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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Someone’s Something

Plot: Joel, Y/n and Ellie meet Henry and Sam, who try to convince them to team up to find their way out of Kansas City together.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: tlou ep.5 spoilers, languge, implied smut, guns, mention of death, sa and loss of a child (16+)

A/N: Happy Valentines, y’all!! My gift to you is some light heartbreak with some fluff to soften the blow 😉

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist unless your age is specified in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

Y’all have blown this lil’ ficlet idea up so much, I’m still shocked it’s this loved. I’m so excited to finish out the second half of the season with you guys. Hang onto your butts 🤍

——————

July 1st, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Y/n had integrated perfectly into the Miller’s life. Sarah adored her, Tommy loved her, and Joel couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never admit it to Sarah, but he was thankful that she’d taken matters into her own hands and snuck down to the hardware store that June day.

In the beginning of July, Sarah went away to a two-week summer camp. Joel and Y/n had seen her off on the bus, Joel fussing over whether or not she had everything she’d need. He didn’t do well when she was gone for more than a day, a combination of missing her dearly and parental worry. Y/n had made it her goal over the course of her trip to distract him as much as she could.

They’d made a dinner date at Joel’s house the day Sarah left, the first of fourteen that Y/n had to keep him busy. His days would be consumed by work, but his nights belonged to them. Y/n knocked on the front door of the house, carrying a six pack she’d picked up on the way.

Joel hurried to the door, swinging it open and enveloping Y/n in a hug. She laughed, clinging to his neck as he literally dragged her into the house. Joel’s lips were on her the second the door shut.

“Missed you,” he mumbled between kisses.

“You saw me, like, six hours ago,” Y/n managed to say.

“Way too long,” Joel smiled against her lips.

Y/n chuckled, “Yeah, well, if I die from lack of oxygen,” she wiggled a hand between their smushed chests, “You’re gonna miss me a whole lot more.”

Joel wrapped an arm around her neck, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. That was the effect Y/n had on him. She’d turned his curmudgeon qualities, plying them like clay until they were soft. He was a new man with her in his life.

“Joel,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” He was barely taking in her words, focused on how her lips were starting to swell from his attention.

“What’s burning?”

It didn’t register at first, then he remembered the food was still in the oven. “Shit,” he muttered, letting her go to run back to the kitchen and save their dinner.

Y/n chuckled, kicking off her shoes and heading in to help him.

Joel’s attempt at a simple roast chicken and potatoes turned out slightly crispy, but good, all in all. They’d eaten it at the table, Joel’s hands stretched across the surface to hold Y/n’s.

After their meal, they retired to the living room. Joel turned on the stereo and fell onto the couch, Y/n laying her legs across his lap.

“Well, day one’s almost over,” she said, “How’re you feeling?”

Joel sighed, “She called earlier when they got there. Sounded real excited.”

“And you could not sound happier about it,” Y/n chortled, “Joel, she’s going to be fine.”

“I know that, it’s just,” Joel strroked his hand over Y/n’s calf, “It’s been me and her for…ever. When she’s off it just…”

Y/n watched her boyfriend with soft eyes, waiting for him to say more.

“I know she’s growin’ up, she’s always been independent, but,” he paused staring down at his hands, “It gets easier and easier for her every year to get on that bus. Makes me think about the day she’ll leave for good.”

“You know that no matter where she goes,” Y/n offered, “She’s always coming back here. She loves you too much.”

Joel gently smiled, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s leg. She always knew the right thing to say.

“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she kinda loves me too,” Y/n smirked.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot to work with there,” Joel winked.

Y/n giggled, her eyes drifting over Joel’s shoulder to the corner of the living room. An acoustic guitar sat propped up in a stand.

“Y’know, I still haven’t heard you play,” she said, nodding to the instrument.

For as much as he loved music, he still got a little bashful about his talent. “I sound like everyone else,” he replied.

“Yeah, nice try,” Y/n wasn’t so easily discouraged, “Play me something.”

Much like his daughter, there wasn’t a lot Joel could deny Y/n. If it was going to make her smile, he’d gladly do it. He lifted her legs off of him and went to retrieve the guitar.

“Does the audience have any requests?” Joel asked, settling back down beside her and fiddling with the tuning pegs.

Y/n tucked her legs into her chest, barely containing her grin, “Something sweet.”

Joel finished tuning the guitar and took his position. He hadn’t played for anyone other than Sarah in a very long time.

The first pluck of the strings relaxed them both, Joel settled into the piece quickly. Y/n watched his fingers dance up and down the string, a series of movements only he knew. It sounded like an old folk song, the kind that told the tale of doomed lovers torn apart by tragedy. She had enough musical knowledge to know it was in a minor key. Sweet, it was not, but it was brimming with passion, and the way Joel watched the strings so intensely only added to it. Y/n was taken aback by the simple beauty of him, pouring himself into the music.

When it was over, a few final notes slowing the tempo before stopping entirely, Joel looked over to Y/n, a whisper of a smile playing upon his lips. Their eyes connected, the ever present flame between them stretching the distance between their bodies. In that moment, Joel was thankful they were alone.

In the same set of seconds, Joel blindly set the guitar down to the side and Y/n surged forward, the two of them meeting in a heated kiss. Y/n held both of Joel’s cheeks in her hands while he maneuvered her on top of him, their lips never losing their connection. The sadness of the song had drawn them together, both needing to feel the fullness of each other’s devotion to counter the loss that the notes had grieved. That wasn’t them, they said with each touch, it could never be them.

—————————

September 28th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Fall had hit Texas, as much as it could affect the south, anyway. Sarah and Y/n were in the backyard of the Milller home. Sarah had her first soccer game of the season that weekend and she wanted to get in some extra practice.

“Okay,” Y/n called from the goal, “Don’t go easy on me.”

“Yeah, right,” Sarah scoffed, she was never afraid to show the full force of her talent on the field. Faking Y/n out, she broke to the left before making a sudden right turn and shooting the ball through the goal.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, pulling her fists down in celebration.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Y/n smirked, coming up beside Sarah as she did a little victory dance, “Don’t get too cocky. Let’s work on your goalkeeping.”

Sarah grooved her way back to the goal, “Okay, but I’m kinda spectacular at that too.”

“Well, we certainly don’t need to work on your confidence,” Y/n remarked. Sarah had the same cockiness, reserved only for things she was truly great at, as her father.

Joel materialized then, coming through the back door and watching his girls from the deck. “How we lookin’?”

“Today, Taft Middle School,” Y/n replied, catching the ball with her heel as Sarah kicked it, “Tomorrow, FIFA.”

Joel smiled proudly, both at Sarah and Y/n. Most women would have kept distance between them and their partner’s child. Y/n had jumped in headfirst, determined to be there for Sarah as much as she wanted her. She was the feminine influence his daughter had been denied all her life.

“Alright,” Y/n announced, “Good?”

Sarah nodded, “Good.”

Joel saw an opportunity and couldn’t pass it up. He carefully made his way down the steps of the deck, sneaking through the grass and up behind Y/n just as she was about to make her shot. As she wound her leg back, Joel wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her into the air.

Y/n shrieked as she was swung around, “Joel!”

“Sarah, steal it,” he yelled, smiling as Y/n wriggled in his embrace.

Sarah surged forward, avoiding Y/n’s flailing legs as she fought against Joel, and snatched the ball. She moved through the grass effortlessly and landed a perfect kick into the net.

Laughing heartily, Joel finally released Y/n back to the ground. He shared a high-five with his daughter as she bounded back to them.

“You two are awful,” Y/n gave Joel a shove to his chest, her wide grin contradicting her words.

Joel hung an arm around his girlfriend’s neck, pressing a kiss to her temple. “C’mon,” he separated from Y/n and clapped his hands, “Two-on-one, girls vs. boys.”

“We’re gonna destroy you,” Sarah teased, coming to stand beside Y/n.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he quipped, standing in front of the goal.

The three of them stayed out until sunset, practicing plenty, but laughing more than anything.

—————————

December 25th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

The Millers didn’t do anything spectacular for Christmas. A church service on the 24th, a simple dinner on the 25th, and presents.

It had been decided that both Tommy and Y/n would spend the night, it would make waking up and opening gifts easier than waiting for them to drive over. Tommy had taken the collapsable cot, his body was still used to military accommodations, while Y/n had gone for the couch. Joel and her were still hesitant to spend nights together, sleeping over at the other’s only when Sarah was away at her own sleepovers. Christmas didn’t feel like the time to test any boundaries.

Just past midnight, Y/n was still wide awake, tossing and turning on the sofa. There was a light snowfall happening outside and she hoped if she watched the flakes flutter through the air long enough, she’d drift off to sleep. So far, she’d had no such luck.

She took stock of the living room in its entirety. A fresh pine tree sat in the corner, a modest stack of presents surrounding the trunk. Two stockings were hung on the walls, Sarah and Joel’s names stitched across each. The room still faintly smelled like the batch of cookies her and Sarah had baked earlier in the evening. Even in the dark and completely silent, the house felt warm.

Footsteps down the stairs drew Y/n’s attention away from the decorations. She expected to see Sarah tiptoeing in to sneak a peek at the presents. Instead, Joel’s broad shadow entered the room.

“Can’t sleep?” Y/n asked from the couch.

Joel shook his head, “Nope.”

Y/n gave a small nod, pretending like the silence wasn’t as full of asking as it was. Joel’s posture had purpose in it, he wasn’t leaving until he got what he came for.

He tipped his head back towards the stairs, his eyes never leaving Y/n’s. “C’mon,” he said, his voice raspy with near sleep.

Y/n smiled to herself, throwing off her blanket and crossing the room to take Joel’s hand. The two of them tiptoed back up the stairs, trying not to wake Sarah or Tommy. Y/n knew the walk to Joel’s bedroom like the back of her hand, navigating in the dark made no difference. She certainly didn’t need Joel’s hands on her hips to guide her, but she welcomed them anyway.

Once the door shut, their routine commenced. Joel went to his dresser, blindly reaching into one of his drawers and tossing Y/n one of his flannels. Y/n slipped it on over her t-shirt, the sleeves ending way past the tips of her fingers. They made their way to their dedicated sides of the bed, Joel closest to the door because he felt better being a wall of protection between Y/n and the world.

“We have to get up before Sarah,” Y/n reminded him.

“We’ve got a 50% chance of makin’ it down before her,” Joel said, his hands gliding around her body to pull her into him, “Christmas morning, she’s up at the crack of dawn.”

Y/n drew closer to Joel, resting one hand on his chest and the other gripping the back of his neck. Already, she could feel her body relaxing in a way the couch just couldn’t coax out of her.

All the tension Joel had been carrying in his spine went lax the moment Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin. He was finding it harder and harder to sleep without her.

“Thank you,” she said out of the blue.

“For what?” Joel asked.

Y/n’s fingers danced along the line between the ends of his hair and the base of his skull. “For letting me be a part of all this,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s heart swelled, he took one of her cheeks into his hand and let their lips drift towards one another. Six months in, and he wasn’t sure if he could fall any harder in love with Y/n. She wasn’t just his, she was theirs. She was a permanent fixture in their home, the house a little less bright when she was absent from it. She had become a confidante to Sarah, a best friend to Tommy and everything to Joel. How could he not want her in every part of their lives?

“‘M afraid you’re stuck with us, Rosebud,” Joel smiled after he pulled back, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/n returned his grin.

Pressing one final kiss to her forehead, Joel tucked Y/n against his chest, his chin resting atop her head. She let her hand drift around to his back, her fingers spreading across the expanse as she tried to hold as much of him as she could. They fell asleep within minutes, the gentle snowstorm outside creating beauty that would only enhance the magic of Christmas for the Miller family.

—————————

2023. Kansas City, Missouri.

“Eye on me! Eyes on me!”

Joel’s eyes slid to the other side of the room, to the man with the barrel of his gun pointed at Ellie. Her and Y/n both had their hands raised high.

“You don’t have to worry about what to say,” the young man said, “We don’t wanna hurt you. We wanna help you.”

Joel watched him, he was shifting his weight between both feet, no expert marksman was that nervous to threaten someone’s life. Joel felt significantly better about his chances.

“Okay.”

“Okay, um…” the young man paused, “I don’t know what the next step is with something like this, but if I lower my gun…we didn’t hurt you…so you don’t hurt us…right?”

Joel stared him down, “That’s right.”

“That’s a weird fuckin’ tone, man,” their enemy replied.

“That’s just the way he sounds,” Ellie interrupted, first looking to the stranger and then back to Joel, “He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he’s okay.”

Joel stared, nearly a hint of a smirk at his lips, “Everything is great.”

“Dude…” Ellie muttered.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Y/n intervened, looking to the man, “Now drop the fucking guns before I second guess myself.”

“That wasn’t any better,” Ellie exclaimed.

“Fuck! Okay, listened,” the stranger started, his voice practically trembling, “I’m gonna trust you.”

He then stopped to signal something to the child, Y/n recognized it as ASL. They communicated something none of them could understand.

“But if any of you guys try anything,” the man kept his gun aimed at Ellie, nodding to Joel and Y/n, “Yeah? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ellie whispered, her heart was in her throat.

The child backed away from Joel and Y/n’s mattress, his aim still firmly locked onto them. Y/n was trying to get her heartbeat back down to a normal range.

“Can I sit up?” Joel asked, his voice was still on edge.

“Yeah,” the stranger conceded, “Slow. Get up slow.”

Joel obeyed, rising to a seated position without any rush. He raised his hands, the left one grazing Y/n’s injured right. Shockingly, the fleeting touch made her feel a little less nervous. If Joel was good for nothing else, at least he was a good fighter. They could get out of this easily, if necessary.

“Who are you?” Joel asked.

“My name’s Henry,” the now-named stranger answered, “That’s my brother, Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now,” Henry finally lowered his gun, “My guess is you’re running a close second. Her too.”

Y/n and Joel looked to one another, that ambush was going to come back to bite them in the ass, one way or another.

“Henry,” Y/n spoke up, lowering her hands and laying them palm up in her lap, “We’re gonna need a lot more than that.”

The five of them ended up huddled around a lantern, snacking on their dwindling food supply and waiting for the rest of the story to unfold. Henry had made it clear that he had to get some food in his brother first. It had been Ellie’s idea to share what they had left.

“Where’d you get these?” Henry asked, chewing on a cracker.

“From Bill,” Ellie answered, “He’s dead.”

Y/n and Joel had been watching Sam, digging into what they’d shared with him as if he hadn’t eaten in days. There was a real possibility of it, or something along the lines. They both wordlessly handed what was left of their portions to the boy, who in return, signed something to his brother.

“He says ‘thank you,’” Henry relayed, “I’m guessing you don’t have much so, this means a lot.”

“How old is he?” Ellie asked.

The brothers talked amongst themselves, with Henry answering, “He’s eight.”

Ellie nodded, “Cool. I’m Ellie.”

“Y/n,” Y/n spoke up, wanting to try and make the child feel as comfortable as the circumstances would allow.

Henry spelled out the names for Sam, who responded with a sign that both Y/n and Ellie assumed meant ‘cool.’

Ellie smiled before smacking Joel on the knee and waiting for him to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he swallowed his last bite, “Look, you ate, we didn’t kill each other, let’s call this a win-win and move on.”

Henry dusted off his hands, “Well, I’m betting that y’all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun’s up, I’ll show you one.”

Joel and Y/n thought it over separately before glancing over at one another. If Henry hadn’t killed them by now, he wouldn’t. He already knew their supply was low, the only reason he was sticking around was because he needed something from them.

“Okay,” Y/n answered for them, earning a quick turn and glare from Joel, “Sam can take our bed. As soon as morning hits, you show us the route.”

Henry scoffed, “Just like that you’re gonna trust us?”

“I know the eyes of a liar, Henry,” Y/n leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee, “And you don’t have ‘em. You weren’t even going to kill us in the first place, and you certainly weren’t gonna make him do it.”

Joel was ready to jump in at any second, but Y/n spoke with such precision and intention, he couldn’t come up with any reason to stop her.

“So how about we get some sleep,” Y/n continued, “And tackle this tomorrow?”

Henry’s eyes focused in on Y/n, someone as calculated as she was was either the most honest person on the planet or so calcuating and conniving, they could deceive the worst of humanity.

“Okay,” he landed on trust, “First thing.”

Ellie and Sam settled onto their makeshift mattresses, while the adults sat against the walls of the apartment. Henry on one side, Joel and Y/n on the other.

“What happened to equals?” Joel asked, the edge to his words undercutting the softness of their volume.

“Would what you have said been any different?” Y/n countered, watching as Joel tried to come up with an answer that differed from hers, “Exactly.”

The two of them stayed close to one another, without actually touching. Y/n was still slightly rattled from waking up with Joel’s hand over hers.

“Although my fucking neck’s gonna be messed up all day,” Y/n mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position to rest her head against the wall.

While they trusted an already sleeping Henry enough not to kill them, instinct told both Y/n and Joel to not leave themselves in such a vulnerable positon again. Sleeping sitting up was the only option that would allow them a little bit of rest.

And Joel hated what he was about to offer.

“You can…” he pointed to his shoulder, “If you want.”

“I don’t want” Y/n quickly replied.

Joel sighed in exasperation, “Forget I offered.”

He crossed his arms and settled against the wall, shutting his eyes and shutting down his momentary lapse into generosity.

Y/n inhaled, trying to get over herself. She was getting way too much up close and personal time with Joel to feel comfortable. But it was either another dose or a hideous day of lingering discomfort without the blessing of Ibuprofen.

She awkwardly scooted closer to him until their thighs were touching, causing Joel to open one eye. He looked down at their parallel bodies and back to Y/n.

“Just don’t grab my hand,” she grumbled, laying her head down on his shoulder and praying that her stomach stayed unaffected.

Joel’s body stiffened as she rested on him, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his extremities. He wanted to pretend to be unmoved, unbothered by her touch, but it was impossible. He would never fully be without affection for the way she felt against him.

“Go ahead,” Y/n said, sensing his discomfort but mistaking it for simply physical.

Joel hesitated a few seconds before shaking himself out of his doubt and resting his head on top of Y/n’s.

When the weight of Joel’s skull fell on hers, Y/n’s natural instincts took over and she almost, almost, tucked into him more. It was by the grace of God that she caught herself before she did it. No matter how hard her mind loathed him, her body would have accepted him back in a heartbeat.

The two ex-lovers sat against the wall, still trying to convince themselves that they were miles apart.

—————————

Just as the night before, they woke up so much closer than intended.

Y/n had fully curled into Joel, snuggling into his chest at some point during their glorified nap. When she woke up to the rough scratch of his flannel agaisnt her cheek, drowsiness did not immediately remind her she was in the year 2023. In her sleep-adled state, it was winter of 2002.

When consciousness pulled her back to the land of the living, she lightly groaned. Why were their sleeping selves making everything so complicated?

Y/n rolled off of Joel, causing him to sharply inhale. He blinked a few times, rubbed a hand over his face and evaluated the room. Henry was still asleep, but Sam and Ellie were already awake and sitting on the edges of their beds.

Y/n was beside him, at least twelve inches of space between them.

“I do anything in my sleep?” Joel asked.

Y/n shook her head, sucking on her bottom lip, “Nope.”

Joel wasn’t buying it, “Then whydya got that look on your face?”

“I know why,” Ellie teased in a sing-song tone.

Y/n let out two loud claps, startling Henry awake, and got to her feet. “Rise and shine, time to work.”

Joel stayed on the ground, watching how fast she moved around the room. Something had happened and it had messed with her. He ran a hand over his right shoulder, noticing that it was warm when the rest of him felt cold. He peered back over at Y/n, rifling through her backpack to find Ellie and Sam breakfast. He watched how she crouched down and handed the kids what was assuredly the lion’s share of her rations. How she held up a questioning thumbs up to Sam, who in return, smiled and copied the gesture. How she cared. She still cared so much.

It was killing him.

But there were bigger things to worry about than the stirring in his heart for the woman who perhaps, hadn’t changed that much at all.

————————————

Once fed and watered, the group of five headed a few floors up to the apartment building’s conference room. Henry had promised it had the best view of the city.

“Welcome to Killa City,” he announced, showcasing the place in daylight through the massive windows.

“No FEDRA,” Joel observed.

“Not as of ten days ago, no,” Henry replied.

“We always heard KC FEDRA was-“

“Monsters? Savages?” Henry finished for Joel, “Yeah, you heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years.”

Y/n looked down at her shoes, “Fucking hell.” It was stories like Kansas City that were one of her reasons for joining the Fireflies.

“And you know what happens when you do that to people?” Henry continued, “The moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you.”

“But you’re not FEDRA,” Joel stated.

Henry paused before answering, “No…worse. I’m a collaborator.”

Joel shook his head, “I don’t work with rats.”

Y/n wasn’t so quick to walk away, Henry had too much of a heart it seemed to be a true collaborator. He had a story.

“Yeah, you fucking do,” Henry said, “Today you do, ‘cause I live here and you two don’t. That’s how I followed you here. I know this city and I’m gonna help you out.”

Joel watched Henry as he spoke, trying to see through him, “Why help us?”

“I saw what you two did,” Henry answered, “The way you killed those men. Now I know where to go, but I don’t know how to make it through alone, not if it’s just Sam and me.”

“You seem capable enough,” Joel replied, “You’re armed.”

“You’re wrong and wrong,” Henry said, “Never killed anyone. And pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest I’ve ever come to being violent.”

Y/n nodded, no one let their hand shake that much when holding a loaded gun.

“So that’s the deal,” Henry stated, “I show you the way, you clear the way.”

Joel didn’t need anyone else slowing them down or making them more noticeable. And partnering with Henry would only make them bigger targets.

At the table behind them, Ellie and Sam were seated, reading from Ellie’s pun book. The energy was divided down the room; the grown-up side was deathy heavy while the kid’s side was warm and uplifting.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time,” Henry smiled, watching his little brother laugh.

Joel turned back to the window as he tried to put distance between him and the moment. Y/n glanced over at him, watching as the cogs in his mind turned. Her mind was already made up, it would have been wonderful if they could avoid an argument.

“So how’re we getting out?” Joel relented, turning to Henry.

Henry fetched a piece of paper from one of the drawers, office supplies had never been in high demand post-pandemic. He sketched out a square, writing down the names of the roads that cut through the city.

“Highways…” he pointed to one section, “Downtown,” then to the other, “Us. This whole area belongs to Kathleen.”

“And she is…?” Y/n asked, standing between Joel and Henry.

“Leader of the resistance,” Henry answered, “You can see the way we’re bounded by highways. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught. No question.”

“So how do we get across?” Ellie asked.

Henry banged a fist against the table to get Sam’s attention, signing something to him after. Sam went to drawing on his magnetic erase pad, Joel wasn’t made to feel any better about a kid being involved in the planning of their escape.

Sam held up his pad, having written the word ‘Tunnels’ on it.

Henry snapped his fingers, “Boom.”

“Kansas City has a subway?” Joel asked.

“No,” Henry answered, “But they do have maintenance tunnels. There’s a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers. And they share these tunnels, including…” he pointed down to a specific section of his sketch, “A bank building here,” he began to draw their route, “So we enter the tunnels here, travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential. There’s an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, pedestrian bridge over the river,” Henry dropped his pencil, “Free as a bird.”

“You’re right,” Joel admitted, “It’s a great plan. So what do you need us for?”

Henry hesitated a moment, “You notice anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange shit you’ve already seen?”

“No Infected?” Ellie guessed before Y/n and Joel could.

“Oh, there’s Infected,” Henry replied, “Just not on the surface. FEDRA drove them underground fifteen years ago, and never let them come back up. It’s the only good thing those fascist motherfuckers ever did.’

Joel looked between Y/n and Ellie, “So you want us goin’ into a tunnel?”

“Everyone thinks that it’s full of Infected,” Henry quickly corrected, he sensed Joel’s doubt, “Including Kathleen, which means that we’re not gonna be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is…it’s empty.”

“You know this?” Y/n questioned, “You’ve seen it? With your own eyes?”

“No,” Henry replied.

Joel took a deep breath, hands on his hips again. Y/n sighed and rested her elbows on the table. Henry was losing them both.

“But the FEDRA guy that I worked with told me that it’s clean,” the young man continued, “Completely clean. They cleared it out. All of it.”

“How long ago?” Y/n asked, shutting her eyes as if it could shut out their problems.

“Like,” Henry shrugged, “Three years ago.”

Joel scoffed, glancing to Ellie as if asking if she was believing this either.

“Okay, maybe there’s one or two,” Henry quickly said, “But you can handle it.”

“You’re making this sound a whole lot simpler than it is,” Y/n responded, looking to Joel, whose eyes were already expectantly waiting on her. “We need a minute.

Y/n pushed open the glass doors, bringing them outside the conference room and giving them a sliver of privacy.

Joel pointed a finger behind them, “You still feel good about this?”

“Not exceptionally, no,” she answered truthfully, “But we don’t exactly have a lot of other options, now do we?”

“If this guy’s gonna endanger our lives more than if we were on our own,” Joel argued, “Then we’re better off-“

“Fighting our way through a city we’ve never been in with targets the size of Texas on our backs?” Y/n finished for him, “Look, I don’t wanna go down there either. But we’re guaranteed a very slow, very painful death if we go it alone. I’d rather have allies and stand a chance, at least.”

Joel wanted to fight tooth and nail, but he knew she was right. She’d always had a talent for being right.

“Plus, it’ll give you plenty to lord over Tommy’s head when we get to Wyoming,” Y/n quipped, her mouth still frowned but her eyes were lit up with humor.

Joel huffed, he’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. The thought of seeing his brother and his ex together again was a sight he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to see.

Without another word, and a silent concession from Joel, the two of them marched back into the conference room where the debate was still being held.

Henry pointed to Ellie, “She says y’all fought off two Clickers. Is that true?”

Joel and Y/n uncomfortably shifted, the dread sweeping over them.

“And you’re still alive,” Henry stated, “You see? You’re the right people. If it gets bad down there, we turn around, and run right back out the same way we came.”

Joel was about one poorly constructed sentence away from giving the whole idea up, “Oh, that’s your great plan?”

“No, that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan,” Henry fired back, “But as far as I can tell, it’s our only shot.”

Sam signed something to Henry.

“They’re saying,” Henry narrated as he signed back, “They’re going to help us escape,” he turned back to the party, “Right?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That was a low fuckin’ blow, man.”

Henry didn’t seem bothered at all by the manipulation.

Joel’s jaw twitched as he thought it all over. Y/n could practically feel his unease. She craned her neck back, muttering more into his body than at him, “Lesser of two evils.”

With every fiber of his being, Joel wanted to fight. But instead, he let his hands fall against his legs, admitting defeat.

—————————

The team got across the city with minimal close calls, every once in a while there’d be a truck or patrol group to avoid. They got to the bank building intact and only slightly out of breath.

“We need to get outta sight,” Joel said, every entrance/exit of the place was structured in a glass wall.

“Uh, I-I-I think it’s this way,” Henry pointed towards one of the halls, the rest of them following.

They trailed through the building till they hit a back door, hopefully leading to the tunnel entrance. Joel and Y/n entered it cautiously with their guns drawn.

“This should be it,” Henry announced, “You ready?”

Joel looked to Ellie, “Get your gun out.”

Rebelling in her own small way, once again, Ellie pulled out the gun from her jacket pocket. At this point, Joel wasn’t surprised in the least that she wasn’t heeding his advice. Him and Y/n marched forward regardless and took the lead. They entered through another door, delivering them into the tunnel system.

“You see?” Henry proved, “It’s empty. The plan is good.”

Joel and Y/n quickly shushed him. “‘The plan is good?’” Joel repeated, “We’ve been down here two seconds. We don’t know anything.”

Henry looked to Ellie, “Your dad’s kind of a pessimist.”

“I’m not her dad.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“He’s not her dad.”

Joel, Y/n and Ellie’s protests overlapped.

“Just point your light forward,” Joel instructed, tightly gripping his own, “And be ready to run.”

Y/n steadied her breathing and began to move beside Joel down the underground maze.

They walked for around an hour, snaking down the sets of tunnels, holding their flashlights and handguns as if they were life itself. Eventually, they turned down a hall with child’s art painted all along it. The door was even painted as castle. All of them examined the walls in quiet confusion.

Sam bounded forward, wanting to go through and explore. Joel threw his hand out to stop him, “No.”

Y/n tucked her flashlight under her chin and gripped her pistol, sharing an affirmative nod with Joel that they were ready. He slowly turned the doorknob and it creaked open, revealing a room that looked…civilized.

The whole place looked like a daycare center. There were toys scattered throughout storage bins, art and books against the walls, small cups, and a faded soccer goal painted across one of the cinderblock walls.

“I heard about places this this,” Joel commented, taking stock of their surroundings, “People went underground after Outbreak Day. Built settlements.”

“What happened to them?” Ellie asked.

“Maybe they didn’t follow the rules and all got infected,” Joel replied.

While Ellie and Sam sat down, playing with a few of the toys, Y/n, Henry and Joel scanned the room. Whoever had been living there, they’d been gone long enough for a layer of dust to settle across everything.

“Hey,” Joel called to Ellie who was being a little too loud, “Keep it down. We’re not out yet.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Ellie groaned, “Can we just rest here for a while? There’s, like, actually shit to do here.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad to wait the light out a bit,” Henry agreed, “Safer in the shadows when we pop back out on the other side.”

Joining Ellie and Henry, Y/n tilted her head in a slight shrug to Joel. It was a smart decision and he was just going to have to get over himself.

Joel shrugged back to the group, raising an eyebrow and going back to checking out the room.

Ellie and Sam occupied themselves by reading comic books and messing around with some of the toys. Henry, Joel and Y/n rested at a table, putting their feet up without actually relaxing at all. At some point, Ellie and Sam switched to kicking a soccer ball around on the makeshift field. Y/n watched carefully as Ellie interacted with the boy, she was so caring and patient. She’d confided that she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but the glow coming from her radiated big sister energy.

Y/n scooted her chair back and walked across the room. “Can I join?”

Ellie enthusiastically began to switch the ball between her feet, trying to fake Y/n out. Y/n rotated to stand alongside Sam at the goal.

“That’s not fair,” Ellie argued, “There’s two of you.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you can’t do it,” Y/n teased.

Ellie’s determination set in, jumping slightly in place before kicking the ball in between Sam and Y/n’s legs quicker than they could stop it.

“Oh, shit,” she exclaimed, shooting her hands into the air.

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before Y/n got down on her knees, “Can you teach me something?”

Sam watched her lips and nodded, showing her a sign. To her, it looked like he was pulling something out of his mouth, before bringing his two thumbs up and splitting their directions at his chest.

Y/n mimicked it, “What does this mean?”

“Oh, that’s from Savage Starlight,” Ellie exclaimed, copying the gesture with them, “‘Endure and survive.’”

The three of them continued to sign it over and over. It seemed to make both Ellie and Sam extremely happy, which meant Y/n would do it as many times as they wanted.

Joel and Henry watched from their seats. To say Joel’s heart ached would have been an understatement. His soul was barely holding together, a new piece of it dying off every day. But Y/n and Ellie had somehow kept the last few from withering. It was so subtle, he hadn’t even figured the phenomenon out yet. He was barely self-aware. But seeing Y/n, crouched down on the floor with the kids, still with the innate need to make the world around her better, he came to fully realize his thought from earlier in the day.

She was still his Y/n.

Smiling, laughing, loving, caring, kinder than the world deserved. Underneath all the anger was the woman he had loved with all his heart.

And that fucking terrified him.

As Y/n made her way back to them, Joel pulled himself back to reality, switching gears and channeling his energy into focusing on the kids. Specifically Sam. He was eight years old and in survival mode. No child deserved that. It was making him rethink his stance on the things he’d said earlier.

“If you were collaboratin’ to take care of him,” he said to Henry, “I…I shouldn’t have save what I said. I don’t know your situation. And I’m not sayin’ they should let it go, but all things considered, seems kinda cruel—to send a whole army after you for that.”

