls you to his chest too strongly, making the both of you sway back and forth. You let out your giggle while your hand grips his for stability.

He smiles with before lightly taking one step away, hand still holding yours. “You excited?” He asks like he doesn’t know. You say nothing and only shoves him slightly before walking over him, tugging him along as you lead yourself through the noisy and bright coloured crowd.

The hood you wear does a good job of hiding how in awe you were of your surrounding. There were many people, but none of them were looking at you or Jacaerys. The beauty was in how you felt like you were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. You jolt to the side when a group of children burst through path without warning. “Rascals.” You hear a man sigh tiredly before following them. The overlapping voices and laughing mixes with eachother, producing an overwhelming humanly background noise. Spinning your head around the place, your eyes confuse themselves as they turn from the firework stalls and the food section to the toysellers and pantomimes that’s set much further.

“Catch up with me.” You warn the prince as you move without direction to whatever calls you.

Carrot cake, you noted. Passing through a stall of baked goods, and whatever else food you eyes couldn’t have grasped properly as you kept walking. “What are you looking for?” You hear the muffled voice of your company from behind. You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Stopping at a covered tent, you peeked in and jumped backwards immediately when a woman looked back at you. Her head appears through the curtains. “Would you like to know your future?” You blinked at her and was pulled forward before you could speak. “A scam.” Jace says as he leans into your ear. “It would help a lot if you stop running, yeah? No one’s chasing you angel.” His worlds were almost reassuring until the last word. “Right.” You stutter, following his lead now instead of the reversed as before.

“Fishcakes?” He asks as you pass a seafood stall. He sees the frown of distaste and laughed in return. “Not a seafood girl, got it.”

“Beefcake maybe.” You suggest. He humas and lets his eyes roams the stalls while he walks. “I think those are further up.” The both of you are walking slower now, letting you take a good look at the shops and lights. “Have you ever seen anything this beautiful?” You ask, nodding at the lights connecting from stalls to stalls. You would’ve thought they were stars if it weren’t for the mix of pink, yellow and purple. “Yes, I have.” You appreciate that he’s not laughing at you. When you turn to look at him, he’s already set his gaze on you. “Is it always like this every night?” You ask. He shrugs at you with a small smile. “I don’t know, I’ve only been here twice when I was a child, It was much paler then. Smellier too.” You laughed.

His attention was turned away when he finally spots a beefcake stall. Small pieced of them stuck through a long stick and are placed over the tables. “Two please.” He pays the seller and hands you the stick like a prize. “Oh, this is great.” You praise hungrily, taking a bite off of it. “It is, isn’t it?” You hummed in reply, enjoying your beefcake. He continues his stride soon after, fingers still intertwining with yours.

“A puppet show is that?” The prince asks himself as he reaches the pantomime performance. “Puppet?” You repeat in confusion.

He brings you to his side as the two of you stand a bit far from the children sitting crossed legged to enjoy the small theatre. “What’s it about?” You whisper to him. He shrugs and points a finger to the cardboard drawn puppet of a girl wearing a straw hat. A voice of a man shushes the chattering children as the puppet begins to move. "This is a story of Aenathema.” The invisible voice spoke.

“Aenathema, is a seaborn woman, or most accurately, a siren.” The children turned quiet. “Young in age, and beautiful as the myths say, she spends her days swimming and nights tricking sailors for their trinkets.” How factually incorrect this story already was, you thought. Sirens don’t exist, firstly.

Aenathma the puppet moved through the cardboard cut ocean. “Stories of death luring sirens spread all over the land of men, to warn the sailors and fisherman. But they misunderstood poor Aenathema, for she only craved an end of her curiosity.” You could understand that, if you’re honest. ”But one day, a brave and unhinged prince decided to find the said siren, in wishes to prove his people how false the stories of her cruelty were. So he sailed for moons-“ A male puppet glued to a paper ship moved through the square space, “-until finally, Aenathma, curious she always were, showed herself.” They must fall in love, that’s how the stories always went.

"The prince, with his original intention to kill her, hesitated. The siren and her beauty had captivated him.” Of course it did.

“He invited the naïve Aenathema up his ship, ‘Please, make yourself at home, for all that you could want shall be by your feet, if you’d only asked.’ He had said.” The two puppets neared eachother, standing side by side.

“Grateful by the prince’s kindness. Aenathema fell into his trap. Weeks past, and the lovesick prince had refused to let her go.” The voice was interrupted when a child yelled out; “Why can’t she just jump back in?” The other children agreed, their voices scattering. “I was getting there.” The voice snapped, making you smile.

“Poor Aenathema could not return to sea, for her magical coat had been stolen. The coat she would need to be able to breathe underwater.” This is the part where she turns into a seal, you think to yourself.

The male puppet was switched to another version with much scarier drawn eyes.

“She devised a plan then, come full moon, she shall trick him into bed, and poison him to sleep. And so she waited, and waited, and waited. Until finally, Full moon appeared. With her siren voice, she lured him to bed, and poured his own poison into his wine. Once the prince had fallen asleep, she took the key oh his treasury and unlocked it for her coat. Fash she moved to put it on, and faster more she moved to dive back into the sea.” You felt your heart drop uneasily, what a terrifying story for a child to hear, you thought to yourself.

“The prince was angry when he woke, four of his crewmen were killed on sight in the midst of his rage. For not only did he lose his future bride, he also lost his future child.” The crowd gasped. You gasped along with them, earning an amused smile from your company. “You’ve never heard this story before?” He asks lowly. You shook your head, attention still stuck on the show.

“Aenathema had swam and stayed underwater for moons without knowing she was with child, but once she did, she swore she’d never let harm become of them, and that the child shall never swim to shore as she did, lest they befall the same fate.” What an end. The crowd of kids erupted into chaos again, yelling out their questions and even disagreeing with the narrator’s end.

“A bit too disturbing for the little ones, right?” Jacaerys spoke You felt your body relax as you nod at him. “I want more beefcake.” You requested as the children starts to part ways back to their parents.

♧♣︎♧

After spending the next half hour walking around and the market and eating more beefcakes, the two of you decided it was well past the time to go home.

You twist and turned the new bracelet Jacaerys has brought for you earlier as fixes the boat back where he found it. It was no gold, but the marble like blue beads had caught your attention. His treat, he had insisted.

You made your way back in through the hidden pathway into his chambers. It was dim without the light of candles or day. The both of you were quiet despite the fact that everyone else was asleep. He finds a burner to light up his bedside candle.

“There you go.” He mumbles to himself as the room brightens slightly. His eyes were tired and his hair was disheveled, it was weirdly attractive, you thought. He turns to you, who’s now sat on the edge of his bed, equally as tired and spent. Taking a seat next to you, his fingers were sly, moving to touch the beads around your wrist. “Do you like it?” He whispers. You nod your head subtly. “Tell me, I can’t see you. He asks gently

“I like it.” You whispered back, voice slightly cracking at the end. You were thirsty.

“Did you have fun, tonight?” You smiled. “Shockingly, yes.” You could see his brows raising despite the dimness. “Why suprising?” “Well, I didn’t think you knew how to have fun.” His lips spread from a thin line to a grin, matching your own.

“I know how to do a lot of other things too.” The way he spoke was hesitant, like he knew he’s reaching through a forbidden border. But you leaned in closer, till you noses touch, and you had asked him, with the same angel-like voice you had from the night you first met. “Like what?” He answered you with an embrace of his lips with yours.

The first touch of them were teasing, so you pulled him closer, and you kissed him back, fiercer. As his hands move to cup the back of your head, yours finds the walls of his chest, grasping on his tunic like air restricted from you. You feel his lips wet your dry ones, letting his tongue tease your mouth into opening, and intertwining with your own.

As his hands move to caress your lower back instead, you find yourself pushing him to sit laid back on his bed before climbing onto his lap, devouring eachother with more access. The bolder you feel, the bolder he gets with his hands, and the louder the sirens in your head rang. But how could one move on from another who looked at you the way he does?

One of his palms are now gripping your hips, sitting you on him, while the other grasps your hair tight so your lips won’t leave his. He groans lowly. Your fingers are holding onto his neck so shyly, trying not to squeeze it with the intensity of how he’s kissing you. Like a strike of lightning has struck you, You jolted away from his face in sudden. Heavy breathing fills the air between the two of you. “What-“ You cut off his question before he could complete it, “Someone’s coming.” Too soon the confirmation came, three knocks on his door forces you both to scramble from his bed.

“A second!” He yells as he fixes his tunic and ruffling his hair back, trying to calm himself down enough to remove the redness in his face, while you run to hide behind his secret door, pushing the stone door close quickly without making a noise. “Jacaerys.” It was Baela.

You curse yourself internally, the memory of tasting him repeating themselves in your head like a warning sign. Of course, It’s Baela. It was always Baela.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #hotd x reader #jace velaryon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #jace targaryen x reader #hotd #jacaerys targaryen

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humanpurposes · 1 year

Text

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part iv, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // For fear that you'll find out, how I'm imagining you

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, cursed dinner party, toxic family dynamics, Targaryen men being the worst

Words: 5700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3. And I made a Series Playlist :)

Over the last two months, finishing her thesis, taking exams, sending off masters applications and keeping track of a boyfriend has left little room in her mind for Aemond Targaryen.

For the last month or so she’s hardly even seen him. On the weekdays she gets up early and spends all day in the library. On the weekends she goes to Cregan’s place in central. He goes to the gym with Jace on Saturday morning and on Sundays he usually has a rugby match. Between that they watch movies in his room, go for drinks with his friends and sometimes she drags him around her favourite museums.

The sex is good. For a bulky guy with a nose piercing and sleeve tattoos of wolves and weirwood trees, Cregan is surprisingly gentle. He makes her cum on his tongue, then he leans over to fuck her with his hands pressed into the mattress, looking between her eyes and the space where their bodies meet. He doesn’t say much, a few strained “oh Gods” and a grunted “fuck” when he comes. When they’re done he falls into the bed beside her, throwing an arm around her while he rambles about whatever happens to be on his mind, exams, internships, summer plans…

She’s happy to rest her head against him, listening to the humming of his chest as he speaks, letting it lull her as she slips into her own mind. Sometimes she still feels a little empty when it’s over and doesn’t have the energy to go for another round. She puts it down to stress. Or hormones. Or something.

Now, being on the other side of everything she realises time is passing too quickly for her liking.

Joan Jett blasts through the car speakers while Alys and Cregan go on about the season finale of some drama series she’s not kept up with.

Alys loves Cregan. Everyone loves Cregan because he’s a people person. He speaks to everyone he meets like they’re already lifelong friends and he has a remarkable talent for finding common interests. If she were cynical she would say he’s palatable.

The weather has been perfect so far, bright and sunny but with enough of a breeze that the heat isn’t unbearable. Ideal for the graduation ceremony.

She looks through the recent photos in her phone. She took a few nice ones of the Sept, the nave lined with columns and towering statues of the Seven watching over the cohort of students in red and black robes. She keeps swiping through photos of her and some of her classmates on the front steps tossing their hats in the air, a few of her and Joanna, one of her and Cregan, and one of her and Alys.

Sometimes she thinks she looks nothing like her mother, but when they smile they look strikingly similar.

Everything had paid off in the end, the study dates with Joanna, the all-nighters, the last minute breakdowns crying over the kitchen counter with Alys. But she’s proud that she did it all on her own. Especially given how helpful Aemond had been last year. Just thinking about it makes her heart sink.

He’d been living with them for a few months by then. They were comfortable with each other, existing in the same spaces, eating dinner and watching movies together when Alys was out or working late.

Sometimes he’d put his arm around the back of the sofa, letting her lean into him while they watched 90s thrillers, leaning into her every so often to make a joke or a profound observation. They could analyse movies forever, staying up late until their eyes were tired, leaning in closer and closer and never really realising it.

And then when exams came around, the stress just got to her. “It’s half the suffering,” Alys insisted, “you’re not doing yourself any favours, so don’t do it.” Easier said than done.

There was one particular module on Conflicts in the Modern Era that was chipping away at her sanity. It was her last exam of the year and every time she went over her notes she just felt hopeless.

Aemond offered to help her study. He had loads of notes and old assignments on his laptop from his undergrad and his masters. They spent hours in the dining room, going over readings and practice questions.

He would sit next to her, leaning over every so often to read through what she was working on. Every hand on her shoulder, every reassuring “hmm,” or utterance of “good girl,” when she got something right sent shivers down her spine.

She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t exactly want it to stop.

