#also chapter 8 is still coming out today on ao3

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 01 of ? | masterpost

word count: 2697 | ao3 link

Eleanore (better known as Nore) was only 18 years old when she moved out of her house. She chose to live with her cousin, Cliff, in the same house where his band was staying - and got involved with all of them much more than she had ever expected to get involved with someone...

✦ warnings and tags: oc is cliff's cousin, +18, slice of life, drinking, smoking, fluff, cliff being cliff (overprotective older cousin), oc meets the metallica boys

✦ a/n: hello! i started posting this fanfiction on ao3 a while ago, but now i decided to post it directly here on tumblr too. the story is a bit long but there will be a lot of fluff, angst and smut along the way and also a lot of james and dave ♡ I will be posting one or two chapters daily until I catch up with the chapters posted on AO3, then I will start posting at the same frequency as I do there - every Wednesday and Sunday! Anyway, hope you enjoy ♡

I couldn't exactly say that I had plans for the beginning of 1983, but certainly moving out of my parents' house wasn't among them. Not that I had much of a choice, as I had been practically kicked out after the chaos that was my 18th birthday a few months earlier.

I was lucky to have my cousin Cliff's help. He had joined a new band a few months ago and had moved out of his parents' house to live with the guys in a house in downtown San Francisco. His offer to let me stay with them for a few months came at the right time, and I didn't hesitate to accept.

Maybe that hadn't been the best idea, as everything that could go wrong so far was happening — including me being late, missing the bus that would take me from Long Beach on a six-hour trip to San Francisco, having to buy another ticket for another bus that would leave only two hours later, and realizing only after boarding that I had forgotten my bag with half of my clothes and all — yes, absolutely all — of my underwear at my parents' house. Now, in addition to spending money on buying new clothes, I would have to wait for my parents to send me the bag by mail.

Great, I thought bitterly as I looked out the window of the moving bus.

I tried to distract myself by opening my sketchbook and doodling something, but I was too anxious to do anything. Cliff and I had practically grown up together, but since he moved to San Francisco with his family four years ago, our interactions had considerably decreased. Now, he had several new friends whom I didn't know, a girlfriend I had never even heard of, and he was even playing in a band. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to fit into his new life, and this kinda bothered me.

Despite the anxiety, I was exhausted, and I ended up dozing off for a while. It felt like I had only blinked when I woke up to the passenger next to me letting me know that we had arrived. I thanked the man and grabbed my luggage; when the bus stopped, I was one of the first people to get off.

San Francisco had the smell and sound of the sea; the sun was shining high in the cloudless blue sky. Despite the sun, it was still winter, and a cold wind cut through the platform. I looked around anxiously. Cliff had said he would be there, but I couldn't see him anywhere. That's when I felt someone touch my shoulder. When I turned, there he was, the old crumpled Misfits t-shirt, a cigarette in his hand, his long silky hair, and that beautiful smile on his face that I knew so well.

"Cliff!" I yelled and threw myself into his arms for a hug, laughing like I used to when I was little. He laughed and hugged me back.

"Hey, Nore. How was the trip?"

"It was horrible!" I complained, and he raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on his lips. "I forgot my bag, I was late and missed the bus. It was pure chaos; I didn't even think you would wait for me."

"Yeah, I noticed you were late. I've been waiting here for hours," he said with a tired sigh. I bit my lip, a guilty expression on my face, and he laughed. "It's okay. At least you made it. Let's go?"

He gently took the bag from my hand, and we walked through the terminal to the parking lot, where I saw his car. As I hopped in, he tossed my suitcase in the trunk and took a seat beside me in the driver's seat. I turned on the music, and a Misfits song blasted, extremely loud, just the way I knew Cliff loved it. I frowned and toned it down a bit.

"Oh my God, Cliff," I complained. "Aren't you scared of going deaf?"

"Hey, it's better to enjoy life while we're young," he grinned at me with that laid-back attitude that I knew all too well. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help but smile back. "And our hearing too, y'know."

He turned on the car, and I quickly strapped myself in. I knew Cliff's wild driving style; if seatbelts truly saved lives, I was putting my faith in that little piece of fabric. I gripped on tight as he zoomed through the city, weaving through traffic like a maniac. I lost count, but I swear he blew through at least three red lights on the way.

Fortunately, we safely arrived at the house where he was living. I got out of the car and stretched, feeling sore after hours of bus travel.

"Come on," he said. "I'll introduce you to the guys."

"Wait, what about my luggage?"

"I'll get it later. Is it okay if we share the room? It's the only place you can stay for now."

"No worries,"I said, as he took me by the hand and guided me into the house. He swung open the door, revealing a sparsely furnished living room with only a TV, a couple of couches, and a table surrounded by four chairs. A short guy was sitting on one of the sofas, speaking loudly while two others laughed at whatever he had just said. All three had beers in their hands, and a few empty bottles were scattered on the floor.

"Hey, guys," Cliff said. "This is Nore, my cousin. The one I told you would be staying here for a while."

They looked at us. The short dark-haired guy stood up with a smile.

"Hey," he greeted me. He had a different accent, definitely not American. "How's it going?"

"Nore, this is Lars. He's Danish, so you might find his smell a bit strange," Cliff said in a sarcastic tone, a smirk on his face.

"Shut up, dude." Lars grabbed a beer bottle and pointed at me. "Want one?"

"No, she doesn't," Cliff cut in. I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. "Hey, no more drinking problems for you, okay?"

"Oh, Cliff, shut up. You worry too much," I grumbled, which made the guys laugh.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help you. Remember that your parents told me not to let you drink."

"Well, then you won't smoke your joints in front of me either," I said, reaching out to snatch the cigarette from his hand, but he held it up high. He knew I couldn't reach it, I was way shorter than him. He chuckled.

"These are Dave and James," he said, still holding his hand up. I lightly hit his back, pissed off, but he ignored me.

"Hi," the blond guy spoke in a low voice, seeming annoyed. He didn't even look directly into my eyes, quickly turning his attention back to the beer bottle in his hand. I felt my face heat up, wondering if he already hated me or something.

"Hi," I said softly. "Nice to meet you."

The other guy laughed. He had wavy strawberry blond hair and brown eyes. He was just a little shorter than Cliff – but still much taller than me.

"You upset the lady, James," he got up from the sofa and took my hand in his. "Don't mind him, he's just a bit shy. I'm Dave, you probably figured that out already."

"Hi, Dave," I smiled.

"So your name is Nore? That's kinda different."

"Oh, actually, it's Eleanore. But nobody really calls me that, I prefer Nore."

He grinned, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket.

"It's a cool name," he lit a cigarette and gave me a wink. "If you feel like grabbing some drinks later..."

"Hey, lay off my cousin," Cliff frowned. "I've already told you she's not gonna drink, dammit."

"Cliff!" I complained. "Come on, you can't stop me from having a drink."

James snorted.

"You worry too much, man," he got up and handed me a beer bottle. "Here. You can have a drink if you want."

I took the bottle from his hand before Cliff could do anything and took a sip. He sighed and shrugged.

“Okay, it's your problem.”

"Hey, no need to be all parental on me," I said in a more understanding tone. "I can handle myself just fine, alright?"

“I won't bother lecturing you,” he grumbled. “But you better let your parents know that if I find you dead in a pool of vomit, it's all your fault, you hear me?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. He smiled, making me realize that he was just joking.

"Don't worry, I won't tell your parents about this either," I pointed to the cigarette in his hand. He huffed.

"You know they already know about it, right?" I scowled and he laughed. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

"She could crash in my room," Dave grinned. "Plenty of room there."

"And you better cut out the flirty business with my cousin." Cliff's voice turned serious as he pulled me closer, gripping my shoulders in a protective way.

Dave laughed and left the room, not without smiling at me. My cheeks flushed, but I smiled back.

"I'll grab my bag," I said to Cliff. Taking another swig from the bottle, I handed it over to James with a grateful smile. "Thanks."

He shrugged, but flashed me a small smile in return.

Cliff walked me to the car and opened the trunk so I could get my luggage. I followed him to his room, which was a cozy little space on the ground floor. It had a bed, a closet, a desk, and his bass guitar hanging on the wall. I dropped my suitcase in a corner by the desk and cracked it open to grab some money. I still had to go to a store, see if I could find some clothes. He pulled out a mattress from behind the wardrobe.

"This is your new bed," He said. "At least until I can bring that bunk bed my parents are lending me." 

"You could be a knight in shining armor and let me sleep in yours." I grumbled, looking at the thinness of the mattress.

"No fucking way."

"I could end up with a serious back problem for sleeping on this, you know."

"Don't give me that. You won't convince me."

"I bet Dave would let me sleep in his bed."

"And take the opportunity to sleep with you."

"Oh, come on, Cliff," I laughed, feeling my face turning red. "He was joking."

"Yeah, right," he replied acidly. I shook my head in doubt. I found the money in my suitcase, picked it up, and stood up to leave. "Where are you going?"

"I need to buy some things. I'll be right back."

"I'll take you."

"No need, I saw there are plenty of shops nearby. I'll manage."

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette as he sat on the bed and opened a magazine. I left the house and found James outside, sitting by the porch, finishing his beer.

"Hi." I said.

"Hey. You heading out?" he asked in a low voice. At least now he didn't ignore me, I thought.

"Yeah. I still need to buy some things today."

"You know where to go?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I was thinking of just taking a walk around. Didn't want to bother Cliff any more than I already have," I admitted. He stared at me, seeming to think for a moment, then stood up.

"Hang on. I'll come with you."

"You sure?" I asked, surprised. He nodded.

"Yeah, I need... to stock up on more beer. Just wait here, I'll get my money."

I nodded and waited as he entered the house. He returned soon, wearing a worn leather jacket and holding some crumpled dollars in his hand, which he stuffed into his pocket.

"There's a supermarket down the street. Let's go?"

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

We walked the whole way in silence. I couldn't help but think about what Dave had said about James being a bit shy. Despite that, he had been nice enough to offer to come along with me. As we walked, I glanced at him. Taking a closer look, I noticed that his eyes were just like mine, blue in color. He had a serious look on his face, lost in his own thoughts. Usually, I would start a conversation in a situation like this, but I was feeling a bit shy myself.

We soon arrived at the supermarket. I was taken aback because the place was bigger than I had expected.

"Hey, do they sell clothes here?" I asked. It would be super convenient if I could find some clothes without having to go elsewhere after buying the beers.

"Yes, they do," he answered, then looked at me. "Are you here to buy clothes?"

"Oh," I blushed. "I... sort of forgot my bag at my parents' house, so..."

He chuckled. "You're just like Cliff. He's an airhead too."

"Hey!" I complained. "I was tired, okay?"

He smiled as we entered the store. I grabbed a shopping basket, and he pointed to an aisle.

"The clothes are over there. Need some company?"

"Nah, I got this. Meet you back here?"

"Sure."

I walked to the clothing section, which was somewhat limited. Most of the stuff looked kinda ugly, but luckily, I managed to find some decent underwear and bras. I snagged a few items in my size and tossed them in the basket.

I was heading back to the entrance to meet James when I spotted him near the beverage shelves, looking frustrated. I walked up to him.

"Hi," he grumbled. "I'm trying to decide which one to take... Our favorite is sold out, and I'm clueless about these cheaper options."

I looked at the shelf, then picked up a bottle from a well-known brand that wasn't too expensive.

"I like this one. We can split the cost if you want."

He smiled a little, grabbing a case of the brand I had suggested.

"I'll roll with your choice," he tossed the case in the basket, and I made a face at the weight. "Oops, my bad," he effortlessly took the basket from my hand as if it weighed almost nothing.

"Thank you," I said, and he smiled.

"Did you get everything you needed?" he asked, and I nodded. "Alright, let's go then."

We went to the cashier and cashed out. James insisted on paying for all the beers. I realized that, beneath the initial shyness, he was actually a pretty cool guy. He stopped by the store entrance to open two bottles of beer and offered me one. We walked back home as the sun was setting, James sipping his beer and humming softly. I recognized the sound — the guitar riff from Paranoid, by Black Sabbath. The day was quickly coming to an end, and I could feel the exhaustion creeping in.

"It's really good," he suddenly said as we waited to cross a street, and I looked at him, puzzled. "The beer," he explained.

"Told you so," I grinned.

"Guess you wouldn't want me to tell Cliff about you drinking."

I rolled my eyes playfully.

"Cliff worries too much. But I think he'll soon give up on nagging me."

"I'm rooting for you," he said in a playful tone. I let out a soft chuckle.

Soon enough, we reached the house. I said goodbye to James and made my way to Cliff's room, which was now also mine, ready to grab my things and take a shower. Packing away my new clothes in my bag, I found myself humming the same tune as James. Despite the fatigue and the overload of new information, my anxiety had melted away. I didn't know what the next few days would bring, but it excited me. The guys seemed cool, and it was good to be closer to Cliff again. I didn't have a clue where this new life would lead me, but I was ready to embrace whatever came, whenever it came.

#hello hello hello it's heartbreaker day!! #so i decided to start posting my fic's chapters here on tumblr too #but you can still read it on ao3 if you want! #also chapter 8 is still coming out today on ao3 #ada writes fanfiction #heartbreaker fanfic #metallica #megadeth #james hetfield #dave mustaine #cliff burton #lars ulrich #metallica fanfiction #dave mustaine x oc #dave mustaine fanfiction #nore burton (oc) #james hetfield x oc

[macfrog]

checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine

hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins

word count: 8.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.

You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.

As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.

He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.

You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.

And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.

Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.

A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.

She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”

You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.

“You’re late.”

He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”

Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.

When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.

“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”

Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.

Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.

The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.

“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”

“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.

You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.

“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.

“Heard that,” he says.

“’s why I said it.”

Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”

Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.

“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”

“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”

A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.

You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.

Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.

You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.

It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.

Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.

You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.

And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”

“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”

“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”

If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?

The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.

Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.

“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”

“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.

Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”

“Language,” Joel clips.

You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.

The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.

Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.

“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.

“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.

“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”

“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”

“No? What is it, then?”

His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.

“Not a what. A who.”

You lead him inside.

A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.

“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.

Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.

You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.

“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.

The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.

“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.

Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”

“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”

“We know.”

“Dad, I–”

“Water, or nothin’.”

Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.

You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.

“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”

You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.

A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.

You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“No?” you ask, amused.

“Not my thing.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?”

You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…

Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.

It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.

When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.

You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.

A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.

He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.

“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.

Joel hums in agreement, nodding.

Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.

Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.

“You think I’m…brighter…here?”

He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”

“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”

Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.

Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”

Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”

“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.

Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”

You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?

You mock smile back and shake your head.

“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”

You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.

“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”

Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”

Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.

“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.

Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”

Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”

You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.

You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”

“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”

Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.

“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”

Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”

His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.

Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.

“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”

She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.

“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”

You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”

“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”

Nothing. You shake your head.

She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”

“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”

Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.

“That’s her.”

“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.

“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”

You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.

“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”

“Who has?”

Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”

“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”

“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”

“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.

Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?

“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”

Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.

He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.

You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.

But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.

You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.

Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.

There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.

You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.

“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”

“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”

“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.

“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”

Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”

“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”

His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.

Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.

You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.

“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”

Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?

Stick.

The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.

Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.

Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.

This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.

Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.

Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”

“’s nice, ain’t it?”

“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”

“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”

Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.

Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.

“It improve your mood any?”

“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”

“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”

It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.

“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.

Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.

“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”

His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”

You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”

He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.

“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”

You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.

You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.

Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.

“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.

“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.

“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”

The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”

You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.

The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.

You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.

What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.

But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.

Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.

Nothing I can’t do right back to him.

You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.

As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.

“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”

He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.

He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.

You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.

Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.

“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”

“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”

“So…what are we doing in here?”

Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.

“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”

Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”

Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.

“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”

You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”

Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.

“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”

His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.

His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.

“Whatever the fuck I want?”

“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”

Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.

Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”

“A bottle?”

“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”

“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”

You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.

You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”

“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Then…make me.”

Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.

You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –

In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.

“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”

The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.

He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.

And then you realize. You fucking like this.

“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.

Another sharp sting.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.

“F-fuck no.”

He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”

He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.

“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”

You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”

You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.

“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”

“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”

“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”

“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”

You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.

“Wanted you in my mouth.”

You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.

“That right, baby? In your mouth?”

You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.

“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.

Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”

Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.

“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.

Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.

He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”

You nod, eyes blown black with lust.

He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.

“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”

A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.

“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”

He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.

“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”

You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.

“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”

Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”

You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.

You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.

“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”

Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?

Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.

You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.

“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”

He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.

You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.

Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.

It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.

Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.

He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”

“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.

One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.

He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.

When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.

Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”

There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.

You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.

He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.

You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.

Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.

Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.

Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.

He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.

Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.

“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”

You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.

Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.

Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.

“You’re being weird.”

“Ain’t being weird.”

“Still not gonna let me cum?”

He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.

“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”

He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”

“Facetime you, if you want.”

His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.

“How much is it?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”

You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”

Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.

You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.

Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.

“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”

“Where did you two get to?”

Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.

Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”

“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”

“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.

Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.

“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”

Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.

You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.

The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.

“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”

----------

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #cowboy like me

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Wednesday

joel miller x fem!reader

Summary of the fic: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾

read on AO3 | masterlist | previous chapter Warnings: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n Word count of the chapter: 3,7k

A/N: For the longest time I've thought "What if Joel lost Sarah anyway?" and this became the answer to this question. I have no clue about how big this series will be, but I do know I want to explore grief and loss with these two in the most delicate way possible. Hope you enjoy it 🐾

I. LILAC

Coffee. Sketchbook. Balcony. Five years of waking up early on Wednesdays, grabbing a cup of coffee, and sitting near the railings to wait for him. Like a clock, at 8 am sharp he appears by the street corner with a lilac bouquet under his arm. 

His strong profile will be the only thing in your vision for a few minutes as he walks by. You drew it so many times that you could do it with your eyes closed. The man will walk by at a steady pace without looking around (brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of sign), focused on his way down the street.

Tall, dark hair and a patchy beard with a square jaw… He is dreamy, but also out of reach. Where is he going? Why the lilacs? Are they for a woman, his wife maybe? Every Wednesday at 8 am, never a minute late, both he and you.

As you took a sip of your coffee, you glanced over the watch marking 7:58 am, he would be here any minute. You prepared the table in expectancy, what outfit would he be wearing today? You hoped for the green shirt, but the blue one wouldn’t be as bad.

7:59 am. His hair is a little overgrown now, but you like the way his curls frame his face. The broadness of his shoulders and how tall he looks next to the other pedestrians. You aren’t sure of the color of his eyes from afar, maybe green or brown.

8:01 am and no signal of him. This is a first. Maybe you mistook the day of the week, check your phone, and… No, Wednesday still. You squirm in your seat, impatiently looking for him. 8:07 am, he never got so late. Should you keep waiting? You don’t even know his name.

At 8:30 am you give up. A wave of melancholy fills the air. Oh god, be for fucking real, are you really sad because a strange man and his stupid lilacs didn’t walk down your street?

“Don’t forget: 9 am at the gate”, you reread your grandpa's text. 

You couldn’t be able to forget it, but deep down wish you could avoid it. Cemeteries aren’t your thing, the constant reminder of the death surrounding you. However, they are Grandpa’s way of dealing with it and who are you to judge?

The sketchbook is opened at the last page you drew, with the man staring in front of him fully angered. How did you end up with over 200+ drawings of a man you never met? The doctor said finding a hobby would help and so you did: drawing. “You see what no one else sees”, your mom used to say and you decided to take a test. Too bad your eyes landed on a strange man walking down the street, holding on tightly to a lilac bouquet. Even worse he had been doing the same path for five years right in front of your balcony.  The only things in your sketchbook are his face, his hands, and the bouquet. This is your third one since you kept running out of pages.

As you put the sketchbook away, your mind drifted away to your mother’s (possible) commentary. “Don’t be silly, he will come by later, I’m sure something happened” and she, most likely, would be right. She was always right. 8:50 am and with your chest tightened from “talking” to her inside your mind, your feet landed at the cemetery’s gate.

“No flowers? Really? Who raised you, pigs?”, your grandpa said narrowing his eyes at you.

He, of course, was an impeccable mess in his hat, black coat, thin-framed glasses that gave him a Bond villainesque look. In his rugged hands a white rose bouquet, carefully made and held by.

“If I remember right, and I do remember it, we are talking about the same woman who said that flowers are for the living, not the dead.” He rolled his eyes in response but in good fun. “Why the flowers then?”

“My biggest mistake was to raise a woman a little too avant-garde, wasn’t it? C’mon, we don’t have the whole day,” he deep sighed while showing you the way. 

You knew the path, but your feet seemed to avoid getting there, that’s why you followed Grandpa’s steps in the hope of not turning around and leave. It was a little ritualistic if you were honest: Grandpa would have some kind of gift in his hands that he would leave at the tombstone, and you would pretend to do not care as you deeply cared about it. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.

Behind his glasses, you could see a lost man driven by grief. His hands shaking as he cleaned her name at the tombstone, the gaze avoiding yours. He would always wear black on cemetery days, as if the time never passed and it was the first visit yet.

“Want to go first?” He asked, you sighed in response. “Don’t know why I still ask.”

“It’s… Fine. You know she was a Buddhist, right? She believed in reincarnation. I feel a little silly talking to her,” you confessed while chewing the lip corners.

“Oh, trust me: I knew her the same amount as you, maybe even more. She was my daughter, for fuck’s sake.” Startled, you looked at him in shock at the rare occasion he would curse. Shit. “I’m not here because of her beliefs or lifestyle. Do you quote her inside your head? Because I do too, I too remember every small detail of her. I’m here because it’s how I tell myself she isn’t fully gone. So sorry if I’m too old-fashioned and feel like talking a few words at my daughter's tombstone with my grandaughter who, honestly? Could show a little more love towards her right now. I want to talk with her like we used to at the kitchen table on Sundays, I want to bring her flowers just like I did on her birthday and there is no Buddha, Allah, or a flying horse that can stop me. Now, can you open your fucking mouth and say something nice to your mom about your week?”

Silence took the space for a second before you simply replied with, “Better?”

“Yes, a lot. Thank you for asking, now go on, please.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. You hummed, getting a little courage to look directly at the tombstone.

“Hum. I got a new couch last week, a velvety green one. A little too sexy, if I might, but you would probably say I need something sexy to attract someone even sexier. Am I rambling?” You asked, raising your eyes from the stone, but he made a motion for you to continue it. “Let me think, oh, the cat hunted a pigeon. It was somewhat disgusting because of the amount of feathers in my apartment…”

“Did the pigeon survive?” He asked, in his eyes with a slight curiosity.

“Yes, but by a thread. It was her cat, a little savage just like her!”

The conversation went on easily after it. Grandpa had found some old notebooks of your mom, including one with a cake recipe he would later send to you. You wouldn’t tell him, it did feel better not because you were speaking to her, but because you could watch him relax in his uptight perpetual state. In the blink of an eye, your mind wandered to the strange man and if he ever relaxed like that.

Grief is a strange thing. It took a little encouragement from your therapist and the need to move on, but you had started to go to weekly meetings of a grief support group at the local church (the only thing that made you enter that space). The first months were awkward, you went but avoided it at the same time. Slowly, it grew on you. Five years of not missing a single Wednesday, even on vacation.

Your grandpa tried once, but it just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to move on or find a meaning for it, he needed to feel his grief as second skin. You needed it to stop suffocating you, to scream and shout about that weight in the hope of someone taking it from your back.

This Wednesday wasn’t any different. You entered the church's back door with some cookies in hand, even if you were well aware that most people couldn’t eat as they exposed their pain, it was more of a sweet gesture than a necessity. The white walls and the cross in front of you completed the scenario.

“Cookies? You never eat anything,” Henry questioned while taking a bite. His dark eyes staring suspiciously at you.

“My grandpa found an old cookie recipe from my mom. How does it taste?” You replied as you watched him bite. You couldn’t bear to try it first, too anxious about it.

“Your mom was definitely a writer, not a chef. Taste like an old sock.” His face contorted as he spat out the cookie. Well, you tried something new.

“Yeah, no wonder I survived out of Lucky Charms and BTLs.” Henry laughed as you let go of your shoulder’s tension a bit.

The grief support group had grown and shrunk over the years. Sometimes people would feel good enough to leave the support, those were the lucky ones: grief was a period of their life, not an everyday thing. In other cases, they would get too depressed and leave before making some actual change in their being. You, unfortunately, were addicted to bond with the pain part of it.

Well, you and them. Henry was the first you met, totally wrecked after losing his little brother, Sam, to leukemia. He almost left college due to the weight of grief but kept it together, you even went to his graduation a few years back. 

Tess came later. First, her kid died and then, in a stroke of bad luck, she found out she had a terminal disease that would, eventually, kill her. She wasn’t there to deal with the death of others, but her own. She was slowly dying and it was scary as shit. Not that you would know it from the outside, she had more strength (both physically and mentally) than most.

Frank was the group leader, conducting the discussion and creating the safe spaces. Everything you had said while hugging him, no matter how bad, never came back to hunt you. Which was odd on its own, but even odder considering his grumpy husband, Bill, was the exact opposite. Everything you did said in Bill’s direction came back to hunt you right after it came out of your mouth.

People come and go, but you stay there. Grabbing your regular place at the circle, putting the name tag on your shirt, and drinking some water just in case you cry. Except today you have someone new seated across you.

His strong nose and patchy beard hint someone you do know. His square jaw tensed up, brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t talk to me, I want to go home” that you could draw with eyes closed. The name tag reads “Joel”. You were right, his eyes are brown.

It feels weird to look at him without a pen and paper in hand, but it feels just right to see his features up close. Tess brings him coffee - black, you noticed - and gives him an eye silently saying “Don’t fuck it up”.

The meeting starts, Frank asks who is there for the first time. Joel and a woman, Hannah, raise their hands.

“It’s tradition to introduce ourselves at our first meeting. You don’t need to tell the details of why you are here or who you are, just simple information that people can distinguish you from the rest of the group.” Frank explains to a tired Joel, who sighs in response while Hannah overshares who she is.