Henry waited a few seconds, Ellie’s cheers filling the silence, before speaking. “You know, I wasn’t, uh…exactly telling you the truth before…about me not killing someone.”

Y/n and Joel’s attention turned to him exclusively.

“There was a man,” Henry began, “A great man. You know, he was never afraid…never selfish…and he was always forgiving. Have you ever met someone like that? Kinda man you’d follow anywhere.”

Y/n tensed up, forbidding her eyes from flicking to Joel.

“I mean, I wanted to. Well…I would’ve,” Henry gathered strength for the rest of his story, “Yeah, but, uh…Sam, he, uh, he got sick. Leukemia,” he scanned Joel and Y/n’s somber expressions, “Yeah, anyway, um…there was one drug that worked and, whoa, big shock…there wasn’t much left of it, and it belonged to FEDRA. And if I wanted some, it was gonna take something big. So I gave them something big. That one great man. The leader of the resistance movement in Kansas City. And Kathleen’s brother.”

Understanding washed over Joel and Y/n. All the firepower, the tanks, the trucks, it all made sense.

“Yeah, so, you still think they should take it easy on me?” Henry asked rhetorically, “Or am I the bad guy?”

Y/n stayed silent, weighing morals against necessity. Joel pulled his lips down, barely shaking his head before Henry cut off what he would have said, “I don’t know what you’re waitin’ on, man. The answer’s easy. I am the bad guy because I did a bad guy thing.”

“But you did it to keep him alive,” Y/n spoke up, “You’d go to the ends of the earth for him. That’s not evil, that’s family.”

Henry’s eyes cut through the space between Joel and Y/n, “You two get it,” he nodded toward Joel, ”You may not be her father, but you were someone’s. See, I could tell.”

There it was. The big, dreadful, terrible thing that Joel and Y/n had gotten this far without talking about. It was the unspoken wound, the one deep enough to kill yet shallow enough that it didn’t show. It was a constant phantom pain in both their chests and it broke them all over again to have it brought up.

“You too,” Henry smiled at Y/n, nodding to Ellie, “That is, if she’s not yours.”

Y/n didn’t think the blade could slide any deeper into her heart. She had been something to someone once, and it was as much a part of her still as the air she breathed.

“Uh,” Y/n tearily began, clearing her throat quickly, “No, she’s not mine.”

Joel had had more than he could handle just by Henry’s assumption about him. Referring to Y/n as the word he couldn’t bring himself to utter in that context had sent him over the edge. He picked up his gun from the table and practically jumped to his feet, “We’ve waited long enough.”

Y/n stayed still at the table, holding back her tears took so much strength, it was stealing her ability to move. If she allowed herself to cry in front of Joel, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

Henry didn’t ask questions, he didn’t bring up the very visible sorrow etched across Y/n’s face. Some hurt was palpable without ever being touched on, and it was painfully clear that Joel hadn’t been the only one to lose a child…

————

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #twenty years later #the last of us spoilers

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pascallftv · 4 months

Text

Girl Next Door— Part 6

Previous Part Series Masterlist

Summary: Your dad discovers you and Joel.

Word count: 5.1k

Content: Lots of swearing, arguments, threats

AN: The final part :’) thank you so so much for reading. Writing a series was a new experience for me and it makes my heart so happy to see you all enjoying my writing. Goodbye for now <3

The day finally came. A couple weeks from the first time you and Joel had sex, your father was home. It was easy to act normal when it was just you and your dad together. You could distract yourself from Joel when he wasn’t present. You filled your father in on all the things you’d done when he was gone, being sure to leave out the details of you and Joel’s intimacy.

Your bathroom was coming along amazing. Joel did an unbelievable job at turning your vision into reality. The dark green tiles and grout were exactly as you pictured, and the black and white checkered floor added the dimension to the room that you were searching for. Joel would be working on the finishing touches in the next few days. While you were excited to have your bathroom again, you felt gutted.

With Joel’s job finished, it would be impossible to see him as much as you wanted with your father home. Of course you could spend all the time you wanted together when your dad was gone, it still felt like a chapter was closing. The dynamic was so much different having your dad home. You and Joel were still just as infatuated with each other as ever, but it made things difficult when all you wanted to do was spend time with each other but couldn’t.

“I have an idea.” Your dad had said when he came home.

You were both sitting on the porch in the warm summer air. You’d been catching up on the past few weeks of each other’s lives. You hadn’t realized how much you missed your father. It sent a pang through your chest when you thought about the secrets you were hiding from him, but it was all you could do. You longed to be open to him about Joel, but you knew that was impossible to do without ruining everything.

“And what’s that?” You smiled, cocking your head to look at your father through your black sunglasses. The sun was extra bright that day, your skin hot under its rays. You felt like a baby chicken under a heat lamp.

“I was thinking we could have Joel over tonight. Drink some beers, celebrate him finishing up your bathroom.” He suggested, taking a swig of the beer he was already working on. He wasn’t an alcoholic by any means, but when he was home, he did enjoy drinking some cold beers while relaxing from his work.

Your stomach did a flip. You hadn’t really spent time with Joel in the last couple of days. You’d caught him a couple times when he was over to work on your bathroom, sneaking some kisses while you took your breaks. You felt like a couple of teenagers sneaking around like it was some sort of Romeo and Juliet love story. A forbidden love trope was a genre you enjoyed reading, but not something you wanted in your real life.

“I think that would be nice.” You smiled, tapping your fingers against the patio chair arm, looking off into the distance at the pond and field in the backyard. It was so peaceful, free spirited.

“Perfect. I’ll shoot him a text.” Your dad said, pulling his phone out and quickly typing a text to send to Joel.

You turned your head to look off towards Joel’s house, noticing his brown truck parked in his driveway, it appearing as more of a blob from this distance. Your mind flickered back to the night you first had sex, the steamy memories shooting immediately to your core. You cleared your throat and adjusted in your seat at the discomfort between your legs. Now was certainly not the time to be feeling like this.

“Y’alright, bear?” Your father asked, looking at you with a look of confusion.

“Oh I’m good, just fighting some swamp ass over here.” You lied with a chuckle. “Goddamn hot sun. You know how it goes.”

Your dad bellowed out a laugh, shaking his head and taking another drink of his beer. “Fuck, I know too much. God, when the sweat starts dripping down your back and then starts weaving through your ass hairs like a pinball—“

“Okay, Dad. That’s enough.” You laughed, standing up from your chair.

“I am going to take a shower.” You said, walking over to him and kissing him on the top of his head. “Holler for me if you need me.”

Your shower consisted of you fantasizing about Joel once again. It was probably unhealthy at how much that man consumed your every thought, but you couldn’t help it. What your brain couldn’t seem to shake off was the possibility of loving Joel. Sure, you’d only been close to him for a little over a month now, but you’ve never felt this way about someone before. Everything felt so incredibly natural and right with him. You craved his presence at all times, his touch and laugh being your two favorite things; two things that you’d grown accustomed to. Now that you weren’t together near as much, you were going through withdrawals.

You felt so weak. You knew you shouldn’t have depended so heavily on someone else to bring you happiness, but you couldn’t help it. He consumed you entirely and you couldn’t shake him.

The evening approached rapidly and you were now sitting on the couch waiting for Joel to arrive. You were growing incredibly impatient— you missed him so much, you were astounded at your own desperation. You felt like you were drowning, his touch and voice acting as your oxygen; without it, you couldn’t breathe and function properly. At the thought of him, you felt electrified.

You had already downed your first beer and you were working on your second. You didn’t want to get too tipsy. You didn’t trust yourself with concealing your feelings when you drank too much, so it certainly wasn’t an option for you to risk it with Joel and your dad in the same room.

You were mid swig when Joel walked in the front door, a six pack of beer bottles in his hand, his veins protruding. It was like you were like a vampire; his veins looked so delectable. His gaze locked on you immediately as he kicked off his shoes. He looked around, not catching sight of your dad yet, so he made his way over to you. He sat the beer on the coffee table and leaned over you, taking your face in his hands, kissing you with desperation. He evidently missed you just as much. The sound of the porch sliding glass door opening made Joel break away from you in a panic, retrieving the case of beer off the table. He walked away from you, leaving you a disheveled mess on the sofa. He wandered into the kitchen, finding your dad with a beer of his own in his hand.

“Thought I heard you pull in.” Your dad exclaimed, pulling Joel in for a hug, patting his back. He glanced down at the beer in Joel’s hand and grinned harder. “Yuengling, you know me so well. You better be sharing, Miller.”

“Consider me open to a trade.” Joel smiled, walking over to the fridge, placing the case inside before grabbing a bottle of his own.

Your dad leaned against the kitchen island, pulling his beer opener out of his pocket before tossing it to Joel. Joel caught it with ease, opening his beer casually. He tossed the opener back to your dad, then took a big swig of his beer.

“She’s been talking real highly of you.” Your dad said, half grinning at Joel. Joel cocked his head, swallowing the malty taste of beer on his tongue. “Says you’re doing a great job on the remodel.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Joel said, tilting his bottle towards your dad before bringing it back up to his lips.

“Talking about me?” You said, entering the kitchen.

“Only bad things.” Your dad teased, rubbing your head with his palm, making a messy of your hair.

“Dad!” You exclaimed, swatting his hand away, fixing your hair immediately. Joel watched the interaction with an amused expression playing across his facial features.

“Was just telling Joel about the amazing job he’s doing on your bathroom.” Your dad clarified, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Told him he probably needed a hazmat suit to get rid of that old toilet. Lord only knows the nuclear materials you unloaded in that thing.”

“Dad, what the fuck?” You groaned, pushing him off of you. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He had to have been at least four beers deep at this point. Joel laughed, his eyes lighting up when he made eye contact with you. You fought a smile back, shaking your head.

“Oh, bear. You always take jokes so seriously.” Your dad grumbled dramatically.

“Crack open another beer, see if you can keep up.” Your dad said to you, squeezing your shoulder with his hand. “Joel, come in here so I can AirPlay this fucking picture I took on the TV.”

Your jaw fell in disbelief. Yeah, your dad was definitely feeling goofy from the alcohol. He left the room in a hurry, leaving you and Joel alone in the kitchen.

“Holy fucking god.” You sighed, rolling your eyes. “I am so sorry about him, he’s a fucking idiot—”

Joel cut you off by walking towards you and pressing his lips to yours, his hand reaching up to grab the flesh of your breast through your tank top. God, he loved when you didn’t wear a bra. He pulled away from your mouth, kissing you on the forehead.

“S’okay, darlin’.” Joel said quietly. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You whispered, your hand reaching up to his jaw, tracing the outline of it with your forefinger.

You snapped out of the sentimental moment at the sound of your father’s bellowing laughter from the living room.

“Fucking hell!” He exclaimed through his laugh. “Joel, come here!”

Joel laughed, patting you on the behind before leaving the room to see what your father had cooked up on the TV. You shook your head in amusement and made your way to the fridge, grabbing one of the beers Joel had brought over. You wandered out of the kitchen, your eyes widening at the sight of another trucker’s dick on the screen as he pissed on the tire of a semi.

“Dad?!” You bursted out, rushing over to the couch to grab his phone out of his hand, turning off his AirPlay. Joel’s jaw was practically on the floor, his eyes slowly panning over to your father.

“Holy shit, I can’t breathe.” He said through his laughter, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I hear something out of the corner of my ear, so Iooked out the window— and fuck, this guy is just fully cock out pissing.”

“So you took a picture of an unsuspecting man’s dick?” You said, tossing his phone back in his lap, just inches away from hitting him in the crotch.

“Naturally, yes.” Your dad responds, catching his breath when he finally calms down his laughter.

“Phew, have a seat, bear. Joel doesn’t bite.” Your dad gestured towards the open cushion between them. “Let’s watch a movie.”

You glanced over to Joel, a smirk playing across his lips as he sipped his beer. Oh he bites alright.

You obliged, wandering over to sit down between them. Biased, you sat a couple inches closer to Joel, your thighs nearly touching, but far enough away so that it wouldn’t raise any red flags for your father. Your father tossed you the bottle opener. You opened your bottle before tossing it right back to him.

“A-ha! Let’s watch Stepbrothers. Such a classic.” Your dad exclaimed, throwing his hands up in delight as he pressed play on the movie.

You raised your brows at him, then turned your attention to Joel who was already looking at you. The corners of his lips were tugging up in a playful grin. He glanced around you to make sure your father was locked on the movie before squeezing your thigh quickly. He leaned over to your ear, his hot breath fanning over you, sending chills down your spine.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered in your ear, quiet enough to where you could barely make out what he said. “When you finish that beer, meet me in the kitchen.”

You spent the next fifteen minutes of the movie trying to drink your beer. You downed it slow enough to feel sick, but fast enough in pure desperation for what Joel was hinting at. When you finally finished your bottle, you sighed before looking at it.

“I need another beer.” You announced, pushing yourself off the couch. You held your empty hand out in front of your father. “Opener?”

“So needy.” He grumbled, setting it in your palm, craning his head around you to try and keep his eyes locked on the movie.

“I’ll come too.” Joel said, standing up with you and walking around you to the kitchen, his fingers brushing your wrist, sending goosebumps up your arm.

“Grab me one!” Your dad calls after him. You ducked out of his sight and followed Joel into the kitchen.

Joel reached into the fridge, grabbing three more Yuenglings in one of his hands. It was casual things like that that he made so sexy. You loved how big his hands were, and you loved them even more wrapped around your throat. He sat them down on the counter, then turned around to lean his lower back against the counter, looking down at you with his big brown irises.

You walked up to him, running your hands from his abdomen up to his warm chest. He looked so good in that black t-shirt. His smell was intoxicating— the woodsy scent was your favorite. He smirked down at you, reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, his hands raking through the hair at the back of your head. His tongue slipped past your lips, licking your teeth. You both tasted the zippy flavor of beer as your tongues danced with each other. Joel’s empty hand snaked down the expanse of your back to your behind, squeezing the flesh there under your thin shorts.

“Make sure you grab me a Yuengling—” Your dad’s voice entered the kitchen. “What the fuck?!”

You jolted off of Joel, wiping your lips frantically. The beer in your dad’s hand fell from his grasp, shattering in a loud collision with the granite flooring. His jaw was slack, pure shock ridden on his face.

“Dad, I—”

“I swear to fucking god.” Your dad snarled angrily. He strode towards Joel, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, getting centimeters from his face.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled. “What gave you the audacity to lay a finger on my daughter? You fucking pervert!”

You watched in horror as your dad reared back a fist, ready to punch Joel right in the jaw.

“Dad, stop!” You screamed, bounding towards him and pushing him off of Joel.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Your father snapped at you. “Are you kidding me?”

“Lionel, it’s not what you—”

“You’d shut the fuck up if you knew what was good for you, Miller.” Your father interrupted him, his tone laced with venom. “You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass into a fucking pulp.”

Joel swallowed hard as your dad got in his face again. If looks could kill, Joel would’ve already been dead. You’ve never seen your father this pissed before in your life.

“I leave for five weeks and I come back to my fucking best friend’s tongue down my daughter’s throat.” He scoffed. “I don’t even want to fucking picture where else it’s been.”

“You,” your father poked Joel’s chest, “fucking disgust me.”

Your heart sank. Your hands were shaking as the scene unfolded in front of you. Your eyes were brimming hot with tears that threatened to fall at any second. Joel’s expression remained stoic, his knuckles white at his grip on the edge of the island countertop.

“If I had nothing to lose, you’d be a dead man.” Your father seethed with anger.

“Get the fuck out of my sight before I break all four of your limbs.” Your father threatened. Joel gulped. “You are to finish that fucking bathroom, but when you’re finished, I am to never see you again.”

“And you.” Your father turned to you. His face was the color of a chili pepper. “You better pray to fucking god that I don’t kick you out of this goddamn house. You are to work from your room, and so help me god you are to never see him again. You understand me?”

Tears flooded from your eyes, your lips quivering. You were absolutely broken. Your eyes flickered to Joel, his expression pained and defeated.

“Y-you don’t understand.” You hiccuped. “Dad, please just let us explain—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snarled. “Go to your room. Now.”

You felt like a fucking child again with the orders being barked at you by your father. You felt so small in that room, your body on fire with embarrassment and guilt. You’d imagined your father’s reaction to the both of you to be sour, but you truly underestimated him. You’d never seen him overcome with that much anger— he was borderline murderous and you were terrified. You couldn’t bear to look at Joel again, so you turned on your heel and darted out of the room, running up the stairs to your room. You were like a toddler who had been banished to their room in timeout.

You fell onto your bed, the sobs hitting you with full force. Your entire body shook as you cried out, the tears streaming from your eyes. You were completely and utterly broken.

The week dragged on painfully slow. You spent most of your days hardly able to focus on your work. Anytime you let your mind wander, you got flashbacks to that night in the kitchen, the disgusted look on your father’s face as he looked at you with pure disappointment. You and your father had always been so close, and now it felt like your relationship was tarnished forever. Between your ruined relationship with your father and losing Joel, you felt destroyed.

You hadn’t seen Joel since the altercation. He’d finished the bathroom a couple days prior, working in a rush. You worked in your room, only leaving to use the guest bathroom and eat occasionally downstairs. Even on your restroom breaks, you couldn’t bear to sneak a peek of Joel. It would be too painful for you. You wanted to give in and go and kiss him. To tell him that everything would be okay and you’d be able to go back to normal. But that couldn’t happen.

With your bathroom finally finished, you clocked out of work for the day, and went to scope it out. In all honesty, you’d been too broken to even step foot in your new bathroom. You knew if you went in there, all you’d be reminded of was Joel. You’d be smacked with reality if you saw it, and you’d realize the job was completed and you’d have no excuse to ever see Joel again.

You needed to shower, and you knew it was time you utilized your new bathroom. It crushed your soul more to know that Joel spent so much time perfecting your vision just for you to not use and appreciate it.

You walked cautiously through your bedroom towards the bathroom door. You inhaled deeply as you reached out to grasp the cold metal of the door knob. You mustered up the courage to open the door, the bathroom absolutely breathtaking in front of you. The tiles were dark green, the floor black and white checkered. The sink and toilet were a beautiful matte black, the faucets a gorgeous shade of gold. It was absolutely perfect. You felt your lip quiver as you began to tear up.

On the sink was a folded piece of paper. On top of it was a messy heart. You frowned as you walked towards the sink, taking the piece of paper in your hand. You slowly unfolded it, revealing Joel’s handwriting.

I hope it’s as beautiful as you envisioned. I wish I could’ve seen your reaction. Don’t be a stranger. -J

A pang shot through your heart. At his handwritten words, your gut felt hollow as you realized you had your camcorder filled with videos of the process of the remodel. You were in much too fragile of a state to watch it now, but you knew you’d watch them eventually.

That’s when you began to sob again. Your body shook as you cried. You didn’t hold back, letting the sadness completely consume you. You turned on the shower, turning the heat as hot as you could stand it. You stripped off your clothing, leaving yourself naked in front of your mirror. Your eyes scanned your bare body. You got flashbacks to each and every memory of the gentle way Joel would touch you. The way he’d softly squeeze your breasts, the way he’d ghost kisses down the skin of your neck. You cried harder, taking in your bloodshot eyes and the bags under your eyes. You looked as defeated as you felt.

You were laying on your bed that weekend, you back flat against your mattress. Your mind was numb, your body exhausted. Your eyes were sunken in and lifeless. You’d gone from being the happiest you’d ever been to completely soul crushed.

Suddenly, you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you were feeling rebellious. A realization fell over you; you could sit here miserable at the turn of events you’d faced, or you could take a risk and try to talk some sense into your father. You could risk it and it work and hope Joel and your father reconcile, or you could move on and always wonder what could have been.

Your body was a zombie going through the motions and you walked down the stairs. Your father wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, but you spotted his figure sitting facing away from you on the back porch. It was sunset, the beautiful shades of pink and orange waging the war of peace in your mind. Your father had a bottle of water in his hand. He hadn’t touched a beer since the night everything went down.

You took a deep breath and your hand grabbed the handle to the patio door, slowly opening it. Your father’s head turned to the side at the sound, but turned back to the front just as quick. His fist was gripping the arm of his chair, his foot tapping against the cement of the patio.

You silently sat in the chair next to him, your feet flat on the ground, your hands resting on the arms of your chair. You pursed your lips, staring off into the horizon. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“You’ve always been my favorite person. My idol.” You began, your voice shaking as you spoke. “I always wanted to please you. The sheer thought of disappointing you broke my heart.”

You kept your eyes forward, but you felt your father’s eyes on the side of your face.

“These past few weeks have been some of the happiest of my life. I haven’t felt butterflies since high school, but there I went, feeling them again.” You shakily took a deep breath, feeling tears form in your eyes. “Dad, I can’t expect you to understand what I am feeling. What Joel is feeling. But I need you to understand that I have never felt like this about someone.”

You glanced over at him, your vision cloudy with tears. Your father was frowning, his own eyes blurring with hot tears. You turned your gaze to your lap, finding your fingers there, toying with each other as a distraction.

“I can’t expect you to be okay with it. But, what I can expect from you is to try and understand. I know it’s fucking bizarre for you, but I need you to try and see things from my perspective. Dad, I—” you paused, sniffling.

“I love him.” You admitted, staring off at the sun setting over the field in front of you. “I’ve never been so sure of something in my life. I’m not the best at describing how I feel, but I feel so incredibly happy and authentically myself with him. He’s everything I could ever want; he’s so kind to me, Dad. He makes me feel so beautiful and loved. He makes me feel so goddamn important.”

A tear rolled down your father’s cheek as you spoke. He swallowed the lump in his throat, closing his eyes shut, breathing deeply.

“I’m not a kid anymore. I know this is still your house and you’re so gracious to let me stay here while I figure my shit out, but I want you to allow me to be my happiest and not hold me back. I need you to give us a chance. If he hurts me, that’s my fault. But that’s my choice to make, not yours. I can’t expect you to understand what we have, but I can expect you to let me do what will make me happy.”

You hiccuped back a sob as you finished your speech, wiping your clammy palms on the fabric of your sweatpants. You wiped the tears from your cheeks that spilled as you talked.

Your father stayed silent for a moment, fully comprehending your words.

“Okay.” He said plainly. Your eyes snapped over to him. He was looking up at you with sad, but hopeful eyes. The slightest ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He reached his hand up to wipe away his tears with the palm of his hand.

“Okay?” You repeated, standing up from your chair, walking over to him, watching him for a second.

“Okay.” He repeated. “I don’t understand what’s happening between the two of you, but like you said, that’s none of my business. It’s not my decision to choose who you spend your time on. I just want what’s best for you, bear.”

You cried as you bent down and hugged him, pulling him forward from the back of the chair. He dropped his water bottle, hugging you back as tight as he could.

“I’m so sorry.” He cried. “I love you so much. I thought I lost you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter.

“I love you.”

You pulled away from him, taking in his watery eyes. He reached up, wiping the pad of his thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tear stains.

“Go on.” He muttered. “Go see him.”

You brows taught together and you sniffled.

“I’ll have a conversation with him eventually. But for now, it’s important you go make sure you’re okay.” Your dad said softly, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before rushing back towards the house, opening the patio door faster than you ever had. You scooped your keys up off the hook in the foyer and didn’t even bother putting shoes on. You ran out to your car in the driveway, not missing a beat to rev up the engine and throw it into reverse. That was the fastest you’d ever driven to Joel’s house.

You pulled into the driveway, parking behind Joel’s brown truck. You threw the car into park and hastily unbuckled your seatbelt, throwing the door open. You climbed out, slamming the door before running across the lawn and up the stairs to his front door. You were panting as you knocked on the door rapidly, only breaking to ring the doorbell.

The door swung open to Joel. He was disheveled, his eyes lifeless and sunken in. His hair was messy and unkempt. His eyes softened at the sight of you and your emotional state. Taking him by surprise, you rushed up to him, throwing your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest.

“Baby.” He said quietly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight against him. He rested his chin on the top of your head, breathing in your sweet scent that he missed so much.

“I love you.” You blurted into the fabric of his shirt.

“What?” Joel said, pulling away from you, not sure if he heard you correctly.

“I love you, Joel Miller.” You gazed up at him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You grabbed his face in your hands, taking in every square inch of his face. He parted his lips in disbelief. He didn’t speak, just stared back at you as if you’d just said the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

He still didn’t respond, but laced his fingers into the soft locks of your hair to pull you into a desperate kiss, his eyes squeezing shut as he tasted you. God, he missed you so much. Your lips moved in sync, your hands tugging at the hair at the base of his neck. The kiss was fast and hungry, but it was filled with every ounce of emotion you felt towards each other.

Joel pulled away, grabbing your cheeks in his large palms, watching the way you stared up at him with pure adoration.

“I love you.” He said. “I love you so fucking much.”

He kissed you again, this time slower, his lips moving so passionately against yours. He pulled your body closer to him, his breath warm through his nose. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip but didn’t breach past. He was savoring the taste of you.

He pulled away, his eyes searching your face.

“I talked to my dad. H-he’s still unsure but he’s giving us a chance.” You said, wrapping your arms around Joel, pulling him in for another hug. You missed how safe he felt. “He wants to talk to you eventually.”

“I— wow.” Joel breathed out, pulling you tighter to him chest, running his hand through your hair.

“I thought you would never want to see me again.” You muttered, squeezing his back with your hands.

“That’s the last thing I’d want, sweetheart. I thought the same for you.”

“You’re never getting rid of me, Joel.” You said, lifting yourself on your tiptoes to kiss him again. His hands ran over the expanse of your back, whining into your mouth.

He pulled away, taking your face in his hands again, admiring your beauty, admiring that here you were in his arms.

“I love you.”

And in that moment, you both knew everything was going to be okay.

taglist— @ghostwritesthings, @magpiepills, @laurrrra, @brittmb115, @kaislashes, @smccul

#din djarin #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #the mandalorian #dbf!joel #joel miller smut

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netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

I am a lantern

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Birdie realizes she’s pregnant. This takes place some time within the events of chapter 2 and 3 of Fear of God.

Content Warnings: Established relationship; Fluff; Unprotected sex; Domestic kink; Oral sex; Discussions of menstruation; Mention of rough sex; Pregnancy; Internal angst

A/N: Surprise, surprise!! In honor of FoG reaching 15k hits on AO3 here’s the first of my planned extras for the FoG universe :) Thank you so much for all of your love and support 💗

Art is Psyche Weeping by Kink Y. Craft (2009)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He hands you the bowl of dinner he’d whipped up for the two of you.

You’d taken to avoiding the mess hall recently, too attached to the cocoon you’d wrapped yourselves in together – always wanting to be alone, basking in each other’s presence, preparing meals for one another, and then going to bed together to feel each other’s skin and fuck until either of you was too exhausted to move.

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning your face up to him for a kiss with your eyes still on the notes you’re reading. There was too much to do lately. The clinic was so busy and Connie had veritably checked out, only popping in once in a while, leaving the heavy lifting to you with Nancy’s assistance. You’re exhausted, a little overwhelmed, entirely terrified with a perpetual black cloud of self doubt and anxiety hovering over your head at all hours of the day. You aren’t prepared for this… you aren’t even a real doctor, for fuck’s sake. Not really — not in any terms that would’ve counted before. Just whatever semblance of one the apocalypse had chewed up and spit out – an entire community was way too much responsibility for you alone. You feel the backs of your eyes pinch. Your back aches and your head throbs and your stomach has been simmering on a low grade of nausea all day long, but you still have so much to go over.

When he walks out again, his own bowl in hand, you’re buried face down in your notes, aggressively loud sobs wracking your body. He stares at you for a second, brow pulled down low, and all you can do is look up at him and practically wail.

Jesus, Birdie. He sighs, long and drawn out, he’s been waiting for this – had felt the storm brewing all evening. Something’s been bugging you or setting you off the past few days, and try as he might, he can’t figure out what the real problem is. He doesn’t want to ask outright just yet – he knows you’re stressed. Connie’s been pushing harder and harder to get you to agree to let him call it quits, and Joel knows you’re scared and stressed and feeling unnecessarily unsure of yourself. If you’d asked him, he thinks you’re ready for the responsibility – more than ready. No one would be able to take care of the community better than your kind and gentle hands and magnificent mind would.

He sets his bowl down, you’ve not even touched yours, and if it weren’t for the tears, the two of you’d be having words right now about your irresponsible eating habits. He hates when you get so distracted you forget meals, fills him with an inordinate amount of stress. He just needs to know that you’re well fed and taken care of at all times, it’s as simple as that. “Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He pulls your mess of papers and journals and books and your ugly, orange throw from your lap and sets it all gently on the table beside you – ignores your protests as he wraps one arm behind your back and another one under your knees. “You’re done for the night.” He pulls the book you’re trying to reach for out of your hands and scoops you up into his arms with a grunt. Damn knees. “You’re goin’ to bed. No more working tonight.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder to continue your sobbing.

“I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hitch and hiccup. “I’m not finished,” you protest, “I have more to go over,” but your arms tighten around him, and he feels you mouth at the skin of his neck. Emotional and needy, recently. Hungry for his cock and his hands and his tongue at all hours of the day. Not that he was complaining, at all. But he did wonder what’d gotten into you.

“You are for tonight,” he says softly, “You’re exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you grouch, stubborn and too adorable for your own good. His heart pinches a little. Your weight is so slight in his arms, carrying you up the stairs, just a little bird. He wonders, more often than not, how something so small can be so powerful, can terrify him so much, hold so much sway over his life, his very existence. It scares him enough to keep him away from you, as much as he can force himself, at least, even if he sees it for the lie within himself that it truly is. The two of you are practically living together at this point. As much as he feels like he needs to force himself to lie or pretend that this is still just sex, still just something to ease your individual loneliness, if he gives himself a moment to be really, really honest with himself, he knows what this truly is.

But for now, for a little while longer at least, as long as he can stretch it out, he’ll swallow the truth of the two of you, swallow it down and pretend it’s less than what it is. That it isn’t absolutely everything.

He sets you down gently on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from when he’d fucked you this morning before he’d sent you off to work, shaky legs, leaking cunt and all. His favorite way to start the day. He helps you settle in, pulls off your leggings and his own thick socks he’d pulled over your cold feet earlier and tucks the covers in around you. He eyes the stack of books on the bedside table, a mix of his own historical fiction and westerns and the cracked and well loved spines of some of your medical texts and scientific journals – wherever he turned his eye in his house, there were signs of you, signs of the way you’d settled into his life, become an intrinsic part of his existence. He wonders for a moment if he should go as far as taking them downstairs with him, but when he looks down at your sleepy, tear swollen eyes gazing up at him, he decides you’re probably too tired to disobey.

“Sleep,” he says down at you with false severity. He’s sure he’s entirely transparent, and as you turn your face into his pillow he catches the quick quirk of your smile… yeah, definitely transparent. He hears your muffled yes, sir, as he turns to go back downstairs and tidy up the kitchen before he comes back to join you in bed.

When he makes it back upstairs, his abandoned dinner, scarfed down quickly, and the kitchen cleaned, of course, of course, the bedside lamp is on and your face is buried in one of your textbooks. You’re holding it so close to your face, the tip of your nose almost brushes it, and he scoffs, typical, at the sight of you, but when he looks down he takes in the entire lithe length of you stretched out across his bed. The t-shirt of his you’re wearing has ridden up over your ass so that your little, pink, polka dot panties are peeking up at him. The soft cotton has ridden up into the cleft of your ass so that the elastic digs into the lush swell of your bottom, and he feels his cock stir at the sight.

Yeah… too adorable, too damn beautiful for your own good. Definitely… He’s going to lick and kiss and bite all of that gorgeous skin in a second.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?”

“Just one second–” you mumble into the page, not even turning to look at him. He goes into the restroom to brush his teeth, listens to the sound of you turning the pages, one second his ass. If he didn’t forcibly take the book out of your hand and fuck you to sleep you’d never put the damn thing down. Joel supposes he can make the sacrifice.