The exam ended up going a lot better than she anticipated. She opened the paper and instantly saw that, by some miracle, there were a few questions similar to the ones she had done with Aemond.

She came home ecstatic. Alys was at work but Aemond was home, loitering in the kitchen. She practically leapt into his arms when she saw him, telling him every detail she could think of with a huge smile on her face.

Aemond’s hands settled on her waist. He leaned into her until all she could see were his bright, blue eyes. “I’m so proud of you baby,” he said in a voice that made her breathless.

He leaned in further until his lips were on hers, soft and warm, kissing her tentatively. She thought it might be over quickly, until she reached up, teasing her fingertips over the nape of his neck while his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

When they pulled away, both a little breathless, he rested his forehead against her and smiled. She smiled back.

But she snaps out of that trance when she realises they’re pulling into the driveway.

She looks across at Alys for a moment, laughing at something Cregan just said.

Her chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all, but time presses on and things seem to be moving forward for the better. She’s happy with Cregan. Who wouldn’t be? He’s funny, smart, maybe a little over confident at times but she can forgive that. And she’s got the whole summer before she starts her masters. With Cregan in the picture she figured she might as well stay at KLU. He’s been trying to convince her to move in the flat with him. There’s no reason not to, it’s close to campus, his flatmates are nice and they seem to keep the place clean. She keeps saying she’ll think about it.

He reaches for her hand as Alys leads them through the front door.

The house looks immaculate and it fills her with dread.

Alys has decided to use her graduation as an opportunity to host a family dinner. Maybe she’s intending it to be a grand offering of peace, maybe she just wants to show off, or maybe she’s just lost her mind because putting two halves of a warring family in the same room seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Not to mention she’ll have to introduce everyone to Cregan.

The dreamy rhythm of a Mazzy Star song drifts from the kitchen. Aemond is leaning over the counter, in a black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, prepping a rack of lamb. She tries not to look at his hands as he takes pinches of salt, pepper and spices between his fingers.

Alys heads straight for the vodka, offering a round of martinis before the dreaded guests arrive.

She and Cregan both decline politely, and when Alys turns to Aemond he purses his lips. “I don’t drink vodka martinis.”

Alys rolls her eyes. “Thinks he’s so sophisticated,” she says to Cregan.

Cregan chuckles and plants a light kiss to her cheek, muttering about taking a shower and disappears down the hall.

Her eyes meet Aemond’s for a moment. He smiles sincerely. He’s playing one of her favourite songs.

She tells her mother she’s going to get dressed, and feels Aemond’s eyes following her as she heads upstairs.

When she gets to her room she puts her graduation robes on a hanger and lies on the bed in the black slip dress she wore underneath. Something’s pressing awkwardly into her back, Cregan’s jeans and t-shirt. She tosses them across the room and falls back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the hum of the shower.

Is it unfair to hate someone for listening to a song? Did he remember it was her favourite or was it a lucky guess? Maybe he was trying to tease her, or else it could have just been a coincidence, but that doesn’t seem like him. Aemond rarely does anything accidentally.

Cregan saunters in with a towel around his hips. He looks down at his clothes on the floor in front of the door. “Not where I left them,” he mutters.

She pretends not to hear him.

He gets dressed quickly, all he has to do is put on his jeans and clean white shirt.

“How many people are coming tonight?” He asks, spraying some perfume on his pulse points.

She keeps her eyes on the ceiling. “Viserys, Alicent, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Aegon and Helaena.” Luke and Rhaena were going to stay home with Joffrey, and Daeron would still be in Sunspear until the end of the month. Just as well, there would already be too many people to keep track of.

“I hear some of the family stuff from Jace,” Cregan says, “sounds like a mess.”

She hums to herself. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She takes her hair out of its low bun and fixes it into a more casual look, leaving it mostly loose but out of her face. Her makeup has managed to survive the day pretty well. She touches up her blush and wipes away her lipstick, applying a sweet tasting cherry lipbalm instead.

When they reappear in the kitchen Alys is nowhere to be found but Aegon and Helaena have already arrived.

Aegon and Cregan pair up nicely, swigging bottles of beer while Aemond pours out three gin and tonics.

She compliments Helaena’s patterned skirt and red boots. In return she admires her dress. “You two are matching,” she says, as Aemond hands them both their drinks.

He raises his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth are tight. “Happy coincidence.”

“Black’s not exactly a fashion statement,” she adds, taking a sip.

Aemond hums in agreement.

She takes a breath to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asks Helaena, “didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you at the wedding.”

Helaena’s doing a PhD in Etymology at Highgarden, between that and her various art projects she seems happy, but something’s off. She’s never exactly been outgoing but she seems particularly timid, wide eyes darting constantly to Aemond and Aegon. She’s nervous, but in all fairness they all are. Or they should be.

While Helaena goes on about species of butterflies, she finds her attention almost completely on Aemond, his hand gripping his glass in the corner of her eye, the sound of his breath, those well timed hums and the smell of his aftershave. She takes another sip of her drink to steady her nerves, hoping neither of them notice her hand trembling as she brings the glass to her lips.

Eventually Alys waltzes in with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Baela and Jace following behind her. That seems like a good opportunity to escape. She goes to hug Jace and Baela, and follows them when they go to stand with Aegon and Cregan.

The tension is palpable, Alys having a stiff conversation with Rhaenyra, Daemon lurking at the edge of the room with a glass of whisky, and Jace stealing glances over her shoulder, at Aemond and Helaena.

She catches whispers of their conversation but nothing tangible.

“What’s your problem?” Baela hisses to Jace.

He tuts. “He’s staring daggers at me, fuck’s sake.”

Aegon’s lips thin. He excuses himself curtly and joins his siblings by the glass doors to the garden.

Their little group falls to an uneasy silence.

“Well done, dickhead,” Baela says, rolling her eyes.

Cregan gives her a confused look. She puts her hand on his shoulder and comes onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I’ll show you the powerpoint presentation later.”

Somehow the mood only gets colder when Viserys and Alicent walk through the door. It’s almost pitiful, watching Rhaenyra and Daemon trying to win his attention while Alicent keeps her hand on her husband’s shoulder, muttering into his ear whenever she can.

Not speaking to Aemond has meant she’s mostly been out of the loop, but she can guess they’ve not moved past the dispute over Viserys’ will.

Helaena and Aegon both go to greet their parents. It’s cordial at best, light hugs and pecks on the cheek, and Viserys shakes Aegon’s hand like this is the first time they’ve met. Aemond doesn’t go near them.

The lack of warmth is only more noticeable when Viserys greets Jace and Baela with open arms and a pleasant smile. He hugs her too, congratulating her— after all that is why they’re here— and shakes Cregan’s hand firmly.

She catches Aegon’s eye over his father’s shoulder. He frowns, almost comically and goes to find another bottle of beer.

Before long Alys ushers them all into the dining room.

Alys and Viserys sit at the two heads of the table and the others fill in around them. When they see Alicent has taken the seat to Viserys’ right, Rhaenyra and Daemon move to the other end of the table. Helaena sits next to her dad and they both smile vaguely. Aemond, rather diplomatically, takes a central seat between Aegon and Rhaenyra.

In an attempt to avoid sitting across from either of his uncles, Jace settles next to Alys, and once Cregan sits next to him, the only free seat is directly opposite Aemond. She sits down without a fuss.

Once everyone is a bit more settled, Aemond and Alys go back to the kitchen to bring in small plates of salad and seared tuna.

It starts off with smalltalk. Cregan and Jace are muttering to each other on her left, while Baela and Helaena have a friendly catch up to her right, leaving her to prod at her starter, waiting for an appetite to appear.

She doesn’t dare to look up past the space in front of her plate, or the pair of eyes she can feel burning into her.

Once they’re finished, the plates are whisked away and Aemond presents them with lamb chops, fondant potatoes and summer greens, while Alys pours out glasses of red wine.

Viserys’ knife scratches against his plate as he carves into the meat. “Really excellent lamb, Alys.”

“Aemond did the food,” she says.

He pauses, looks down at his plate and carries on eating.

She hears Jace whispering something into Cregan’s ear and they both grunt in amusement.

“Something funny?” Aegon asks sharply, reaching for his glass.

She finally looks across the table. Aegon’s face is a dangerous mix of anger and anticipation.

“Just admiring Aemond’s culinary skills,” Jace muses, spearing a cut of lamb on his fork, “didn’t realise he’d gone domestic.”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra hisses.

Aegon huffs but keeps his mouth shut with a stern look from Aemond.

Viserys’ attention suddenly latches onto his grandson. The rest of the table falls quiet while he asks Jace about his exam results. 65 average. Just a few marks off a first.

Aegon nudges his brother but Aemond doesn’t react.

Their father seems to notice. “Jacaerys is shadowing me for the summer,” he says pointedly.

Aegon finishes off his glass and immediately refills it.

“Not coming to Dragonstone, then?” Helaena pipes up in a brighter tone, leaning to look at Jace.

The ancestral home of the Targaryen family, a beautiful estate along the coast outside the city. It’s more of a castle than a house really, passed down the generations over centuries. They use it as a holiday home now.

She went with the Strongs one summer. Ten weeks of beach trips, reading by the pool and fresh seafood for dinner every evening. It was the first time she really remembers meeting the Targaryen siblings. Aemond seemed so quiet then, always with his nose in a book. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

Cregan’s voice in her ear takes her by surprise. “You alright?” He asks, stroking his hand along the silky black fabric on her thigh. “You looked a bit lost there for a moment.”

She can see Aemond looking at her in the corner of her eye. “I’m fine,” she says, pushing Cregan’s hand away.

“We’re just a little busy at the moment,” Rhaenyra says, “work is… hectic.”

Alicent visibly bristles.

“Might make it down for a few weeks, if the boss lets me off,” Jace says.

“I’m excited to have you,” Viserys says, “good to get him used to the order of things nice and early.”

“Yeah, amazing what you can do when you have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter,” Aegon says, casually taking a long draw from his glass.

Alicent and Rhaenyra look horrified. Daemon and Viserys are both clenching their fists.

“He says as if Otto Hightower didn’t have to buy him a place at KLU,” Jace retorts.

Aegon shrugs. “So what if he did? Got the degree, didn’t I?”

“And what have you done with it?” Viserys says in a scathing voice, “bought a flat with my money. Drank and screwed your way through life with no concern for your career or your family.”

Aegon tuts. “The fuck does that mean, family?”

“Leave it,” Aemond mutters and the table settles into an uncomfortable quiet.

“At least Jace has some direction,” Viserys says, breaking the silence. For a moment his eyes dart to his wife.

Alicent’s brown eyes are wide and glassy. “And my children don’t?”

She watches Aemond’s lips flicker into a sneer before he composes himself and goes back to staring vacantly at his untouched glass.

“That’s not what I meant, love–”

Daemon chuckles quietly. “And yet…”

Alicent slams her knife against the table with a jarring clatter. “Maybe they would have amounted to something more if you had shown even the slightest bit of interest in your own children!”

A chair scrapes against the floor and Helaena’s silver hair billows behind her as she leaves the dining room.

Baela grabs her wrist and pulls her to stand. “Excuse us,” she says sweetly. Not that anyone will hear her over the shouting match brewing between Alicent and Daemon.

They find Helaena in the lounge, on the sofa, picking at her nails.

“Hey,” Baela whispers, coming to hold her hands so she stops.

Helaena looks up at them with glistening blue eyes and a trembling lip. It’s the first time she’s really seen the resemblance between her and Alicent.

Raised voices echo from down the hall. By the sounds of things Aegon and Viserys have joined in too.

Helaena releases her hands from Baela’s and presses her palms to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking a few shallow gasps. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Baela hums in agreement.

Tears start to trickle from her eyes. “I used to love hanging out with you and Jace and everyone. I don’t understand… what did we do wrong?”

She isn’t sure what to do. She feels so helpless just watching Helaena as she starts to cry. Baela sits next to her and puts her arm around her shoulders.

And while the arguing persists, Helaena eventually starts to calm down a little, wiping her tears on her sleeve and leaning into Baela. “We missed dessert,” she sighs.

“We have ice-cream in the freezer,” she says, “strawberry or vanilla?”

And just like that her face lights up. “Both.”

“Noted. Baela?”

Baela smiles sympathetically. “Strawberry please.”

She catches fragments of the insults being thrown around the dining room as she walks past. “Hightower leech”, “spoiled cunt”.

She sees a figure in a black shirt through the frosted glass door to the kitchen. She holds her breath as she opens the door.

