#but i do like the hidden years’ commitment to giving jean secrets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haruhey · 3 years

Text

Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

buy me a coffee ¿?

Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired @phoenixblack89

comment to be on my taglist!

#haruwrites #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #daryl x you #twd smut #daryl smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon oneshot

2K notes · View notes

literaila · 4 years

Text

tear me apart

spencer reid x reader

request: Omg hi! Could you write a BAU x reader based on the episode 23, season 7 “hit”. Where the reader is inside the bank while the robbery happens and tries to protect Will? I’m in love with your blog and would really love to read this! ♥️

warnings: mentions of guns, mentions of blood, bullet wounds, angsty, robbery, a little bit of fluff

oh and also I changed basically all of the plot. and skipped the second episode. its basically the same though!

It was an important day.

The moment Y/N opened her eyes she knew that.

She could feel it in the air, could feel it in the arm that was resting around her waist, in the warm breath on her neck, in the way she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, in the soft kisses she knew would be coming as soon as he woke up.

It was a very important day.

Y/N smiled and cuddled in closer to him, his warmth was intoxicating and she was always so cold.

She loved important days. Loved how Spencer never forgot how important they were to her, loved how they both always took the days off, how they both just spent the day together because they deserved it, loved how it was always their secret little bubble that no one else was allowed in. She loved that Spencer loved them just as much as she did. She loved everything about them.

And today was one of them.

She could practically feel the butterflies in her stomach flying around, gliding in different directions, and moving her insides around. She wasn't particularly fond of the feeling, but it was a nice reminder of just how much Spencer affected her.

She laid there for a long time, just listening to him breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against her back. It was a lovely feeling. It almost made her never want to get up.

Almost.

When she finally felt his breathing change, when she could tell that he was about to get up when the clock struck 9:30 and like a child on Christmas that couldn't wait any longer, she jumped up out of bed, hoping that the loss of her presence would be enough to wake him up.

She rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth before he could catch her. If they wanted to get on with their day together, she would have to finish the few tasks she had left on her to-do list. And then she could spend all day with him.

With just him.

The butterflies fluttered around her stomach some more.

She was standing in front of the mirror, still brushing her teeth when Spencer walked into their bathroom. His eyes were still tired, and he was still slouched from sleep. But he was smiling. Y/N grinned and pretended not to notice him in the mirror.

His eyes were soft as he leaned against the wall, he knew she knew he was there, but it was nice to stare at her. Just a moment with no interrupts. A moment meant just for staring.

She turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. Her lips were turned up in a half-smile. Spencer raised his hands innocently and smiled back at her.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked over to her, decreasing the amount of space between them significantly, and resting his hands around her waist. She tried to talk with toothpaste still in her mouth but, eventually sighed and gave up, and turned away from him and his warmth while he laughed at her.

When she turned around she felt amazed by the smile on his face. It was one she didn't get to see often, one he kept hidden away for days just like this. She briefly thought that it was her favorite smile of his.

She moved her hands up and intertwined them around his neck. She felt him pull her in, could feel his smile against her back. It was contagious.

They stood there for a minute, holding each other and smiling.

And then Y/N untangled her hands from around him and walked out of the bathroom. She laughed as he protested, hurrying into their closet so she could get dressed.

Spencer, already knowing what she was doing, whined “Why are you getting dressed?” as he watched her grab a shirt from off its hanger.

She looked over to him and gave him a teasing smile. “I have an errand to run,” she answered, moving to get some jeans.

Spencer grabbed her wrist before she could reach them. “Don't you know what day it is?” he asked with a pout, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

“Of course I know what day it is.” she snorted, gently removing herself from his grasp as she continued to get dressed.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I have to get something done,” she said as if it was that simple as if he would just nod and send her off.

“Y/N…” he whined, moving in front of her so she couldn't walk away from him.

“Spencer, it'll only take an hour,” she said softly, reaching up on her tiptoes to peck him on the forehead, and then moving past him towards the door.

He followed after her as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag. He was giving her a death stare as she continued to get ready to get out of the door. It was an important day. She shouldn't leave.

“Spencer” she laughed looking up at him and grabbing his face between her hands softly. “We have the rest of the day. I’ll be back.”

He just frowned at her, not saying anything, upset at her actions.

She tried not to grin at him.

Y/N pulled him closer and pecked his lips, once, twice, three times, and then he was pulling her in closer, removing the distance between them and glued their lips together. They stood in their doorway, and Spencer refused to let her go, refused to let her leave on a day like this one, refused to let her leave. Even when she tried to pull away he kept her stuck to him.

Though it wasn't as if she was using all of her strength, her efforts to break away from him were futile as they both knew neither of them wanted to let go.

Eventually, she built up enough resolve to actually pull herself away from him.

She couldn't stop the smile from taking over her face. “I’ll be back sweetheart,” she said sweetly, and while Spencer tried not to, her smile was too infectious not to smile back.

She kissed him one more time. Just for a moment.

“Happy Anniversary,” she whispered against his lips.

And then she was walking out the door before Spencer could protest.

***

Spencer woke up to the sound of gunshots.

Y/N had been gone a while.

When she had left, he let the disappointment boil in his stomach, let himself be upset for a moment, before he thought of her words, of her soft kisses, of the way she was holding him only a couple of minutes ago. He thought about her for a moment, and his disappointment faded into anticipation. He couldn't wait to spend the day with her.

But it was agony to wait.

So, he had decided to try to go back to sleep, although he wasn't tired, and he was wide awake, sleeping would be a good way to pass the time. So he walked himself back to bed lazily, and while he’d been doubting that he’d actually be able to go back to bed, he’d fallen asleep much quicker than expected.

And then he was startled awake by the loud bolt in his air.

Immediately he looked up, his instincts kicking in, his eyes bolted around the room, trying to find the source of the loud noise. And after a moment of searching, he looked down at his bedside table and saw it was just his phone buzzing.

Not gunshots.

While he was relieved, his face turned sour when he saw the same on his phone. JJ. JJ meant that something was going on. JJ meant that there was a case, meant that Spencer wasn't going to get his perfect day with Y/N, that he wasn't going to get any time to himself on his day off. It meant that they had to go into work.

He sighed and answered the call.

“Hey Spencer, we’ve got a bank robbery. Hotch wants us to come in.” JJ listed off quickly, ignoring the fact that Spencer hadn't even greeted her.

“A bank robbery? Why are we-”

“I’ll send you the address.” She said, and with a click of the phone, JJ was gone.

And Spencer had work. On their anniversary.

It was their anniversary. It was the anniversary. It was the anniversary of the day they’d first met, of the day they’d both caught each other's eye.

It had been three years.

Not long enough.

The memory, that seemed so far away, still hadn't faded. Spencer could still smell the warm vanilla scent in the air, could still feel the cold air brushing against his neck, could still feel the rumbling of the voices around him. He could pinpoint everything that had happened, could remember exactly how it was. They’d met at a farmers market. A place that was completely unrelated to work, a place where they’d both seen each other for the first time, a place where they’d thought they’d never see each other again.

Spencer could still see the light in her eyes, could still see the innocent way she walked around, looking for something. He thought about what she had told him a year after that day, a year later when they’d met officially through work, and had developed a fondness for each other. She told him that he’d seemed brighter than everyone else, that she’d watched him for a while before she left, that she was trying to commit him to memory so she wouldn't forget the light coming off of him. She’d told him that on their first anniversary.

The memories that Spencer held of Y/N would never fade.

And it was only their third anniversary, it was only three years together.

Spencer smiled slightly. Let himself dream of her for a moment, dream of the day they could’ve had together. He let himself drift off for just a minute.

And then he was back in reality.

And there was a bank he had to get to.

He pretended he didn't still hear the ringing of a gunshot in the air.

There was no gunshot.

***

Colonial Liberty Bank.

Three robbers, one murder, lots of hostages.

Seven bank robberies in seven months.

Spencer was the first one on the scene, his teammates quickly followed, JJ being the last one there. As soon as he saw her run into Will’s arm, and rush to ask him if he was okay, Spencer understood why she had been so rushed on the phone, and why it was important that they were there.

The robbers had killed 7 people before this robbery but had always been classified as robbers before murderers. Now, it was clear that there was something else going on.

