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madaboutmunson · 2 years

Text

The Eddie Munson Tape Dates - Black Sabbath - Black Sabbath

Warnings : Fluff, swearing, guitar, tiny bit of angst, smooch, d&d

In the dimly lit room, soft purple and deep blue drapery floats around you. With your heavily stickered Gibson SG replica at your waist, you approach the microphone and adjust your already drenched aerobic headband.

'Right here we go,' you think to yourself for maybe the hundredth time today, and wipe the beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist sweatband. You imagine your look is that of a female Bruce Springsteen.

You look out at your audience and nod at them. The neatly arranged line of plush owls gives you no indication of whether they are enjoying the show or not, but you give them one anyway. You glance over in your full-length mirror, its black metal filagree style frame adorned with photo booth strips of you and Eddie. You laugh at your reflection. Yep, sure, a total Springsteen if he went out on stage and wore my little pony pyjama shorts and an old cut-up white t-shirt.

You grab your smoke from the pearlescent abalone ashtray and put it in the corner of your mouth, turning the music back to the first page of tabs.

The handwriting on the pages was mainly your scribbled notes that you hurriedly jotted down when observing Eddie play his guitar and teaching you little tips and tricks on playing faster but not messily.

You flick back to the start of the book for a moment to read the inscription in red pen, "My Lady in shining armour, may this book start your (only permitted) love affair with music. Take a breath for your mistakes. You got this. See you on the other side for a jam session. Yours forever, Eddie."

A humongous, almost aching grin erupts on your face, and the joint nearly drops from your lips. You just manage to catch it before it plummets to the night sky rug on the floor.

'Forever', you wondered, really could it be? Could he mean that? It wasn't like him to be misleading with words, but he was prone to theatrics. What did that mean anyway? Did it mean it could be like this always? That would be bliss, but there were things to come you weren't sure about. College, touring, work, marriage, a family. You didn't know how much of that you wanted, let alone how much of that Eddie wanted.

'Just enjoy where you are.' your brain advises and draws your eyes to the heavy scar on your inner forearm, 'Any day could be your last', it adds.

You put the smoke out and hoped that furiously practising until pain seared through your forearm tendons or the weed finally hit that sweet spot, you would eventually stop being so nervous about this date.

As you, yet again, launch into a more up-tempo version of 'Burning Love by Elvis, shutting your eyes, singing as loudly as you can at the ever-surprised eyes of the owls, you recall how this all came about.

"You know what? It's gotta be Sabbath again. There are just so many tapes of theirs in here compared to the others," you said, picking up Black Sabbath by Black Sabbath out of the ever-depleting box of tapes placed in the centre of your bed.

"I know, right? It's almost like I'm a fan or something" Eddie's voice dripped with sarcasm as he looked over at you from the other side of the box.

He removed the box and leaned back against the headboard as you frantically scanned the song titles on the cassette sleeve. The sleeve hanging on by its final thread of life, some of the corners dog-eared, partially stained, torn and crumbled. This album had clearly experienced everything life could offer a cassette. You decided to leave it in the case to save you being its final demise.

"Erm, ok, so not the sleep-related ones, I guess…Evil Woman, well, that's me, so it can't be that one, "that comment earned you a tut and smirk from Eddie, "Warning? Maybe some kind of explosives-type thing? Or a demolition derby."

You looked up at Eddie to see if you were even close with your guesses. His wide-open eyes had blinked at you repeatedly, "Seriously, what have I done to you??" a smile appeared across his face, and he grabbed you in a playful headlock, ruffling up your hair.

"I'll have you know, I was always interested in those things. I just hadn't met anyone that they were worth bringing them up to, that's all," you say, pushing your way out of his grapple.

"Sure thing, babe, whatever you say" he chuckled and did that sigh and look over of you, which, depending on mood, you interpreted in two different ways. Either he couldn't believe how he got so lucky, or he couldn't believe how weird you were. You hadn't quite mastered the difference or dared to ask.

He takes the tape away from you and looks over it, "Do you want the good news or bad news first?" He asked, putting the cassette delicately in his jacket pocket that was hanging on the post of the headboard.

You take the opportunity to mimic Eddie, "Bad news first, always!" You said, grinning at him.

"Oh, lady, you are headed for trouble today," he said, trying to repress a smile of absolute mischief, "Anyway…as I was going to say. The bad news is we can't carry out this date today."

You had pouted, then scowled and thrown yourself backwards on the bed with a thud. Glaring at the ceiling like a petulant child.

"But the good news is," Eddie said, crawling over you into view, his hair hanging down, tickling the sides of your face ", when we can do this one, it's going to be so freakin' awesome, babe!" The excitement in his eyes had been visible, like brand new sparkles had appeared in them from out of nowhere, straight from the nearest neighbouring nebula.

"Do I get to know what it is, or does it have to be a surprise?" You asked, pretending to still be annoyed, folding your arms between you and Eddie, making him pout at you. He sat on your hips, giggling, trying to forcefully undo them.

"No!!! I won't have this! I won't! not on Eddie time!" He finally prised them open and threw himself onto your chest, gripping on tightly, his hair all over your face.

"Anyway…before I was rudely interrupted by this act of warfare…you can know if you want to, it's up to you," he said, muffled by being planted face down on your chest.

Gods, this guy. You had just burst out laughing at him. It was impossible to even pretend to be mad with him.

"Ok, ok, you win this time. Yes, I would like to know what it is, please," you said cheerfully and relaxed your arms.

He raised his head and wiggled his way up, making sure not to leave any gaps between your torsos in case those pesky arms got in the way again. He looked down into your eyes, "I'm amazed you still think me winning these things is a turn-based game. I will not relent until victory is mine, babe. Just deal with it!" He pulled your scarred forearm towards his face and placed a line of kisses all the way along it, "You're going to play in a D&D one-shot with the hellfire club!" He looked at you expectantly.

You launched upwards excitedly, almost butting heads, "They're ok with me playing??!! Even though I don't know much about it?" You say, squeezing Eddie's face with pure elation.

Through lips pushed together like a fish, he manages, "Yeh, they bin askin fo a whil now, bu I cou 'n squez yo in campan"

You'd planted a kiss on his face and sprung into action, pacing around the room with character ideas that were not impossible, but Eddie helped you wrangle them into something that could fit the game.

It wasn't until that evening that the reality of that event hit you full force. Hellfire club was held in the drama department, and the last time you'd been there was with your ex, Trent.

To say you were anxious about it was an understatement. What if you bumped into someone you used to know there, and they brought him up or asked after him?

As cruel as it was, you had almost forgotten all about him altogether because of Eddie.

It was probably all going to be ok. He was long gone. The department had probably moved on, right?

One of the owls in front of you raises its wings in the air in applause, and you almost jump out of your skin with fright. It's only when you catch a glimpse of the ringed hand under one of the rings you take a breath.

You quickly remember your appearance and try to rectify it as soon as possible, putting your guitar down gently, then frantically taking off sweatbands, reorganising your hair, grabbing a robe, and offering an embarrassed "Hi" and a wave.

Eddie appears from behind the owls in his usual combination of a band tee, leather jacket, denim vest, ripped jeans and sneakers. He launches himself off the bed and walks over to you, looking curiously, "Where were you just then? I called you a bunch of times. I mean, you're loud, but…"

Remembering you pull the ear plugs from your ears, "Sorry, babe," you offer with a shy smile.

Eddie nods in realisation, "Very wise. How long have you been practising for, exactly?" He asks, inspecting your recently removed headband by picking it up on your hairbrush.

"Uh, since Mama and Pop when out, they should be back soon." You say, getting some clean clothes ready, "Sorry Eddie, I lost track of time."

"Well, yeah, you sure did lose track of time, babe. Your Mom and Dad have been having a dance party downstairs to your music for at least the last half an hour," he says, flicking the headband from your hairbrush to your wicker laundry basket.

"Ah shit. Are they mad?" You ask, transferring fresh towels to your bathroom for the impending speed shower you need to have.

"Not mad at all, babe. I meant that literally. They are dancing downstairs together to your music. If I wasn't so nimble, I would have been dragged into it too," he laughs.

"Oh, ok, that's good then. I'm just gonna hop in the shower, babe. I won't be long," you say, rushing into the bathroom.

You're mid-way through scrubbing your hair when you hear, "So are you gonna tell me why you're nervous about today then? Or shall I use my super sleuth skills?" The voice is coming from the toilet, next to where you were. You poke your head around the curtain, your hair saturated with suds and swirled like soft serve ice cream on top of your head.

"Wow, this is a fashion statement" Eddie smiles back at you, sitting on top of the closed toilet seat, twiddling his rings around.

"Can you get noisier shoes, please? Christ!" You say before hurrying back under the water. You'd been making a concentrated effort to be more open and promised to try your best not to hide things. Eddie had said you couldn't both navigate a problem together if you both didn't know what it was, and this was a team effort.

"I'm worried about going back to the drama department, that's all. You know, because the last time I was there was with someone else." You were being too vague, and you knew it, "The last time I was there was with Trent", you add for clarification.

"That was really good, babe." He says, and you think you detect a bit of pride in his voice, "Honestly, it's all going to be fine, you go past it every school day, and we just go to the raised area and close it off for hellfire, we'll do the same tonight."

"You know what, you're absolutely right. So I can just focus all my nervousness on impressing all your nerd friends by rolling quick hits all night, right?" You say passionately, rinsing your hair out and reach for the towel rail. Instead, your fingers find an extreme absence of towel.

"Eddie?" You call out only to be met with stifled giggling, "Are you really going to make us late to your own game?" You pull back the shower curtain only to be immediately smothered by your towel and rapidly roughly dried until you emerge into your bedroom, in front of your mirror, dry but hair like a bird's nest.

"Thanks?" You say, trying to arrange your hair in some way that resembles a hairstyle.

"The ungratefulness is astounding. Also, its crit hits, not quick hits, babe," Eddie says, throwing clothes at you from the closet, "You know how many people's significant others would literally dry them after a shower? Hmm, do you?!" He says, pure mischief on his face.

You are so shocked by what is happening that you just start putting on the clothing he'd thrown your way, but you were pushed into a chair by your vanity as soon as you had put on Eddie's Judas priest t-shirt. In the reflection, Eddie has gathered your hair in his hands, brushing through it, telling you about his day.

"…so I said, Gareth, there is no way I am drop tuning my guitar for one set list song only. I'll either set up an alternative guitar like that, or we'll create a new set list where the tuning is all like that. Can you believe that shit?" He says, frowning at you in the mirror, still combing through your hair.

He presses play on your stereo, grabs some of the hair separating clips, and starts sectioning your hair. He places clips along his sleeve, one in his mouth and one in his hand, like a conveyor belt, as they are inserted into your hair. His brow furrowed in concentration until completion.

"And that is as much as I can remember…" He says, looking very pleased with himself, standing back and looking at you in the mirror.