Aemond is leaning over the counter, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes. He looks up as soon as he hears the door. She lets it close behind her and leans against it.

He stares at her with a tight jaw, a sad little pout on his lips and a slight scrunch in his nose. Despite everything she can’t help but feel sorry for him.

She tuts to herself and goes to place two bowls and two spoons on the counter, avoiding Aemond’s gaze.

Not my problem.

She goes towards the freezer and hears Aemond sigh heavily behind her. She hovers her hand over the handle.

Not my problem. Not my problem. Not my problem.

“Is it stupid of me to ask if you’re alright?” She asks, turning to fave him.

One of his wide plams is pressed against the counter, his legs crossed casually at the ankle. “No.”

“And are you alright?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow breath. “I told her this would be a bad idea,” he says, tapping the box against the counter. “But what do I know, it’s only my fucking family.”

The way the light shines on his face makes the scar over his left eye seem like a shadow. She’s never asked about the details of what happened, but then he doesn’t like to talk about it.

Two months ago she would have held his hand or pulled him into her arms when he was this anxious.

But things have changed now.

“Aemond, I–”

“Babe?”

She whips her head round to see Cregan and Jace standing in the doorway. Guilt twinges in her chest and she doesn’t know why. A conversation is nothing to be ashamed of, surely? She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Baela and Helaena are in the lounge, right?” Cregan asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They both glare at Aemond before they leave. When she turns to face him, he’s looking back with a cold indifference.

“He seems nice,” Aemond says once they're gone. “Palatable.”

She starts to drag her teeth over her bottom lip but stops herself. Aemond’s eyes are so intense, glaring from across the room with a dangerous look of fury and sadness. That’s exactly how he looked at her, the night of the wedding, when they were in her hotel room. When he asked her about Cregan then she liked how it made him jealous.

Her blood starts to simmer, a feeling that cuts deeper and hurts more than hate. “Is this it then?” She says.

His brows scrunch into a frown, but his wide eyes seem more bewildered than anything. “What do you mean?”

It’s like a switch clicks in her brain and something in her heart dies. These last few weeks, even with things going so well with Cregan, she’s carried Aemond with her, hoping that one day she’d wake up and things would have worked out differently. It’s what she’s been doing for the last year anyway, she just never managed to break the habit.

It has to end somewhere, the lying, the guilt, and the naivety that she meant something more to him than a pretty face and a convenient fuck.

She needs to let go and she’s known that for a long time.

“Forget it. You’ve made your side of things clear,” she says, her voice starting to tremble. “This was never going to end well and I should have thought about that before I led myself on.”

She takes a step towards the door but he’s in front of her, keeping her between the freezer and the counter.

“Do you love him?” Aemond mutters, quickly and quietly.

She can feel her heart beating in her throat.

“Do I… what?”

He takes advantage of her hesitation. His hand clamps around her wrist as he moves to the door. It takes a few moments to realise he’s dragging her with him.

The door to the lounge is shut. She hears Cregan’s booming laugh on the other side as Aemond leads her further along the hallway.

And suddenly they’re in the downstairs bathroom. She stands in front of the sink, staring at her own reflection as the lock clicks.

She watches Aemond in the mirror. The room is small and narrow, even when he’s standing by the door he’s close. Then he starts to close the distance between them with slow, taunting steps until he’s standing over her.

She can feel him and smell his aftershave, the bitterness of gin and the sweetness of red wine.

There’s that dark look in his eye again, determined, and hungry.

“Did you really think I’d let you keep up this pathetic little act?” He murmurs, eyes fixed on hers through the glass.

“What act?”

She lets out a little gasp when he places a hand on her hip and pushes his hips against her, grinding a growing hardness against her so subtly he might not be moving at all.

He leans into her but no part of him makes contact with her skin. She shudders at the heat of his breath running over her ear, neck and shoulders. “I said you were needy, didn’t I?”

Her shoulders flinch when a single fingertip touches the nape of her neck. He draws it gradually along her spine as she desperately resists the urge to cry out at the tingling sensation it brings, arching against him because her body has nowhere else to go.

“And so sensitive,” he says and stops just as he reaches her lower back. “It was all for me, wasn’t it? The crop tops, the staring, even Stark, you just wanted a reaction.”

She’s always been a good liar but when she opens her mouth to reply she finds she just can’t do it. She doesn’t want to, not when he places his hand on her side and traces over the curves of her waist, her hips, the pouch of her stomach and her thighs. It’s been so long since they’ve been this close, and it’s not close enough.

“You stopped wanting me,” she breathes.

“Stupid little slut,” he says, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He starts dragging both hands down her thighs, taking the hem of her dress with him as he moves back up. “How could I ever stop wanting you?” His voice is harsh and hypnotic all at once. Cold and unforgiving. It sets her skin alight and leaves her wanting more.

But it doesn’t make sense. He was the one who left the hotel room.

“I don’t understand… this isn’t fair.”

“But you and I both know you don’t like to play fair,” he rasps, tracing circles over the tops of her thighs, occasionally brushing over the hem of her panties.“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She bites down on her lip to stop herself whimpering at his touch.

He groans as his head falls against her neck, hands still pawing at her legs and the dress hitched around her waist. “Let me fuck you,” he utters in that low voice that means it’s taking every ounce of effort to hold himself back. “I know what you need. Just be a good girl and let me fuck you.”

Anticipation floods her body. She can feel her self-control slipping. She can’t think straight, can’t think past him or a world beyond this moment.

She wants it too much to feel guilty, for now at least.

“Please,” she utters.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

Suddenly his soft touches are gone and he yanks her panties down to her knees. One hand slides between her legs, prying them open enough so he can circle her clit with the pads of his fingers. The other snakes up her body and takes a gentle hold of her throat.

He finally brings his lips to her cheek. They graze over her skin as he mutters, “you said something to me, that night. What was it?”

She scoffs. “You’re such a cunt.” She can hear how weak her voice is as she says it.

“Mouth on you, baby,” he coos, “come on, I know you remember.”

She shakes her head fervently, hoping she can focus on the movements of his fingers, the pleasure building and building inside her.

“I want to hear you say it, baby.”

She lets herself melt against him, clinging desperately on his arms, breathless but defiant as she meets his eyes in the mirror.

With a short huff he withdraws his hand, but keeps her against him by her neck. He easily undoes the buckle on his belt, bringing his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

She bucks her hips on instinct as he slides the tip through her folds, gathering her wetness, and smiling when he realises responsive she is to him.

“Have you always been this restless? Or have you just missed me?”

Her head hangs slightly as he teases between her entrance and her clit. She can feel how thick his cock is, how hard he is and she already knows it’s going to make her feel so fucking good.

The grip on her neck becomes firmer, demanding her attention back to the mirror. He holds her gaze as he slides into her tight, slick cunt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, “look at how well you take that.”

He’s right. The sight of her pleading face and parted lips as he holds her and pushes deeper inside of her only adds to her arousal.

He fucks her slowly, precisely, placing a hand on her stomach and pressing into her while the impact of his thrusts are muffled by fabric.

“Can you feel that?” He whispers, “can you feel how tight you are? Can you feel how deep that is?”

“Ah— fuck, yes…” she chokes, savouring the burn and the stretch of his cock as he drags through her walls and hits her sweet spot. When his fingers come back to circle her clit it all becomes so light and perfect and deliciously overwhelming.

“I knew you still wanted me,” he pants between the gentle kisses to her cheek. “Say it.”

“No,” she manages to whimper.

“Say it.”

Her orgasm comes as a sudden burst of warmth and Aemond isn’t far behind, suppressing a grunt as his hips still and his cock throbs inside her.

A few moments pass and he turns her head towards him, keeping his eyes on her lips. He leans in to kiss her and she twists her head to the other side.

“Fucking brat.”

Suddenly he brings her to face him fully, effortlessly lifting her by her thighs to rest her against the edge of the sink.

There’s no teasing this time, no pretence, just need. He pushes himself into her in one cruel snap of his hips.

He’s too impatient to give her time to adjust before he starts to fuck her, fiercely and without mercy, hands digging into the flesh of her rear, pulling her in over and over again. He brings his forehead against hers, glaring into her eyes like he hates her.

But like this she can wrap her arms around his neck, hold him even closer and lose herself in just him.

“All you need to remember is you’re mine. You’re fucking mine and you know it.”

Tears well in her eyes and she can only take what he gives her. “Fuck… Aemond...”

Her climax builds until it’s almost excruciating, and then it tears through her, a release unlike anything she’s known for months. She keeps her arms tight around him, burying her face into his neck as her thighs shake and her whole body tenses and trembles.

Aemond doesn’t stop, fucking her through it until she’s writhing with the overstimulation.

“Too much,” she whines, “fuck it’s too much!”

He clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her protest, dangerously echoing on the tiled walls and floors. He comes again, gnawing at his lip to keep himself quiet and spilling deep inside her as tears stream from her cheeks.

He admires the mess they’ve made as he pulls out, her cream on his cock and his cum leaking from her quivering cunt. His eyes flicker back to her face, his expression softening and his lips curling into a half smile.

Dazed and still desperate she leans into him, but her lips barely get to graze his before he pulls away.

“Oh now you want to kiss me?”

She frowns, which only seems to amuse him.

By the way he grabs her jaw she doesn’t need to be told what to do. She offers him her tongue and swallows when he spits into her mouth.

A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest and her belly flutters in anticipation, as if he hasn’t just made her come twice, as if she can’t feel his spend starting to drip down her thighs.

He slips her off the sink and kneels down to pull her panties up her legs. Then he fixes her skirt, smoothing down the fabric with his palms.

“You’re going to be civil,” he murmurs, one of his hands coming to fix her hair. “You’re going to go back out there, kiss your boyfriend on the cheek, but I want you to think about me. Think about how good I make you feel. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“Words, baby,” he says as his hand comes to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says softly, leaning in to plant an almost chaste kiss to her lips.

She tries for more but he steps away, eyes roaming over her to make sure she’s presentable.

With a vague “hmm,” he carefully unlocks the door and slowly steps out. He shoots her a quick wink before he closes the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway back towards the kitchen.

Her legs almost give out underneath her and she clutches the sink to keep herself standing.

That certainly wasn’t how she was expecting this evening to go.

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to show her face and go about pretending like nothing’s happened in front of their families. Maybe she’ll rediscover her ability to lie, kiss Cregan on the cheek and play the part of the sweet girlfriend, but what kind of person will that make her?

She looks at her reflection, at the glimmer of blissful tears and sweat on her face.

A familiar laugh drifts down the hall.

How is she ever going to look her mother in the eye again?

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

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dwonfilm · 2 months

Text

Come hell or high water. | Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Looming over the Winchesters and [Y/N] is the war between heaven and hell. Dean will ultimately be faced with a choice he’d never be able to make. What will happen?

This will be a multi-part story, not necessarily set in a specific season but around 4-5 would be the best fit.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, John Winchester

Warnings: Lots of angst, sadness, etc, supernatural level violence mentioned, injuries

Here’s Part III if you haven’t read.

Flashbacks are in bold.

Part IV:

“I’m here to inform you, Dean Winchester, that you’ve got an incredible choice on your hands. One that will alter everything you stand for and everything you believe in—a choice that will tear you apart inside until you’re asking to be Michael’s meat suit.” [Y/N]’s stomach dropped hearing this, because that meant it was something bigger than even her intuition could’ve imagined. “Yeah? What’s this ‘important choice’ then huh?” Dean asked, Sam watching from the other side. He had just as bad a feeling about this as [Y/N] did—neither had any chance to speak up though, Lucifer answering immediately. “It’s simple really. You, oh you’ve got the choice of who gets a one way ticket to pain and suffering. Dean Winchester, it’s your decision who gets sent to hell here today. Little Sammy-boy..” he paused, gesturing towards the younger of the Winchester brothers. “or..” Dean’s heart was racing, knowing exactly what was coming but dreading having to hear it said aloud. “..your beautiful, so very beautiful, girlfriend [Y/N].”