“No one kills 7 people without serious psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer noted as Hotch explained the circumstances.

There were two men and a woman, they were being called the “Face Cards”, and no one knew what they were willing to risk to get out.

There were too many hostages.

Will explained what had happened when he and his partner had responded to the call when they’d showed up and tried to come up with a plan to get inside the building without anyone getting hurt when his partner had died from a bullet in the head. He explained how they were just getting out, how if he’d been a minute later they would’ve been gone. He told them about the man he had shot.

There wasn't enough information yet.

Y/N still hadn't shown up. No one had pointed it out yet, but Spencer had noticed. He wondered where she had gone, how far away she was, how soon she would be there.

He chose not to say anything. She would be there soon. She was probably five minutes away. Probably.

Working outside gave the robbers an advantage. Working outside meant that Garica had limited resources, that more people could get hurt, that they had to make do with what they could bring to the scene.

The team walked into the truck Garcia was working out of, it held screens displaying the surveillance cameras in the bank. All of them watched as the female looked around, scoured around every part of the bank. They could all see the two males on the floor, one of them hunched over, holding his chest. That must have been the one that had gotten shot.

It was strange that they hadn't cut the videos. It meant that there was something they wanted the police to see. None of them could figure out what.

“They’re overconfident. Arrogant, even.” JJ said.

“The face card masks add to their narcissism. Their personas are the royalty of poker.” Spencer listed off, as he messed with his phone, texting Y/N again, hoping she would answer this time.

“JJ, Reid, and Prentiss look at past robberies, that's going to be our victimology. Pull another analyst if you need to. Dave, I want you to hand negotiations. And Morgan, strategize tactical options with the MPD.” Hotch reported back to them, they all gave one last look to the cameras, checked to make sure nothing else had happened, and then they walked away, ready to get to work.

Spencer walked out of the truck with his head held down, staring at his phone, typing incessantly. When he knocked into another body he looked up startled, his eyes struggled on the figure beside him.

“Chief Strauss,” he said, clearing his throat, and continued walking away.

There was nothing he could do until he got back to the BAU, and while he had the time he was going to find out where Y/N was.

Before he got into the car, he heard a voice say his name behind him.

“Hey, Kid!” Morgan shouted, stopping Spencer before he could leave. Spencer looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Have you seen Y/N?” Morgan asked, finally noticing that she wasn't there with them.

Spencer sighed and looked down at his phone. He hoped he would see the three little dots, see her typing, just so she could tell him that she was stuck in traffic, that her car had broken down, just so she could tell him there was a reason she wasn't there.

He frowned and looked back at Derek, his eyes squinting at the sun. “No, I haven't heard from her.”

Derek looked at him doubtfully and noticed the way Spencer's eyes were worried, frightened at the prospect that she wasn't with him. “I’m sure she's fine kid.” Derek reminded him, not wanting Spencer to be distracted while they were working.

Spencer nodded. Derek was probably right. She was fine. She was fine. He nodded once more than got in the car.

She was fine. She would be there soon.

“I’ll be right back.” the King whispered quietly. “Who the hell is this?” he answered, picking up the phone.

Her heart was beating too loudly.

“My name is David Rossi. I’m with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?” There was a slight murmur of the phone. But she couldn't hear what they were saying.

“Alright. I want a doctor sent in, and then I want out of here.” The King answered, waving his gun around angrily.

She looked over to see the Queen purse her lips, her eyes suddenly getting hard. Her body language was much more closed off than the other two.

High demands, she thought.

“Well, we certainly can discuss that. Let the hostages go and we’ll give you all the medical help you need.”

The other man on the floor coughed, blood escaping from his lips. She knew that if they didn't send in help soon he would die, and there was a chance the rest of them would too.

She looked at the faces around her, all of them panicked and shocked. Some of them seemed as if they were in denial as if they couldn't believe something like this was actually happening to them. The most present feeling in the room though was tension. She could feel it between every emotional tie that laid between the hostages, she could feel it in their petrified faces, in the way the Queen was pacing the room, in the way the King didn't seem to notice.

There were children in the room, she knew that even their innocence wouldn't save them.

The King suddenly started laughing. “I can't do that. I need the leverage,” he said, a threatening tone to his voice.

“How about a sign of good faith? Send out the women and children and I’ll see what I can do.” the voice on the phone had gotten louder, and while she still couldn't make out the words, she knew that they were probably demanding for the women and children to be sent out. That was what her team would ask for.

The King looked directly at her in disbelief. And while she knew that he didn't know, that he had no clue, she was still scared that something was going to happen. She didn't want him to look at her.

“He's trying to negotiate.” The king said, now looking at the queen.

“Negotiate?” she said in disgust. She noted how the Queen's stance hadn't changed even when the King was talking to her. She noted how there didn't seem to be a connection between them. “We’re not playing games.”

She didn't like the tone in the Queen's voice. She didn't like the way she was looking around the room. She didn't know what to do.

She watched as the Queen forcibly moved a little girl away from her father. She listened to the little girl begging, to her Father pleading with the Queen.

She could feel her blood rushing, could feel her head clouding with rage, could feel herself reaching for a gun she hadn't brought with her. She shouldn't need her gun.

What could she do?

“Either we get what we want, or everyone in this room dies.”

She looked around at all the people, looked at the King, feeling desperate, hoping that he would disagree with the Queen, that he had some morals, and had some sense of humanity. But all she was met with was a King who was nodding his head, holding up the phone so that the person on the other line could hear.

No no no.

“Do that and you get nothing.”

No no no.

And there was nothing she could do. She only listened as the Father begged the Queen to trade himself for his daughter, only listened as there was a gunshot.

A cry of a little girl.

“You better send in some help, or more people are going to die.”

“Sir I found a thing. See, I took height and weight measurements and I crossed them with known related offenders who specialize in bank jobs-”

“Show me.” Hotch interrupted, too busy to try to understand anything Garcia was saying.

“Yes. These are brothers, Chris and Oliver Stratton. They are petty thieves from Philly, turned bank robbers in New Jersey.” Garcia said, her typing insistently in the background. “They were put into jail for two years after an attempted heist went sour, and they were released two months before the first Face Card robbery, and their measurements are a match.”

Strauss suddenly spoke up, watching Garcia look through their files. “Why didn't the NCIC database connect them?”

“Because the brothers have never used a third partner, and shooting people is not part of their M.O.”

“Looks like they were not very successful criminals,” Hotch said.

“Maybe adding a woman to their team improved their game.”

And then suddenly Garcia gasped.

She stopped typing. Both Hotch and Strauss looked over to her, confused.

“S-sir?” she stumbled out, her mouth going numb.

And she was staring at the screen, staring at the girl on the screen, at the girl she knew so very well.

They were all staring at her.

“Reid?” Emily asked for the third time, trying to get Spencer out of his daydream.

He wasn't paying attention.

She still hadn't answered. She still hadn't even read his text messages. This wasn't like her. This wasn't something she would do.

Where was she?

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and shook his head. Morgan said she was fine. She was fine. He had a job to do. “The women chose a different type of victim each time. It's not just the security guard. It's been a mother, a manager, and a young child-”

“You can't tell Reid.” Derek insisted.

“Morgan-”

“No. He was freaked out earlier. He can't know about this right now, not when he's trying to help Emily and JJ.” He continued. Spencer couldn't know. If he didn't, there would be nothing he could do.

“We can't just keep it a secret,” Hotch said sternly.

“Hotch. He can't know.”

They still hadn't sent in a medic. It was going to be too late.

She didn't want to think about what would happen if it was too late. Without the Jack, there was no telling what the King would do.

Olly. She committed his name to memory. It might help later.

The Queen was still pacing, still waving her gun at every person, still trying to scare all of them even though there wasn't any chance of any of them trying to escape. The Queen looked more and more irritated by the minute.

She hoped the Queen wouldn't shoot someone again. She hoped they would send in a Medic.

The phone started ringing.

“Why hasn't anyone come in yet?” The King said desperately, but he didn't sound angry this time, he just sounded like he wanted to get the Jack out of there. She wondered why they were so close, what was so special about their relationship?

“We’re sending in the Medic now Chris. Tell Oliver help is on the way.”