You smile back. Still, a little shell shocked, "Thanks, Eddie, that's very helpful. You did an excellent job", and reach for one of the many hair product bottles on the table and hurriedly finish what Eddie started.

He lies on the bed, chin rested on his hands and feet kicked up behind him, as he observes the rest of the process. Well, that is until one of the owl plushies falls on him, a wrestling match ensues, it appears to be no hold barred, and the owl looks to be winning because its other owl friends join in.

You look at Eddie in the mirror playing both himself and a parliament of stuffed owls, and you can't help but wonder how amazing it must be to have his mind, to be this creative, with basically nothing other than his surroundings.

Your laughter calls the match to a halt, making Eddie victorious, apparently. Finally ready to go, you head downstairs and see your parents sitting crossed-legged by the turntable. Your Mama in one of her gloriously psychedelic home tie-dyed kaftans, and your Dad in his beige button-down shirt and red braced tan trousers.

Mama has her head leaning gently on your Pop's shoulder as they sing through the lyrics on the insert of the album playing. Your Dad decides the actual lyrics aren't enough "We're caught in a trout…I can't walk out..because it's got gills, baby."

Your Mama girlishly giggles at him and nudges him in the side. "Tom! You killed the mood of our listening party!" She pretends to complain and gets a kiss on the forehead.

"Bye guys, make sensible choices!" You shout back as you go to leave. Eddie is still observing them, so you grab his hand and pull him after you.

As your get seated in the van, Eddie adjusts the wilted flower on his air vent, "Like, do your folks ever fight or argue?" he says it with a laugh, but you can tell this is a genuine question as he sets off driving down the dusk lit road.

"Of course they do. It's rare, but they do, same as everyone. They just don't let one another hold onto it. They are just super honest with one another, some of which is very brave to say to someone else. They must not worry about it." You try to answer the best you can. You had no idea how they did it, they just did it, and it worked for them.

"Worry about what, exactly?" Eddie says, intrigued, turning down the radio but not taking his eyes off the road.

"Oh, you know, that they might say or do something that would make the other one leave, or cheat or whatever", you mumble softly. Merely saying negative words like this fill your mind with terrible what-ifs.

"Well, you know they only have that because they built that, right? That kinda thing doesn't just happen. I just found it…um… interesting" he taps the steering wheel a few times as the van happily zooms down the road to school.

"No, I guess you're right. It must have taken a long time to get the process just right. I guess I never had to think about it before because it's just the way it is at my house. Interesting…or do you mean weird, babe? It sounds like you mean weird." You smile over at Eddie, whose mischievous smile is playing on his face now that he's been caught in his small fib.

"Alright, weird then, but not bad weird, you know? I just wondered. They aren't the couple role models I'm used to seeing if that makes sense? And shit, as parents, my god! Sensational! It's no wonder you're so great." Eddie says with unbridled enthusiasm. It was beautiful to hear how much he adores your folks, but it also made your heart bleed for him a little bit.

"I'm so glad they can't hear any of what you are saying right now because they would never shut up about it. Like sitting on their porch swing together at 90, or whatever being like.."

You hunch over in your seat and pull your lips over your teeth, doing your best over the top elderly voice, "Do you 'member that nice young man, who said we were sensational, love? "

Eddie's smile grows more expansive, and he gives you a shove, saying, "Alright, alright! Most people would love their boyfriend and parents to get on."

"Oh, I love it, for sure, but I just love teasing you more." You laugh as the van pulls up into the parking lot.

"Alright, let's do this!!" He says enthusiastically, leaping into the back of the van to grab a box brimming with foam structures and figures and his backpack.

School grounds on the weekend were eerie. It felt all sorts of wrong. The halls were empty and echoed as you walked, without all those other bodies soaking up the sound.

As you headed into the drama department, you speed up ahead of Eddie to get the doors for him. You were greeted by some familiar faces, the three other members of Corroded Coffin and Carla, who was currently attached to Gareth's arm and wearing one of his flannel shirts. You smile broadly and whisper to Eddie, "You helped do that, babe. Aren't you proud?"

Eddie is busy setting out the map for the one-shot session. Placing finely crafted and painted elements of the environment, in their positions, from the box you are holding for him. He continues but smiles and shakes his head, saying quietly, "and there isn't a day that's gone by since where I haven't regretted it. The relationship questions are incessant!!"

You take a quick look around. No one is looking directly at you, so you give Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiles and continues with his terrain organising, "Well, ok, I guess it was worth it, then. Your seat is on the right of mine. I left you some goodies."

You walk around the table and see that a seat next to Eddie has already been laid out for you. A pre-made character sheet with your name at the top, a set of polyhedral dice of deep vibrant blue with gold numbers, a pencil with an owl topper, an eraser, a can of mountain dew and a little bowl a mixture of pretzels and M&Ms.

You look over the sheet again. What even was this game? Why were there so many numbers? The way Eddie talked about it, it didn't sound as complicated as it looked to you currently. It sounded like improv.

You look at the seat to your right and see pretty much the same set-up as yours, except the stationary is a real mixture. Some My Little Pony pencils, but erasers in the shape of the most violent-looking maces. A binder covered in Corroded Coffin and heart stickers.

You hear an excited high pitched "Eeeeeeeeee" from just behind you to your right and turn around to face it.

Carla's face beams at you radiantly, "Eddie, said I could help you tonight? I hope you don't mind. I've played a Cleric before, so I'm probably gonna be best to help you." She rambles kindly.

"Oh, thank the gods, seriously, I was starting to worry!" You say, sitting in your seat as Carla scoots her chair over to yours.

"So a Cleric is a divine magic user. You have a deity you worship who gives you your magic through your holy symbol. Your role in the party generally is a healer, but if it comes down to it, you can smack someone into next week. Let's see what you've got," Carla says excitedly, reading over your character sheet.

Her mouth opens a little "Oh my god! Ok, this is special. Your deity isn't even officially in the books yet. She's only in the comics. Selûne, goddess of the moon." Carla marvels at the description and moves the top piece of paper to reveal another.

You know immediately this is one of Eddie's drawings. You can tell by the handwriting and the shading.

Carla guides you around the illustration, the moon's on the armour of the character, a Warhammer with embossed phases of the moon along it resting on the ground, whilst their other arm holds out a shield, their hair is drawn to look like it's blowing in the wind.

Carla is still talking, but you've become lost in the tiny details of the drawing. On the inside of the shield, it has your initial, a plus sign and an E. On the knuckles of the gauntlets are tiny suns. On the inside of the arm, holding out the shield, is a sword tattoo, right where your scar would be. On the character's hip is a pouch with cherries sticking out of it.

And that's when you see it in the top corner of the paper. This is the stationary from the hospital, and yet you'd never seen it before. He'd drawn you as a hero while sitting at your bedside. You feel the lump in your throat start to appear, and a feeling of panic sweeps over you. You can't get upset in front of Hellfire Club.

"You know Carla, I'm just gonna go grab another drink from the vending machine. I just…I mean… I'm sure this game is gonna be thirsty work, right?" You quickly grab your purse and make a quick exit.

"We have plenty here, you know…" Carla calls after you, but you've already got out of there.

You get to the vending machine and gently rest your forehead against it, pushing in a few coins and then the button. You wait for the drop, but it doesn't come. You stand up straight and press the button again, nothing. You push the button to return your money, nothing.

You throw your hands up in disbelief, and you laugh to yourself. You lost your money, but at least you didn't feel like crying anymore, right? You decide to take this as a win and head back in.

"You never could quite get the hang of these things, could you?" Comes a voice from the side of you that makes you freeze with dread. A strategically placed thump on the side of the vending machine, and your can drops from where you can retrieve it.

You grab the can and quickly make some space between you and them. Then, with a tension setting in all over and a slowly sinking feeling, you turn to face them, "Trent" you nod in a tight-lipped thanks and go to head back inside. You have nothing to say to him. Not a single thing.

He'd changed a lot. The previous clean-cut, tight polo shirt wearing, dark cropped hair guy had been replaced by a dirty blonde chin-length-haired, baggy light pants and tweed jacket combo wearing man.

You could sense even his demeanour had changed. Trent was so passionate and/or tense about the next thing. If all six foot one of the guy in front of you got any more relaxed, he might have just turned into a puddle.

It made you a little mad he wasn't even tense seeing you after what he'd done. So you try to push it down. He's not going to spoil this evening. He's just not.

"If it's worth anything, I'm sorry for how things went", he calls after you.

You close your eyes, and your hand tightens around the can, "Why are you even here, Trent?" You say without turning around.

"I'm just visiting some old friends for a while, we were hanging out outside, and I saw you come in here with that weird kid…" He clicks his fingers like he's trying to jog his own memory, "…he was always hanging around the auditorium like some little lost puppy or something until he formed his own band of freaks…Evan, or something, right?"

You felt the anger rise in you. Trent was pushing your buttons, and he knew it. You turn to him. Your eyes must be flaring with fury because his face has his stupid smug grin on it. You wanted nothing more than for the can in your hand to become intimately acquainted with his expression at high velocity.

You are ready to give him both barrels when a girl bursts through the side door, "What's taking so long, my love?" She complains. You recognise her from school. A member of the drama department, obviously, who coincidentally had also been a very close friend of Trent's.

Satisfaction sweeps over you as if this just proved your point. You return his smug grin with one of your own, flip him the bird, and head back into the game.

When you get to your seat, you shuffle the chair a little closer towards Eddie, so your leg can touch his. He's a bit surprised but doesn't seem to mind. Though you knew he probably wouldn't stay sitting in his chair for long. Even when Eddie retold the game events to you, he would have to move around. You write and pass him a little note to say, 'Trent was here, I'm ok.

Eddie swallows, sets his jaw, and looks over at you. You meet Eddie's gaze and silently try to convey everything is ok with a soft blink. He smiles back at you and places his foot, so his ankle rests on yours, under the table.

"Shut up!" He yells, and the rest of the table falls silent, "Shall we begin?" Eddie's eyes ignite at those words, and they glance at each player at the table, inviting you all into his world.

Eddie sets the scene animatedly, and the outside world is gone before you know it. You've been willingly captured into a world of fantasy and intrigue, but as this game isn't intended for one session and for someone who has never played before, the premise is simple. You just had to find out why the village's sheep were missing.

The night is filled with epic successes and abysmal failures as you all work together to get to the root of the problem. Only to discover a small band of goblins are responsible.

A combat ensues, and with Carla's help, your character heals and assists the others who seem a lot more proficient in the ways of battle. You manage to avoid most of the damage Eddie tries to inflict upon your character by the dice rolls. Trying to remove her from being able to help others.

"No, stop. Please, we's only doin' as we's told," Eddie says in a little Goblin voice just as Carla's Barbarian is about to end its suffering.

Carla turns from Eddie to the table and back again, "I'll ask it who is in charge."

"Put uz down then, and we's tell ya", The goblin replies.