He comes back out into the bedroom, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and shucking his jeans and boxers down his legs before kneeling behind you on the bed. He reaches for your panties, fuck– he really likes the polka dots, and you’ve still not put the damn book away as he pulls them down the smooth slopes of your legs, and buries his face in your cunt from behind. And finally, finally, he hears the thump of the book against the wooden boards of the floor and then your moan as he licks into your pussy, pulling you apart by the softness of your ass. You groan for him, throaty and drawn out as you arch your back to give him better access.

“Yeah… that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he says into your skin, licking a long, wet stripe from your clit all the way to the tight furl of your asshole. He’d taken you hard this morning, fucking your pussy almost brutally until he’d pulled out and pushed his way into your back hole to come in your ass. The two of you had been filthy lately. You’d been particularly insatiable, but you incited something in him that turned him into a fucking animal sometimes. You had the uncanny ability to crawl under his skin and make his blood boil and rage until the only thing that seemed to settle him was your come and your spit and your sweat in his mouth, covering every inch of his skin.

If he really thought about it, he knew he was obsessed with you. Obsession verging on something much more serious – verging on… No, not yet… He wouldn’t think of that yet.

He pulls back to survey the blushing, flutter of your little hole. Fucking needy thing, he rumbles, but as he goes to push a single finger into your opening, he feels you wince and pull back slightly. Shit, he knew he’d been too rough this morning. He licks another wet swipe along the cleft of your ass. “You sore, baby?” All he gets is your muffled moan and a slight nod of your head, your face buried in the pillows as you hitch your hips higher, trying to tempt him, swaying your ass gently from side to side… like he’d said, needy. He anchors himself up on one arm, the other keeping you spread open while he lets a long string of spit trickle slowly from his pursed mouth, the thick glob covering your tight hole so that he can smear it into your skin. Joel, Joel – he hears you begging into the sheets. “Yeah… I got you, little bird. Don’t worry–” He bends his head again to bite at the crease where your asscheek meets the back of your thigh and then grips your hips to slowly roll you over.

Your eyes are hazy, glazed and wet when he takes in your flushed face. He crawls up the length of your body to lay beside you, slotting one arm under your head and the other wrapping around your thigh to bring it up over his hip. “N– no, Joel– I– I still want you to fuck me… I still wanna come,” you mewl, scratching at his shoulders and arms. Tiny little fingers digging into his skin to try and pull him into obedience.

“Uh huh, I gotcha, baby… don’t worry. But I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re sore.” He slots his cock between your thighs, pressed up against your wet cleft and starts to slide through your sensitive folds. You shake and jitter in his arms, little hiccuping moans and whimpers every time the wide head bumps and catches against the swollen nub of your clit.

Please, please, I can take it.

“My poor Birdie,” he coos, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” The hand on your thigh sneaks back and around your bottom to slot between your thighs, pressing up on his sliding cock to apply greater pressure to your cunt. “How’s this, huh? Feel good?”

“Ungh, ah, ah ah…” So good, so good, you whisper, hot breath fanning over the underside of his chin. He feels the wet swipe of your tongue, your little teeth sinking into the edge of his jaw. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me–” His tip catches at your tender opening and you jerk slightly in his arms, he fists the hand not between your legs in your hair to anchor you in place and presses his mouth to yours, a long, wet swipe behind the edge of your teeth. He can hear how wet you are as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your moans and whimpers getting louder, more desperate. The sound of you is obscene, his own personal wet fucking dream.

His dream girl… come to life.

“That’s right, baby. Just like that – gonna come on my cock just like this. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? Don’t I always take care of you just how you need?” You start to tremble even harder, your leg wrapped around him tightening at his waist so that your heel is pressed sharply into the base of his spine and he feels you jerk as he grinds the thick base of himself into your clit and you start to come. Mewling and keening his name, his good, beautiful girl. He slides his hand up your bottom and back, long, slow passes of his palm along your sweat damp spine to settle you. “That better?” he whispers into your hair. You shiver, and he feels the nod of your head as you mouth as his throat and chest.

“Yes… thank you.” He pulls back to wrap his hand around your jaw, your bones feel so fragile beneath his strength – something delicate he’s been afforded the privilege of being able to touch with these violence soaked hands of his. He can’t think about how frightened you make him, not now, not when he has you beneath him like this, soft and sated and pliant – the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life. He smushes your cheeks together and plants a soft kiss to your puckered mouth. “Beautiful girl.” All you do is burrow further into the covers, a soft sigh as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. And so fine, he can admit it, right here and now. He fucking loves you, and it’ll probably be the thing to kill him in the end, this recalcitrance he’s forcing himself into.

You stir awake in the middle of the night. He’s draped over you in his sleep, his face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, big hand palming the weight of your breast. He’s so big and muscular and heavy and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, drag your fingers through his thick curls, and listen to the sound of his soft snores.

Your entire body feels like one unending, tender bruise. Every sensation heightened, too sensitive, like a raw, exposed nerve. You don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, what’s gotten into you. You’re on the verge of overwhelmed tears, just from the feel of him, the sound of his soft breathing, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how much you want him. You’ve been on the verge of tears for days, the slightest thing setting you off.

You lay there for a while holding him, sleep gone out the window in the night, abandoning you to wakefulness, but you realize that the reason you’d stirred awake is that you’re cramping low in your belly, a dull and chronic sort of pulse, deep in your womb. Shit, you need to get up and check if you’re bleeding.

You shift out from under him slowly, slipping from beneath his heavy paw to slip into the restroom. He turns over in his sleep, arm thrown out over the space you’ve just vacated, as if he’s searching for you, even unconscious. As you move towards the restroom there’s another throbbing pulse low in your belly, like you’re carrying around a bruise in the shape of him inside of you. Everything feels extra tender – coiled tight. He’s been insatiable lately — more than his usual. He’d had you four times yesterday alone. Twice today, plus your fooling around before you’d gone to sleep. Your cunt is sore and puffy and soaking wet, even after he’d cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth before falling asleep. Sometimes it seems like you’re fucking a teenager instead of an old man with the stamina he’s got in him. You laugh quietly.

But when you pull your underwear down to sit on the cold toilet basin, there’s nothing. Huh… you’d for sure thought the cramping meant you’d started your period. A slow simmering churning starts up in your gut, slowly, slowly starting a low boil. Maybe you’re starting soon, that’s why you’re cramping – it’s fine. You wipe and stand to wash your hands. Maybe dinner isn’t sitting right – but no… you’d barely eaten. So something you’d had before then. That’s probably why you’re so sensitive and on edge lately – you’re probably getting sick. You’d been nauseous the past few days, and there was that bout of vomiting the other day. You pull open one of his lavatory drawers, looking for the antacid tablets you know he hoards, when you’re met with the sight of your menstrual cup, sitting in the little plastic bin you keep it in.

Shit.

Why is this over here? Since when has it been over here? Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.

You can’t remember the last time you’d used it. You try and count back the weeks – fuck, the months. Real panic starts to flutter and fizz in your belly. When was the last time you’d had a period? Surely more than four weeks ago but … but if it’s been that long, if you’re remembering correctly… then… then, it’s been closer to two months by now. So that would mean… that means… you turn towards the door where Joel sleeps, unaware, on the other side as if you can see him through the thick wood.

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the rhythm of its beat ricocheting up to a concerning speed. Oh, God. Oh, God. How could you have been so careless – so distracted? How is this the first time you’re even thinking about this – even realizing it? But no… if you’re being honest, objective – you know you’ve only been waiting for something like this to happen – for months now. How could you not? When the two of you had never even pretended at being careful or responsible for preventing something like this. Oh, God – how are you going to tell him? What is he going to say? He’s going to be so angry.

But a voice at the back of your mind whispers that you’re only telling yourself that – that you know it isn’t true – that you know he’d be not only happy, but overjoyed at the thought of a baby. But how could you really know for sure? When he’s always been firm in keeping that last sliver of distance between the two of you? Still after all these months – unable to admit the truth of what lived here, between the two of you. That this isn’t just sex – that the two of you are in love with each other.

You lean against the sink for support, your shaky legs on the verge of collapse, and stare at yourself in the mirror. This puts your behavior of the last few days into better perspective. All the tears, the shaky stomach, feeling so sensitive – like a raw nerve all he needed to do was look at, breathe on, to provoke. If you really think about it, you’d been the instigator at the start of each of your encounters in the last few days. Seeking him out ravenously – hungry and desperate for his cock and his skin and his smell at every hour of the day. Weepy, swollen cunt – even when he wasn’t around to tempt you, and he’d left you satisfied, and yet, still wanting more, every single time.

You step back out into the dark space of his bedroom. He’s on his back, one bulging arm thrown over his head. His mess of curls strewn across the surface of his pillow. You watch the rise and fall of his belly, his thick, strong waist, with the cadence of his breaths. Your womb twists with lust.

Fuck, you’re probably pregnant with this man’s baby. How are you going to tell him?

You can make out the thick heft of his cock through the thin material of the sheets covering his waist, he’d not bothered to put anything else on again after he’d made you come, and it makes your mouth water and the place between your legs so achy. Your recent behavior is completely transparent now, you’d been so needy, insatiable, the only thing to settle you the heavy weight of his cock stretching you open and pounding deep into you. Fucking typical. He’d done this to you, and now he got to reap the rewards of you climbing onto his dick at all hours of the day.

You roll your eyes at him in the dark as you slide back into bed beside him, running your palm over the flat of his belly. He clasps your hand with his in his sleep as he rolls over, pulling you along with him, wrapping your arm around himself and tucking it up by his neck so that you’re spooning him. He drapes his arm back over your hip and clutches your leg, tucking his fingers right at the place where your ass cheek meets your inner thigh and pulling your front further into his back – trying to get you as close as possible to him. You listen to his deep, sleepy rumble, and you bury your face between his warm back and the bed, the sheets smell like the both of you, sweet and musky – like your sex, your love making. You’ve made a baby together. Joel’s baby. The thought makes tears pool in your eyes and start a slow, silent stream down your face. Your insides clenching wantonly at the same time that your stomach flutters and heaves with nerves and panic. There are too many sensations spilling through your body all at the same time, and you think your frame starts to tremble, an uncontainable gasp slipping out because suddenly you feel his muscles snap awake, his rough voice saying your name sharp and worried. You wrap your arm tighter around him, digging your nails into the skin of his neck to stop him from turning over. You don’t want him to see you like this, you don’t want him to know, you don’t want him to be angry or worried or regretful.

He’d never be any of those things, your heart whispers at your anxious mind.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” he says into the dark room. You feel his muscles tense as he tries to escape your tight hold without being too rough.

“I don’t know–” you splutter into his back, your voice coming out muffled against his warm skin. “I’m– I’m emotional. I think I’m getting my period soon,” you lie. Lie, lie, fucking liar. You don’t think you’ll be getting that for a good, long while.

He sighs, gripping your wrist firmly to pull your arm away for him so he can turn over to cradle you gently in his arms. The best place in the entire world. You cry harder.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers against your hairline, pressing his soft mouth to your forehead, your temple. “It’s alright… no tears.” He pets at the nape of your neck. His voice is so deep, you feel the vibrations of it pass through his chest and rumble into your own, and it makes the tips of your breasts tighten into aching little knots. You wrap your arms around his neck to meld your chest tighter to his. You wish you could live inside of him the way he now lives inside of you. He’s left a piece of himself with you, eventually it’ll grow and the whole world will know how definitively you belong to him. You’ll be round and swollen and only his, only his. The thought makes your pussy clench.

“Joel–” you tug as his curls, his beard, trying to pull his mouth down to yours. He rumbles deep in his chest, gives you his tongue. He’s being too slow, too gentle, you need him to fuck you hard, desperate – as desperate as you feel for him in this moment, to ground you and tame this panic surging up inside of you with his strong hands.

“Kiss me – hug me,” you beg.

“M’right here, Birdie.” He cards his hand through your hair, pulls your head back slightly, “Look at me – I’m right here with you.”

“More, more, please.” You lick at his mouth, drag your teeth down his chin.

He rolls you over to settle his hips between your spread legs. You can feel the searing hot brand of his hard cock against the inside of your thigh. He’s always hard for you. He’s always hard for you, and you’re always soft and wet and ready for him, and the two of you are perfect for each other. You were made for each other, and now you’ve made a baby together. “You need my cock again, little bird?”

You spread your legs wider, “Yes, yes – I always need you,” you whine. He wraps his hand around your throat and pauses to stare down at you for a second, his brow pulled down low. He bends his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses his mouth to your own. You keep your eyes wide open also, looking between his dark eyes. His lashes are so long, the thick fringe of them fanning out so wide they cast a shadow across his cheekbones. The two of you are so close you can make out each individual lash, the little lines around his eyes – stress, before … but you hope, now, only from laughing too much, from being too happy. You always want him to be so, so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all. You want him to be overwhelmed and submerged in so much ridiculous happiness. The two of you hold there for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. You love him so much it is a physical ache within you.

He sits back slightly then, and lifts your thigh to press a soft kiss to the inside of your leg, then another to your belly, right over your womb, your heart swoops at that and you whimper, then another right to the top of your mound. The tip of his tongue peeking out to lap at your clit, just a little.

Then he stretches over you again, giving you all his weight and reaches his hand down to pet the back of his knuckles along your slit, “Shit, fuckin’ wet and swollen, Birdie.”

“I want you so much,” you breath, eyes fluttering closed as he parts your puffy lips and pets at your clit. He starts up a gentle rhythm around your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you kicking your legs out impatiently around him for more. Why is he being so gentle and mean and soft? You need it hard, you need more.

“Please, Joel, please, please, fuck me, please.” You can feel hot tears burning down the slopes of your cheeks. He’s going to think you’ve lost the fucking plot, crying and begging for his cock like this. He continues to be mean and horrible and pet softly at your clit, like a whisper over your raging, burning skin.

“Settle down. Gonna give it to you how I see fit.”

“You’re so mean,” you kick out one leg, pathetically, at his side. The broad expanse of him has you spread so wide there’s no purchase to be found, all you can do is lie here and take it. He’s so horrible — look at him, he’s gone and knocked you up and now he won’t even fuck you how you need him to. You pout up at him, cry and mewl pathetically. “Please, harder, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh, said you were sore. Gotta be gentle with my soft, little cunt.”

“But you’re going to fuck me right?” you cry.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t worry,” he says softly, starts to circle his thumb at your tender entrance, pressing gentle pressure on it. You do your best to stifle your wince, shit, it’s not necessarily sore, just so, so sensitive. This is all his fault. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and bite him as hard as you can. Make him hurt and writhe the way he’s making you. He starts to slowly press a single finger inside. You’re so wet, dripping, the passage is smooth and slick.

“Harder,” you beg.

“Quit.” You let out a frustrated moan. He starts to fuck you slowly just like that, a single finger, his thumb circling your clit in slow, measured circles. His finger is thick, but not enough, and you clench your inner muscles, trying to bear down on it. “Stop that,” he snaps. “Take it how I give it to you. Need you to relax, Birdie. What’s got you all twisted up in knots?”

“I don’t know,” liar, liar, liar, you whine, trying as hard as you can not to roll your hips, to stay still and settled like he wants you to, but there’s a goddamn forest fire raging inside of you, and having him so close, such a small part of him inside you, is only making it worse. He pulls his single finger out, circles his thumb around your entrance, back up to your clit, swipes up and down like a feather, then pressure to your entrance again, and he’s pushing two of his thick fingers inside of you now. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He starts to slide them in and out, a small crook of his fingers to pet at the soft, spongy spot inside of you. All the while he continues to circle your clit, and he bends his head to kiss at your mouth, your jaw, a soft bite to your clavicle that has you keening wantonly, then a swipe of his tongue to your jugular – you wish he’d bite you there, sink his teeth into your skin and drink. God, your thoughts are unhinged. You cannot, cannot deal with nine months of this, what the fuck. His mouth slides down to your breast, hot and wet, and he sucks hard on the aching tip, flicking his tongue back and forth slowly. His fingers haven’t paused their slow onslaught and at one particularly hard pull at your breast you suddenly feel everything in your pelvis go blindingly, white hot and tight and then loose and wet and you start to come on his fingers. Your hips rolling gently upwards to take more of him. He never goes harder, never faster, he just continues his gentle ministrations of you – playing you like his own personal little doll. You moan long and ragged, yeah, that’s it, just like that, he whispers into your hair. His words sliding through the strands like water. He guides you through the cresting waves of your orgasm, his touch becoming slower and softer as you throb on and on. Once the contractions of your muscles have slowed he pulls his fingers from your cunt, the wet suck, as loud and obscene as the thoughts in your head are, and then the burning hot head of his cock is there, slowly pushing into your still quivering flesh, so thick.

“Gonna take my cock now, little bird.”

Yes, yes, please. Thank you. All you can do is sigh, hitch your knees higher up his sides, you hook one hand under the bend of one leg, opening yourself up for him as much as you physically can with all of his weight pressing down into you.

He slides to the very end of you, letting you feel every throbbing inch and ridge as he goes as slow as everything else he’s done to you tonight.

“Hard, Joel. Harder, please,” you beg again. His only response is a rumble of disapproval as he starts to thrust into you slow, but so fucking deep. You feel split wide open, he’s split you open and peered inside of you and decided to leave a piece of himself within, and he doesn’t even know it. And you decide in that instant that you’re not going to tell him – with the feel of him as deep inside of you as he can physically get, the knowledge that he’s even deeper than even he knows, you decide you’re not going to tell him until you’re absolutely forced to. It’s wrong, perhaps, or definitely, after all, he has a right to know also, it’s his baby too. But you just can’t. You can’t face the reality of this, his potential reaction, whether it be good or bad, right now, not for a while. You need time, time to gather your courage, your thoughts, your very skin around yourself, stitch yourself together and muster your strength and prepare for whatever outcome telling him might incite.

“Not gonna give it to you harder, Birdie. Quit beggin’.”

“I don’t care– I don’t care, Joel, please.” You claw and scratch at him, but nothing you do prompts him to go harder. There’s a desperation, a wave of anxious fear surging up inside of you – the fear of him leaving you one day, of not wanting you anymore – when you know you’ll love him for the rest of your life. You are terrified of ending up alone, out in that dark forest again.

“Quit.” He gathers both of your wrists in one of his strong hands, brings them above your head to lie limply above the pillows. Divested of all your strength and fight, you’re left only to lie beneath him and take all he chooses to give you. “Told you,” he grits as he rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts into yours, the bone of his pelvis grinding into your clit. “You’re gonna take it how I decide to give it to you. Only me – you’re mine, you’re mine, I decide.”

And fuck – if that doesn’t do something to you, if hearing those words don’t settle that coiling snake within you. You go soft and pliant and submissive at his words, spreading your legs as wide as you can and tilting your pelvis up so that he can drill into you as deep as possible, right to the place where your little secret is growing now.

And he’s so gentle with you, so careful – even when he’s fucking you hard and savage the way you both like sometimes, he’s still careful to never hurt you more than you need him to. It makes you wonder at the violence it took him to become this gentle – to become so well acquainted with his own strength, his ability to maim, that he can now be so in control of it, handle you with such care.

The weight of his thrusts changes suddenly. He slides a palm under your bottom to lift you up into his impaling cock, presses his knees further up under you to anchor you more firmly in his lap and pounds into you, the wide tip of his cock concentrated against the head of your cervix in blinding thrusts, and you’re so sensitive on the inside from what he’s done to you, from the change he’s wrought upon your body, that you start to come again. Toe curling waves of pleasure start at your womb and spiral out of your limbs in searing bolts of heat, your back arched tight as a bow string. Your inner muscles throb and clench around his still battering cock and you hear the guttural moan of your name spit from his mouth, and then the kick of his cock inside of you as he starts to come too. “Fucking Christ, take it all, Birdie – every last drop of my come. Need this pussy stuffed full of me – s’only way you behave, little girl.”

All you can do is nod dumbly and take it, just like he said.

He kisses and licks every inch of your body afterwards, eating up your slick and sweat and his own come with broad swipes of his tongue. You’d never imagined this sort of intimacy – it’s something that you hadn’t even thought possible. A sort of physical connectedness that belied the truth of your current situation – the things still hidden between the two of you.

He lies beside you once he’s done eating his come out of your pussy, one last orgasm pulled gently from you with his mouth. His slick cock, soft now, pressed against your still flat belly as the two of you lay facing each other, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, legs tangled together, just taking each other in.

You think you’re probably about two months along, give or take. It’ll still be a while before you start showing. You have time yet.

You’re going to let yourself think about this now, only tonight, and then you’re going to push it from your mind until you can’t ignore the situation any longer. The reality of it is too terrifying to consider at length with everything else going on in your lives at the moment.

What will he say? What will you do if you tell him your truth and he goes away from you? How will you survive something like that? But even as you ask yourself this, you know it’s unnecessary, for despite his capacity for violence, or his own fear or recalcitrance or hesitancy, despite the lies he tells himself and you about what this is, he is also good and honorable and loyal. Joel Miller is a good man. And he’d never abandon you or a child of his, but still, you’re afraid.

So, no, you can’t focus on this now – you’ll push it from your mind until it becomes more pressing, unavoidable. There are other more important things to deal with now, other things to consider before you can think of yourself.

You run a single finger over the thick line of his brow, against the fluttering of his lashes, down the strong slope of his nose. A baby. Joel’s baby. You hope they have his dark curls.

You love him and you’re going to have his baby.

And you don’t have it in you to tell him either of these truths.

“Go to sleep, little bird.”

You sneak out the next morning. In the cold light of the new dawn, the truth you’re withholding is all the more terrifying. Fucking life changing. You slip out of his warm bed, the protective embrace of his strong arms, and shuffle around his room as quiet as you can for your clothes. Your shit is everywhere, strewn around his room and restroom. You need to go home, you need distance – space to think. You dig in a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner for your bra and tiptoe as quietly as you can to his bedside table to slip your books you need for today from between his own stack of novels. Once you’ve retrieved the texts you pause to look down at him, still sleeping. The fact that he can now rest so deeply like this, that he isn’t jerking awake at a hair triggers notice with the slightest sound or movement around him speaks so deeply to that part of you that wants nothing more than for him to be as happy as he can possibly be, safe and serene and never worried for anything ever again.

Your greatest fear is that this news you now carry will disturb that peace, that serenity or happiness you so desperately want for him. So you sneak out of his home without waking him, head towards your own lonely house to change and wash up, you smell like his come, get the rest of your things for the day and then head to the clinic. You’ll shut this truth in a drawer for as long as you can, and once you can no longer hide it, once it becomes unavoidable, you’ll do your best to make sure he knows you never, never want him to feel obligated to you. Yes… you think, you’ll give him an out, it can be his decision. And even though the thought of that sends a searing, twisting pain to the space in your heart where you carry him, you think it’s the right thing anyways. He deserves to have a choice – when so much of his life has been forced upon him you always want to be the one place he can find choice in.

He comes into the clinic a few hours later. You’ve just gotten done delivering a baby – real great day for that – when he walks through the front door. You’re finishing up your procedure note and you turn to see him stepping through your office door, a baggie from the mess hall clutched in his hand.

“Hey… what’re you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in… brought you a scone.” He lifts up the offering of baked goods, gives you a crooked smile. God, your gut and your heart twist and flip at the same time. You turn back to face your mess of papers and notebooks, trying to take deep breaths to keep your tears at bay. This crying shit is really going to start being a problem soon.

You feel him come up behind you, he sets down the baggie in front of you and braces one hand on the edge of your desk, the other passing over the crown of your head and down your ponytail to tug your head back gently. You look up at him from your angled position, and he frowns down at you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Don’t like it when you sneak off in the mornings without telling me,” he grumbles down at you.

“Sorry–” you breathe. He huffs at you, leans down to press his mouth to yours.

“Still feeling funny?”

You shake your head, still in his hold, but say “Yes,” at the same time. You’re all over the place. He sighs, letting go of your hair and coming down to a crouch beside you. You turn to face him in your seat, knees tucked between his spread thighs.

He drags a gentle thumb over the soft skin beneath your eye, then up the slope of your cheekbone – that perpetual frown still present. He knows something’s wrong. He knows you. Keeping this from him is going to be so, so difficult. He’s going to tell something is wrong, different, off. Your only recourse is to pretend like you don’t know either. To entirely push this thing that you have no discernible idea how to deal with from your mind. As of this moment, it’s a non-reality.

“What can I do?” he asks, so gentle, so concerned.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. You can’t look at that look in his eyes right now, it’ll make you fall to pieces. You fold forward to press your face into his shoulder, turning your head to sniffle into his neck. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just kiss me.” He slides his hand into your hair against your scalp and angles your head to press his mouth to yours, giving you exactly what you need.

You may be unsure about so much, but the one thing you do know, without a doubt, is that this man will make a wonderful father.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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karahalloway · 7 months

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper gets a surprise visit from Christian... but are his intentions sincere?

Word Count: 2,800 (short for me, I know enjoy it while you can 😆)

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: I know it's been more than a hot minute since I've updated this series! 😅 This is in part because I got sidetracked by Sleepless in New York also on my list to finish, I know, and then I took most of the summer off from writing. But also in part because I kinda got stuck on how to actually continue with this series... but, I now have a plan! *rubs hands together gleefully* and you ain't gonna like it, sorry, not sorry. So, with this long-awaited installment, I hope to be back in my usual groove and will be posting with some semblance of regularity again. Thanks so much for bearing with me!

A/N2: This is also my submission for @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 25 Prompt - Secret, Surprise I’m only 2 days late

Chapter 15 - Not Without Obligation

Making my way back to my room, I try to push down the conflicting emotions that are roiling inside of me.

On one hand, I get where Drake is coming from, and why he shut the door in my face. We are no longer alone in Applewood and even the faintest whiff of impropriety could implode the carefully strategised work that the royal PR team has put in to try and resuscitate my public image.

And me getting caught outside of the room of a guy who not only is not Christian, but who I have no justifiable reason for seeking out at the butt-crack of dawn in the first place, would definitely scupper the assertion that I'm not a two-timing hussy. Especially since I rushed out of my room earlier wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Mitigating factors, they are not.

But while the rational part of my brain knows that Drake is only trying to look out for me, I can't help but feel a pang of dejection at the abruptness with which he — very literally — shut me out, even though he promised yesterday that he wouldn't do something like that to me again.

Because God knows that it had been hard enough to get him to open up the first time!

And even though I'm not expecting him to have completely reversed his habitudes overnight, I guess I'd been hoping that our conversation in the barn would've prompted some kind of step in the desired direction.

Because it's clear that the bruises on my neck unnerved him. The turmoil on his face had made that clear. As the marks are not just some haphazard side-effect of our frantic love-making. They are a very real and visible reminder of the tangible strength of his feelings — and the fact that he lost control of them.

And as much as I understand the knee-jerk cause of his reaction, the last thing I want — or need — right now is for Drake to distance himself from me because he's scared of hurting me again.

That, I could not cope with.

"Demoiselle," nods Allard as I arrive back at my room.

I flash him a distracted smile on auto-pilot. He saw and heard what happened. There is no point rehashing anything. Especially since this isn't something he or Schweitzer can help with.

The weight of my Guard's concerned gaze flick over me as I shuffle past, but they both remain silent, no doubt sensing that I'm not in the mood for conversation.

Shutting the door behind me, I close my eyes as I lean back against the solidness of the wood.

Why are things never simple 'round here?

I really wish Drake and I could've taken a moment to talk things through. Because today's Apple Harvest Festival is expected to see hundreds of people descend onto Applewood to not only celebrate this year's bountiful crop of Cordonian Rubies, but to also catch a glimpse of the new King and his future Queen.

And if I thought that cornering Drake at the apple pick had been hard, the chances of being able to do so today are going to be slim to none.

But the rest of the week doesn't offer any better options because tomorrow we're off to Italy, where we'll likely have even less opportunity for privacy given the high-profile and international nature of the coming engagements.

My eyes snap open. I have to talk to him now.

As much as Drake may be concerned about protecting what's left of my image, I'm not going to let him use the inconvenience of our circumstances as an excuse to hide behind his insecurities or erect walls between us. Because the hard truth is that there's never going to be a good time to talk unless we make time.

Which is exactly what I am going to do, possible scandal be damned. I cannot let a tenuous fear borne out of a possible public backlash hold me back. My relationship with Drake is worth infinitely more to me than whatever garbage the paps may decide to print because some aristo decided to tattle on me if I get caught sneaking back into his room.

Because, let's face it. Even if I do end up on the front pages tomorrow (for all the wrong reasons), the fact of the matter is that any photo, any situation — no matter how sordid or innocent — can be spun any which way.

I've learnt that the hard way. So, I may as well use it to my own advantage for once.

Pushing myself away from the door, I march into my walk-in closet with renewed determination. Pulling the t-shirt that I'd slept in over my head, I quickly throw on a bra, some jean shorts and a black tank top.

Slotting my bare feet into my well-worn Sketchers, I make my way over to the French doors that lead out onto balcony so I can try to figure out the best way to scamper over to Drake's room without killing myself, given that I stand a better chance of slipping under the aristo's nosy radar via the balcony than going back through the corridor.

Hopefully, I can—

Tap, tap tap.

I stop mid-stride at the sound of knocking coming from the other side of my door.

Turning around, I contemplate whether I should respond, or pretend that I hadn't heard.

I have precious little time if I want to catch Drake before he disappears on me to do... whatever it is that he does in the mornings before the start of a royal event.

So, if I want to make it to his room, I need to go now before he finishes getting dressed.

But, then again, there is only a very small number of people at court who'd come directly to my room to talk to me. Especially at this time in the morning.

So, it could be important. It could be about Tariq...

...it could be Drake.

The latch clicks open.

I glance anxiously back towards the balcony, trying to decide if I should—

"May I come in?"

I whirl around in surprise at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

He pokes his head 'round the door. "I... I didn't catch you in a state of undress, did I?"

"No! No... I was already dressed," I admit, trying to be as casual as possible as I quickly brush my hair over my shoulders in a haphazard attempt to try and cover up the bruises, given that I hadn't thought to slather any cover-up over myself yet.

Christian definitely doesn’t need to be asking questions about those!

"Ah, good!" he responds, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "You're an early riser, like myself."

"You can thank the Beaumonts," I mutter under my breath, glancing guiltily back toward the balcony.

So much for stealing a much-needed moment with Drake...

"I apologise for the intrusion," Christian continues, crossing the space between us, "especially at such an early hour. But I was hoping to catch you alone before the start of the Apple Harvest Festival."

One word catches my attention. "A-Alone...?"

He comes to a stop in front of me. "Very much so."

Anxiety flares in the pit of my stomach as Drake's words from yesterday swirl through my mind.

...he's trying to win you back.

And it suddenly hits me that I haven't been alone — truly alone — with Christian since the day of the Jamboree. When he took me into the hedge maze and offered me a duchy.

My mind starts to whirl.

Had that been the start of this... crusade? The fact that I turned him down? Does he still think he can change my mind? Is he simply incapable of accepting 'no' as an answer?

I force my gaze up to meet his.

His emerald green eyes behold me calmly, with maybe a hint of excitement. But I cannot read his intention.

"Wh-why?" I finally blurt out.

A smile spreads across his face. "To bestow upon you your letters patent, of course!"

I gape at him. "My letters of what?"

He chuckles good-naturedly at my evident confusion. "Letters patent. Itis a type of royal decree that formally confers some manner of privilege onto the names designee — an office of state, a coat of arms, a commercial monopoly... or, in this case, your new title as Duchess of Valtoria."

With a flourish, he pulls out a small, leather-bound box that he's been hiding behind his back.

I stare at it mutely.

"It won't bite, I promise," he assures me wryly.

Reaching up with a tepid smile, I accept the box, which is a lot heavier than it looks.

Opening it up, I find a medieval-looking document nestled in the lid, complete with densely-packed Chancery script and and a historiated initial C embossed with the stylised image of the Cordonian royal crest.

Peering at the text �� which I can only assume is an archaic form of French — I can just about make out the odd word, like my name, Christian's name, and Valtoria. But the rest remains completely incomprehensible.