“Hurry.” The King said, slamming the phone back down. “They know our names.” the King announced to the Queen, calmer than she would’ve expected.

She wondered when they were going to make her go stand with the rest of the people, why they hadn't forced her off of the ground, why she was still allowed to sit. She wondered if they knew who she was.

She told herself not to think about it.

The Queen took her mask off, set it down on a counter close by. She tried to commit the Queens features to memory. “Not all our names.” The Queen said arrogantly, moving a couple of steps forward.

She wondered what the Queen was doing. Why she was so confident in herself. She watched her put on lipstick, it looked like she was performing a show.

She looked up and saw the cameras.

There were cameras.

The cameras were still on.

If the camera were still on that meant someone knew she was there. That meant someone was watching. Someone was watching them.

Why did they leave the cameras on?

She hadn't been paying enough attention to see the medic walk in.

But she did start paying attention when the King started yelling.

“No! No! No!” he said as the Jack started choking. “Get over here!” The King pointed his gun at the medic, and stood up, as to make himself seem taller.

She had a bad feeling in her stomach, had a bad feeling filling her chest. This wasn't good. Something was wrong.

She watched as the medic started performing CPR, watched as he pumped the Jack’s chest, but she knew that he was dead, and so did the medic. She watched as the medic leaned down to listen to the Jack's breath, but she saw how he paused.

Like he was being told what to do.

And the King saw it too.

And then there were more gunshots.

“No, I just want you to buy us a little time. Don't be quite so efficient.” Hotch said. He needed time. They all needed time. She needed time.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast,” Strauss said and walked away.

Hotch sighed in relief. Just some time.

“Alright, reasoning with them is still our best option.” He told Rossi, ignoring the panic in his chest, in the thought of keeping secrets, of one of his agents still in there.

“That’ll be difficult, Chris just lost his brother and murdered someone in retaliation. We’re dealing with two killers now.”

It wasn't as if they hadn't dealt with situations like this before. They had. They did it practically every day of their lives. But what could they do with her in there, how could they send an order they knew could end lives when she was in there?

How could they not tell Spencer?

The next phone call was different.

Things were already so tense. The King and Queen seemed to be fighting each other, proving to the other that they were in charge. And the Jack was dead. The King was upset and threatened to kill everyone.

They wanted a way out, they wanted to leave the country. They’d told that to the negotiators.

She knew it wouldn't be long until they got their wish.

Her instincts were telling her that she couldn't let them go, that they deserved to rot in jail, that they didn't deserve to leave the country.

But the other part of her.

The part that was being kept hostage.

That part was begging the police to let them go, to get them out of there so that no one else got hurt. So she could stop feeling so helpless, so alone, so cold, in a bank she wished she’d never gone to. It was begging them to get her out of there, get her home, get her warm. She didn't want to feel guilty for the lives that had been lost anymore. She wanted to go home.

It wouldn't be long.

But the phone call was different.

She couldn't hear anything the negotiator was saying, could barely hear the King talking, but she knew that he was upset. She knew that the negotiator was saying something the King didn't like.

“You’re lying.” the King said suddenly, turning around to look at the Queen, his face was confused, and for a moment she felt bad for him.

She shouldn't. He’d murdered that man.

“Did you call the police?” he asked, nodding at the Queen. His body was tense, but his face didn't look threatening.

The Queen giggled. It was the first time she’d heard her laugh. It sounded wrong.

“Is that what they’re telling you?” the Queen asked, and she could see her body language change, she was tenser like she was trying to hide something.

She was trying to hide something.

“Of course not. What do you think? They’re trying to turn us against one another.”

“Why would you even do that? Olly’s dead because of that.” The King looked disgusted. He looked like he’d given up. There was no power in his voice, no anger in his body. He looked exhausted.

“I wouldn't. I’m trapped here too.” the Queen said, stepping toward the King, insistent.

And then the King changed.

“Are you lying to me?” he accused, suddenly angry, suddenly full of emotion. His muscles were tense as he raised his gun to point it at her.

The Queen didn't back down. “We’ve come too far for you to start doubting me now. Lost too much.” she took a step forward. “Hey,” she said, her voice softer, more like a girl now. “Hey..” she said again, pointing the gun away from her chest and moving toward the king. “Don't let them tear us apart. Right as we’re about to win,” she whispered, running her hands over his face. “If you do that, Olly’s death won't mean anything.”

The King paused, stumbling over his words, staring at the Queen.

She’d tricked him.

“Enough. I’m done talking to you. I want to talk to someone who won't jerk me around, face to face.” the King said into the phone.

“No more Feds.” the Queen confirmed.

“I want to talk to the cop that shot my brother.” The King turned away from the Queen, suddenly angry again.

He hung up the phone.

It was minutes later. Another man had died.

The King was furious. He was going to kill someone else every minute the cop didn't come in.

He was going to kill someone else.

She had to do something.

He was walking around. He was looking for the next victim.

She couldn't breathe. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how she could stop him and stop the Queen. She knew it wouldn't matter to the Queen if he was dead. She didn't know what to do.

He walked around, his legs were right next to where she was sitting down.

“Nah… Nah… Nah…” he said looking at all the terrified people that were standing there.

He was pacing back and forth, walking past her, walking past her.

She could feel the panic rise up her throat, could feel the bile that came with it.

She didn't know what to do.

He stopped in front of her.

She was the next victim.

The team watched as he pulled another girl up. They watched while Will got ready to go in, got ready to go save them. JJ was standing next to him, looking terrified, begging him not to go in. She couldn't lose him, she didn't care about anything else, she wasn't going to lose him. It was too dangerous, it was much too dangerous, she wouldn't let him.

They watched as the King grabbed a girl by her collar, forcing her to stand up.

Their hearts stopped.

“Hotch,” Spencer said. He said, and he wasn't breathing anymore. He dropped his phone and he wasn't breathing.

She was in there. She was on the screen. She was standing there with the King right in front of his eyes.

Y/N was there. She was there. The King was going to kill her, she was going to die, she was going to be dead.

No.

“That's Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice shaking, his hands struggling to move, struggling to get a hold on his body. She was in there, he’d been calling her this whole time, and she’d been in there with them. She was in there. He couldn't breathe.

“We have to get her out. Hotch!” He said turning around to face his boss, “We have to get her out of there! We can't just- just- leave her.”

Hotch was looking at the boy in front of him. He had a crazed look in his eyes, a frightening stance to his body, he was looking at the boy and he wished he had told Spencer earlier.

“Kid, we can't go in there. Everyone will die.” Morgan said, grabbing Spencer's shoulder, trying to keep him from freaking out, taking over for Hotch who didn't know what to do.

No one had told him. Everyone else had known. No one looked surprised. No one had told him.

He looked back to the screen, looked back to see the girl he loved at the hands of a murderer, looked to see her face which was terrified, her body which seemed to be crumbling. She was grabbing onto her chest like she was trying to keep herself together. She was in there with him, she was going to die.

“I’m going in.” He said, and he moved past all the people, all his teammates who were all staring at him.

“Reid,” Hotch said, following after him.

“I have to get her. I can't just let her die.”

“Reid,” Hotch said again, more sternly this time.

“No! No!” he said, throwing his hands up as to keep Hotch away. “I will not let her die! She cant die Hotch she can't die she cant.” He said.

And as Hotch held him back with the help of Derek, JJ was struggling in Rossi’s arms. She was screaming and crying and Spencer couldn't pay attention to her. He couldn't feel anything but the panic in his chest, but the anger that was boiling in his stomach. He could feel himself tearing apart, his body was made of nothing but paper without her, he needed to get her, he just needed to go get her, she needed him, he needed to go get her.

He couldn't watch her die.

He couldn't.

He didn't notice JJ screaming. Didn't notice Will walking in, didn't notice anything.

He was tearing in half.

She was in there.

She struggled in his arms. She struggled to try to get away, to get herself another chance, to figure out a way to live.

He was dragging her towards the phone.

“Pick it up.” He said and pushed her towards it.

Her hands were shaking, her heart was pounding, and she had no idea how she had managed to keep the bile in her mouth. She should’ve puked by now.

She shook her head. She wasn't going to submit to him.

“Pick it up!”

And she did this time. She didn't want anyone else to die. She was smarter than this. She was.