The players at the table are an even split on what to do. Carla thinks for a moment, "You know, I think because of her background of having to work for others just to survive, she would ask"

As soon as Eddie is perched on his chair, you all know it was a mistake, "As you put them on the ground, the Goblin takes a last stab at you with its dagger…" Eddie rolls a die and then another "…and hits you for 4 damage."

"Fuck, I'm down", Carla complains. It's your turn in the initiative order next. Eddie turns to you expectantly.

"I'll try to heal our Barbarian," you say like it's obvious.

Eddie shakes his head, holding back a smile. You turn to Carla in a panic, whose head is in her hands as Eddie knocks over her model on the map, "Your out of spell slots, Y/N. You can't heal anyone." Carla says regretfully.

Eddie turns quickly to the next person in the order of events, but everyone else is more than a turn of movement away.

"Wait!" You yell out in a very Eddie-esque way. You stare at the little Goblin figure between you and the prone Barbarian. All that swims through your head is the encounter in the hallway earlier. What would your character have done?

You turn your eyes to Eddie's and, with the faintest of sneers, say, "I want to crush this little fucker's head in!"

Eddie tilts his head, "Go ahead and try. Roll for it."

You look over at Carla and roll your 20-sided die. It lands on a 16. "That hits. Roll your damage," he says, checking his notes and peering over his screen at the table.

Carla points at the most normal looking of your dice set, and you roll it across the table until it settles on a 4. Eddie looks up at you from under his curls, "Why don't you describe to me how you attack this sweet innocent little Goblin…" The table erupts into jeers and shouts at Eddie's characterisation of the goblin that just floored the party's Barbarian. He laughs, looking round at them and then back to you, "…and then I'll tell you what happens."

You feel your fists clench under the table, you glare at the little Goblin model on the map, and you imagine Trent's smug, stupid face in the corridor, "I raise up my hammer, and before bringing it crashing into the side of their stupid smug idiot face, I say, 'Smile you son of a bitch'"

Eddie's eyebrows raise, and he reaches over and flicks the goblin over so hard it flies off the table's edge into the depths of the drama department and gives you a wink.

He turns back to the others, gives them the deathly theatrical demise they want, and finishes up the story's epilogue.

As you help him pack away and thank the others for taking the time out to play, You feel a new respect for this funny little game. Sure all the complexity might be a bit challenging at first, and you probably wouldn't want to invade Eddie's hellfire nights. Still, there was no denying that defeating waking world demons in a fantasy setting, as a hero, for a few hours, felt pretty good.

You spot the goblin on the floor, pick it up and place it reverently back in the box, where Eddie is also putting away bits of the hand-carved and painted landscape.

You half sit on the table edge and look him over, "You knew I'd run out of spells, didn't you?"

"A dungeon master never reveals their secrets," he says without looking up at you.

"And you knew how many hit points Carla had left, and that little thing only needed one good stab. Leaving me with only one thing I could do," you add to the endearing accusation as you toy with his belt loop, "Didn't you?"

He looks over your shoulder a second, then puts the pieces in his hands in the box, moves himself against you, looking down into your eyes, and says softly, "And how did it feel to annihilate that pesky monster."

"Surprisingly, extremely good," You say as your heart races. "You know, I don't think I've ever been happier that someone broke my heart", wrapping Eddie in your arms and kissing him gently.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddiemunson #eddie stranger things #eddie the freak munson #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #romance #madaboutmunson #theeddiemunsontapedates #fire_au

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resowrites · 2 years

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Sherlock Holmes And The Book Of Rhymes - Part 4 (finale)

Summary: When Cora Beauchamp begins receiving extracts from a book of nursery rhymes by post, the police dismiss her which leaves her only one way to turn. But with no clue as to the sender or the meaning behind them, will the case prove too bizarre even for Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (I envisioned Henry’s version but the story could apply to Rathbone right through to Cumberbatch), OC!Cora Beauchamp, Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, OC characters.

Warnings: adult/dark themes such as adultery, occasional threat of violence/danger, some period misogyny/victorian attitudes, angsty, mention of underage relationship/adultery, mention of death/murder, lightly beta’d.

WC: 3300

Sorry about the delay in posting this, it was finished ages ago I just forgot to post it! Thanks for your patience ~ Reso x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! No copyright infringement intended, gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Part 4 (finale):

Fortunately, the gardener's cottage was only a short walk from the main house. However, Mr. Holmes was surprised to see smoke coming from the chimney, on a day like today gardeners were normally very busy. The heat also precluded the use of a hearth. He walked up the stepping stones to the rickety front door and gave it several sharp whacks with his cane. He heard hushed voices from within but eventually the door creaked open and an older gentleman stepped onto the porch, not permitting him so much as a peek inside. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" Mr. Holmes smiled briefly.

"Yes, good afternoon. My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Dr. Watson. We've come to speak to you regarding the disappearance of the housekeeper, Lorraine Hornbeck." He then thought he heard whimpering of some kind from within the cottage.

"I'm sorry sirs, I don't work up at the house, there's nothing I can tell you." He then hastily tried to shut the door, which Mr. Holmes caught with the edge of his boot.

"We won't be long Mr…?" The gardener sighed.

"Thornton." He resigned himself to opening the door and leading the two gentlemen inside. Mr. Holmes caught the footsteps of someone quickly running upstairs, though he couldn't make out who it was. The collage was very old indeed and he had to duck so as not to hit his head on the beams hung from the low ceiling. The living room was poorly lit, all its curtains were drawn and the fireplace roared loudly, making the room that much hotter. Dr. Watson pulled at his shirt collar, sweat already pooling at the back of his neck.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Thornton, we shan't be long. Leave the door open Watson, there's no one about to hear our discussion." Dr. Watson backed away from the front door he'd intended to close behind him and caught his friend eyeing the staircase to their left.

"Were we disturbing you, Mr. Thornton?" The gardener's eyes swept side to side suspiciously.

"Oh… no, that was just my daughter, Evie. I told her to go upstairs so we might have some privacy." Mr. Holmes smiled.

"Quite so. Forgive my saying so, but your age precludes you from having a young daughter… might I ask why she still lives at home?" The gardener didn't know quite how to respond.

"W-well, she's a bit simple you see… easily led. Her mother died young so I'm all she's got…" Mr. Holmes wiped his brow.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Thornton. I'll keep my questions brief. Do you know what might have happened to Mrs. Hornbeck?" The gardener swallowed.

"No sirs, as I said, I don't work up at the main house so I've no clue as to what goes on there…" Mr. Holmes doubted that somehow.

"I see… well have you heard any rumours then? Particularly regarding the relationship between Mrs. Hornbeck and her husband?" The gardener looked as though he was about to say something before changing his mind. He was silent for several moments before speaking again.

"No sirs… nothing springs to mind." It was quite clear he was lying.

"I see… and what about last night, did you see or hear anything unusual?" The heat was really getting to Mr. Holmes now and his voice cracked his throat had become so dry.

"No sirs, I'm a heavy sleeper." Mr. Holmes rested on his cane uneasily. Dr. Watson was also struggling, his face was now dripping with sweat.

"I must say chap… why on earth have you a fire going at this hour?" Mr. Holmes bit back a smile, trust Dr. Watson to presume his next question. Although nothing was now visible in the fireplace, from the smell of the smoke, he believed paper had been burnt. It had a particularly acrid smell.

"Oh… I just had some garden waste to get rid of, I can't do it outside lest I cause a wildfire what with the grass being so burnt…" a good enough excuse but hardly likely thought Mr. Holmes.

"And what of your daughter Mr. Thornton, may we speak to her?" The gardener's eyes swiveled towards them wildly.

"No sirs, she won't be up to answering any of your questions… as I said, she's not quite right." Mr. Holmes wondered to what degree that was also true.

"Well then, did she mention any noises to you in the night?" The gardener shook his head, climbing to his feet as he did so.

"No, she was sound asleep. Now I really must ask you gentlemen to leave, I've got work to be getting on with…" Mr. Holmes agreed to his request, after all, there was little else he was going to find out from him.

"Quite so Mr. Thornton, thank you for your time." And with that, the detective practically ran from the room. By the time they were standing back outside, both men were perspiring heavily and had removed their coats.

"Damn fool… what on earth is he doing starting fires on a day like this?" Mr. Holmes chuckled lightly and fetched into his coat pocket for a looking glass. As he turned to head down to the riverbed, he noticed a figure in the top floor window of the cottage. It was Evie. She stared at him blankly, though even from his position, he could tell that she was distressed. Her eyes were red and puffy. Dr. Watson followed his friend's gaze and gasped when he saw her. Mr. Holmes then sniffed and continued his walk, the figure of Evie remaining where she stood. Dr. Watson stepped up closer to his friend. "What on earth was all that about Holmes?" The detective didn't look at him and kept his voice low, considering it likely Evie was still watching them.

"I don't know, but her presence there suggests she wanted to be seen. I believe she knows what's going on Dr. Watson… and perhaps what happened to Mrs. Hornbeck." Dr. Watson stopped in his tracks.

"But then surely we should go back and demand to speak to her?" But the detective continued down to the riverbed, not stopping to consider the notion.

"No, her father won't permit it. Besides, most of the pieces have already fallen into place…" Dr. Watson hurried towards his friend who was now stooped low, examining the ground in front of him.

"They have? Well, do you care to enlighten me then? Because so far none of this nonsense makes any more sense than it did at the beginning…" by now Mr. Holmes would have rebuked the good doctor's claims but instead, let out an 'ah-ha' as he picked something out of the dirt. It was too muddy to see clearly but the look on the detective's face was triumphant.

"Come Watson, I believe our journey is at an end." He then turned on his heels and marched back towards the house. Dr. Watson let out an exasperated sigh but dutifully followed him.

As luck would have it, Inspector Lindsey was outside the entrance of the house, smoking a cigarette and chatting away casually with one of his officers. "Ah - Inspector Lindsey, just who I wanted to see. I'm afraid I have rather grim news. Instruct your men to start dredging the lake at once, I believe that is where we're likely to find Mrs. Hornbeck. And have Mr. Hornbeck arrested at once and bought to the drawing room, I believe our case is solved." The Inspector's mouth hung open so far, that his cigarette dropped to the ground.

"Er… right away Mr. Holmes! Well, you heard him lad, get to the lake. I'll see about finding our Mr. Hornbeck." The Inspector then dashed through the side entrance of the house, hoping to reach his suspect before anyone else did. And he was just in time, he caught Mr. Hornbeck creeping down the back staircase, a small suitcase in hand and a disturbed look on his face. "And where do you think you are off to sir?" Mr. Hornbeck didn't respond, instead, he made a mash dash for the same entrance the Inspector had come through, trying his absolute best to wriggle out of his grip. Luckily he had the foresight to blow his whistle, or Mr. Hornbeck could have got away completely. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson rushed to the scene and quickly apprehended the man. It wasn't long before he was bought to the drawing room handcuffed and looking rather forlorn indeed. Inspector Lindsey roughly pushed him down onto a chair, nodding to Mr. Holmes to begin his explanation.