It had been several minutes since Lucifer dropped the biggest bombshell imaginable on the three hunters. Dean’s ears were ringing, the only other sound in them was the rapid beating of his heart. Silence had befallen the room and to the devil? This was hilarious. It made it better that despite any worries, truly none of them could’ve seen it coming. Eventually the silence became too much and he couldn’t contain the humor he found in one of the worst situations Dean had ever been put into—bursting out laughing to break the silence. [Y/N]’s heart felt like it was beating once per minute, much like she was dying a slow and agonizing death, when it fact it was racing so fast it would alarm anyone. Sam’s eyes held a mixture between anger and pain, knowing that even asking this question was damning enough.. but all three knew that Lucifer meant it. No, this wasn’t a sick theoretical scenario to throw off the hunters. It wasn’t a bluff, this was a very real situation that none of them could’ve expected. It wasn’t something that even crossed their minds to happen today, or ever if honesty was in question. “Oh c’mon, why the long faces?! I mean, at least one of you will always be nice and toasty warm!” Lucifer was having a blast, finding even more humor in the reactions of the humans standing before him. Sam was the first to react, the anger taking the forefront. “What even is the endgame here Lucifer? Why would this need to happen?” He asked, eyes glancing towards his older brother and his sister-in-law by principle. He felt his heart breaking for all of them, himself included. Again this had Lucifer tilting his head back in laughter.

“I already told you, Sammy-boy. You two are far too resistant to your true purpose. A lot of your brother’s resistance is found in that beautiful [Y/H/C] haired girl standing next to him, so, I offered the choice to cut one of those lifelines because I am insanely generous.” Dean instinctively moved to stand in front of her when she was referenced by the fallen angel, not wanting Lucifer to even glance at [Y/N]. She grabbed the back of Dean’s suit jacket to steady herself and also as a way to confirm this wasn’t a nightmare. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t happening because when she grabbed the fabric nothing around her shifted. Squeezing her eyelids closed trying to hold the emotion inside, she didn’t need Lucifer seeing any kind of breakage. “I’ll go.” Dean said, almost quietly. Sam and [Y/N] opened their eyes widely at this and a silence hung in the air again for a moment. “Mmm.. no. See we’ve already had you Deany, and since your little angel on speed dial busted you free.. we don’t want you. You also can’t say yes to my idiot of a brother if you’re in the cage.” Lucifer explained. “And I can?” Sam instantly fired back, venom dripping from his words. “I mean.. you could because I would be oh-so close. Torturing you until your mind broke and you finally gave into the truth—you need to say yes and so does Dean.” Now the devil was getting irritated, eyes dancing along the three hunters in front of him. “I’m not doing this shit, this is bullshit.” Dean said, getting a little louder probably due to the irritation levels rising within him. “Oh but you have to, see this isn’t just a theoretic questionnaire. If you don’t choose, I will.” Lucifer replied, staring directly into the eldest Winchester’s eyes.

Silence again fell over the room, tension and emotion threatening to spill at any second. “Tick Tock, Winchester. I don’t have all day.” It was clear despite any form of annoyance that Lucifer was loving this entire situation. [Y/N] grips his jacket still, so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. Every bit of her is willing this to be someone kind of dream. Whether she’s asleep, whether they’ve been captured, she just needs this to be anything but reality. “You can’t just sling these kinds of things around Lucifer.” Sam thought aloud, which drew a dry laugh from the fallen angel’s lips. “I can’t? Who exactly is gonna stop me? You three?” He replied, wearing a shit-eating grin because all three hunters knew that they couldn’t stop this. No one could. It was the biggest abuse of power in a world where god couldn’t care less about what happened. “You really want to go to war with your brother that badly?” Sam pushed, taking a step towards the devil himself. “Why? What is that war gonna change? Even if you win, you really think the rest of the angels are gonna let you walk out freely?” Sam continued, emotion in every piece of his tone. Almost pleading to the humanity in Lucifer that he knew probably didn’t exist but he needed to try something. Dean couldn’t do this, it would tear him apart from the inside just like Lucifer wanted it to do.

“It’s the fate of the world and it’s the fate of the both of you—you think bargaining with the fucking devil is gonna change anything? You think that’s gonna work? Whether the three of you like it or not, this is exactly how the world works. There’s no fighting against the machine. There’s no changing fate—there’s simply delaying it and the more you delay it the more it’s gonna hurt when you lose everything and everyone that you’ve ever loved.” Lucifer had taken a step closer to Sam and they were practically face-to-face. “We don’t believe that! You can’t deny we’ve changed outcomes already, you think we’re gonna just stop there and submit to you?! Submit to this bullshit fate that you stand here preaching?!” Sam’s emotional side was spilling over into the angry side and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Lucifer had anger dancing in his own, staring a hole into Sam’s face when all of a sudden.. breaking the tension he.. laughed? “I see what you’re doing Sammy-boy, ah, you almost got me.” He laughed harder and shook his head. “No more distractions, no more dragging it out.” Lucifer now shifted his attention back onto Dean. “Now, back to the task at hand. Spotlight is on you Deany! Make your selection.” He teased, the enjoyment now finding its way back to the fallen angel’s facial features.

There was that uncomfortable silence again, settling over the musty room. Dean’s heart hadn’t stopped its heavy beating since Lucifer’s plan had been revealed to them. Now his palms felt a little sweaty, knowing that this was something that likely was happening. None of them seemed to have any kind of plan to weasel outta this one—which only meant one thing: someone was going to hell alongside Lucifer. Dean swallowed harshly, slowly looking between his brother and the love of his life. How was he supposed to make a decision between the two people who meant the most to him? Choose one of the two people that kept him going to face the torture, pain and suffering that he’d endured not too long ago? Said pain and suffering that he hadn’t even fully processed yet. Subtly his gaze moved between Sam and [Y/N], sighing as his brain was trying to compute having to make such a choice. He knew that’s why Lucifer had chosen this, because there was no way this kind of decision would be anything other than cataclysmic to his psyche. [Y/N] turned towards her boyfriend and saw the pain in his eyes—that one glance into his green hues and she was feeling every bit of agony that was swimming between his ears.

No matter the wits that the trio shared, it didn’t appear that they’d find a way out of this sick game Lucifer was playing. All of them were stressed and frustrated to levels that they’d likely never been before now. Maybe ones they’d never reach again. “I’m waaaaaaaaaaaaaiting.” Lucifer sang out to them. All three glared towards the fallen angel but that only made him chuckle more. “Ooooh so scary! Whatever will the Devil do?!” He spoke, tone mocking them and their situation. “Dude, shut up.” Sam spoke, exhausted. [Y/N]’s eyes had moved back to her boyfriend rather quickly after leaving Lucifer and they’d stayed there. Minutes had passed by and once again the dark, musty room had fallen into silence. Of course she couldn’t read minds but it wasn’t difficult for her to tell just how much pain this thought process was causing Dean. She knew he couldn’t make this call, he couldn’t choose between her and Sam. Nor should he have to choose. So, sighing, she knew exactly what she had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy, it was going to quite literally take everything she had.. but for Dean she would give it all twenty times over.

“I’ll go.” Her voice was quiet but the words echoed in Dean’s mind like they’d been blasted through surround sound. “What?” Sam asked, pain in his voice as he turned toward [Y/N]. Dean’s heart was beating even louder and he didn’t think that was possible. “Baby..” he finally spoke, his voice barely audible. Dean wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud until she met his gaze with an utterly broken look reflecting within her eyes. [Y/N] took the steps necessary to close all space between she and Dean, tears spilling from her eyes. Cupping his face within her hands and just staring deeply into the beauty of his green eyes that she always loved so much. [Y/N] wished that she could take all of his pain away in this moment, but she knew she couldn’t. No matter what went down today things would be altered for Dean for the rest of his life. “You can’t..” He spoke, hands clutching her blazer so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Now tears had begun slipping from his own eyes as he gazed at the woman he loved. [Y/N] wished there was something she could say to fix this, her heart being ripped from her chest would feel less painful than seeing this look in Dean’s eyes.

“Dean.. I’m not gonna let you make a choice between me and your brother. You’ve spent your entire life protecting Sam, you raised Sam, I know you wouldn’t send him to hell and I’m not mad at that. It’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for you.” She spoke, brushing her thumbs underneath of Dean’s eyes to wipe the tears away. “I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone on this earth. I know this isn’t what we wanted..” She sighed, trying to shake how utterly broken she was away from her voice. “I don’t want you to go..” Dean cried out, somehow gripping the fabric of [Y/N]’s top harder than he was before. “I know, my love.. I know. I don’t wanna go either but there’s no other way out of this.” She cooed, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t forget me. Think of me and how much I love you every day. I’ll always be in your heart, okay? They can never take that away from you. I know this is gonna hurt baby, but you’ve gotta keep pushing for me too. Hey..” she cried, leaning her forehead directly against her boyfriend’s. “I believe in you, I have always believed in you. I will never stop believing in you, Dean Winchester.” She sobbed, the eldest Winchester’s hands finally releasing their grip upon the fabric of her blazer and coming upward to cup her face now. “Promise me you won’t give up. Promise me you and Sam will keep fighting this, keep saying no to this bullshit.”

“I promise.” He sobbed, keeping his eyes on her and not moving them for a second. [Y/N] immediately crashed her lips into his, the rest of the world melting away. Nothing surrounding them but empty space and their love. Each of them clinging to the closeness they shared, hands on their lover’s face and keeping them for the longest time they could. “Alright, let’s go. I’m bored.” Lucifer spoke up with annoyance in his tone and that broke the magic of their kiss. Heaviness was surrounding the group now, Sam approaching the two of them. “Love you, Sammy. Please take care of him.” [Y/N] sobbed out, reaching one hand towards her brother-in-law’s face. “I promise I will, [Y/N/N.] Love you too.” Sadness was seeping through the younger Winchester’s voice too. Tears slowly running down his cheeks. “I said hurry up.” Lucifer ordered to which she snapped. “You’re dragging me to hell for no good fucking reason, I’m going willingly so shut the fuck up and let me say goodbye.” Dean sobbed and hearing that word. Sam backed up again, letting his brother and [Y/N] have their final moment. “I love you, Dean Winchester.” She spoke, looking directly into his pained emerald eyes. “I love you more, [Y/N] [L/N].” He cried out, knowing this was the end. Slowly they let each other go. She turned towards Lucifer with a scowl and took one step, but immediately turned back to Dean. Quickly her hand flicked to the back of her neck and she unclasped the necklace that Dean had given her for their three year anniversary. Inside the locket attached to the chain were two photographs. One was the first photo they’d ever taken together, which was inside when he’d gifted it to her—the second was one they added not too long ago. It was after Dean had come back from hell and they’d begun cherishing every moment more than they already had. No one could’ve predicted that such a short time later, they’d be here. That they’d have to be saying another forced goodbye. Slowly [Y/N] slipped it into his hand and closed it into a fist so he wouldn’t drop it.

Sam had taken a couple steps to his brother and placed his own hand on his shoulder, squeezing in an attempt to ground him. He wasn’t sure that would even help, but he needed to try and do something. He needed to make sure that Dean knew he was there for him, which of course he would, but in the moment things were going to get ugly. Emotions would fly and Sam needed Dean to know that he wasn’t alone. Lucifer grabbed [Y/N] by the wrist and within the blink of an eye they were both gone. Dean clutched that locket tight and fell to his knees, screaming and crying out the most heart wrenching noises that Sam had ever heard. It was very similar to when Sam had died in his arms, but of course, the younger Winchester didn’t witness that.. [Y/N] did. Slowly, Sam lowered himself to the ground and got on his knees too, pulling Dean into a hug while all the elder of the two could do was sob violently. They stayed there for what felt like years, until Dean couldn’t physically sob anymore. Now? He was just silent. Sam had managed to drag his brother out of the building, they walked a little ways and finally Castiel could get to them. Naturally the angel was confused when there was only two, Sam having to explain what had happened. Cas just looked at Dean with sadness, but Dean’s gaze hadn’t left the ground. After figuring out where they’d been, Cas zapped the brothers and the impala back to the motel.

Sam had entered the room first, just wanting to lay down but his heart sunk again. There, just where they’d been left, sitting all across the room were [Y/N]’s things. Dean, who’d been quiet the whole time, began sobbing again seeing the remnants of their life before Lucifer had torn it apart. He didn’t care about what he was wearing or how long he’d been in it, he just crawled into the bed and grabbed his favorite flannel—well his second favorite. [Y/N] had stolen this one and wore it all the time so he needed to find a new favorite but god, it smelled just like her and he needed it right now. Laying down and putting it between his arms, he began silently crying and thinking about the day he met her.