“Tell him your name.”

“It's Y/N,” she whispered.

And she wasn't prepared for the voice to be so familiar.

“Y/N. We’re coming. You’ll be fine kiddo.” Rossi said, wincing at the sound of her voice. She sounded so small, so unlike the girl he knew.

“Rossi?” she whispered again, this time with surprise.

“We’ve got you, kid,” he said.

She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, and she didn't want to hope, she didn't want to let herself hope for anything, because she knew how these things usually turned out. She knew she had a limited amount of time before he would shoot her.

But her family was there.

Her family.

“Tell Spencer I love him,” she whispered to Rossi, a shiver running through her bones. She was so cold. She was too cold. She didn't know how a person could be this cold.

She whispered out her last words knowing that her time was up. Knowing that this was it. These were the last words she needed to say.

For him.

The King raised his gun up, ready to shoot her, and she was wincing, ready to hear the gun go off, ready to delve into darkness. She was going to die ice cold. She was freezing. Maybe it would be quick.

And he was about to shoot.

When the Queen said, “look.”

Will was walking in. Will was walking into the bank. Will was here. He had shot the King's brother. Will.

“Let these people go,” Will said to the King, giving a side glance to Y/N.

She wasn't dead yet. She hadn't died just then. Will was here.

How could she still be alive? How could she still breathe in air, how was she still alive, how wasn't her time up.

Her time was supposed to be up. She should’ve been dead. She was so cold.

Will.

She knew the King planned to kill him. She knew what was coming. How could she help?

The King let three hostages go, a mother and two children. Relief flooded through Y/N’s body. At least three lives wouldn't be lost today. Three lives that Will had just saved. How to save him?

“Hey. What's your name?” The King asked Will, stepping towards him. Y/N watched as the Queen started to take something out of her bag.

“William Lamontagne Jr. MPD.” Will said, and his eyes looked terrified, his face was sullen, and he looked defeated. He looked ready to give up. Y/N thought about Henry, she thought about his son, about his girlfriend that was outside, she thought about all the people that were depending on him, she thought and she thought.

And she looked to the King, she saw his finger flex over the trigger of his gun.

She thought one more time.

And she jumped in front of Will.

There were two shots. One for Y/N. One for Will.

The cameras went out.

Spencer wasn't thinking.

He couldn't think anymore.

He felt like he had died. Died with her.

“Did you see where they were shot?” JJ asked, her cheeks stained with tears, her eyes red. She was doing more than Spencer. She wanted to know if they had a chance if they had made it. “Are they alive or dead Garcia?”

Spencer already knew the answer.

How could he not?

He was two different parts, he’d been torn apart, he was alive but he wasn't breathing, he wasn't thinking, he was alive but there was nothing, nothing he could think nothing he could feel. He was alive, but he wasn't. He was gone. He had left. He didn't know where he was.

If she was alive he wouldn't feel like this.

He knew she was dead.

He couldn't think.

“Will was wearing a vest. He might be okay.” Emily said, trying to reassure JJ, trying to do anything for her friend.

Y/N hadn't been wearing a vest.

“Might be.” JJ laughed without humor, she looked down and shook her head. How could this have happened to her? How could this have happened to Will?

Rossi walked into the room, he looked at all of his teammates, most of them looked miserable. He tried to ignore that. “They’re not answering,” he said, joining the group.

JJ stood up suddenly.

“All right, we need to get inside,” she said, moving to walk out the door.

“JJ, it's too risky,” Derek said, grabbing her arm to stop her. He wasn't going to let another one of his friends go in there and get hurt. It wasn't worth it. “We don't have eyes in there anymore,” he said.

“Aaron…” she said brokenly, desperately. She had to go in. She had to.

Spencer, who hadn't been paying attention, had barely been breathing, suddenly stood up, and moved towards the door. “I’m going to get her,” he said, almost as if he hadn't seen what had just happened. His voice broke as he said it, clogged with the tears that he wasn't letting escape his eyes. “I’m going to get her.” he repeated as if they hadn't heard him the first time.

Derek stopped Spencer, tried to get his friend to look at him, but Spencer wasn't paying attention. He couldn't feel anything.

Hotch looked at him, and then looked back at JJ who still had her eyes on Hotch.

“Let's go in,” he said. He had to do it for his family.

Will was down on the ground. He’d been shot in the chest. Y/N was luckier.

She’d been shot in the leg. Another man, one of the hostages that were still left over, had ordered a worker of the bank to hold pressure on Will’s injury.

She’d been so much more fortunate than Will.

The hostage that had helped Will, was now talking to her, helping her tie a tourniquet on her leg to stop the blood.

“Are you a Medic?” she breathed out, as the pain in her leg paralyzed her body. She winced and opened her eyes to look at him.

“A former United States Marine.”

It was then that Will woke up.

He locked eyes with her, didn't say a word, he looked around and started to get up. She didn't understand what he was doing, she didn't understand why he was moving, she didn't know what was going on.

There was something wrong with her head. Her eyes were watering and her ears were ringing.

She couldn't hear anything.

But she watched as Will went up to the King, watched as he started talking to him, she could tell that he was in pain, that his chest was burning, but he was still there talking to the King. She didn't know where the Queen went.

She watched as Will explained something to him, watched as they walked away.

Her ears were still ringing, still keeping her hostage to the ground, moving the pain up her body as her eyes went blurry. She didn't know what was so wrong with her, and she didn't know why it was getting hard to breathe.

“Where are they going?” she stumbled out, she could barely hear herself, but she knew something was going on.

The man next to her was explaining something and was telling her something, but her eyes were so tired, and the ringing was so loud. When the Marine next to her finally discovered that she couldn't hear him, could barely see him, he motioned to the other hostages.

And then she was being picked up. Her eyes were burning, and her head was being stabbed by a hundred needles as she felt the person carrying her walk. She couldn't hear anything, but she trusted that she would be fine. She was going to be fine.

The ringing was so loud.

She was whining, and the Marine carrying her was trying to ask her questions, hoping she would be able to hear him.

But the ringing was so loud.

She was about to sleep about to let herself sleep when she saw something.

She felt herself being passed over to someone new.

“Spencer” she breathed out, opening her eyes slightly.

And then the ringing was too much, and she fainted.

***

Spencer couldn't believe the relief in his chest. He was amazed by the feeling that had flooded his body at just the sight of her, at the air that had filled his lungs, at the feeling in his brain that made everything else seem okay.

She was alive.

They were in the hospital now. She had taken a bullet to the leg, had a concussion, and was bruised up in multiple places.

But she hadn't died.

Spencer couldn't stop smiling.

He was sitting next to her hospital bed, and he wasn't really thinking, still couldn't really believe anything. He was just listening to her heartbeat. Listening to the constant beeping of the monitor next to her.

Her heart was beating.

She was alive.

Spencer felt himself get stitched up with every beep that went by, with every reminder that she was still right next to him.

He thought about her eyes, and her smile, and her expression. He thought about the way she had smiled at him earlier that morning, before everything, thought about the kiss she had given him right before she left. He wondered if he would still feel that happy when she woke up.

People kept coming into the room to update him on the case, told him that it had taken more work to find them after the bank had exploded, told him that Will had survived, that Emily had saved his life.

And while he was relieved, glad that Will was okay, that no one else had died, nothing could match the feeling he felt just holding the hand of the girl he loved.

He felt selfish but at that moment, he didn't care about anything but her, didn't care about anything except the heartbeat that still surrounded his world. He couldn't survive without her, he couldn't think about anything but her.

He patiently waited for her to wake up.

It took 12 hours, 12 hours of sitting next to her, sitting and watching people walk in and out of the room, 12 hours of listening to her heartbeat from the monitor, 12 hours just right next to her.

And eventually, her eyes opened.

And Spencer didn't say anything, he let her wake up on her own accord, let her eyes adjust to the room, let her take a moment to think about where she was. He couldn't imagine the pain she was in at that moment.

He waited patiently for her to look at him.

And like always, her eyes were drawn to him, her mind was pulled to his, and it only took her ten seconds to look over and see Spencer.

And despite the pain, despite the burning of her leg, the distant ringing in the background, despite everything she had been through, she smiled at him.