"Well, as if this most recent display wasn't proof enough, I believe we've found Mrs. Hornbeck's killer…" Mr. Hornbeck began protesting loudly.

"Tosh! I haven't done anything to anyone, let me go this instant!" He was quickly pressed back into his seat by the Inspector.

"That's quite enough out of you Mr. Hornbeck, now pipe down or we'll have you gagged as well…" that shut him up fast enough. Mr. Holmes smiled and was about to continue his speech when Miss Beauchamp came bursting into the room.

"What on earth's going on here? I heard a terrible commotion… y-you've arrested Mr. Hornbeck? In God's name, why?" Dr. Watson hurried to her side and took her by the arm.

"Come, my dear, you best not be present for this…" but Mr. Holmes eyed them both carefully as he started packing his favourite pipe.

"Miss Beauchamp is welcome to stay if she so wishes, after all, someone will have to tell her eventually…" Cora eyed the detective suspiciously.

"Tell me what? Would someone please tell me what's happening!" Dr. Watson guided her to the sofa and stroked her hand, she was becoming hysterical and he tried to calm her nerves.

"Mr. Hornbeck murdered his wife Miss Beauchamp… the facts tell us a much." Cora gasped in shock and for a moment Dr. Watson was worried she'd faint. He quickly prepared some smelling salts just in case.

"N-no, no I'm alright doctor, really. How could you say such a thing, Mr. Holmes? Mr. and Mrs. Hornbeck have been with me for years, they've never put a foot wrong…" Mr. Holmes struck his match, the brightness of the flame stinging everyone's eyes.

"And yet you said yourself, Miss Beauchamp, their marital difficulties were well known." Mr. Hornbeck was about to respond when he caught the warning eye of the Inspector. "Those rumours of infidelity turned out to be true, and though I'm sure Mr. Hornbeck will correct me if I'm wrong, he had a tryst with Evie Thorton." Cora just stared at Mr. Holmes bewildered.

"The gardener's daughter? Is this true?" She turned towards Mr. Hornbeck, who now had his head in his hands.

"Allow me to go back to the beginning…" Mr. Holmes took a large toke of his pipe while everyone else listened intently, like children being read a bedtime story.

"I first suspected someone from the house was responsible for the excerpts sent to Miss Beauchamp, when she confirmed they were sent without an address. Any letters sent that way are typically discarded. However, I later sent a telegram to the local post office here, which confirmed they weren't in receipt of any blank envelopes this past month. The second clue was how Miss Beauchamp came across the excerpts. On the first two occasions, she simply found them amongst the rest of the post, indicating that they may not have been for her in the first place. Most of the rest of my findings require a bigger leap of faith though I encourage you all to listen carefully. Mr. Hornbeck's first mistake was to appear before us so disheveled, his appearance suggested a disturbed night and his newly dried hair spoke of either an early morning bath or a trip to the lake. Given the context of our current predicament, I'm inclined to believe the latter. When I searched his room later on, I found the bottle of laudanum he'd mentioned using to aid his sleep. He told me he got through a bottle a month, which wouldn't then explain why this bottle is less than half full only a week into our current month…" Mr. Holmes then placed the nearly empty bottle onto the coffee table nestled between them all.

"Good lord… he couldn't have taken all that in less than a week, he'd be a very sick man indeed!" Dr. Watson picked up the bottle and held it up to the light, alarmed at how little was left.

"Quite. But say this was a previous bottle, as could well be the case, my next job then was to find other clues that suggested Mr. Hornbeck was away from the house in the early hours of this morning. Besides his hastily made bed and thrown together outfit, I also came across a soaked uniform hidden underneath his bed. The smell of the lake on such clothes was quite unmistakable." Mr. Holmes sniffed, as though repulsed by the memory. "My search under the bed also turned up this…" he then threw a heavy object onto the coffee table with a thud.

"The book of rhymes…" Cora stared at the object for a few moments before quickly flipping through its pages, desperate to see if it was indeed the same book. When she came across the torn out pages, there was no mistaking it was the book in question.

"Good lord… are you suggesting Mr. Hornbeck sent the letters to Miss Beauchamp? Or whomever?" Mr. Holmes inhaled sharply, somewhat annoyed at the good doctor's sluggish mind.

"Not Mr. Hornbeck, his wife… she'd intended the letters for Evie Thornton. Either as a threat to end their association… or a warning that she intended to exact for revenge for a situation long past, I'm assuming the latter Mr. Hornbeck?" The man looked up sadly and nodded his head.

"Y-yes, yes you're quite right Mr. Holmes. What my Evie and I had… i-it ended long ago. Her father saw to that. But Mrs. Hornbeck couldn't let it go. She found out only recently though God knows how I warned Evie enough times not to say anything. I don't know what she intended to do… but, but I couldn't let her hurt my Evie!" He then burst into tears, surprising and embarrassing everyone in equal measure. Mr. Holmes scowled at the man.

"Yes… so like a coward, you confronted her, and I assume when she either denied any wrongdoing or refused to back down, you took matters into your own hands. Either you struck her last night before poisoning her for good measure, or you waited until she was asleep - which seems more likely given there was no sound or sight of a scuffle. You then carried her from the house and dumped her body in the lake. Not only did I find a man's footsteps down by the riverbank, but I also found this…" Mr. Holmes reached into his pocket and pulled out a muddy cigarette butt. "You stopped to smoke, most likely to calm your nerves, and then you made your way back into the house. If you'll check his jacket pocket Inspector Lindsey, I'm sure you'll find the keys he took from Mrs. Hornbeck before dumping her body." The Inspector quickly patted Mr. Hornbeck down and produced a large, brass set of keys from his inside pocket.

"By Jove… here they are." Mr. Holmes kept his eyes on Mr. Hornbeck, who was still sniffling despite not having confessed to his appalling crime.

"But Holmes, how did you know the Thornton girl was involved? The gardener told us nothing, he wouldn't even let us speak to her…" Mr. Holmes turned towards his friend and his expression softened considerably.

"Luckily he didn't have to Dr. Watson, we caught him at a most fortuitous time. Do you remember the acrid smoke coming from his fireplace? Only the acid in writing paper gives off such a distinctive smell when burned. Given that his daughter also hurried from the room but made her presence known at the window when we left… I assume Mr. Thorton was hastily burning his daughter's correspondence with Mr. Hornbeck. Isn't that right sir?" Mr. Hornbeck sighed and although his hands were cuffed, produced as best he could a bundle of letters from his other pocket.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes… I couldn't bring myself to burn my letters from her. Oh God… what a terrible mess. Please tell me she won't get in any trouble though? She's a simple girl and not to blame for any of this…" Mr. Holmes scoffed in contempt.

"Quite so. You've taken advantage of her youth and naivety long enough and as I'm assuming she was underaged when you began your affair, that too will be added to your list of crimes." Mr. Hornbeck let out a sob as the full weight of his situation bared down on him. Just then, Inspector Lindsey's officer burst into the room.

"We've found Mrs. Hornbeck sir, quite drowned, though otherwise there's not a mark on her…" Mr. Holmes sneered at the now cowering Mr. Hornbeck.

"You odious little fiend… you murdered your wife in cold blood over some letters which never even found their way to Miss Thornton in the first place…" it was then that Dr. Watson interjected.

"That's what I can't quite fathom Holmes… how did Mr. Hornbeck even realise what his wife was doing in the first place?" At this, Mr. Hornbeck replied without being prompted.

"I found her going through the book one afternoon, God knows where she got it… but she was cutting out the pages which seemed bizarre. My wife never clipped the paper or kept a scrapbook. She'd warned me recently that she knew all about Evie and that she was going to get her comeuppance. I figured I had to act before she did anything crazy…" Mr. Holmes sighed and got to his feet.

"And you will no doubt hang for your crimes Mr. Hornbeck. Come, Dr. Watson, our time here is at an end. I bid you farewell Miss Beauchamp… and all the luck in finding less deranged staff in the future."

On the train back to baker street.

Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson sat across from each other in silence. The doctor didn't wish to bother his friend with too much conversation, as he knew how much the previous train journey bothered his stomach. He was however eager to give his friend his praise. "That was some marvellous work Holmes, with barely anything to go on, you managed to expose Mr. Hornbeck before he got away. Poor Miss Beauchamp… you know I had to sedate her before we left? She was really quite shaken up. I also seem to recall you saying that Mrs. Hornbeck did however deliver the last extract to Miss Beauchamp directly… you don't suppose she intended to threaten her? Or God forbid, remove her from the picture as well?" Dr. Watson shuddered at the thought.

"We can't quite be sure of the woman's thoughts towards the end of her absurd campaign towards her husband. All we can say for sure is that Miss Beauchamp is far better off without either of them in her employ."

"Quite right Holmes. Though I do worry about such a young woman being left all alone in that house… I hope she doesn't fall prey to any obscene threats again." Mr. Holmes couldn't help but smile at the serious look on his friend's face.

"Well if she does… I'm sure she can depend on you for any assistance doctor…" Dr. Watson pursed his lips at the detective's sarcasm but said nothing, grateful that at least for the time being, Miss Beauchamp was safe.

A/N: Hi guys, as a huge Sherlock Holmes fan of both the original stories and the many series/films, it’s my pleasure to present this new short series. This is the final part! I hope you all enjoyed the ending and felt I captured something of the spirit of the original stories. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope you’ll continue to stick around and enjoy stories in the future!

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

#henry cavill #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fics

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mushroom-ooooooooooooooo · 3 months

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This is like...sooo tmi so if you see me on a daily basis like,,,irl. Like at school. Pls dont read this.

Cw: weird mental health stuff/ me talking about low motivation

So basically its the time of year where my body just shuts down. My bones feel like lead, it takes forever for me to get out of bed, and I just generally feel like crap. I love winter but the physical toll its taking on me this year is actually driving me wild. I woke up this morning and genuinely couldn't move my arm for 10 minutes because my bones just feel so heavy. And my joints are getting worse too. I can hear my ankles and knees popping every single time I walk, but especially when I walk upstairs. And most of my classes are upstairs at school. And my immune system also gets weaker, and because of that my psoriasis gets worse. I literally just go to school and then rest.

And thats a problem because my parents both have a physical disability. So all the chores go onto me. But guess who can't do them because I'm fucking depressed and in physically pain constantly? Me. My back constantly seizes up and i literally needed my dads help throwing taking the trash out the other day. I can barely stand long enough to do a "simple" load of dishes. (Simple meaning one for the deep clean we do of our kitchen every 3 months. Its gross. I wish they would rinse their dishes out.)