Of course he doesn’t want to be there. Nobody wants to. You wish you could leave every time you cross the door, but know that the moment the meeting starts to develop you will want to continue in that deep state of pouring your heart out.

“I’m Joel, my friend Tess convinced me to come. That’s it.” He simply states, loud and straight. You catch Frank laughing.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to push you a little on it. Why did you accept to come here?” Joel furrows even deeper at the provocation.

“I didn’t. She trapped me.” Tess raises her very blonde eyebrows at him, who snaps. “You did trap me. Call me saying it was an emergency, I go to your house expecting the worst and you lock me inside there until the time to come here after I said I wouldn’t go to a grief support group.”

“See? He is an asshole, he needs this.” She answers Frank, making sure he gets her points. Your mom was right, something had happened to him.

“So, Joel, why are you here still?” Frank subtly asks.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel’s eyes are softer now, getting caught off guard. He doesn’t have any argument for it.

“Yes Joel, why are you still here? I’m not trapping you in this char, nobody is holding you down.” Tess retorts her mouth in his direction, that scoffs and looks around the room. When his eyes look into yours, you smile coyly unable to retain yourself.

“Sir, please continue.” Accepting defeat, Joel crosses his arms around his chest, fully ignoring Tess's triumphant smile.

“You are free to leave at any point, no need to tell us why. But I guarantee that if you stay, you might learn we aren’t that bad.” Frank nods in his direction, gaining a hard sigh. “Let’s start. Before every meeting, we say out loud the names of those who have gone to allow ourselves to think about them without shame, remorse, or guilt. You know the drill, Henry?”

“Sam,” Henry says firmly.

“Abigail,” you speak loudly.

Another silly little gesture, but you do allow yourself to think about her after it. Every single time. It’s almost as if the weight of her, the one that you carry around all day and pretend isn’t there suffocating you, comes to sit by you, not on you. 

“Teresa,” Tess points at her.

“Sarah,” Joel almost murmurs looking at the ground. His hands are fidgeting, his mind in another place. 

You have been there, you know how strange it is to say it for the first time out loud after a while, sounds forbidden and partly awkward. You aren’t supposed to say it to strangers, it’s sacred just for you, and yet, here you are saying it to whoever wants to share this pain with you.

You wonder if Sarah liked lilac flowers.

Some people speak about how they dealt with grief during the week until Frank asks you how the cemetery visit went. The group knows that meeting your grandpa there gives you a chill up the spine.

“I think I forget that he is allowed to grieve as he needs. I know all these little parts of her, how she lived her life. I’m quick to fight because she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m not even sure she would like for me to defend the memory of who she is… Sorry, was. Of who she was.” You swallow dryly, trying to ignore the miswording. “He bought her flowers. She always said that flowers were for the living, not the dead, and yet, he bought her a bouquet. I got frustrated, felt like he was trying to put her in a box of who he wanted her to be.

“He put me in my place quickly, even said fuck.” Henry makes some noise in surprise, you nod agreeing. “Exactly, it dawned on me: the flowers are for him, not for her. Just like his grief and how he needs to express it is only for himself, not for me to judge. I think he misses her more than he tells me. If I could go back in time, I would have implored him to cremate her and stop this nonsense of going to her grave, checking her tombstone, giving her damn flowers.”

“Maybe the flowers are his way of saying out loud that he cares too. She was his daughter before being your mother.” Joel speaks out loud, getting your full attention. His arms are still crossed, but now his eyes are lost in thought, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it.

“Maybe. I just wish he allowed himself to stop pretending she is still here. I want to think of her without feeling guilty that she isn’t. He is too busy missing her to notice that I’m missing him.” You answer locking eyes with Joel, who chews the corners of his mouth, once again deep in thought.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it, need help.” His voice soft, just like his eyes.

“Maybe.” You give in, feeling that Joel isn’t speaking about your grandpa. You swallow as you remember the lilacs.

The meeting runs smoothly. The group finishes by drinking coffee before parting ways. Frank is chatting by the corner with Joel, who is running a hand by the nape of his neck. Curiosity gets the best of you and, before you can stop, you question Tess.

“Who is Sarah?”

“A million-dollar question, huh?” She teases as she sips her sugary coffee. Henry looks between you two, waiting for a response. “You both haven’t heard from me, I’ll deny til death that I’ve ever said it. His daughter, she died a few years back. He hasn’t been the same since. That motherfucker goes to her grave every fucking Wednesday.”

“He visits her every Wednesday?” The number of drawings of Joel walking down your street early in the morning with a lilac bouquet makes more sense. His face, his fast speed, how he ignored everyone that walked by, how he never noticed you at your balcony.

“Yes, she died on a Wednesday, he relives that event every week since.”

Frank walks in your direction, Joel right behind him looking everywhere, except your face. If he only knew how much you have looked at his face before.

“I recall you haven’t been a mentor yet, right?” Frank starts and you nod, curious about where he is going. “Amazing! You’ll have your first newbie. Joel, you’re in good hands.”

He leaves before you can say anything, whether yes or no. Fuck. Joel is confused as well, still looking like he would rather leave. You open your mouth and go grab your phone.

“Sooooo… How was your first meeting?” Flipping through your phone until find your own number isn’t a good move to show that you are smart, trustful and worthy but right now you only want to avoid his brown eyes.

“Pass.” You blink at him. “I won’t keep chit-chatting. Cut to the chase.”

“Oh damn, I thought you had softened a little with time.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes and you smirk at him, reading him like a book. “I’ll give you my number in case you need someone to talk to. And yes, you can call me anytime you want to. And no, I won’t get your number. You come to me or I won’t come to you.”

That entertains him a little. It was the first rule of your mentor, she made sure you would look for her and not the other way so you could understand when and what triggered you. Joel just nods as he saves your contact.

“When did you first contact your mentor?” He questions, sounding genuine in his curiosity.

“Diet Coke, couldn’t drink.” The furrowed brows are back, so you continue. “My mom would mostly only drink Diet Coke, after she passed away I would buy canes just to open and hear the sizzling. Couldn’t drink otherwise would vomit from stress. It was really hot and I craved one, made that call and drank it.”

“And you drank the whole thing?” His soft eyes are back and you feel a little foolish for thinking that he could have green eyes, not when the dark brown suits him so much.

“Yes and vomited right away. Still, it was worth the shot.” You smile and for a fraction of time, he smiles too.

He doesn’t call right after and neither shows up at the grief support group. You still draw him, but from memory, the last time you watched as he strolled your street it was three months ago. Something about his grief seems too personal and you feel awkward invading that space, instead, every Wednesday at 8 am you find another thing to do. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, ignoring his handsome profile and the lilacs on his hands, but you allow his privacy. 

The only reminder of your favorite habit is the sketchbook at the table and the fresh lilacs decorating your balcony.

Time goes by slowly and too fast, the weight of your mom still at your back as the life surrounding you goes on its course. You almost forget about him until a Wednesday morning, 8 am sharp, your phone chimes and you pick up at the first beep.

“I can’t eat pancakes. I hate pancakes, but she loved it.” He softly says and you stop everything to listen.

“You made from scratch or store-bought?” You phrased it like it is an important question. He hums back on the phone.

“Store-bought, don’t know how to make the batch. She straight up bought only the mix.”

“Would you eat with her, despite not liking it?” Your hand slides the paper, creating his silhouette line after line.

“Yes.” He simply answered, as if it was the most common question in the world.

“What are you waiting for? Take a bite.” 

And he does. The chewing sound from the other side fills the phone, your hand keeps drawing him in his overgrown hair, almost as if you could see the scene right before your eyes.

“So, was it worthed?” You ask looking at the draw as he finishes his plate.

“Still taste disgusting.” He soft replies after a second, you snort and he laughs. The sound is the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard. next chapter

#joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #wednesday series

[burntheedges]

Maintenance Request Chapter 18

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.3k

chapter summary: Back to work (and all the promises you and Joel made on that phone call).

a/n: thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕 posting a bit early today for secret reasons 👀 check back at 11 for more 👀

chapter tags/warnings: flirting, banter, fluff, cursing, food and drink mention, pet names (honey, gorgeous, darlin’, baby, sweetheart, good girl, handsome, cowboy), reader can wink (author cannot lmao), semi-public sex, kissing, oral (m!receiving), dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), reader straddles Joel's lap

Chapter 18

Monday, November 4 Eleventh week of the semester

On Monday, you were almost vibrating on your way into work.

You’d talked to Joel again on Sunday, but all that had done was get you keyed up for your impending reunion. You couldn’t stop thinking about his promises – his hands, his cock, and everything else – and your office. You knew actually doing anything there was risky, but the idea had consumed you since your call on Saturday night.

As you walked across the quad to your building, your phone vibrated in your pocket, surprising you.

Joel (8:53 AM): See you soon, gorgeous.

You smiled. You were pretty sure he was in the same boat as you, drowning in anticipation.

you (8:54 AM): can’t wait 💕

Perhaps as a favor to you, the morning actually flew by. Before you knew it you were pacing awkwardly in front of your desk again as you waited for Joel to knock on your door.

You couldn’t get your mind off the images he’d put there, wondering if you would rush to come together as soon as the door opened, or actually manage to eat lunch first. 

And then he knocked.

At your call to come in, Joel stepped into your office and then froze. For a moment the two of you only stared at each other. He looked good. Rather than the typical flannel, he was wearing a navy blue button up that made his shoulders look even broader than normal. Your eyes traced them, lingering, before darting back up to meet his gaze.

You managed a strangled, “hi,” and it seemed to kickstart Joel into action. He took a swift step inside before turning and locking the door behind him. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” his voice rumbled out of him, register low and smooth, as he turned back to face you. His whole body looked tense.

You were both still, staring at each other, and then very suddenly, you weren’t.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from Joel’s lips like prayer. He took two large steps towards you and before you knew it you were in his arms, pressed back against your desk. “I missed you so goddamn much, honey.” His arms had snaked around your back and tightened, pulling you in close to his chest. You buried your fingers in his hair as he gently pressed his forehead against yours. Drawing in a deep breath, you replied, “missed you too, Joel.” 

“Been thinkin’ about this since Friday, honey.” And with no further prompting, Joel leaned to press his lips to yours. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the night before, you’d wondered if you should be worried how much you craved this. Craved his lips against your own, his arms around your body, the tease of his tongue against your bottom lip. 

Feeling it all again, you decided you’d be a fool not to crave it.

You opened your mouth to his kiss and together you skipped right over slow and gentle. It was hot and intense and everything you’d wanted for days.

“Joel–” you moaned, and he shushed you as he pressed kisses down your neck. “Shhh, honey, let me take care of you.” That sounded heavenly, but it also reminded you of exactly how you wanted this to go. You shook your head slowly to clear it as he worried a new mark at your collarbone, replacing the ones that had faded.

“That’s not what–” you sighed. “You know what I want, Joel.”

To your absolute delight, you felt him shiver in response. He dropped his forehead to rest against your shoulder. “Yeah?” You could hear how much he liked the idea.

“Yes, Joel. Sit down.” He shivered again and you smiled, nudging him gently backwards until he fell into one of the armchairs in front of your desk.

He looked up at you with dark eyes. You took a step forward and, eyes locked on his, sank slowly to your knees. He swallowed, hard.

“Been thinking about this,” you murmured, reaching forward to undo the button of his jeans. His hands came to rest on the arms of the chair and he dug his fingers in until the tips turned white. 

“Darlin’, you got no idea how much I’ve been thinkin’ about this,” he replied, lifting his hips to give you room to pull down his jeans. You could see his hard cock straining against the front of his briefs.

You licked your bottom lip as you looked at it, and you heard Joel’s breath catch. You grinned.

“Can I kiss you, handsome?” you winked at him as you called back your first night together, and he laughed, breathless. 

“Honey, you can kiss me wherever you’d like. Consider it an open invitation.” He picked up his right hand and gently, so gently it made your breath catch, trailed his fingertips across your cheek. You turned to press a kiss to them and he grinned. “Just like that.”

You laughed and kissed his fingers again. He moved his hand back to cup the back of your neck and tug you forward, and you grinned as you allowed it.

“Eager, hmm?” You teased him as you slid your hands up his thighs, reveling in the muscle you could feel flexing under your fingertips. You moved forwards until you were right between his thighs, hands resting on his briefs. You looked up to meet his eyes before leaning forward to press a soft kiss against his cock, still covered and bulging under black fabric. You watched as his eyelids fluttered but didn’t close.

“Fuck, honey, ‘course I am,” he groaned. You grinned and tucked your fingers under the waistband of his briefs, lifting them over the head of his cock. As soon as you revealed it, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to the head, already red and swollen. You let your tongue slip out to press against the tip where a tiny bead of precome was waiting for you. Joel groaned out your name.

“Please, baby, just like that. Let me see that pretty mouth on my cock.” He sucked in a breath as you tugged his briefs down, letting his cock spring free. “Been dreamin’ about your mouth, ever since you told me you wanted this.”

With his left hand Joel tugged up the hem of his shirt, giving you plenty of room to work. You placed your own left hand on his hip and used your right to grip the base of his cock, bringing the head up to your lips. You locked eyes with him as you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue.

“Look at you,” he sounded breathless. “That’s my good girl. Let me see my cock on your tongue, baby.”

You pulled on his cock with your right hand, gliding your fist upwards as you let the head come to rest on your tongue. The salty, smooth taste of him almost made you moan. For a moment you stayed there, eyes locked on Joel’s as he stared back at you. And then you smirked, as much as you could like that, and you watched Joel’s eyes roll backwards as you closed your mouth around the head of his cock.

The taste of him and the stretch of your mouth around him were delicious. Your own eyes fell closed as you took him deeper into your mouth. You teased along the bottom of his cock with your tongue, wetting his soft skin, and you felt his grip tighten on the back of your neck in response.

“Fuck, baby, you–” he trailed off on a sigh as you started to move your hand, working in the same rhythm as your mouth. You hummed, loving the effect you were having on this man who could so easily reduce you to a quivering mess with just his voice. You felt more than heard him take a deep breath. “Look at you, honey.” His voice was deeper, rougher than you’d ever heard it. You felt its effect starting to pool in your underwear. You looked up as you moved your mouth down, deeper this time, teasing the head of his cock towards the back of your throat. Joel’s mouth was hanging open and he was panting as he watched you. The hand not wrapped around your neck was grasping at the arm of his chair.

As you slid the head of his cock out of your mouth, you flattened your tongue along the underside and made a show of the tip resting there before taking him in again.

Joel grunted as his hips thrust forward. “Shit, sorry, honey–” You cut him off with a firm grip to his hip. He blinked at you as you tugged his hip. “No, baby, I’m too big, I–”

You sucked in a breath as you pulled off of his cock. “I want you to, Joel. I can do it.”

He slowly let go of the arm of the chair and moved his hand to grip your chin. He rubbed his thumb along your bottom lip before using his grip to pull your mouth open. He grinned, slow and wicked, and stood slowly from the chair. You rose up on your knees to follow him.

“‘Course you can. You are my good girl, right?” You nodded, mouth open in his hand. “Well, I did tell you, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

As the words left his mouth he thrusted his hips forward, guiding his cock into your open mouth. You let your jaw relax and welcomed him in.

Soon you found your rhythm again, letting his cock slide in and out of your mouth on his shallow thrusts, your hand joining in and squeezing him at the root. You moaned and you felt Joel shudder in response. Every stroke sent spikes of sensation into your core, shooting down your spine. 

“Knew you could take it like this, honey.” Joel thrust just a little bit deeper on his next stroke and you both moaned. “Can’t believe this pretty little mouth is all mine. So perfect for me, just perfect on my cock, baby.” 

You tightened your grip around his cock and felt him suck in a breath in response. “Shit,” he breathed, eyes wide. “Fuck, that’s so fuckin’ good.” You rubbed your thighs together, loving how obviously affected he was by what you were doing. As you moved your mouth over him again, you sucked lightly and almost smiled, as much as you could, at the moan he gave you in response. 

Joel smoothed his thumb gently under your eye, prompting you to look up and meet his gaze. He held your gaze with his own as he moaned on his next thrust. You realized you’d let your hand fall slack, and you tightened it again, moving it in time with your tongue and his thrusts. His hips stuttered in response.

“Fuck, honey, I’m close. Where do you– where should I–” You closed your grip on his hip again and tugged him forwards. “Inside?” You hummed, closing your eyes, and he groaned. 

His hips somehow thrust even faster, and you tried to keep up with your hand and your tongue and your mouth. When you heard him start to say your name, you pushed against his grip and took him even deeper, letting the tip of his cock kiss the back of your throat. You hollowed your mouth around him and sucked.

Joel came, hard.

“Fuck, fuck. That’s– fuck.” You felt him come down the back of your throat and you swallowed, just in time. His body curled over you and you felt him brace himself against the edge of the desk behind you with his free hand. After a moment he used his grip on your neck to ease you backwards and you realized your own chest was heaving. Your eyes fluttered open and you met his gaze – he looked wrecked, and you were sure you did, too.

After a moment of simply gazing at each other Joel tugged you forward again, sinking back into the chair and guiding you to follow. Fighting against your loose limbs, you moved where he pulled you, settling into his lap. Joel immediately let his forehead drop to rest against your chest, pressing a gentle kiss to your shirt. You smiled. 

On his next exhale, he murmured, “that was so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Fuck.” You grinned. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Fuck. Your fuckin’ mouth.” He sounded awestruck, and it made you laugh, a little stunned. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed, moving his hand around to cup you. “Don’t think I forgot about you, though.”

“Joel–”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, now.” With no hesitation, Joel slipped his fingers into your pants, seeking your core. As his fingertips brushed against your slit he chuckled.

“You are soaked, honey. S’this all for me?” You nodded, hiding your face in his neck. “No, no hidin’, baby.” He gently pushed you backwards with his left hand until he could catch your gaze. You felt your cheeks burning. “No reason to hide. Ain’t nothin’ better than knowin’ this pussy is wet for me.” You whined in response, and he grinned. “That’s right, honey. It is all for me.”

Joel pulled you into a searing kiss as two of his fingers slipped inside of you, surprising you into a moan. He swallowed it down and curled his fingers on the next thrust. As his fingers found their rhythm inside of you, his tongue danced along your bottom lip and you opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss.

You started to thrust your hips forward, and Joel responded by tucking his thumb up against your clit, gently moving in circles around it in time with your hips. 

Your next inhale sounded like a sob.

Joel broke away and soothed you with his free hand, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Shhh, honey, let me help you,” he murmured, pressing kisses down your neck. “That’s my good girl, right? Letting me take care of you.”

“So fucking good, Joel,” you managed to sigh out, and you felt him smile against your neck. 

“That’s what we are together, baby. So fucking good.” You smiled and nodded.

You felt your orgasm starting to draw down your spine. You swayed a little in his lap and he steadied you with an arm around your waist. 

“Let me see it, gorgeous,” he sucked a mark onto your shoulder, just to the side of your neck. “Let me see how you come. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, honey, let me see it again. So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, baby.” Joel bit down on your neck, and you felt the wave come rushing back towards you, cresting up your spine and whiting out everything around you.

You might have moaned his name as you came, but you couldn’t be sure. You must have said something because you came back to yourself and realized his hand was clamped over your mouth. You blinked. 

“You got a little loud there at the end, sweetheart.” You could hear his smile in his voice. You blinked again and realized you were still in your fucking office.

He must have felt you stiffen at the realization because he pulled back to look at you and grinned. “Yeah, honey, still here.” You shook your head and groaned.

You sank down against him and he pulled you into his arms in a tight embrace. You both just breathed each other in, resting against each other as you came down. 

“Can’t believe I forgot where we were,” you whispered, and he chuckled. 

“S’alright, honey, I almost did, too. Was pretty close to forgetting my own name when your mouth was on my cock.”

You pressed a kiss to his neck and smiled. “I know we can’t do this everyday, Joel, but damn.”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’d definitely get sloppy and get caught, probably.”

You snorted, and managed, “already pretty sloppy over here, cowboy.” He huffed a laugh and squeezed one of your ass cheeks in his palm. 

“That’s the way I like it.”

You nuzzled your nose into his neck, and let yourself relax into his embrace. For a moment, neither of you moved, but you could almost feel Joel thinking hard about something. You nudged him gently, encouraging him. 

“Sarah told me I couldn’t stop talking about you and it was embarrassin’, this weekend.” You blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “I didn’t tell her that if it were my choice, I’d have talked about you even more. I was tonin’ it down.”

You laughed. “You have that much to say about me, hmm?” 

He tilted his head down and nudged his forehead against yours. “Course I do, sweetheart.” He paused, but it didn’t seem like he was finished.

“What?” He sighed. “Joel, what is it?”

A knock at the door interrupted and startled you both. You shoved yourself to a standing position and quickly pulled your clothes into position, smoothing them into place. You eyed Joel to make sure he was decent. He nodded, but reached out to fiddle with your collar for a moment before sitting in one of the chairs in front of your desk. You took a deep breath before opening the door.

To your displeasure, Trevor was standing on the other side.

“Oh, hi Trevor,” you could hear the irritation in your voice and tried to tamp it down. “What did you need?”

He eyed you, and then looked past you. The sight of Joel apparently surprised him because his eyebrows rose and he took a step back. Then his face twisted into his familiar scowl.

“Another maintenance request? What have you been doing to your office?”

You sighed and tried not to roll your eyes. “We’re just having lunch, Trevor. If you don't need anything I’ll see you at the meeting in a few minutes.”

For a moment he didn’t move, gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Joel. 

“Er, no. Not as such. I’ll see you there. Don’t be late.” As always his tone grated against your nerves, and after you’d closed the door again you locked it and gave in to the desire to roll your eyes.

You turned around to find Joel grinning at you.

“What?” You studied him, confused.

“Sarah told me about your nickname for him.” You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again and you sighed. 

“Sorry, I–”

“No, darlin’, I like it. It was funny. You can’t do worse than Tommy with the swearin’, anyway, and besides,” he shrugged. “He really is a prick.”

You laughed and shook your head. You stepped closer to Joel again and rested your hands on his shoulders as his own came to grasp your hips. 

“What did you want to tell me?” you asked, recalling his hesitation from a moment before. 

Joel cleared his throat, looking up at you. “Um, right. I know we haven’t talked about it yet, but I have to tell you – this weekend, when my family asked about you. I called you my girlfriend without thinking about it. Is that– um, is that alright?”

You grinned at him. “Joel, that is more than alright.” You leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before pulling away to catch his eye again. 

“As long as I can call you my boyfriend.” Joel grinned so wide you watched the crinkles form and deepen in the corners of his eyes. 

“Well I do like the sound of that, sweetheart,” he murmured as he pulled you down for another kiss. 

…

you (5:32 PM): so uh (5:33 PM): you know how I said I wouldn’t have sex in my office

bestie (5:34 PM): no FUCKING way (5:35 PM): I am calling you in 30 seconds and if you don’t answer I am driving to your apartment (5:35 PM): !!!

you (5:36 PM): 🙄

...

a/n: it's official! and so is the office sex. lmao see you next Friday!

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#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fic #x reader #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM

[chrollosbm]

Sunflower Fields: a Choso Love Story Chapter Four

You're broken from a past relationship, thinking you only deserve the worst. Choso comes along, making you realize you deserve the world and more. Will your ex-boyfriend let you go without a fight? (Choso x black!reader, yandere Choso)

art cr: einruji__ on x

previous chapters

pls support me on ao3, it would mean the world to me

You only heard from Choso twice since you bumped into him at the cafe. Once last night to confirm your date, and once a few hours ago to get your address. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were incredibly excited to go on this date. Not just because you had never been to a carnival before, but also because you were going on with Choso. The mysterious, sexy, and as you just found out, bossy man from the club. There was something about him that intrigued you, and it wasn’t just the way he looked. The way he carried himself in such high regard, his cockiness, and his dominating aura were all just so sexy. You weren’t the type to ever listen to anyone, let alone a man, but if his commanding spirit wanted to control you, you would have zero problems with it. You felt possessed, as if someone different had come into your body and was making you want to obey this man. 

Ever since his surprise appearance at your favorite coffee shop, you had been thinking about how bad you felt for basically ghosting Choso. You didn’t go out of your way to contact him after that night at the club, too focused on healing your heartbreak to care. It sounds bad, but it was the truth. You spent about another week, sulking, crying, screaming even. At some point during that week while you were waiting on a text from Suguru that never came, you mustered the courage to block his number and all of his social media. Tears dropped onto your phone nonstop as you did so, but you did it. You also promised yourself you wouldn’t reach out to him this time, knowing that no good would come from it and so far, you were keeping your promise.

You were so damn proud of yourself. 

The next couple weeks you were flipping from crying yourself to sleep every night and having extreme anger outbursts. Said outbursts included screaming yourself raw into a pillow, burning photos of you and Suguru, and calling Andrea on a rampage (in which she spent thirty minutes trying to calm you down.) You were doing this healing thing pretty well, and although a few weeks before the thought of even speaking to a man repulsed you, Choso was slowly becoming the only exception to that rule. 

It was currently six pm and you decided it was time to get ready. You had gotten back home from work about thirty minutes ago and were too excited to just sit still and wait for eight o'clock to come, so you decided to give yourself some extra time to get ready for your date with Choso.

After a quick shower that involved exfoliating and shaving everywhere (it was only the first date, but you never know,) you moisturized your body, and put on a silk robe to get ready. It was kind of chilly tonight, so you could wear a little more face makeup today. You didn’t go too heavy, but it looked like you actually tried. Your hair was still in knotless braids, which you decided to keep down, letting it cascade down your back.

For your outfit, you were having trouble deciding between your abundance of sweaters and sweatshirts, but you ended up choosing a slightly oversized maroon sweater that complimented your skintone the best. You paired it with bootcut dark wash jeans, then decided to finish the outfit off with a pair of black Doc Martens. You put on a small gold necklace and gold hoop earrings to match.  