Presumably some grand declarations about the bestowal...

In the bottom part of the box rests a cream-coloured envelope also bearing the Cordonian royal crest, along with my name, though this time written in delicate cursive lettering.

"What's this?" I ask Christian, lifting the letter up.

"Your papers of naturalisation," he informs me. "Along with your new passport and ID card."

I glance up at him in surprise. "I am now a Cordonian citizen?"

"It would not have been possible to issue the letters patent otherwise," he says. "Even a king must abide by the diktats of the law."

"I... don't need to sign anything?"

"The US Consulate was very accommodating, given the unique nature of the circumstances."

My stomach twists unexpectedly. "Oh..."

Dual citizenship is a good thing, right?

Returning my attention to the box, I see that the envelope has been concealing a large, intricate-looking seal bearing what appears to be the stylised outline of a rampant phoenix, next to which sits a signet ring with the same image.

"Does it meet expectations?" asks Christian.

"I'm not sure I know what I'd been expecting..." I admit, running a finger over the lines of the mythical bird, marvelling at the level of detail that's been put into creating such a realistic rendering, complete with individual licks of flame spouting from the tail feathers.

"Any egregious spelling errors?"

"Not that I can see," I admit, glancing up at him. "But—"

"Excellent!" he declares, reaching over the lid of the box to deftly pluck the signet ring out from its nest of blue silk.

Before I have a chance to react, he's clasped my hand in his to poise the heavy circlet of gold at the tip of my ring finger.

"Wait!" I gasp in the face of the unexpectedly intimate turn of events. "What are you—?"

"It would be remiss of me if I did not verify the correctness of the sizing," he advises, meeting my panicked gaze calmly.

"You don't need t—"

"It would be my pleasure," he insists, slipping the ring onto the digit before I can protest further.

As he withdraws his hand, my eyes fall onto the spot where the cool metal's unfamiliar weight now encircles the base of my finger.

"Perfect," Christian declares with a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb over the phoenix insignia.

I stare at the band with an uneasily mix of feelings swirling in my chest. "Christian, I—"

"Let's celebrate, shall we?" he announces, pulling back to click his fingers with a decisive snap.

On cue, the door behind Christian swings open to admit a veritable procession of servants bearing ice buckets, champagne, crystal flutes and tiny servings of finger food.

"Wait..." I stammer in the face of organised onslaught. "They were waiting outside this whole time?"

"I may have take a page out of your party planning book," he admits with a grin while the industrious staff set about transforming my bedroom into a first-class tea room. "Seeing the success you had with Drake on his birthday, I thought I would try my hand at surprising you on this important day."

"And that's great, but I never agreed—"

"Didn't you?" Christian asks with a level look as he nabs a miniature scone from the tray of a passing server.

I shake my head. "No, I—"

"Because I specifically recall you giving your unambiguous consent at yesterday's apple pick to proceed with finalising your new status," he states, taking a bite out of the pastry.

I open my mouth, but promptly shut it as the conversation from the orchard floats back into my consciousness.

"...having the paperwork squared away before our departure would grant significant boon for your image."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Oh, fuck..." I mutter as the cold hand of hindsight clamps down on the nape of my neck.

Christian had obviously mischaracterised my somewhat dazed reaction as some kind of explicit affirmation.

And since Drake's appearance yesterday had interrupted the conversation at that key moment, I never had a chance to correct the misunderstanding.

But I need to. Because once again, Christian has taken matters into his own hands and acted without my my prior agreement or approval t. Just like he had done when he decided to send me away during the Coronation Ball, only to then bring me back to court as his mistress, not to mention spring an actual duchy on me without any warning.

And while his heart's probably been in the right place each and every time, I'm not sure that I can cope with any more bolts from the blue.

Especially when they so drastically upend my life.

Heaving a breath, I look back up at the King of Cordonia again. "Look, Christian, I really appreciate all of this, but I think there's been a major—"

The loud bang! of the champagne bottle shooting its cork across the room makes me jump.

Turning around, I can see that the gold-coloured liquid is already in the process of being dispensed into a pair of waiting crystal flutes.

"I hope you like this Moët & Chandon Imperial Vintage 1946 that I had picked out," Christian murmurs, brushing a hand over the small of my back. "It is an exceptional cuvée with notes of citrus, apple and pear — an apt combination, I thought, given the occasion."

"Because of the pear trees in Valtoria..." I surmise heavily, watching a footman bring over a pair of freshly-filled champagne flutes with a foreboding note of finality.

"Exactly," confirms Christian, grabbing a glass from the tray. "A beautifully complimentary pairing. One that hope we can both enjoy for many years to come."

"Yes, but—"

"Let's toast, shall we?" prompts Christian, cutting me off yet again as the footman proffers me the other serving of expensive bubbly.

I stare at it like a poison pill.

This is what Drake had warned me about, isn't it? That Christian would seek to manoeuvre me into a corner like a chess piece... By giving with one hand, only to take with the other when the time came for the chips to fall due. Because what better way to create an unimpeachable sense of obligation than by making me into a duchess? A literal vassal to the Crown? Required to do the King's bidding, no matter the cost?

And if that really is his aim, then he has certainly been succeeding.

But at the same time, I am not sure I can trust my assessment. Christian has given no indication, one way or another, as to where his goals lay. And even if the misunderstanding had been genuine, to turn him down now would not only be inexplicably rude, but maybe also dangerous?

Would I be jeopardising Christian's support in the hunt for Tariq and my quest to set the record straight if I offend him by throwing all his heartfelt effort back in his face? Especially when I don't know for certain what Christian's motives are?

Because what if Drake is wrong? What if there is no hidden agenda and I'm just massively overthinking this entire thing because I've been burned once already and now everyone looks suspect... Even — and especially — when I'm being offered help?

"Harper?" queries Christian. "Everything alright?"

I shake myself out of my stupor and grab the crystal flute. "I'm fine. Just... Trying to come to grips with it all."

"There will be plenty of time for that," he assures me with a grin, raising his glass. "To the new Duchess of Valtoria!"

I clink the delicate crystal in my hand against his with a leaden feeling in my stomach.

There's no going back now...

For better or for worse, I have just become an aristo.

The story continues in Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

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mediocre-daydreams · 1 year

Text

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞

remus lupin x animagus!reader

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 : 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢, 𝚒 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠

summary: you've kissed, you've confessed your love... still, nobody is quite sure what your relationship is with remus. regardless, the slytherins seem to have already made up their minds.

notes: slut shaming, swearing, i'm a bit rusty pls forgive and hey one more chapter left! special thanks to my lovely mutuals @emmaev @sw34terw34ther and to @mooncleaver for the sweet comments

w/c: 6.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

now this is an open-shut case i guess i should've known from the look on your face every bait and switch was a work of art

“c’mon, i think it makes me look badass,” sirius grinned, holding up his robes in the middle of the dining hall to admire the long, faded scar that crawled on the left side of his body from his thigh to his knee.

“face it, padfoot. you’ll never look badass, not when you have a five step haircare routine,” james spoke through a mouthful of waffle.

“you’re just jealous.” sirius pointed his fork at james. “you mess up your hair on purpose so that people think your bird’s nest is cool and intentional and not because you’ve never used conditioner in your life.”

james turned his head to the side and met your eye. “back me up here, thumper. my hair looks good, right?”

you held your free hand up to your mouth as you finished chewing. “do you want the nice answer or the real answer?” you teased. remus, sitting on your other side, plucked the toast from your grasp while you were distracted. he took a bite, simply raising his eyebrows at the glare you tossed him.

“you wound me!” james shook his head, curls flying. “i s’pose it’s my bad. you’re mean to everyone except moony.” james looked at you meaningfully and the amusement slipped from your face. remus froze mid-chew.

“you’re right, actually,” peter said, quirking his head as he took in the slow blush creeping across remus’ cheeks. “the two of them have been awfully sweet on each other lately.”

from under the table, you stepped on remus’ foot indicatively. there was a mutual understanding.

ever since that morning at the hospital wing, where remus had finally admitted to you (and himself) about how he felt, there’d been an almost imperceptible shift in the marauders’ dynamic. neither of you told the other marauders what had occurred. you two hadn’t officially talked about it either. of course, there’d always been an obvious electricity between you and remus—that was evident to more than just the marauders—but this new development was subtle enough to fly over your friends’ heads. even peter, the most perceptive of all five of you, hadn’t been able to put a finger on it.

sirius pressed his palms to the table and pushed himself off his seat, leaning over his breakfast platee. he made a show of getting in remus’ face to examine his expression. “is there a reason you’re blushing, moony, my boy?”

“i’m not blushing,” remus said, blushing.

“sure,” james said, stretching out his vowels sarcastically. “and you haven’t been playing footsie with thumper either, right?”

“yep. i mean, nope. wait-” you stammered, “-i mean, no, we have definitely not been ‘playing footsie’ or whatever. why are you guys so obsessed with what we’re doing anyway?” you stared at james pointedly. “i think you should mind your own business. maybe then you would’ve noticed the syrup on your shirt.”

james looked down. there was a growing spot of sticky maple syrup on the collar of his white button down, which he’d layered under a sweater. “damn it,” james muttered, rubbing at the stain and making it worse.

“just take off your shirt, james,” you chided, settling into your seat as you watched him struggle to neaten up.

“woah there, thumper. at least take me on a date first before you try and take my clothes off.”

you pursed your lips in an unsuccessful attempt to keep a straight face. james stuck his hands under his sweater and began fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. you felt a pair of arms drape over your shoulders and clasp together at your front. remus’ sighed in content, his breath tickling your ear.

your heart jumped and began to sputter to life with a little more enthusiasm than seemed dignified. you hoped remus couldn’t feel it.

“what are you doing?” you whispered, keeping your eyes fixed in front of you. you were scared that if you turned your head, remus’ face would be too close and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him right then and there.

“can’t i hug you?” remus said, feigning confusion. “what, are friends not allowed to hug each other?”

“what are you doing?” sirius butted in loudly. “you’re being real touchy-feely with thumper…” sirius looked at peter knowingly.

peter huffed, all disgruntled. sirius was, to put it gently, not the most graceful matchmaker.

“what, are friends not allowed to hug each other?” you repeated remus’ earlier words, and the boy behind you tightened his arms around you approvingly.

“fine, then why don’t you let me hug you like that?” james had his stained shirt tucked under his arm as he stood above you and remus, unconvinced.

“i mean, your arms are kind of busy at the moment,” you pointed out, referencing james’ shirt.. “don’t play coy,” james tutted. you were saved from answering by a shift in conversation. “anyway, i have to bring my shirt back to the common room. anyone wanna come?”

you and remus made no effort to move or offer your company.

“fine, i’ll come,” sirius said, standing from his seat like spending time with james was draining his life force. “i can’t believe you’re tearing me away from my best girl…” sirius grumbled. from the corner of his eye, he checked for any of remus’ tells. nothing. if anything, remus looked a bit smug.

“you’ll be fine for ten minutes,” james rolled his eyes, hitting the back of sirius’ head. james lowered his voice so only sirius could hear. “moony, on the other hand, looks like he’d shrivel up and die without her.”

“is it just me,” sirius murmured, “or are they more disgusting than usual?”

“nope, not just you,” james agreed. “at first i thought i’d caught a bug, but then i realized it was just a physical nauseated reaction to the two of their mutual pining bullshit.”

“godric, i’m just waiting for one of them to grow a pair and confess; put me out of my damn misery.”

for two of the brightest students in your year, it was laughable how inept your communication was. something had shifted between you and remus; that much was obvious. the facts were laid out, plain and simple, like playing cards facing upward. you loved remus. remus loved you. you would do anything for remus. remus would do anything for you.

so why was it so hard to pick up the damn cards?

your lives had quickly become intertwined and there was an unspoken agreement that the two of you belonged to each other, whatever that meant. this is to say, quite literally, as neither of you had clarified what that hospital room night actually meant for your relationship. your friends continued as they had before, dropping sly comments and encouraging either one of you in private, but if anything, with more vigor. you were hesitant to tell the girls about what happened at the hospital wing. nothing had really transpired, but it felt so intimate, like the sheen of a bubble that could be popped by the slightest shift in surface tension. remus made you feel comfortable and safe, but he kept you on edge too. there was nothing you feared more than losing him, and the unpredictability of his condition, rising tensions in the wizarding world, and volatility of a budding situationship did the opposite of give you the confidence to broach the conversation of “what are we?”

it should’ve been easy. it should’ve been obvious.

remus had become ambidextrous, writing with his left hand so he could hold yours with his right. you carried a little comb with you and would work out his bedhead at breakfast every morning. if remus got to breakfast earlier, he’d make your coffee exactly the way you liked it. if you beat him, you’d steep his tea with water at the correct temperature to pull all subtle flavors from the leaves. you may or may not have stayed after divination class to ask professor trelawney for tea brewing tips.

tonight, like countless others, remus was by your side like a shadow, whispering affections into your ear throughout the day and offering his warmth during quiet evenings in the common room. remus could listen to your voice, low and steady and hushed, spinning visual films with your words. it would’ve been so easy for him to fall asleep, grounded by your weight on his lap and the popping of logs and soft flipping of pages, but remus always fought sleep. he treasured these peaceful moments with you too much to lose a single minute to unconsciousness.

remus couldn’t recall a more beautiful sight than you backlit by the dying flames of the common room fireplace. he nuzzled his head further into the crook of your neck and chuckled quietly when he felt you shiver.

“rem?” you closed your book. you wrapped one of your hands around remus’ side and let the other find its way into his hair, where you dug your fingers into his roots with a loose fist.

remus hummed in acknowledgement.

“oh, are you sleepy?”

“no, no, i’m awake,” remus insisted, speaking into your neck. his lips, warm and familiar, brushed against your skin with the tenderness of a lover’s caress.

“if you say so…” you sighed, more than happy to fall asleep with him cuddled up to you. “i believe you. i totally do.”

“thanks…” remus whispered, more so to himself than to you. “i love you.” his confession was breathless, muddled by the thick exhaustion in his voice, but you could understand well enough. there was a distance between you and him, a restraint from remus yet to dissolve, but in these intimate moments his barrier fell and he allowed himself to love you fully. you didn’t need the constant reassurance to know how remus felt. his hand on the small of your back, the massaging of your wrists after they’d cramped from writing an essay, and the seeking of your body in a sea of students during passing periods was enough.

it should’ve been easy, right? it should’ve been obvious. in a very un-gryffindor-like fashion, it seemed neither of you wanted to take the leap into labels… into commitment.

there would be a right time, you promised yourself. and you’d wait for it patiently, because you’d waited for remus for years now, and you’d wait forever if it meant having him in your arms like you had him now.

it seemed you were alone in your patience, because when morning came and lily screeched, overjoyed at the prospect of her friends together, at last.

“oh merlin!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “i bloody knew it! i saw it coming—didn’t i see it coming, dorcas?”

“yes, yes you did,” dorcas rasped, still recovering from her interrupted slumber. “to be fair, we all saw it coming. even james saw it coming.”

“right, but i guessed most accurately, didn’t i? you and mary better cough up,” lily said while wiggling her shoulders triumphantly. her boasting was not lost on you.

“lily, did you bet on us?”

“um- well, yes.”

“dear godric.” you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “what time is it? actually, it doesn’t matter. all i know is that it’s too early for this.”

“wait-” mary scampered out the dorm room. “you said ‘us.’ so you admit it? there’s an ‘us’ now?”

“yeah, an ‘us’ that fell asleep on the couch together! for the second time,” dorcas pursed her lips judgingly.

“i swear, i am going to rip whoever is being this loud into tiny little pieces-” sirius complained, stretching his arms and stumbling groggily out of the boys’ room to investigate. he immediately sobered at the sight of the three scheming girls and the two curled up figures dominating the common room. “holy shit,” sirius breathed. “prongs! wormy! get out here!” sirius turned and hurried back into his room, socks sliding, to wake up the other marauders.

you knew this from the last time you and remus had been caught sleeping on the couch, but remus was not a morning person. he groaned, turning his head so his face was flat on your chest, hiding from the unforgiving sunlight and your friends’ voyeuristic gawking.

“we’ve already done this,” you snipped, “can we collectively move on and start the day, please?”

“but it’s so fun to make you uncomfortable!” james smirked, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the banister. “other than quidditch, it’s my favorite pastime.”

you had half the mind to slip out from underneath remus’ body and hex james’ mouth shut, but how could you, when remus was resting so soundly and holding you so snugly? you could count each freckle on his face if you tried. you could feel his eyelashes tickle your skin. if you focused, you could hear the rhythmatic beating of his heart, slow like molasses and indicative of how much he trusted you; how comfortable he was.

gone was the anxiety of trying to be perfect around him. remus felt like the only person you could trust with your whole being, and knew you would do anything for him, unconditionally and always.

on the rare occasion remus was not the one walking you to class, lily would have her arm linked through yours as she pulled you through the crowd, an expert navigator commanding the respect of the sea.

“it feels like forever since we’ve spent time together, just the two of us,” you said, voice raised to be audible over the bustling students. “that’s probably my fault too; i’ve been- uh, spending a lot of time with rem.”

“rem…” lily mimicked. “yeah, you definitely have. don’t stress about it, though. i’m happy—and i truly, truly mean this—that you and him have finally figured out your feelings for each other. you make the best couple.”

“oh, well we’re not officially dating or anything-”

“are you kidding?” lily scoffed. “i swear, the man could propose to you and you would still think he’d meant it platonically. you’ve kissed, haven’t you? is that not enough?”

“i mean, i don’t want to push it. he’s still figuring things out, i think, and i-”

you never finished your thought, nor did lily finish scolding you, because your conversation was overshadowed by the snide voices of lucius malfoy and his lackeys.

“have you heard?” barty crouch sneered. “lupin’s started fooling around with the mudblood girl, that filthy blood traitor.”

“he’s a half blood to begin with,” lucius said. “hardly pure enough to ‘betray.’”

“it doesn’t matter to me,” evan rosier spat. “he’s still sleeping with the school slut. he’s a mudblood by association, that scum.”

your brows furrowed and you craned your neck to catch the conversation. lily was pale and her eyes flickered between you, the slytherins, and the crowd of students headed toward their next classes. lily tugged at your arm, silently asking you to leave it be.

you bit your lip hard enough to leave indents. it didn’t matter what the slytherins said about you; they were horrible blood supremacists who’d find a way to spread rumors no matter what. you knew remus wouldn’t take them to heart.

“and the evans girl? she’s sloppy seconds, isn’t she?” barty cackled. “y’know, she’s not bad for a mudblood. if she weren’t such a stuck-up bitch, i might go for it.”

“that’s disgusting, crouch,” malfoy jeered. “have you really become so desperate? you’d seek comfort from a mudblood?”

rosier elbowed barty. “she’s a fuckin’ prude anyway. even if she weren’t, why’d she ever go for your ugly face?”

“hey!” crouch protested. “look at yourself, why don’t’cha?”

“boys, calm down,” lucius said coolly. “you’re making fools of yourselves.” there was an evident distinction in the way the three of them spoke. lucius was articulate and his voice, sleek. evan rosier and barty crouch were crass and loose-tongued.

something about hearing lily’s name come out of the three slytherins’ slimy mouths made your blood boil; potions be damned, you were stewing in fury. you could deal with dirt on your name, but lily had been dragged into the center of gossip by association and you wouldn’t stand for slander on your innocent friend.

“i swear to fucking m-” you seethed, cracking your knuckles. you jumped when lily placed a placating hand on your forearm.

“it’s okay. let’s just go,” lily said nervously. lily was never one to shy away from confrontation, especially not when it came to putting blood supremacists in their place, so her cautiousness spoke volumes.

you shook lily off you, perhaps with an undeserved amount of aggression, and let your bag drop to the ground with a heavy thud. you stalked in the slytherins’ direction, not sure what you were going to say but at least sure you were going to walk away with the three of them in quivering, pathetic shambles.

“oi, crouch!” you called as you approached, clutching your wand a little tighter in your hand. “you been talking about me?”

“ah, it’s lupin’s girl!” rosier snickered, lightly elbowing lucius.

“ah, the marauder’s mudblood pet,” lucius said, lip curling in distaste. his eyes bore into yours and you shivered—not in the way remus made you shiver, but a trickling stream of dread down your spine. “what can we do for you?”

“don’t play dumb, malfoy,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “i mean, you could at least pretend to be capable of forming coherent thought. stupid isn’t a good look on you.”

there was a flicker of fire in lucius’ usually cold, expressionless eyes. you knew it was a bad idea—a reckless, thoughtless, potentially dangerous idea—to provoke someone like lucius, who had the family name to ruin your life, probably. still, you couldn’t help but stand a little taller as you watched lucius’ jaw twitch, smug at the prospect of having gotten under the pompous bastard’s skin.

“watch yourself, little girl,” crouch hissed, defensive on his leader’s behalf. “you should know your place by now. and if you don’t, we can show you.” rosier pushed out from behind lucius and crouch, tilting his head to look you up and down crudely.

crouch was taller than you, not by much, but it was still a bit of a power imbalance to be looking up at him. “i could say the same for you,” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “keep my name out of your fucking mouth. keep evans’ name out of your dirty, foul mouth.”

“we’re not the only people talking, sweetheart,” rosier smiled viciously. his tongue ran over his top teeth like he was sizing you up for his next meal. “the whole school’s curious; who’d you fuck first? potter? black?” he spat out sirius’ name bitterly. “those fucking blood traitors… and now you’re going for remus lupin, the half-breed?”

“watch it,” you snarled. “you better fucking watch yourself.”

lucius, who’d been acting like he was above all this, cracked an amused smile. “the real question is, where does pettigrew stand?”

barty crouch laughed like lucius’ comment was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. crouch’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. his eyes roamed your body greedily and it took everything in you not to cover yourself and run. “i’d love to know… what’s lupin like in bed? lupin’s a bit of an animal, isn’t he? tell me, is he rough with you?”

crouch’s mouth was still moving. he was going on about remus’ scars, his clothes; worst of all, using too many words that made it seem like crouch knew more than he should. you weren’t sure. you couldn’t hear it. blood was rushing to your face and your cheeks burned; if you pressed your hands to your face you thought you might hear a sizzle. your heart was halfway up your throat, threatening to beat a hole straight through your chest. the world had gone muddy. your vision was clouded by your fury, and all you could hear was a shrill alarm in your head, screaming at you to punch someone, slap someone, knee someone in the groin…

“shut up!” you shrieked, holding your wand out in front of your body defensively. your voice cracked. your eyes were burning, and the three slytherins could tell how much their taunts had affected you. you felt like you’d lost, just by showing emotion.

“shut up!” crouch mimicked in a squeaky, sing-song voice. “shut up, shut up, shut up-”

“why do you care?” you felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum. but your question remained—why you? why lily? why remus?

“because you disgust me,” lucius spoke through bared teeth, venom dripping from each syllable. “you and your little blood traitor troupe are a black mark on this school. you-” lucius pointed at you, “-have whored your way into the purest wizarding families, and-”

you slapped lucius across the face with a resounding crack. it was delightful.

crouch rushed to lucius’ side immediately, fretting over his role model like an overbearing mother. lucius’ face was scarlet, from both the humiliation and the blood you’d raised to the surface of his cheek with the impact of your palm. his pale skin made the handprint all the more obvious.

“bitch!” lucius cupped the side of his face tenderly. “do you know who my family is? you pathetic, stupid girl. my father will hear about this!”

“you’re a bloody asshole, malfoy! and the two of you-” you gestured broadly to crouch and rosier, “-can go fuck yourselves. you leave us alone, or i swear i’ll hex you straight into the hospital wing next time.”

you forced yourself to hold their gazes, clenching your jaw to stop your bottom lip from trembling—because damn it, you were nervous—and swallowed down any creeping regrets. it was necessary, you thought. maybe now they’d finally leave you alone. there’d been too many close calls of late, and if this was what it took to get the slytherins off remus’ back, then so be it. you’d take a million horrible names; that was nothing compared to the destruction if remus’ secret was revealed.

you turned around, closing your eyes and releasing a breath so deep that it felt like you’d just compressed your lungs, before dragging yourself over to where lily stood in the corridor, clutching your bag with white knuckles.

you smiled at her weakly. lily did not return your smile. instead, her mouth dropped open in a panicked exclamation, and before you could ask what was wrong, she was flinging a spell at you.

no, not at you. behind you.

“expelliarmus!” lily shouted, voice strong and clear. she set your bag on the floor and flung hers off her shoulder before rushing to your side. you swung your head in both directions, eyes wide as you caught up with the sudden action. lily held crouch’s wand in her hand, eyes flaming as furiously as her cheeks. strands of lily’s hair stuck to the chapstick on her lips, and even as she awkwardly wiped them from her face, she looked absolutely terrifying.

“dear merlin,” you gaped, watching your friend storm toward the three boys, all hesitancy evaporated. in fact, it seemed like she was steaming clouds of fury out her ears.

“you!” lily seethed. “you pathetic, gargoyle-faced bastards! yeah, i’m talking to you!” she threw crouch’s wand at the ground and you imagined she was currently resisting the urge to stomp it in half. (lily had always displayed more self-restraint than you.)

lily’s outrage drew the attention of students who’d begun trickling out of their last classes of the day. “only cowards attack while someone’s back is turned,” she said, shoving an accusatory finger into crouch’s chest. “and you are the most deranged coward i’ve ever met. you talk big game around your little friends, but you don’t have the balls to say it to my face, do you?

“sloppy seconds, did you say i was? merlin, i didn’t realize you had enough gray matter to become more brainless,” lily scoffed. “i am nobody’s. unlike you, i have a sense of self-worth. i don’t need to cling onto some man-” lily glared at lucius, “-to validate myself. you’re pathetic, is what you are.”

crouch opened his mouth, likely trying to find the right words to respond, but lily was swift in her exit. tossing her long hair over her shoulder, she crossed the courtyard with a stony, unwavering expression. you watched in a mixture of awe and admiration as she swept up both your bags and nodded to you in beckoning. she was casual, like casting magic and digging verbal talons into blood supremacist slytherins was an everyday practice.

“are you okay?” you whispered, taking your bag from lily and letting your shoulder brush against hers to let her know you were by her side. “wait, that’s a stupid question. how are you feeling? should we go back to the dorm? or- or- we could talk to mcgonagall?” you stammered, tripping over your feet as you tried to keep up with lily’s long, determined strides.

“i’m fine,” lily said. her fists were gripping the fabric of her skirt, so lily was obviously not fine. “i’m fine. let’s just go back to the common room,” she repeated, reassuring herself more than she was responding to you.

you rubbed your forehead. the conflict felt neverending, and you were beginning to feel naive for thinking there’d ever be a light at the end of the tunnel. the wizarding world was on the path to war, after all. there was nothing but dark days ahead. it seemed like you were at the edge of the hurricane, not quite swept into the relentless winds but already swaying as the force of the storm challenged your resilience.

as expected, the common room was bustling with frenzied post-class students rushing to their dorms for afternoon naps and gossip about the day's happenings.

“lily?” marlene called, arm swung loosely over the velvet arm of a plush couch. she looked very cool. “y’good, darling?”

“no,” lily said bluntly. “not at all. those bloody slytherins-”

“it’s not bellatrix, is it?” mary asked nervously. regardless of blood status, bellatrix was an intimidating figure to all.

“no, it’s malfoy. unfortunately.” you frowned. “hoenstly, i’d prefer if it were bellatrix… at least she’s not a bloody coward…”

the mood quickly dampened, evident by the way marlene pushed herself up on her elbows to listen more attentively and mary took a seat on the ottoman, pushing her essay aside in the middle of writing a word.

“wait, what about malfoy?” dorcas asked, hushed.

lily seethed. “the foul git was talking shit in the courtyard, blabbing on about r-”

the girls looked surprised. lily wasn’t one to swear.

“bunny!” remus called from the portrait hole, waving his arm excitedly as he stepped over the threshold. “hey, i missed you in potions, is everything alright?”

five heads whipped around to stare at remus and the three boisterous marauders just behind him. lily rolled her eyes.

“i swear to merlin, if i have to deal with any more of these idiot men, i’m going to be in azkaban by tonight,” lily said, glaring at james very specifically. “i can’t stand them.”

“sure, lils.” marlene didn’t push, but her insinuation was clear.

you ignored lily’s complaints. you, for one, would never object to seeing remus.

lucius malfoy had been wearing his hair down recently.

“how’s your hand?” remus asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. the courtyard didn’t feel the same after your previous altercation, but here you were, sitting with your legs swung over remus’ lap as you skimmed your potions textbook.

“a little sore, but probably not as sore as malfoy’s face,” you snorted. “it was so worth it. if i could do it again, i would’ve punched him. maybe i could’ve broken his nose, or something.”

remus hummed. you’d told him what had happened. at first, you’d omitted the worst of the details, but with a bit of coaxing, remus pulled the full story from you. it was a new feeling, being able to share everything with someone and knowing that they wanted to carry everything you had to offer.

“want me to kiss it better?” remus said coyly, taking your hand in his and pressing a long kiss to your wrist. his lips crept in small steps across your skin. he placed one kiss on the fleshy part at the base of your thumb, another on the back of your hand, a dusting of kisses across your knuckles, until he grew bored and tugged you closer with the hand of yours he was already holding until you were close enough for him to kiss your lips instead.

“much better,” you laughed, giddy. “you- you make me feel safe, remus. sometimes i’m scared that there’ll be… well- and sometimes i’m scared something will happen to you. i don’t know what it is, rem, but there’s nobody else for me. i know it for a fact.”

“fuck, i love you so much,” remus breathed, pulling you in by the chin for another breathless kiss. “merlin, i don’t know what i did to deserve you.”

“you’re cute. and you help me carry my books,” you answered thoughtfully. “that’s what you did.”

“i see how it is,” remus grinned. “i’m just your arm candy and bookshelf, huh?”

“i suppose you could also be my boyfriend.”

“boyfriend?” remus furrowed his brows. a volt of panic shot through you—was it too early for labels? but remus only smiled. “boyfriend… yeah, can i be your boyfriend? i would love to be your boyfriend. i would love to be yours.”

“yes,” you nodded enthusiastically. “yes, rem. yes, be mine.”

“yours,” remus agreed, leaning his forehead on yours. “yes, i want to be yours forever, as long as you let me.”

“wait, does this mean i get to be your girlfriend?”

remus choked with a surprised laugh. “i thought that was implied?”

“just checking!” you poked his cheek. “i just don’t wanna get things wrong with you.”

“you could never do anything wrong, silly girl,” remus chuckled, enveloping your poking hand in his own warmer one. “i agree. there’s nobody else for me either. whatever we do, or whatever happens, it’s enough that i get to do it with you.”

with your back pressed up against the rough trunk of the crabapple tree, feet pressed into the dusty earth, hand squeezed in remus’, and his reassurance in your mind, you felt grounded for the first time in…

“it’s been a long time.” snape said curtly. his robes swished around his calves and he gripped the strap of his bag tighter as he came to a stop in front of you and remus’ conjoined bodies.

you raised your eyebrows. “come to avenge your pal, malfoy?”

snape ignored your question. “i hear the astronomy class is studying moon phases this week. yes, that reminds me… how are things for you, lupin?”

you felt remus tighten his grip around your hand and you placed your own on his thigh reassuringly. as much as you’d love watching snape’s face as you slammed it into the bark of the tree which was so close and right there, you’d drawn enough attention to yourself to last months.

“i don’t understand, sniv- severus. are you falling behind in astronomy? i hear the ravenclaws have a fantastic tutor group for struggling students,” remus quipped.

snape swallowed hard. his eyes flickered around the courtyard before returning to remus’. snape had barely acknowledged you.

“what do you ev-” you started, but were cut off.

“you and your blood traitor friends best watch your backs, lupin,” snape hissed, emphasizing remus’ name like it was a poison. “i’d watch the attitude too. perhaps the missus could learn from that as well.”

remus’ eyes narrowed. he stood, sick of looking up at a boy he despised. at his full height, remus towered over snape. he stood much taller than most at hogwarts, anyway.