And all of this is affecting my mental health really badly. This probably sounds gross but I'm just now taking a shower. Its been 3 weeks. And I know its not their fault, but one of my friends made an off-handed comment one day and that made me feel a million times worse. And I've been really snappy lately and I feel so bad about it constantly. And my mom and I think I was misdiagnosed with ptsd because I dont exhibit any symptoms and honestly never did. Autism and ptsd share symptoms and I just dont think I have ptsd from whats happened in my past. And my brother also thinks he may be autistic. Autism also runs in our family, so...yeah.

I also feel like shit because I haven't been taking as good care of our cats as I should be. I love them and want to see them happy, but my parents also refuse to help clean their litter boxes. And thats the big thing I struggle with. And one of our cats has been doing their business on the floor. No matter how many times we clean it up,she still does it. And its really irritating, but i also think she just...cant get into the box. She's like...12-13 and I've been trying to get my parents to buy better things for the cats. We have 4. And we dont even have a cat tree for them. And my cats love climbing. They would have so much fun crawling on a cat tree. And I cant do anything about it because im a highschool student who cant even get a job. I don't even have my drivers learners permit yet.

And that's another thing!! I honestly think my parents are done parenting. My brother went off to college, and everything fell onto me. And like I understand that my parents work hard and that they're older (mom is 54 almost 55 and dad is 52 almost 53) and they need to rest but god damn. Im still a child. Most people arent the sole cleaner, cooker, and pet caretaker. Most people my age don't make grocery lists for their parents. Most kids my age focus on their part-time jobs and school. They actually did stuff before my brother went to college. I just want them to understand how I feel about it. I like cooking and I dont mind cleaning, but it becomes a problem when im the only one doing it. And yeah, I get $50 in allowance every month, and I'm grateful that my parents are able to afford to give me that much, but my mom always pulls the "we give you allowance for chores,". Chores is things like un/loading the dishwasher, taking the trash out, cleaning litter boxes, making bed, ect. Not cleaning the entire trainwreck of a kitchen by yourself and trying to make sure the floor is clean before your friend comes over for the first time in months. They're not parenting anymore, and it makes me upset. I feel like im just a random person in their house. Genuinely, my mom spends more times working on her acrylic nails than actually parenting. And she wonders why I get so irritated with her. She says hi to the cat before she does me.

And I don't even know if my dad likes me anymore. I think im just another financial burden to them. Im just a depressed high schooler with chronic illness who can't even go to school everyday. I feel so useless. I dont even know if I want to go to college. I don't even know how I have friends. I'm not a nice person. I get mean and defensive really easily, and my teasing turns mean really quickly.

I don't know why I am this way. Am I cursed? Is someone even reading this? All I do is shut people out and listen to music. I don't know why I became so rude. I just want to be remembered. But at the same time, I don't think I'm worth remembering. I'm not exceptional at anything. Even my once okayish writing has gone down greatly. I used to get praise for my reading skills and now I can't even read a 300 page book.

I feel so gross and useless and im depressed. How worse can it get? Im also extremely paranoid. I constantly feel like people are judging my every move. Even when im alone in the shower. I still feel people watching me. I should've probably told my therapist about that when I was still in therapy but my dumbass didn't even think to talk about that. Just that oh i saw my friend. Oh i started public school again. You know what? No one cares. And I probably wasted my therapists time. And my dads. Having to drive me across houston just to see her. No wonder no one likes me. Im fucking irritating. Thats why I have 3 friends at school. And 3 friends out of school. And one of them doesn't talk to me anymore, and another lives out of city.

The other is wonderful and amazing and I want them to constantly be happy and comfortable but I cant do that at my house because my parents don't help. Im starting to realize im kind of like a live in cleaner. Thats all I ever do in my freetime. Cleaning up after my parents. My mom acts like shes 15 and my dad doesn't rinse his dishes.

Thats another thing. Along with them not really parenting anymore, I think they've given up on me. Specifically on trying to get me to school. I miss school about once a week to once every couple weeks because I have bad flare ups. As I'm typing this, I can feel my legs aching. It hurts. And it makes it hard for me to go to school like that. The last time I did my back starting seizing during UIL rehearsals. And I couldn't leave. But today was one of those days and I genuinely felt like crap. My dad just agreed and didn't argue. Normally he argues with me about it because "I need to suck it up and do what the rest of us do.". I understand that everyone hurts and has bad days, but I genuinely get so bad during those days. And everyday has been one of those days for the last 6 months. But my parents don't really discipline me. They don't track my every move. They dont even make grocery lists anymore. Or really go to the store often. But our fridge and pantry is filled with a bunch of junk. Leftovers, empty foods that need to be thrown away, and literally so much more.

My mom is also a hoarder and constantly buys new things for herself. Like with her nail stuff. Im glad shes got something going for her outside of work, but why does she need 50 different glitters? I guess one could argue that im the same way with paints, but I dont leave my paints all over the living room area. And she literally has so much clothing. And most of it is on her floor. Its almosy unwalkable and I constantly stumble in her room. And our garage is filled with mostly her stuff. Clothes, old books, even her teacher stuff. Why does she have so much??

It irritates me because she'll say she doesn't have money for something, such as a cat tree, but then buy like...$200 worth of clothes and makeup at walmart, when we could've bought groceries and a cat tree with that. She just...irritates me idk.

Anyways, yeah. I think this is long enough for now. Goodmorning, goodnight, good...whatever idfk. Remember to drink water and eat something.

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ladyartemesia · 3 years

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The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and @untaemedqueen were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman.

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting.

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner.

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen.

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably.

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’ wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up.

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t.

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good.

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked.

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point.

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning.

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away.

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms.

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.”

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas.

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in.

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him.

Not bloody likely.

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods.

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end.

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine.

He gulped.

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly.

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up.

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words.

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.”

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.”

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity.

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open.

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle.

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold.

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power.

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body.

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek.

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered.

Please touch me, Alpha.

Your eyes widened.

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy.

“You might desire it, but you are far too honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily.

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now.

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple.

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy.

He will do no such thing. Please calm down.

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them.

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad.

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her.

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave.

No.

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze.

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega.

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply.

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed.

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow.

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek.

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo.

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might.

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another.

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together.

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire.

Yes, Alpha.

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness.

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace.

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

And then you were gone.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury.

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry.

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you.

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head.

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point.

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity.

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.” He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best.

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you.

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you.

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek.

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them.

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head.

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes.

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words.

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them.

“Well...I suppose they can.” Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart.

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess.

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars.

You were not like everybody else.

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind.

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle.

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours.

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent.

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of.

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp.

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them.

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you.

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you.

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane.

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars.

The alphas followed him without question.

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done.

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed.

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin.

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—

I’m coming Omega—hold on.

I’ll find you.

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze.

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived.

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect.

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements.

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now.

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else...

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack.

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so.

Why would they challenge us now?

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least.

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn…

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did.

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves.

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas.

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive.

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack.

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke.

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground.

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground.

Your mouth dropped open.

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws.

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree.

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon.

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth.

Luna are you okay?

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists.

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you.

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist.

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas.

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes.

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it.

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate.

By the time he saw you it was far too late.

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing.

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt.

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes.

For a moment all was quiet.

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word.

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable.

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe.

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss.

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs.

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else.

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years

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Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #sir lewis hamilton #sir lewis #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers imagines

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john-laurens · 2 years

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Is there any record of Henry Laurens’ view/stance on queer people specifically? I know he was pretty religious but of course back then nobody was really accepting as far as today’s standards regardless of religion. Just curious :)

To my recollection, Henry Laurens never outright discussed his views on queer people. A quick skim of The Papers of Henry Laurens also did not produce anything. Keep in mind that the queer culture of the 18th century was different than the world we know today. While most people today have an opinion on queer marriage, gender transition, and other queer topics, these weren't really topics of discussion to the same extent in the 18th century. We can certainly guess at what Henry Laurens's views on two men engaging in a romantic/sexual relationship might have been based on his Christian views, but it's not something that he likely would have ever discussed much outright.

In regards to Henry's view on his son John Laurens likely being what we would consider a gay man - again, there's not much to say. John was not "out," and any of his intimate relationships with men could be dismissed as the typical romantic friendships of the day. The closest thing we have to Henry commenting on this matter is the following quote:

Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nanny’s I would not have such a sound in his Ear, for a Crown; why drive the poor Dog, to what Nature will irresistably prompt him to be plagued with in all probability much too soon. - Henry Laurens to James Grant, in a letter dated October 13, 1767

So Henry seems to have noticed that almost-13-year-old John wasn't interested in girls, but he wasn't very concerned with the matter - he figured such attraction would come about soon enough.

Transitioning from genuine response to borderline crack theory here, I do find it interesting that there are multiple instances of Henry possibly recognizing John's attraction to men and just staying quiet/being mildly supportive about it (if you read way too into it). My points:

1. The above quote about John showing no interest in girls and Henry saying "that's ok, I won't push him into courting any girls."

2. "I purpose [Jack] shall go to Britain & there be first initiated at Winchester which I am told has greatly retrieved its character for Learning & discipline & from thence to such University as my friends who are better Judges than I am shall advise, among whom I am permitted to number Your Excellency & if nothing very cross interposes to hinder, either Jack or I or both will go to Augustine before he goes to England, but the Monkey insists upon being Major of the Clyster pipe." - Henry Laurens to James Grant, in a letter dated November 24, 1770. A clyster pipe was a device used in administering an enema, so this was a reference to John wanting to enter the field of medicine. But, as one might imagine, "clyster pipe" or "clystering" could be used as a sexual reference, particularly in regards to sodomy (Sex and the Eighteenth-Century Man: Massachusetts and the History of Sexuality in America by Thomas Foster includes a couple examples of this). That's probably not the connotation Henry was aiming for here, but also - why did he specifically reference enemas when he could have referred to any medical practice to get the point across? John also often copied his father's letters for writing practice, so imagine his reaction if/when he came across this passage.

3. Henry let John know that Francis Kinloch was going to be around, both in Geneva and at Army headquarters:

From a hint which Waag dropped at Bath tis expected by the freinds of the young Eatonian that he will find a freind in you at Genevé, tho none of 'em have Said a word to me on the Subject. - Henry Laurens to John Laurens, in a letter dated January 14, 1774. Francis Kinloch is the "Eatonian" (he had studied at Eton).

Your friend F. Kinloch will probably salute you in Camp this day sinnight, another friend of yours R. Berresford is in New York. - Henry Laurens to John Laurens, September 17, 1778

4. There is the likelihood that Hamilton sent THE April 1779 letter to John through Henry. Who's to say how much (if any) of the letter Henry actually read, but it's interesting to think that Henry once possessed the gayest letter of the 18th century and just casually sent it along to his son.