You gave yourself one final satisfied look in the mirror when you heard a knock on your front door. You checked the time and saw that it was 8 pm on the dot. Well, he’s very punctual, it seems.

You walked down the stairs, shoes in hand, trying to calm your breathing and the rapid beat of your heart. You were starting to feel guilty with how thrilled you were to go on a date with another man so soon. You felt ashamed considering it took you only just about a month to feel comfortable enough to start seeing someone again. Then again, your ex was seeing other people almost the entirety of your relationship, so there was nothing to be ashamed of, right? 

You opened the door and were very pleased at the sight. Choso was standing on your doorstep with yellow sunflowers in his hands, and a small smile playing on his lips, his birthmark dancing with the subtle movements of his face. You took in his appearance and sucked in a breath, astonished at the sight before you. He had on an oversized black sweatshirt, dark wash jeans, and black Doc Martens to match yours. His hair was in his signature buns, this time a little neater though, his small bangs still on display. There was a silver chain that was barely visible underneath his sweatshirt, and he was wearing an expensive watch with his usual diamond earrings in his ears. His dark eyes were on you, waiting, so dark that they were almost haunting.

He was fucking beautiful. 

“You got me flowers.” You finally let out, surprise in your voice. It was rare that you ever received flowers, let alone bought them for yourself. You liked them, but nobody nor yourself had ever gotten them in the past, considering you’d dated pretty shitty guys and you never went out of your way to get yourself any. The thought just never crossed your mind.

The smile remained on his face as he responded. “I got you flowers.” He stated back at you in confirmation. “And in your favorite color.” His eyes had a mischievous glint in them and you rolled your eyes.

“I guess you figured it out.” You grabbed the flowers from his hands gratefully, and stepped to the side, gesturing for him to come inside. He stepped inside with your permission and began to look around your apartment, an unreadable look in his eyes. You gave the flowers a small smell and smiled, looking back up at him.

“They’re beautiful, Choso. Thank you.” You said genuinely. They truly were beautiful, they seemed like they just bloomed today, so fragrant and delicate. “I’m going to put these in a vase really quick, then we can go, okay?” You asked and he gave you a small nod, still looking around in your apartment, making you nervous.

You hadn’t had many people inside your place: only Andrea, Suguru, and your siblings. It made you anxious knowing he was now in your personal space, getting a glimpse at who you really were. Your apartment was nothing crazy, small and cozy, consisting only of one bedroom and bathroom, a living room, and a tiny kitchen. The walls were a plain cream color, but it was decorated with photos of your friends and family (which consisted of only you and your sisters,) yellow paintings you had bought at a few local markets (a few which were actually sunflowers, weirdly enough,) and random trinkets you had gotten from traveling. Your place was clean and smelled like your favorite scented candle, so you weren't afraid he would think you lived in a pig’s sty, but it was still nerve-wracking to have his presence in your apartment. 

You quickly walked into your kitchen and scrambled to find a vase that you knew had to be in one of your kitchen cabinets, somewhere. When you finally found one, you placed the flowers in, and filled it with water with a nervous tap of your foot, Choso’s silence in the other room making you want to leave your apartment as soon as possible. You had nothing to hide, but who knows? You could’ve left a vibrator sitting out on your living room table and he could be sat there in horror, ready to run for the hills (doubtful, but your mind was convincing you of every worst case scenario.) 

The vase that seemed to be taking ages to fill with water finally reached the top and you walked to the living room with vigor to find Choso staring at the collage of photos you had on one of your walls. You mentally sighed in relief and placed the flowers down on the wooden end table next to your couch (with no vibrator in sight.) You stepped next to him and noticed him staring at the photo of you and your sisters a few years back, standing in front of the three of yours first home together. Your older sister had the keys to said home in her hand, as young as eighteen years old, with a huge smile on her face. Your younger sister was grinning just as wide and clinging onto an obviously annoyed you in the photo, with a scowl on your face. The picture showcased your differing personalities almost perfectly and it was your favorite photo of the three of you together.

“Are these your siblings?” He asked, still looking at the photos. He was pointing to said photo. “You guys look alike.” 

You and your siblings were put into foster care when you were only fourteen years old, with your sisters being twelve and sixteen. You were all dealt a horrible hand in life, with both of your parents being addicts. You and your sisters had been basically fending for yourselves for years, going to food banks to get food, and sometimes having to shoplift for basic necessities. Everything hit a turning point when a neighbor called Child Protective Services on your parents, realizing you and your younger sister had been home alone almost everyday for a month while your older sister was out, working shitty part time jobs, on top of going to school, to provide groceries for her younger siblings. Your parents went on long drug benders often, not caring even a little if their children had food, water, or even electricity. When you were put into foster care, you all remained there for two years, with your older sister gaining sole custody of you and your younger sister quickly, due to her hard work. She ran her own traveling hair business and continued working her part time jobs from the moment you were all put into foster care, knowing she had to provide for herself and two younger children.

Her hair business grew with the help of social media, and the day she turned eighteen, she had enough funds to apply for places to live, all while filing for custody at the same time. Everything seemed to fall into place soon after that, with the three of you being able to have your own space, shortly after she was approved. It was a great change, since you all had been moving from one foster home to the other, way too often. Thankfully, you were all able to stay together in said foster homes, as the three of you fought to stay together each time. 

Because your sister’s hair business grew, she was soon able to get her own shop. This also meant longer hours and more clients. A result of that meant you had to take care of your younger sister by yourself most of the time. She was old enough at the time to know how to take care of her basic needs, being fourteen years old, but you still had to be there to make her meals, help her with her homework, and drive her places she needed to be. This, sadly, prevented you from having a normal teenage life (if that were even possible, given the start.) It was okay though, all you wanted to do was make sure your younger sister was provided with a better childhood than when the three of you were living with two addicts who sadly succumbed to the life of hard narcotics. Your parents never tried to find the three of you, at least to your knowledge, and while it did depress you at times, you felt better off without them.

You snapped out of your thoughts and gave him a nod as he turned to look at you. “Yeah, that’s them.” You said softly, barely audible, still thinking about the shitty life you had to live when you were young. “It’s just the three of us. They’re my entire world.” You said, sincerity in your voice. 

You felt him staring a hole into the side of your head and heard him give a small “Hm.” You turned your head to him, eyes connecting with his, a glint of sadness in his eyes, although his face remained straight.

You noticed his change in expression and raised an eyebrow. “Hm,’ what?” You questioned.

“Nothing really.” He tilted his head, another unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m pretty close with my brothers, as well.” His lips twitched, a smile almost forming, dark orbs still having a tint of gloom in them.

“Really?” You asked, surprised. You weren’t sure why, but he didn’t seem to be the family oriented type (then again, you knew close to nothing about him.) “How many do you have?” 

“I’m the oldest of four.” He answered. “It’s just the four of us as well, our parents left us when I was barely eighteen. Pretty much ghosted us.” His smile disappeared and you noticed his face began to harden slightly, his jaw clenching. 

You were shocked. Who would’ve thought the two of you would’ve had that in common?  To you, Choso was the sexy, quiet guy from the club, a mystery waiting to be solved. It felt weird to actually learn things about him, to understand how much depth he actually has. It was a tragedy that the both of you were abandoned by your parents at such a young age, having to fend for yourselves when you were supposed to be having a normal childhood. Choso was the oldest though, and you could only imagine what that must’ve been like for him. You watched your older sister work her ass off to provide for two children, so you can’t imagine what Choso had to do to provide for three.

It was your turn to give Choso a “hm,” as a response, and his face softened as he looked down at you. “You don’t get to ‘hm’ me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” He had a smirk on his face now, and his pools of darkness were staring deeply into your eyes, seeming to hypnotize you to answer him, which you did with no problem. 

You cleared your throat and your eyes remained on his, trying to act unphased by his intimidating presence. “Nothing really.” You mocked his previous answer and he rolled his eyes before you continued with a sad smile. “We just seem to have more in common than I thought.”

His car smelled like him: fresh laundry and a type of men’s cologne that you seemed to not get enough of. His vehicle was extremely clean on the inside, as well as the outside, and you were afraid your shoes would dirty up the carpet covered floor, even though you knew they were clean. It was a newer car, seeming to be extremely high tech and spacious. Before he pulled off, he turned on your seat warmer and had the passenger side of the car’s heat set to the perfect temperature, wanting to make sure you felt toasty before the two of you went on your journey. You didn’t fail to notice this and smiled to yourself, happy at the amount of attentiveness he was showing towards making sure you felt comfortable. 

The car ride to the carnival was filled with a comfortable silence as The Weeknd played in the background, and you were pleasantly surprised by his taste in music. You didn’t think he would have bad taste per say, but it seemed like he took every song from your playlist and decided to play on the ride there. Your music tastes were very similar and you found yourself giving him the occasional, “I love this song!” With a bop of your head, in which he would respond with a lingering look at you, a closed lip smile on his face.

The two of you pulled up to the very busy carnival and managed to find a parking space close to the entrance. You were granted with the sight of flickering lights, the smell of fried food, and the loud sounds of rides, screams of joy, and games. You felt like a kid again, this time being able to experience true childhood. You had to hold in a squeal as you looked out the passenger seat window, the lights reflecting too many different colors in your eyes and felt Choso park the car. 

You turned to him with childish glee in your eyes and a wide grin covering your face. “I’m so excited!” You exclaimed, no longer being able to hold your exhilaration. “I’ve never been to a carnival.” You said, truth in your words. Your parents barely provided funds for food, there was no way they would ever give you any money to have fun. As you got older, the thought of going to a fair never really crossed your mind, and it's not like Suguru was ever interested in activities like this.

Choso’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Never been to the carnival?” He repeated your words as a question and you shook your head, excitement still on your features. He looked at you with sadness covering his face, which he quickly fixed, thinking you wouldn’t notice. “Well, my precious sunflower, I’m gonna make sure you have the time of your life tonight, okay?” He said sweetly, his features softening, an adoring look in his eyes.

Your cheeks warmed and you nodded, unable to form words at his sudden mushiness and the nickname he had just called you. Sunflower? Cute. Different.

You watched as he stepped out of the car and waited for him to open your door patiently, just as he did before the two of you left your apartment. He opened it shortly after and extended his hand to help you get out, in which you obliged. His large and surprisingly soft hand enveloped over your much smaller one, fitting together like a puzzle piece. Before you could think, Choso was walking you towards the fair’s ticket booth, hand still in his. Goosebumps were all over your body at this point, as you prepared to let him lead the night.

Choso paid for a wristband for the two of you to ride unlimited fair rides and play as many games as your heart desired.

As the man at the ticket booth was putting the purple wristband on your arm, Choso let go of your hand and you had to hide your disappointment, not wanting to let go of him just yet.

As he finished, Choso suddenly had a big smile on his face, resembling yours from earlier. It was pretty scary, not because his grin was ugly, but because you had never seen an expression of such joy on his face before. His dark eyes were lit up by the differing colored lights and it looked like fireworks were going off in them. 

“I have to admit…I invited you to the fair for a bit of a selfish reason.” He looked down at you, tilting his head with a look of mischief on his face.

You squinted your eyes at him, trying to understand what he meant. “Huh?” You asked confused.

“I love games. It’s my biggest strength and I wanted to show off for you tonight.” He explained, still smiling and let out a small chuckle, with a shrug. “Now that I know this is your first time at the carnival, I’m going to win every single game here for you tonight.” He promised with a determined look in his eye and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“Choso…” You stared up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “You’re a fucking nerd.” You continued and started laughing the minute his eyes narrowed at you.

He rolled his eyes and waited for you to finish laughing at your own joke. “You say that now…” He folded his arms across his chest, biceps still flexing through his sweatshirt. You didn’t miss said flexing and he gave a small smirk when he noticed you checking him out. “but you’re gonna’ be going home with enough stuffed animals to fill a room tonight. Just watch.” He then placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you to the first game he planned to win, and you tried to not sweat as his warm touch through your sweatshirt was making you hot all over.

So, Choso wasn’t lying. He was winning every single fucking game at the fair. 

It started with the ring toss. Yeah, it was pretty impressive the way he was able to make the first three rings on the same colors with no problem. Your rings landed, but on completely different colors. That scored you a big fat zero and Choso a small teddy bear that you gladly accepted, although you were shocked at how easily he won the game. It was like he didn’t even try.

After that, it was skeeball. You weren’t too bad at this either, but Choso dusted you once again, winning yet another stuffed animal, this time bigger because of his high score. Again, you gladly accepted the prize, but he insisted on carrying it this time. Again, you were surprised at the way he continued to be victorious with no effort at all. You started to wonder if he spent all his free time just playing games all day. Not that that would be bad, it would just be a little astounding. Choso, dark, mysterious, and intimidating, in his house, playing all day. It was funny to imagine.

The two of you played more games, in which you continued to be mediocre at, but he was a pro at them. He was telling the truth about being a professional game player, he was breezing through everything like it was first grade math. 

At some point, the two of you had to place the prizes he won in his car, with him being unable to carry all of them at once, refusing to let you help him even though you practically begged him to let you assist him. You returned to the fair quickly after, Choso obviously excited to continue showing you his skills. He was so fucking adorable. 

 The two of you were currently playing darts and balloons and you were absolutely horrible at this, the darts not even landing on the board. They were somehow downwards sloping to the ground every time and you noticed Choso trying to stifle a snicker. 

“Let’s see you give it a try!” You pretty much shouted at him and folded your arms at him, waiting for him to make his move, with a sarcastic tap of your foot. You knew he would show you out, but you still had some hope he would be horrible at this too.

He laughed at your sore-loser behavior and picked up the three darts. “Watch and learn, pretty girl.” He gave you a smirk, playfulness in his deep voice, which caused you to stick your tongue out at him, playfully, trying to ignore the pitter patter of your heart at the compliment. He then turned his head towards the board, shortly throwing the first dart towards the board.

Pop.

“That’s one.” He said, still staring at the board with complete seriousness on his face, aiming his next dart. Your eyes narrowed, and you waited for him to continue, annoyed at your deduction being incorrect.

Pop.

“Balloon number two.” He was smirking this time and you scoffed at him, unbelievably. Cocky bastard. 

Pop.

“And that’s three…” He dragged out his words and turned towards you slowly, with an “I told you so,” look on his face. You sucked your teeth at his response, eyes still narrowed.

“You cheated!” You accused him and he let out a booming laugh, eyes squinting in the process.

“You can’t cheat at this game!” He exclaimed at you, defending himself while still laughing. “It’s about skill. I did tell you I was damn good.” He was smiling down at you now, cheerfulness in his globes of darkness, as you folded your arms with a playful pout on your face.

“Whatever,” you said to him, faking annoyance. “Aren’t you supposed to let me win, anyways? That’s the chivalrous thing to do!” He gave you an adoring look in response, coming closer to you. Your heart started to boom in your chest, quickly and skipping beats.

“It would be pretty impossible for you to beat me considering you scored absolutely zero points.” His large arms wrapped around your waist and you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest. He was so close to you and he smelled so good, like laundry detergent and that cologne you couldn’t get enough of. You wanted to ask what he used just so you could buy it for yourself and spray it on yourself, wanting to be reminded of Choso.

You scoffed in disbelief, trying to cover up how flustered you actually were. “You are so damn cocky!” You pointed your finger in his chest playfully, looking up at him, neck hurting because of the height difference. 

“I have good reason to be.” He responded, with a twitch of his lip. Your eyes widened at his insinuation and he laughed again. 

“You are so expressive, you know that?” He pulled you closer and tilted his head down at you, his fingers caressing your lower back. “It’s adorable. Adds to your charm.” 

Your cheeks warmed at that. Charm? You weren’t very charming, you were actually a mess. Clumsy, loud, blunt, rude. Not charming. 

“Now, let me help you.” He snapped you out of your thoughts and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he placed his hands on your hips roughly, and turned you so you were facing the darts and balloons stand again. You gasped softly at his grip, somehow feeling crazy turned on by the sensation. Your back was against his hard chest and your ass was touching his groin. You knew your panties were moistening from this simple interaction, and your stomach was in knots as he leaned down to get close to your face from behind.

“It’s all about aim and force.” He said softly, close to your ear, giving you goosebumps and a small shiver. He kept one arm on your waist and grabbed a dart with the other, soon placing it in your hand and enveloping his large one on top of yours. His fingers softly made it so your hand was in a pinching motion and aimed for the target.  “Your aim could be great, but it won’t matter if you’re throwing with no strength. Got it?” He said reassuringly and you simply nodded, unable to speak.

“Alright then.” He said approvingly and you felt him nod curtly, still holding on to you tightly, making you feel both on edge and motivated at the same time. “Now throw it.” he commanded, with a force, and you obeyed him quickly with no questions asked. How could you, with the way you knew he was watching you, intimidation in his aura. You squinted, trying to focus on the target, then threw the dart towards the board with might.

Pop.

You gasped as the dart hit the balloon, popping it forcibly. You clapped your hands in excitement, a huge smile on your face, pride swelling your heart.

His face was still close to yours and you felt his grip on you tighten every so slightly. 

“Good girl.” He said softly, obvious seduction in his voice and your throat hitched at his sudden words of praise. At this point, you knew your underwear was a pool of your arousal. There was something about Choso's approval and praise that made you weak in the knees and you wanted so much more of it. Your heart was fluttering like a butterfly in your chest and you were afraid he could feel it against his chest from behind. 

He gave your waist a small squeeze and the side of your forehead a small kiss before he moved away from you, making you pout. His warm presence was gone too quickly and the side of your forehead was burning, aching for his lips again. You turned your head to him and watched as he gave you a closed lip smile.

“Now, try it yourself.” He nodded at you with great encouragement in his eyes.

Again, like a robot waiting on its command, you followed his instructions with zero questions.

Pop.

Pop.

You were actually jumping for joy now, unable to hide your excitement this time. You turned towards Choso, wanting his stamp of approval again, which he granted you with no problem. “Nice job, gorgeous.” He walked towards you, a smile on his lips and a fond look in his dark orbs. “I knew you could do it.” He finished sincerely. You cheesed back up at him, still giddy and bouncing like a true kid.

You ended up choosing a yellow, medium sized stuffed panda, which you insisted on calling “Choso Junior.” Choso didn’t mind, of course, finding it funny. You kept talking about it like a real human being, referring to it as “he” and “Choso Junior” instead of “it.”

“You wanna know why he’s called Choso Junior?” You looked up at Choso, still smiling as the two of you were currently walking towards a cotton candy stand. You briefly mentioned you hadn’t had cotton candy since you were as young as five, so Choso, of course, dragged you to the nearest food stall that sold said treat. 

“Actually, yes.” He responded, and looked down at you with an eyebrow raised. “I’m all for this being our first child together, but why is it named after me? The bear is your favorite color after all. It should be named after you.” The two of you reached your destination, a small line ahead of you.

You squinted your eyes at him. “First of all, he. Not it.” You commented on his refusal to treat your new son as a human being. He playfully rolled his eyes in response and waited for you to continue. 

“You’re right. He is my favorite color, but he looks more like you.” You explained and the confused look remained on the man before you. “His face is unamused and bored. And look! The dark patches around his eyes indicate how tired looking he is all the time. Just like his daddy.” You tilted your head up at him, a smirk on your face. 

His eyebrows raised at you and he began to laugh softly at your commitment to the bit. “Great observation.” He stated as the line moved forward and placed his hand on your back again, guiding you closer to the front of the line. “I’m not unamused all the time, though. I’m very delighted when I’m around you.” He said it so casually, yet it set you on fire. Every little thing he said was getting a reaction out of you and you couldn’t tell if you hated it or not. It was like he knew exactly what to say, all the time.

The two of you reached the front of the line and he ordered for the both of you, pink for you and blue for him. He led you both to a bench nearby and you set Choso Junior down next to you, propped up, sitting up straight. You noticed the look of amusement Choso gave you and you shot him back a glance of playful annoyance, eyes squinting in the process.

Choso wrapped his free arm around your shoulder as the two of you were eating your cotton candy in silence, people watching. 

You felt on top of the world. You were having the time of your life with Choso. You didn’t know you could have this much fun on a date. You were used to simple dinner daters, which were fine, but it was nice to do an activity with someone for a change. You were also surprised at how much fun Choso actually was. You didn’t think he was boring, but he gave off a vibe that he would be “too cool” to do something as child-like as going to the fair and playing endless games with you. Yeah, he wanted to show off playing said games, but you were also enjoying yourself. On top of it all, he kept his promise to you by winning enough stuffed animals to fill a room. You seriously didn’t know where you were going to put them all.

You suddenly felt his intense gaze on you and your assumption was correct as you looked up at him, being faced with his usual serious expression, this time with a look you couldn’t read in his eyes. He was pale in the  bright moonlight, his clear, flawless skin glowing. The small pieces that fell from his buns were blowing in the light breeze of the wind and his rich, dark brown, almost black eyes were soft on yours. He was so fucking beautiful.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” He stated seriously, emphasis in his words, seeming to read your thoughts. Your cheeks warmed and you gave him a stunned look at his confession. Your cheeks were so hot you felt like they were going to burn off.

Before you could respond, he leaned down and placed his lips on yours, softly and carefully. All the noise of the carnival seemed to fade away slowly, and all you could focus on was Choso’s soft pillows on yours. You were shocked at his sudden kiss, but quickly responded by moving your lips on his full, plush like ones in an unhurried way. You placed a manicured hand on his chest softly, wanting to feel him in some way on your palms. He tasted like mint toothpaste and blue raspberry, the flavor of his cotton candy. His tongue caressed yours softly and the arm that rested behind you was now placed on your lower back, pushing you towards him closer. He pulled his lips away from you shortly after, though, which caused disappointment to cross your features. 

He noticed and gave you a small smile. “I know.” He responded to your dismay, a frustrated look in his eyes as well. “We are in public, though.” He looked around, smugly and you suddenly remembered where you were and you placed your hands on your cheeks to sooth the heat that began to rise again and gave you a loud, exaggerated groan.

He chuckled softly at your reaction and placed his pink, now swollen lips on your forehead, giving it a small smooch. “As much as I want to engulf you whole, it’ll have to wait.” He smirked at you, knowing he was working you up. 

You narrowed your eyes at him and gave him yet another overdramatic groan, covering your entire face this time, making him laugh again.

This was definitely the best date you had ever been on.

Chapter Five is Posted

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[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 25)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris drops the news to his court that he intends to wed you both, and he also has a surprise in store for you

warnings: heavy feyre slander, brief violence, sexual implications towards the end, eris being sexy af

word count: 6.7k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: ok i think this is one of my favourite chapter's i've written haha. enjoy!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24

read on ao3

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You stood nervously beside Eris’s throne, sweating nervously beneath the heavy fabric of your regal dress. The servants had spent two hours getting you ready, leaving no hair out of place as they dressed you in the most elaborate gown you had ever worn. It was a deep red fabric with off-the-shoulder sleeves that accentuated your collarbones. There was a forest-green underskirt that peeled through the bottom of the dress, with carefully embroidered leaves in the same colour wrapping around your hips and waist before descending the front of the gown. Across your neck was a thick golden necklace with a large ruby pendant that glittered in the sunlight creeping through the windows. Your hair was braided just like Nesta’s coronet, with red and orange leaves woven into the strands. A golden circlet rested upon your forehead with a single amber teardrop-shaped gem in the middle.

The servants had informed you that Eris himself had hand picked these items for you, a shy smile on their faces as they delivered the news. It made you happy to see them smile, if only for a second. It was a sign of the shadow of Beron’s cruelty slowly fading away.

Before he departed your room last night, Eris had informed you with a smirk that today and noon he would make the announcement of the engagements. Your heart had fluttered with excitement and nerves, something that had persisted even now. You tried to remain poised, to not let the growing crowd sense your tension. They stood in before you like a pack of wolves, beady eyes glaring up at you, Nesta, and Eris. While you heard no muttering of discontent, their displeasure was coming off in waves.

You knew they wouldn’t be happy about the announcement. Most males were already pissed that Eris was High Lord now – the fact he would not only be taking two wives, who were also married to each other, but would be making them High Ladies would make steam come out of their ears. Eris had set up a ward around the throne dias, just in case.

The towering wall behind the throne that had previously been adorned with paintings and carvings of Beron and his forefathers had been torn down on the first day. Instead of being rebuilt, Eris had opted to leave it open, using a ward to shield the room from the unpleasant aspects of the outside elements, but still managed to let the warm sunlight and fresh autumn breeze into the room. It brightened the once dark space, bringing new life into the court. The sun was warm on your shoulders, glowing in the distance behind you and casting you, Nesta, and Eris in a sheen of golden light. The mountains could be seen in the distance past the large rocky cliff behind where the throne room wall once stood. To the crowd below, the scenery in behind paired with the positioning of the sun made the three of you look like the very essence of autumn.

You snuck a glance at Nesta at the same time she turned her head towards yours. Leaves were braided into her hair as well, an identical circlet framing her forehead. She had been fitted in a dark red gown with sparkle detailing going from the neckline that covered her throat all the way down from where the fitted waist gave way into flowing skirts. The sleeves were billowy, gathered at the wrists and hanging loosely on her arms. You wanted to stare at her all day long, admiring the regal dress on her tall frame. After a subtle wink from Nesta, you forced yourself to stare back at the crowd.

Fae of all ages were gathered in the throne room. Soldiers, courtiers, tradesmen, much to the visible disappointment of the nobles, who seemed disgusted to be in the same room as those they deemed below them. But they did not grumble, lest they meet the wrath of their new High Lord. It broke your heart to see so many females beside their husbands, heads bowed submissively as if they were no more than an accessory. They looked exactly how Lirilla had looked beside Beron – a shell of whatever their former self was.