“Hi, I’m Detective Bonham. Can I ask you a couple questions?” He’d approached the victims daughter. “Son that’s not necessary.” John spoke, which caused the young woman to turn around. “John?” She asked, clearly distraught since it was her father that had been the victim of murder. “Hey kiddo. I’m sorry about your dad.” He replied, approaching the young lady and giving her a gentle hug. “Thanks..” her voice was soft and emotional. John pulled away and Dean’s heart stopped then and there. His eyes finally saw the young woman and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “This is your son?” She asked, he nodded and blinked a couple of times before snapping out of it. “Oh, yeah, hi.. I’m Dean.” He smiled, which made her smile too. Dean had extended his hand toward her and she took it, shaking it firmly enough. “I’m [Y/N].” John coughed, which worked to snap his son out of the daze he’d clearly been in since laying eyes on the woman. “I met her dad on a hunt years back. We weren’t overly close, most people in this life aren’t. However, whenever I’d have to come out to Arizona.. [Y/F/N] would help me out. I was always thankful, so when I heard what happened..” John trailed off, not needing to rehash the details. Dean’s face fell. “I’m sorry about your dad.” He’d said, gazing into her eyes with a softness reflecting in his own. “I appreciate it.” She replied and while she was obviously sad, there was a softness in her eyes too. John himself could tell that they’d felt their hearts sing that day, smiling just a little at how they were lost in each other.

Dean had known from the day he laid eyes on [Y/N] that he was in love. Sure, he’d fought it for a little while, mostly because he didn’t think he was worthy of anyone’s love and partly because he was young, dumb and needed to explore—least that was what he told himself. However that all changed when they’d been working a case without his dad and it had gone wrong.

“[Y/N]!! [Y/N] where are you?!” Dean yelled. He’d just successfully salted and burned the bones of a ghost that was killing people with family secrets, but not before it had launched [Y/N] against the wall. However she wasn’t where she’d hit, or where he thought she’d hit the wall, so he was frantically trying to find her. “[Y/N] I’m serious where the hell are you?!” He called after her, worried that it was the worst case scenario. “D-Dean.. I’m here.” She croaked out, holding her ribcage. Dean would’ve felt relief if he hadn’t noticed blood on her hand. “What happened?!” He asked, rushing to her side and kneeling in the grass. Dean gently pulled her hand away from her side so he could get a better look, immediately noticing the gash in her side that was bleeding. “Must’ve hit a part of the wall with some shit sticking out or something.” She replied, Dean ripping one of his extra shirts and quickly tying it around [Y/N]’s ribs. Without saying anything else, he picked her up bridal style and began walking towards the impala. “I’ve got you, babe.” He froze internally for a moment when he realized what he said, but instead of reacting negatively, she managed a smile. “I know you do.” [Y/N] replied.

Dean had stayed with her the entire time she was at the hospital, which had been a couple of days. After that? They were inseparable. At first there was no official label but soon enough, after that fight about him flirting with people for information, they’d been as official as official gets. Now he was alone in the romantic sense and it was already killing him. Sam just watched over his older brother, sadness written in every bit of his facial expression. He wanted to say something, anything to help his brother but he knew there was nothing that he could say. Right now, Dean needed to wallow and feel all of his sadness. It was something that broke Sam’s heart, both because of his personal relationship with [Y/N] and obviously for his brother. Mourning the person he loved more than anything in the world, he never expected he’d have to leave her side again.. or vice versa. When Dean was ready? They’d start looking for a way to bring [Y/N] back.

• —– ٠ tag list: @roseblue373 ✤ ٠ —– • ·

#dean winchester #dean x reader #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester imagines #spn #spn imagines #dean winchester x reader #fanfics #dean winchester x female!reader

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never-forget-viva-la-pluto · 1 year

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To the SPN fans that are hating on good omens rn bc of the leak, I hope you choke. I've seen some really nasty shit today from some of my (now unfollowed) followers whom I followed for spn content. So let's make one thing clear from actual posts ive seen today:

-Saying that the "wrong angels kissed", is...homophobic. I was with destiel from beginning to end and yeah we were completely shafted, but it's not okay to then say that other gay couples in media aren't allowed to kiss just because they aren't the ones you thought were hot. Jesus christ didn't think I needed to write that one down for ya-bo burnham

-I saw so much fatphobia about how Castiel deserved a kiss more than Aziraphel bc "he has far more sex appeal." Wtf wtf wtf. How do you live with yourselves saying that shit?You can pry Micheal Sheens body type Aziraphel out of my cold dead hands, you CW brainwashed morons!

-hate against the author for some reason, no one is willing to give specifics about it, but I think the majority of them maintain that GO is not good rep because they didn't kiss and now they are claiming pandering or something? Honestly that guy has only ever stood with the writers guild and queer people his whole career from what I find so I don't think it's fair whatever hate they are spouting. He isnt even saying he is upset with fans that saw or shared the video. Hes being super nice about it!

-I will say, non of us SPN fans have a fucking leg to stand on when it comes to hating something bc of the authors, OK. I saw someone saying the writing for spn was better and I can say you did not watch the show. I loved spn but don't do the late Terry Pratchett like this. He did nothing wrong

-on that same ish strain, as an ace person who thrives off queerplatonic relationships in media, maybe they kiss, I dunno. I just have to wait until the season comes out. Not 1 SPN fan gets to bitch about GO asexualty rep when SPN never even tried that route with any of its characters. But also ace characters are allowed to kiss, so you can write them that way of you want and interpret them that way if you want still. This is your viewing experience.

-this leak is truly not the same as the SPN yo a ti leak, solely bc the episode hasn't aired yet. "None of you GO fans would have survived the yo a ti leak." No I think you wouldn't bc the spn leak was clinging to an already mangled straw, while the angel's in GO are queer already. Queer queer queer and no amount of kissing or lack thereof is going to change that. We have no idea what happens in that episode of GO, but we saw the creators butcher the only moment in the show that could have meant anything real for queer viewers in SPN.

-"SPN crowly was kissing dudes first so this one is not that impressive". I see two cakes. One was made with the intent to make gay people look evil, but over time got kinda funny and a little better bc gay people liked it, and the other was about telling an interesting story about how love is so important, especially at the end of the world, and gay people liked that one too! So for me it's YaY two cakes!

-again the anti aziraphel is so plainly just fatphobia. You have no excuses. Sorry you don't think someone who looks like a slightly chubby micheal sheen could ever get kissed by someone who looks like David tennant, but you are not only wrong, you are also childish.

OK I'm done. Go watch good omens s2 when it comes out for my fucking sanity please. Or don't if all you are going to do is try to rip it apart like you do to all media that tries to be better.

#good omens #good omens discourse #fatphobia #supernatural #destiel #crowly x aziraphale #they are ace to me your honor #im ace and i sometimes want a smooch #good omens 2 #good omens s2 spoilers

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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iv. sunshine yellow

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter four of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field.

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, ptsd/anxiety, lots of worrying for no reason, smut, p in v, desk fucking. wordcount: 6.2k an: the last scene in this i am both excited and nervous to share cause the walls are coming down. tehehehehe. as always, the biggest thank you to my bestie and cheerleader @guyfieriii who lets me send her random ideas and also to @yeyinde who puts up with my nonsense and instils so much confidence in me.

“Panama DEA said no warrant, no detention.”

Sweat pooled at the waist of his trousers, his thumb digging into the space on his brow. “Fuck—“

“Plus, Jurado didn’t stay in Panama.”

Staring around, Javi sighs. “They know where he went?”

Silence. Horrid, crackling silence, before: “No.”

Running his tongue against the front of his teeth, Javi shakes his head. “So Jurado could be anywhere. Fuck!”

Stoddard clears his throat. “Also, boss. Fiestl and Van Ness have been trying you. A lot.”

“All right, well, put them through when you get them. I’m on my way back—and, Stoddard.”

“Yeah, boss?”

He drops his hand, straightening his spine. “Jurado has a wife in Bogotá. She’s American.” He drops his head, thinking briefly of you—your words of protecting him. “Put a tap on her phone.”

Three days. It takes three days, and the papers are signed for them to go to Cali.

You stand as you watch them being signed, your throat tightening the same as you did when you overheard the first talks of it. Feeling eyes on you, Stechner’s in particular. Waiting for a reaction, wondering if the volcano will finally implode.

You don’t give him the satisfaction, hiding it, bottling it—capping it somewhere deep under layers and layers, even as it uncoils inside of you. The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run.

You’re sure it took longer—and far more paperwork—to order a bag of decaf for one of the secretaries, than it did to send two more people to Cali.

It’s why you uncork a bottle of wine the day they’re signed. Coating your throat in it as you lean your back against the wall of your living room. Music flooding through your place, drowning out the ringing phone—muffling over hope and better days.

Cali does that, it unearths things.

It shakes the foundation you’ve cautiously built. Threatens to pull you through the soil back into the hole, looming in a corner like a shadow, ready to remind you that you’re not whole anymore—and to stop pretending you are.

Dan is well-versed in your coping mechanisms. Approaching you before lunch, hand on your elbow—not noticing the pair of brown eyes which burned into the two of you through the blinds. You hadn’t meant to meet them, but it’s natural. A pull, a magnetism. A soft smile etched poorly across your lips as you allowed your friend to drag you away.

The warm Colombian air clung to you both as you leaned against the marble embassy wall, the words washing over you as you dug your shoulder blades into the wall—pushing your feet into the ground.

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“ “I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.” Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.” Sighing, you stare at the ground.

Time moves too quickly. That’s what you think when you’re pulling into the spot outside the coffee shop. The radio on low, barely smothering the thick and jarring tension caused by you taking them both to the airport.

Dan is the first to escape, opening the passenger side door before you can even murmur a request. Chris remains behind awkwardly, sitting in it—letting it thicken and boil as you continue to grip the wheel. The leather under your fingers warming, the veins and tendons in your hand rippling under your skin as you sigh before stepping out.

You don’t follow when he steps out from behind you—even if you want to.

Instead, you lean against your car, sliding your sunglasses on—not for sight, but for cover. Big, dark lenses that are large enough to cover the bags under them and the tops of your cheeks.

It’s easier, means you don’t need to hide whatever emotion rises, comes, and crashes. You can let it drench you, stop it from festering and instead hide it, discreetly behind the shields covering your eyes.

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes.

The anger—the one which has become a part of you. The worries, which have been bubbling to the surface since you’d learnt it was them who were going. It all sits on your chest. Furious, like a dragon which can’t be tamed, all set to burn anyone in its wake in thick, boiling flames.

You let your fingers slide against your thumb, digging your heels into the pavement.

Flickers of Cali come to mind.

The sun, the warmth—the yellow-walled apartment. The laughter, the flowy fabrics around your skin. Then it shifts, night falling in the edges of your memories, burning and twisting—tightening your chest as you remember scarlet stained hands, graffiti letters against yellow—

“Hey,” Dan exclaims, his hand on your forearm. You steady your breath, filling your lungs, placing your palm against the cool marble. Letting it thrum through your skin, and slide into your blood. Pushing into the floor with your heels, rooting yourself, grounding down. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.” “I’m…” you meet his eyes, watching the rest of his face look as it usually did. Stern. Difficult to read. But his eyes were kind, swimming in concern. “Please be safe.” Snorting, he slowly releases your forearm. “If I had my way—“ “You wouldn’t even be going. You’d stick behind your desk, blah blah blah,” you tease, his elbow nudging you. Dipping his head, he sighs. “But, ‘course I will. He will too.”

It grows, the lump—the one which forms whenever you think about that place too much. When you let yourself think of late-night talks and ears pressed against sunshine yellow, allowing them to twist, morph and shift into a nightmare you survived—

Graffiti-covered walls; scarlet clinging to matted curls.

Your hand shakes, flattening it to your thigh, staring into the shop—watching the two of them talk to the owner. The odd word making its way to your ears, not enough to know what they’re ordering.

You are cracking. Thick lines appear through your exterior, leaving holes for more things to seep in, to ruin, steal breath and pull you back under.

There’s still pain under your nails from how hard you had to claw your way back to your desk. To the DEA. To stand straight and not quiver under the stares, hearing their thoughts: failure, failure, failure—

“Got you a coffee.”

He’s holding it out, Chris.

Blinking behind your shades, unsure when he’d returned, or how long he’d been standing there with his arm outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You’re thankful they don’t tremble when you reach out—your fingers brushing his as they do. Glancing past him, needing a focus, you watch the small vendor excitedly speaking to a less-than-impressed Dan, something which provides more entertainment than it should.

It’s still there, the torment—the past which likes to torture. It makes your throat dry, making standing seem near impossible, especially as you stare at him. At Chris.

Smirking, you shake your head. “How’re you getting to the airport?” “How’d you know I’m not driving myself there and leaving my car.” Arching your brow, you softly laugh. “Dan. The second time meeting you, you ranted about the ridiculous airport car parking prices. So, let’s say it’s a hunch.” Shrugging, he fights with a smile. You can tell. He has tells—just like everyone. His being that one side of his lip slides up, just a fraction. “I’ll take you.” He arches his brow. “I was gonna taxi with Chris.” Swallowing, you sigh. “Then tell him I’ll pick him up second.”