“are you threatening me, severus?” remus said lowly, fingers twitching at his sides. you weren’t sure if he was holding himself back from punching snape or grabbing his want and hexing him into next monday’s charms class.

“is there a reason you’d feel that way, remus?” snape bit back. “the innocent need not keep secrets.”

“oh fuck off, would you?”

the three of you redirected your gaze to james, swaggering over with his shirt collar crooked and wand tucked behind his ear, covered by his intentionally disheveled hair.

“potter,” snape spat, even more venomous than he had been with remus’ name. “what are you doing here?”

“can’t i enjoy a lovely afternoon, snivellus?” james waved his arm in a broad gesture to the weather. “i could ask you the same. i’d think that with all your free time, you might’ve had time to try taking a shower. i guess i was mistaken.”

“yes, you are mistaken,” snape said. “you never were the smartest, were you?”

james looked unfazed. “are you a procrastinator, snivellus? i know you’d drop anything for slughorn, but personal hygiene is just as important, mate. how can you expect anyone to take you seriously when you’ve got lice and such a sallow, sad face?”

sirius smirked. “we can give you some tips, if you’d like. ‘course, you’d have to step away from our mates here. i wouldn’t want them to get caught in the- aguamenti!”

with a sputter and burst, a stream of continuous water sprang from sirius’ wand. he held it with both hands, waving it side to side like a firefighter putting out a flame.

snape was furious as he stood shivering in his drenched robes. if he hadn’t been such a lecherous little blood supremacist, you might’ve felt bad for him. he looked like a bad luck-stricken black cat, drenched in the rain and trembling on his feet.

“incendio!” snape shouted, aiming his wand directly at sirius’ chest.

sirius, always on the offense, would have surely caught on fire if it weren’t for james’ quick protection spell.

the two boys stared at each other through james’ magical shield, and you and remus took this time to sneak past snape undetected. you rounded the courtyard until you were behind james and sirius. sirius was breathing heavily. james’ jaw was clenched.

there had always been something much deeper and more personal between snape and james and sirius. peter went along with the deep rivalry simply because his friends felt the same way. remus was forced into it through snape’s blackmailing. and you, by asossiation, were now on his blacklist.

you suppose, as a muggleborn, you would’ve been on that list regardless.

“rictusempra,” you muttered under your breath, discreetly pointing your wand at snape’s ankles. you tried not to smirk as the boy fell to the ground, trying his best not to laugh. he looked like a seal, all slippery and wet in his all-black garb, squirming around on the ground collecting dirt and dead leaves.

sirius found this extremely funny, and needed no magical push to burst into raucous laughter. james looked impressed. when he met your eye, he could tell by your poorly concealed amusement that you were the culprit.

“severus snape!”

bellatrix’ voice slashed through the air. “severus, get up! you’re making a fool of yourself.”

with great difficulty, snape pushed himself onto his knees, still clutching his abdomen in pain. bellatrix rolled her eyes unsympathetically and flicked her wrist in snape’s general direction, lifting the spell and allowing him to collapse to the ground in a damp, defeated heap.

“ah, the little blood traitors,” bellatrix taunted. “i presume you are responsible for this?”

you looked at remus with tired eyes. “let’s go. if a teacher catches us, we’re dead. mostly me. i’ve been involved in too many of these… scuffles of late.”

remus nodded.

snape was clambering to his feet in shame. he swung his damp bag over his shoulder, then flipped it open and began frantically checking its contents. he glanced up at james and sirius, but his eyes were searching for remus. when they settled on remus’ face, emotionless and poker, severus’ expression turned murderous.

from within the bag he tugged out a book. it was soaked through and most likely water damaged beyond repair, but snape lifted the book far enough out of the bag to flash the cover and spine at you.

it came back to you like fragments of glass.

“lupine lawlessness: why lycanthropes don’t deserve to live.”

you knew snape hadn’t come over for the sake of saying hello. you figured he, being the creep he was, just enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

he had wanted you to read the spine of the book, just like he’d wanted you to find it in the first place. he’d dropped it in the potions classroom, knowing you’d pick it up. he’d done so the day of slughorn’s party, when he knew he could catch you off guard.

snape, who’d been thrashing on the ground like a fish out of water only moments ago, was now eye level with bellatrix and suddenly looking like much more of a threat than you’d anticipated. his hand was hiddin in his bag and you assumed he must’ve been gripping the book. he narrowed his eyes, acknowledging your presence for the first time, and imperceptibly, jutted his head in bellatrix’s direction.

your blood went cold. in this very same courtyard, a few days ago, barty crouch had tried to attack you while you had your back turned. isn’t that what you’d just done to snape?

maybe you should’ve known better than to underestimate snape. he wasn’t as physically capable as james and sirius, as influential as malfoy, or as frightening as bellatrix, but he was sly. snape was nowhere near bellatrix’s good graces, but he was about to be.

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violetmina · 1 year

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 5

Chokehold Masterlist

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Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,895

Warning: Swearing, mild violence and injury, threats of bodily harm, alcohol, pervy assholes being pervy, sexual tension. And probably the biggest warning of all - Butcher.

A/N: I honestly don't know if I love or hate this chapter. But we're gonna blame a certain song by Sam the Sham & The Pharaohs for how this ended. Got stuck in my head, gave me ideas and wouldn't fucking let go. I'm praying it's not too cheesy. Enjoy.

By the time Butcher had returned with a bounty of greasy Chinese takeout, you had managed to put your epiphanies in the back of your mind and recomposed your face. You had work to do and admittedly you were feeling a little famished. A desk with a simple chair was crammed against the wall opposite the beds, a TV perched haphazardly above it. Butcher had swung one of the ends out so you could sit on your bed to eat while he took residency of the chair. Under his bulk it looked almost child-sized and creaked frequently.

After he had worked through half of his entree you decide to finally breach the previous topic. "What do you think? Are we following Frank, getting him to talk or…?"

Butcher finishes a thick bite of lo mein before he answers. "Find him first. Lucky for us, the delivery guy was a chatty type. Got him to talking and he mentioned that the science guys from the big city usually start clocking out and hitting the nightlife around seven. Gives us about six hours before we head to the bar."

"So we start tonight. That helps with our time crunch. But again, if he shows up, what are we doing?"

"That depends," Butcher shrugs and sneaks another bite. "Ideally we'll be able to watch him for a bit then follow him home. Much easier for me to get him to talk without witnesses."

"What if we can get him to do both?," you ask. "We let some liquor loosen his lips. And when he staggers out, he leads us home."

"Can't rely on him getting drunk," Butcher shakes his head. "Even arseholed, he's gonna be real skittish about two randoms asking him questions. And if he's gambling, which he's there to do, he'll be uptight from the word go."

"Would splitting up be the better option?," you inquire after a bite of rice. "Especially if he might have friends from the lab there. One of us could take Frank, the other another scientist, and when he leaves we follow him."

Butcher wipes some sauce from his lip, shaking his head. "I told you, best chance getting him to spill his guts is outta sight. Not in the bar, and not if he's got friends."

"Who says you have to talk to him in the bar?" He pins you with a confused look. You shrug. "You could try to work the locals or the other scientists for information. And it's not how I usually handle things, but maybe Frank will be less receptive to you, and a little more open to…feminine wiles?"

He stabs his chopsticks into his food, a brow shooting to his hairline. "You're suggesting we go in there, have you try to hustle Frank for intel while I distract his buddies somewhere in the bar?" He shakes his head. "Nah. Not liking it."

"Why not? What else are we going to do?"

"For starters," Butcher says as he begins to tick off on his fingers, "It's risky splitting up. Secondly, who says Frank is into 'feminine wiles'? And lastly, if you don't wanna be treated like a kid, don't ask me to play babysitter."

"I didn't ask you to!," you snap. "I can handle this! We're not really splitting up, we'll be in the same bar. And who says Frank doesn't swing both ways, hm?"

He waves a hand at you dismissively, stuffing his mouth with more lo mein. You start for another bite of food yourself but stop and sigh instead. "I've told this to Hughie," you say softly. "I shouldn't have to tell you of all people. Don't treat me with kid gloves. If you throw me in the deep end and I start to drown…well then, I learn to swim. Or I drown."

"Not on my fucking watch, you won't," Butcher replies in a low voice, steely eyes flashing.

You meet his gaze, refraining from fidgeting. "Then trust me to swim, Butcher." He stares at you for a moment before he sighs and looks down. "I know you don't like it. But what other options do we really have?"

He doesn't answer for a long moment, slowly twisting his chopsticks. Finally, just as you try to think of how to argue, he looks back up at you. "I'm gonna need to scope out the bar within the next hour or two. When I come back, we'll devise a way to communicate when we divide and conquer. Savvy?"

^^^

After the takeout has been devoured, Butcher quickly heads out the door to look over Danny-Boy's. You suspect he's also brooding over having you there but you figure he'll just have to deal with it. You glance over at his open bag, spotting a couple sidearms, and some bugs and tracking devices you've seen the Boys use before. An idea sprouts in your mind when your phone buzzes, diverting you from snooping further with a text. It's Hughie.

Missed seeing you in the office today. I'm sorry. I really hope you're ok.

A little wave of petty, bitterness washes over you. But you take a deep breath before you let your fingers lash out a response. You consider calling him to chew him out for yesterday, but you're supposed to be ill and you don't dare risk the possibility of him realizing what you're really up to. That and the risk of Neuman suddenly tapping your phones loomed at the back of your mind.

I'm ok, you reply. Nothing I can't handle. I didn't want to bring crap to work. Hope to see you soon.

Satisfied for the moment, you turned your attention to the upcoming recon. You had packed with other scenarios in mind, like, say, running for your life, or swinging your FBSA credentials if need be. Not that you were high ranking but people didn't need to know that little detail. You looked over the few clothing options you had with a frown. None of these screamed seductress to you but you settled on dark pants and a silky black blouse. Practicality had made you ditch the stilettos at home, but you had brought a pair of wedge pumps that were neither too high or low that you favored at work. Maybe, just maybe, you could swing for a subtle, sexy secretary look.

That thought alone made you cringe as you left the ensemble out on the bed and put away the rest of your clothes. Why did I suggest going this route, again? Did I really just volunteer to be a cliche?

You shrug off the distaste of the idea and head into the shower. You're not into the lingering scent of Chinese food and sweat, and you doubt Frank will be either. The motel water pressure is subpar but the temp is to your liking, and you make quick work of scrubbing clean. When you step out and begin to dry, you wonder if Butcher has returned.

The instant your mind starts to idle over the idea of him just a few feet and a door away while you're undressed, you squash it. It reminds you of the night ahead of you and you bite back a groan of frustration. Don't make this night any longer than it has to be, you admonish your lurid mind. Stick to the plan, deal with Frank, get back here safely. One hurdle at a time.

You speed through drying your hair and applying the minimal makeup you had brought, sticking to subtlety over flashy. You sneak one more look over Butcher's bag, and about the time you're stepping into your shoes, he comes breezing through the door. "Not a bad little place. If we stick close to the bar, we might actually be able to signal each other without a fuss."

"So what are our signals? We doing it by phone? Body language?" When he doesn't reply, you look up from finishing your shoes. You're not sure if he's looking at you or through you. You wave a hand at his zoned out expression. "Hey Butcher! How's Binky the spaceman doing?"

He blinks, snapping out of whatever weird daze he's in to give you a rueful smile. "I do hate to bring it up but uh…" He makes a wave in your general direction. "Is this how you intend to lure Mr. Lazzell?"

Your eyes widen and you give him an indignant scoff, standing up as you cross your arms. "I wasn't exactly planning on going clubbing when 'recon' came up. Am I seriously about to get wardrobe advice from Billy Butcher? Mister 'my shirts make the blind weep'?"

"Only 'cause I make this shit look good," he smirks, holding out his arms wide. He ignores your eyeroll and strides towards you as he continues, "Not so much fashion advice, love. More like…friendly advice as a man. If you're gonna play the bait, this needs just a bit of fine tuning."

He scratches his chin in a dramatic pose of musing and motions with a finger to give a twirl. You give him an incredulous look but he does it again. You heave a sigh and do a quick turn. A snide remark is on the tip of your tongue but suddenly disappears when his fingers slip into your hair and musses it ever so slightly. Then they drop down, fiddle with your collar for the briefest moment, thumbing the smooth fabric.

"Nice shirt on you," he mumbles with a faint nod. Next thing you know, you feel his knuckles brush against your skin as he swiftly pops open the first two buttons of your blouse. You blanch back out of his reach, too startled to manage more than a breathy curse and wide eyes.

"There. Can't go wrong with a touch of bedhead and a little skin," he says with a devilish grin, wagging his brows.

"How about a little warning, asshole!?," you snap, finally finding your voice. You can feel just a tinge of color in your face that you can't repress, so you focus on remaining indignant. "I could have done that myself! And just because you hate buttons, doesn't mean the rest of us do! Jesus!"

You look down, grateful that you're not as exposed as you feel. But there's definitely a peek of sternum and the v-neck highlights your collarbone now. "The things I do for this job," you mutter as you smooth out the blouse.

He turns away and calls your attention to start devising a code. And you try to focus. But in the hours before leaving the motel, you question if you imagined his gaze lingering just a second too long where his fingers had been.

^^^

As it turns out, Butcher was right; Danny-Boy's wasn't too bad for a little sports bar and club. The outside was unassuming white brick with a crimson stripe around the top. Inside, however, was rather clean and sleek. The bar itself stretched out like a long island in the middle of the floor, well-polished dark wood highlighted in cool-toned led strips. Above it TVs followed its length, all flashing one game or another, their light just barely reaching into the dark ceiling. Along the right wall clung several booths, one of which you currently occupied in the corner.

From here you had a good vantage point of overlooking the entire bar, as well a decent view of the dance floor stretching from half the left side to the back left corner, guarding the restrooms. It's also from here you can just see the billiards tables through the growing evening crowd, comprising the front half of the club. At one of them is Butcher, already engaged in a game with two younger men. You're not certain if they're locals or from the lab. But even you pick up the air of inexperience about them from across the room, and you suspect the poor duo are being hustled out of money as much as they are information.

You poor suckers, you think, recognizing that look of Butcher when he's calculating and adapting three or four steps ahead. No rush, throwing out jovial bits of false hope, biding his time like a shark slowly circling in. Hope you're betting low.

As rivulets of people begin to come through the door again, you check the time on your phone. It's almost nine-thirty and doubt begins to gnaw at you. If Frank was planning to come after work for his gambling fix, he should have been there by now. A few patrons have already gathered in small groups under the TVs, placing bets on their phones and amongst themselves.

Just as you begin to wonder if this was going to be in vain, you spot him. You recognize the pug-like face, eyes too big in a gaunt mask. Besides his face, he is the most vague human being you've seen. Average height, build, maybe hint of pudge at the middle, brunette hair cropped a little too close to the scalp. If you weren't deliberately looking for him, he'd probably just be a body in the crowd. He's perched near the end of the bar, barely on the fringes of a group taking bets.

You waste no time and calmly remove yourself from the booth to head for Frank. When you're halfway up the bar, you glance in Butcher's direction. He's lining up a shot in a corner pocket and when he looks down the cue stick in your direction, you make a motion of scratching the outer corner of your right eye; Target spotted. To your relief, Butcher pauses in his shot to mimic the motion, then sinks a striped ball; Copy that.

You quickly slink up onto the stool on Frank's right, wedging your way past a disgruntled frat boy type who takes the seat next to you. As you settle in the crowded space at the bar, you place your hand on Frank's shoulder with a little squeeze, pretending to crane over him to peer at the alcohol selection.

He scowls at the hand on his shoulder, but out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze trail up your arm, the hint of collarbone and…start to smile. There's the hook, you think, suppressing the instant repulsion you feel at not so subtly being ogled.

"Sorry," you chirp over the noise, withdrawing your hand and plopping back down on the stool to turn to face him. "Couldn't see. Been a long day and I need a stiff drink. And a little luck."

"Luck hasn't been much of a lady for me. But maybe you can," he leers. "I'm Frank. Are you a betting gal, Miss…?"

There's his line. "My friends call me Red," you give him your alias with a smile. "And tonight I am. But I'm embarrassed." You wave your phone in your hand with a shrug. "I'm new to this mobile thing."

"How about you let me buy you a drink and I'll teach you?"

Your smile turns to a grin, more from surprise at how stupid easy Frank is making this than part of your act. "I think you just saved my day, Frank."

He turns all too eagerly to track down the bartender. You seize the moment to pretend to look around the bar and find Butcher again. The two young men seem to be arguing about risking another game with him, and he casts his eyes just over their shoulders in time to catch you hooking your thumb in your pocket and tap two fingers on your leg; Engaging, standby. Butcher shifts his eyes back to the duo like he's bored, rocks on his heels and mimics you again.

You fight back a laugh, absently fidgeting with the gadget in your pocket. God this is way easier than I thought.

^^^

Two hours in, however, you wonder if you had unintentionally jinxed you both. When the first Long Island Iced Tea showed up -not a small one either - and Frank had insisted, you knew then his goal; get you drunk as soon as possible. It was to be expected, but you still had to bite back the anger at the creep. You had tried to pace yourself, sipping as you picked at him for tidbits of info in the name of flirtatious small talk. He had not been as cooperative as you hoped, and the less you chugged, the more bored he seemed to become.

That wouldn't do. So you changed tactics, you drank a little faster but amped up the theatrics. To a degree it was successful. The more you started to slur, the more you would begin to sway, the more Frank would drink himself. Even at one point you'd given a drunken giggle loud enough to catch Butcher's attention, and you caught the hard, annoyed look he'd shot your target. Getting intel outta him around the bad flirting and god-awful innuendo was like pulling teeth, but you managed.

The first drink was long gone by that point. You're just starting to work on another when Frank's phone starts to buzz impatiently. At first, you thought it was gambling results. He's clearly not on a winning streak. But his growing agitation tells you something's off. Out of the blurring corner of your eye you spot Butcher again. The duo are growing suspicious, or just tired of losing money. He's losing their attention, too, and Butcher taps the face of his watch as he leans against the pool table. That one is pretty clear; Hurry the fuck up.

"Y'know, sweetheart," Frank snaps your attention back, glancing at his phone. "You seem like a lot of fun. Really, but -" His screen glares again and he curses. You realize that you're losing him and very precious time.

"Aww, c'mon, Frankie. Don't be like that," you croon, slipping a hand out of your pocket. You flash a fifty dollar bill before dropping it on the bar before him. "Let's make a bet. You like bets, don'tcha?"

Frank greedily eyes both the cash and your hand fiddling with your blouse buttons. "You know I love a good bet. But I don't know…" He starts to rub the back of his neck and you feel it in your gut that he's rapidly slipping. At that same moment, you realize that the duo are slamming down the last of their losses on the pool table and shuffling out with their tails between their legs. You have to act. Now.

You tug on Frank's sleeve to pull his hand from his neck and slip one hand in the collar of his coat, deep like Butcher had shown you. But you don't go for a choke. Instead, making sure your fingers are tight in the collar, you pull him towards you. "I bet," you slur in his ear, "you can't figure out the color of my bra before you get me home."

When you slowly release your grip and he leans back, you have to fight the urge to slap the lecherous look off his face. The sound of a ringtone amongst the music and chatter however spares you, and you both glance at the interrupting device. You catch a glimpse of a name before he groans, and looks at you like a kid that's been denied a toy at the store.

"I gotta go," he grumbles. "You have no idea how sorry-! Shit!" And he's sliding away from the bar and answering the call before you can say anything. You catch Butcher's eye as he puts away his cue stick and there's no need for a signal. He slinks against the wall and through the crowd, eyes on Frank's receding form.

You sigh and turn back to the bar with a bit of relief. Not quite what you planned, but thank God you didn't have him call you on your bluff. You shudder at the idea. Now you just needed to head back to the motel and wait for Butcher to follow him wherever and -.

And a hiccup slips past your lips. You blink at the bar, slowly slipping the fifty back in your pocket as you feel a slight tilt in the room. It suddenly hits you that maybe it wasn't all theatrics. You might actually be a little more inebriated than you realized. When you go to slip off the stool, your ankle almost rolls under you and confirms your suspicion.

Oh, you think as a giggle bubbles out of your throat. Well shit. Oops.

As you start to look about to find the front door a hand wraps around your wrist. You turn in confusion. It's the frat boy, the one that's been sitting next to you. "Hey, sugar. Where are you going?"

Oh shit. You gotta be kidding.

"I'm heading out," you say as dryly as you can manage. "I've got friends waiting for me -."

"Kinda overheard you and whats-his-face." His grip tightens on your wrist and in that moment you realize that you can't remember any of the escapes Butcher taught you. You're too foggy. "His loss," frat boy leers. "But I'm game, sugar. I'll take that bet."

"Not betting with you, asshole!" You try to wrestle out of his grip but you stumble instead. Alarm bells start to go off in your head.

"As a matter of fact, I bet I'll figure out the color before we get outside to-"

"There you are!"

Both you and the frat boy jump when an arm wraps around your shoulders. Butcher smiles down at you and you blink to make sure you're not seeing things. But the weight and warmth around your shoulders feels real enough. "I've been looking for you, Red. Bachelorette party starts in fifteen minutes, the brides gonna have both our heads if her maid of honor's late!"

Even in your fog, you jump on the lifeline. "Shit, fifteen?! I thought I still had an hour," you whine. "I'm sorry. I was just leaving, I swear."

"It's alright. Thanks for holding this one down for me, mate," Butcher says to the frat boy, giving him a firm slap on the back before reaching for your ensnared wrist. "She's a little wild. I'll take her from here."

"I don't give a shit, dude!" You wince when the grip on you tightens. "She’s not go-!"

Your captor's words cut off into a little squeal when Butcher's grip locks on his wrist and cranks. You think you hear a slight crackling sound over the din of the bar as Butcher's eyes grow wide and far too bright. It's almost manic. "You wanna play odds with me, son? How much you wanna wager I'll scatter all your fucking teeth across this bar in thirty seconds or less?"

When the frat boy only whines a mantra of "sorry" in response, cradling his arm and leaning far from you, Butcher scoffs and releases him. The manic look fades as quickly as it came. He nearly seems disappointed. His arm slips down your back and around your waist, pulling you in to lean on him. Your arm closest snakes around him the same, your other hand splaying blindly across his shirt. "C'mon, Red. Don't wanna be late."

You have some balance but it's far from graceful as he guides you across the floor, towards the front door. You try to glance up to look at him but nearly trip over air. "Butcher, about Fra-"

"Not a fucking word," he snaps just loud enough for you to hear. "Not here."

You purse your lips and focus on walking. When you stagger out through the entrance, leaving the hot, cramped atmosphere of the bar, the outside air crashes over you in cool relief. For a split second, your mind clears…and it quickly registers what just happened, and Butcher's fingers digging sharply into your waist. You swallow thickly, wincing at the aftertaste of the alcohol in your gullet.

Crossing the gravel parking lot is much slower going, Butcher having to catch you from nearly collapsing once or twice when your ankles would falter. But it's a bit of smoother sailing once you reach the sidewalk, and you glimpse the motel waiting up the way. You suffer the thick silence until you're about two-thirds of the way back, and finally dare to speak.

"This wasn't part of the plan-"

"Oh! Really?!"

"I tried not to get drunk!," you mirror his snippy attitude, grimacing when you stumble again.

"Well fuck me sideways if I could tell!," he sneers. "What with all that coquette, eyelash batting, giggling what-the-fuck you were doing, a couple free drinks didn't seem to bother you none."

"Oh fuck off with that," you groan. "He wouldn't play along unless he thought…Well, you know. I tried damn it."

"And look where that got us. I manage to line my pocket with a few more bills, but learned nearly fuck all on Vought or the lab. Our main lead is gone in the bloody wind, and you three sheets to it."

"He's not gone in the wind."

"I don't know if you noticed, darlin', but I didn't tail him long enough to catch his cab! Had to come in and play your goddamn babysitter-!"

"Butcher!"

"WHAT?!"

He brings you to an abrupt stop at the curb. The motel sits just across the intersection now. You take a deep breath, making sure your footing is steady before slowly looking up at him and the snarl twisting his lip. "Please listen to me. Just fucking humor me. Lazzell is not in the wind. Look at your phone."

"What does my-!?"

"Oh my god! Pleeeease!," you groan. "Just check your goddamn phone."

He glares for a second, the snarl twisting further before he dives into his pocket and yanks out his phone. The light from his screen illuminates his face and how his brows slowly crease. "The fuck is this?"

"Did you really think I'd go in without some kinda insurance?" You can't help the corners of your lip twitch into a sly smile.

He turns from his phone to peer down at you. "You went through my stuff? You nicked one of my bugs! You-!"

You can't help the smile from growing wider when he stops. You can practically see the lightbulb go on over his head as the scowl drops. "Turns out that, uh, that collar grip you taught me isn't just good for chokes," you say gleefully.

"You planted one of my bugs on him." It's hard to tell if it's a statement or a question. Either way, a smile of his own starts to form as he puts away his phone.

"Aaand before he dashed out the door I saw he was getting a phone call from somebody. A contact listed under 'Walsh'. Now who do you think that might be?" An uncontrollable giggle slips out of you and dances in your next words. "Ended up drunk and I still planted the bug without getting caught. On a moving target! Suck on that, Hughie!"

He stares at you for a moment before breaking into a grin. His arm tightens around you, squeezing you hard enough to cut off your giggle, and placing his other hand on the side of your face. "You fucking, cheeky beauty!," he says with a laugh of his own and plants a quick kiss on your brow. It's less than half a second. But if the alcohol didn't make you feel all warm and tingly, that certainly did, and you grin as big as him.

He pulls back, holding up a stern finger between you. "Nice one. But don't you ever go through my shit again."

"Don't go through my buttons," you hiccup.

He quirks a brow. "How many drinks did he ply you with?"

"Pretty sure that was, uh, the third?" You nod slowly. "Yeah, left the third Long Island on the bar. With the douchebag."

"C'mon, you fucking lightweight," he shrugs you back into position. "You should start sleeping that off. We gonna be busy tomorrow."

"Fuck you. You…yer a lightweight," you grumble. Butcher only smirks as he guides you across the street and over the parking lot. When you just about reach the trunk of the car you speak again.

"Hey Billy? 'Bout back there…with the douche. I really didn't mean for you to have to save me. I hate that, you're not a babysitter."

"Don't worry bout it, love," he grunts as he swings you up the short step and lets you lean against the doorframe as he digs one handed for his keycard. His other hand rests on the small of your back.

"No, really," you press, now in more hushed tones as there's a slight shift in gravity. You grab his shoulder for a little balance. "Thanks fer…for breaking that guy's wrist. I mean, I think you broke it…Coulda been real bad for me."

He chuckles as he struggles sliding in the card. "Cunt deserved it. And I told ya, didn't I? Not gonna let you drown."

You can't help but smile. You rest your head on the doorframe, feeling a different shift as you watch him, noticing the little threads of silver in his beard, the ones beginning to dust his temples and the shape of the scar there. The door finally beeps and he pops the handle, coiling his arm back around your waist. He meets your eyes as if he's about to say something but it fades and he stares with a look of…surprise? Concern? It's there and then gone, like a mirage replaced with that glower look you know so well. "You really shouldn't do that. Don't look at me like that," he says gruffly.

"Like what?"

He looks away as he starts to sidle you through the door. "Like I'm fucking Prince Charming."

"Oh," you whisper. You try not to worry your lip as you stumble after him. That's not the alcohol warming your cheeks and suddenly the carpet looks very, very interesting. But your sloshed little brain replays his words and you snort, "You are definitely not Prince Charming."

"Oh, so you did notice?," he quips, nudging the door shut with his boot.

"No, no, no, you misunderstand," you insist as he awkwardly shuffles you towards your bed in the dark, cramped space. "Prince Charming is a lie, Butcher. He's a lie."

"The fuck you going on about?," he mutters into your hair, peeling back your covers with his free hand.

"He's a lie! With his too big smile, and, and with the rehearsed pickup lines he doesn't mean, and promises he never keeps. You know who the Charmings are?," you ask as he coaxes you to sit on the bed and taps the lamp on the lowest setting.

"No, who-? Oi! Don't reach for those bloody shoes like that! You want a concussion, that it?!" He rights you with a hand on your shoulder and only kneels down when he's certain you won't topple over. "Just fucking sit still, will ya?"

"You wanna know who? The Deep. And Homelander. And A-train. All those fuckers. To use your favorite word, Prince Charming is just the grandmaster cunt."

He shakes his head, grumbling something about your footwear. But you don't hear him and prattle on. "But I have a theory. I think the fairytales got all spun on us. We shouldn't want Charming. It's…" You shrug. "It's the wolf."

Butcher looks up at you just looking all the world like he is done with you. "The wolf?," he asks flatly. You nod. "The big, bad wolf? You sure it was only three drinks?"

"Hear me out. The wolf wasn't really bad, just doing what any animal does to live. Still more honest than Charming, anyway. Ya know? And wolves are loyal…Loyal to the point of violence." You wince when Butcher yanks off the first shoe. He gives you an amused glance as he chucks it into a corner.

"Oh thank you," you sigh. "That's so much better…Maybe that's what this fucked up world needs. For us to be a little more wolfish." An idea flits in your mind and you hum as a lazy smile crosses your face. "Besides, can't argue with what they said in the stories. The wolf will hear you better, he'll see you better and clearly e-ee-eeee…Um…"

You suddenly remember who the hell you're talking to. And you trail off when you discover that the amused look on Butcher's face has changed. His lips are curled into a smirk you're not used to. And you're sure it's the alcohol running with your train of thought, twisting your perception. But suddenly in the low light, his wild locks remind you of dark, thick fur. And you know damn well his eyes are hazel but for a split second, you could've sworn they looked gold. And feral.

"Don't mind me," he says, his voice in a deeper register than before. "You were saying?"

He slips off your other shoe, letting it clatter to the floor as his hand slides up your ankle to the back of your knee. He sits up taller on his heels. He doesn't blink.

"I, uh…I guess…I-I forgot," you breathe. Your face feels far too warm. When did you get so heady?

"How about you remind me, lil' Red? How's the story go?" He raises three fingers on one hand, the other rubbing lazy circles about your knee with his thumb. "Let's see…Eyes to see you better…Ears to hear you better…" He slowly lowers the last finger and leans in. "What are the teeth for, my dear?"

Your lips part but words fail you as you stare back at him. You feel a little dizzy but you're not sure you can blame the liquor anymore. Those firm fingers now gripping your thigh, however…

The next breath you take shudders loudly in the space between you. You try to piece a coherent answer and instead another hiccup bubbles out. You clap a hand over your mouth, startled.

Butcher looks at your hand over your mouth for a long while. Then lowers his eyes and sighs. "Aww fuck. Fucking hell." He shakes his head. "This ain't no bloody fairytale at all."

A confused crease forms between your brows. "What's that mean?"

"It means," Butcher says quietly, shifting an arm under both your knees and the other behind your back, "That you, love, are drunk off your ass." He tilts you back onto the bed and you groan as everything spins. "And you're already gonna hate yourself enough when that hangover finds you in the morning."

"M'not tired," you slur, turning on your side, face halfway in the pillow.

"Sure you're not." He pulls the coverlet and sheets up to your shoulders. "Shut your eyes and have a little kip."

"Wait," you yawn as you hear the jangle of keys. Your fingers snag his coat sleeve when he turns off the lamp. There's a glow in his other hand. Your brain slowly recognizes it as his phone. "Billy? Where you going?"

"Shhhhhh." Your eyes ignore your attempts to stay awake and slip closed at the sound. "I'll be back. Go to sleep, lil' Red." The sleeve slips from your fingers and the door clicks shut, but you never hear them. It's the warm whisper in your ear you hear last before sleep curls around you.

"The wolf's going hunting."

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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dingochef · 1 year

Text

Coming Soon:

Jake "Hangman" Seresin finally meets his match, but she is reluctant to give her heart to the cocky pilot. Or the one where Jake falls head over heels in love first for a aerospace engineer.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Sneak Peak: Chapter 1

“And that leaves me talking to you while I finish my drink and can hopefully go home and call this night over.”