Eris’s mother was not in the throne room, something which brought a surprising wave of sadness over you. You did not know how much Eris had told his mother about the announcement he was about to make, if anything. But it was safe to assume he wanted to keep her as far away from this assembly as possible, lest outrage break out and put her in harm’s way. 

Once what you assumed to be the last of the crowd had assembled, Eris lifted his chin, letting a wave of power cascade across the room. Instantly, any shuffling or whispering had ceased, and the assembly before you focused their attention on the High Lord. You stared evenly at the crowd, unflinching as several judgemental eyes flickered between you and Nesta. You would not let them see your nervousness.

“I assume you are all wondering why I called you here on such short notice.” Eris’s voice rang out clear and authoritative, echoing in the large chamber of the throne room. “As you all know, my recently departed father wished for myself and the lady Nesta Archeron to be wed. I intend to honour that wish.”

There were a few nods from the crowd, likely Beron’s supporters happy that Eris was fulfilling his father’s wishes for the time being. But there were also looks of disapproval, males casting seething glances at Nesta that made you want to rip their eyes from their sockets. It wasn’t hard to guess from the younger females beside them that they had hoped Eris would be wed to one of their noble daughters, rather than a female from another court.

To his credit, Eris did not even acknowledge them as he continued. “He also wished for the lady (Y/N) to marry my brother Malgorm. Now that he is dead, such a marriage is no longer possible.”

You cringed as several males in the audience perked up, their predatory gazes dragging over towards you as they stared you down hungrily like dogs salivating over a fresh piece of meat. Eris had been right – an unwed female truly did attract the worst males in his court. One male, a shrivelled old noble with a squashed looking face turned and whispered something to the male beside him, presumably his son. They both stared at you with sick glee on their faces as the older male cleared his throat.

But Eris turned sharply towards the noise, cutting the male off before any scheming words could leave his lips. “If you’re about to propose a foolish idea of marrying your wretched son to Lady (Y/N) in my brother’s stead, Lord Cergon, I suggest you hold your tongue before I have it removed.”

The male’s face twisted with rage, and he spoke boldly. “I knew your father since he was a child, boy.” He spat at Eris. “His Grace would have desired this union if his son could not fulfil it.”

Eris smirked, a tendril of angry red flame curling around the male’s throat. His eyes went wide, and he went utterly still as the fire licked his shrivelled skin. “You dare speak on behalf of my father?” Eris’s voice was cold as ice, cutting through the sunlit warmth of the room as the fire slowly cut off the old male’s airway. “You have no authority here, Lord Cergon. The only reason you even hold your title as Lord is because my father wanted you by his side for reasons that escape me. But I am not my father, and I have no use for you anymore. I hereby strip you of your land and titles, and banish you and your son from this court. All of your assets will be reallocated to the Crown to be redistributed as I see fit. If either of you step foot across this border, I will burn you alive.”

“My Lord…” The male sputtered with his choking breath. “You can’t…”

“I can.” Eris said coolly. “And I will. Question me again, call me ‘boy’ again, and you will leave this room without your head. That goes for everyone here. Those who consider themselves loyal only to my father are urged to swear to me your undying fidelity, or you will meet the same fate as Cergon. My two brothers have already done so, and will serve me just as they served our father.”

Eris nodded at two redheads at the front of the crowd. They were unmistakably Vanserras, one with a short cropped haircut and the other with longer wavy hair. They did not sneer or grimace as expected, but instead bowed their heads. You suspected Eris had already exchanged strong words with them to ensure they would not be a threat. 

As a set of guards hauled the sputtering old male and his son away, the crowd shifted nervously. Some of the males that had stared defiantly in protest while others bowed their heads. With a satisfied smirk, Eris leaned back in his throne and continued. “Now that we have established that, let us get back to the initial purpose of this meeting before more of my time is wasted by pathetic squabbling. With the death of my brother, Lady (Y/N) is without a husband. And the only worthy remaining Vanserra male is me.”

You watched as confusion flickered in, the eyes of the crowd stomach churning as you braced yourself for Eris to drop the bomb.

“To remedy the situation, I intend to take Lady (Y/N) as my wife, alongside Lady Nesta. They are also to be wed to each other, a symbol of our strong union. They are to take their rightful places beside me as my equals, my wives, and your High Ladies.”

The room erupted into a plague of angry shouts and protests, primarily from the males but also from a few of the noble females. You stood tall, letting their words and insults bounce off you like flies on the window. Amidst the chaos, you could make out several screams of ‘whore’ and ‘improper’, all directed at you and Nesta. But you did not cower, willing your gaze to that icy steel that Nesta was currently doing and making sure to stare down each and every one who shouted angrily.

You expected Eris to send an angry wave of fire throughout the room, smiting those shouting angrily towards the dias into piles of ash. When he didn’t, you were confused. While you knew Eris wanted to slowly move away from the image he had cultivated over the years as his father’s perfect son, you did not expect him to simply sit there silently, smirking.

Your eyes flickered back towards him slightly, and he simply lifted one finger from the arm of his throne in response.

Just wait. It seemed to say.

So you sucked in a breath, turning your gaze back to the angry crowd, still shouting. And then you heard it. Felt it. Three differing but all low and menacing growls, sending a vibration through your very bones. They were deep and otherworldly, and accompanied by a tremble of the ground and the echo of mighty footsteps. 

The crowd’s angry yelling began to die off at the noise. They, too, seemingly felt the growl vibrating within them as they shuffled uneasily. Unease began to stir in the air and you smiled as the footsteps grew closer. The chandelier in the middle of the throne room swayed, the candles flickering despite the lack of breeze.

From the rocky cliffside, the three dragons appeared. Morgoth’s bulking form crawled menacingly over the rocks towards the open spot in the wall behind the throne dias. Athariel’s silver form slithered beside him, while Zorzimril’s gold scales shone in the sunlight as she mirrored the other beast. Their eyes were glowing, puffs of smoke curling around their lips that were drawn back in fierce snarls. All three dragons stalked closer, their long necks able to wind their way into the throne room as if the wards weren’t even there.

The crowd had stopped shouting entirely, various exclamations of fear replacing the angry protests. They had shuffled backwards, wide eyed as the dragons crept menacingly into the castle. You could hear a few males frantically trying to get to the door, only to be stopped by Eris’s guards.

The room now reeked with fear.

You felt Zorzimril’s hot breath on your back, her soft growling bringing you comfort rather than fear. The golden dragon loomed her head over you protectively, daring someone to come forward and challenge you. Morgoth did the same with Eris, and Athariel with Nesta, each standing protectively over their rider and baring their teeth. You straightened your spine, standing proudly with your dragon at your back, smirking as the crowd stared up in fear.

“What an abhorrent reaction from you all,” Eris finally spoke, his voice echoing with Morgoth’s low rumbling growl. “I must say I am disappointed. But I care not if you all approve. Because the three of us will be wed whether you like it or not, and you will have your High Ladies to answer to. They are powerful, fearless, and unlike me, merciful. Anyone who dares to disrespect this union or anyone in it will be fed to our dragons. This will be your only warning.”

Malgorm roared, the force of it smiting all the candles in the room and causing the crowd to shrink back further, so much so that a few were pressed up against the walls at the back.

“This is madness!” Came an angry shout from the front of the crowd. “Where is your respect for tradition?”

The crowd parted as a red-faced male stormed through. His dark brown hair was braided back tightly, yellow eyes gleaming with hate as he shamelessly challenged the High Lord. He wore elaborate armour – a noble, one whose uniform had clearly never seen battle.

 “Frankly, I have none, Lord Ashworthe.” Eris said dryly. “Things will change greatly around here. I strongly urge anyone clinging on to the old ways to let go of the past and brace themselves for a new future.”

“You will do no such thing.” The male said, fists curled at his sides.

Eris raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “I won’t, will I?” His tone was mocking, causing Lord Ashworthe to seeth even more. “And how do you think you can stop me, exactly? I am your High Lord, Ashworthe. You will do as I command and you will do so without complaint.”

“We will not stand for it.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’? I don’t exactly see your supporters flocking to your side.”

Lord Ashworthe whipped around, noticing that everyone had backed as far away from him as possible. He motioned for some of the males around him to join, but they shook their heads and looked away, causing Eris to chuckle. Furious, the male turned back around and spat at Eris. “It is one thing to marry a female with no ties to this court. To take a second wife who is also without any ties to this land is spitting in the faces of those of us who have been here for generations, offering you potential brides of the noblest of houses. Not to mention the fact that it is a vile insult to let your two brides be wed to each other as well. I will recognize no High Lady in this court.”

Eris did not say anything for a moment. His amber eyes glowed with anger as he sat, utterly still as Lord Ashworthe stared arrogantly up at him. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The High Lord simply waved his hand, and two guards grabbed the male by each arm, dragging up towards the foot of the dias. Lord Ashworthe yelled and writhed in protest, but was no match for the strong guards.

Morgoth’s growl deepened as Eris spoke, feeling his master’s rage. “Yes, Lord Ashworthe, I spit in your face with this action.” He said angrily. “I spit in the face of any male like you who sells his daughters to the pleasure houses because he wants a son. I spit in the face of all you cowards who beat your wives bloody simply because my father and his fathers before him set the precedent that it was ok to do so. I spit in the face of everyone who dares judge me for letting me and my mates’s hearts be free and pursue happiness outside the confines of your prejudices.”

An audible gasp sounded from the crowd at Eris’s reveal. Shocked looks spread between the audience, the word ‘mates’ being murmured like a hushed prayer. 

“Your mates?” Ashworthe gasped, eyes wide and reflecting the surprise of the crowd behind him. “How is that possible…”

“It is.” Eris said coldly. 

The Lord began to tremble. “I apologise, your Grace. If I had known–”

“Save your whinging.” Eris cut him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter if you knew they were my mates. The fact they are going to be my wives and your High Ladies should be enough to keep your mouth shut. And since you can’t even respect that, you serve no purpose being in this court.”

The male blanched. “You’re going to banish me, too? You cannot be serious.”

The smile that spread across Eris’s face was pure cunning as he said evenly, “No, I am not.”

Morgoth snarled, snaking his head further into the chamber and opening his jaw to hiss, revealing more of his razor sharp fangs. You felt Zorzimril’s steady presence behind you, letting out growls every so often at the crowd. The guard threw the snivelling Lord on the steps and backed off, leaving a respectable ten metres between him and the rest of the crowd.

“You cannot execute me!” Ashworthe snarled, despite the tremble in his body as Morgoth loomed over him. “I have served this court for 500 years. If you’re going to throw that away for the sake of your whores, then you are not worthy of the crown you wear.”

Eris fumed, his fingers gripping the throne’s arms so hard you thought they may shatter beneath his grip. A flaming gag appeared around Ashworthe’s face, and he screamed as the fire burned his skin. “You will never speak about my mates in such a tone ever again.” He snarled viciously, raw anger and possession lacing his voice. “Let this be another lesson to all of you. I meant what I said, that anyone who dares disrespect Nesta or (Y/N) will be fed to our dragons. You are a pathetic waste of life, Lord Ashworthe. And I feel no shame in making an example of you.”

Before the male could even protest, Morgoth let out a mighty roar, drawing his head back and flaring his wings. You watched in shock as flame shot out of the dragons’ mouth, going directly down onto Lord Ashworthe. He screamed as the flames engulfed him, slowly melting him away but not fast enough to grant him a quick death.

The crowd screamed as Morgoth reached down and clamped his jaws around the flaming body, a sick crunching sound echoing throughout the space as he ate the Lord in one bite.

Zorzimril and Athariel let out mighty roars, as if cheering the black dragon on for his display. You glanced at Nesta, who was looking down with satisfaction at the ashy spot where the arrogant lord once stood. You never pegged yourself, or Nesta, for the blood thirsty type, but you’d be lying if you said the male didn’t deserve it. And you couldn’t help how your body warmed at Eris’s protectiveness.

The audience watched in muted horror as Eris patted Morgoth on the neck, murmuring something to him as the dragon retreated to his initial position, looming menacingly over the High Lord and daring others to step forth and become his next meal.

“Master Greywell.” Eris called out casually, as if nothing had happened. A few seconds later, an old male with thick black robes stepped forward on unsteady legs, eyes uncertain. “You are to personally oversee the construction of two additional thrones, right next to this one.” He spoke more gently to the old male. “I trust you will make me proud as you have done so frequently in the past.”

Master Greywell bowed low, letting out a breath. “Of course, your Grace. I will see to it immediately.”

Eris nodded, then turned his attention to the rest of the crowd and stood up. He reached out and grabbed your hand with his right, and Nesta’s with his left. You felt him squeeze gently, a reassuring promise that everything would be ok. Your heart swelled with joy at the simple public display, a gesture that proved Eris was not ashamed of the unique situation. That he would proudly let everyone know exactly who belonged to him, and who he belonged to.

“This assembly has concluded.” Eris spoke firmly at the terrified crowd. “Heed my warnings and proceed with your day. I must prepare for the grandest wedding this court has ever seen. Dismissed.”

The second the last word left his lips, the crowd was rushing to the door, eager to get away from the terrifying High Lord and dragons. Your body was jolted forward as a golden head leaned down to nuzzle you, letting out a low purr. You chuckled, stroking Zorzimril’s soft scales before letting Eris lead you and Nesta down the steps.

“Come.” He said softly. “I have a surprise for both of you.”

 *********************

“Eris, for the last time, just tell us–” Nesta’s protest was cut off as the High Lord dragged the two of you down the hallway in the direction of the private library.

“You’re an incessant female, you know that, right?” Eris snorted, interrupting her. “If I tell you, it ruins the purpose of the surprise.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and huffed, but didn’t pester him again. Eris had refused to tell either of you what the surprise was, shutting you down when you asked for a small hint. But the High Lord bore a look of glee on his face that he was unable to hide, which made you almost nervous. Several people had tried to stop Eris as he hurried you and Nesta through the winding hallways, demanding his attention on one matter or another. But he had brushed them off, to your surprise. Clearly, he was in too much of a hurry to spare his attention to others. You had never seen Eris so giddy.

As you finally came to the arching doors of the library, Eris stopped and faced you and Nesta. “When I open these doors and show you your surprise, don’t worry – you can figure out ways to tell me how I’m the best mate ever later on.” He said, winking playfully.

Nesta crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing. “You know we’ve both been in the library, right?”

Eris smirked. “I know, smartass. The library has little to do with the surprise. I just wanted a quiet place for this, where few could hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight pink blush coming across your cheeks at Eris’s words. He noticed instantly, rolling his eyes. 

“Get your dirty mind out of the gutter, (Y/N).” Eris quipped, putting a hand on the knob of the door. “While I know I could positively rock your world and am dying to do so, I think this is something you’ll appreciate more.”

Before you could come up with a response, Eris turned the handle and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The scent of old books, hot wax, and parchment hit you immediately as the grand library was exposed. Spiralling wooden staircases stretched up and around the mighty shelves, designed to look as if they had carved into the trunks of mighty ancient trees. But it was not the books your eyes landed on, nor the cosy setting of plushy furniture over in the reading nook.

You let out a squeal as your eyes landed on the figures at the table in the centre of the room – two females, one with large wings and one with bright teal eyes. “Gwyn? Emerie?” You exclaimed, frozen in shock. Beside you, Nesta’s hand covered her mouth, which had dropped open in equal surprise. 

It took only a split second for the Valkyrie’s to leap off the table and run towards you and Nesta. Gwyn beelined for you, happy tears lining those bright eyes as she launched herself into your outstretched arms. You began crying as well, clinging onto the slender female as if you couldn’t believe she was really here. Emerie had done the same with Nesta, and the two held each other tightly.

“Oh my god, Gwyn…” You breathed heavily through your tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We missed you too.” Gwyn replied, her soft voice muffled slightly as she had buried her face into your hair. “Gods, it’s been tough without you.”

“You’re here…” You muttered with shock. “You left the House of Wind? And came all this way–”

“It was terrifying, but worth it for you.” Gwyn reassured you. 

You wiped your tears as Gwyn finally let go. “But, how?” You asked.

Emerie had also let go of Nesta, and walked over towards you, wrapping her strong arms around you in a warm embrace. “Eris arranged everything with Azriel, and he brought us here.” She answered. “He wanted to surprise you guys. By the looks on your faces, it seems he succeeded.”

“He sure did.” You laughed. “I was not expecting to see you guys this soon. I mean, I wanted you to come visit, of course. But I figured it’d be a lot to ask, for you guys to come all this way.”

Emerie snorted. “Well, we weren’t exactly dying to stay in the Night Court.”

You and Nesta exchanged a worried glance. “Are things really that bad?” She asked quietly.

Gwyn shifted, the happiness leaving her teal eyes for a flickering moment. You noticed how she no longer wore her priestess robes, but rather an ocean blue dress and a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed sullen at the mention of the Night Court.

Emerie, noticing Gwyn’s change, spoke up instead. “Eris and Az can fill you in later. But we haven’t seen you for months. Let’s have tonight be about us.”

Gwyn perked up and shook her shoulders, as if brushing off the topic. “Yes, we have so much to catch up on.” She shot you and Nesta a playful glare. “You both have a lot of explaining to do.”

You snorted, realising just how much you truly had to fill your friends in on. Nesta nodded in agreement but grinned ear to ear, her happiness radiating throughout your chest as if it were your own. 

“The library is yours until tomorrow at sunrise,” Eris spoke up, stepping forward but maintaining a respectful distance from Gwyn and Emerie. “Nobody else will enter, and I have my most trusted guards at all exits. Nobody will try to come in, but the dragons will also be nearby, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Dragons?” Gwyn squeaked, her eyes like saucers.

“You did say we have a lot of explaining to do.” Nesta muttered, shoulders shaking with effort not to laugh at Gwyn’s expression.

Eris smiled gently. “You will be well protected. Should you need anything, simply knock on the main door and a guard will summon a servant. Azriel and myself will be here at sunrise to take Gwyn and Emerie home, but until then, enjoy your night.”

The High Lord snapped his fingers, and the room suddenly shifted. Four large beds appeared in the corner by the hearth, complete with luxurious duvets and pillows. The table in the centre was filled with mouth watering food – pastries, roasted vegetables, perfectly cooked meats, a variety of wine and juices, everything you could possibly think of. The room lit up with dozens of candles, a soft yellow glow cast over the wood of the library corner. 

“Holy shit.” Emerie muttered, jaw agape at the spread of food on the table.

Eris simply smiled as she immediately headed off towards the table, Gwyn and Nesta following. He turned to go, but you ran after him quickly. “Eris?” You called out.

As the male turned towards you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” You muttered, resting your head against his chest. “I can’t express how much this means to me.”

Eris rubbed your back, holding you closely. “While I know you want nothing to do with the Night Court after everything that happened, I know how much you missed your friends. I knew I wanted you to see them the second things here settled down and it’d be safe enough. I know my court has a lot of progress to make in terms of its treatment of females, but my goal is to make it safe enough that Gwyn and Emerie can live here, if they wish. As can any female in need of safety, just as you wished.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again at Eris’s thoughtfulness. You knew he’d face a ton of resistance changing things, given how archaic the males of Autumn seemed to think. But for you and Nesta, for his mother, for every female who deserved a better life, he would do this. “Thank you.” You muttered quietly, heart bursting.

He planted a kiss on your forehead as you pulled away, stroking your cheek. “You have no reason to thank me. It is the right thing to do. Now go, enjoy your night with your friends.”

Eris lightly smacked your rear as you turned back towards Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta. You yelped, shooting him a playful glare as he exited the library, chuckling. Your face was red as you saw Emerie’s amused expression, and Gwyn’s shocked one. Nesta simply smirked at you, sipping on a goblet of red wine.

“Ok, I really need the full story.” Gwyn said.

 *********************

“Ok, so let me get this straight,” Emerie said through a mouthful of crispy chicken. “(Y/N) is basically some Mother-blessed goddess of life who brought Eris’s mom back from the dead, you each have a dragon to protect your ass, Eris is going to completely remake this court and snuff out the backwards-thinking ways, and the three of you are all mated to each other? Am I missing anything?”

You shrugged, popping another coconut cookie into your mouth and washing it down with a swig of your mimosa. “That about sums it up.”

“That’s insane,” Gwyn commented, swirling her cranberry juice in its goblet. “I’ve literally never heard about a mating bond like this. Or dragons being real.”

“Can we meet the dragons?” Emerie said excitedly, sitting up straight. 

“Not quite yet,” Nesta said. “Maybe next time. I, for one, don’t want to leave this library yet.”

Gwyn mumbled her agreement. The four of you had decided to move most of the food off the table, instead spreading the table cloth across the plushy rug by the warm hearth. The food had been placed atop the cloth in a picnic style as you all laid or sat around it, content to lounge in the warm pyjamas that had been set on each of the beds. Gwyn and Emerie had listened with wide eyes as you and Nesta filled them in on everything, the reality of it settling in like a cold wave. You had been in survival mode for weeks now, not getting a chance to process anything. The more you explained it, the more memories came back. They stifled your throat, closing in on it and slowly suffocating you. Nesta had sent waves of comfort through the bond, putting you at ease.

Luckily, after several drinks those dark memories had long been forgotten hours later. A warm buzz had settled over your body, leaving your lips looser and your mind lighter. Your stomach was about to burst from the amount of food you had ingested, but you couldn’t be happier. Reuniting with your friends was something you had dreamed of for weeks, and you had to pinch yourself to make sure it was real.

“So…High Ladies, then?” Emerie drawled, turning onto her side. 

“I guess so.” Nesta said, shrugging casually. 

Gwyn piped up, “Is that what you want?”

Nesta took another sip of wine. “Yes and no. I’ve never wanted to be a leader or anything, but I’m better suited for this than as a soldier in the Night Court. Besides, at least I will be able to use my position to help others.”

“Unlike your sister.” The Illyrian female said, anger flashing in her deep brown eyes. “She doesn’t do jack shit. She just flaunts her Illyrian wings while we get ours clipped. It’s disgusting.”

You hummed your agreement, adding. “When I’m High Lady, I’m actually going to do shit to change things for females. Unlike Feyre. No offence, Nesta.”

“None taken.” Nesta said dryly. “Trust me, I’m with you on that.”

“Besides,” You continued, your lips letting the words out before your brain could stop to filter them. “Once I’m done changing the backwards shit around here, I’m going to go to the Night Court myself and invite the females who have suffered to come live here and have a better life. The stupid males will lose their minds and start turning on each other. Next thing you know, revolt, uprising, and then boom, Rhysand’s court is just as shattered as mine was when Feyre was done with it. That’s the angle I’m playing.”

When you stopped, the room was quiet. Nesta was buttering a biscuit, unbothered. But Gwyn and Emerie were slack-jawed. You had previously told them that there was more to your plan than just escaping the Night Court, but you had never gone into such detail for them, fearing it was too risky.

“Wait, you’re going to try and rescue the females in the Hewn City and Illyria and bring them here so that the males end up turning on each other?” Gwyn asked.

You nodded.

“Won’t that be considered kidnapping?” Emerie piped up. “Or like, an act of war?”

You scoffed. “I’m not going to force anyone to come. Offering sanctuary is not a crime, neither is protecting those who choose to come with us. Rhys is a shitty High Lord, he has done nothing to help females outside of Velaris because he thinks it can’t be done. That things just are the way they are. Imagine his face when he realises I can do more to help them in the first few years of being High Lady than he can in his centuries of it.”

“Eris is on board.” Nesta added, reassuring Gwyn and Emerie. “He wants this too. And he will make it happen.”

“Damn.” Emerie muttered. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“Can we come live here when everything’s ready?” Gwyn asked tentatively, her voice quieter.

“Of course.” Nesta said, reaching forward and squeezing the priestesses' slender hand. “But it would be a big change. Are you sure you’re ready to leave the library for a whole other court?”

Gwyn nodded fiercely. “After everything that’s happened, my disdain for living under Rhysand’s rule outweighs my desire to stay in the library. Besides, I think starting fresh could be a good thing for me.”

“What about you, Emerie?” You asked, turning towards the Illyrian female.

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. You could tell me to leave Illyria tomorrow and I’d do it in a heartbeat. Just give the word and my bags will be packed.”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your hands. Your voice slurred slightly as you spoke, “I love you guys.”

Gwyn giggled. “We love you too.”

Emerie sat up, swaying slightly. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she asked, “Speaking of love, has either of you jumped in bed with Eris yet?”

Nesta went red instantly, and you hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at Emerie’s bold, and very drunken, question. Gwyn squealed in protest, “Emerie!”

“What?” She asked, shrugging. “They’re mates. Nesta and (Y/N) are hot. Eris is hot. Just fuck already if you haven’t.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink!” Gwyn scolded, reaching forward and grabbing the goblet of booze from Emerie’s hand. Luckily, she didn’t notice, just continued staring at you and Nesta, expecting an answer.

But Emerie continued. “So how’s it going to work? Are you going to take turns and watch each other, or is this going to be an all hands on deck situation?”

You hoped beyond hope your face wasn’t as red as Gwyn’s as you lifted your hands, shooting Emerie a glare. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You said, but it lacked the ferocity you had hoped.

Gwyn smacked Emerie’s arm hard. “That’s inappropriate,” She scolded her friend, still blushing fiercely. “Besides, I don’t think three people at once would even work.”

“Oh, we’ll make it work.” Nesta said quickly and casually. You whipped your head towards her, face heating up even more. But Nesta had paled, eyes widening, clearly not having meant to say that out loud. 

A heartbeat of silence passed, everyone in the room frozen in shock at Nesta’s words. Seconds later, the four of you erupted into laughter. Your body felt weightless as you laughed, your mind beginning to wander as Nesta’s words swam in your brain.

“I cannot believe I just said that.” Nesta muttered with embarrassment, putting her head in her hands.

“Me neither.” Gwyn chuckled, shaking her head.