#ask #marie antoinettes mistress #John Laurens #Henry Laurens #Francis Kinloch #Alexander Hamilton #please take the second half of my answer with a grain of salt #I'm half joking #James Grant

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

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scarlettscribbles · 3 years

Text

she used to be mine

- Anthony Bridgerton & TwinSister!Reader

Tags: 4k words - 3rd person POV, sibling fluff, family fluff, Anthony/Siena (not the main focus), Anthony is a soft boi when it comes to you (the softest, in fact), mourning

Warning/s: a bit spicy at the beginning, mild injury, mention of blood, major character death

Summary: A question from Siena about love sends Anthony into the past; making him recall his memories of a sister long loved, but never forgotten. A story told in moments.

a/n: don’t mind me, just manifesting my angst and bridgerton needs >> titles from waitress the musical

i. it’s not simple to say

“What do you think about love?”

“Love? What’s this all of a sudden?” Anthony laughed. He captured between his hands Siena’s own and kissed it playfully, making her giggle. “What do I think about it, well. I love kissing you, touching you-” he planted a soft kiss on her collarbone as his hands trailed down her abdomen. “I love--”

“Okay, no stop. That is not what I meant at all!” Siena stilled his wandering hands, laughing. She snuggled closer until they were chest to chest. “Love with your friends, family,...women.” she waggled her brows at the last word.

“Women, hah.” Anthony cast his eyes upward. “The only women I’ve ever loved are my mother and five sisters.”

“You mean four.”

“What?”

“You have four sisters: Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, and Hyacinth if memory serves correctly. Unless your mother’s pregnant, which I believe is unlikely. My lord, did you perhaps miscount?” Siena teased.

“No, no.” he waved his hand, chuckling. “She…”

ii. i still remember that girl

She was born 9 minutes before him; the eldest Bridgerton. This was a fact she liked lording over him teasingly. She won many arguments by simply stating “I am the eldest Bridgerton and therefore…”

Sometimes he could still hear her say it in his head.

“Remind me why I’m accompanying you again?”

“Because I am your older sister and--”

“I should always agree to what you’re saying, blah blah. Oh this is so crowded! Why could you not just send a maid to fetch the book?”

“Well what’s the fun in that? Come on Tony, you’re being too slow! It will be nighttime when we arrive there and the book I wanted will be gone!” she moaned miserably, turning around and tugging on his hand to encourage him to make haste.

“You and your dramatics. Why is this book so important anyway?”

“It simply is. I need it for when I become the Viscountess.” she smiled at him, chin jutting out proudly. “I can’t wait to get Papa’s watch. I will get it right, as Viscountess? He will pass it onto me along with the title.”

“Uh no he won’t. I am the heir in case you have forgotten, sister.”

“But I am the oldest. We might be both 10 but I am 9 minutes older than you.” she argued, waving her pointer finger at him.

“Yes, yes you’ve said that like a million times now! But you’re a girl, so you can’t. You shall marry some guy, not that there are any worth marrying. Why just the today I saw the son of that family I cannot remember for the life of me, doing something horrendous! I think it would be better for you to stay away from any and all men.” Anthony paused, realizing that he was - or is soon going to be - one of those men. “Except for me and Papa, of course.”

She merely looked at him in amusement. “Pish posh.” his twin huffed, eyes glinting in the sunlight. “I’m not going to exchange my ambitions for some mere man. You shall see Tony, I will have that watch. Now come on!” she dropped his hand and gathered her skirts, ducking and maneuvering between the throng of people. Anthony felt a tinge of panic, seeing his sister slowly becoming engulfed by the crowd.

“Sister wait!” he started to chase after her. He saw the blue tail-end of her skirt when someone bumped into him. He whirled around to complain to whoever it was; however, he seemed to have miscalculated the strength of his spin and tripped, landing on his bottom. “Ow, hey watch it!” he shouted at the people who accidentally kicked him, not noticing his figure on the ground.

Anthony hissed as he dusted his pants. He examined the palm of his hand and noticed scratches from when he landed too roughly on the floor. There were spots of red slowly making its way down his hand, along with drops of water.

Oh. He was crying.

“Where are you?” his voice warbled. “Sister…”

Has she left him, truly? Surely not. His twin is many things but never cruel. She was tenacious, smart, and…

“Tony! I let you out of my sight for a second and - goodness!” She ran over and knelt in front of him, glaring at the people who would come too close. They parted for her, giving them a wide berth. “Here, take my handkerchief. We should get home and wash your hands. We don’t want it to be infected. And your clothes are a mess, Mama is going to have a fit. Come now,”

“But your book?” he sniffed.

“Eh, I can get it some other time.” she smiled and patted his cheeks. “Don’t cry now, sister’s got you.”

...kind. She was kind.

iii. reckless just enough

Anthony was sulking. Not that he’d let anyone know. Papa had gotten angry with him. It wasn’t even a big thing. He simply...borrowed his watch to look at it. Anthony thought maybe he could figure out what made his twin so interested in it. It was a plain thing, nothing special maybe besides the monogram. He didn’t mean to drop it from the stairs. He really didn’t. He heard his name being called for lunch and he jolted.

He got a dressing down from Papa with his siblings present; Benedict and Colin in particular snickering at his plight. It was embarrassing. As soon as Papa dismissed him, he ran for his room, ignoring the calls of his twin.

Right now he was hidden beneath the curtains and behind his bookshelf. Did Papa really have to scold him at the lunch table? Anthony buried his face between his hands.

“You didn’t eat.”

Anthony banged his head on the wall when he looked up too fast.

“Are you okay?” his twin asked him, smiling amusedly. She carried with her a plate with bread, cheese, ham and a slice of blueberry pie.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Laughing and smiling are worlds apart, Tony.” she shook her head and sat beside him, nudging him insistently until they were shoulder to shoulder. She slid the plate from her lap to his. “Eat.”

Anthony looked at her blankly. “Are you so distraught that you cannot eat? Do you want me to hand feed you like a child?” She made a motion as if she was going to grab the plate but Anthony shooed her hands away.

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” he stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“Please swallow before you talk.” she said. “And, this is your room Tony. I’m simply using common sense.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Anthony picked up the ham and cheese and continued eating. For a moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence.

“It’s unfair.” Anthony said, breaking the silence.

“What is?”

“Papa.”

“How come?”

“He was way too angry. I didn’t mean to drop his watch! And it wasn’t even broken. If it was, he could’ve repaired it easily.” he pouted.

“You could’ve also just asked him to look at it. You know, in his room. Where you can’t drop it from a height and possibly damage it.” she replied with a bit of sarcasm.

“Fine, yes, I could have.” he conceded. “I just don’t know why he was so angry.”

“It’s important to him.”

“It’s just a watch.” Anthony rebutted, pouting. His twin gave him a look that he knew meant “you look adorable but also stupid.”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“Nope.” she answered. “For one, it’s an heirloom. Heirloom is defined as -”

“I know what it means.” Anthony waved his hand. “Do go on.”

She gave him a faintly annoyed look which merely made him smirk. “I shall, and not because you told me to.” she cleared her throat. “The watch being an heirloom is just its value as a thing. There’s also the sentimental value. The memories and emotions attached to the watch. For Papa, he treasures it because it - probably - reminds him of grandfather and grandmother. Grandfather especially. Because he was the one to give the Papa the rights and responsibility for our family.”

“Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“I wanted to know what makes it so special for you.” Anthony shrugged. “You always talk about it, about getting the watch when we become older. I didn’t see the big deal. Is that why it’s so important to you too?”

“Yes, quite.” she answered. “I want to take care of our family, Tony. I know I can, I just do. I don’t want me to just be a wife. I’m meant for greater things. Also,” she grinned at him. “I want it so I could count down the seconds until I see you again.”

Anthony fake gagged, pretending to chuck the bread and cheese onto his twins’ lap. His twin scrambled away far from him and yelped. “You are disgusting! Mama! Anthony ruined the new dress that we just got!”

“I did not!”

“You were about to!”

iv. i was never attention’s sweet center

It was just a stupid, off-hand comment from Benedict. Anthony knew his brother meant no harm but still, the comment hurt.

“Maybe she truly should have your title, brother.”

Anthony was no stranger to her loud and obvious wanting to inherit the head of the house. In fact, he supported his twin. If Papa permitted it, he would gladly concede to you. However, it was unspoken between the twins the knowledge that Papa would never agree to such a thing; no matter how much he loved his eldest daughter.

Anthony was no stranger to her excellence either. While the both of them worked hard to set an example for their younger siblings. He always thought she was great at everything a girl should be and more. Though the ‘more’ part would never reach the ears of their mother or anybody else. Nobody should know that Anthony taught her how to sucker punch anybody that vexed her except maybe Benedict and Colin...also Eloise. That girl was far too curious and also far too attached to Benedict. Anthony thinks in the privacy of his mind that if she were a boy, there would be no quarrel that she’d get the title.

Other people also thought the same. Though they expressed it in a much less pleasant way, in words Anthony does not care for. They speak condescendingly. They speak of her gender with pity in their voices, their admiration twisted. They mention that her excellence should be toned down, that she should focus instead on things better suited to her. They speak of how inadequate Anthony is, how poor that a boy be overshadowed by a girl. They theorize how Anthony must hate her for taking all the spotlight. He hears all this, and she does too, seeing as they’re almost always attached at the hip. If it bothers her, she does not speak of it.

They speak of lies. Anthony thinks that her abilities suit her as they are and that no matter how bright she shines, it would never be something to be upset over. He basked in her light. They are wrong for thinking that she’s taking a piece of his life away when in truth, she completes it. Best friends, twins, soulmates; he loves her and she loves him. Still, their words leave a mark.

So when Benedict said that albeit in a teasing manner, Anthony just ran away. As he got older, he found it the preferable way to escape his problems. If he could not run to her then he must run away.

Anthony hugged himself as a strong breeze blew and made the unoccupied swing beside him rock.

“Tony.” And there she was. His twin was holding a book. She sat at the swing beside him.

There was silence. The only thing he could hear were the wind, the scuffling of his feet, and the soft sound of her flipping the pages.

“Sister,” she did not look up from the book but she hummed, signifying that he was heard. “Why did you come out here? It’s better to read inside, surely.”

“You’re upset. Of course I would come.” she said matter-of-factly.

“Did Ben tattle?”

“Ben? Tattle? His mouth is tighter than a woman’s corset when it comes to secrets.” she laughed lightly. “Surely you know better than that.”

“Yeah, I do.” he smiled. Since they were little, even if they were distances apart, both of them would always know - or at least had an inkling of - what the other was feeling. During their early years they chalked it up to magic but now they both just conceded it as a twin thing. “Actually, I don’t. Know better, I mean. Everybody seems to think so. Am I inadequate, sister? Dumb perhaps? I feel like I cannot do anything right sometimes! Compared to you I - “

His twin laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tony.” her brows were drawn and her lips pursed. “First of all, there is no comparison brother. I am me and you are your wonderful self. We are both excellent, please do not doubt yourself of that no matter what anyone says. And I know they say a lot. I’m just so used to tuning them out that I never considered that you might not do the same. I’m sorry.”