“Happy Anniversary.” she coughed out, her voice raw.

Spencer shook his head, amused at her, dazed by the sound of her voice. It was his favorite sound in the world.

He got up to go get her some water, not wanting her to strain the voice he was so fond of.

“You’re alive,” he whispered when she grabbed the cup from him. He whispered it as if he still couldn't believe it, even after listening to her heartbeat, watching her for 12 hours, even after hearing her voice, he still couldn't believe it.

She sipped the water and watched his eyes, they looked exhausted, he looked exhausted, but she could see a light in them. A light she could always see in him. She smiled at that. He was still the same person she had seen three years ago. He was the man she loved. She was still alive.

“I promised I would be back didn't I?” she whispered, trying to get him to her look at her.

And he did, and suddenly he was moving toward her.

He took her face in his hands, carefully so he wouldn't hurt her, and he kissed her. He felt a different kind of relief fill his body, he felt her melt into him, felt her lips strain against his. It was so much different now, so much different after he had almost lost her, it was so different but so so perfect.

She smiled against his lips, and like always he couldn't resist smiling back.

He pulled back, a smile still stuck to his face, and kept his hands on the side of her face. He was in love with the smile on her face.

“Y/N,” he whispered seriously, looking from her lips to her eyes.

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“You feel his girl in between my hands?” he asked, and she nodded her head in his hands, confused at his words, pouting in concentration. He smiled at her and pecked her lips to remove the pout. “I can't live without her,” he said, now desperate for her to understand. “So I need you to take care of her okay?”

And she laughed, tears running down her face.

They’d almost lost each other.

He was so warm.

She smiled.

my masterlist here

thank you so much for reading.

2K notes · View notes

runwithwolvcs · 3 years

Text

You Know I'm No Good - three

New Beginnings

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

She was like the moon -- part of her is always hidden away

Tallulah looked to the boy in front of her, up close, in much better light than she had first seen him in, he looks older, worn and tired. Like he hasn't slept well in days. “I’m aware of who you are.” she stated in a matter of fact tone, and she watches as the smirk returns to his face. Great, an inflated ego, she thought. Tallulah is overly aware that his eyes are on her, like he's trying to read her uninterested expression. “I didn’t know Joseph had a third daughter,” he spoked tentatively, as if he would cause her to bolt if he said something wrong. She nodded her head in response, of course nobody knew. “Yeah, I’m the best kept family secret there ever was,” she eased out with a breathy laugh, “I didn’t mean it like that” he backtracked quickly, “I’ve just never seen you around the rez before”

Tallulah nodded her head in understanding, “my mom hates it here so she never brought me.” she stated before turning her body back towards the bar, hoping he’d get the hint that this was not what she wanted to be talking about. The next question out of his mouth being ‘why’, clearly meant he did not know how to read a room, causing her to turn her entire body back towards him, her face level with his as he was leaning against the counter, eyes looking into hers, as she venomously spoke, “because it's a giant reminder that her ex husband spent two years of their marriage being in love with another woman before leaving her to care for a child by herself while he lived happily ever after.” The look of shock on Paul's face didn’t surprise Tallulah in the slightest.

The waitress had dropped off both of their drinks and as she was about to open her mouth to drop another heated sentence she felt a petite arm wrap around her own, and a raspy feminie voice greeted Paul, to which he nodded in acknowledgment, barely taking his eyes off of Tallulah, “Sorry, Paul, but I need to steal my sister for a moment,”. Tallulah was now looking at the tall, raven haired girl beside her. Lenna.

Now she was confused, as the younger of the two pulled her away from the counter, drink in hand, back to the table where Josie was now sitting beside herself. Lenna sat down beside her twin, across from Tallulah, a look of exasperation was evident on Lenna's face, whereas Josie had an apologetic one.

Before she could even ask what had just happened, Lenna was speaking in a heated tone, “you need to stay away from him,” she started, “he’s got a girlfriend,” before she could defend herself from what felt like an attack, Josie piped in, “They’re back together?” she asked in a shocked tone, to which her twin nodded her head furiously. “What does any of whatever you're talking about have to do with me?” she asked, eyebrow raised, Tallulah crossed her arms as she leaned back in her seat. “This has everything to do with you!” Lenna exclaimed, “You’re the shiny new toy here, doesn’t help that you're hot either. And Paul Lahote is dating Rachel Black, happily, might I add, and when they aren’t together, she's not happy and when she's not happy, I’m not happy!” she rambled, Tallulah looked to Josie for clarification, “What Lenna is trying to say is that Rachelis her boss and she is not easy to work for when she doesn’t get what she wants. And for as long as we can remember, Paul was the source of that stress. They’ve been on and off since they were 16.” Josie clarified, with Lenna adding, “Plus, dad has a rule about dating older guys, and he does not fit the qualifications, even for you.” she stated before picking at her perfectly manicured hands.

“Well, no need to stress. I’m not a homewrecker.” Tallulah stated matter of factly. “ Besides, he’s not my type anyways” Not that Tallulah had a type really, anyone who didn’t want her commitment and could make her feel something other than numb, was good enough for her.

The three girls stayed at the cafe until it was nearly dark. The twins carried the conversation, with Tallulah nodding her head and giving one word answers whenever it was needed. She didn’t particularly care for the topics in which they were being brought up, like who broke up or who’s not friends anymore. In such a small area she figured this was typical considering everyone knew everyone here. She didn’t even want to think about what people might be saying about her. After awhile, Lenna had to get to work and Josie had received a text from Kira of when dinner would be, to which Tallulah thought was odd, her and her mother never ate dinner together as a family. Either her mother was at work or she was out with friends, being left up to her own devices. So when Josie and Tallulah walked through the front door of their home to the smell of a home cooked meal, she felt a tinge of jealousy. The twins were living the life she had dreamt of as a child, a mother who cooked, a dad that was present in their lives, family dinners where they could talk about their days, the good and the bad. A family that made memories together, rather than apart.

The two girls kicked off the shoes and before making their way to the dining room table, Tallulah felt awkward, she didn’t want to sit in someone else's seat, so, she let Josie sit in her usual spot before sitting down, Kira and her dad sat at the ends of the table. They all jumped right in, grabbing and passing food to each other as if Tallulah had been there for years.

As they ate, Kira asked how her first full day in La Push was, she shrugged her shoulders, before stating, “it was alright. Met some people who seemed to already know who I was.” This caused her father and Kira to laugh, as Tallulah took another bite while her dad asked, “catch any names?”, before she could even answer, Josie was answering for her, “She met Paul today, seemed like they really hit it off.” Tallulah couldn't stop the glare that adorned her face, for someone who had essentially told her their dad didn’t like him, she was really throwing her in front of a bus.

She looked at her dad, trying to gauge a reaction from him but he was looking at Kira, the two of them silently communicating from across the table, before saying, “I don’t know if that's someone you’d want as a friend.He’s quite older than you, Tal, nearly 27.” to which she shrugged off, saying, “he was just asking if i was your daughter. Not a lot of people knew you had three before yesterday.” No longer having an appetite, she dropped her fork onto her plate, “and not that it's anyone's business, but I can make my own friends, older or younger. Thank you for dinner, Kira.” she said trying to contain her anger before standing up and tucking her chair in. She grabbed her plate and brought it into the kitchen, the anger that has been stirring since the day before coming back out as she tried to calm herself before it came back to bite her. She tossed her food and placed her plate in the dishwasher before walking up to her room and shutting the door gently, she turned towards her bed noticing a black book bag with a folded slip of paper on it. Picking it up and opening, she recognized it as a schedule, reading it over, she noticed she had more independent study periods than actual classes. Written in pen below the timetable there was a note, stating, “exempt from AP Literature, Biology III and Calculus”, which were all classes she had taken in the first semester of her old school. She let out a breath of relief at the thought of not taking them again. Shoving the paper in her bag, before dropping it at the foot of her bed. She grabbed a book out of one of her unpacked duffels that her mother must have packed for her, before laying on her bed to read.