Emerie’s laugh was booming, echoing across the chasms of the vast library. She clutched her stomach, tears streaming down her face, making the three of you laugh even harder. It felt like hours before the laughing died down, and you all collectively decided it was time to try and get some sleep. Dawn was in a few hours, and the adrenaline of the alcohol had worn off, leaving you exhausted.

Unsurprisingly, Emerie was the first to fall asleep – or pass out, more fittingly. She snored softly, not having even settled under the covers before closing her eyes and letting sleep take over. Gwyn followed shortly, curled up under her blue bedspread. You sighed heavily, staring up at the arching patterns carved into the wood of the library beams.

It was so beautiful. Everything in this court was. And things would be better once you, Nesta, and Eris had made changes to the ways of Autumn to make things safer for females. It was a thought you had clung onto for weeks, a mere memory of a hope moulding into a very possible reality. Maybe that was why you had a mating bond with both Nesta and Eris – because the universe knew the three of you could challenge the archaic ways of the past and lead the court into a better future.

(Y/N)? Nesta’s voice sounded in your head, breaking you from your sleepy thoughts.

Yes? You replied.

I just wanted to say even though I was embarrassed by what I said about making the three of us work, in bed I mean, I did mean it. It was not a joke.

Your cheeks heated up again, and all you could muster was a pathetically curious, oh?

Nesta’s smirk could be felt through the bond. I’ve wanted to take you to bed for so long. And from what I can tell, Eris has, too. I crave you. More than I’ve craved anything or anyone before. Every time I see you I have to fight the urge to drag you to bed and worship every inch of you. 

Your body felt warm, the sheets too hot suddenly. How am I supposed to sleep after hearing this?

She chuckled. I will leave you to fantasise about exactly how Eris and I are going to do to you.

Not fair.

Rest well, my love.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees @daughterofthemoons-stuff @bloodicka

#ialtpwf #eris vanserra x reader #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x reader #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #neris #neris x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x nesta archeron #nesta archeron #nesta archeron smut #pro nesta #pro nesta archeron #nesta archeron fic #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #emerie #emerie acotar #autumn court #anti inner circle #anti feyre archeron #anti rhysand #anti nessian #eris acotar #azriel acotar

[mayajadewrites]

Almost: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Chapter 8: Clean

Chapter Summary: Reader is in the midst of a depression episode, and Levi refuses to be unheard. We get some sweet Levi this chapter, arguably my favorite Levi. Also cleaning Levi makes an appearance because why not!

ao3

The next day, I called in sick to work. And again. And again. 3 times. I've never called out of any job before, but the state of my mental was almost unbearable.

I didn't want to get out of bed, take care of myself, nothing of the sorts. I stayed in my bed, curled up with my favorite blanket watching Grey's Anatomy.

A therapist would probably say I'm going through a depression episode. They would be right.

My thoughts are clouded with negativity around myself that I don't want to burden on anyone else. I have sick time accrued, so why not use it.

Levi caught on to my absence on the 3rd day, since he assumed I just had 2 days off in a row and I was texting him like normal. He's been busy with work, taking on meetings and new projects.

Levi: Brat, why didn't you work today?

I close out the text thread, pushing my phone to the other side of my bed.

Bzzzzzz.

Levi: Ignoring me doesn't work.

Bzzzzzz.

Levi: You've left me no choice. I'll see you soon.

I groan, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the sleep that's still in them. Levi is serious when he says he'll see me, but I still don't want to leave my bed.

About an hour later, I hear someone banging on my door. The sounds are urgent, booming through the building.

I walk to the door, standing on my tip-toes to see who it is. Once I saw the jet black hair, I knew who it was.

I opened the door with my blanket wrapped around me, my eyes open half way.

"What is wrong with you?" Levi gently pushed me inside of the apartment, grabbing my shoulders. "What's going on? Are you sick? Did someone hurt you?"

I shook my head, looking down at my feet.

"I'll fix it. Whatever it is." Levi leaned down to my eyes, rubbing my arms gently.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly okay." I turn around to walk back to my room. Levi takes off his shoes at my door, then follows me.

His face turns sour once he sees the state of my room. "You've been here for days, haven't you."

I nod, burying myself in my sheets. I'm embarrassed to look at Levi. I've always wanted to impress him and here I am showing him who I really am. I'm a mess.

Levi smoothed out the sheet and sat next to me. "Tell me what's wrong."

Finally, I look at Levi and stare into his steel eyes. I could drown in them the way I was looking into them. If I don't tell him what I'm feeling now, he will more than likely never stop asking.

"I'm depressed, Levi." I sigh and sit up on the bed. "I have no motivation to do anything. My head is a bad place to be in right now."

"Tell me what your brain is telling you." Levi had a stern look on his face (no different than usual).

"That I'm not good enough. That no one will ever love me. That-" I pause, looking at him. "That you'll leave me one day because I'm so unloveable and a mess you don't want to clean up."

Levi stared at me for a moment, analyzing my features, taking in my words. I raise my eyebrow and hope that words will come out of his mouth sooner rather than later.

"I'm not leaving you." Levi put his hands on mine, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb. "If you're a mess, then I'm a mess too."

"You don't need to say that, I'm sure there are plenty of other women who are put together that would love to be with you." A tear rolls down my cheek. "Fuck, I hate crying." I wipe the tear from my face. "Especially in front of you."

Levi was silent, caressing my face slowly with his index finger. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed at that moment. No talking, just silent reassurance.

He gently pulled me down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me. His fingers traced shapes on my skin as he left kisses on my head. I began to cry more, simply because I feel so comfortable. I expected Levi to say I'm dramatic, insult me, and leave.

That's what my father did to my mother.

We laid together for a couple of hours just soaking in each other. I occasionally felt Levi's lips on my skin, reminding me he's still there.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up?" Levi suggested as he gently pulled my arm.

"You're gonna help me shower?"

"Only if you want me to."

Well, duh I want you to. What person in their right mind wouldn't want to be naked and soapy with Levi Ackerman?

I grabbed Levi's hand, leading him to my bathroom. I brushed my teeth, making sure I scrubbed every part of my mouth.

Levi stood behind me, observing.

My back is to him as I change, sliding my t-shirt and shorts off my body, revealing my naked body. I looked at Levi's face in the mirror, which looked like he was stunned.

He said nothing though. Soon enough his shirt and pants were off, exposing his chiseled physique.

"Hot or warm?" Levi turned the shower on.

"Hot, please." I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest. Once the water was hot enough, Levi led me into the shower, making sure I was under the water.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back - taking in the hot water. I haven't showered in days so this felt invigorating

As I pull my head back up I notice Levi staring at me with a half smile. He's sudsing up my shampoo, massaging it into my scalp, and making sure it's clean afterward. His black hair stuck to his forehead as he did this, and every move he made had me mesmerized by the way his muscles move.

Levi began washing my body, being careful on my sensitive areas. He never tried anything sexual, he just wanted to take care of me.

I smiled as Levi rubbed the washcloth over my skin, leaning my forehead on his.

"Thank you." I whisper, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Don't thank me. Thank me by trusting me." Levi continued scrubbing, making sure every inch of me was clean.

Once Levi decided I was clean enough, he wrapped my body in a towel and kissed my forehead. "I'm staying here tonight. No if ands or buts, got it?"

I nodded, shuffling through my drawers for clean clothes. Putting on a new sweat set actually helped my mood a bit. I walked out to my living room where Levi was lighting candles while simultaneously cleaning. Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled as I watched him. He didn't seem to notice me since he was so in the zone with cleaning. His bicep twitched as he cleaned, taking off any speck of dust that lived on my furniture.

Was I taking a glimpse at my future? God, I hope so.

#levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi fanfic #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan fanfic #aot #aot x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman attack on titan

[cecilysass]

Shine On (12/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 12: Flesh and Blood

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 8:35 am

Mulder comes back inside shivering violently, his hair flattened like a dog who’s been out in the rain. Scully wraps him in the same quilt she slept under on the couch and pushes a mug of coffee into his hands.

“Where have you been?” she demands, sitting down across from him at the tiny kitchen table. “You don’t even have a coat.”

Mulder still seems to be trying to stop shivering, leaning against the table on his forearms, staring at the coffee cup. Jackson can tell there is something important inside of him, something that needs to get out.

“I was looking for someone,” he says in a tremulous voice, hesitating. “Sort of.”

“Who?” Scully draws back, her eyes shrewd. “Someone outside?”

“Scully,” he says painfully. “Scully, I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure this will be easy.”

“You spoke to Rose,” Jackson interjects, unable to contain himself. “Didn’t you?”

He moves to sit down directly at Mulder’s left elbow. He finds that he wants the man to look at him, to reassure him that he understands why Jackson had to keep secrets. Mulder’s eyes lock on his. “Do you understand who she really is, Jackson?”

“Who?” Scully says sharply. “Rose? Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t shine her,” Jackson replies to Mulder. “But yeah, I do think I know who she is.”

Scully’s frustration is rapidly rising. “Someone you know, Jackson? The person who brought you here? Who are we talking about?”

There’s a rap on the door, loud and urgent, that keeps Jackson from answering her question. All three of them startle.

“Is that her?” Jackson asks Mulder in a small voice.

But he already knows that it isn’t. Mulder’s doing that thing he now associates with his biological father—face completely frozen, mind moving at dizzying speed, trying to calculate and rearrange puzzle pieces rapidly. Scully’s eyes dart anxiously from Jackson’s to Mulder’s, and the three of them sit at the table, paralyzed for a moment.

“I’m going to get up and try to see out the window,” Mulder whispers slowly. “Jackson, do you sense…?”

“No. There’s nothing to sense. Nothing to shine.”

Scully bites her lip hard in response to that. “You still have the stiletto, Mulder?”

He nods and then gives them each a reluctant glance. “I don’t suppose I could convince the two of you to go upstairs and lie low,” he says.

Jackson is surprised when Scully reaches across the table and clasps each of their hands in hers. “No,” she says firmly. “No sending people away. Let’s stay together to do this.”

Just like in The Incredibles, thinks Jackson childishly, pushing down a stab of fear. He watches Mulder nod again before crossing the room to look out the window. Except Scully isn’t Elasti-Girl and Mulder doesn’t have super strength, and Jackson’s own super powers are pretty overrated.

Scully gestures to the center of the room, motioning for him to stay low, and Jackson ducks down, again getting random images of bullets flying in her mind. Her mind also moves very fast, but its movement is different from Mulder’s. She leaps step by step, like hopping from rock to rock across a creek, or swiftly snapping together a model, or constructing a tower lightning quick, whereas Mulder’s goes everywhere at once. Jackson decides her brain’s patterns feel more familiar to him. More similar to his own, or at least how he tries to be.

It’s going to be okay, Jackson tries to reassure himself. These two aren’t superheroes, but they’re smart and brave. And they used to do this kind of thing all the time. They’ll protect me.

Scully has picked up Mulder’s other gun and is crouched near the desk, just a few feet from Jackson, her hands on the gun and her eyes on Mulder.

“Two men on the porch,” Mulder whispers, leaning carefully to see out the front window. “One of them…”

Jackson pushes the words out for Mulder in the same way he did for Rose, concentrating in his mind. You know you don’t need to say things out loud for me to hear.

Mulder’s eyes meet his across the room. A look of understanding. He presses his eyes shut.

Tell Scully they look armed. One of them is a Kurt Crawford. But he looks older than when we knew him.

“They’re armed,” Jackson whispers across the floor to Scully. “Mulder says one of them is a Kurt Crawford, but he looks older?”

He feels something like a cool blast of surprise from her, but she nods to show she’s heard.

“What do you want?” Mulder calls loudly through the door. “Why are you here?”

There’s a knock on the door again, then a pause. “We have no issue with you, Agent Mulder.” The voice through the door is low and unemotional. “Let us inside.”

“Come on now,” Mulder calls back with false jocularity. “You must know I’m not going to do that.”

“We know you have the boy.” There is a pause. Mulder doesn’t flinch in the slightest. “You can’t hide from us indefinitely. We’ll get to him eventually.”

Jackson wraps his arms around himself and hugs himself tightly, trying to hold back a jolt of terror. Mulder’s eyes pop over towards him abruptly. He must have felt Jackson’s fear.

“Why are you doing this?” Mulder asks, still staring at Jackson, and this time his voice sounds more on edge. “Why can’t you leave the boy alone?”

“Let us in, and we can discuss it.”

“Don’t,” hisses Jackson. “Don’t believe him.”

Mulder presses a finger to his lips in warning. Jackson, I would never in a thousand years. You’re okay.

“You, out there,” Mulder calls through the door. “The one who looks like a man we used to call Kurt Crawford. I met a group of hybrids like you years ago. I don’t know if you’re personally one of the men I met or not. They told me they were trying to stop what the Syndicate was doing.”

“We were,” comes the fast response. “That’s right.”

In hazy confusion Jackson sees images from this scene—Mulder and a group of identical blond men in a laboratory, looking at vials, having stiff and formal discussions—but these visuals are sketchy and incomplete. Peering across the room, he realizes why: this imagery is coming from Scully. It’s her impressions of what happened, not a true memory. She must not have actually been there, but she can imagine it. Her face is impassive, stony, but he knows she is afraid, too.

“Back then, you said you were subverting the project to protect your birth mothers,” Mulder continues. “To stop them from suffering.” Now Mulder’s eyes fall on Scully and remain on her as he talks. “So you understand what it is to want to protect your flesh and blood, don’t you? We want to protect the boy in the same way. Can’t you respect that?”

There is another pause. Some murmuring on the porch. Jackson instinctively strains to shine the two men, even knowing rationally it’s impossible.

“We understand your position,” the man’s voice replies. “But we wish you’d rethink it. We have no plans to harm you and Agent Scully. We would prefer not to.”

“Why?” Scully’s voice cuts through the living room now, crisp and angry. “You didn’t seem to mind killing the boy’s parents. You seem to intend to harm him, a child who has done nothing to you. Why turn squeamish with us?”

“You were once our allies in working against the group you call the Syndicate,” the man’s voice replies instantly. “And you and Agent Mulder are also our flesh and blood—or at least some members of our organization feel that way.”

Scully frowns in confusion, and Mulder laughs bitterly. “Then the boy is your flesh and blood, too,” he calls back, his tone sardonic. “You should want to protect him. Maybe you didn’t hear the big news back in 2000. He’s our biological son.”

“He’s more than that,” the man’s voice calls. “He’s a Syndicate project left unresolved.”

Abruptly Mulder slams his hand against the wall, rattling some framed artwork and the panes of the windows, making Jackson jump. “You’re a Syndicate project left unresolved, too,” he shouts back. “For that matter, so am I, and so is Scully. Who are you to decide which projects need to be pruned?”

“He’s dangerous. A potential liability. We regret the need to do it,” the voice calls back, stoic and unruffled.

Jackson feels sick with despair. This isn’t the plot of a movie. These men are ready to murder him, just like they murdered his parents, and for reasons no one can control. There is nothing Mulder can say to convince them.

“Let me make a deal with you,” Mulder says, his voice calming and smoothing out again, his eyes locking back on Scully. “We’re about to be back on the X-files again. We might have … resources or access that could help you or your organization. We could give you that in exchange for leaving Jackson alone. Whatever you need.”

Scully’s face turns pale, and her thoughts leapfrog around anxiously. Dangerous offer. Corrupt. Unethical. Illegal. To Mulder, she nods, her eyes hopeful.

They will do literally anything, Jackson realizes at once. Nothing is off the table. That should be a comforting thought, but it’s somehow scary, too, like they are also out of control.

“Unfortunately you don’t have anything we need,” the voice says in reply. “There is no information you have or could access that we do not already have. We have always known more than you, even back in those days when you were trying to cure your partner’s cancer, Agent Mulder.”

With a boom, the door frame slams with impact, like it is being kicked by someone very, very strong. By someone with super strength, Jackson thinks.

“Scully,” Mulder calls in panic, eyes on the straining door. “You have to get him out of here.”

Bam. The door is kicked again, and the whole side of the house shakes ominously. But the door hasn't broken yet.

“Jackson.” Scully is at his side instantly, grabbing his arm, her fear roaring inside of her like an injured animal. She drags him towards the stairs with one hand, her weapon extended in the other and he scrambles to get his feet underneath him.

“Go, Scully,” barks Mulder. “I’ll cover you.”

Jackson feels Scully pulling him at the same time he picks up scraps of her jittery thoughts and feelings. Won’t be able to cover us. Guns don’t work. He’ll die if he shoots.

With a sickening crash and tinkle of glass, the door explodes open, falling onto the floor of Mulder’s living room. Scully slows for a half second to take it in, and for the first time Jackson can actually see the two men standing in the door frame: an older version of the blond man Scully pictured before, and a younger dark-skinned man in a blue puffer coat. Both hold weapons extended in front of them.

“Stop,” Mulder demands, holding his gun on them. “Stop where you are.”

“It will just make you sick to shoot us,” the older blond man says calmly. “Possibly kill you.” He takes a step towards Jackson, and Scully starts up the stairs.

“Out of the way, Agent Scully,” he instructs loudly, aiming his gun directly at Jackson.

Scully slides her own small frame in front of Jackson. “No,” she says in a low, simple voice.

“I can shoot him through your body,” the man says with a sigh. “I would rather not.”

Mulder quickly steps between the barrel of the gun and Scully, his hands up, gun to the ceiling. “Come on,” he pleads. “Don’t do this. Let’s talk. There’s got to be something we can bargain for.”

The man purses his lips, his shoulders rising and falling. He exchanges a fast glance with the younger man next to him, who nods grimly. And Jackson sees what’s about to happen, even without being able to use his shine.

Mulder and Scully are both so brave, and they will never, ever give up on trying to protect him.

And this man is about to give up on trying not to hurt them. He’ll shoot both of them. Just like he did Jackson’s parents back in Wyoming.

Then he’s going to shoot Jackson anyway.

All that death for no reason.

Jackson knows he can’t keep standing behind Scully, using her as a shield. He’s not a little kid. He’s not William, not that baby she tried to protect all those years ago. He’s Jackson now, and he has to find some way to defend himself.

He tries to clear his head, watching the man’s gun extend. Maybe he can move something in the room to hurt the men, using telekinesis like he could when he was little. He hasn’t been as good at that lately, but he could try. He looks around desperately.

Lightning-fast, he scrambles out from behind Scully, hopping off the stairs onto the floor below. He swings his body around to concentrate all his effort on the coffee pot in the kitchen. It successfully flies through the air, past him, aimed squarely at the man extending the gun.

It doesn’t make it there.

A shot rings out, and the coffee pot instantly drops to the floor, several feet short of hitting the gunman. Did the shot hit the coffee pot? It doesn’t look shattered, only broken in a few pieces.

Jackson looks behind him to try to see what the bullet hit. But there’s no sign of a bullet hitting anywhere, only the kitchen looking just as it did before.

Suddenly he feels something strange, something warm and wet spreading over the front of Mulder’s old shirt.

He looks down to see the bright red of blood at the same time he hears Scully’s screams in his ear.

The next few seconds pass strangely.

Disconnected, but also in a kind of slow motion, like he is underwater.

He staggers to the side, watching in bewilderment as the man with the gun looks at them regretfully and walks out the door, his companion behind him. Mulder and Scully don’t pay attention to them at all.

Then, somehow, the next thing Jackson knows, Mulder’s holding him, lowering him to the ground in front of the couch, his gravelly voice shaky and desperate. “Easy, easy, you’re going to be fine.”

There is fear, fear, dread, guilt firing at him from everywhere. It turns out that’s much worse than bullets, he thinks. None of this is anything like in GTA. He wants to tell this to Mulder and Scully, but when he opens his mouth, it seems to be full of blood. It bubbles from his lips.

In the next moment, Scully is ripping apart his bloodied shirt, her eyes unnaturally bright and wild. Her hands are pressing down on his torso. Her mouth is crying out something that Jackson can no longer hear.

After that, he can no longer focus on one thing at a time. It’s all happening at once. Like Mulder’s brain come to life.

In and out. Slices of heat and cold, light and dark, cacophony and silence.

Mulder’s wearing that old shirt of his, holding a tiny baby in a blanket, leaning over to kiss Scully. Who knew he could be so happy? They're both so happy.

Darkness creeping around the edges more and more. Mulder and Scully’s sobs and cries, audio fading in and fading out. He thinks he sees the two of them clinging to one another, and he thinks: I’d have liked to learn to love them.

But the last thing he feels isn’t love. It’s grief. So, so much grief. Their grief is like a weight. And it pushes him down, down, down.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp #x files revival

[canonicallyobserving911]

Several Sentences Sunday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

Season 7 FANON FanFic: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 27 will be posted soon.

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Currently 26 chapters completed: 1M Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

{Previous snippet}

___________

I'm excited to finish writing Chapter 27 because at the end of Chapter 26, while Buck was sleeping, he made a sound that Eddie hadn't heard before then he immediately sat up in bed and called Eddie's name. He was in a daze when he did and to Eddie, Buck appeared to be still dreaming but since his eyes were open, he started talking to him to get his attention.

They spent the majority of the day before in the hospital after Buck collapsed in Eddie's arms and suffered a bradycardia event of epic proportions. He was unconscious and unresponsive after he received a package that was delivered to the firehouse while they were in Europe. Once he opened it and read the letter, he reached the part where it stated someone died and it reminded him of his own death and it triggered the event.

All three members of the Diaz family are supporting one another as Buck faces the fact that he died last year and as he proceeds to deal with all 7 stages of grief.

___________

Here's an emotionally angsty snippet from Chapter 27 of Buck revealing something to Eddie that he's noticed.

___________

At 8:32AM Eddie enters their home and when he does, he immediately turns around to close the door.  After he locks it, he does an about face but when looks up, he gasps and jumps because Buck’s standing next to the couch waiting for him.

“Amore mio?  What are you doing out of bed?  You’re supposed to be resting.”

Buck walks over, wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulls him close so their chests are pressed against each other’s, then he presses his cheek against his and whispers into his ear, “Come to bed”.

He vigorously shakes his head no because he has a lot to do today including making their breakfast.  “But I have to…”

“Babe?”

He furrows his eyebrows and replies, “Yes my love?”

“I know you haven’t been sleeping and I also know that uh… you’ve been having panic attacks”.

Eddie sighs and looks down because he didn’t know Buck knew that since he thought he was being discreet by leaving their bedroom to panic in peace, if that’s even possible but he’s been stealth about it.

Within seconds, Buck sees the tears start to stream down his face, so he unwraps one of his arms, lifts his hand and uses his thumb to wipe them away.

“Babe, you have to sleep.  You’ve been going nonstop taking care of me and Chris but you need to rest too.  So, while you were gone, I called Carla and asked her to pick Chris up from school because me and you…”  He points his finger back and forth between them. “We’re getting in bed and we’re going to sleep until late this afternoon”.

Eddie falls forward and collapses in his husband’s arms and after he buries his face in between Buck’s neck and shoulder, he breaks.  He’s so tired but he’s also worried that he’ll close his eyes and Buck won’t wake up again.  It’s a vision that won’t stop flashing in front of his mind and every time Buck falls asleep, a crippling panic fills his chest and it makes him think he'll never get to see those baby blue eyes again.

As he holds onto his husband for dear life, he thinks about all the life they still have yet to live and through broken sobs, he whispers, “Bu—ck!”

It's unconscionable for him to even think about living his life without Buck because he’s madly in love with him, Buck’s his amore mio and it took them years to get here but they made it.  They got married in Rome, Italy on December 17th and they spent 15 days in Europe resting and healing.  While they were in San Gimignano, they bid on a house named “New Beginnings” and it’s supposed to represent everything they’re planning to do in the future but now it seems like their future might be taken away before they even have a chance to celebrate their one-month wedding anniversary.

Buck kisses his cheek and continues to comfort him by gently rubbing one of his hands up and down Eddie’s back.

Eddie keeps thinking about the song they danced to the week before they got engaged.  It’s “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith and he keeps hearing the chorus, “Don’t wanna close my eyes, I don’t wanna to fall asleep cause I’d miss you baby and I don’t want to miss a thing!”

He heaves past a sob and admits, “Buck… I—I don’t want to close my eyes because…”

Buck uses his thumb and forefinger to lift Eddie’s chin and when he does, he presses his lips against his.  It’s a soft and sweet kiss that’s filled with promises of forever and after he pulls back, he looks into those honey brown eyes he loves so much and admits, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.  We’re going to die on the same day at the same time 50 or 60 years from now, remember?”

Eddie exhales a shuddering breath because that’s their plan but he’s still scared shitless that his husband will close his eyes and not open them again.  He hiccups on a sob and through heaved and labored breaths he admits, “Buck… I—I know you won’t leave me but I saw you… hanging from the aerial and—and then I—I saw you—when you—were unconscious and un—responsive TWICE…”  He trails off as he exhales a half scream combined with a loud cry.

Will Buck be able to comfort Eddie and convince him to go to bed so he can get some sleep? 🤷🏽‍♀️

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - While Buck, Eddie and Chris spend the first 8 days of their European family adventure in Italy, their primary reason for going will be fulfilled as well as several others they hadn’t considered or anticipated.

Chapter 23 - As the Diaz Family continues their Italian family adventure, they’ll say, “Ciao” or hello and goodbye to a lot of things almost immediately after they become an official and legal family.

Chapter 24 - After Buck, Eddie and Chris arrive in London, England on December 24th; the Diazes immediately start preparing to spend their first family Christmas together. During their stay, each of them will hear a few choice words that will be the life raft to get them home to complete their searches to be seen and to be found.

Chapter 25 - After spending more than two weeks in Europe, Eddie, Buck and Chris are back in Los Angeles and they’re getting ready to attend Maddie and Chimney’s New Year’s Eve party. During the event, they have plans to make two surprise announcements but the question is, who’s really going to be surprised, the Diaz family or their found family at the 118?

Chapter 26 - Buck and Eddie are once again faced with their greatest fear of losing each other but this time it could be permanent and if it is, then they won’t be able to spend the rest of their lives together.