She stood up and drew him into a hug. Anthony’s arms stayed limp at his side. “People will flap their mouths because that’s what they do; say their opinions even though it’s unwelcome. If we tried to stop every single one of them, why I believe it’ll take all our lifetime and more!” she chuckled. “We cannot change them so we must change how much we’ll let their words affect us. Their words don’t matter at all! If I could, then I would shove those words back up their mouth and let them swallow it. Which I don’t know how to do. D’you suppose punching them would work just as well?” Anthony laughed wetly at her quip. It would work but it would also involve somebody calling Mama and Papa for her ‘inappropriate behavior’.

“What I know is this.” she grasped his shoulders and held them so she could stare at him in the eyes. Anthony met her determined gaze head-on. “You’re good enough Tony. Hell, you’re excellent.”

Anthony sobbed and quickly drew her into a fierce hug, his tears surely wetting her dress but he knew she didn't mind. “That is as sure as the sun that rises in the east. As sure as our family’s love, and ours for each other.”

v. bring back the fire in her eyes

It started with a cold. She had stayed up too long outside and now she’s bed-ridden. Anthony crossed his arms at the corner of the room as his younger siblings ran around. In his opinion there was too much ruckus for her to properly rest. However, Mama brought it up earlier and his twin just waved her concern away, stating that some liveliness will do her good. And who was Anthony to go against the wishes of his dear sister? It doesn’t mean that he has to like it though.

“No you’re the troll!” Eloise insisted.

“I was the troll last round!” Colin argued back.

“Now, now,” Benedict placated them both, then he glanced at Anthony in a way that promised mischief. “Why don’t we let Anthony be the troll then? He certainly looks the part with how grouchy he is.”

Daphne giggled. “And how he’s guarding his corner.”

“And how horrendous his face looks!” added Eloise.

Now he’s had enough. “You all look far too happy for someone who’s going to be troll food soon.”

“Troll wuh - AAH!” Eloise screamed as Anthony lunged at her. She took off with a sprint and soon the other Bridgertons followed as well, laughing boisterously. “Noo, Ben save me!”

“This is survival of the fittest -”

“Survival of the fittest your face!”

“Ehem.” Suddenly all motion stopped. Colin face-planted on the floor, caught by his momentum. All eyes went to the door where Violet Bridgerton stood along with a maid. She had a smile on her face coupled with a vaguely exasperated expression. “I’m glad you’re having fun but please take you playing outside. I need to tend to your sick sister.”

Various moans and complaints filled the room but only with a raise of their Mama’s brow, they filed outside the room, murmuring farewells and well wishes to the sole occupant of the bed. All except one. Anthony remained rooted at the side of his sister’s bed.

“Anthony, please.” Violet gently said. A complaint was on the tip of his tongue when a hand laid on his bicep. He looked at his sister, looking frail among the covers but she merely smiled and shook her head.

“I’ll be fine Tony.” she said. “Go and check that our siblings haven’t set the house ablaze or anything.”

For a moment, both of them just stared at each other. A silent conversation passing between them both. Anthony sighed. “Get well.” he bent over to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not sure I alone will be enough to stop them from doing that.”

She laughed. “You will be.”

vi. sometimes life just slips

It was only supposed to be a cold. A cold.

Someone almost barreled through Anthony as he, Benedict, Colin came through the door. “Whoa!” he exclaimed as the maid said a rushed apology. Everyone in the house seemed to be in a mad dash. He exchanged looks with his brothers, who were as clueless as he.

“Anthony!” came the panicked voice of Eloise. He held her shoulders and looked over her for any harm of some sort that caused her to panic.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Anthony was surprised to see her looking up at him with teary eyes. Eloise is looking at him like how she used to when she was much littler, pleading to Anthony. Believing with all her might that her older brother will make everything okay. He looked behind her to Daphne who was pursing her lips.

“Oh God, is someone dead?” Colin quipped, then promptly made a punched-out noise as Benedict elbowed him.

“Sister, she - “

“She’s dead?!” Colin cried.

“No!” Daphne growled, irritated. “She’s just...in pain. Mama and Papa sent for doctors.”

“Goodness, how serious is this cold? - Anthony, wait!”

Anthony didn’t hear Benedict’s call. How could he over the thumping of his racing heartbeat? He ran upstairs like the devil was on his tail, and even then he felt like he was too slow. He paused at her door, psyching himself to open it. If he went in, what would he see? He raised his trembling hands, the complaints of his siblings nothing but a faint echo.

The doors burst open and out came two elderly men and one woman. The siblings crowded around them. Anthony could only hear snippets as he zeroed in on you. Mama was kneeling beside his twin’s bed, holding her daughter’s hand tight to her chest.

“The young miss will be fine -”

“We expect her fever to break -”

“Dear.” Anthony jumped, startled. The woman accompanying the doctors addressed him. “Are you okay?”

“My - my twin sister, will she be alright?”

“Twin, huh. That’s why you’re so distraught. Well all of you are but you in particular,” she shook her head and smiled. “Your sister is strong. She will be fine. You can go in. I’m sure she’ll be glad for your company.”

She need not say it twice. Anthony ran into the room.

“Sister.”

“Tony.”

He felt like he could breathe again.

vii. rewrite an ending or two

“Are you sure you don’t want to get up here? We shared a bed when we were little. And when we grew, sometimes.” she paused, thinking about her statement. “Often.” his twin amended.

Anthony hummed when she stopped running her hands through his hair. “No.”

“The ground is cold, Tony. You might get sick.”

“How could I? You already took all the sick with you.” Anthony grumbled. “I’m fine, sister.”

“If you say so.”

“How about you?” Anthony asked.

“Hmm?” she smiled. Facing down and in the darkness, Anthony couldn’t have seen it but he felt it. “I believe I will be.”

viii. she is gone, but she used to be mine

It was a miserable day in spring when the eldest Bridgerton was buried.

ix. most days i don’t recognize me

“She…” Anthony clenched his jaw.

“Are you ever going to finish that sentence?” Siena asked, smiling until she noticed how tense he was. She reached out to touch his arm, inquiring, “My lord, are you alright?”

Anthony sniffed and quickly stood up, hastily picking up his clothes. “Yes, fine.” he answered, hopping on one foot to put his shoes on. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Siena asked. Anthony barely spared a glance at her, pausing shortly halfway out the door. He checked his watch, eyes glazing over for a moment.

“I need - I’m needed. At home.” With that, he briskly walked outside and into his carriage. It was today. He must’ve forgotten. How could he have forgotten? But he also ‘forgot’ the other years. The grief consumed him on this particular day. It was always a sore reminder that he was missing his other half. So instead of going to her grave, he went drinking. Instead of spending the day with her in his mind, he spent it with his cock inside somebody. Anthony spent so much time forgetting but now it’s as if her ghost had come to haunt him. Every memory had come rushing back, especially the day she died.

He remembered the night before. The doctors had told them she would be better. She told him she would be better. But he needed to stay close to her. Anthony fell asleep with her hand in his hair. Then he woke up to her eyes open but her breath was gone. He had never screamed so loud in his life.

Anthony remembered their parents barging into the room, Mama taking a step back looking as if she was seconds away from fainting. Then she saw her son on the floor and immediately enveloped him in her arms. He woke up in a bed sometime during the night. He woke up convinced it was all a dream but that promptly shattered when all his siblings (all except one) filed into the room in their sleepwear. Their eyes were swollen and wet. And it stayed that way until her funeral, and even some more after that.

The carriage stopped. Anthony got out and stopped at the gate. He knew Mama held some kind of family gathering during this day. What they did in the gathering, he had no idea. He never stayed long enough to attend. But today was different, somehow.

He padded softly into the drawing room. A quick glance noted him of all his siblings’ presence. Francesca was playing a familiar tune. Colin was singing in a low tone. Benedict, Eloise, and Daphne were all sitting on one couch, leaning against each other. The youngest ones sat on the floor, trying to follow the lyrics Colin sang. Mama was sewing. The melancholy vibe was replaced with a startled one. Francesca stopped playing and Colin stopped singing. Mama dropped what she was holding and walked towards him, arms open.

Anthony crumbled. “Mama -”

x. for the girl that i knew

“Mama what do you think about love?” It was indeed a bleak day in spring. Everybody had left after the service but Anthony chose to stay, lingering.

“Anthony I -” Violet began.

“Why does it hurt so much?” he whirled around, uncaring as tears and snot fell messily down his tired face. “I feel as if someone carved an unfillable hole inside me. Like every breath I take is not right. Half of me is buried six feet underground, mama. How can I bear it?”

Anthony curled into himself as Mama enveloped him into her arms. “One day at a time, dearest. You have us still.” she whispered. “One day at a time.”

[fin.]

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton tv #bridgerton netflix #fanfiction #bridgerton fic #sister!reader #reader-insert #anthony bridgerton & sister!reader #twinsister!reader #oneshot #sibling fluff #fluff #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #scarlettscribbles

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself.

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence.

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal.

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left.

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold.

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.' You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse.

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back.

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips.

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope.

'Not here,' he replied.

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure.

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter.

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening.

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years.

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree.

He frowned and nodded.

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him.

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.'

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?'

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.'

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.'

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.'

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.'

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.'

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive.

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?'

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?'

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…”

“Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door.

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there.

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?”

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

"Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said.

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry.

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could.

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice.

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head.

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request.

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied.

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was.

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second.

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her.

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered.

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered.

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful.

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him.

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted. And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper.

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers.

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable.

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer.

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

#murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you

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acciofanfics · 3 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet (Remus Lupin x Reader) Part 6 SMUT

Summary: (Y/N) wants to be a professor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore offers her a chance to intern and figure out what she wants to do… hopefully she’ll make it through the year.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x FemReader

Warnings: Age gap, SMUT and language.

A/N: So idk I kinda hate this... idk why 😂 but the overwhelming consensus was smut so TA-DA! - S

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It was almost comical how quickly things had changed between the two. Somethings remained similar, like the playful flirting and the stolen glances were still there... but ever since their kiss, the tension in the air was thick enough that it could be cut with a knife. There just wasn’t enough time or privacy in the day to replicate the circumstances in the few days following. It wasn’t like they were really in the position to entertain a proper label or schedule; Remus flirted with the idea of asking her on a proper date, but that wasn’t exactly practical. Remus didn’t know which was worse: feeling like he hadn’t been permitted to act on his desires or rather knowing how it felt to give in and physically not be able to.

Remus’ lips twitched into a small grin when he saw (Y/N) smile at him from a few pieces of parchment. He watched as discreetly as he could, still trying to give as much attention as he could to the task he had at hand. Honestly, he wondered how (Y/N) was possibly juggling the workload she had... especially recently. He’d often see her running around like a chicken with its head cut off, sprinting from classrooms all over the castle. He’d seen her bring homework assignments with her to dinner and it seemed that in the past week or so the piles were getting bigger. It hadn’t really occurred to the man how much of the time they spent together happened during schooling hours or the occasional walk at night, but he hadn’t seen her outside office hours in what seemed like awhile.