At some point she must have dozed off, the room was dark but the moonlight illuminated from the window. Tallulah got up and stretched her back from the odd position she had fallen asleep, before stripping out of her jeans in favour of comfy shorts and a baggy t-shirt. She made her way into the hall to use the bathroom she shared with the twins, as well as to brush her teeth. From the bathroom she could hear the muffled voices of Jira and her dad, ‘he’s too old for her’ ‘this could be good for her’ ‘or it could push her further away’ ‘you and i both know that wont happen’, it didn’t take a genius to realize who they were talking about, and she wasn’t bothered by it in the slightest because in her mind, if they never assert their problems with her, then they can never be mad. How can she go against them if she didn’t know what she was doing wasn’t allowed?

She left the bathroom after dousing her face with water and patting it dry to see Josie waiting outside, Tallulah rolled her eyes before brushing past her, not listening to her apologies, she didn’t care if Josie was a snitch. She's just happy she found out sooner, rather than later.

#paul lahote x oc #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #chapter 3 #you know im no good #sam uley #leah clearwater #collin littlesea #jacob black #twilight wolf pack #twilight wolves #e #embry call

72 notes · View notes

antisociallilbrat · 2 years

Text

Show Me Your Teeth

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Slurs, blood, violence, d*eath and mild smut

Rating: M

Summary: "He’d do anything for Stan, he’s done anything for him. God, sometimes it feels like Stan was sent to him to make sure he paid a pence for every sin he’s committed. His hand unknowingly tightens around his glass, it's as if the Clown made sure he would continue to suffer while IT was long gone."

:)))) Or I wrote out a scene from an AU bc I'm trying to write more and this is what happened.

Downtown New York is a whole other world during the early morning hours. For some the night is starting to wind down, stumbling to the streets from the clubs to vomit and piss themselves. Drunk girls screaming for cabs while balding men with neckbeards sneak into alleys to fuck their twinks of the night before returning home to their wives.

For others, the party has just started. Their makeup and body glitter is still mostly intact as they hop from bars to clubs, drunk but not drunk enough. High on life and drugs as they pop and snort their fancy drugs. Much to Stan’s dismay, this is the crowd Bill will find his target in.

The club he frequents, The Seven Crowns, is as usual, busy to the brim. Even so, he finds his usual spot at the bar easily, right by the dance floor, and orders his Gin and Tonic like he does every other Friday night. Not that he drinks the alcohol, it’s more about blending in and besides, this always goes easier if he’s sober. For a time though, right when he moved to New York for school, he would get absolutely wasted when he had to provide. It helped ease the guilt and whether wasted or sober, the end result is always the same anyways. But after three years he learned, being sober keeps him smart, and being smart is what keeps him getting caught.

Stirring his drink with the straw he gazes out onto the mass of sweaty bodies grinding against each other. He doesn’t have to pick anyone out, they’ll end up singling themselves out eventually. It’s the ones who will beg him to dance with them or the ones who buy him drinks at the bar, they almost make it too easy.

And who can blame them? Bill’s dressed to attract after all. Dark wash jeans that are snug in all the right places, and a black t-shirt that’s a size too small. He has on a grey jacket, nice enough looking that it matches, and it keeps the cold away and the secrets on his skin hidden. A silver chain hangs around his neck, a simple but nice accessory. Stan had presented it to him, with his too sharp smile. One of the guys Bill had brought home had been wearing it and Stan had saved it for him when he was done. He couldn’t even be repulsed by where it came from, to him; Stan giving it to him had been endearing.

He’d do anything for Stan, he’s done anything for him. God, sometimes it feels like Stan was sent to him to make sure he paid a pence for every sin he’s committed. His hand unknowingly tightens around his glass, it's as if the Clown made sure he would continue to suffer while IT was long gone.

“Another Gin and Tonic,” A bartender breaks him from his thoughts as they set the drink down next to his still full glass, “The gentleman down the row said it was on him,” they tell him while waving towards the guys general direction before they start servicing their next customer.

A man in an awful floral shirt that would give Richie a run for his money and silver hair cockily waves when he looks to where the bartender gestured. He’s cute. About his height, but a little stockier than him, and so perfect for Stan. There's an indent around the man's left ring finger. Recently divorced? Or out cheating on his spouse? Either way, someone's not going to miss him.

If his morality hadn’t been slowly chipped away over the years, he’d find this game of cat and mouse sickening. As it is, he flirtily smiles back at the guy and brings the new drink to his lips, taking one very small sip. Over the brim of it, he winks at the poor man and despite the harsh blue led lighting, he still sees the blush rising in his cheeks.

But he doesn’t approach him, he never approaches them. Not where they can be publicly seen anyways. Instead, he buys his time. Acts like he’s taking a few sips of the drink, checks his phone, but more importantly, keeps looking up to make eye contact with his target. Floral shirt man is looking at him each time, probably wondering why Bill hasn’t walked over to him yet.

A few songs overhead come and go and just when he’s starting to think that maybe this isn’t his target after all for the night, that may be the guy is too chicken shit to walk over to him, he starts to make his way over to Bill. Perfect.

Never having started a tab, he smoothly walks away from the bar, only pausing to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s still following him. They always are, but it still sends a spark of adrenaline down his spine. Floral shirt man looks confused but Bill sends him a smirk and just like that, he’s trying to get past the crowd of people to catch up with him.

Bill leads them out of the bustle of the crowd and out to the road, the guy right on his heels. They get to the front of the second alley down- less than a block away from his townhouse, before the man is right behind him, asking him to slow down. So he comes to a complete stop, causing the guy to almost run into him.

“Shit dude!,” he boisterously laughs, “I thought for a second you changed your mind and were hightailing it away!”

When he turns, he gives him a smile that is more of a grimace, “Well, you cuh-caught me.” It still amazes him and his ability to sound so smooth in situations like this. That’s what happens when you do something so often.

The man licks his lips as he eyes Bill up and down. Oh, how this night is not going to go the way he’s thinking. “Damn right I did,” he takes a step closer to him, almost whispering in his ear, “Now what’s my prize?”

He’s more high than drunk and Stan is sure to bitch about that later, but he’s running out of time so this buffoon will have to make do. So he smirks and wraps his arms around the guy's neck, the guy’s hands quickly going to grab at Bill’s waist. “Here’s your prize,” is all the warning he gets before Bill is smashing his lips against his.

The guy is quick and frantic, shoving his tongue into Bill’s mouth and reaching to grab two handfuls of his ass. Every time it’s a little strange to meet someone who looks at Bill and thinks he’s topping him. Not that they ever get that far, but still.

He starts to maneuver Bill into the alley, and he lets him for now. The press of the man’s erection is insistent and needy against his thigh. Bill’s own cock lays limp inside his pants, not that the guy appears to care.

“God, you, you are so fucking hot,” he breaks away to pant into Bill’s neck, plastering his skin with quick kisses.

Bill looks over the guy’s craned neck and towards the brick wall of the alley. It's the same graffiti that’s always there. Once vibrant colors of a peace sign that’s been washed away. How many times has he been here, in this same spot? A different man, woman, or enby, making out with him against this same wall as he gazes over at the decaying art.

The guy licks a stripe up his throat and takes a deep breath of Bill’s cologne. Good, let him get smothered in Bill’s cologne. The more they smell Bill, the more riled up Stan gets. Sometimes just the thought of how Stan is after this is enough to swell Bill’s groin. The deeper, darker part of Bill thrives under that attention. The rest of him twists and turns with self-hate and guilt.

He tilts his head down to nip at the guy’s ear, “Cuh-c’mon, my place is d-down the bluh-block,” he whispers as he wiggles out of the guy’s grip, much to his greedy dismay.

Bill wraps an arm around his waist to placate him, and the guy reciprocates, going to grab another palm-full of Bill’s ass. The guy exhales, “This is about to be my fucking night darling!”

Oh, he has no idea. Bill feigns a drunk giggle and starts to lead them down the street. To onlookers, the pair blends right in. Just two intoxicated men, sneaking off to fuck. Nothing out of the norm for New York. Everyone fucks here.

Bill will be having sex- if he could even fucking call it that anymore, tonight. Just not with this guy. He could tell the poor floral shirt guy what’s really about to happen, but he wouldn’t believe him. He’d call Bill insane and run off, or maybe he’d still stick around in the hopes of getting his dick wet.