Chapter 27 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-26 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapter 27 will be posted soon.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #buddie fanfic #ao3 fanfic #911 fanfic #911 abc #911 on abc #Fanonwriter2023 on AO3 #Hiatus Reading #Several Sentences Sunday #buddie wip #“I'm still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt: hobby

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 8)

Summary: A rebuke turns into something Rosie had only dared to hope for.

Eight Years Old

Dad and Papa, well, to be fair, mostly Dad, had a stern talk with me in the aftermath of my performance in the school play where I told the tale of The Tipsy Burglar that occurred a half year earlier. I had kept it a secret from them, which I knew was a bit not good, but I thought they’d be pleased that I put Papa in the spotlight of that particular case, even if he was nowhere near London at the time. It turned out they weren’t.

“Your choice of title is…” Papa began.

“Sherlock,” Dad said in a tone that told both Papa and me that this was not the time for humour.

Dad cleared his throat and began his lecture, asking me to keep quiet until he was finished.

“We both appreciate that you love speaking about us and dramatize a little about Papa’s work.”

He sent a warning glare in Papa’s direction when he wanted to protest that it wasn’t just Papa’s work, but Dad’s too, when he wasn’t at his actual job as a doctor.

“What we don’t fancy, is your changed personality of late. You’ve become cocky, using Papa’s fame to your benefit, to become a more interesting person, and that is just not on. You should be proud of who you are. In the long run, you’ll end up with no audience or true friends if you continue down this road. It is you who matter, not who your family is, alright?”

Dad looked pointedly at me to see if I understood what he was trying to convey. I nodded.

“Good. We have a proposition for you. It has come up earlier as well, but back then we thought you were too young for this hobby, or…”

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer, because those last words could only mean one thing.

“You mean martial arts?” I asked hopefully.

A deep chuckle from Papa confirmed my deduction, and I threw myself into Dad’s arms.

“I promise I’ll be good, and I won’t be such a…”

“Alright, best not finish that sentence,” Dad said mock serious.

***

Both my fathers had experience in this area. Sort of, anyway. Papa from fencing, Dad from rugby and the combat training when he was in the army.

I was euphoric by the prospect, but still a bit irked after the rebuke, so when two options were suggested, I obviously chose a third one.

“Taekwondo or kickboxing?” Papa asked expectantly.

“Neither,” I said defiantly, but regretted my tone immediately when Dad spoke my name in thatvoice.

“Watson,” Papa prompted, his tone also a bit harsh.

“Sorry,” I said. “Jiu jitsu. Please, let me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Dad said. “You’ll learn self-defence, respect and humbleness as well as self-esteem. Not sure you need more of the latter, though.”

That elicited another chuckle from Papa. Dad turned to him, cocking an eyebrow, but the mirth on his face ruined is effort to look disapproving.

***

A week later, my martial art career started. Papa had wanted to fully equip me with the correct clothes, mouthguard, gloves and shin guards, but Dad suggested that we postponed the shopping spree until we were certain what was required. The web site had said that I only needed to show up in whatever clothes I found comfortable, so I chose tights and a t-shirt in a breathing material.

When we arrived in the dojo, I learned to bow every time I entered and departed. A sign of respect for the room where the training was executed. 

“No socks,” the trainer told us when several of the children skidded around on the mats.

The trainer wore a crisp white costume, called a Gi, and her black belt had three golden stripes, her name, and Japanese signs embroidered on it.

“I am Sensei Ida. Inside this dojo, you’ll address me as Sensei. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” we said in more or less unison.

When the session was over, we promised our Sensei, that we would keep it up until we attained the black belt. Only two of us were successful at keeping that promise.

Also available on AO3

Tags in the replies.

#may prompts 2024 #may 8: hobby #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love part 8 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

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

(also on AO3 here where it's still in need of love, if anybody is feeling kind *sobs* ;))

Chapter Eight

Eddie POV continued

“You kissed? And now you can’t wake him?” Robin perches beside Steve on the bunk then rounds on Eddie—genuinely baring her teeth. “I shouldn’t leave you alone with him. It’s like you’re cursing him or something.”

“Woah! Are you accusing me of satanist shit now?” Eddie stops pacing the floorboards, claws his hair.

“Steve? Steve! Oh God, please!” She gently pats him, sinks her face into a hand. “Sorry, Eddie. It’s just… totally unexplainable.” She looks up sharply. “That’s exactly what we should be looking for, right?”

“The unexplainable?” Robin nods. “I should be dead. Steve should be bright and breezy—”

“—and it’s not anything to do with the Upside Down.”

Eddie hums uneasily. Should he share the new theory he’s got brewing? “I dunno. It blows to be a cynic, but—"

“Come on, Eddie! There are so many other possible explanations. If the Upside Down is real, who knows what else is? You’re a maestro of the D and D underworld—work with me here.”

They bounce ideas off each other, including that Steve might’ve succumbed to bad beer. Neither of them buy that one.

“Maybe Steve has some sort of regenerative power,” she says, “like Doctor Who. And you’re leeching it out of him, or something.”

Eddie hoots: “It’s my fault again?”

“No! Look, I sometimes get kinda papa grizzly where Steve is concerned, which is odd, because otherwise, I have almost zero protective instinct. We can’t deny the pattern, though—last time you two got mouth to mouth, he performed miracles and then went downhill fast. This time, uh…”

“I slurped the life out of him again?” Eddie sinks down on the opposite bunk. He thinks back to the kiss, which had been so mind-blowingly awesome. Until it wasn’t. Time to test his number one sucks-balls-squared theory of the day.

He slowly peels his shirt—or, rather, Steve’s now extremely grubby t-shirt—off over his head.

“Ew! Save it for the boys, Munson.”

He runs his palm across his midriff, glances over his shoulder, then hurries closer to the window for better light. Holy shit. “I was still covered in scars yesterday. Even earlier today, there was too much pink among the ink. Now there’s diddly-squat.”

 “So, Steve is still healing you?”

Eddie scrunches the shirt and hurls it across the room. “Yeah, and at this rate, my payback’s gonna kill him! We’ve been so fixated on Steve—what if I’m somehow a font of crappy juju? The big bad wolf the whole world believes I am, after all.”

“No.” Robin strokes Steve’s arm. Eddie’s dying to be close to him, too. Shit, he doesn’t dare! “It’s the water. It gives him some kind of power, and he’s passing it on to you. I mean, it doesn’t explain everything, but…”

Eddie retrieves his shirt, grabs her lifeline and clings to it. “It’s as good an explanation as any.”

“Ooooh!” She turns super-excited. “Perhaps there are fairies in Lover’s Lake? Water nymphs? Or aliens landed there! I’m still mightily suspicious about those clouds and the choppers, because—”

“This is getting absurd, Robin.” She sneers at him, shrugs anyhow. “Look, if we buy the lake theory, what can we do about it? It’s not like we can drag him there. We left the car practically in the next county, and he’s too sick.”

“I could fetch water and bring it back here?”

“Given my recent form, I think it’s best for you to stay with him. Eddie the Banished will don his armour and head once more into the breach.”

“Shakespeare? You listened in English Lit?”

Eddie puffs out his chest, conjuring a bravado he so doesn’t feel. “Still gonna be my year, Buckley.”

His armour is chiefly the shelter of the forest, during several hours of tedious trek. He cycles the last part of his journey, pulling his bandana over his face. When he makes radio contact with Dustin, however, his journey feels more than worth it.

Eddie arranges a meet with the Wheelers at Skull Rock. At least, he believes he does. Dustin communicates in one of his more baffling codes. Eddie is blown away, therefore, when he spots his fave lil’ dude approaching their liaison spot. Dustin defiantly wears his Hellfire Club t-shirt, despite everything.

Dustin throws down his crutches. Eddie rushes forward and flings his arms around him.

“Eddie! You son-of-a-bitch! You scared me so much!”

“Yeeeah, I was pretty scared myself.” Eddie hugs him tight, squeezes his eyes tighter. Tears leak anyhow. “But I’m alive and…” He pulls back, drinks up the sight of Dustin, who sniffs and rubs his red face. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Somebody clears their throat. Eddie jumps a good two inches in the air.

“Hey.” Nancy Wheeler stands a few yards off, offering a sheepish wave, which Eddie returns.

It’s not really surprising she’s there. Someone had to give Dustin a ride, and help him limp through the woods. Sitting beneath the rock, the three of them discuss possible explanations for wtf is going on with Steve.

“Okay, let me get my head around this,” she says. “You think Steve derives some sort of regenerative power from Lover’s Lake? And he’s sick? Right now?” She frets her lip. “I should go to him.”

“Uuuuuh, no need. We’re coping all right.” Eddie almost laughs out loud at how badly he doesn’t want her anywhere near Steve. He’d never in his wildest dreams have believed he would go toe-to-toe as a love rival with Nancy Wheeler.

She shakes her head. “There’s gotta be a connection with the Upside Down. This is bad. Really bad.”

“Not necessarily,” says Dustin. “I like Eddie’s hypothesis. There’s no logical reason why all the supernatural shit in this town, let alone this world, is evil.”

“It was Robin’s hypothesis,” admits Eddie.

“Whatever,” says Dustin. “If a bad alternate dimension can bleed into ours, maybe a good dimension can too.”

“I suppose,” said Nancy. Eddie nearly agrees with her, but can’t quite be that gracious. “Either way, if that lake fixes Steve somehow, we need to act quick.”

Nancy heads off to collect lake water. Once she’s gone, Eddie feels able to share his other Steve-related issue: “Didn’t want to divulge this in front of Wheeler, but… Uh, Steve and I got mouth-to-mouth again.”

“You had to perform CPR on him? I had no idea you knew—”

“There’s other reasons that lips meet.” Eddie puckers his lips and crosses his eyes, totally silly. 

Dustin stares at him, his mouth hanging open. “Oh!”

“Yeah. Theeeeen… he basically passed out.”

“Whut?”

“Look, don’t ask me to explain it! I mean, I like him. I really like him. Equally implausible, I think he likes me, but…” Aargh! His feelings for Steve are more tortuous than pleasurable right now. What’s more, the distance between them makes armouring his heart a teeny-weeny bit easier. 

“But?” Dustin bobs up and down on his butt.

“If I’m making him sicker, I should make myself scarce. I still wonder if I’m the bad apple here. Flayed… or whatever. It would neatly continue the sordid tale that is my life. Plus, if Hopper’s back, I bet he can get Steve off the hook for aiding and abetting, or whatever. Steve can go home, get the help he needs.”

“Hopper’s got his own problems, dude.” Dustin scratches his head beneath his baseball cap, kinda nervy. “There’s this army colonel in town, O’Sullivan, who’s pretty much Vecna levels of evil. He knows about Brenner and Hawkins Lab, and… Long story, cut short. He’s out to kill Eleven.”

“You gotta be shitting me!”

“That was my line when I found out. Hopper and El are hiding out, waiting for a safe opportunity to get outta Dodge. The band of the banished gets bigger every day.”

“Well, this exile should return to being a solo act. Steve and I absolutely would not work in the real world.”

“Huh?” Dustin wrinkles his nose. “You’re different—that’s what makes it fun. Even Suzie and I don’t like all the same music, for example. She’s got a real downer on Debbie Gibson.”

“Then maybe I should date Suzie,” mumbles Eddie, avoiding Dustin’s scrutiny. “In reality, Steve and I are from different planets. I’ve seen his house—his folks are loaded.”

“You can’t hold Steve’s parents against him. They’re literally never there for him. His Dad travels tons, and they stopped taking him with him when he was, like, eleven, because…” Dustin’s jaw drops again.

“Because what?” prompts Eddie. 

“Steve stopped travelling with his parents because he started getting sick every time.”

“So, he got travel sick. So do tons of kids. So what?”

“I honestly don’t know! But it supports your theories concerning his proximity to the lake. Sort of.” Dustin whacks his cap against the rock. “Jesus-mother-effing-son-of-a-bitch! I am literally dying to return to a world where I can trust the laws of science.”

Steve POV

1979

Getting himself up in the morning, getting himself to the school bus-stop alone—that only sucked.

It was the emptiness of the night that freaked him out.

Steve stayed up too late, of course he did. He was nearly twelve years old, with nobody to tell him what to do. He ate sweets and watched grown-up television, which got boring pretty fast. When he finally plucked up the courage to go to bed, he’d huddle under the covers, muffling his ears. It never drowned out that horrible, screaming quiet.

Who knew silence could be so loud?

He missed his mom, and it hurt, too. Knowing she chose to leave him behind. 

He’d hated travelling, because in the last year, he’d always got ill. Like, not just travel sick, but fevers and chills and headaches and stomach cramps, always “ruining” his father’s trips. 

Inevitably, his dad decreed that he must stay behind, and the first couple of times, his mom stayed home with him. Then she’d told him his father needed her more. What did that even mean? Steve really, really needed her, simply to be there. Somewhere in the house.

She wasn’t. 

The hours would stretch on, while he was too scared to close his eyes, until…

The monsters barged out of the closet, rioting through his nightmares. Then THEY arrived, with their smooth, smiling face and whirlpool eyes. That wordlessly singing voice, trickling through the waters, reassuring him everything would be all right…

In the morning, shuffling to the bus-stop, he remembered them. Clearer than the monsters, even. Oh man, he could be so childish and unhip sometimes.

“Steve? Steve! Please wake up! You’ve been asleep for hours.”

A groan escapes him, and then: “Momma?” Somehow, he knows it’s not her. “Dad?”

He opens his eyes. 

Oh shit. 

No, that’s not where his life is now. He’s sure as hell not eleven-years-old! Robin looks faintly amused, and also like she wants to thump him: “Gonna give you a pass on that this once, Steve, then go bleach my brain.”

Part 9

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 10 Part 11

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington whump #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #eddie x steve #eddie munson #platonic stobin #stobin #stobin fic #stobin friendship

[yesbutmakeitgay]

Once Upon A Time I Used To Know A Girl

Chapter 8

Carol Danvers x Reader

Masterlist | This work's masterlist | AO3

Summary: The King of New Asgard finally makes an appearance.

Angst, Slow Burn, Amnesia.

Word count: 959

I Hold The Knife At The Blade

You're in your room waiting for Kamala to come visit you as always. She seems to be running a little late, that's if she's even coming at all. With the way you left things the day before you're not so sure anymore. The worry in your mind starts growing when a suspicious knock interrupts you, before you can answer it, the door swings open to reveal The King of New Asgard.

"Val?" you yelp, "It's so good to see you." You reach out for her and share a comforting hug.

"Hey, Princess." You stiffen at the pet name.

"Did you just call me 'Princess?'" you ask, hoping you misheard her.

Realizing what just happened, she clarifies, "That's a thing I call you now, don't worry about it."

You mumble an 'okay' into her shoulder. She places a steaming mug on the table in front of you and takes a seat on the couch beside you.

"When did you get here?"

"Last night."

"Why didn’t you call?"

"I thought you detested intergalactic communications," she retaliates, "little Marv sends her regrets, she will not be making it today."

"Everything okay?" There is slight concern in your voice.

"She had to cover a last minute mission."

"On her own?"

"Oh, no, she has her team of teenage superheroes."

"So we're resorting to child labor now?"

"They're actually quite good." Valkyrie seems unbothered by the implications of your comment.

"They do sound kinda cute." You shrug it off.

"So, how are you doing?" She crosses her legs.

"I lost all my memories from the past several years, how do you think I’m doing?"

"That's not what I meant." She gives you a stern look.

You sigh, "The headaches are mild now, still have the weird dreams, though."

"Dreams? I haven't heard anything about these dreams."

"Do you also want my chart?"

"I see your attitude hasn't changed," she grins.

"It's been tough.”

"I can imagine." She places a hand on your shoulder.

After you make sure it's not scolding hot anymore, you take a sip of the mug Val brought for you.

"Cream, no sugar, how did you-" You stop yourself mid question, "I keep forgetting I’m the only one who doesn’t remember things," you huff and she gives you a sympathetic look, "tell me something about me."

She bites her lip for a moment, "You’re quite good with a sword," she smirks.

You chuckle, "I learned from the best."

"I was asked to keep you entertained for the day," A devilish smile starts forming on her face. "What do you say we go down to the gym and have some fun?"

On your way downstairs you encounter a small kitten that stops right in front of you. In an instant, tentacles come out of its mouth and it produces a toaster. "Did that cat just vomit up a toaster?" you ask, alarmed.

Valkyrie begins to explain, "That’s not a cat, it’s a-"

"Flerken," you interrupt her.

"Very good," Val is impressed.

"What’s it doing here?"

"What are any of us really?" she replies as 'you brought them back from a mission' doesn’t seem like something she’s allowed to tell you. You both keep walking.

You get to the gym and Valkyrie hands you a weapon, it’s been a while since you’ve been in the field so you ask her to go easy on you. She complies, if only because she would be in big trouble if she actually hurt you.

You go at it for a couple of rounds, she pulls some new moves and some you knew very well, though that doesn't mean you know how to handle them, Valkyrie has always been the best when it comes to swords.

"You’re off your game," she teases you in the middle of a fight.

"Oh, no, really?" you respond sarcastically, you get distracted by her words and she takes the opportunity to shove you down. She starts driving her weapon towards your chest and you hold your own sword with both hands, trying to push her away.

A scar on your neck catches her attention, it’s one she has never seen before, curiosity makes her lose her balance and you manage to turn her over, claiming victory over the match, "I’m done," you pant.

She stays underneath you, making no effort to move, "Is that all you can handle?"

"You try going through the most traumatic mission of your life and then sword fighting the King of Asgard."

"It’s New Asgard, have some respect for my Kingdom," she jokes.

"Right, sorry,” you feign an apology, “how’s royalty treating you?"

"It's not a big deal," she brushes it off.

"You wear three piece suits now, that's a big deal, you look hot." You eye her up and down as you say the last part.

"Why thank you, I try."

"Tell me, did we ever…?"

"No, never!" she answers before you can finish your question, pushing you off to the side and sitting up, "Are you thinking about it?" Her eyes go wide.

"Would it be so wrong if I said yes?" you insinuate, amused by her reaction.

"Yes, it would be!"

"Alright I didn’t say anything, you’re the one out here calling me 'Princess.'" You lift your arms in fake surrender.

"I said not to worry about it."

"I’m not!"

You awake in a dark, cold room, this time you are able to open your eyes ever so slightly and catch a glimpse of a screen. It's a fight, dozens of the same full armored men that took you, against a single target, a golden blonde figure in a red and blue suit with a star in the middle. Like clockwork, you feel a sharp pain in your neck and fall back asleep.

Chapter 9

Can you tell I Love Valkyrie?

Tags: @graniairish @carols-photonblast @thelittleliars @unicorniusfallapatorius @prplepeony

Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

#carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers angst #kamala khan #valkyrie

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (7) - A BG3 G/t fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Summary: Ria returns to camp after her terrifying encounter with the goblins. Now she has a proposition for the group regarding Astarion's feeding habits.

Pairing: Astarion x borrower!oc (Tav) (slow-burn, Astarion is a complete ass but eventually comes round in future chapters)

Warnings: Course language/swearing, blood drinking

Word count: 3.2k

By the time Ria had returned to camp, the others had also returned from their mission to the Blighted Village. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t going to mention her run-in with the goblins, and their rather gruesome demise at the hands of a certain pale elf. As far as everyone else was concerned, her walk had been pleasant and uneventful. Inhaling a shaky breath, she ambled into the centre of the camp. It still unnerved her to walk around so many giants, one wrong step from just one person would be the end for her, but this was one of the downsides she had to put up with for the time being. She could only hope that everyone would be considerate enough to watch where they were putting their feet.

“You should’ve seen the size of that spider, Wyll!” Karlach exclaimed, her clothing completely drenched in blood, her arms flapping about enthusiastically. “It was fucking massive! Mind you, I’ve seen far worse things in Avernus, but I’d never seen a spider so big!”

“It sounds like you had quite the adventure,” Wyll commented, flashing a warm smile at the tiefling. “I’m almost sad I was stuck at camp all day. I could’ve done with some monster slaying myself.”

“The spiders were pathetic adversaries,” Lae’zel said fiercely. “But their webs were most frustrating.”

“Yes, and who was it that got you out of those webs?” Shadowheart grinned rather smugly.

Lae’zel clenched her teeth, flashing Shadowheart a glowering look.

“Tsk’va! You said you wouldn’t speak of that, Shadowheart!”

Shadowheart tapped her chin with her index finger as a smirk spread across her face. “Did I say that? Maybe I was lying.”

“Do you want me to make you regret freeing me from those webs?” Lae’zel growled.

“Lae’zel, Shadowheart, please do cease this pointless quarrelling,” Gale chimed in, standing in between the two women. “There is no need for it, alright?”

“Chk!” Lae’zel hissed, curling her lip into a snarl.

Shadowheart heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t make any further comment on the subject.

Now that the air had settled somewhat, Ria decided now would be the time to make her entrance.

“H-Hello everyone!” she called, waving her hands up at the giants that loomed ominously above her.

Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and turned their gazes downwards as soon as the words had left her lips.  

Karlach’s face lit up immediately. “Hey soldier! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing well,” Ria said warmly, craning her neck to look up at the giant tiefling. “It sounds like your adventure today was successful?”

“It most definitely was!” Karlach replied, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh boy, smashing some giant ass spiders really does a girl good to help let off some steam. In my case literally.” She chuckled lightly, her infernal engine glowing orange through her red skin.

“Careful you don’t get too worked up Karlach,” Shadowheart added. “We still need to find more infernal iron to calm that engine of yours.”

“Ahh, I can’t wait until I can hug someone!” The red tiefling exclaimed. “I am absolutely dying for a hug right now.”

Shadowheart smiled softly at the tiefling woman, warmth reflected in her gaze. “I’d be happy to be your first hug once you’ve had the next upgrade from Dammon. If you want me to be your first hug, that is.”

Karlach’s eyes nearly popped out of her sockets and she had to force herself not to squeeze the half-elf into a hug right then and there. “Oh, seriously, Shadowheart? That would be amazing! You better prepare yourself; you’ll be in for the best hug of your life when I get that upgrade!”

“I look forward to it,” Shadowheart chuckled.

Rumbling tremors rattled the ground beneath her feet as Astarion approached the group. She swallowed thickly, remembering that he was responsible for saving her life only mere hours ago – as much as she hated to admit it, it was the truth. He seemed to pick up on this as his gaze briefly hovered over her small form, a rather smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. A scowl formed across her features. She certainly didn’t need a mind-bending tadpole to know what he was thinking.

“Greetings, Astarion,” Gale said, breaking the silence. “I suppose you had a rather uneventful day?”

“You could say that,” Astarion answered. “The same can’t be said for you, it seems.”

As Astarion and Gale continued to talk, Ria’s mind was swirling with thoughts. Convincing the rest of the group to allow Astarion to feed on thinking creatures was going to be interesting, but she was adamant that this was the best course of action to hopefully control the vampire’s bloodlust. Besides, if he only fed on bandits that they were going to kill already, what difference did it make? Better the bandits than her, or anyone else in the group. He certainly didn’t deserve her kindness, but at the end of the day, she wasn’t doing this because she was fond of him or anything like that. It was for her own safety considering how adamant the vampire was on eating her.

Ria cleared her throat. “I-I have something to suggest.”

All eyes suddenly turned back to Ria as she uttered the sentence. Astarion stared at her apprehensively, narrowing his gaze at her as he waited to see what she had to say next.

Don’t worry, you massive leech, I’m not telling them about the goblins.

“Speak,” Lae’zel commanded.

She swallowed a lump that had begun to form in her throat.

“I think it’s best if we allow Astarion to feed on thinking beings.”

Ria exhaled a shaky breath, and watched as everyone’s expressions changed from curiosity to complete shock.

“You can’t be serious!” Shadowheart exclaimed.

“N-not on innocents, of course!” Ria quickly added. “Why can’t he feed on bandits that you’re going to kill? They’re going to die either way, besides, it means he’ll be less tempted to bite any of you…” She swallowed thickly. “Or me.”

Astarion’s jaw slacked open, his eyes widening in disbelief, and for once he was at a loss for words. His gaze was fixed on her in that moment, completely perplexed as to why she was suggesting something that would benefit him.

Ria shifted uncomfortably on her feet, not meeting Astarion’s gaze, as her companions exchanged confused glances amongst one another. She had to crane her neck up just to look at them, reminding her once again of how miniscule she was compared to everyone else.

“Well, I don’t see how that could be a bad thing,” Karlach said. “I mean, as Ria put it, the bandits will be dead anyway. Why not feed Fangs while we’re at it?”

“I agree with Karlach,” Wyll added. “The monster hunter in me disagrees, but I can see why it might be a good idea. Vampires are typically better sated on non-animal blood and their abilities are enhanced a great deal.”

Both Shadowheart and Lae’zel seemed somewhat apprehensive at the idea. Gale, on the other hand, was pondering Ria’s idea away in that brilliant brain of his.

“Tsk’va. I am not thrilled by the idea of Astarion biting thinking creatures, but providing they are only our forsaken enemies, then so be it.” The gith shot the vampire spawn a scathing look, her teeth bared. “And a reminder to you, Astarion, if you so much as smack your lips when I’m near, I will sever you piece by piece. I’ll leave you to guess which piece I plan to start with. Am I understood?”

“No githyanki meals, I promise,” Astarion said. “You have my word on that.”

“And I hope you extend that to everyone in the camp,” Shadowheart commented, pushing her ebony braid purposefully over her exposed neck.

“Of course, what do you take me for?” Astarion replied, a hint of irritation etched in his voice. “I have already promised not to bite any of you, unless you’ve forgotten that?”

“As he’s mentioned, Astarion has already vowed not to bite any of us,” Gale finally chimed in, reiterating the vampire’s point, his brows furrowed. “I, for one, am completely open to Ria’s idea. As Wyll said, vampires simply perform better on sentient blood. If anything, this will help him get a hold on his bloodlust, and that’s better for everyone.”