You say nothing—even if you think you should. So much history pulsing between the two of you as the sun slowly spreads its glow across the street. Chris just watches, staring through your lenses—trying to unmask what it is you’re hiding.

As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t seen it all before—far worse than this. Seen you at the lowest, seen you on your knees, scraped and bruised. So, you watch him, until he tears his eyes away, staring down the quiet street as he sips his drink.

“Thank you. By the way.”

“No problem. I know Dan’s feelings on airport car parks.”

Chris snorts, dragging his eyes towards you, but not quite landing. “No. For... whatever you said to Peña. To consider this—to consider me.”

Rolling your lips, you hold the cup tighter. Looking over his shoulder at Dan, dread filling the space left inside of you. It expands, pressing against the nervousness—making something more disruptive, more uncomfortable.

“I’m also… I’m sorry—for how I’ve been. And before you lie, to protect my feelings, like you always do—don’t. Because it isn’t.”

You lift your chin, letting your glasses slide down your nose. It allows him a glimpse, lets him see your eyes, lets you see that familiar look in his own, an expression filtering across the face your fingers had once known so well. Slowly, just as your shoulders unknot from your ears, you watch him etch himself into someone you used to know. Someone you used to love, care for... want.

He sighs, smiling. “I’m sorry. I know why you ended things… and I get it. It made—makes—sense I just—I missed you. And…”

“I pushed you away.”

“If I hear from Stoddard that the two of you became friends—” “I will not be becoming friends with fucking Stoddard, Dan. I barely wanted you.” He smirks, nudging you. “You’re gonna miss me.” “I think you’ll miss me more.” Scrunching his face, he sighs heavily. “Maybe. You’ve got Peña, though.” Hands dropping from the wall, you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just seems like a good boss, you get on with him.”

You take a sip from the cup, the caffeine exploding into your mouth—the rich, herbs and fruit smothering your tongue. It silences your mind, and allows it to settle. Returns to a low-simmer than an overboiling mess as you stare at your ex.

The ex who used to be your friend.

Rubbing the back of his head, Chris snorts.“Yeah, you did. But, I know… I know you, Lun. You were dealing with a lot. You were so strong, and yet so broken, and then we ended. And you, just...”

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the ground, as his tongue sweeps over his lip. And you know.

You know, because you thought the same.

It sat like an uninvited guest the moment you got back. Its presence had been more noticeable the moment you found yourself able to breathe, to stop yourself from shaking.

It grew larger when you flinched under his touch—when you purposefully curled away from him. It whispered in poisonous prose that it had been there before you left, but had worsened so much more because of who you were when you returned. It lay between you both as he snored, dreaming, and you lay, paralysed by nightmares that didn’t just play when you closed your eyes.

Clearing his throat, Chris kicks a pebble, it bouncing down the pavement in the noiseless. “You just looked like you were doing better without me—and it hurt. And, I—I kept lashing out.”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “I wasn’t…” you admit. “It hurt me too, to be without you.”

“Oh.”

It escapes a laugh. Short, but sweet—and very much genuine. It falls from your lips so surprisingly, his head snaps up, the moment growing, maturing as his lips rise at the edges as you add, “Oh? Really?”

Chris sips his drink, shrugging. “What do you want me to say?”

As you shake your head, you’re still sniggering, lighter, less obvious. “I don’t know, but I do know this is the first time we’ve been honest with one another in months.”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you—not like that, but just…”

Nodding, you swallow. “I know.”

His eyes meet yours, and all the unspoken words sound louder.

They flutter like broken butterflies, flapping their damaged wings as you bite the inside of your cheek. Feeling the evidence of day-old teeth marks, the phantom twinges of panic that threaten to wrap their hands around you.

“Please be safe... I’d,” you stare at him, seeing—for the briefest moment—the person you lay in bed with, the person you made breakfast with and stole the sunglasses of. “I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

He nods, short but full of understanding.

And you think about it, curling into him. Letting your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. Your feet are almost moving, closing the distance to do so.

But he’s quicker.

The two of you falling into the old ways, your head finding the space along his shoulder, something sliding into place, something healing—one less crack somewhere deep inside of you. You let him hold you, let yourself be held—feeling the sting behind your eyes, the fear rising, before you glance over—finding, if anything, the most uncharacteristic smile on Dan’s face.

You’ve always been good at remembering things.

Dates. Numbers. Faces—

They’re drilled into you—because you’re used to dialling them or because you have them banked somewhere in your mind. You knew Chris’s because the two of you had dated, you knew Van Ness’s because of lunch orders and after-work drinks; you knew Stoddard’s because he was who you reported to, and you knew the Ambassador’s because his clearance meant something.

But, Peña’s…

You didn’t know it because you called him a lot. Didn’t know it because you’d rang him copious times—if anything, the two of you rarely spoke on the phone. But, you’d chosen to memorise it. Just in case.

The same one you’d been dialling furiously for the last hour—eyes glancing to his desk, the one he’s been away from for hours.

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Digging your elbow into the desk, you grit your teeth. Fixing, staring at a spot on the carpet—old, dried gum that’s worsened over time. Something—anything. Taking a breath, banishing yellow—trying to rid the feeling that the walls are coming in as you place the phone back into the hook.

Peña has been gone for hours.

Something he doesn’t do without telling someone. Not when he had plans, ones you heard from Stoddard.

Since the file room, the two of you had been swirling around one another, but not colliding. He told you things, but things you already knew. The way it had to be, you assumed. A line the two of you had drawn because he was your boss—and both felt you should.

But, you couldn’t turn off your worries. The niggling anxiousness that something was wrong.

It had nestled somewhere deep, spreading and merging with the worries Cali had dragged up. Your nails tap in rhythmic patterns on your desk, trying to concentrate on your screen, the names, the numbers—

Stoddard isn’t concerned.

Doesn’t think anything of it when Peña doesn’t answer. When the phone rings out.

Even if the man worships the ground he walks on. The hero he couldn’t wait to meet, to shake his hand—ask him all things Escobar like the two of them would be best buds.

Now, though, when something does feel off, it’s a shrug, it’s a shake of the head. ‘He’s likely following a different lead.’ The annoying part… Stoddard could be right. Something which annoys you more.

That able to smother your worries, your intrusive thoughts for a moment. A sense of peace begins to mist over you, until it thrums inside of you again. Like it has since the airport drop off this morning. It all untwisting, slowly oozing out until it collects other things, creating more anxiety in a lab of your own making.

The list ever-growing, collating—

Van Ness. Fiestl. Javi.

It worsens when you call the number from earlier. The one for the plane he’d asked for, after you’d handed Peña the blue folder. You’d studied his features and committed each expression as he read the contents of it.

If you blink, you still see the way his face lit up, the realisation that dawned over him—it was like magic. Like perfect sunsets and those mornings there isn’t a cloud in the sky, making your cheeks warm, especially with the way he’d stared at you after.

“You okay, sir?” Your heart quickens in your throat as he stands, tapping the blue folder against his palm. “You got plans tonight?” “What?” “I owe you food.” Shaking your head, you lick your lips. “No, you—“ “You bought me lunch yesterday, I’ll buy you dinner. Tonight. Here.” Stepping around your desk, you feel his eyes on you. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”

You know you’re rattled. Sensitive.

Split open at the poorly sewn seams, panic seeping out of every orifice imaginable as you bounced your heel into the embassy carpet. But, something told you to be—something outside of anxiousness and concern. Something not easily stifled by reassuring thoughts and hopeful thinking as you stared into the dirty, bathroom mirror.

It’s heavy in your hand—your phone. Slowly placing it back into its position as you process what you’d heard.

“Stoddard…” you mumble, swallowing the forming lump in your throat. “Neil?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel it, the ground shifting. Your vision sliding, blurring just at the edges as your pulse quickens. “He didn’t—um. He didn’t get on the plane. Peña”

He doesn’t say anything—barely even a frown. Just leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk—as though Peña disappearing is something which happens regularly.

As though he’s someone who would vanish on the day he sent two agents to Cali.

The silence should unnerve you—usually, it does.

It normally allows everything to breed, to worsen—double and multiply. It allows that string to stretch again, it always so close to snapping, as its plucked and plucked, shivers through you.

Night has come and snatched the day. The office having slowly emptied over the last two hours, Stoddard having left fifteen minutes ago at best. You should go too, leave—try and sleep and reset.

But, you slide into Peña’s chair, staring over the contents of a file that you’re not taking in. Instead, it’s for show. A pretence as you chew the inside of your cheek, spreading your fingers out over the small patch of his desk not covered in paper. Just feeling the wood, the smoothness of it. How cold it is. The chill stretching and weaving up your wrist—

“Oh, cariño…I didn’t know anyone was still here.“

You’re on your feet instantly, palms pressed against the desk. Eyes having landed on brown eyes and a figure that makes your heart stop. And then, relief. He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive. Well. Whatever bit of you you’d been gnawing, releases, freeing you. All the thoughts, ones of him being taken, of him lying in a pool of his—

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

Barely able to say it any louder.

Swallowing, finding yourself quickly smothered and wrapped in something you’d forgotten could exist in the last few hours. The sight of him almost forces you to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him. You stop yourself. Just.

Dropping your chin, you watch through your brows as he throws his jacket and tie over the chair opposite you, blinking back thankful-tears as your fingers halt from drawing against the swirls in the wood of his desk.

He’s watching you, and as soon as you notice it, it’s all you focus on. They’re warming you, tracing you. Like he’s unable to tear himself away, staring stares at you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes you almost believe you are.

“Surprised to find you still here. It’s late—even for you.”

Snorting, you feel warmth slide up your cheeks. “Well, you did promise me dinner...”

He traces his jaw with his finger, a puzzled look on his face as he straightens, and your eyes take in the way his top two buttons are undone, that his hair is tousled—that he looks good. Alive, safe, breathing, and so good.

Him all golden skin and a pair of eyes that made you want to see every expression flutter across them. Just like normal. A normal you try to camouflage, dress it up in disdain and faux-annoyance.

Clearing your throat, you stand, stepping around his desk, not letting a finger fall from it. Suddenly needing it to ground you, to focus on—stop the shakes from your early worrying when everything felt like it was on fire.

It’s at the last moment you watch it bloom over his face—the realisation.

“Shit… I’m so—cariño…”

Shrugging, you lift your head. “It’s fine, I was just teasing—“

“I had—fuck, I had no signal. I’m—“

“Peña. It’s fine. I was messing with you. Where were you—to not have a signal?”

His jaw tightens, dropping his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. “Stechner took me to a jungle.”

“Course he did,” you snort, taking some of the discomfort. “Lemme guess, because of our visitors? I know I shouldn’t say this, but—“

“He’s an asshole?”

“Such a fucking asshole.”

You laugh, merging with his. Both of them escape, puffing out of you both as you feel a thread loosen around your throat.

He’s looking at you again, differently than before. The silence from the rest of the building, the late hour providing nothing but quiet.

You’re sure your blood has ignited, simmering in your ears, head and chest. Something fluttering, wings brushing your ribs as you swallow it all. Needing a distraction, scrambling for one, remembering—

“Fiestl and Van Ness—“

“I know. Managed... I called them in the car. They’re staying there, they have…” His voice trails off, head tilting.

You knew that.

Had spoken to Dan. Almost wanting to tell him that—a flicker of annoyance stemming through the earlier worry—bite that you’ve been here, taking calls for him.

But, Javi’s eyes are narrowing in the way he does when he’s figured something out. You can’t stop it, a mere passenger to the way your body warms under his sight—ears burning as you watch the corners of his lips twitch.

“Why are you in my office, cariño?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you straighten your spine. “Stoddard isn’t great at answering your phone.”

You find yourself swallowing when Javi takes a step closer, eyes burning into his, the same as his are burning into yours. His screaming Liar. Noticing him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

“I spoke to Stoddard—before he left for the night.”

You swallow.

Don’t push, you silently plead.

“Come on. You can tell me the truth.”

It’s fragile, easily able to shatter—the thin wall the two of you have built since the file room. The professionalism, the decency he was intent on giving you. You’ll tear it down yourself single-handedly if he keeps looking at you how he is, observing as he stops in front of you, drinking you in with his deep, velvety eyes.

Licking your lips, you take a deep breath. “Stop hunting for—”

“Were you worried about me, cariño…?”