The closest he’s ever come to any sort of warning for these people was Greta. That still wasn’t much of a warning. It was junior year and Greta was mad that Bill had publicly turned down her homecoming proposal in the school cafeteria. She had stomped out to the chorus of teens laughing at her, only for her to show up on his front porch that evening. She never got to verbally berate him for his rejection and she just had to change that.

She called him a faggot, and yelled that he was too hung up that slut, Beaverly. He really did try to tell her to leave, that she wasn’t safe there. But Greta never learned to listen and the next week she was just another missing kid on a poster.

Bill’s little one-bedroom townhouse comes into view. It’s small but it has everything he needs. There's a dainty flower bed with a bird house in front his front window, where Stan likes to look out and watch the birds. More importantly, and the reason why he picked this place, there's a very small basement. It's meant for some storage and to house the hot water heater, but Stan hates the heat. The dark little cement space works well for their needs- has a drain pipe too. The plus is he can afford his little home with his part-time job, and the money Stan’s parents gave to him. “We were saving the money for his college fund, but he’s not here anymore and we want you to have it, Bill,” Mrs. Uris had told him between broken sobs at his high school graduation. How kind of her.

The guy had to have put it together that this was their stop, and was pushingly trying to suck hickies onto Bill’s neck while he paused to dig his keys out. Not much longer now.

Despite the nuisance, he gets the door unlocked and the pair stumble inside. Not wanting to hear the reaction to the broken furniture and boarded up windows, he doesn’t turn the light switch on and allows the man to shove back against the front door once it closes.

Floral shirt guy starts trying to shove his tongue down his throat once again, pawing off Bill’s jacket, and running his grubby hands up and down Bill’s torso. Another reason to keep the lights off, people always have adverse reactions when they see the claw- finger shaped bruises that litter his arms.

Bill doesn’t kiss back this time, he knows better too. Instead he just stands there limply and tries not to giggle at the guy's huffs of annoyance against his face. To his trained ears he can hear the creak of Stan coming up the basement steps, and feels the new chill in the air.

The realtor warned Bill about those basement steps. To the right of the front door it’s almost like a drop off down those steps, a major safety hazard. Falling down steps and accidently breaking his neck would be a blessing at this point. No, because then who would look after Stan?

The guy, desperate and now annoyed, starts to kiss along Bill’s jaw, nipping and licking at his skin, vying for a reaction from him. Over the side of his head, Bill can see the glowing, hungry eyes. They used to be so filled with kindness. Bill’s heart starts racing and his breath stutters, the guy licking at his face sighs, thinking he caused that reaction.

Bill closes his eyes and leans his head back, feeling the pressure of being watched by those starving eyes. In his jeans, he can feel himself start to fill out, the fabric becoming tighter. The guy moans in appreciation of this, grinding his own erection against Bill’s.

It stops when he yanks his head up, confusion and pain etched in his brow as he holds his ear, “What the fuck man, try to be a little a softer next time.” Bill sees the trickle of blood run down the guy’s arm from where he's holding his ear, too busy being horny and bewildered to notice it. Bill can’t stop the giggle that escapes his lips at the sight. Even more so when the guy starts look angry, “Man you’re being fucking weird. Cut it out, I have one weekend before my wife comes home so turn around you stupid cu-”

Stan, in all his glory, latches onto the guy’s neck. His teeth sinks down and tears a chunk of flesh out of the guy's throat. God, he hates it when Stan gets the front hall messy, the basement is right there for fuck’s sake.

The wound in the guy’s neck is gaping and bleeding profusely, running down to stain that awful floral shirt of his. They never know what's happening to them, eyes wide, frantic, and scared. It’s a marvel really to watch their fight or flight instinct kick in.

“Wuh-wuh-wuh-whad da fu-fu-fu-fu,” the victim desperately tries to get out, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. Hopelessly he grabs at the wound, his torn muscles exposed and slippery beneath his now blood-covered fingers. He stumbles towards the front door, trying for an escape. Bill holds steady in front of it, easily pushing him back and preventing him from leaving.

He grabs hold of the front of Bill’s shirt instead, trying to beg for his life. There’s a soft growl emitting from the shadows as Bill’s shirt collar gets pulled on. Some of the guy’s blood spews from his lips and lands across Bill’s face. He doesn’t even flinch, and just watches as Stan grabs hold of the guy by his ankles, yanking him off his feet.

Floral shirt guy falls to the floor with a heavy thud, scrambling to try and get his footing again. The hardwood floor is slick with a pool of his blood and his strength is starting to fail him because of his blood loss. There’s another muted growl as the guy finally starts to get yanked down the stairs, his hands unforgivingly not finding purchase on the floor. Bill stands and watches blankly as the guys horrified face disappears into the shadows of the stairwell.

Thudding and fumbling echo down the stairs before the sound of tearing and crunching starts to emit back up from them. What’s left of floral shirt guy moans helplessly as he starts to be devoured alive. He never even got to scream.

Bill hears an almost purr-like sound once the dying man’s whimpers stop as he goes to fetch the supplies he’ll need to clean up the hallway. Maybe he can get it finished before Stan comes back up the stairs, hungry for something else entirely.

A/N: Writing endings are the bane of my existence.

This is another scene from an Au that me and Pj (@s-oulpunk) has come up with. I have a new years challenge to write 2000 words a day, so this is the first thing to come that, since I just love this AU so much.

Pjjjjjj I hope you liked it and that this lived up to your exceptions

#bill denbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #stenbrough #stanbrough #it #it 2 #it 2017 #it 2019

13 notes · View notes

perpetuelledaydreaming · 3 years

Text

Illicit affairs -Prologue

General Summary: y/n stark returns after she escaped New York & peter’s rather anxious to see her after what happened between them. But neither fury or tony care about it and assign a mission to them: capture black cat and kingpin. Should be easy right? No, lol. While y/n and peter try to navigate their new “friendship” and try work together to capture kingpin, y/n gets tangled with one pretty felicia hardy and peter doesn’t like it at all. Jealousy doesn’t suit peter or y/n, secret meetings are a must, partying too and even a couple of hookups; everything to save the world, right?

Summary: y/n comes back from spending one year and a half in Europe for a mission, peter’s nervous as hell for her return and tony is not having any of their shit, so instead of buying an oversize “get-along-shirt” he decides to place them in a “get-along-mission”.

Listen to: Dreams - Fleetwood Mac and Illicit affairs - Taylor Swift

word count: 7.7k

(author’s note at the end now)

series masterlist

Peter stared at the entrance of the Compound, hands in the pockets of his jeans with an absent expression drawn on his face. He could hear all the steps of people walking on the compound and he recognized there were far more than what he had gotten used to in one year and a half.

He remembered how much he had craved the same activity as before, to see his mentors but especially to see you. But now he was panicking, his thoughts were screaming for him to leave before anything could go wrong but still every nerve on his body was pulling him into the compound and he knew the reason. He still couldn’t really process how much his heart still ache to see you again, even after you had been gone all this time without any type of contact.

But it wasn’t a surprise that you had been avoiding him.

He knew he had told Tony about what had happened between the two of you and he was sure that you had told him your version of events. But it still seemed like Tony didn’t remember when he had called Peter earlier in the day, he had a mission for him and needed him on the compound with the whole team.

“The whole team?”

“Yeah, they came back yesterday”

Peter froze midway on his walk to another building on campus for his next class, since he had decided to double major in biophysics and electronic engineering. Tony had dismissed his long pause as he explained the logistics of the meeting and how he could have Happy pick him up if he wanted, Peter didn’t respond and simply by omission agreed for Happy to do it, although he had his car.

After the call, the rest of the day had been a blur until Happy called him to tell him he was in front of the main campus of Columbia waiting for him. Peter didn’t talk on the ride to the compound and hadn’t even checked in with anyone else in his life.

He was only focused on what would it be to see you again.

It was Peter’s first time on Stark Tower after Tony had made him go on a mission regarding Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and Germany. Peter had returned from Germany for about a week when he finally got his call for him to go visit Stark Tower and Peter had been more than excited to go.

“So kid, this is how it’ll work”, Tony explained to him as the door opened to a spacious metallic, modern industrial looking floor that blinded Peter for a second. “There are four different labs here: we have my lab, which is obviously the biggest, Bruce’s lab for when he decides to pay us a visit, Keener’s lab and my daughter’s lab over there”

Peter had been stuck a bit when Tony mentioned someone named Keener since Peter didn’t know anything about anyone else working with them, but everything was washed away when he remembered you.