“Exactly!” Ria said. “It works out better for all of us. I’m glad you all see that.”

Astarion’s gaze flitted over Ria’s tiny form, and she met his watchful eyes with bated breath. Instead of his usual sinister smirk that often adorned his defined features, his face softened as he looked down at her. There was a gentle glimmer of something else in his eyes – something that Ria hadn’t seen before on his face – warmth. Was she imagining it? Quite possibly. Whether she was imagining it or not, it made her heart thrum against her chest and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

Wait…no…why am I feeling like this? What is this? Stop it!

“I suppose this is all settled then,” Gale announced, tearing Ria out of her rather flustered thoughts. “Astarion can feed on our enemies or bandits that we come across – providing that they are not innocents. Is that understood, Astarion?” The wizard turned to face the pale elf.

Astarion pressed one hand to his heart. “On my honour, no innocents will be hurt. I can assure you that.”

No one objected, although Lae’zel muttered a small ‘chk’ under her breath rather discreetly.

“Right, now that’s sorted, I could go for a big meal right now,” Karlach announced, flickering embers dancing across her red skin. “Smashing spiders has got me really hungry.”

“Fear not, Karlach, your chef for the evening is getting right on it as we speak.” Gale began to swiftly rummage through a bunch of packs full of food and rations.

As Gale began to prepare for the evening meal, everyone else in the camp disbanded and went to their own respective tents. Ria took this as her cue to leave as well, and began to walk in the direction of her own little tent. Every so often Gale had to enchant it with the reduce spell for it to retain its miniature size, and the wizard had assured her it wasn’t a bother for him in the slightest after she had suggested that she could just sleep on the floor. Gale was having none of that and happily kept on using magic to shrink the tent each day. She was very grateful for the wizard’s kindness and that she had somewhere catered to her own size to reside in for the time being.

As she continued to stride towards her small tent, she realised that she had forgotten to ask about joining the group when they decided to enter the Goblin Camp. She needed to know more about blood merchants trading borrowers. This was the only kind of lead she had on finding more of her kind in years, there was no way she could afford to pass this opportunity up.

That can wait until tomorrow. We’re not at the Goblin Camp yet anyways.

Small earthquakes quickly jolted Ria out of her thoughts, signalling that someone was approaching her rapidly. She slowly pivoted on her heel to see Astarion sauntering towards her and a wave of dread quickly washed over her.

What does he want now?

“Ah, there’s my little friend.”

Little friend?!

Ria’s chest tightened as she watched the pale elf drop to one knee beside her, tilting his head to one side as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

Astarion’s gaze suddenly shifted to the floor, avoiding her eyes, his lower lip quivering softly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words uttered from his lips. This was incredibly strange for him, normally he had a witty remark for just about everything. What was going on?

He cleared his throat and fixed his red gaze onto her small frame. “I…I wanted to thank you for what you said earlier. What you just did was…unexpected. You didn’t have to persuade the others like that for me, yet you did.”

Ria’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment, completely caught off guard by Astarion’s gesture. Little did he know that she hadn’t persuaded the group for Astarion’s benefit, she’d only done it in hopes that maybe he wouldn’t keep on eyeing her up like some kind of snack. But he had saved her life only earlier that day, so perhaps a small part of her was also doing it as a way of thanks…he clearly saw it that way anyway, whether she meant it or not.

No, just ignore him.

Despite her negative thoughts, she couldn’t deny that he was looking at her differently. He seemed, for the first time since she had met him, genuine. Something about the way he was gazing at her stirred a subtle ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” she asked, ignoring the growing feeling of warmth across her face. “You’re thanking me for something. That isn’t like you at all.”

A soft chuckle slipped past his lips. “I know, it’s very strange, isn’t it? I just…” His voice faded away. He was clearly struggling to find the right words.

“You did something nice for me when you didn’t have to,” he said at last. “And I appreciate it. Perhaps I was wrong about you.”

Now it was Ria’s turn to be at a loss for words. Her brain swirled with confusion as his statement left her temporarily unable to speak.

Is he serious?

She frantically searched his face, looking for a sign of deceit, but there was none. He was being completely honest with her and he meant every word.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked hesitantly, still not quite believing his sudden change in demeanour.

Astarion furrowed his brows. “Darling, if I wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now.” He exhaled a long breath. “You could’ve easily ratted me out to everyone as well with the goblins, but you didn’t do that. I think we should start over.”

Before she even had time to react, Astarion extended his index finger towards her.

“Deal?” he asked gently.

Ria stared at his index finger intently as her body stiffened. She quickly glanced from his hand to his face, her heart racing feverishly in her chest. Her right hand was gripped firmly around the handle of her little dagger, concealed behind her back, and an idea pierced through her brain. No way was she letting him off that easily after everything that had happened.

Without a second thought, she lunged forwards and thrusted the dagger into Astarion’s exposed index finger.

“You little-!” Astarion exclaimed, utter shock painted across his face as he immediately retracted his hand away from the borrower.

A tight-lipped grin pulled at the corners of her mouth as she watched Astarion glare at her, trails of blood now dripping down his pale skin from the fresh wound on his finger.

“Okay, we’re even,” she grinned. “We can start fresh now.”

Astarion’s gaze softened as a smirk flickered across his facial features.

“Cheeky little pup.” He grinned. “I suppose I may have deserved that.”

Ria blinked slowly at him. “May?!”

“Fine, fine, I did deserve that.” He rolled his eyes before removing the tiny dagger from his finger as if it were nothing more than a splinter. He inspected the miniature blade for a moment before passing it towards Ria, holding it in between his index finger and thumb. She hastily grabbed the dagger from Astarion before wiping off the blood with a small rag in her pocket.

“It amazes me that Dammon was able to make a blade so small.” He began licking at the oozing blood from his finger. It oddly reminded Ria of a cat cleaning its paws and a grimace of disgust spread across her face.

“Ew, you’re licking your own blood?” she said, giving him a dirty look. The sight of blood made her squeamish.

Astarion paused his licking to stare at her, one eyebrow arched. “Darling, I’m a vampire, drinking blood is what I do.”

“Yeah, okay, but your own blood?”

Astarion shrugged. “It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Ria shook her head lightly and rolled her eyes.

A small moment of silence passed. The only noise that could be heard was the sound of Gale attempting to make dinner and Lae’zel sharpening her sword. Sensing the incoming awkwardness, Ria swallowed a lump that had begun to form in her throat and began to turn to leave.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your blood licking.”

“Wait!” Astarion said rather suddenly, lapping up one final drop of blood on his finger.

Ria paused in her tracks and blinked at him in surprise.

“I don’t want you to run off just yet,” he said slowly.

She stared at him like he had grown a second head.

“You…you don’t want me to leave?”

“You intrigue me,” he replied, a small grin curling around his lip. “For such a little thing, you are quite resilient. Facing those goblins, not shying away from Lae’zel’s battle training…the fact that you want to fight back is at the very least admirable, considering how hopeless it is for someone of your height. And then you even stood up to me.” A small snicker flitted past his lips. “I’m not easily impressed by people of your stature, but you’re a lot stronger than I gave you credit for.”

Somehow Astarion had managed to both compliment her and insult her at the same time and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

I suppose that’s about the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“You have your charms…more than you think.”

Ria couldn’t tell if he was lying or being serious, but she remained cautious. There was a small glint of hunger reflected in his crimson eyes which reminded her that she was in fact dealing with a predator. But...despite this, there was something else there too. Something that was mixed in with his hunger that was perhaps preventing him from lunging forward to eat her right then and there. It was the same look that he had given her before – his features had softened, the sinister glare from his gaze completely gone.

She hated how it made her chest flutter.

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” she replied.

Why in the hells did I say that!?

She forcefully bit her tongue to stop any more words from tumbling out that she might regret saying. She wasn’t sure why she had even said it to begin with, but it made her want to kick herself.

He wanted to eat me a couple of weeks ago, and he probably still does. I need to remember that.

“Well, this has turned into a surprisingly pleasant conversation,” Astarion smiled.

“Don’t get too close,” Ria said, gripping the handle of her dagger instinctively. “I’m not one to easily forget.”

His eyes crinkled as he simply chuckled at her. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

#prism writes #g/t #male giant #giantess #giant/tiny #gianttiny #giant tiny #g/t writing #g/t community #g/t fandom #g/t fearplay #g/t angst #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 g/t #bg3 gt #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #karlach cliffgate #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion x oc #astarion x tav

[fioreofthemarch]

Finding Her - final chapter

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Previous | First | AO3 ] with artwork by @nocturnalfandomartist at the end!

A photograph of Hyrule Castle seated on a rocky mesa of petrified Gloom. Where once malice and corruption rose high into the air, there is nothing but clear skies. 

A photograph of the rolling meadows of Hyrule Field, with Lookout Landing approaching just over the next hill. Ahead of the camera walks a woman wearing traditional garb, her short golden hair still a little damp.

A photograph of a group of Sheikah, young and old, at the gates of Lookout Landing as they greet the golden-haired woman. Their arms are outstretched towards her, tears in their eyes. 

A photograph of the five Sages of Hyrule, crowded around the woman as they draw her into a group embrace. The woman has her back to the camera as a young Gerudo vai hugs her tightly. 

The same picture as above, only now the woman has turned to the photographer. She smiles, surrounded by her friends and allies. Despite the weariness on her face, she radiates warmth and contentment. She is finally home. 

Caption: Thank you Rauru and Sonia. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you tha

---

Welcome to the Purah Pad!— Home Screen —

 Today’s Purah Pointer: [Placeholder - Robbie can you please add something? Do NOT call me if you can’t think of anything.]

> Camera (Scanner) 

Scanner sub-function selected. Please place text to be scanned in view of the Purah Pad camera.Scanning…Processing…

Scanned text uploaded. Eight (8) documents have been added to the Purah Pad.

1. BATTLE IN THE SKIES: A SPECIAL LUCKY CLOVER GAZETTE REPORTby Penn of Rito Village (Guest Correspondent)

26th Satorember 104AC 

The citizens of Hyrule were treated to an extraordinary sight yesterday after what appeared to be an enormous, demonic dragon emerged from the ruins of Hyrule Castle.

It was approximately midday when what is being dubbed the ‘Demon Dragon’ appeared. Eyewitness accounts state that a second entity, which some have called the ‘Light Dragon’, was also spotted and appeared to confront the Demon Dragon, however this has not been verified. 

About an hour after the Demon Dragon appeared, there was a colossal explosion in the skies that caused several grassfires on Hyrule Field. These were swiftly contained by brave volunteers of the Zonai Survey Team who happened to be in the area. The Gazette can confirm there were no ground casualties.

Earlier this week, the swordsman Link and the Sages of Hyrule departed Lookout Landing to mount an assault on the Demon King Ganondorf. The outcome of that battle is not yet known, and investigations continue as to whether this mission has any links to the Demon Dragon. 

More to come. 

2. A letter, with a stamp that reads ‘Rito Courier Certified’

Link,

Forgive the chicken scratch, I don’t write a lot of letters. 

I heard the Princess is back. Good for her. Knew she wouldn’t abandon us. Good job dealing with the Demon King too -- you saved all our tailfeathers there. 

Tulin’s back with us now. Just writing to say thank you. He’s got a long way to go, but I can tell that hanging out with some responsible adults has put him on the right track. Though sometimes I wish he’d never learned about this Sage business. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard ‘Would a Sage have to do his chores, Dad?’ Ridiculous. 

If either you or the Princess need a holiday, Rito Village welcomes you. I’d sure like to hear the story of the battle against Ganondorf from someone other than a cocky teenager. Let’s just hope that’s the last of Hyrule’s troubles for now. We all enjoy a good fight, now and then, but a broken wing never really heals if you know what I mean.

Fly well, Teba, Elder of Rito Village 

3. A pamphlet advertisement printed on paper that smells of fireproof elixir

MINE-CART LAND: GRAND OPENING 

YUNOBOCO IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE PRIDE OF ELDIN CANYON, NOW OPENING TO THE PUBLIC FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME. COME FOR A FUN-FILLED DAY WITH ACTIVITIES FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY:

‘THE ROCK ROAST REBELLION’ DINNER AND SHOW 

MINE CART RIDES AND TARGET MINI-GAME

MINE TOURS 

MINING

THIS ONE-OF-A-KIND ATTRACTION IS NOT TO BE MISSED. CONTACT YOUR LOCAL YUNOBOCO SALESGORON FOR TICKETS. 

FIREPROOF ELIXIR SOLD SEPARATELY.

YunoboCo is the author of this pamphlet for the purpose of copyright. © YunoboCo 104AC

(overleaf)

Link! Zelda! 

Look at this! Isn’t it great!? We got it back from the Lucky Clover Gazette just today. Took a bit of negotiating with Traysi to let us use her printers, but we got it done. I can’t believe Mine-Cart Land is gonna open for real — it’s all thanks to you or we’d all be Demon King lunch!

The other Sages said you’d gone back to Hateno to rest. They’ve all got fire ants in their pants wanting to get back to rebuilding, but I say we’ve all deserved a break. How many people can say they saved the world twice? 

Anyway, let us know next time you’re in Eldin. Slergo and Offrak have been asking about you every day. Dinner’s on us!

Yunobo 

4. A letter written in silver ink on lily white paper, in cursive that borderlines on unreadable 

The 8th Day of Octoroktober, 104 After Calamity 

Princes Zelda Bosphoramus Hyrule 5 Wildflower Crossing, Hateno Village Necluda, Hyrule 

The Reception Celebration of the Wedding of Their MajestiesKing Sidon and Queen Yona of the Zora 

By command of the King, the Advisor Muzu is directed to invite

Princess Zelda Bosphoramus Hyrule And Sir Link, Knight-Captain of the Hyrule Royal Guard

to be present at Zora’s Domain on the 3rd day of Naydrember, 104AC

Dear Princess Zelda, 

I hope your recovery in Hateno with Sir Link has been restorative. As Winter draws closer and the days shorter, time of respite is often best spent with close companions. 

My dear Sidon has told me all of what happened to you in the ancient past, and I must extend my deepest sympathies for the hardships you have endured. I cannot even begin to imagine them. I must also express my gratitude that Sidon has returned to us. While he is so humble as to pass all credit for the victory against the Demon King to Sir Link and his fellow Sages, to those in Zora’s Domain he is a hero.  

It would give us great joy if you could join us in a month’s time for I do so wish to meet you. However, I will understand completely if you choose to remain in the quiet solace of home. 

Sincerely, Queen Yona of Zora’s Domain

5. An informal letter, written in an assured hand 

Zelda,

Did you also get an invite to Sidon and Yona’s wedding? Or second wedding? I’ve never even been to Zora’s Domain. You will have to tell me what to wear. Is it cold? Is there really water everywhere? Not that I have a problem with that. 

So your sabbatical with Link has been just ‘good’? I get the sense you’re holding back details. If you don’t want to put anything in writing, you can call me using the Purah Pad. I could tell, Zelda, that when Link brought you to Lookout Landing after our battle with the Demon King, he couldn’t wait to whisk you away again. And what’s this about leaving Hateno next week? So soon!

I suppose I understand. You and I have our kingdoms to take care of. It is nothing less than our duty to do as much as we can. Heroines, I don’t think I’ve ever had a holiday. Even going to Lanayru is ‘official business’ as Chief of the Gerudo. But I will get to see you, and we can talk and laugh and drink all evening. Until then, sister. 

(Or you can simply call me! I want to hear everything, Zelda. Even if he proposes. ESPECIALLY if he proposes). 

Yours, Riju

6. A typed letter, on paper with a watermark of a Sheikah eye 

10.20.104AC

Princess Zelda and Champion Link Lookout Landing Central Hyrule

Princess, Champion--

Thank you for your latest report from Lookout Landing on the rebuilding efforts post-Upheaval. I trust that Purah isn’t working you too hard and that Josha is proving a very dedicated assistant. I know that Impa’s instruction was for you to rest as long as you need, however I disagree. On the contrary, I believe that engagement and activity is the best way to stay invigorated. It worked for me after all.  

I’m pleased to report that the manufacture of a second Purah Pad is nearly complete. I’ll need to finish the work at my lab in Akkala, so will be returning there. You’re welcome to visit any time. I suggest doing so before Dincember. Once Winter starts in Akkala, it really settles in. 

Speaking of Akkala, Granté visited last week and wishes to relay that the house Link purchased from the Hudson Construction Company is complete. He also said something about not knowing if you wanted plants or children’s toys in the house and that he ended up purchasing both. I suggest you liaise with him directly on that matter. 

Regards, Robbie 

7. A hastily scrawled note bearing the mark of the red Yiga eye

To the scoundrel who calls himself Link,

You have slighted us for the last time! Master Kohga will have his vengeance. 

Already our forces gather weapons of ultimate death beyond your comprehension! Just last month, we debuted the HOVERDOOM MK.4!   

Your day of reckoning approaches. As soon as we find his excellency , you will know true fear! So just let us know if you have seen him… if you want to live!!

Damn it, why am I even writing this note? I’ll just leave it in our hideout in Karusa Valley. Link will never get in there… 

8. A carefully and neatly written note, on lined paper 

Zelda, Hyrule’s adored Princess 

I am dictating this note to Josha, as my construct arms cannot grasp a writing quill. I had intended to create an attachment to allow this, however it was not to be. 

It is my request that you gather the Sages to Lookout Landing, where Link and I have built a new balloon ship. Link may no longer have my brother's arm to aid him, but his strength and endurance have proven invaluable in this endeavour. With this ship I intend to bring everyone to the Temple of Time on the Great Sky Island. It will be my gift to them as Sages, and then I must depart. 

There are words I must say before then that I fear will fail me if I try to convey them to you in person. However, you mean a great deal to me, so I have written them down instead. 

Zelda, my dear friend. You had no obligation to aid my people, yet you sacrificed everything to do so. When I thought all was lost against the Demon King, your faith and hope for the future gave me the will to continue. It was your bravery in the face of annihilation and your vigilance over many millennia that turned the tides in our favour and allowed us to finally end the war. Hyrule will be forever in your debt and this act will be your legend. 

I am merely grateful to have survived to your era, to have met your friends and allies (whose wedding feast I was honoured to attend), and to have seen that Hyrule will be under the care of those who are not only wise, but courageous and kind. One such Hyrulean sits at my side now, helping me write you this letter. 

As a final note – during your absence, I saw firsthand just how deeply Link cares for you. When you described him to me, I pictured a brave Knight of course, but the Link I met was more than that. He overflowed with tenacity, even in his darkest moments, and while the past half-year has been difficult, I don’t think he ever truly gave up hope of seeing you again. You are to him as the sky to the stars and the ocean to the waves; whatever you dream of he will dedicate himself to its fruition. I will leave you content in the knowledge that together, you will guide Hyrule to new beginnings and greater futures. 

We will be ready to travel to the Great Sky Island in three days. I hope you will join us on the journey.

— Mineru 

---

Log date: 14:00. 11th month, 12th day 104ACLocation: Akkala Beach, AkkalaWeather: Calm 

Well, it is done. I have read every log, viewed every photo and listened to every recording on this Purah Pad. It is quite the account; the valiant quest of Link, a Knight of Hyrule, to awaken the Sages, defeat the Demon King, and reunite with his beloved Princess Zelda. 

With me. 

I scarcely know where to begin. I can hardly believe I am here at all. Yet, I am here, thanks to Link and the Sages, and Queen Sonia and King Rauru… All of them devoted themselves to Hyrule’s salvation, for which I will always be grateful. Link tells me I was of aid in the final battle, and while it is true that my power was able to restore the Master Sword, a blade is only as strong as its wielder. 

So is this it then? Is this true peace, after all this time? I myself have been restless, falling from memory to memory. I cannot shake Rauru and Sonia from my mind. They were the ones who gave me my life back after all, or so Mineru theorised before she left us. It feels like only yesterday that I was dining with them all in their grand palace. I keep expecting to find Rauru in his hall talking with his constituents, or Sonia out in a garden tending the flowers, or Mineru lost in a book within her vast library. I wish we could be together, but I take solace that they can now rest. I will honour them by protecting the Kingdom that fate has passed to my care – it seems the least I can do. 

Since that fateful day of the defeat of the Demon King, Link and I have attempted to rest. However, I believe it is in neither of our natures. We spent some time in Hateno, the first two days of which we did little more than sleep. During that time, Link clung to me day and night, protesting the second I was out of his grasp, as though to pin me to the earthly realms lest I float up into the sky again. Then, once it became clear I was back for good, neither of us could bear lazing about. The more he told me of his quest to find me, the more I wanted to see all of our friends and allies again. The more I told him of my journey in the past, the more he wanted to show me the Zonai relics he had found. We were back on the road within a week, and have just come from Lookout Landing to visit Akkala and see our new house. 

In quiet moments I have been reading the extensive field notes that Link has kept on this Purah Pad. I cannot describe the feelings they provoke in me. I am constantly struck by the tremendous efforts of all those in Hyrule. Their headstrong Princess set another Calamity upon them, and never did they despair, only banding together to vanquish Ganondorf once and for all. And Link… he suffered so greatly when he learned what happened to me. I’ve felt compelled to apologise for it, and often. When I was lost in the past I ached to return home, but I accepted my sacrifice as necessary. I never thought what sacrifice really meant. To lose yourself is one thing; but to be lost to all those who love you? Such consequence didn't occur to me at the time. 

He does love me, doesn't he? It overwhelms me to read his words, they tremble with it. Yet somehow I never knew. I was so foolish as to never even tell him myself. All that time together, before the Calamity, before the Upheaval, and we never said such simple words. We took for granted that which felt obvious but could be so much richer if confessed. We’ve remedied that now, many times over. And I do love him, more than anything, and I want the life he dreamed of for us. Certainly, we have already begun, first with the house in Akkala, and lately with much practice at the necessary steps towards a family of our own. (I do hope no one but Link ever reads this.)

To that point, this will be my only entry into this particular Purah Pad. It is no longer mine. Through every hardship and triumph of the past half year, this little device has been Link’s constant companion. So I entrust it to him now, to continue recording our story and the story of Hyrule. I pray it will be a good one, though perhaps with a little less excitement than what has occurred thus far.

By the Goddess’ Grace,

Zelda 

A photograph of Link, resting underneath the shade of a palm tree on Akkala Beach. He wears his ancient Zonai tunic – a makeshift beach outfit – and has his hair loose. His eyes are closed and he appears to be taking in the warmth of the sun, and the cool of the ocean breeze. 

Caption: I better wake him up, the sleepyhead...

---

Log date: 14:30. 11th month, 12th day 104ACLocation: Akkala Beach, AkkalaWeather: Calm

A lot has happened. Plenty to write. This Purah Pad has given me a voice I didn’t know I had. Think I’ll start with an account of how we defeated the Demon King (or Demon Dragon) for that Lucky Clover Gazette column Penn mentioned… 

But not now. Not for a long while. 

Zelda’s here. We’re both here. It’s a sunny Autumn day and we have a home to go back to, one that’s up on a hill, overlooking the sea. I’ll make her dinner; a meat and rice bowl maybe, with ginger and Hyrule herb? Then tomorrow we’re back on the road – the whole Kingdom is ours to explore. I’m up for anything – somewhere new to find, someone new to meet, a new puzzle, a new enemy, a new fight. I can face it all, face anything, with her or without. But it doesn’t matter, not right now. She's here, in my arms, watching me type this. Better not write too long. Fate gave us back the time we nearly lost. I’m going to make the most of it. 

Until next you hear from me, 

Link 

A photograph of Link and Zelda, together on the shore of Akkala Beach, the sun shining above. Link laughs and blushes as Zelda snaps the photo – still smitten, even after all this time. 

Caption: Home and heart, heart and home. 

artwork by the wonderful @nocturnalfandomartist

#totk #tears of the kingdom #zelink #tloz fanfiction #legend of zelda #legend of zelda fanfiction #link #zelda #in the words of spike spiegal and also NBA commentator mike breen: BANG

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 8

Part 9/25 | Ao3

[TW for violence, mentions of DV and implied SA]

Tilly

Each night the following week, Tilly resolutely fell asleep on her side of the bed, warm and content and perfectly fine where she was. And every morning, Tilly woke up, tightly tucked into Eris’ side, warm and content and confused, but perfectly fine where she was. He smelled like mulled cider and cloves and something so distinctly Eris. She’d managed to extract herself without waking him each morning, but it was getting harder and harder to pull away. 

Perhaps, I should just allow him to wake up first one day and see what he does. What is the worst that could possibly happen? Could he have it in him to so blatantly reject me?

She was still worried about making their situation awkward or uncomfortable, but with how willing Eris had been to do things he knew would make her smile, was that even a well-founded concern anymore? She knew he must care for her, at least to a degree. She had slipped and told him as soon as he’d asked her about winnowing, and after berating herself for it mentally, she’d allowed herself to think that maybe trusting him wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d told her about his pact with his brothers, something he’d undoubtedly told no one else. This tentative trust growing between them–this partnership–was blooming into something entirely different within her heart. She’d have to decide how she planned to handle it soon. 

Since their first day out in the archery range, she’d gone once more with Eris, but today she’d gone by herself while Eris attended a meeting. As much as she enjoyed Eris’ company and the astonished look on his face while she shot, she was thrilled to be able to use her magic here alone. She’d taken advantage of the time to play with her fire and her portals on the range, and it filled a part of her heart she’d worried would remain empty forever. It had felt so good to let loose some of the magic she’d been holding back so tightly in the past few months. The urge to tell Eris was becoming overwhelming. She wanted him to know–she was sick of shouldering these secrets alone. She wasn’t sure how she would even begin to go about it. 

Yes, I am your wife and we’ve shared our deepest secrets. Oh, and also I can heal people and conjure flames and create portals! Surprise! 

It wasn’t exactly dinner conversation. Somehow, she knew he would understand why she’d kept it a secret–she knew he wouldn’t be mad she’d withheld it–but centuries of keeping it to herself weighed against her. 