Remus knew he was probably doing this for more selfish reasons. Honestly it was probably more of a chance to get her alone and to himself. An argument could be made that it was to give the struggling young woman a break though. Remus made his way over to her once he had his student working on something that didn’t require his complete attention. Wand movements usually did the trick. In a low voice he simply suggested, “If you’re feeling a little rebellious, meet me on the fourth floor tonight when everyone is in bed.”

Remus hadn’t been able to get any verbal confirmation before being summoned back to his responsibilities, but judging by the mischievous glint in her eyes he had assumed the answer to be a yes. He had very much looked forward to it all day, and he was more than please to see (Y/N) already waiting for him. She smiled sheepishly at him, “Guess I was a little early.”

He didn’t blame her, he would’ve been a bit earlier himself had he not misplaced his wand briefly. Remus chalked it up to feeling like a teenager again with the sneaking out and around, with all of the excitement an old habit of losing his belongings was bubbling up too. “Seems like I was running a bit late. Come on, I have somewhere in mind you might enjoy.”

(Y/N) eagerly followed him to a mirror, and though she didn’t often find herself avoiding mirrors she didn’t know if she’d go as far as to say she enjoyed them. It wasn’t very long at all though that Remus was carefully moving a mirror that revealed a passageway that had been carved out. Once the two had ducked into the clandestine hallway and he had lit up the darkness with the tip of his wand, Remus replaced the mirror. “Whoa! I didn’t know this existed!”

It was common knowledge there were many secret passageways hidden in Hogwarts. The location of which were less known, but if that had been common knowledge too they would no longer be secret. “James and- my friends used to have a knack for finding these things.”

“You all must’ve done quite a bit of sneaking out, huh?” She joked while following the passageway down a little bit.

“A fair share of it sure... though we weren’t supposed to tell anyone.” Remus wasn’t lying, but he knew that on more than one occasion James and Sirius used a few of these passages to impress a pretty girl. He supposed he was just a little late on the trend.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t. Where does this go?” (Y/N) asked out of pure curiosity, though now that she thought about it, it was probably good practice to know where you were going.

“It comes out right outside of Hogsmeade. Of course that’s a long walk, I know.”

“Well, that’s okay. I feel like I could use a break.” She smiled and began walking with Remus. (Y/N) felt like she’d gotten a good bit better at juggling what had left her so overwhelmed her first week officially working at Hogwarts. However, these past couple of days had been a little hectic and she should’ve 100% been grading those homework assignments McGonagall asked if she could take on, but couldn’t refuse the offer.

Remus quite fond of the walk they shared. He asked about her years at Hogwarts and her family and she inquired the same. He didn’t think he could recall the last occasion he’d really taken the time to get to know someone or had them try and do the same. By the time they reached the end of the passageway, (Y/N) knew that he was an only child and had quite the sweet tooth even as a boy. He knew that conversely she came from quite a large family, but she’d agree that dessert was definitely the best course.

The room they’d arrived in was quite large, but it was obviously that anyone who knew of its location has long abandoned it. It showed no signs of any visitors in probably years. Still, (Y/N) found it to be quite a fun visit. A little dusty sure, but nothing a quick flick of her wand couldn’t fix. “Well, now that we’re here what are your plans?”

“Right...” Remus didn’t think that far ahead, which he would like to say was a bit unusual. Of course the ultimate goal had been to spend alone time with her, but now that was accomplished... “I ought to be better prepared ne-“

She was well aware it was rude to interrupt people, but she she would do it anyways. (Y/N) stood on her toes and grabbed hold of the front of his sweater and yanked Remus down to her level. She thought the act of crashing her lips into his might’ve been a little sexier had she not been so short in comparison. Remus however did not mind one bit hunching down to her level. This thought had definitely crossed his mind, but hadn’t want to be too forward. Now that he thought about it, he should’ve seen it coming. (Y/N) was very forward with what she wanted. Back at the Three Broomsticks she’d commented that she didn’t make the first move, but he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t complaining though. It was quite the opposite as he immediately responded, kissing her back and circling his arm around her.

(Y/N) broke away with a wide grin, “That wasn’t your plan?”

Remus chuckled, and straightened himself out, “No, but I’m always open to suggestions.”

(Y/N) pulled away leaving Remus quite confused. Perhaps she was annoyed it hadn’t been his sole intention to snog the woman. He felt better when she made her way to a wooden table set in the center on the room. He was certain she would sit down but instead she turned to face him. A small moment of hesitation seemed to cross her mind before she spoke, “I hope you wouldn’t think too little of me if I confessed this had been my plan...”

(Y/N) wasn’t lying. She’d desperately been hoping for an uninterrupted moment alone and wanted to be prepared in case she got that moment. Now that she had it well she hoped it wouldn’t be entirely too fast for the man.

Remus watched as she kicked off her shoes. She then pulled her shirt over her head and her pants had been the next article of clothing to follow. The undergarments that had now been exposed to him were quite nice to look at, especially with the model wearing them. The way the lace laid so perfectly against her skin made his heart beat just a tad bit faster and left him staring, or better yet ogling her. He felt a little lame, just standing there. He had hoped, counted on being close to (Y/N). He’d hoped they would’ve had a chance to - This just far exceeded what he’d hoped to accomplish.

It also wouldn’t have been untrue to say he’d been a little out of practice. Not new or naive to the subject, but it definitely wasn’t something he did on the regular. He normally was well aware of the fact it was nothing to be ashamed of, but did feel himself grow a little uncomfortable with the fact as she stood there in front of him. He definitely hoped he wouldn’t disappoint.

Staring was probably a better sign than him getting up and walking away. (Y/N) did wish he’d say something though. She felt so entirely vulnerable and was now a little fearful of rejection... “Too much?”

Her voice snapped Lupin back to reality. Her face showed she was starting to feel uncomfortable, and Remus felt terrible. That had definitely not been his intention. He decided it best if he just shut off his head and led his instincts take over.

In an instant he was in front of her, lifting her into the table bringing her to a much more comfortable height for him. His lips were on hers and if the first kiss had been good, well this one had been amazing. (Y/N)’s confidence quickly regained and excitement took over knowing exactly where this was going. Her legs parted, allowing her the opportunity for Remus to settle between them and her to pull him closer.

Remus’ hands met the bare skin of her thighs and traveled up and down her leg. The skin of his hands was so rough comparatively, but the contrast felt so unfamiliar and welcome. (Y/N) couldn’t help but be hyper aware of everywhere he touched and everywhere she wanted him to do so. Patience was a virtue wearing thin on her at the present moment and she found her hands quickly pulling the cost from his shoulders and working a few buttons on the shirt that he was wearing underneath. She was much too impatient to care enough to rid him of the entire shirt, once a few buttons were undone and it had been untucked she gave up on the task. She favored dipping her hands underneath the fabric, she just wanted to touch. Remus shivered a bit against her fingertips.

(Y/N) abandoned his mouth and trailed her kisses towards his neck. Remus was being absolutely driven mad by the nibbling. A gasp interrupted her and Remus smirked as his fingers carefully brushed against her clothed core. His touch was so light it could’ve almost been construed as an accident, if the knowing look hadn’t completely given him away. Ever the tease, and partially because he was no where near done with her, Remus didn’t give any indication there would be a follow-up. He moved his hand up actually and drug his fingertips lightly across her shoulders and chest, outlining the bra she was wearing. She arched into him, whimpering just a bit; she had no idea Remus Lupin was such a tease and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. (Y/N) had never been one to beg in the bedroom, of course she’d never really been with anyone taking such time and care; it was usually a heated spur of the moment type of setting (kind of what she expected from this). Still, there was a first time for everything, “Please touch me...”

Really Remus could’ve been content sitting there doing nothing but stand there and egg her on. It would’ve been torture for him too, but listening to the noises she made and feeling her breath quicken under his fingertips would’ve made it worth it. But her plea was too much, and Remus not only felt obligated but he wanted to oblige her request. Reaching behind he unclasped her bra and threw the unnecessary article to the side. He placed a chaste kiss to her lips before getting right to what she wanted.

(Y/N) felt like he was setting his skin on fire, everywhere his skin met hers like a flame had been held to it. Remus’ lips trailed from her neck to her shoulders and finally... her breath hitched when he made it to her breasts. Though she didn’t have much time to think about the way his tongue flicked over her nipple, because almost simultaneously he’d pushed her underwear to the side and his fingers brushed against her again. “Fuck...” She hissed.

Remus used his thumb to rub circles across the bundle of nerves and sank another inside of her, and relished the way her hips bucked against his hand. The way she arched herself into him... Remus couldn’t help but imagine how good how much better it would feel to have his cock buried deep inside her rather than his fingers, especially when he felt her clench around his digit. He didn’t know how much more her could handle, so without a second thought when she asked her obliged, he gladly accommodated.

Remus withdrew his hands from her body and unbuttoned his trousers in record time, and in less than a minute his hardened cock was able to spring out of its confines. (Y/N) watched him almost as intently as he’d watched her. She was much too excited to just stare though. She’d thought about this more than she’d care to admit and after already having a taste of what he could do she jumped to her feet in front of him. (Y/N) had been ready to return the favor (plus a little extra), but even though the idea sounded heavenly Remus just didn’t have the patience.

Given her stature it wasn’t a hard task to turn her around and bend her over the table. Once she’d been fully laid across the table, only the tips of her toes touched the floor. It left her feeling rather small and like she was completely at his mercy, but the vulnerability just seemed to heighten her senses. She let out a low sigh of anticipation when she felt him line himself up with her entrance.

Remus felt a flash of reluctancy... this young woman had seen parts of him that people hadn’t in quite a long time. He didn’t think he could possibly pull himself away from her at this point, but should he try? He didn’t think, no he knew he couldn’t give her what she deserved outside. Her impatience put an end to his internal sabotaging, “Remus, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

His response she quite enjoyed. A moan left both of their mouths as he entered her. She felt her insides stretching to accommodate the most pleasant of intrusions. Then he pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in earning a cry of approval from the woman beneath him. (Y/N)’s imagination couldn’t compare to the real thing and she hoped she would be able to remember every detail on his hands digging into her hips holding her still and the drag of his cock as he pulled out, or how amazingly full she felt when he slammed back in hitting spots she hadn’t been truly aware of herself.

Remus’ name fell from her lips like a prayer, a praise, a chant and he couldn’t think of a single thing he enjoyed hearing more in that moment. His rhythm was starting to suffer, but he was hanging on her dear life. As soon as he felt her body spasming around him, he let go. Emptying himself inside of her and feeling a joyous release of pleasure and pressure that had been building inside of him.

Remus stayed still for a moment before summoning the strength to pull out. His breath was labored and (Y/N) was also trying to catch her breath. “I think I might need just a moment before that hike back.”

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