It pulses—the truth. Even if he says it with that tone, the one which is always accompanied by a smirk. The one which makes your skin flush with warmth.

It mixes with the rattling around inside of you, the one born from actually worrying about him. It's all thrumming, vibrating. Making it hard to swallow as you lift your chin, almost defiantly.

Then he says your name.

Not Luna. Not your surname. Your first given name.

It’s too much. The proximity, the scent of Earth, smoke and something so distinctly him. The silence made it crumble, blending with his smirk. You watch how it unfilters from his cheeks as he swallows. Being replaced by something far more annoying—concern.

Smiling, you hold his gaze. Realising you have little energy to fight.

“And, what if I was, Javi?”

It’s subtle, the shift in his eyes. The change to the way his lips had been turned upwards. All minimal. Barely much at all. His face only half-illuminated by the lamp on his desk, but it’s enough to see the effect his name has on him. It’s enough to make the air difficult, like it’s being squeezed from the room, his lips parting before closing. No words left to say.

He’s surprised. So much so, Javier Peña has been rendered silent.

You consider leaving, taking your embarrassment with you, dipping your eyes as you fumble for an excuse—

And then he whispers your name. All breathy, almost like he did that night after the bar. As though he doesn’t want you to leave—it makes your eyes snap up.

They shrivel, the thoughts of leaving. Vanishing as if they never existed, to begin with.

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match.

It’s instant the way your lungs ache—burning—when you crash your lips to his. Your fist is full of his collar as your heart thumps, over and over—hammering and knocking, banging and smashing.

It’s messy. Far too desperate and uncoordinated. But it’s also bliss.

It’s freeing. It’s worry, and relief, and a sea of other things.

Your palm places flush with his neck, fingers clutching at his jaw as you feel his pulse thump against you. Alive, he’s alive. Repose settles over you, calming you as you taste cigarettes on his tongue and coffee on his lips.

A taste you’ve come to crave more than your own bag of beans in your bottom desk drawer.

His hands grip you, fix you against him—little, to no space being left. Not that you want there to be. If anything, you want to remove the barrier of clothes between you. Have him press you against his desk, create a new reason to blush in his presence—

Wrenching your lips from his, you lean back in his palms, finding bewilderment and confusion flashing across in a storm. Swallowing, you size him up, how his eyes are darker and his lips are parted.

“You fucked anyone in your office, sir?”

It hits him, the question—an array of emotions fluttering across his features. “Fuck me...”

Smirking, you take a step back. Hands sliding down his arms until you release his fingers, and your lower back meets his desk.

It allows him a moment—one to make a choice. A moment which stretches on far too long, your already frayed endings becoming frazzled with anxiousness. Then, you watch your daydreams play out into reality. It’s beautiful, and fascinating—and fucking everything. Studying the way his micro-expressions bleed into major ones, feeling his eyes rise, so inky and full of swirling lust, pulling you in like a siren song. It makes your throat dry—he makes your throat dry.

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

Baby.

The word curls around you, dripping into your ear as your hands come down to rest on the edge of the desk. Watching him shift his jaw from side to side.

“Surprised you know that word, Peña. It’s quite long.”

He snorts. Nodding, eyes dropping to the floor. His fingers twitch at his side, thumb brushing over his index and middle, before he looks up.

Banished is the doubt, the attempt at decency. His frame closes the gap quickly—quicker than you count on. Doing so in a number of strides, you don’t have a chance to count, before he’s on you. Lips crashing against yours, tongue licking past your teeth as you grasp fingers full of his hair.

It’s intoxicating, being kissed by him.

He’s like fire in your bones and air in your lungs. Losing yourself in him until you run your lips across his jaw, enjoying running your prints up and along his neck, feeling his pulse again—before sliding back up into the soft curls of his hair as you take him in.

The two of you drink one another in, lost in a moment that’s all your own. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes from him. Thankful when he reconnects his lips to yours, all desperate to kiss you.

So much so, you’re sure he does it with the sole intention of ruining you—of taking everything from you, leaving you with nothing.

You’d let him. You are letting him. Allowing his touch to consume you, to render you useless and breathless.

If you were younger, less scarred—less fearful of getting hurt—there’s more you’d hand him. More parts of you that you’d let him into. Likely spill your secrets, worries and deepest desires—and not hide behind smirks and flirtations.

Instead, you offer him mild submissiveness.

Hands falling from his neck to your trousers, undoing them—the metal grating against metal sounding, making him groan. It vibrates against you, feeling it in your chest as you let them fall to your ankles with a thud. They’re followed by your underwear, a simple pile, one he helps you step out as he helps slide the bare back of your thighs over his wooden desk.

His hand is quick to sweep files, notes and post-its into a messier pile than before.

You don’t focus on it. Try not to. Choosing instead to busy your hands with undoing his buttons—reuniting your lips with his. Craving him, not needing him. A solid difference—a considerable one. Because you can admit you want the feel of him—whether it’s the way he stretches you or his fingers across the inside of your knees.

To need him means something else. Something under lust and fucking on a desk. It means letting him in, enough that you could tumble, fall—risk scarring your heart, soul and sense more than they already are.

He knows it. Must do. You can tell from the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to knock down your walls and paper over old pain. His fingers hunt for the switch, the one which slides the imaginary door to your secrets. And his tongue, he tries to carve it into a key to unlock everything about you—discover the reason you protect yourself, hide, conceal.

For now, he takes this. Having you in his office, his groan as you palm him over his trousers—as he hisses into your mouth. You equally take each sound you can have, like the sound of his belt undoing, and trousers falling to his ankles. Working him slowly up and down. How he’s trying to push you over the edge by curling two of his fingers inside you, finding the spot that made you coo his name.

He stops, and so do you.

Both of you panting, watching his forehead meet yours as he tugs your hips closer.

He’s beautiful. Something you had known before, something you had witnessed and accepted. But, this is different, the lighting, the intimacy—the earlier worries.

Your hand curls against his cheek as he slides the head of his cock through your slick walls. Body aflame with arousal, with want.

I’m glad you’re okay, Javi. Glad you’re here.

It’s easy, the way he steals your gasp with his lips. Your hand clutches his side as he stretches you, making you feel so full—eyes clenching shut as you forget how to breathe. But your lips—oh, your lips don’t forget how to kiss him. They remember how to take as much of him as they can get.

The same way you begrudgingly take how slow he rocks himself into you, that his forehead finds yours, and cariño rolls in soft murmurs from his perfect, kissable lips.

It’s worse when it’s slower, impossible to deny how perfect he feels—how good he makes you feel.

“Thought of—fuck—nothing else.”

He talks more when he’s sober, you're not the same.

Thankful you hadn’t helped yourself to his liquor, afraid you’ll be telling him how thankful you are he’s okay, that he’s back in his office. Alive. Well. Breathing. That he’s kissing you, that he’s fucking you.

Instead, you find yourself unable to stop yourself from clutching him close. From smiling as he captures your lips, to smothering any moans and whimpers as you whisper his name.

He grasps your hip, ghosting his mouth over yours, “I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Shit, Javi.”

He peers down, a glint, a smirk—eyes speckled with the reflection of the lamp. Your head falls back as he helps you lift your leg. Just enough—until your heel meets the edge of the desk.

The groan he emits fills the air, and stains it. Feeling him so much deeper, creating so much pressure as he slides in and out. Your own moans stifled, buried, drowned in your throat with sheer fucking will— because he’s so impossibly, perfectly fucking deep.

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

Your eyes are already closed, the pleasure quivering, building. If your eyes open, if you meet his, you’ll lose—let him in, let him see you, all of you. He’ll undress your mind, peer in and see the broken mess behind the well-put-together woman he’s been thinking about fucking again.

That you cannot lose. Not him. Never him, but also not this—this perfectly matched game that could go on and on until one of you ruins it.

He breathes your name. Gruff. Peppered with pleasure and bliss as he snaps his hips against yours. It’s easier to shake your head as his pace quickens, as his grunts punch into the air.

“Need to—fuck, cariño—need to hear you—“

“No, Javi. Just you. Only y-you.”

One of your hands grips the desk, digging into the wood—enough to leave a mark. The other grabs him, the back of his neck, fingers digging into skin and hair.

You arch your back, feeling only then his palm on your spine—having balled up enough of your blouse to keep it from being in the way. His hand slides under, fingers spreading, curling you closer, rooting you to him.

As if his cock isn’t doing that. As though it isn’t dragging through your walls, stroking parts of you which makes you almost see stars, light and fucking heaven—

“Give it to me, cariño.”

His hip presses against your lower calf, hitting that spot over and over. The sound of your arousal growing, the slick noises as he pounds into you, drowned only by his grunts and your whimpers.

Tilting your head back, you take him in. The hair which is in strands, jaw tight, sweat building on his neck as he looks down at you like you’re everything.

It almost pushes you to let go—let it wash over you, and then you hear the softest whisper from his lips.

“Please.”

Your eyes open, basking under his gaze—and it rips through you. Tears you into pieces as his name carves into the air, and he fucks you through it. His hand grips you tighter, keeping you as close as he can. For as long as he can.

Your focus is on feeling it—from head to toe. How it ripples, travelling to every nerve as it sets you alight. The rest only comes back to you slowly, the way your lips are already meeting his as he groans your name as he coats you in his release.

It’s only when he slows, does the dull ache in your nails greets you, splinters carved into your skin.

Javi waits a moment, drawing a shape on your lower back with his fingers before he slides himself free from you, leaving you empty. The low light casts shadows that make him appear softer.

You almost are able to convince yourself it’s the lighting, but then he bends down to retrieve your clothes. Sliding your leg through the fabrics, seeing a gentler part of him showing through. You have to close your eyes, hiding from it.

Knowing you’re falling, descending. Still hearing the sound of him coming with your name on your lips—understanding what he meant when he said he liked the taste of his name on your tongue.

You liked the taste of yours too. More so when it graced the air in a chorus.

Please.

Please, he had whispered.

You feel his thumb sliding up your thigh, garnering your attention again, flicking your eyes open as fabric follows his fingers. You smile, mirroring his, slowly realising that you’re losing the battle of keeping him out—greeted by kinder brown and flecks of softness.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.”

Swallowing, he lifts his hand, thumb brushing the side of your lip as he parts his lips, all set to say something or another. But the phone rings.

Another interruption—a yank back to reality. Standing, flinging yourself from his desk as he moves to take it, trying not to listen, but listening all the same.

His eyes meet yours—and you realise in an instant the call is important. His tells showing, unable to be masked from how you’d cracked him open only moments ago, staring until he mouths Fiestl.

Your heart hammering, pounding, waiting and waiting until he places the phone down.

“They… they’ve found Gilberto Rodríguez.”

chapter five ->

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dantesunbreaker · 8 months

Text

Wading in the Ocean

Papa Emeritus IV/Reader

TW: Self harm and overall depressing subject matter. No, really, do not read this if sensitive to these subjects. (Note will be at the bottom)

Consumed with self hatred and the need to feel, you take matters into your own hands the only way you know how.

GIF by arcusxx

It starts as a dull ache at the back of your mind, a tickling itch at the base of your neck that travels the length of your limbs. A mantra plays on repeat. Cut. Slice. Bleed. You can take it all away with the strike of a blade. Split the flesh and let the worries flow away. Cut. Slice. Bleed.

There are no tears, no soft broken sobs of long suffering anguish. From the outside looking in, you appear as normal as any other day. But there is an aching emptiness deep within that continually pulls you by the chains away from reality. Your mind whispering sweet nothings in a desperate plea for reprieve. A gentle swipe of steel to silence the demons crying for help they never seem to find.

“I could run this razor along my skin, and it would be so nice and easy.” Your voice echoes off the bathroom tiles, but there is no one to hear. Alone you sit, razors scattered in a halo around your spot on the floor, a single blade perfectly balanced precariously between two fingers.

Shirt sleeves roll up as high as they can, exposing dozens of old faded stripes of various lengths, sizes, and shades. Perhaps your only reason to be thankful for summer’s end. Approaching sweater season makes it easy to hide in plain sight. With a flourish of moving fingers, your grip shifts to hold the blade between the thumb and forefinger of your dominant hand.

One shaking breath in. Cut. Metal dips into the meat of your shoulder, digging in and carving out a home for itself. Slice. A slow smooth drag cleanly dividing skin. Bleed. Bubbles form at the corners, gathering until it forms thick beads that spill over and run down your arm. One deep breath out. A feeling of calm serenity seems just outside your reach. You feel something. That single point of pain is far better than the vast void of nothing. But one...isn’t enough.