“Ouch, am I really that bad to look at and talk to?” he puts on a mock frown for a second that he is confident makes him look cute before putting on his toothpaste commercial smile.

“I don’t even know your name and I'm not sure I even need to. I’m at the point of the evening where my feet hurt from these stupid heels and I’m really just ready to go home, take my bra off, put on some comfy pants, and watch some shitty TV before I fall asleep. It's been a week at work."

You finish your rant with a hefty swig of your drink. The mention of your bra coming off distracts him for a split second before he says,

“Well, I can solve one of those problems, the name’s Hangman.”

“Hangman, do you have a name that doesn’t sound like a cartoon character?”

He laughs just hard enough that you can see the beginnings of laugh lines at the edge of his eyes.

"Yes, my real name is Jake, Lieutenant Jake Seresin at your service, ma'am."

Posting Tuesdays and Fridays

Taglist is open.

#jake seresin smut #top gun maverick #glen powell #hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun fanfiction #hangman fanfiction #hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun smut

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

My Brother’s Keeper

Chapter 9

Summary: Y/N, Sam’s roommate, so far have a pretty good thing going. Both work and function around one another well. What happens when his big brother comes down for the holidays with his mysterious past, mixed with Sam’s own mysterious previous life? Can Y/N and the grumpy older brother find a way to get along? Or will it be a not so happy holidays at the Winchester house?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Sized!Reader x Sam

Word Count: 2737

Prompt: Mistletoe

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Rating: Mature (because of future chapters, this story is 18 + only, and not fit for minor consumption.)

Warnings: Throws fluff in your face.

A/N: This is the first Christmas fic I have written in a long time! You guys will get this one real time, and I hope to finish it before New Years! Fingers crossed! Anyways, This fic is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my won! Feedback is golden! My work is 18+ only! No minors! Thanks so much for reading!

Main Masterlist

Where we left off….

“You— you want to stay here because— of me?” She questioned, and narrowed his eyes at her the way he always seemed to do when she wasn’t catching on to whatever it was he was saying as fast as maybe he wanted her to, his dimples always showed when he did that, and fuck if it wasn’t the most beautifully distracting thing she’d ever seen. She’d never get tired of staring at them.

“Yes, I like you Y/N, a lot, and… I don’t know, if you’re not opposed to dating an old man, I’d like to see where this goes between us?”

Y/N blinked and stammered at him for a moment, and if he’d not been watching her so intently, she probably would have pinched herself to see if she was dreaming or not.

“Really?" She questioned in utter disbelief. "You want… really?"

Dean tossed his head back in a beautiful, full-body laugh.

"Yes, I'm serious!" Dean assured her, "Baby, I'm not exactly a young buck anymore, when I see a girl I wanna get to know, I'm serious about it."

Y/N's eyes searched him, REALLY searched him. She could detect no hint of a lie in his eyes that was searching her, waiting patiently. There was only a hint of fear there, that she might reject him.

"I'd love to have you here Dean, get to know you more, see where this goes," Y/N said after a moment, and she watched as Dean visibly sighed in relief, and fell back against the headboard. He really thought she'd reject him, something she could not even fathom doing.

"Well," Dean said, the ghost of a smile dancing in the corner of his pink lips. "Looks like I'll be hanging around then."

"Good," Y/N teased, bumping him with her elbow, "because if you left you'd just have to take me with you."

A grin broke free over Dean's face, as his eyes drifted over her head, to the headboard between them, and he all but snorted with laughter.

"Or I'll just leave my ass here if you think it's so fucking funny!" Y/N shot back, and Dean shook his head, reaching over her, and detecting what had caught his attention.

"No! Stop it!" He insisted as he waved the mistletoe in his fingers between the pair of them. "I'm laughing because I'm pretty sure my baby brother has been in your room while we were outside, that or you like to randomly decorate your headboard with mistletoe?"

Y/N's jaw dropped, and she blinked between Dean and the mistletoe in his hand.

"Why the hell is Sam hanging mistletoe in my room?"

Dean reached to sit the Christmas trinket on top of the headboard again, looking at her with a slight smirk on his face.

"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" He questioned, and Y/N shook her head no.

Suddenly doubt flashed over Dean's face, and she watched as a wall started to go up. That fast.

"Maybe I shouldn't say anything… it's not really that important," Dean deflected.

Y/N reached over to grab his hand, "hey," she tried, "talk to me, what's wrong, I won't be mad I promise."

Dean shrugged, playing with the comforter that rested over his lap.

"You might be, and just like that, I'm fucking us up before we even get good and started."

"You don't know that," Y/N argued, "try me."

"Sam… Sam set us up," he admitted in a rush. "I didn't know about it until yesterday, when he brought it up about me moving in. But I swear Y/N, I was interested in getting to know you long before Sam mentioned anything."

"That's why he lied to get you here," Y/N said, and Dean nodded.

"Sam and I, we used to be a lot closer than we are now," Dean said, and Y/N sat quietly, listening, doing her best to keep her emotions in check. If they were going to do this… then trust was going to be a must for her, and that means she is going to have to let him open up without jumping the gun as much as she really wanted to at that moment.

"Then… I got hurt on a job and almost died. We decided we'd change our line of work after that because I couldn't physically hold up to it anymore. Then life just… got in the way. He watched me spiral when Sarah died, and I wouldn't let him in because I'm a stubborn asshole. Then he said he met you, and always thought that we'd work well together."

Dean rubbed his face harshly, and looked her in the eyes, trying to read her.

"God Y/N, I got some dark, DARK, shit in my past. Shit that's—really, really hard to explain. I'm mortified that, when I tell you, and I know I'm gonna have to tell you one day that this is gonna work between us at all, that I'm gonna lose you before I even had the chance to have you."

He moved to get out from under the covers, and away from her, but she grabbed his hand, a silent plea for him to stay and not run away.

"Hey, whatever happened in the past, whatever it is you're so afraid of me finding out and running away, don't be. Give me a little credit. I'm stronger than I look Dean."

Dean didn't seem to feel any better, and her chest tightened. She didn't want to lose him. She never thought she'd have him in the first place, but she didn't want to lose him now that she'd had him.

"Look, you don't have to tell me everything today. Dean, you don't have to tell me everything, well ever. I'm not worried about what happened in the past, the only thing I care about is right now. But if you ever do decide to tell me I won't be angry with you."

Dean turned to face her, chewing on his lip.

"Tomorrow, we'll talk about it more. It's Sam's story too, and I want him to be here for it," Dean suggested after a moment. "Because if you're gonna do this sweetheart, if you really wanna be with me… there are some truths you're gonna need to know, but please, please don't be angry with me. Promise me you'll be open minded, and not run away screaming."

"I promise," she assured him, "I never thought in a million years that you'd even notice I existed when you came here Dean, it is gonna take a lot to make me run away."

Dean looked doubtful, and that made her nervous. What could be so bad, so wrong that he'd done or been a part of that he could be so afraid to tell her?

Dean shook his head as he reached to tuck a strand of fallen hair behind her ear, his eyes searching every in lch of her he could see as he did.

"Y/N you're all I've been able to see since the moment you answered the door."

As if gravity suddenly shifted. Y/N didn't know if Dean felt it, but it was as if something between them suddenly became magnetic, and they drifted towards one another.

It wasn't a continuous decision she'd made, because confidence wasn't exactly something Y/N had a lot of, but suddenly, she found her lips against his. His scent, his hands, his lips, seemed to be everywhere all at once as his arms enveloped her, and pulled her closer into him, and further down into the bed.

Kissing Dean Winchester was something she never got enough of. It was as easy and natural as breathing. It was a safe place that blocked out all of the past pain and hate she'd experienced in her life. It was the best kind of distraction, and it was something she'd never grow tired of doing. Had both of them not had to come up for air, she probably would have never stopped.

"Not yet," Dean whispered thickly, his deep voice strained as he rested his forehead against her own, his massive chest heaving with each breath he took.

"What?" Y/N questioned in confusion. Her Dean fogged brain unable to keep up with his thought process because her whole body seemed to be tingling and on fire all at the same time.

"I want to make love to you so bad I can taste it," Dean revealed, nudging her nose with his own before briefly capturing her lips once again with his own. "But not yet. Because if we do this right now, and you walk away from me tomorrow… I can't handle that."

She didn't know how to respond to that. She didn't know what to say. Everything he said was raw, and carried so many emotions of abandonment, and even resentment maybe, that she didn't know how to convince him that she belonged to him, past be damned.

"Dean, I swear, I'm right here, I'm not gonna leave."

"I hope you're not, but once you hear what I've got to say, you might be glad we waited."

Chapter 10 Coming HERE!!!

Forever:

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#my brother's keeper #spnchristmasbingo #spnchristmasbingo2022 #dean winchester #dean winchester series #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x plus sized reader #dean winchester x plus sized you #jawritter #spn fanfic #spn series #spn fanfiction #jensen ackles

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skyfall8600 · 2 years

Text

Sucked In: Chap 23: 1983 and the not so disappearance of Will Byers

Summary: You wake up in the world of Stranger Things before the events of Season 4. Are you able to help in the fight against Vecna, and save the man of your dreams?

Pair: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warning: swearing, Upside Down, blood-mentioned.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 22

Next: Chapter 24

[1.2k words]

Note: Tags don’t seem to be working again :(

Time was a tricky thing. No one really knows how it works; theoretically we see time as a linear process, all the events playing out one after the other. But there are theories that all points in time simultaneously happen, with realities layered on top of others. There was no way to say what was real or fiction; what was yet to come vs what has already happened. Time just worked different.

It was late a Thursday night. The 6th of November, 1983 to be exact; the boys were gathered around the table and ready for battle. They had been engrossed in hours of D&D.

“The Demogorgon approaches, what do you do?” Mike said theatrically, looking towards his friends.

It was Will’s turn. “I– I choose a fireball!” He said, rolling the dice a little too harshly as he rolled off the table and onto the basement floor.

They should have rushed to see what it landed on; to see how the game would play out and if Will the Wise would be captured or not by the hideous beast. But time seemed to snap in place, because as soon as the dice finished rolling… the young boys around the table fell into silence; their young selves recalling every riveting detail of what had occurred prior to the destruction of the crystal; remembering how the future was supposed to play out.

Before any of them could say a word, Nancy rushed down stairs. Normally, she would leave the boys to play their game; but she too had a burst of memories.

“It– we– holy shit it worked.” She said, “The crystal worked! Y/n was right!” They hugged and jumped together, ecstatic that they were finally free and safe.

Mrs. Wheeler yelled from upstairs, telling them to keep the noise down.

“I gotta call Steve!” Nancy said, practically tripping over her feet as she rushed to the phone.

“El– where do you think she’d be?” Mike said, cringing when he heard how squeaky his voice was. “Oh no…. Oh no no no– we’re in middle school again!”

“I am not going outside tonight.” Will said, eyes wide as he remembered what was out there waiting for him. “What if– what if it didn’t work, and now we just relive everything twice? I can’t handle that… I can’t go through that again.”

He was on the brink of tears before Lucas draped an arm around him. “Dude– if you do make it home tonight, without the Demogorgon snatching you, then we’ll know for sure that it worked.”

Will shook his head, trying to distract himself by recollecting the dice that fell. When he saw it landed on 12; this time, he didn’t roll too low. “I– I did it, the Demogorgon didn’t get me. Last time… last time I rolled a 7, too low for me to kill it. I got a 12… I’m safe.”

He felt relieved, suckling into his friends’ embrace as they celebrated. Well, all besides Mike.

“We have to find El! What if she’s still at the lab?” He screamed, causing for his mother to make her way down stairs.

“Boys! Too loud and its late. You boys have school tomorrow.” She said.

They froze to look at her, expecting for her become emotional with the memories of the cursed events to come.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that? You know the rules on a school night, off you go.” She said, leaving them be.

“She doesn’t remember.” Dustin said, “Our parents don’t remember! – oh my god, Suzie doesn’t know who I am yet!”

Mike rolled his eyes, “Dustin focus… El could still be in danger if she’s at the lab. Tomorrow, straight after school, we have to make sure Hopper finds her.” The boys nodded; Dustin pouting slightly because his girlfriend was aware she was his girlfriend yet.

And so they rode their bikes home, into the darkness of night. Will arrived home, Jonathan and Joyce hugging him instantly and crying. They too remembered.

Once Dustin got home, he tested his mother’s remember. She remained oblivious to any of the deaths or destruction that the little town would become known for. Since Nancy called Steve, Dustin didn’t really want to deal with his overly parental concerns… and then his mind drifted to Eddie.

Eddie Munson who was unaware of the dangers the group faced in the years prior to them meeting in High school. Eddie Munson who would currently be friendless, struggling at home with his new life living with Wayne. Eddie Munson who was terrified that he would lose you…

He had to call Eddie.

He dialled the number, his heart beating fast with each ring.

“Ah- hello?” Eddie’s voice croaked on the other end. He had been sleeping, almost entire knocked out and irritated that someone had called so late it woke him up.

“Eddie?” Dustin spoke softly, unsure if he could handle it if Eddie didn’t remember him. Eddie HAD to remember him.

“Hender- HENDERSON!” His voice changed from groggy to ecstatic, “Holy shit– Jesus H Christ.”

“Eddie, do you remember what happened?” Dustin asked, speaking over Eddie as he continued to swear into the phone. “I mean, if you knew it was me and we haven’t exactly met yet.”

Eddie laughed, “The hell are you on about kid? Of course I remember! I can’t believe it worked, she was a fucking genius– wait, what do you mean we haven’t met yet?!”

Dustin sighed, “Eddie, it’s 1983.”

Eddie dropped the phone, ignoring Dustin’s ‘hellos’ on the other end. Eddie rushed into the bathroom, and sure enough, his hair was shorter and all his tattoos were gone. Well, not gone per-say, he just hadn’t gotten them yet.

“Shit.”

“Eddie!” Dustin’s faint voice spoke from the small speaker of the phone.

Swearing again, Eddie picked up the phone. His hand was shaking. “Yeah– sorry. I just– fuck this is really weird.”

“You don’t say. Look, meet us after school tomorrow and we’ll sort out the damage then. We don’t really know who remembers– I think just the people that were around when the crystal broke might remember….”

Eddie tried to respond and listen carefully to his friend. “God you sound like a baby– forgot how much younger than me you were Henderson.”

“Oh shut up old man; see you tomorrow.” He laughed, handing up the phone and ending the call. Leaving Eddie all alone in silence.

Although his surroundings were dead quiet; Eddie’s mind was anything but quiet. For a moment he was annoyed at the idea that he would repeating most of high school, even though it is technically the first time. But for the rest of the night, all he could do was think about you.

He had no way of knowing where in the world you were; or if you even were in the same world as him. Your idea of destroying the crystal had worked; but to what extent?

He was afraid that if he were to never see you again, then he’d forget you. And he wouldn’t allow himself to forget you. He grabbed the closest notebook he could find, ripping out the pages of random song lyrics he knew he’d never use, as started to write down everything he could remember about you.

He started with the way you laughed, the way you sung to yourself and hummed when you thought no one was around. He wrote how you smiled, the way your rose crinkled to one side slightly more than the other if you were disgusted at something.

He wrote the lyrics to the song you taught him and how you’d always cling the t-shirt he wore in your fist as he slept; crying slowly to himself as he was afraid he’d never be able to hold you like that again.

He didn’t want to waste any time writing down every detail. He didn’t want to forget.

________________________________________________________________

@staff - please fix the bug for why people aren’t being notified when i tag them!

Eddie Munson Taglist:

@fentyreligion @littlelunarfox @coconutchumby @eempxth @superflannel @fluffycookies22 @yearwalker96 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @grungegrrrl@m1rkw00dpr1ncess @dixontardis @buckyslwts @bratckerman @dani-d0rk @musicmoviestv @tomshelbystits @reddisteddie @ungracefularchimedes @santaatemypuppy @cherryrevenger @chipster-21 @grungegrrrl @azaleaforsure

Series Taglist:

@gobringmemyfood @munchabunch @empty-and-nameless @el1997 @gooblerstan @bigbundabucket @theprettyandthereckless @earthtokace @ifellinlovewithawarsblog @secretsicanthideanymore @blueberryhitosh1 @maryan028 @bakugouswh0r3 @loliakeoghan23 @gamorxa @stardustworlds @bakugouswh0r3 @taeddybearkim @azaleaitsgreen @eddiemunsonslips @awhoreforeddiemunson @strangerthingsstories5255 @queenotaku23 @sweetberry47 @sammararaven @anothermunsonsimp @megumimind @zephyrs-world @thegirlwhohides

@whoreforhowl @kaitebugg03 @preciousbabypeter @snapped-chopstick @cutiecusp @sl-tfor-joseph-quinn

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #sucked in series #skyfall8600

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shirohige-pirates · 5 months

Text

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Tag List: @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 19: Amusement

The rest of the ferris wheel ride was had in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable silence, the two of you leaned against one another and enjoyed the view, and when the view became the interior of the ferris wheel itself you nuzzled your face into his arm, remembering a moment too late that you had put on a bit of makeup that morning.

Fortunately, if any was left to rub off on his coat, it didn’t.

Marco stepped out, offering his hand for you. You take it with a smile, inclining your head a little as the two of you move away from the crowd.

“I’m getting used to all these gentlemanly considerations of yours.” You admit, hand twined in his as you meandered about. Your eyes wander over the crowd as Marco hums appreciatively.

“Rough and tumble as growing up with so many brothers could be, in a way I think it managed to smooth us all out to some degree, yoi.” He admits. “Pops wasn’t shy with his feelings on the matter either.”

“I bet.” You mutter a little, distracted by something that’s caught your attention.

“What’s got your attention?”

You squint a little and then look up at Marco. “Stay here for me, I’ll be right back.”

His brows furrow slightly in confusion for a moment, but he lets your hand slip out from his and gives you a small smile. “Sure thing, I’ll be right here, pretty bird.”

Turning on your heel you disappear into the crowd so quick that Marco’s eyes go wide for a second. It wasn’t that you were particularly skilled at skulking through crowds, but you were quiet, and a little below the average height for the island. The moment you crouched, just a little, it was enough to put you below where most people would look at eye level.

Some of it was a bit of skill. You fled your home island when you were younger. Right around the time you’d accidentally eaten the devil fruit that resided within your bones. Other things that helped were the passive effects of the devil fruit itself.

You honed in on the voice you recognized as you wove through the crowd and popped up right in front of Thatch. Who was standing with a young, freckle-faced boy with messy black hair.

“Thatch.” You state dryly, and the older man nearly screeches when he sees you before looking around nervously. “What are you doing here?” You nearly hiss the question.

He finishes looking around before looking back, and down, at you. Reaching out silently he grabs the young man with him and pulls him closer.

“Enjoying the carnival with my little brother.” He says in a tone that clearly implies otherwise.

The younger man waves a little awkwardly. “Hi.”

It takes a second and your face lights up. “Oh, by the seas, you’re stalking your brother on his date.” You put your hand over your face for a moment.

“I… well, I mean… not… exactly.” Thatch stammers.

“No one knew where he was going to go,” the younger man starts explaining. “So, uh…” He stops, and looks away. “We split up.”

“You… split up?” You question and watch in real time as both men get more uncomfortable. “Wait, all of you? All thirty-seven of you?”

“Thirty- what, no, like… ten… of us.” Thatch starts, and then stops. “Look, it sounded like a better idea when Ace and Sabo were laying it out the other day.”

“Ace,” the freckled young man says, holding out a hand. You shake it, still looking a bit dumbfounded between the two of them. You give Ace your name as you release the handshake.

“Yoooooou two should probably leave.” You say after a second. “Trying to… I don’t even know what, but that stuff only works in movies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not wrong, we thought we saw him at one point, but we lost him so fast.” Ace admits sheepishly. “It’s just that he’s always so calm and collected all the time.” He asserts. “I’ve never seen him like, ruffle, in the last decade.” The storm grey eyes look to you with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

“Until Sunday.” Ace explains. “He blushed! He smiled! Like, no, wait, I’ve seen him smile, I’ve never seen him like that.”

You can feel your face heating up. “Stop talking.” You say, looking away. “Look, go home before your brother murders you both, and I’ll, uh, come visit or something. Soon-ish. Soon-ly. Just, it was nice meeting you.”

You say quickly and disappear back into the crowd. You already left Marco alone for longer than you meant to, but now you had a new problem to consider. You didn’t want to do anything to end the date early, but you also didn’t want to keep anymore secrets than you already were.

After a moment, you found Marco, right where you left him, looking up at the sky. You didn’t quite reach him before he looked down at caught you with his gaze. You smiled, taking his hand before the two of you started to meander again.

“Can I ask what it was?” He says after a moment.

You laugh a little. “You can, I’m still trying to sort out how to say it.”

“Is it… bad?” His voice is a little more nervous than you’d expected.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s endearing, but maybe a little aggravating.” You offer, squeezing his hand and looking up at him, pausing your meandering walk again. “I saw Thatch.”

The confusion on his face is nearly adorable, before he rolls his eyes and sighs. “And?”

“And a young man named Ace.” You say, a cheerful tone in your voice. Marco pinches the bridge of his nose. “They hadn’t found their quarry, but, I did send them home.”

“I didn’t tell anyone where we were going.” Marco starts, and you pat his arm.

“I know, apparently they broke off into groups and cast a net over the city.” You explain and watch him nearly pale. He mutters something in a language you don’t know well, but you know muttering swearing when you hear it, no matter the language.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and seemingly true to an earlier statement, you see him relax. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives your fingers a warm kiss.

“I’m glad to hear you have a sense of humor about this, yoi.” He muses, leaning down and kissing your forehead before straightening back up. “My apologies for my brothers.”

“Not at all.” You assure him. “I’m looking forward to meeting more of them. If, uh, you’re comfortable with that.”

“You want to?” There’s an easy tone in his voice, but you can feel his fingers flex.

“Yeah.” You admit, clearing your throat a little. “Thatch is nice, and Ace seems like quite the enamored younger brother. It seems like you have an interesting family, and you haven’t said anything bad about them, so… yeah.”

“Alright.” He says simply as the two of you continue walking.

“Oh, and I did say I would petition for you to not murder your brothers.” You say after a moment, and Marco laughs.

“Well, if it’s you asking, I suppose I can forgive them, yoi.”

“So what next?” You question. “It’s cold, but I feel like I could go for ice cream.”

“I need to try and win you a cheap carnival prize too before we leave.”

“Ah, but what if I win you a cheap carnival prize instead?” You prompt, giving him a cheeky grin.

“A competition?”

“Whoever wins a big stuffed animal first wins?”

“Sure.”

“Ah, but what do they win?”

Marco leans down, speaking quietly into your ear. His breath is hot, but it’s the words that warm you more than his proximity.

“Control, once we get back to your place tonight.”

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pinepple #modern au

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saintedcooper · 1 year

Text

Francis (Frank Castle x Reader AU)

New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content: Some language

Length: 2,761 words

Notes: Age is not explicitly stated but reader is grown, she’s in her mid-30s. She’s something of an anomaly at the time, being unmarried.

Additional notes at the end.

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

Chapter 1: Beginnings

“You like the quiet?”

It’s a foggy New York afternoon and Maurice, the diner owner is busy delivering plates and taking orders. His white shirt is damp and clinging to his thick form as he hurries as fast as his stocky legs will take him.

I hurry to keep up with him as he darts to a table in the corner with an arm full of plates.

I definitely overdressed for the interview. I’m wearing a long burgundy coat dress, white tights, and a pair of pumps borrowed from my new roommate. The air in the joint is thick and sticky. I swear my curls are falling by the minute.

“Can’t remember. I’m the eldest of six kids. I haven’t known quiet since my oldest brother came home from the hospital.”

Maurice finishes putting the plates on the table and throws down extra napkins.

He dramatically bows at the table and pulls at an imaginary bow tie.

“Bone appy-tite,” he says before turning on his heels and rushing back behind the counter.

“Great, kid. I need you on the sad shift.”

Maurice makes his way to the coffee pot and groans, it’s nearly empty. He looks around, seeming to miss something.

I spot an extra coffee pot behind the counter and shrug. I’ve clearly already got the job. I pull my gloves off and brush past the still-searching Maurice.

“Sorry, the what?”

I set about making a fresh pot of mud. Maurice looks impressed.

“The sad shift, you know. Drifters, widowers, divorcees.”

He makes a dismissive gesture, “Weird writers. People that ain’t got nowhere to go even after midnight. You’d work the 8-5. Kitchen closes at 2ish. You’re basically just fillin’ coffee cups for the last part.

“They won’t give you no trouble and the tips are great. Real easy goin’ bunch, it’s just the girl who was on that shift got herself in the family way and well, here we are.”

The coffee’s finished brewing and I take the pot to start refilling cups.

“Sounds good,” I tell Maurice over my shoulder.

“Great! You start tonight. Go home and get some sleep.”

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

It didn’t take long to realize Maurice was right: the late shift is quiet.

I started that night I got the job and got the hang of it pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before I knew everyone who’d come through on a typical night.

Over the past few months, we’ve settled into a nice rhythm.

It’s intimate being with people in the hours between night and day. They open up to me, they tell me about their struggles, and I get to listen.

Tonight, the patrons are spaced out between the bar and corner booths, like normal. Each of them smoking so much that there’s a persistent thick cloud above the joint. I sometimes felt like the only person in the world who won’t touch the stuff, but working here now I’m not sure it matters anyway.

I’m standing behind the counter, hip cocked and head resting in my head, looking out at the city.

The diner’s filled with the usual suspects. All except one.

I spin my watch around to look at the time.

He’s usually not this late.

I know, I shouldn’t have favorite customers. They’re all great, they tip well, and they’re nice.

But there’s this one guy, a writer. I noticed him early on.

Name’s Francis.

He comes in damn near every night and is impossible to miss. He’s gorgeous, well-dressed, and polite. And he always smells like a pine forest after it rains.

He’s nice to look at and good to talk to but we’ve always left it there. He mostly stayed to himself during my first few weeks here.

Then, on my way to work one day, I walked out of the train station and into a freak storm. It started hailing out of nowhere, loud and cold and I was absolutely not dressed for it. I threw my bag over my head and started running the last blocks to the diner.

But my pump caught a big piece of hail just wrong and I rolled my ankle.

Next thing I know, I hear this familiar deep voice behind me say, “You alright, sweetheart?”

I turned to find Francis holding his hand out to me. I took it and winced as I tried to get up to my feet.

It hurt, I leaned to one side as I stood there.

“Ah, think I tweaked it.”

I bent to rub a hand over my ankle and found it slightly swollen.

“You headin’ to work?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But walkin’ there’ll make it worse and so will walkin’ home and—”

Francis hefted me over his shoulder like it was nothing and my whole body heated up. I covered my face with my bag.

“Oh, goodness! Francis, really. I can walk. Slowly, but I can do it.”

"Nah, sweetheart. Can’t have you makin’ it worse. It’s no trouble.”

No trouble for him, maybe, but terrible for my attempts to stave off a full-blown fascination with the guy.

He carried me four blocks to the diner.

I was so mortified I started asking him questions to distract myself from the embarrassment.

I learned that he was a writer. He wrote a lot of pulp but he was working on a novel, had been for three years. He mentioned his wife using her job as a secretary for a construction company to bring him story ideas.

“She was no damn good at it,” he said with a laugh. “She said one day, ‘Vinnie threatened to break a guy’s knees today and it made me wonder if you could write something about how knees can feel fear.’ Just completely missing the point every time.”

I laughed along with him.

“Was? You two break up?”

Francis didn’t respond for nearly a block.

When we reached the diner he said, “’s complicated, sweetheart. Let’s get some ice on that ankle.”

That was months ago and since then we’ve pretty much settled into our routine. I only think about him throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes once, maybe twice an hour.

Everything’s normal.

Tonight I managed to get the cook, Tom, to keep the kitchen open a bit longer for Francis but his patience is wearing thin.

There’s steam coming through the serving window as Tom pours boiling water over the utensils, preparing to close the kitchen for the night.

“Sorry, toots,” he says with a grin. “Your boyfriend ain’t comin’ tonight and I’ve got shit to do.”

He shrugs and turns away.

I pick at the varnish on my nails and give a dramatic roll of my eyes. “He ain’t my boyfriend, Tommy, and you know it. He’s just a nice payin’ customer who gives great tips. You know I’ve gotta go see my sister soon ‘fore she pops that kid out.”

Tom's throaty laugh rings through the diner and he appears in front of the serving window again.

“Hey, baby, no disrespect to her but I’d say the 5th time you shove one out we can stop with the fanfare, eh? I mean, sheesh, they startin’ a football team?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and stifle a giggle. She’s across the country but I swear to god, I laugh and she’ll know it.

“Be nice, she’s my sister.”

“Yeah well, you’re the one who got all the sense. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Tom throws his hands up, an empty, steaming pot dangling from one of them, and goes back to his cleaning.

He’s not wrong. They’ve been turning out babies like lovin’ was going out of style since he got back home from the war. One a year.

It’s what she wants and I’m happy for her. But it smarts a bit sometimes. I helped change her diapers but she beat me to everything a girl’s supposed to do. We couldn’t afford college when it was my turn but I worked my ass off to make sure she got to go to Bryn Mawr.

Then, just a few months after classes start, she goes on a day trip and catches the eye of some square-jawed, bronzed god fresh out of college. The next thing I know she’s banging on my door at 3am covered in rain shouting, “Bunny, you’ll never guess! We’re engaged! Don’t tell mama but Johnny has a lead on a job out west, we’re eloping! Don’t hate me?”

Then she kissed my cheek and dragged her damp ass out the door and into his big, stupid Packard.

They don’t refund tuition when your sister lands a god and drops out after 6 months, by the way.

Mama did always say she’s the worst little girl in all the world and—

The thudding clank of the bell on the door stops the spiral, the sharpness of it reverberating through the quiet space.

We all know who it is but every head turns to look. My breath catches in my throat.

Francis Castiglione steps through the door looking good enough to eat in his suit with a gray hat sitting low, shading his face. He nods to the familiar faces around the diner.

I stand up and smooth down my dress just as he catches my eye. His lips tug up into a little grin and he’s headed my way.

God, my throat feels like wool. I swallow and spin around to grab the coffee pot, a mug, and a saucer.

Francis glides into a seat at the counter.

“How you doin’ tonight, sweetheart?”

I throw a quick smile over my shoulder as I finish pouring his coffee.

“Real good, Francis. And you?”

He groans, low and deep.

The sound shocks a little gasp out of me and I pray he didn’t hear it.

“It’s uh…heh. It’s been a long night, doll.”

I grab a stirring spoon and head to the counter with his coffee. He’s taken off his hat and the harsh light he’s sitting under illuminates a face full of angry-looking scratches.

I forget all about the coffee, gasping and throwing a hand over my mouth. Coffee spills out of the over-filled up and drips down the cup and saucer, some spilling onto the floor.

“Francis! My goodness, what happened?”

Francis reaches out with swift reflexes to grab the tipping coffee from my hands. He places the saucer and mug on the counter and licks his coffee-wet fingers.

For a moment, I forget all about his scratched-up face, eyes focused on the peek of his tongue darting out to lick the coffee now running down his hands.

I’m gawking at him like a schoolgirl and of course, I’m caught. He holds my gaze while he slowly licks up the side of his hand. He smirks at the top.

“Don’t worry bout it, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

My cheeks flush and I nod.

“Right, sorry. I just— it’s hard to not be distracted by you.”

I make a flailing gesture with my hands.

“And then the coffee and you — how you got it up and. I lost myself, I apologize, it won’t happen again.”

Francis does his best to hide his laughter behind his hand.

What’s he laughing at?

The deep frown on my face makes him lose it. He throws his head back and howls with laughter.

“Hey! What’s so funny?”

He tilts his head back to me, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I meant this,” he gestures at his face. “You asked and I’m saying it was nothin’. Not talkin’ about you oglin’ me.”