She looked around the beautiful, warded clearing and still couldn’t believe that Eris had done this for her. She hadn’t had anything this thoughtful since before her father had died, and she was shocked that she could find herself so happy here. She tucked her bow away, then winnowed to a copse of trees outside the wards of the Forest House. She was able to come from the woods at this angle, looking as though she’d been visiting the hounds in the stables.

After a quick lunch, Eris still hadn’t returned, so Tilly decided she’d return the books she’d borrowed to the House library. She’d been trying to brush up on her history of Autumn–it had been centuries since her official lessons as a child, and it was disgraceful how much she’d forgotten about her own land, backwards as it could be at times. 

To get to the library, Tilly had to travel through her least favorite hall in the house: the East Wing. These were the halls of the High Lord, and they truly reflected it. There was absolutely no natural light, and each of the stone walls was deeply engraved with scenes of battle and horror and gore. The tapestries hung dark and red, mirroring the blood gouged harshly into the events depicted on the walls. Every time she had to come through here to reach the library, she put a good bit of speed in her step and tried to waste as little time as possible. 

As she reshelved the final of the large history books, she was startled by a piercing wail and shriek, then silence. It had come from the hall, and Tilly pressed herself into the shadows by the shelves. She stayed in the darkness until she was sure no one was coming. 

Should I get someone? Who would I even go to? 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, surely loud enough that any predator nearby might hear. She tried to breathe and calm it as she took slow, decisive steps towards the open library doors. What could have made such a horrible noise? 

As she peaked around the doorway to the dark hallway, the groan of another door opening caused her to jump back, only daring to look through the small crack of light. There, she could see Beron exiting the room, straightening his clothes, then stalking down the hallway in the direction opposite her. She counted in her head…198….199…200. Once she was sure it had been long enough, she ran to the doors and wrenched them open, not bothering to knock. 

She realized too late that these were the High Lord’s private chambers, and that she had just intruded into a nightmare. Alanna sat curled into herself on the floor by the hearth. Her dress had been ripped off her shoulder, and blood and bruises covered her face. She was sobbing, unable to get a breath down, and Tilly hated that her fae lineage meant she could scent what else Beron had done to her. 

Tilly walked quickly into the room, shutting the door behind her, and when Alanna saw her, she fell apart. 

“No, Tilly, you can’t be here. You have to go. If he comes back, he’ll kill you for helping me.” The rage was blinding now. 

“I don’t care, come.” She dropped to the floor next to Alanna and took her arm, gently lifting her. “Can you stand?” A shaky nod. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” She held her arm tightly, letting Alanna point her through the elegant rooms. Alanna was shaking and her breath was still coming in great gasps, so Tilly left her to sit on the edge of the tub while she ran her a warm bath. She turned to allow Alanna privacy to remove her dress, then closed her eyes and offered her an arm as she slipped below the bubbled water. Gently, Tilly took a cloth and wiped the blood from Alanna’s face. She spoke, barely audible in the echoing chamber. 

“I just asked the guards if I might go to the garden earlier than normal. That’s all…” Tilly could feel her heart cracking into two, the creases filling with a molten hot fury that threatened to bond it all together in a mess of violence. “He wasn’t always this bad. At the beginning, he was cold. We were never in love, and he was always far older than me. But by the time he started hitting me, I had nothing left. Nowhere to run. Children to care for, and for him to threaten me with.” Her sobs started anew, and she rested her face in her hands. Tilly let the smallest amount of healing run through her fingers to help the pain in Alanna’s jaw. Not enough that it would be detected, but enough to ease some of her discomfort. She ran the cloth across Alanna’s back, where she could now see the porcelain skin, so like Eris’, littered with scars and bruises. 

“You don’t deserve this, Alanna. No one deserves this, but especially not you.” 

She allowed Alanna the space to finish bathing, giving her privacy while she brewed her some tea and left it at her bedside, turning down the covers. Tilly was shaking with anger, the fire threatening to burst forth from her veins. Realistically, Tilly knew this could have easily been her life, too. She and Alanna were maybe only twenty years apart. She could have been sold to a lord older than her, the highest bidder, and been another piece of property to own and abuse as he saw fit. The relief that filled her heart when she remembered Eris was the one waiting for her took her by surprise.  

Tilly helped Alanna dry and dress and helped her to the bed, tucking her in and handing her the tea. 

“I am so, so sorry, Alanna,” she whispered as she made to leave, silently glamouring the room to mask her scent throughout until it faded. As she made her way to the door, she heard Alanna’s tired voice from the darkness. 

“You’re a good female, Tilly. I am so very glad my son has you.” The tears burned violently at the back of Tilly’s eyes as she left, closing the door silently. She tried to calm herself as she walked briskly down the dark halls, her flaring emotions not even allowing her to be afraid of the carvings anymore. 

She flew through the halls, a maelstrom of warring emotions, and didn’t stop until she arrived back at their rooms, tossing a hand up to free the wards, stepping inside, and throwing them up all in one breath. Eris had been sitting on the couch but stood and spun around at her abrupt entrance. He took in the wild state of her immediately. 

“What’s happened?” And Tilly’s face crumpled. Eris was immediately by her side, pulling her gently into his arms and rubbing gentle lines up and down her back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Til, what’s wrong?” 

Through sobs, she could hardly get out the words. “I am going to fucking kill your father myself.”

Eris

Eris had already been ready to split the world in two when he’d seen Tilly’s tears, and now, it was taking every single bit of his self control to not set the entire Forest House on fire. Tilly had told him everything that had happened, so he knew what he was walking into at dinner, but it didn’t quell his rage in the slightest. 

Beron had decided that beating Alanna–assaulting her–hadn’t been enough. He was now making her stand at the dinner table as they all ate. When they’d entered, everyone had seen at once, Alanna included, that her chair had been removed, her plate empty. He could practically see her freeze her emotions into acceptance and submission as she had constantly for the past five centuries, the bruises still fresh and shining on her face. The ripple through the rest of them felt palpable to him, though none of them betrayed a hint of it on their faces. 

Now, as Beron watched them all, they ate dinner silently as he discussed the land treaties near the western border, of all things. Since he wasn’t allowing Alanna to eat, he occasionally made comments about how delicious the food was. Eris could see the grip Tilly had on her fork tightening at each wayward comment. He put his hand on her thigh beneath the table, hoping to calm her. 

Beron’s conversation stalled, and he smiled cruelly as he looked at Alanna. “Is the food not to your liking, my dear?” Eris could see even his brothers’ smallest tells that they were close to losing their composure, as well. 

“High Lord, the food is wonderful, I’m sure.” Alanna cast her eyes down as she was expected to, and Eris felt Tilly grab his hand tightly beneath the table. 

“Tell me then, love, why aren’t you partaking?” The vicious nature of his voice was not hidden well beneath the cloying sweetness of his words. From the walls, Aradnus chuckled darkly. He loved a good show, and Eris wanted to kill him for it. 

“Because I have displeased you, High Lord.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the large room. 

“What’s that, Alanna? Speak!” Eris could feel Tilly shaking. 

“I’m sorry, High Lord. I have displeased you, and I do not deserve to eat.” Eris wished the floor would open and swallow them all when he caught the single tear that slipped down his mother’s nose. 

“That’s right, wife. Now beg me for forgiveness. Over here, on the floor.” He gestured beside him and Aradnus lit up with joy. Alanna’s wide eyes shot to him. 

“W-what?” The displeasure flickered darkly over Beron’s face. 

“I said, come here and beg me.” It was happening before Eris could do a thing to stop it, as Tilly shot to her feet, leaving his hand behind. 

“Leave her alone.” She growled across the table, and the silence that followed felt like a collective shifting of the world. For a single moment, no one in the room took a breath. Across the table, Eris was sure the looks of shock from his brothers and his mother matched his own. Even Aradnus had the sense to be quiet and look surprised. Then, Beron’s face contorted in wrath as he shot to his feet, slamming his now-flaming palms to the table. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you little bitch?” He roared across the table. To her credit, Tilly did not flinch. “You have no power here. You’re nothing but a broodmare. A possession.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “Eris, strike her.” 

Then the world did fall from beneath his feet. He had to. He knew it. Nothing had ever felt worse in his life than this moment. 

He stood, pulling every part of his face into painstaking indifference. Without hesitation he slapped Tilly. Her head shot to the side with the force of it. 

I am so sorry. 

When she turned back, her face was firm, but he could see the message in her eyes. 

I understand. I understand. 

“Again.” He slapped her again. “Backhand her.” A trickle of blood fell from her lip. He didn’t dare look at anyone around the table, couldn’t bear to take his eyes off Tilly for even a moment. Something inside of him was breaking irreparably. 

“Good, Eris. I expect you to teach your disrespectful cunt some manners.” Eris’ fingers twitched as he visualized ripping out Beron’s throat with his own hands. “Now punch her. I want you to knock her out.” Eris spun around. 

“What?” 

“I said, knock her out. I will not have you teach her this lesson again, so do it right this time.” Tilly’s eyes were wide now, but she did not falter. 

“No.” Eris knew he’d be beaten beyond repair for this. Beron might skin him alive. He didn’t care. “I will not.” 

Rather than the bellow he expected from Beron, he received quiet, calculated words. “Everybody out. Now.”  Eris could hear the chairs scraping around him, a blur of motion as everyone rushed to go. Tilly stalled, not willing to leave, but he saw Bray grab her wrist and tug. The only person he looked at as they departed was his mother, a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she shut the door behind her. 

Tilly

“Go back to your rooms, set the wards, and don’t answer the door for anyone.” Bray had told her quietly, dropping her off at their hallway and pivoting quickly to come back the way they came. Tilly sprinted to their room, warning bells blaring in her head. She quickly undid the wards and slid through the doors, securing them behind her and patching the wards back together. She’d barely leaned against the door before the first sob cracked through her chest. 

What have I done?  

The guilt was threatening to tear her apart, but all she could focus on was the fear and worry that permeated the space around her. She’d done this. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut, and now Eris was paying for it. She was pacing like a caged animal around the rooms, worrying the dogs who kept trying to sniff at her hands and comfort her. 

Hours passed this way, and still Eris did not return. It had to be the early hours of the morning now–the moon was already dipping back low in the sky outside. She’d wrung her hands into a mess of red skin, and she knew her hair would be wild if she looked from running nervous hands through it. The dogs had long since given up on her, returning to their beds and keeping sleepy eyes on her movements around the room. 

Should she go get Alanna? Did she run the risk of encountering Beron if she did? Would that make everything even worse? 

She started to cry again. Fuck. She couldn’t just keep her mouth shut when it mattered, and now Eris was somewhere in this godsforsaken house, probably in immense pain, and there was no one to blame but herself. 

The door creaked open and she whirled to see Eris staggering in. A strangled gasp left her chest as she sprinted to him, gathering him into her arms as she sobbed against him. 

“I’m so sorry, Eris. Gods, I am so fucking sorry.” She gasped into his chest and felt him wince. 

“Is this all I need to do to get some attention from you?” He said, tone trying to be light, but it came out as more of a groan. She laughed wetly and pulled back, looking him over. His eyes were bloodshot, a dark bruise blooming over his jaw and beneath his eye. His shirt, however, was covered in blood, some of the edges singed. 

“It’s okay, Tilly. It isn’t your fault. I just want to bathe and go to sleep.” His voice sounded tired, so she grabbed his hand and brought him to their bathroom. In a scene eerily reminiscent of the afternoon she’d spent with his mother, she ran him a bath, dumping lavender and cedarwood oils in, and filling it to the very top. She watched as he peeled the layers of bloody clothes from his body, and she couldn’t hold back the gasp that choked her as she saw his exposed back. 

Burns were everywhere, some fresh, some old. There were marks that looked like a whip had been taken to him repeatedly, and some of the scars were so faded they must have been centuries old. He’d heard her, and turned his head over his shoulder to see the tears streaming down her face. He walked to her, cupping her face in his palms. 

“It hardly hurts anymore, Tilly. I barely feel a thing.” She had begun to sob, her lip quivering as she barely got out the words. 

“All of you?” He nodded solemnly. “Eris…I am so, so sorry.” She hung her head, but pressed a hand to his bare and bloodied chest. She let the familiar warmth rise in her veins, summoning the light to her fingertips and letting it flow into Eris. His eyes were wide with wonder as he understood the gravity of what was happening, as he felt his back knit back together, the sting lessening and the ache becoming manageable again. 

“You….you have powers?” She laughed through her tears. 

“Oh, yes. Loads.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “And Beron won’t know a word about it until it’s too late for him.” She let Eris see the determination in her eyes–let him see how much she meant every word. 

“I mean to kill him.” He blurted out, surprising even himself. “I mean to kill him and take the crown. I am allied with the Night Court, and they will support me as the new High Lord. No one knows. Not my mother, nor my brothers. Just you.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, caressing her jaw as he told her his deepest, darkest secret. 

“Then we’ll do it together, Eris.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead down to meet hers. 

“Together, then.”  

Taglist: @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris acotar #vanserra brothers #flame of autumn #arranged marriage #allies to lovers #eris vanserra x oc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 9: I Don't Know If I Can Do It

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Chapter 8 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Gif Credit // Chapter 10

“Well done,” You said as you handed Chance two twenty pound notes and sent them on their way.

Čiernik neutralised and Shepherd’s fate in the wind, the debrief was long over. Both teams had waited for you and Price, but only Price would be joining them. Part of you wanted to hear the war stories from the 141, really catch up. Then your stomach flared up and your eyes threatened to steam up and you remembered how fragile you’d let yourself get over this calendar month.

Bronze - still conked out on meds - demanded that someone have his drink for him, so you weren’t the only one missing out. Tonight, you’d spend your time numbing your ribs and hidden away.

A naughty mood plagued your mind, a naughty and self-destructive mood that cranked open a trunk of memories concerning the good old days that Price might’ve brought up via his reappearance in his life. You groaned over being at a point in your life where your twenties were “the old days”.

That naughty mood consumed your thoughts with flashbacks you hadn’t considered for years, even since realising Price was alive. Routine for your training years was what was currently playing. Two pints into a night out, you and John used to arm wrestle – an excuse to hold his hand on your part as well as an excuse to display how much you’d been working out – over a sticky table and damp bevy napkins. If the place had a karaoke machine (like your first local did), you’d always sing “Losing My Religion” like you were trying to convince each other of your perspective. Not once did you look at the screen for the words. You would put it on the jukebox if there was no karaoke, create your own jam session that would result in a warning about getting barred.

First time John convinced you to sing with him, he had his hand on your shoulder and stared intensely at you with his forehead to yours as he sang matter-of-factly, if a little unclear due to the cider. You, on the other hand, giggled through each lyric at how overwhelmed by how his steadfast cornflower eyes held you on that stage, losing yourself in the final chorus and getting cut off by your colleague, dragged home by the collar of your shirt and insisting you weren’t that bad, John egging you on all the while.

Difficult emotions bubbled like the beer you used to drink, forming a cathartic yet strangled cry in your throat as you opened the door to your temporary room. You were too injured to wear yourself out with some exercise. That was your usual cure for avoiding uncomfortable thoughts, the energy expelled causing you to pass out without any struggle of tossing and turning – or of nightmares. Even though you were absent of any gear, or your weighted blanket back at your base, to ground you into a mattress, your ribs would’ve complained the entire night. So today you were forced to recognise that the cork on your anxiety was coming loose, and the presence of Price – paired with your lovestruck Sergeants – was the equivalent of shaking the bottle. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself with a hard sniff.

The expletive offered a mild release of emotion, staving off the crying for a little longer. Long enough to raid the medical wing for some more disposable ice packs, long enough to get caught red-handed and by none other than the main cause of your pain.

“You’re back early,” You remarked as if you weren’t using your shirt as a makeshift basket for icepacks.

Price pushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it out whilst stuffing his beanie into his coat pocket, “Had my fill. The boys were insisting it was because I was getting old.”

“You’re not old. ‘Cus if you are, then I am too, and I’m not old.”

“Course not,” Price said wryly. Then he gestured to your haul, “Need a hand?”

Already, he was approaching you and – against your better judgement – you let him scoop a couple out before you both headed back to your room.

Holding your nerve, you made an attempt to be blasé: “Don’t suppose you had a sing-song at the pub?”

“No. Haven’t since I lost my duet partner.”

You winced around the corner, hoping Price would take it in response to your injuries. He must’ve done, for he didn’t allow any silence to linger on his remark:

“Played a few sessions of Shithead to determine whose round it was. You got any other plans for tonight?”

You crushed and placed a pack onto your ribs whilst John opened your door, letting you in first as you replied, “Just lie in a pile of these.”

Price’s hum with approval was masked beneath the bed creak as you carefully placed yourself on the edge of it, your chin in your hand, whilst you awkwardly iced your back. Your eyes closed without considering the extra person in the room, yet you took note of the mattress waning beneath their weight and refused to be shocked by the calloused fingertips that touched over the condensation on your hand.

“Here,” Price said, his voice low in volume and tone.

Fingers slipping out of his gentle hold, you let Price take over holding the icepack against your side. His other hand squeezed your corresponding shoulder, thumbing out the knots on that side of your spine – and there were a lot of knots. Needless to say, you were not expecting this, nor were you expecting to crave this kind of treatment until you found yourself sitting up straighter, following Price’s hand whenever it adjusted its grip on your taut muscles.

Clearing your throat, you opened your eyes, “You always made fun of me for my spa days.”

“Well, I’ve matured now,” John said quietly, his thumb digging around the edge of your left shoulder blade, “Enough to understand the value of a back rub – maybe a good bath bomb too.”

Laughter that coughed and clogged up your throat erupted from you. A tear splashed between your spread legs, leaving a little mark on the thin rug. Another ran through the same track and slipped down your face faster. That laughter slipped into sniffles fairly quickly after that.

Price’s hands stilled, “Did I hurt you?”

You sniffed and shook your head. You massive liar.

Very easily, John could’ve just offered you a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Instead, he moved to kneel in front of you, and he went to cup your face. Tilting your head away, you pushed his hands down.Temptation was enticing you to rest your forehead against his for just a second, how it would heal all torment he’d caused you – inadvertently and otherwise. You knew this was beyond a slippery slope. It was a straight drop down a crevasse with the bottom masked by fog. Shaking your head, you looked to your bedside lamp instead of him.

Without forcing you to look at him, John spoke, “I know I’ve got no right to ask you. But I’m a selfish man.”

Stubborn, yes. Ruthless, agreed. Cold. At times. But you’d never describe Jonathan Price as selfish. Not until now, at least. You realised you were still holding his hands away, a light grip he could’ve escaped from easily but hadn’t. Your face crumpled on itself and more tears fell, your head knocking against John’s as he lowered himself to his knees between your own

“Even just a scrap of that time to apologise, properly – now I know you’ve said you’re okay with what happened, but I’m not-”

His hands curved around your wrists. There, his thumb traced over your wrist where your pulse jumped under your Viking helmet tattoo – the one he argued wasn’t accurate because it didn’t have horns.

That night you got it, he’d jeered with a beer in his hand, “I should know; it’s my damn call-sign!”

You had been so drunk on his company but so jilted by his accusation that you were prepared to cross the country with him there and then to retrieve your GCSE History certificate and wave it in his face as you declared that Vikings never actually had horns on their helmets. But then you would’ve lost your spot at the parlour, and you really liked that tattoo artist’s style so you had a juvenile John sat beside you, mumbling under his breath how wrong you were to wind him up.

Your brimming tears shocked you back to the present day, having ignored most of John’s apology in favour of reminiscing of when things felt easier.

You tuned in to the end of his speech: “I kept you in the dark and lost you. I’m sorry for that and the pain I’ve caused you. I don’t expect anything. But we’re on borrowed time already. I don’t wanna waste any more of it.”

At that, you snatched your wrists back, for his words had breathed new life into the anger you convinced yourself was dormant. “We could’ve had all the time in the world, but you left me! Why did you leave me? Don’t patronise me with the “I wanted to protect you” shit. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

And you broke down sobbing, gasping for breath as your head lolled in shame, your neck and gut rife with rile. You’d never felt so pathetic, weeping over him like this after saying it was all okay. Nothing was okay. You wanted all the years of your mourning back. You wanted them back and your John back too.

He was looking upon you with pain pinching in his brow, and his voice was as gentle as he could be: “Because I’d pick you over everything.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave for me!”

“You wouldn’t have to. You never did.”

God, you wanted Chance or Ghost to use you as a punching bag to block out this agony that wracked your entire body with the vines of grief. Worse still, John’s honesty struck worse than any condescending comment he could’ve conjured. It told you all you needed to know about him, and it asked you something new about yourself: if he asked you to leave team Banshee, would you? Your hesitance frightened you to your core, and you know it did the same to John and his commitment to the 141.

“I’m so sorry I took you for granted, that I never came back for you. I’ll spend my life and the next making it up to you. And at the moment all I can offer you is when our leave aligns, a flat by the Mersey, and a bottle of bourbon. But I’ll give you all I am, all of it.” John sealed his promise with a kiss to your forehead,“I’ll be behind whatever you want to do about this.”

The vines were wrapping around John now, constricting you two together, interlocking your bodies together until your anguished lips found his. He tasted like the mint he’d sucked on during his walk back to base.John’s stubbled chin grated as if your face wasn’t melting with tears, desperate to print onto him. Your irreverent fingers ploughed through his cropped hair, too short to hold onto. Teeth pressed uncomfortably together. You couldn’t picture any of the romantic whirlwinds you’d conjured on lonely nights in times gone by; your mind only allowed you to take in how you and John clawed at each other, as if a loose enough grip would lose him to you forever.

As your tears blurred your sights, the truth came clear in your mind. Through an exhale that tremoured like a needle on a gauge, you pushed away from him and heaved out, “I can’t take the trying to get on without you again, I can’t. I can’t go to your funeral again. Don’t make me.”

And how you begged him, when you knew he couldn’t guarantee you a damn thing.

John’s misty eyes clung to your form without breaking contact once as he swore, “I won’t.” He renewed the vow to every plea you made, each one a plate of glass placed around you two until you were surrounded by the fragile promises that would shatter as soon as one of you left the room.

He kissed you again, simple and sweet like nothing else in your lives. You finally touched him with those hands you’d killed with, cradling his jaws as your noses slanted together, chests levitating both your bodies up and down in asynchronous panting.

But even as you felt his touch prickle across your goose-pimpled skin, the rest of your truth pushed out of your mouth and into his:

“I wanted to forgive you, I really did. But I can’t.”

Your sobbing ceased the second you finished speaking, nothing but your wrecked breathing and tears left behind in the shock that you’d finally said it. In its wake, you were faced with John’s broken expression as he stared unmoving at you. His lips parted with a shuddering and short exhale. In that moment, you knew then that he thought you would forgive him. All you could respond with was a touch of your hand to his cheek in an offer of little comfort when you repeated yourself:

“I can’t.”

John’s eyes flickered but still did not blink, as if you would vanish the second he dared not to keep you in his sights. Nowhere in those eyes did you see him imploring you to change your mind. He simply reeled in the agony of reality crashing into dreams, splintering them beyond repair. You looked, really looked, past the youths you used to be. Borrowed time indeed, in your line of work, the flecks of grey in John’s beard and minute scars in his skin hinted at what remained of his life.

You decided to let yourself yearn for your history one more time.

“But can we…” You wiped your nose and sniffed, “Can we pretend, for the next few hours, that I have forgiven you?”

John swallowed and nodded. His eyes were wet, but he released nothing until you kissed him again, and you felt the first splash from where his cheek bumped yours, salt soaking together.

Trembling and keeping your lips to his, you removed John’s watch and touched over the nerve diagram, your not-so-matching tattoos. Your fingertips treaded along where his pulse ran on tracks through thick hairs and collected the sleeves as they went. Forming fists, you tugged at the bunched-up fabric, gently at first, then growing rapidly impatient, soon grappling with his shirt just as his tongue made an intrepid entrance in your mouth. An intrusive hand beside your injured ribs spun you around and into his lap, John now perched beside where you’d been, his shirt somewhere else. He was holding on tightly, and you were scratching his furred chest too harshly, the kiss clunky and incoherent.

Grief was forcing its way back up your throat, rejecting this attempt to compel reconciliation. Your last ditch effort to keep it at bay made you press your lips hard against hard down his neck until your broken cries were bleated against his collarbones.

John’s agitated chest kept you trapped with his arms warped around you. His trembling tongue whispered over and over “I’m sorry” beside your ear, his intentions clear but muddied by the impact of his words, stabbing you in your heart with every repetition.

Mustering enough energy to hold yourself together, you shut him up with your mouth on his, determined to make this easier for you both. Smoothing out his sticking-up hair did precious little to conjure the comfort you were seeking. Your face slid away from his in the rush of tears pouring down John’s face like rain on a car window. Resigned, you slumped against his chest, letting your breathing hiccup in your aching chest. John drew you back into his arms, applying an icepack to your side as he somehow manoeuvred you both under the blankets. At least he wasn’t apologising anymore.

You began phasing between light sleep and wake. Though you were roused from sleep by your ribs, each time the vines’ grip he held you in squeezed intermittently and kept you safe in a bubble whilst acting as if you weren’t in these impersonal quarters, maybe even in that apartment he mentioned. A few times, both of you were awake, having moved away to the far edges of the bed in your soporific turmoil. He returned to you every time and did just as you asked: pretended that this you could have each other like this, every night past the sunrise.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“When I next wake up, I want you gone.”

Silence for a minute. And then:

“Ok.”

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

AN: Black Viking was an access code for Captain Price, so I reworked it as a callsign for this fic - though it's more like "Viking" as the callsign.

Thank you for your patience with the uploads! Only two chapters more to go! Thank you also @bunnyreaper for being a Beta on this chapter <3

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic #cod x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #my writing #series #r: gn