In quick succession you stack three more lines at the ball of your shoulder, warm blood swiftly cooling as it travels down your bicep. Even then you can’t seem to bring yourself to stop. Four lines soon become six, and then eight, and then twelve. You lose count as the upper part of your arm becomes a mangled mess of weeping lines.

A tremble in your hands seems to have crept up on you as you pull your hand back to examine your macabre masterpiece. While the warm sting certainly keeps you in the moment, your eyes can’t help but wander to the clean expanse of your forearm. Normally, you wouldn’t dare. On one hand you could count every scar below the elbows. Small spaced out scratches that were easy to pass off as simple accidents. You don’t like the risk of having someone question the new lines on your body. Your fingers twitch with an unspoken need for more.

With a shaking hand, you lower the blade to the delicate flesh of your inner forearm, pausing for a brief moment in hopes that you will change your mind. But before too much thought, you quickly slide the razor across your skin. You don’t bother to count as you slice line after line. Stopping only when the blade becomes too slick with blood and slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor where it bounces once and sends a splatter of your blood across the front of the sink.

Numbness creeps in as you watch the red paint your skin, rivers cascading over the sides and dripping onto the tile below. Pained, yet satiated. Time passes as you remain unmoving on the floor, the blood slowly coagulating into a sticky mess along your body. Content to stay in that spot, you pay no mind to the passage of time until a soft knock at the bathroom door rips you back to reality. Shit!

“Amore? I was waiting for you to come out, but you’ve been in there a long time.” Copia. You lost track of the date, unaware that tonight was marked for his return from the world tour. He must have seen the light filtering through the crack under the bottom of the door. “Is everything alright? ”

Scrambling, your hands hit the tile to push yourself up, but slip in the wet puddles you have left around, sliding into the blades still on the floor. A few strike your fingers, adding to the mess, but you push through and grab the bowl of the sink to finish pulling yourself the rest of the way up. Red fingerprints starkly contrasting against the white surface. You can’t keep your hands from shaking as you quickly turn on the faucet.

“I’m -” your voice cracks, mentally kicking yourself before clearing your throat. “I’m fine, Copia! I’ll be out in a moment!”

Furiously you scrub at your forearm while under the stream of cold water, pink staining the white porcelain. In your right mind, you would understand that in doing so you are only agitating the wounds, opening them up to bleed freely once more. But the only thoughts in your head are to wash away the evidence. Cover it up. Don’t let him see.

“Amore?” There is a soft rattling as Copia jiggles the knob. “Are you sure? Can you let me in?”

Panic rises up in your chest, threatening to spill out your throat like vomit. Tears finally spring to your eyes, silent sobs racking your chest as you rub your skin near raw. Unaware you are doing more harm than good at this point.

“I’m sure! Please don’t come in,” you rack your brain for an excuse that wouldn’t come across as a blatant lie. “It’s uh..well it’s embarrassing really. I had an accident. Let me just clean it up and I’ll be right out, I promise!”

That doesn’t seem to do the trick. Instead the jiggling starts up again, this time sounding far more determined. Cursing, you abandon the faucet once you shut off the water, seeing it for the lost cause it is. Eyes scan your surroundings for an alternative.

“No need to be embarrassed, let me help you clean,” the jiggling continues, Copia’s voice soft and full of gentle concern. “We’ve been apart for months, I would like to see you. Let me in.”

Spotting the towels hanging from the rack beside the shower, you pick your next target. Cover and conceal. If you can’t make the wounds go away, at least you could use the extra fabric to hide from view. You don’t even realize you are leaving Copia without a response, only causing your poor partner’s concern to skyrocket. Nor do you take note of the sudden silence.

“Sorry, but I am coming in,” is what you hear just as you take a step away from the sink, the subtle click of the lock turning.

Hope is lost. You watch in numb silence as the door pushes open, Copia standing just within the doorway the moment there is space. He looks tired. Exhausted beyond measure. Self loathing seeps in at the thought of how you have only created another burden for him to deal with before being able to rest. You turn away before you think he has a chance to see, before he can see you for the failure you are.

Letting out a howl of pure anguish, you drop yourself into the far corner of the room, tugging the sleeves of your shirt down to cover what damage you can while trying to create as much space between you and Copia as possible. But he stops dead in his tracks at the sound and the moment he takes in the sight before him. Red painted floor, steel blades littering the tiles, pink water still draining from the sink. Lips part in a silent gasp, and you can see the unshed tears held behind his eyes.

“Amore, what have you done?” There is a soft tremble to his voice that is so beautifully laced with concern. Concern that you certainly do not deserve.

When he takes a step in your direction your hands go up in warning, both trying to shield yourself from the scrutiny of his gaze yet also deter him from coming closer. Stepping forward, Copia uses the edge of one shoe to kick all the blades into a single pile at the corner of the sink before he squats down to be eye level with you. Tears flow heavy down your cheeks, a soft whimper constantly rumbling in your chest as you will Copia to turn back and leave the room. But instead his eyes trace over your every detail, assessing the damage you have dealt to yourself. A hand stretches out towards you, ready to bridge the gap between you.

“Amore, please?” He waits for it to be your choice, though you know inaction will eventually force his hand. But you can’t bring yourself to move. Can’t even bring yourself to form words.

All you can manage is to pull your arms back in, closing in further on yourself. Copia lets out a sigh, and you can’t help the overwhelming guilt as you think of how you are just further delaying him from being able to relax. Having just returned from a world tour, you are sure that Copia would love nothing more to finally sink into his own bed. But no, instead he has to deal with the shit show that is you.

Too caught up in your self loathing thoughts, you fail to notice as Copia takes advantage in the lapse of your awareness, shifting closer. A hand at your knee brings you back. Flinching, you let out a noise of pain as you try to slink further back.

“Let me see?” He reaches further, attempting to grab your still bleeding arm. But flight or fight instinct kicks in.

Making a feral noise, you manage to shake off Copia’s hand while pressing yourself flat against the floor, shuffling under his arm and dragging yourself across the floor in an attempt to get away. You don’t get more than a couple inches before arms encircle your waist and pull you against a warm chest.

“No!” You wail, nails clawing at the arms holding you tight, struggling as sobs shake your entire body.

But Copia holds tight, cradling you with your back pressed flushed to his chest, forehead resting against your hair as he lets your sobbing run its course. Soft praises and reassurances are whispered as he allows you to cry until you can do little more than sag against his arms. When your energy runs out, Copia adjusts his hold and moves to speak against your ear.

“You are okay, I’ve got you. I want to help,” his breath is soft, tickling your ear. “I am not here to judge or hurt you, amore mio. Will you let me see, please?”

You manage a feeble nod, uttering not a sound as you allow yourself to be rotated within Copia’s arms until you face him. Unfocused eyes remained trained on the lines between each tile, unable to look up at the man before you. Even as gentle gloved hands lift your arm, softly caressing it with feather light touches. Copia traces over each bleeding line with a soft swipe of his thumb.

“I will be right back,” Copia releases you, rising to his feet so he can rummage through the cabinets for the materials he needs. Then he returns, settling back onto the floor before pulling you back into his lap with supplies resting at his side.

One gentle hand holds your arm by the wrist, firm but not crushing, while the other holds a cloth soaked with saline which he uses to wipe your forearm. You stare at his hands as you watch him work, tears still trickling from the corners of your eyes. How can he be so gentle with you? Why does he treat you with such kindness when all you ever do is bring more problems? Even as gauze pads are placed, held snugly in place as Copia wraps your arm from wrist to elbow, you can’t help but think of how you have done nothing to deserve him.

Noticing the trails peeking out from the hem of your shirt sleeve, Copia carefully rolls the material up to reveal the remainder of the damage. Nothing is said. No harsh words of criticism, no exasperated sighs. Copia uses just as much care as he has with the rest of your wounds, soft slow touches as he cleans away the blood. When you are fully bandaged, Copia lets out a quiet sigh, taking your hands in his own as he pulls them to his lips. A soft kiss is placed to both knuckles before resting his forehead against your hands.

“Were..?” Copia starts, but pauses, lifting his eyes just as you finally bring yourself to meet face to face. The pain in his voice is unmistakable, and hurts you just as much as the cuts in your arm. “Were you making an attempt on your life? Or..?”

“No” it’s all that it takes to find your voice. It comes out thick and heavy, like your tongue still doesn’t quite know how to form words properly. “I just...wanted to feel something.”

He nods, dropping your hands and opening up his arms in offering. Somehow you find the strength to shuffle forward, nestling yourself into his arms with your head resting against his collarbone. It feels right. Safe. Like being in his loving embrace were some miracle cure.

“You could have called,” Copia hums after a long silence, though the words have no harshness, no bite. Just a stated fact. “I know I have been away for some time, but I would have dropped everything for you.”

You seem to struggle with words again, throat tight, mouth dry. “I can’t ask that of you,” is what you can finally manage, staring down at the white bandages around your arm. “You work so hard for the ministry, so much weighing down on your shoulders. I don’t want to be another chore added to your list. Even now, you should be resting after your tour. Instead you’re here on the floor dealing with my unstable episode.”

A finger at your chin tilts and turns your head until Copia can brush his lips against your own, soft, chaste, and full of love that could never be properly put into words.

“Never think of yourself as a chore,” while the words are firm, leaving no room for argument, you know they come with only good intentions. “Everyday I say a prayer to Satan, thanking him for bringing you into my life. You are everything I could ever want and more.” There is a subtle shift in his eyes, full of hope but a deep yearning. “Just don’t give up.”

“Sometimes I think I already have,” your voice is soft and weak, the energy to fight having long since left. “Feels like I’m constantly on borrowed time. Sometimes I am simply too tired to keep trying, and I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Suddenly both of his leather clad hands cup your cheeks, keeping your gaze locked on Copia’s endearing face. For the first time during the night, you watch a tear escape from his white eye. Both beautifully serene and heartbreakingly devastating.

“And you don’t have to,” Copia gives a squeeze, pulling you back to him when you try to turn your head away in an unnecessary flush of shame. “You may be in the ocean, but I have no intention to let you drown. I don’t want to be pulling you up just enough to catch your breath before plunging back into the cold depths.” There is a pause as he leans in to gift you another chaste kiss. “Let me teach you to wade the waters, keep your head afloat. Though you may never escape the water, we can keep you from going under.”

Tears flow heavy, running down your face in wide rivers as you clutch at the front of Copia’s shirt, pulling him closer until your face is buried in his shoulder. Arms are heavy and slow as you slide them to wrap around Copia’s torso. Sometimes you wish your connection could go deeper, that you could simply feel each other’s thoughts and emotions. Because there are no words that come to your mind as you cling to the man as if your life depended on it. You don’t understand how you have come to earn such a love as Copia’s, how you could ever deserve it. To feel so loved and accepted, even when you are at the point of wanting to tear yourself apart.

“Thank you, for everything,” a wobbling bottom lip makes your words sound muddled, lifting your head up enough to gaze into soft mismatched eyes.

“No need to thank me, amore,” Copia smiles softly, pulling a hand free to softly cup your cheek. Then he is shifting you both, legs unfolding as he moves to stand, picking you up with him. “Come, let’s get ready for bed.”

At your nod of consent, Copia gently shuffles you both out of the room, turning the light off and closing the door of the bathroom once you are past the threshold. Out of sight, out of mind. He would deal with the mess later. Now, he leads you to the bed, motioning for you to sit and the end as he retrieves a fresh set of clothes for you. There is a pleasant silence as Copia assists in removing your blood stained clothes, trying to conceal the way he rushes to toss them into the hamper. He also takes the time to carefully help dress you before guiding you to your side of the bed, laying you back against the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble weakly as Copia tucks the blankets around you.

“No more apologies, amore mio,” a chaste kiss is pressed to your temple before Copia pulls away, shuffling over to his side of the bed before slipping under the covers alongside you. The moment his back sinks into the mattress, you roll over to press into his side, resting your head on his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart. “I am here. We will get through this together.”

After a brush with some very dark thoughts due to current aspects of life, I felt the need to write this so I could feel I had someone there for me. I know it gets hard sometimes, but anyone else out there struggling with similar problems, please know that you matter. You don't have to suffer alone. Sometimes it can feel like the depression is all consuming, but there is always hope. You are never alone. People are out there that want nothing but to help you. So please, if you are feeling this way, let people know. Get the help you need and DESERVE.

#papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #copia #popia #my writing #cardinal copia #papa emeritus x reader

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