Oh, good lord. My face heats up like a Looney Tunes character who just guzzled a pot of boiling water.

Francis is a gentleman, though, now doing his best to stifle his laughter and save me the embarrassment.

I hide my face behind one of the bar towels.

“Oh, Francis, I’m so embarrassed.”

He waves a hand at me.

“Ah, don’t be. I’m only teasin’. It’s nice that you were worried about me.”

He takes a sip of what’s left of his coffee, looking at me over the cup.

“’sides, it’s good to know I’m distractin’.”

My face is still warm but I’m trying to calm down. I use the towel to pick up the coffee spilled on the counter and floor.

“Well, I am concerned. What the hell happened to you?”

“Eh, just uh, wrong place, wrong time. But you should see the other guy.” He waggles his eyebrows and it gets a laugh out of me.

“Honestly, who gets into fisticuffs with a writer?”

”Sheesh, you ain’t never read much Hemingway, huh darlin’? We writers are a scrappy bunch.”

He downs the rest of his coffee.

“It’s all the insecurity.”

I walk down to the small sink behind the counter and wash out the towel.

“Well still, I don’t like it. How did it happen?”

Francis waves a hand and shrugs. “Nah, doesn’t matter much. Tell me about you. You still savin’ up to go see Jeannie?”

I scoff.

“Yeah.”

I take the rest of the coffee pot around the diner, topping up the cups as I respond.

“But now I’m wondering why. It’s her fortieth kid for christ’s sake. She could teach a seminar on not keeping your legs closed.”

One of the regulars laughs as I finish my rounds and head back behind the counter.

“It’d be more impressive if she didn’t end up pregnant every year. Meanwhile, I’m here in the greatest city in the world staying in at night and on weekends to go see another one of her fat, sloppy babies? That jerk Johnny makes a fortune and I have to buy my own ticket on a sweaty bus for four days? It’s a goddamn shame!”

I slam the spent pot into the cradle of the machine.

“God! Fuck. her!!!”

I let out a scream. The patrons all politely appear enthralled by the wood grain on their tables.

“Hey, hey,” Francis leans across the counter to turn my shoulders around. He rubs at them in a gentling gesture. “Hey, it’s all good, whatever you want. You ain’t gotta explain nothin’ to no one, least of all any of us.”

I glance around at the nodding heads in the diner.

“You do what makes you happy.”

Francis rubs his hands down my arms, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“I don’t want to see her. She makes me feel awful.”

Francis nods, giving me big puppy dog eyes.

“Then don’t. S’your life, kid.”

He pats my shoulder and sits back down in his seat.

I slump over the counter and hide my head.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“I work here, I’m supposed to be professional and —” my eyes widen…shit.

I pop my head into the serving window and Tom’s nowhere to be found. The counters and cooktops in the kitchen are pristine. He’s gone.

“Francis! I’m so sorry, I tried to have him wait for you but he said he had plans, and let's be honest, as long as he’s payin’ the plans would still be there even if he’s a few minutes late, and—”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart,” Francis calls for me to come back to the counter. “S’alright. Promise. Missin’ supper once is not gonna kill me. Might do wonders for this book I’m writin’, though. Really get me into the head of a starving artist, ya know? Maybe more people’ll buy it if I can make myself extra miserable in the process.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

“I’m teasin’, darlin’. Don’t be so serious.”

I flush. There ought to be a law about how many times you can call a girl sweetheart or darling before she starts to get ideas.

He makes me feel like a girl again.

Francis fixes me with a stare. Neither of us breaks it as the seconds stretch on. He licks his lips and leans into me.

“C’mere, I wanna tell you somethin’.”

“What?”

He gestures for me. “Just c’mere.”

I lean in closer, the warmth of his breath rustling the delicate hairs of my ear.

He gets closer still and whispers, “I don’t come here for the food.”

I’m frozen and flushed while he grins his face off. He shakes his head and reaffixes his hat, pulling the brim down low again. He pats the counter and I realize he’s moving slower than normal as he heads to the door, favoring one side.

He gives me a final look across his shoulder.

“Night, sweetheart.”

The bell rings loudly through the space and then, quiet.

-----

Part 2

Let me know how you feel about this duo in the replies! Reblogs + asks welcome, too. How do you think reader will handle Frank's little declaration? Do you think she'll press him further on how he got injured?

I'd also love feedback about readability! Is it clear and easy to follow being in first person present?

If you're experienced as a beta or editor, feel free to drop me a line if you'd be interested in helping me edit future chapters.

#frank castle x reader #c: frank castle #s: the punisher #u: mcu #frank castle x female reader #the punisher au #au: 40s #brit writes #Francis series

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Text

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Twenty Four

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!!

As always, thank you so much for the love on this fic! This chapter is heavy, as is this weekend's chapter of Home...so I promise there is fluff coming this weekend too <3

Please let me know what you think, I'm particularly anxious about this one as it's a chapter that has been in the works for quite some time.

-x-

Words: 3.3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along. Please note that more warnings have been added.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

April 1996

She can’t sit still. Nervous energy thrumming through her veins, making her skin itchy. Her leg bounces up and down subconsciously as she stares straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the door to the doctor's office.

She couldn’t explain how she felt if she tried. She was sad that her mother was sick. Angry that it was down to her own actions. But mostly Emily was afraid that she was the only real option her mother had left.

“Miss Prentiss?”

She looks up from the floor and smiles politely at her mother’s doctor, her doctor now too, and she stands, “Call me Emily, please,” she replies tightly, “Miss Prentiss always makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“Of course,” he replies, leading her into his office and indicating towards a seat for her to sit down before he sits at his desk. “I’ve looked over your results Miss Prentiss,” he says, smiling when she raises an eyebrow at him, “Sorry, Emily, I looked at your results and you are a good match to be a donor for your mother.”

It’s somehow what she wanted to hear and what she didn’t want to hear at the same time. The resolution she had hoped for and also feared. It made her feel guilty, but part of her had wanted the test to come back negative. Vague and awful hope that there would feasibly be nothing she could do to help, that her focus could be on the job offer she had received, the letter from Agent Easter folded up and next to her appointment letter for today.

“What…what happens next?” She asks, even though she already knows the answer.

The doctor smiles kindly, “Well if you choose to donate part of your liver to her we’ll get you both listed for surgery. The best thing for your mother is to get this done as soon as we can.”

Emily nods, blowing out a breath before she bites the inside of her cheek, the slight pain enough to distract her from the tears she won’t shed until she’s back in her car.

“And if I choose…”

“If you choose not to,” he says, mercifully finishing her sentence for her so she doesn’t have to, “Then there will be a long wait for your mother. Given her history of alcohol abuse, she won’t be prioritised by the hospital's organ donation board.”

Emily clears her throat, a sound chased by a bitter laugh, “Well, in that case, it’s not much of a choice is it?”

“It’s your body, Emily,” the doctor says, unknowingly repeating words Matthew had said to her a decade ago in completely different circumstances. The comparison that the memory creates makes her wince, and she feels her chest tighten, “It’s your choice.”

“The choice is between helping my mother live and leaving her to the mercy of a group of people who will judge her purely based on what it says in her files,” she half-heartedly shrugs, “It’s not a choice,” she wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “Book the surgery,” she says, looking back up at the doctor from her lap, “Let’s get this done.”

When she gets home she throws away the letter from Interpol, knowing from her conversations with Agent Easter that this was a now-or-never opportunity. She pours herself a glass of wine before she stares at it. She feels anger pool in her gut, and she yells out, knocking the bottle and full glass off the counter.

She sinks to the ground, careful to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, and cries as she buries her face in her hands. Grieving for the things she has lost, for the opportunities she is passing up. For the relationship with her mother that deep down she knows literally giving up a piece of herself won’t fix.

The phone in her apartment rings but she can’t move to get it, her body heavy as she sits on the floor and cries. It rings out and the voicemail clicks in and she sits and listens as the message is recorded.

“Emily, my doctor called and told me the good news,” Elizabeth says, sounding more hopeful than she had in weeks, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, and we can figure out the logistics. I promise this is the end of it, I’ll never…this is the end. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

It isn’t lost on Emily as the message comes to an end that her mother hasn’t said thank you. She chokes on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and hopes that somehow, someday, this will lead her to something good.

___

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches Dave walk away, his words hanging heavily in the air around her in the still mostly empty bullpen.

“The last time I saw someone knocking wine back like that I was in a bar with you.”

Her mother was drinking again.

Suddenly everything makes sense. The cancelled plans. Her mother’s evasiveness. The lack of over-the-top questions about the wedding and the baby, things that Emily had expected she’d have to battle with whenever she pictured doing these things. Her mother had been pulling away for weeks, for months if Emily was honest with herself, and it was because she was hiding from the one person who would be able to see what was going on. So achingly familiar with the signs, with the glazed look in her mother’s eyes, the way the smell of liquor would cling to her skin, that she would instantly realise that she had broken a promise from over a decade ago.

Her mother was drinking again.

The L-shaped scar on her abdomen burns as if it’s fresh, not almost 13 years old. Her skin feels as if it could tear open, ripping apart where she’d been sewn back together all those years ago. It’s all-consuming, her cheeks burning with it as she stands abruptly, the usual pregnancy-related nausea she’d feel at such a sharp movement nowhere to be found.

She stands so quickly her chair rocks her desk and her tea spills out of her mug, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. She’s grateful no one else is at their desks yet, that no one is around to ask if she’s ok because she doesn’t know how she’d answer.

Her mother was drinking again.

She finds herself standing in Aaron’s office doorway before she realises what she’s doing, her body taking her towards him almost on autopilot. As if even subconsciously she knew he was what she needed. She knocks on the door absentmindedly, her brain still trying to catch up with the way Dave had unknowingly scattered her life into countless pieces around her.

Aaron looks up from his desk, his smile fading as his eyes meet hers. To anyone else, he’s sure she’d look ok, tired at most, something that could easily be attributed to her pregnancy, but he sees beyond that.

He can see past the defences she built when she was young, the strong foundations she forged before she truly understood what the building blocks her mother had handed her were for.

Her shoulders are tight, and she’s grasping her engagement ring between her fingers, twisting it back and forth. Her eyes are ever so slightly dazed over, a sure sign she’s trying to regulate her emotions, that she’s pushing whatever she’s feeling deep down inside her chest.

“Em,” he stands up, walking over to her his hand ghosting over her lower back to guide her further into his office, just enough that he can pull his door closed to give them as much privacy as he could, well aware that it would be his only chance at getting the truth out of her here, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” she drifts off, looking up at him, her voice catching in her chest. She doesn’t know how to say it, how to put it into words. A naive part of her believes saying it would make it true. “I don’t-”

She’s interrupted as there’s a knock on the door a second before it opens, JJ steps into the room, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a case, it’s…urgent.” She starts to drift off as she notices the atmosphere in the room, and how closely they are standing to each other. The concern deeply etched into Aaron’s face. “I’m sorry, did I-”

“JJ, we’re in the middle of something.”

“No, it’s ok, it can wait.”

They all speak at once, their sentences overlapping, and Aaron looks at his fiancee, watching as any signs that something is wrong disappears. Her walls fly up all at once, a smile on her face as she looks at JJ.

“How urgent?” She asks, her voice normal even though it feels like her heart is in a vice.

JJ looks back and forth between the two of them again, her eyes lingering on Emily before she replies, “Florida.”

Emily chuckles politely, “Well, we’d better get going.”

JJ leaves the room first, and the second they are alone again Aaron grabs Emily’s wrist. She sighs and turns to look at him, her jaw tight as she swallows thickly.

“Em, what's wrong are you ok? Is the baby ok?”

She sighs, cursing herself for not even considering that would be where his mind would go, and she nods, placing her hand over his on her arm, “We’re both ok. It can wait.”

“Em-”

“You heard JJ,” she says, hoping her smile is somewhat reassuring, “It’s urgent.” She wants nothing more than to be comforted by him, than to unload the weight that had just been put back on her shoulders, but she knows this isn’t the time. That work had to take precedence and she had to be the one to enforce that, knowing that Aaron would put her first every time. “Please.”

Aaron looks like he wants to argue, but both of them are broken free of their little bubble when Derek calls for them from the main bullpen, an impatient look on his face. Aaron sighs and nods, squeezing her arm as he looks back at her, “Later?”

She swallows thickly, forcing back tears she knows she can’t shed because he absolutely would never let it go if she started crying.

“Later.”

___

He keeps close to her all day. He assigns himself to stay in the precinct with her, and when she doesn’t argue, doesn’t even so much as roll her eyes, his concern only deepens. She’s quieter than usual, withdrawn into herself, and occasionally he catches her biting her cuticles as she stared off into the distance.

By the time they get back to their hotel room, it’s late and she asks if she can shower first. He lets her go without comment and sheds his tie and jacket before he sits down on the bed and rolls up his sleeves. The Florida heat was oppressive even at this time of year and he knows Emily will want the air conditioning dialled all the way up so she could still sleep against him.

When she walks out of the bathroom the air that follows her is cool, and she’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of sleep shorts, “It’s too hot for me to wear anything other than this,” she complains, smiling at him when he looks up, “And it’s your kid's fault,” she says rubbing her hand over her bump as she gripes about another symptom of pregnancy “So you’re going to have to deal with it.”

He smiles at her and pulls her close his hands on her hips, pressing a kiss to her belly, which was all the more obvious in her outfit, “I’m sure I can manage you being practically naked just this once,” he quips and she rolls her eyes before she sits next to him on the bed.

“Florida is bad at the best of times,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder, “Let alone when you’re pregnant. And I’m still relatively early on.”

Despite his worry for her, his need to know what had clearly shaken her that morning, he laughs, and kisses her forehead, “How about when you’re further along I try and make sure we go on a case somewhere cooler?”

She smiles at the offer, his attempt to cheer her up, and she chuckles, “Alaska?”

He nods and kisses her forehead again before he rests his chin on top of her head, “Sure, sweetheart. Alaska.” They fall into silence and she feels him hold her tighter, his embrace comforting despite the oppressive heat. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

She sighs as everything she has tried to avoid all day comes rushing back, pain and fear and sadness she can no longer avoid clawing up her through, all battling to be the thing she felt the most.

“Yes,” she chokes out, “But once I do it…it becomes something. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Whatever it is, sweetheart,” he says, pulling away to look at her, “I’ll be right here.”

She smiles tightly at him and nods, “Dave said that he saw my mother yesterday at some fundraiser,” she closes her eyes and blows out a steady breath, “And he told me that he saw her drinking,” her voice shakes and she laughs bitterly as she watches the shock set in on Aaron’s face, “Actually, what he said was that he could see where I get my ability to drink from because she was drinking wine like I do.”

Aaron feels his shock briefly turn into anger, irrational irritation at their friend who didn’t know any better, “I’ll ki-”

“Honey,” she says, reaching for one of his hands to link their fingers together, “He doesn’t know, no one does. He was just doing what he’s always done - he was trying to wind me up.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he tries to rid himself of his anger towards Dave and Elizabeth. Emily didn’t need anger from him, not right now, she needed his love and his support. He knew that Elizabeth’s sobriety was the very thing her and Emily’s relationship was pinned on. Delicately held together by a promise, what Emily had done for her mother, and the things they never spoke about. She’d told him once that her mother had never directly thanked her for what she’d done.

He knew it was more about the opportunity she’d lost out on than the surgery itself. The loss of what she’d seen as her escape from the life she hated. That’s what the scar on her abdomen represented to her. Not the physical part of herself she gave her mother but the job she had given up.

“Could he have been wrong?” He asks, tucking some other damp hair behind her ear and she shakes her head, a sigh that catches on all of her ribs as it forces its way out.

“No,” she replies, looking up at the ceiling as her eyes burn, a failed attempt to stop tears that fall past her lashline anyway, “No it makes sense. She’s been cancelling on us, she’s being evasive. She hasn’t asked any annoying questions about the wedding in weeks. And she hasn’t said a thing about the baby since we told her,” she places her hand on her stomach as she mentions it, her thumb rubbing just below her belly button, “No phone calls insisting we enrol them at some private pre-school or set up a trust fund. Nothing. She’s…”

“Avoiding the one person who would figure it out,” he finishes for her. He was well aware of the patterns himself having grown up as the child of an alcohol too. He berates himself for not putting it together sooner, for not being able to save her from the pain she was currently feeling.

“Yeah,” she replies, her chin trembling, “And now I don’t know what to do,” she wipes her cheeks fiercely, getting rid of tears that are immediately replaced, “Can you tell me what to do? Because I’ve been thinking about it all day. And it’s not just me to consider anymore. So I need you to tell me what to do, Aaron.”

He feels his heart shatter for her, for the way she is all but begging for help that with anyone else, she’d refuse entirely. He can’t help but picture her at 25, realising her mother’s life and health relied on her making a decision she never should have had to make. It makes his anger come back, fury directed at Elizabeth for not being able to see what she has done, despite the fact he knows it is not that simple.

“I can’t tell you what to do, baby,” he says, cupping her face in his hands and pressing his forehead against hers, “But I’ll help you figure it out, and I’ll be there every step of the way. You don’t have to do it alone this time, Em.”

In the end, that’s what breaks her. His unwavering love and support that she’s so used to now she can’t remember how it felt to live without it. The sob that escapes hurts, cracking every rib as it forces itself out, her hand failing to capture it as she covers her mouth, her cheeks already wet with tears. Aaron pulls her into him, and she curls up in his lap, her head against his chest as she lets years of suppressed emotion out.

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing the top of her head, adjusting his hold on her to pull her even closer, “I’ve got you.”

“I’m going to have a baby, Aaron,” she sobs, her words muffled against his chest, “And I know it’s not…our relationship has never been…” she heaves in a breath, his shirt wet against his skin, and she pulls back to look at him, “She was never going to be someone who gave me advice or held my hand or whatever the fuck it is a mom is supposed to do when her kid is having a kid but…she’s still my mom.”

She sounds so wrought, so devastated, that he wants to take her home. To just leave now and call the others in the morning and give an excuse for their absence, but he knows she wouldn’t want that. That by morning, with everyone other than him she’d pretend everything was ok.

“I know she is,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, “We’ll figure it out. I’ll be right here.”

“I can’t do it again, I won’t expose you, or Jack or…” she presses her hand harder into her stomach, and she shakes her head, “I won’t do it.”

He pulls back to look at her, “We don’t have to make any decisions tonight. ” He says, waiting for her to nod in response, “We’ll get through this case and then get home and figure out what we’re going to do, ok?”

“Ok,” she croaks out, her voice thick with tears, “Ok I can do that.”

Aaron smiles encouragingly at her and stamps a kiss against her lips, “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She nods, her tears renewed by the reassurance she hadn’t even known she’d needed, by the way she knows he’s telling the truth, and she rests her head against his chest again.

“I love you too.”

She wasn’t alone this time and that had to count for something.

-x-

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction

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crypticspacecat · 1 year

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Prisoner Chapter III (Yan!Dr.KujoxBlack!Femreader)

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter IV

First things first, I want to apologize for the long wait. Besides working on my tarot business, I wasn't anticipating my autoimmune disorder choosing violence but got some medicine to calm it down.

This chapter is a bit slow but when chapter 4 comes out, you'll understand why. Enjoy!

(I'm ngl, I wasn't too pleased with this chapter but I'll try to write more often to freshen up my skills)

6:15 am

You’re awakened by the sound of an opening door and various machines. You slowly open your eyes to multicolored lights almost blinding you.

“Hi Ms. (L/N), just taking your vitals.” The nurse whispered. Must be one of the floor nurses, she didn’t sound like Lynn. You feel the coldness of the blood pressure cuff and the rubber texture of the heart monitor on your index finger. The dream keeps you distracted from the tightness of the cuff.

‘It felt so real, but it couldn't possibly be real.' You think to yourself. Your line of thinking is interrupted by the sound of Velcro. Much to your surprise, the nurse was already done. You almost question how long you were lost in thought. The nurse leaves quietly, leaving you alone.

“It was just a dream…” You repeated to yourself in fearful whispers. The darkness envelopes your room as the sun has yet to rise.

“My angel…”

You shiver in excruciating discomfort, still feeling the strange man’s hands all over you. You slowly close your eyes, trying to imagine being near the ocean, being relaxed by the sound of the waves. With your imagination working in your favor, you fall asleep within minutes.

“(Y/N), I have your breakfast." A voice whispers to you. You open your heavy eyes to see nurse Lynn with a tray full of food. Bacon, eggs, a fruit cup, and a small cup of orange juice. The sun shines gently on your face, not blinding your sensitive eyes.

“Since you’re a newly admitted patient, you have to stay in your room for the first 24 hours. I also called your friend and she should be dropping off your clothes and hygiene items sometime today. It may take some time to receive them as we do have to do a security check.” She explains as she hands you the tray.

“Thank you, Ms. Lynn.”

“You’re very welcome! There are a couple of rooms for patients to gather for group and recreational activities. On the third floor, there is always going to be a staff member present at all times in the group rooms for security reasons. You should be seeing a therapist one-on-one today and Dr. Kujo later on.” She further explains before being summoned by another staff member. You start eating your eggs, noting how decent it was for hospital food.

You finished your meal, still feeling exhausted from yesterday. You hope to visit those rooms nurse Lynn mentioned, but for now, you just want to rest your eyes.

“Ms. (L/N)." You hear someone say, jolting you out of your rest. You open your eyes to see an older man with thick-rimmed glasses. He pulls out his pen from his shirt pocket as you steadily rise from your bed to face him.

“I’m Dr. Ngyuen. I’m one of the therapists here. I wanted to ask you a few questions for Dr. Kujo.” Dr. Ngyuen explains, pulling a chair from the hallway. You nod in understanding, not really looking forward to answering these mundane questions.

“Are you currently suicidal or have any thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

“No.”

"Rate your mood on a scale of 1 to 10."

“5”

“Why a 5?”

“Because I don’t want to be here.”

“I understand that, but this is for your own safety.” He retorts, peering into your expressionless face. You internally sigh, wanting to get this over with.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I started self-harming again.”

“Exactly. A lot of people don’t really think about how self-harm can lead you down a dangerous spiral. I know this is inconvenient for you as you have school and work, but this is for your safety. Especially considering your medical history.” He explains. You frown in frustration, trying to accept the situation for what it is.

“So what will my treatment consist of?” You ask, aching for this therapist to just leave already.

“That will be between you and Dr. Kujo. Right now, I’m just asking basic questions since you just got here.” He answers. You nod in understanding, wondering what the Doctor has planned for you.

The therapist soon leaves, allowing you to lie down and clear your mind. You stare at the ceiling, pretending you’re out in nature. The soft grass serves as your cushion as you gaze at the beautiful blue sky. There isn't a cloud in sight, and the gentle winds kiss your cheeks. The blue jays' melodies put your mind at ease, allowing you to surrender wholly to relaxation. You feel your eyes get heavy, but you don’t fight it. Slowly, you’re eased into slumber, drained of all the anxiety from before. You’re suddenly awakened by a nurse, catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry for waking you (Y/N), but you have to get your blood drawn. We have to check for any vitamin deficiencies and also your hormone levels and cholesterol levels." She says as you slowly rise from your bed. You follow the nurse out of your room to one of the locked rooms in the common area of the floor.

You walk into a white, sterile room. The other nurse is already present, prepping the needles and further cleaning the work area. You sit on the closest chair to the woman’s desk, internally dreading being stuck multiple times with a large ass needle.

#jjba x black reader #blackyn #x black fem reader #anime x black!reader #yandere jjba #yandere jotaro x reader #yandere jotaro kujo #yandere jjba x reader #tw mental health

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ja3gerb0mbb · 5 months

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bloodsucker chapter 15: reconciliation

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word count: 3.3k

content warnings: none

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“jean, i think i might actually die,” i threw my fists onto my eyes; applying pressure to them. as if i wasn’t drowning in schoolwork before; i was now with the extra four classes i took on. making up work for the content i missed meant that i barely had time for any form of social life.

he looked up from his textbook, “well, this is what you get for trying to finish two years of college in one.” for the past few weeks, jean had become my rock. the confidant i could tell all my vampire problems to. he also made a good study partner because he didn’t bother me as i worked. “yeah, i know.”

the visit with grisha was still fresh in my mind. like it was just yesterday eren and i went to the mansion. my anxiety was topped with the end of the semester work. it was easy to run away to germany with eren; but the reality of getting there was back-breaking. eren only had to take a couple extra classes to finish by the end summer, but i had to double it.

on the drive home that night, we figured we might as well get our degrees. even though we truly didn’t need them; it felt like the right way to tie up our lives here with. at least, at the time it seemed like a smart choice. “i can’t believe you guys are really doing this, though,” jean grabbed my attention back, closing his book as i shut off my laptop. a quick break won’t hurt anyone.

“i can’t either. but we’ve got it all planned out.” a smile i couldn’t hide appeared on my face. thinking of the life i had ahead with eren made all the work worth it. i knew the fear of grisha would follow us; but we hoped he himself wouldn’t. “did you plan to leave all of us behind?” jean joked, but his face was concerned.

i laughed at him, “no, we planned that too. as long as grisha is away from shiganshina, it’s easy enough to visit you guys. and my dad.” with zeke as our ‘mole’ everything worked out perfectly. too perfectly. eren kept telling me i was paranoid; maybe i should start listening to him. i hoped the nerves would start to settle after finalizing the move.

his mood perked up instantly, “wait really?” his voice had gone a bit higher. i nodded my head. “i’m just glad you’re happy. eren too. i watched as vampirism took over his life, i was worried it would happen with you,” his features dipped back into a twinge of sadness. memories haunted both of us.

but jean was right. i was happy like this. it might’ve been eren, or the vampirism, but it didn’t matter. i adjusted well and quickly, the amplified changes made everything easier. it was comforting having eren go through it with me. he made the biggest difference. sometimes i felt like nothing was even real; like i was in a coma and this was all just a dream.

the door to my room swung open with a loud thud, drawing me out of my thoughts, “hey slut!” connie squealed, pitching his voice to sound like a girl. he jumped from his spot in the doorframe, tackling my sitting body to the floor completely.

i was aware of the pressure his body weight put on me, but it didn’t register as being painful. “do you really have to tackle me every time you see me?” i complained. he lifted himself above me, extending his arms to read my face, “course i do!” he said it like it was obvious.

sasha stood a few paces behind us, “we’re going to the beach,” she interrupted, high pitch in her tone. in a swift movement connie jumped off of me, standing on his own feet again. going over to jean, he ruffled his hair, earning a hard slap to the arm from him, “cut it out,” jean bit.

they didn’t distract me for long, “no way, we’re literally balls deep in finals.” the workload was so heavy, i don’t think i could even have fun without feeling guilty about it. i really am starting to regret this. connie started snickering, “your boyfriend’s waiting in the car.” he continued to torment me with kissing noises; but the mention of eren was all i needed to ditch my studies.

“kay, fine, but we can’t stay long,” i heaved a sigh, showing dramatics to guilt trip sash and connie. jean gave a light hearted scoff, “what were you saying about finals?” rolling my eyes, i hit his shoulder hard as i quickly leapt up from my spot on the hard floor.

i didn’t wait for any of them to catch up as i made my way down the apartment complex; running towards eren’s car as soon as i spotted it. throwing the car door open, i all but jumped in, skipping over the center console to be closer to eren.

eren’s face lit up, eyes glinting. he pushed my body back slightly with the force of his own, cupping my face as he pressed a kiss into my lips. i melted into him easily; the feeling of eren comfortably familiar now. he opened his mouth wide, trying to suck as much of me in as he could. a smile tugged on my lips at his desperation, causing him to pull back.

he scanned my face, then trailed down my body. making sure i was still in tact, “i missed you so much, pretty.” he pulled my face to him again, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. i couldn’t hold back my giggle; just happy to see him, “stop with the pet names,” i complained but the butterflies were strongly present in my stomach. i couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, either.

a shuffling in the back seat caused my head to turn. i faced armin, features slightly scrunched in awkwardness. i looked away, hiding my embarrassment, “sorry armin, didn’t even know you were here,”

eren laughed viciously, “armin don’t pull the uncomfortable act, you were doing the same with annie.” armin’s face lit up a bright red, his eyes going wide. “what? no- i wasn’t!” he tripped over his words; trying to profess an innocence i didn’t have to see to know was false. “okay, freak your shit armin,” i butted in, watching his face turn impossibly redder.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

jean waved a bucket of fries in my face, “you sure you don’t want any?” i pulled my body away from the stench, further into eren's body. his legs closed around my torso, holding me tighter at my movement. “it’s really not funny,” i pushed jean’s hand away. armin and mikasa were huddled on a different set of blankets, exchanging a look at my refusal.

it was moments like this that proved to me it was a good idea to run away with eren. our closest friends were already getting suspicious of my behavior. eren stroked through my hair with his fingers; futile as the wind kept blowing it in every direction.

mikasa shivered, “why the hell did we go to the beach, anyway?” her teeth jittered lightly. i was thankful my body kept me from feeling most of the chill. eren pointed to the shoreline; where sasha and connie splashed each other in the ocean, “it was connie’s idea.”

“we need to stop listening to him,” armin's head shook. mikasa raised the bottle of vodka in her hand and took another shot from it. she extended it to me after. i stared at it for a few seconds before looking over at eren. he had a small smirk on his face; knowing i would never get drunk again. despite that fact, i raised it to my lips and took a long swallow from the bottle.

the liquid was warm going down my throat. but only for a second as my body seemed to neutralize the heat. the normally sour sting of vodka was amplified; almost unbearable. i brought the bottle back down and scrunched my features together. armin laughed, “i’m not the only lightweight anymore, huh.”

skipping over eren, i passed it to jean, “can it, i’ll catch back up soon.” i tried to keep the frown from showing, knowing that i would never catch up. the taste was subsiding, and there were no other signs that i had even consumed alcohol. mikasa stood from their towel, grabbing it up as armin followed, “we’re gonna warm up by the cars,” she wrapped it around her body, hiding the shiver.

“‘kay, we’ll wrap up here soon,” eren responded before tying his hands to my body again. jean laid back on his towel as his shivers subsided with the alcohol, “so you really can’t get drunk?”

“nope,” i sighed my answer, leaning into eren further.

“damn, that must really suck,” he smirked, exchanging a glance at me, then eren. connie and sasha had emerged from the water, their screams becoming less muffled as they approached. connie broke into a sprint, heading towards jean. he was already laughing in preparation, before shaking his body violently; dripping all of the ocean water on jean.

jean jumped up immediately, “fucking asshole!” he yelled, already beginning to chase a fleeing connie. sasha giggled as she ran after them; arms held out to jean. my chest heaved with a laugh, bumping up against eren’s, “dumbasses.”

laying my head flat on his chest, my phone ringing caused me to retract it right back.

(xxx)-929-6785:

could we meet at the cafe?

my eyebrows furrowed, and i could feel eren lurch in curiosity behind me. “the fuck?” i muttered lightly, more to myself. i knew who that number belonged to; even if i didn’t have it saved anymore. why would she be texting me?

“who is it?” eren laid his hand over my shoulder; to offer comfort, or draw me out of my thoughts, i wasn’t sure. “it’s historia?” i mumbled again in confusion, but eren heard it. i held my phone screen so he could read the message; i felt him stiffen slightly. “you should go,” he was confident, barely had to think about it.

his grip on my shoulder squeezed in reassurance. i knew he was right; and i would regret not meeting with her. but i couldn’t help but feel like i was fifteen again; insecure and cleaning to the comfort of historia. no, i thought, i’m not doing it for that.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i stood outside of the coffee shop an hour later, hesitating to go in. eren waited in the parking lot, it would be easy enough to go back. i wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity, though, and that thought is what let me open the doors and walk in.

her blonde hair was easy to spot, she looked over to me almost immediately. a hesitant smile was on her face, unsure if she should even be smiling. it was weird to see that expression directed towards me; it had been so long since we had really looked at each other. she didn’t have any coffee in front of her, just her hands that were intertwined with each other.

i sat down opposite her, mimicking her facial expressions. just as unsure as she was. we made awkward eye contact again, “hey,” my tone was quiet, not sure of what to say. her lip twitched, “i wanted to reach out, when hitch told me about the break in, but.. it just felt false.”

historia seemed somewhat nervous, spouting words without really thinking them through. i didn’t know what to say, so i nodded instead. we both looked at each other uncomfortably again. it was hard to believe we had once been inseparable; now we passed for two strangers. “i, um- i’m really sorry,” she began again, stuttering over her words with uncertainty.

“for what?” i couldn’t help but probe. there was a lot for us to apologize for, but i wondered what part of the story historia was even sorry for. maybe this was a bad idea. “for sleeping with porco,” her tone was finally definitive. definitely a bad idea. hearing those words caused me to pick at my cuticles. it didn’t bring me any relief, as my skin stitched itself together quickly.

i sighed, “that’s really not what i need an apology for,” i said it quietly. suddenly, i was submissive in her presence. like i still had something to show for. each of us stood still, breathing audibly, “why now? we’ve been going to sina together for two years?”

she shrugged, somehow still making the action look delicate, “i heard you might be transferring. didn’t want a stone to go unturned.” i couldn’t gauge how that made me feel. i guess i should be happy she didn’t want me to leave without a resolution? after we move, i likely won’t see historia again. how does that make me feel? i still couldn’t decipher it. “how do you know?”

“it’s obvious when you pick up extra classes at the end of the year,” she humorlessly laughed. if i didn’t know her any better, i’d say she was hurt. it made it even more apparent that i shouldn’t mend the friendship we once had. “guess so,” shrugging, i looked away from her gaze.

historia sucked in a breath, “but i am sorry.. for everything that went down between us, it’s all my fault.” it was easy to believe her; but i wasn’t naive. does this mean she truly did love me all those years? i couldn’t bring myself to ask. “it isn’t all your fault, but i forgive you,” i tried to keep my voice steady.

hearing that from historia finally felt like a book closing. i felt like i could finally move on from that chapter in my life. i got up from the booth, ready to return back to my present life. “hey, y/n?” historia pulled me back in, still seated, “are we ever going to talk again?”

my steps faltered, the words sounding weird coming from her, “i don’t think so, no.” maybe if my life was different, i would run back to historia. instead, i took my leave to the exit, making my way back to eren.

the cold air was comforting; i hadn’t realized how stuffy i had gotten in that booth. there was a small pressure gone from my back. the little bit of historia i had always carried around with me. i was happy for the closure; it made the move a definite choice. nothing was really keeping me here any longer.

opening the door to eren’s car, i sat down, somewhat shell shocked. i was still absorbing the conversation; still taking all of it in. i was sure myself a year ago would be jumping for joy, and running back into hisotira’s comforting arms. “how’d it go?” eren broke the silence, tone walking on eggshells around me. i shrugged, unsure of how to unravel it to him. “that bad, huh?” he laughed through his nose.

“it wasn’t bad, i just don’t know how to feel,” it was the truth. i couldn’t make sense of the emotions stirring in my stomach. “are you glad you listened to me?” he mocked, a goofy smile spreading on his face. i pushed his shoulder; which he didn’t budge from.

i rolled my eyes, moving my neck with them, “i hate that you’re phrasing it like that, but yeah.” eren pulled the gear shift down into drive, “i have something that’ll brighten your mood.” his hand found mine, interlocking our fingers, and giving my palm a squeeze. “what?” i tried to fight the smile on my face.

“it’s a surprise,” he dragged the words out, taunting me. “come on, just tell me!” eren turned his focus on navigating the road, already starting to tune my pleas out, “it’s not a telling-thing… trust me you’ll want to see it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the blindfold eren tied to me was beginning to irritate me. “is it ready yet?” i asked, although i could still hear his fingers clicking on the laptop. i heard him grunt, and i knew he was rolling his eyes, “i don’t understand how you have so little patience.” his hand pushed against my back, throwing me off-kilter.

i groaned, “i don’t like being blindfolded.” eren’s breath grazed the side of my neck “really?” he whispered in my ear. a shiver went down my spine, and i clenched my legs together to hide the reaction before pushing him back with my elbow. “okay, fine. done,” he chuckled.

eren pulled the blindfold off, tussling my hair in the process. i didn’t have time to fix it, eyes focusing on his laptop screen in front of me. “eren, what is that,” although, i already knew the answer. it was a cottage; similar to the cabin he took me to. it was quaint; but cozy. the exterior was covered in lush vines, and it was surrounded by what looked like acres of empty land.

“it’s a house. our house actually,” i peeked over at him. he was already staring into my eyes, a satisfied smile on his face. “OUR house?” my tone was obnoxiously confused. it was obvious we would need a house.. but eren took the time to find one himself. a perfect one; and it would be ours. the feeling was so surreal i couldn’t begin to describe it.

eren laughed at my reaction, wrapping his hands around my waist and fiddling with my skin underneath my clothes, “well, yeah as long as you like it.” i flipped through more of the pictures, looking at the interior. the rooms were old fashioned; down to the kitchen appliances. “i love it.”

the photos showed a closer view of the land around it, “there’s enough room for farmland, so we can own animals.” the next was a picture of a small brown barn. i couldn’t keep the smile off my face imagining what life would be like there, “really?” i still couldn’t believe it. “mhm,” he mumbled, a goofy grin still glued to his face.

“are there vampires in germany?” i hadn’t thought about it. i suddenly wondered if we were trading in grisha for a worse masochist. “i can only assume so. but grisha was too caught up with the vampires here that he never cared to venture out,” it didn’t bring me much comfort.

i turned my body to face eren fully, “it’s perfect,” i whispered, bringing my face closer to his. our lips connected, and his grip on my waist tightened. he picked up my body to position myself on his lap; i opened my mouth allowing his tongue to enter mine.

my hands traced up his body, stopping to grip his moving jawline. his hands made their way up my shirt, two fingers squeezing my nipple. i pulled back from him, letting out a soft moan. the thought hit me then, “what if you get tired of me?” i couldn’t help but voice it.

his features turned serious in an instant, “i won’t,” he answered immediately, and confidently. when i thought about it, i hadn’t known eren for that long. it doesn’t matter, my mind contradicted. “you can’t know that.”

“i can,” he pulled his hand from underneath my shirt, cupping my cheeks while squeezing them lightly. “you’ve been on my mind longer than you know.. i’m not going to get tired of you,” i wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but it warmed my heart anyway. like a natural reaction.

i nodded, “i’m more worried you’ll get tired of me,” eren laughed, squeezing my cheeks even harder, squishing my lips together. “impossible,” i giggled, shaking off his grip.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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chaotic-super · 1 year

Text

Live With Me - Chapter 11

Read Live With Me on AO3 here!

Kara won’t say she’s uncomfortable, she’ll just say she’s not comfortable.

In some weird move that Kara hasn’t figured out the meaning of yet, Cat has decided to have an extra desk moved into Kara’s office. This has made the space even more cramped and there’s barely any space to move.

The desks have been placed so they are facing each other and the door is off to the side of them but the desks are pushed more to one side so Cat still has enough space to move her chair properly while Kara has to shimmy her way into her chair because of the lack of space, not even able to fully pull it out.

It’s kind of awkward. Cat has pretty much moved in here with her and it’s strange. Kara has worked closely with her for years but even when she was just a mere assistant, her desk was outside of the office, not inside, so they hardly ever worked in the same room apart from when Cat had her doing specific tasks with her so the sudden influx of time they are spending with each other is just odd.

“Did you manage to get any more information on—”

“Daniel Green? Yeah, here’s the file.” If there’s anything that can get her through this though, it’s her knowledge of Cat and her reporting process. She might not know the reasons Cat does anything but when it comes to reporting, she knows every article Cat has ever written and she knows very well, what her process for writing an article is so she’s been able to keep the flow going by pre-empting what Cat will want before she’s even got there and having it ready and waiting so they can get this article done and then maybe, just maybe, Cat will move back to her own office.

Well, that plan is not going to fly.

“Kara. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Kara flinches when Cat slams down the file Kara just handed to her. “Stop giving me the things I need for the article. You need to be working on getting the information for your parts of the article, not doing my work for me. I understand that this isn’t the best situation, believe me, I’d rather be anywhere other than in your office, which is smaller than a shoebox but we need to work on this in private and we can’t do that in my office when the walls are made of glass. We certainly can’t do it out in the open when we’ve already had one staff member working with the enemy.”

Kara stares at her, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open. She has no idea how to respond to that.

“We’re working together on this article. You’re not working for me in this situation, this is probably the only chance you’re going to have to call me your partner in this. Take the opportunity before I start calling you Kiera again.”

“Yes, Ms Grant. I’ll stop gathering your information for you.”

“I’m going to regret asking you to do that when I have to do it myself but it’s for the best. It’s time to put your big girl pants on Kara. This is real reporting.”

Kara clears her throat awkwardly. “I already got your next six files ready. Do you want them?”

If Cat is surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Yes, but that’s it, no more.”

“Right yes, of course.” Kara nods, then hesitates. “I have a half-finished one, do you want that?”

Cat slips her glasses off of her nose and drops her head into her hands. “This arrangement is going to be worse for me than it is for you. I can see that now. Give me everything you have that is for my portion of the article and then just focus on your own. If I need something from you, I’ll ask.”

“Got it.” Kara rifles through the papers on her desk and finds all of the ones that aren’t for the things she’s directly working on and then hands them over. Kara stares at the papers for the part of the article she was working on before she got distracted working on the part Cat is handling.

She fishes out the list of all of the people they know are involved and starts working through all of the ones that are involved under the command of a supervisor, mostly the people working under General Lane. She’s got some dirt to dig up and she knows it’s going to either be super hard because they’re being protected or it’s going to be easy because they’re nothing but scapegoats to the government, something she’ll be calling them out for in the article if that happens to be the truth.

There are a couple of names highlighted and she sees that they are the ones that were seen on the cameras in the storage locker, the ones that tried and failed to destroy said camera to destroy the evidence of government involvement.

She pulls out the folder Lena got from her private investigator, or rather, her ex-private investigator since he quit after finding out the government is involved in what’s going on.

With the information in front of her, she starts her research, burying her head into it because, between her and the people she’s researching, it’s personal. They had a hand in her losing everything so now, she’s going to make sure they get what they deserve and she’s going to do it by exposing every dirty little secret they have.

Lena strolls into CatCo, her fancy heels clicking against the floor in an expensive rhythm as she makes her way up to Kara’s office, excited to spend some time with her over lunch. She’s got a couple of sandwiches in her purse they made this morning with their shoulders brushing. They figure it is about time they stop buying so much food and start making more for themselves so they’re a bit healthier but Lena accidentally ended up with both sandwiches so she’s very kindly bringing Kara’s to her and is planning on spending a few minutes with her girlfriend while she’s doing it.

She passes Winn’s desk, waving at him as she goes but his voice calls out to her just after she’s taken a couple of steps away from the desk.

“Hey, Lena?”

Turning back to him, she steps closer. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering how Kara’s been doing since the whole James thing? I haven’t really had much of a chance to speak to her and I didn’t want to reach out and crowd her.” Winn starts fiddling with a little figurine on his desk as he speaks, barely holding eye contact with her.

Lena feels a little bad. She’s been taking so much of Kara’s time up recently on top of everything else they have been dealing with so there’s been no time for Kara to stay in touch with her other friends and that’s not right. Lena won’t let that happen though, especially because this is Winn, Kara’s best friend before she came onto the scene. Winn probably had the toughest time of anyone with what James did, he was the one closest to him.

“She’s been handling it the best she can but you know, things are still happening. I think it would be a good thing if you do reach out though, Winn, I think she’d really appreciate that.”

“You think so?”

Lena nods firmly, “I do. In fact, why don’t we have a game night at my place this Friday?”

Winn’s face lights up. “It has been far too long since we’ve had a game night, that would be awesome, and I’ll finally get to see the new place you guys have been hiding from me!”

Lena can’t help but smile at the overexcited way she can see him planning the night in his head. “Would you mind gathering the troops and letting them know? Maybe we can surprise Kara with it that way.”

Lena never knew a person could look so excited as in this moment. “I’ve got it all covered; don’t you worry. All you have to do is unlock the door and I’ll have everything sorted, food, drinks, entertainment, the works.”

“Sounds good. Now, I better run, I have Kara’s lunch and I think her stomach might start eating itself if I don’t go feed her.”

“You better run. I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you Friday.” Lena parrots and makes her way over to where she knows Kara’s office is. She’s kind of surprised Kara decided to keep the office that once got broken into but it’s also a perk that came with her finally getting promoted from an assistant to a reporter and it’s a big deal for her, even if it is just a tiny room with a door and no windows.

The door is closed when she gets there, which is odd, the door is hardly ever closed. It sets a feeling of dread and anxiety swirling in her stomach as she knocks on the door.

When she hears a voice that isn’t her girlfriend’s beckon her inside, her eyebrows furrow and her heart rate increases with the anxiety she’s suddenly feeling. Is this no longer Kara’s office? Is that why the door is closed? There’s only one way to find out.

With a hesitant movement, she twists the doorknob and opens the door. She has to bite back a laugh when she sees what’s inside.

Never in the history of their relationship has Lena ever seen Kara looking so miserable and that’s really saying something considering everything they have been through. Cat is sitting at the desk opposite her, looking prim and proper despite the crowded, messy environment.

“Hey, Lena.” Kara greets her, looking slightly less uncomfortable now that her girlfriend is here. “I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today.”

Lena finishes into her bag. “I accidentally ended up with both of our lunches. I figured that since I had some time I could bring it to you. I wasn’t expecting you to have gotten a roomie though.”

“Ms Luthor, I am here for privacy purposes so I suggest you keep your taunts to yourself unless you want L-Corp to have bad press for the rest of your time as acting CEO.” Cat doesn’t even look up from her laptop to look at her.

Lena’s mouth hangs open for a second before snapping shut. “Um, ok. Kara, do you have time for lunch or shall I leave you to it?”

Kara looks anxiously between her laptop screen and Ms Grant, unsure if she should accept the invitation or not.

“For God’s sake, please take her, her breathing is annoying me.” Cat answers for her. “You can use the balcony from my office but if you touch anything in there, I’ll know so don’t even try it.”

Lena and Kara share a look. Why would they be touching anything in her office?

“Thank you, Ms Grant. I’ll be back soon.” Kara shimmies her way out of her chair with a little bit of difficulty, her stomach pressing against the desk uncomfortably. “Do you want me to grab you anything while I’m gone?”

“Get Ms Tessmacher to order me lunch, some kind of salad, any kind, just make sure it has a cheeseburger on top.” Cat rolls her eyes as the desk shifts from Kara forcing her way free.

“You got it,” Kara says, ushering Lena out of the door and closing it behind them. As soon as she’s free of the room, she’s immediately letting out a puff of relief. “I’ve never been so glad to see your face. I need a break.”

Lena chuckles at her, hooking her arm around Kara’s and leaning into her side. “You have my commiserations. I don’t think I would be too happy sharing an office with the almighty Cat Grant, even less so when the office is as small as yours. I’m genuinely impressed that two desks even fit in there.”

“Honestly, me too. I wasn’t too happy when she barged in this morning and ordered me to get up so the desks could be arranged but it makes sense, we already had one person steal our information, so it’s safer for us both to be in my office where nobody can get our files and we can’t do it in hers because of the windows.”

“Surely there are other rooms available though.”

“There’s an empty office upstairs Winn, James and I used to use to hang out on company time back in the day but it’s been under construction for years, and by ‘under construction’, I mean it’s got one wall that has a couple of wires exposed that needs plastering.” Kara shakes her head. “It’s a waste of a good office if you ask me but it’s been on the maintenance list for a long time.”

Lena hums. “Does it have a window?”

“Several. Why?”

Lena shrugs, trying not to act suspicious, something she isn’t very good at.

“Lena Luthor, you tell me what you’re scheming at right now.” Kara unhooks her arm from Lena’s and folds them, holding her stare onto the side of Lena’s face until she caves.

Lena tries her best not to react but if she holds out much longer, she’s likely to be banned from cuddling with Kara tonight and she really doesn’t want to risk it. “Um, I was just thinking about offering to get it fixed so maybe you could have it as your office. Clearly, it isn’t that important of a room if it’s been sat empty for so long and it would give you and Cat much more space to work on the article.”

They finally make it out onto the balcony after a quick chat with Eve, Cat’s new assistant, who is sitting at Kara’s old desk. Lena pulls their lunches out of her bag. They sit down on the furniture out there and Kara digs into her sandwich, her cheeks now flushed from the offer. She isn’t sure if she’s grateful or embarrassed.

“I don’t think it would go down too well with my co-workers if my girlfriend is buying me office upgrades and such. That being said, I suppose it wouldn’t be as bad if I was to buy myself the upgrade by offering to fix it.”

Lena smiles, delighted that her idea is playing out, even just in a theoretical way at the minute. “Yeah, and then I send you the money to—”

“Lena, you’re not paying for this.”

“But—”

“Lena. I do have my own money, you know? Even more since I stopped paying rent, although I still want to pay some towards the house.” Kara looks unamused by Lena’s insistence to pay for everything. She loves her but damn if she doesn’t make it hard work just to open her own wallet from time to time.

She gets it, she really does. If she had money like Lena does, so much she can’t even comprehend it, she’d want to treat the people she loves too but she’s got to be very careful because accepting it is a fast-track way to her losing her financial independence and to end up taking advantage of Lena’s kindness. She has to keep her own responsibilities.

Lena takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, lost in thought in an instant. “Why do you want to pay for the house? It’s in both of our names anyway.”

“It’s our home. I want to work for it and I don’t like that you paid for the entire thing when it’s ours. I want it to truly be ours.”

“You don’t feel like it’s already ours?” Lena looks sad but confused, like she’s genuinely trying to understand but not quite grasping the truth. It’s understandable really, she’s grown up with money, and she hasn’t lived the same experiences as Kara has, not by a long shot.

Kara looks out over the balcony, trying to find a diplomatic way of explaining things that will help get her point across. “It feels like it’s a home for both of us but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to both of us.”

“You’ve lost me,” Lena admits.

“I’ve worked for pretty much everything I have, that’s how I class things as mine. I work for it, I save up, and I buy it. That’s how I’ve always lived. To have something as big as a house in my possession without paying for it, it throws me off and it feels like I’ve somehow cheated the system. I need to pay something towards it, a portion that makes me feel like I’ve worked for it.”

Lena nods slowly, a movement that shows she’s trying to understand, trying to come up with a solution that will benefit both of them. “I think I get it. It’s just hard for me to think about you working so hard for something you don’t have to. I get you want it to be equal but it’s not because the cost of half of that house is pocket change to me while it’s a lot for you. It would make much more sense to split it in terms of income. We can go off of my salary rather than company profits and family money. It will mean I still pay a good chunk more because I make more but it will be fair. Will that work?”

“Can we go over the numbers and then decide?” Kara gets what Lena is doing. She knows that she’s trying to make it so while Kara will pay, it will be as little an amount as possible.

“We can but I want it to be fair, Kara. I didn’t work for a lot of the things I have, I know that, but income-wise, we have to be fair to each other. I take on a greater burden financially because I can, I like to think you take on a lot of the burden with common sense.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “I think Alex would disagree with you there.”

Lena snorts. “Probably.” She finishes up her sandwich and rolls the foil into a ball. “So, you’ll think about it.”

“I will. I suppose it does make sense. I just don’t want you to ever think I’m with you for your money. You’re worth so much more than that.”

“I have never thought that and I never will, darling. You’ve more than proven that with the years of friendship. If you were after my money, you would have made a move on me years ago.”

Kara’s lips quirk up at that. “That’s true. I’ll give you that.”

Lena smiles back at her, pleased with herself that she managed to get Kara to crack a smile. “We can work it all out, don’t worry. But I do think it would be a great investment to see if you can negotiate for that office.”

Kara nods slightly. “Alright. I’ll speak to Cat about it when I head back. I can probably get away with another fifteen minutes if you have time.”

“Anything for you.” Lena gets up from her chair and moves to lean on the balcony railing, covering Kara’s hand with her own when she comes to stand next to her.

Kara leans into her a little and rests her head on her shoulder while looking out over the city. Lena’s head moves to rest against Kara’s and rather than thinking about the city and the beauty of it, she’s just thinking about how lucky she is to be here with Kara, especially after so many years of pining and wishing she could be more than friends with her.

“Are you busy at work?” Kara asks after a beautiful few moments, her head nuzzling further into Lena’s fur-collared coat.

Lena shakes her head against Kara’s. “No, not really. Sam has been covering a lot of the day-to-day operations since we officially took over Lord Industries so I can go through all of the patents and submit them for our own projects but I’ve got people to do that too so I’ve been working on our new security system. I’ve got the prototype finished and I’m going to finish it up later on and test it. After that I can fix any bugs or issues with it and with a little luck, we could have a basic version of it in the house by this time next week.”

“I never get tired of finding your brain sexy. You should talk about science and inventions more often.” Kara smiles, refusing to move her head from the warm nest she’s found.

“Hmm, you’ll find it even sexier when I eventually replace the basic version with fancier, newer models as I develop the technology then, won’t you?” Lena smirks, her arm snaking around Kara’s waist and holding her close, almost possessively.

Kara’s tone turns a little deeper, “I might just have to show you tonight just how sexy I find it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind the clarification, my love.”

“Mm, today is going to go even slower now.” Kara huffs a tad. “I think I want this second article to be done even quicker than the first just so I can stop sharing an office with Ms Grant.”

Lena chuckles, unable to hide her enjoyment at the fact that Kara has got to spend so much time with the city’s top media mogul. She definitely would not find it anywhere near as funny if she was the one having to room with her, that’s for sure. “Talk to her about the office. I know a guy that could get that fixed tomorrow if she approves and you can be in there soon enough.”

“I might take you up on that. Fingers crossed she says yes.”

“I hope so, if only so we have a better room to make out in during your lunch breaks when you don’t have someone in there with you.”

“Lena!” Kara laughs, her head finally shooting up from Lena’s shoulder so she can cover her rapidly reddening cheeks with her hands. “You can’t say that!”

Lena acts purposely confused but the wry smile on her face gives her away. “What do you mean? Don’t you want me to tell the truth?”

“Stop,” Kara giggles, bumping Lena’s hip with her own. “Someone might overhear.”

“Alright, alright. I better get you back to Cat before she comes searching for you.” Lena announces as soon as their laughter dies down.

Kara groans but agrees. “Give me a kiss before you go. I am not about to kiss in front of Ms Grant. That would be kind of like if I were to kiss in front of Eliza.”

Lena doesn’t need an explanation to kiss Kara and she leans in, pressing several chaste kisses against her lips. “I’ll walk you back to your office.”

A week later and Kara is still trapped in a room with Cat but this time, she’s a lot happier than she was a week previous because now, she can actually stand up from her chair without winding herself against the desk’s edge.

Cat was more open to the idea of the office swap than she thought she would be although she’s fairly certain that’s just because she offered to pay for it herself because it turns out the work in there was pricier than she imagined it would be and that’s probably the reason it has been sat empty for so long.

On top of the plasterwork, she ended up paying for a whole bunch of electrical work because none of the lights work and the window latch was broken too so she had to pay for that. That all meant she’s had to wait a little while for it all to be done but when Cat walked into the new office this morning with a faint smile and a nod, she knew it was worth it simply because it means she won’t have to deal with an overly cranky Cat telling her to chew more gum after lunch because she could apparently smell the lunch meat on her breath after she ate.

Now though, there’s a good distance between their desks and while Cat had taken the one right next to the window, there’s still plenty of light coming in so she doesn’t feel like she’s sitting in a coffin anymore.

Just to sweeten the pot though, Kara’s got a good mood that matches Cat’s because ever since Friday, when she got an incredible surprise about the revival of game night, she’s been in excellent spirits. It’s been way too long since she’s had the chance to catch up with Winn and Nia. They have, unfortunately, drifted apart since everything that happened because she’s been so focused on everything else that’s happened and because she wasn’t sure Winn would be receptive to her after she exposed his best friend as an asshole.

Her worries were unfounded though because the second she opened the door to Winn, he wrapped his arms around her in the tightest hug he could manage and told her how much he missed her. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

They spend several hours playing a multitude of games as a group of seven, Kara, Lena, Alex, Kelly, Winn, Nia and Brainy, Nia’s boyfriend. With so many people there, it made it a lot easier for them to take their minds off of the person that will never be at one of these nights again.

They left a few hours later with the plan to make sure they have a game night at least once a month, something they are all on board with and once Kara loved the feeling of hosting game night with Lena in their house because now it is their house.

Lena finally managed to get her to agree to work out how much she should pay towards the house based on her income. It’s not as much as she would have preferred to pay but she has at least put some money into it and that alone makes her feel much better about it, like they are actually on a much more even standing regarding decisions on the house itself.

Today is quite a big day. Not only has she now moved into the new office but Lena is home today setting up her new security system she’s made. Kara has no doubts that even this version, the version Lena describes as ‘basic’, is actually much better than anything money can buy and it’s only going to get better from here. Lena even let her name it, only rolling her eyes a little when she aptly named it Hope.

“Give me an update, how far along with the list are you?” Cat asks, peering over the top of her fancy, black-framed glasses.

“I only have three more people to look into and then I just have to start organizing the files to start writing. How about you?”

Cat’s answer is vague, disinterested in answering any questions on her work. “I’m almost done. I’ll be finished today and then we can start officially writing.”

Kara’s happy to hear that but something has been bugging her. They know that there are a lot of people in the government that want them gone but despite the fact that they probably know that they are looking into them from the mass amount of files they have requested on government officials, they haven’t heard so much as a peep from them.

Lena has been coming to CatCo as often as she can to have lunch with her and they have been using the balcony from Cat’s office much more than it’s been used in a long time. In fact, she worked a little late last week and in doing so, overheard the evening cleaners complaining about having to sweep out there since it’s now being used.

Lena is coming by today and since she’s coming from home, she’s bringing Kara dumplings and she’s super excited. It’s rare they often have time to make homecooked meals but they have been trying to do some more. They have been able to stick to their homemade lunches but the dinners are harder with how tired they are.

At first, they tried taking it in turns cooking but have found it much easier and much more stress-free when they do it together so there’s no rushing around and they can catch each other up on their days at work while they do so, the quality time something they have both come to enjoy.

Lena told her about the dumplings this morning as a surprise and it’s the second-best surprise she’s had recently, after the game night Lena managed to plan behind her back. She really needs to plan something special for that woman because Lena’s got her beat for the title of best girlfriend at the minute and she can’t let that slide, Lena deserves a whole lot of pampering too.

“Where are you drifting off to? You’ve got work to do.” Cat’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, stopping her from planning an awesome day for Lena. She’ll have to reserve those thoughts for later.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Lena.”

“Shocker.” Cat sneers. “Your girlfriend is not the top priority when you’ve got work to do, as sickeningly sweet your relationship is.”

Kara’s face scrunches a touch. “Is that a compliment or—“ Cat glares at her. “Getting back to work now, got it.”

Cat shakes her head, tutting as she does. “I don’t even know how the pair of you can spend so much time together without hating each other’s guts. I couldn’t stand to spend more than half of the week with any of my husbands.”

“I can’t help it, she’s just amazing.” Kara gets a big goofy grin across her face that just disgusts Cat even more. “She’s even making dumplings for me today for my lunch because she’s working from home. She’s just so…” Kara trails off when she catches Cat’s eye, the glare she’s on the receiving end of stopping her from continuing on. “Sorry.”

Cat buries her nose into the nearest file she has, going back to ignoring Kara’s presence and getting back to work, annoyed by her heart-eyes whenever she talks about her other half but also completely charmed. She has had a fair few relationships in her life but none have ever held as much love or as much passion as she can see in Kara and Lena’s relationship.

Still, she can’t help but be happy for them. With knowing Kara as long as she has, she’s seen her go through quite a few phases, most of them awkward and a little bit sad to watch with a decent sprinkling of second-hand embarrassment thrown in too.

A few years back, Kara helped her to get back in touch with her eldest son, who she had lost contact with and then proceeded to date for a couple of weeks. She had been truly happy to see it since she knows exactly the type of person Kara is. She more than approved of the relationship, but then Kara ended the relationship so she as any mother would do, got angry with Kara for breaking her son’s heart.

Looking back on it now, Kara never had the passion for Adam the way she does for Lena and her son was being quite the drama queen because it was a two-week relationship that ended because Kara wasn’t feeling it.

Kara has a lot of love in her heart and it’s obvious that her love is what keeps her motivated. Her love for her friends and her family, her love for Lena, and her love for her job and her colleagues, even if more than a few have asked her out and she’s had to awkwardly reject them. Cat knows all about the office gossip. She’ll never tell anyone but she secretly lives for it.

Lena knocks on the door timidly when she comes to join Kara for lunch. It’s her first time coming to the new office so she’s a little nervous about getting the right office but when she cracks the door and sees Kara and Cat sitting on opposite sides of the room, she knows she’s in the right place.

Cat watches Lena out of the corner of her eye as she takes in the room.

“This is an awesome office. I’m surprised you let it sit up here empty for such a long time, Cat.” Lena remarks.

“It is an excellent office, I’m aware. When I bought the building, it was once used as the headquarters for a tech firm that has since gone under and this was the CEO’s office. I needed my office where I could look over the bullpen, I can’t run a business if I’m hiding from everyone, can I?”

“Wait, this was a CEO’s office?” Kara asks, her eyebrows raised in shock.

Cat shrugs half-heartedly. “It was, it’s part of the reason I never got it fixed, I didn’t want this office going to someone undeserving but since I’m using it now, I’m deserving.”

Lena folds her arms, taking on the face of a woman with a fire burning behind her eyes. “I think you mean; Kara is deserving.”

“Yes, whatever. I know she’s not about to be flaunting it around the entire building, that’s good enough for me. Well, that and she saved me money on the repairs. I gather that was your idea?”

“What makes you think it was my idea?” Lena questions, her heckles still up from what she perceived to be a slight on Kara.

Cat sighs, annoyed that she can’t just get back to her work. She’d like this to be over just as much as Kara and Lena would so she can get back to her own office. “Kara wouldn’t be as ballsy as to come up with that request on her own. I’ve been trying to get her to believe in herself for years and ask for what she wants but still, it doesn’t always happen. You push her to stand up for herself and this is just an obvious example of you pushing her to get what she deserves.

“You think I deserve this office?” Kara breaks out into a toothy grin.

“Kara, you’re one of my most competent employees, you can have the office.” That’s the most Kara is getting out of Cat but she’s certainly going to take it. That’s the nicest thing she’s said in a while. “Now why don’t you go and have lunch so I can have some peace and quiet?”

Kara is more than happy to comply with that request and is up and out of her chair in a matter of milliseconds. “Let’s go.” She holds her hand out for Lena’s as she approaches her.

“Oh, before I forget, the balcony is off-limits today. The railing snapped last night when it was being cleaned. Apparently, the whole thing just fell off and landed on the ground in front of the building. It’s off-limits until a new one has been installed.”

Kara and Lena share a look.

“Was it the one right in front of the grey chairs?” Kara has to know.

Cat looks up, sceptical and almost accusatory. “Yes. Why?”

“That’s the one we always lean on and look over the city. It’s always been sturdy.”

“Are you inferring what I think you’re inferring?” Cat asks, leaning back in her chair.

Lena speaks up. “Well, you wouldn’t expect the government to make an assassination attempt too obvious would you?”

Cat plucks her glasses off her face and then proceeds to drop her forehead onto the desk in a very uncharacteristic move. One lacking any trace of grace or fragility. “Why can’t things just go smoothly for once?”

“If it makes you feel better, I brought plenty of food if you want some. Now feels like a good time for us all to be stress-eating.” Lena offers, getting the food out of her bag and setting it on the edge of Kara’s desk. “You might as well because without the balcony being available, this is the best place for us to have our lunch.”

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