It hadn’t always been known that Tony Stark had a kid, you had lived with your mother until she had passed away when you were about five years old and it had been kept a well-hidden secret until Tony was kidnapped. Obadiah Stane had, unfortunately, decided that it would appeal to Tony’s kidnappers’ emotions that his own child would ask for his return. Pepper had been against it, but Stane hadn’t listened and then the world knew about you.

Since then, the media had been in a frenzy about Tony’s Stark daughter and they didn’t stop, although there wasn’t much, they could get out of you. The main things the world knew about you were that you had left a private school in Malibu when Tony became Ironman and had been homeschooled since you had the same brain as your father and were most likely a super-genius, you got to go to events sometimes regarding Stark’s Industries and, most importantly, you were a member of The Avengers.

“Dad, where are the blueprints of the exoskeleton?”, a silvery voice asked, coming from your lab and then it followed with your presence.

Peter was in awe as he took you in. Peter noticed your smile first, it was so warm that it melted him inside when he noticed how well it go with your bright y/e/c eyes. They seemed like galaxies for him, he also noticed your long hair, much longer than the last time Peter had seen on the paparazzi pictures. But what made him smile even more was that you were on leggings and a light blue sweatshirt, looking like a normal teenager but with goggles on, soldering iron on one hand, and a hologram of your suit in the other.

You were so focused on the design that you were too close when you finally raised your head from the hologram and stopped dead on your tracks when you noticed Peter.

“Darling, meet Peter Parker”, Tony announced as he patted Peter on the back and pulled him towards your direction. “Parker, meet my daughter”

When you looked up, your gaze linked up with those chocolate light eyes with golden specks and you immediately smiled, knowing exactly who he was.

“Hi- Hi, what…” Peter’s words stumbled against one another, “I’m Peter”

Peter seemed small and timid, he even looked younger than what you actually thought he was. The freckles that adorned his face didn’t help him look older either but they looked like a constellation, they were accompanied by chocolate curls that fell on his forehead and framed his face perfectly.

“Lovely to meet you Spiderman”, you replied playfully.

Peter smiled back and after that, you were smitten.

As time passed you got closer and closer, you were the youngest on the team so it wasn’t a surprise for any of the other avengers that you had finally found a partner and were sticking together.

Peter felt like a breeze of fresh air as he stood in front of you with his new suit on the compound trying it while you cheered for him along with your father. Peter was everything you hope for someone to be outside of your main circle that mainly contained The Avengers, Pepper, and Tony. He was brave, intelligent, loyal, and, most importantly, he was the kindest person that you had ever met.

And Peter, he didn’t even doubt for a second that he needed you in his life, you were sunshine for him. When you worked together on your suit and helped you train to adjust to it, he was completely amazed by your intelligence and discipline. But mostly, it was your warmth and sensitivity, your ability to notice things that most wouldn’t, and your compassion were things that made him fall for you.

But nothing could be so good, nothing came that easy to anyone and the way that you had parted ways broke both of your hearts.

“Aren’t you gonna come in?”, Happy asked Peter as he passed by him and began climbing the stairs to the main entrance.

Peter sighed as he followed Happy inside, the compound had always seemed to be larger than life itself when he had visited it for the first time but with you, it soon felt like a second home for Peter. The last few moments that you’ve had together before you walked away from each other, you had spent almost every waking free moment in there, even using your rooms more there than in the city. But after you left, he had decided to spent less time in the compound, not that it was easier to spend his time in Stark’s tower, but the compound had become such your place that he had been avoiding it as much as he could after it.

He shuddered at the thought of you walking again through those hallways but giving him the same glare, you had given him the last time that you had seen each other. It haunted him until this day, how your eyes were swimming with resentment and how you had walked away from him.

“Peter”, Steve’s voice woke up Peter from his thoughts and quickly embraced him in a tight hug, Peter smiled into it and embraced Steve back.

“Captain”, he answered amuse as they let go of each other. Peter was surprised by Steve’s new beard and longer hair, he didn’t look anything like before he went, he seemed more badass than before. “Trying to copy Thor?”

See, although Peter had become a kind of surrogate son for Tony, Steve was still really involved with Peter since he saw a lot of himself in small Peter, especially after meeting him in Germany and getting to know him when they finally came back. And Peter really appreciated having Steve as another father figure as well, mostly because he was a closer take on Uncle Ben than what Tony was.

“Yeah, I got that from y/n already”, Steve chuckled as he walked with Peter towards the conference room.

Peter flinched at the sound of your name and Steve noticed it right away.

“She doesn’t hate you”, Steve stated as they reached the door, Peter could already hear your voice and he felt like he was going to be sick, his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest at any given moment and he closed his eyes as he remembered your last conversation. “She would never”

But Peter believed otherwise.

“I can’t wait to see your friends again!”, you squealed as you walked through the cold streets of New York with Peter by your side while he smiled and tightened the hold on your hand.

Flash had organized a rather impromptu “almost New Year’s” party, he would’ve done a real New Year’s party but he knew that all of his friends had their commitments so, there he was three days before New Year throwing out a real rave.

Although you had never attended Midtown, you had become good friends with Ned, Betty, MJ, and Flash. Peter’s friends had always been so special to you, that you had thrown them your own goodbye party before they had left for college six months before. Ned had gotten to MIT, MJ studied in Columbia just like Peter while Betty had gone to Harvard and Flash had chosen to leave the east coast, he went to Berkley.

“Ned and Betty are going to be so happy to see you, sometimes I think they like you more than me”, Peter replied as he recalled how much he had missed his friends. He had spent time with MJ and facetime was a must on the weekends, nonetheless, he had also tried to make new friends during the semester and he had even invited some over to Flash’s party.

“That’s a lie, but I’ll take it”, you said with a shrug as Peter turned around to smile at you.

“Who wouldn’t love you?”, Peter stated as he watched you intently, your eyes link and you began to feel your heart ticking like a bomb, soon you looked away to the street, quickly changing the topic.

Mostly, this semester had brought you even closer. Peter spent more time on the compound than on his dorm room, so much that he even walked in on a naked Otto (his new roommate) since he hadn’t expected Peter to return to their dorm last week.

Your days were spent patrolling, training, on your lab or your room, not even on Peter’s who was given a room a year prior by Tony. It was quite an awesome achievement since you had been taking some classes at MIT while also interning for Tony and Pepper, both of them. Peter didn’t know how you managed to do all of that and spent as much time as you did together, but you thought the same since he was going full-time to college and also working on his Spiderman duties.

But you did, you and Peter had arranged everything in your life, you juggled every responsibility as much as you could so you could see each other. If it meant getting fewer hours of sleep, flying from Boston to New York the same day, even if it meant wearing your suit to fly, although Pepper disapproved.

He had even spent a couple of nights in your room, sleeping together after late nights on the streets.

“I’ve been waiting to go to a party since forever”, you gushed as you climbed the elevator to Flash’s while Peter helped you remove your long black coat, revealing a black silky dress. Peter watched your body slowly, his gaze dropped down to one of your legs that were exposed by the slit on it and then to your exposed back. Peter gulped as you turned around and fixed your hair. “You are going to save me a dance, right?”, you continued as you batter your eyelashes in a show of mock innocence.

But Peter’s smile slowly slid off his face as he felt how his cheeks were burning with a slight blush as you searched for his eyes. He knew you were mocking him; he knew you weren’t possibly serious because there was no way that you, Y/N Stark, were actually flirting with him.

“Su-sure”, he muttered as his eyes connected to yours.

But the thing was that you weren’t kidding.

You weren’t completely sure when your relationship with Peter had shifted, you had always been close to Peter and you cared about him, a lot more than sometimes you thought it was healthy or normal for best friends. But it was the first night that he had decided to spend the night in your room, you had been tired since you had stopped more crimes than what you had expected and the criminals were far harder to defeat than the usual petty burglars.

That night you had talked about everything. You had begun light and playful, with Peter picking you up as you recall how you had managed to defeat a couple of guys who were trying to steal an ATM. You had laughed at Peter’s goofy narration of events while you played with his hair. But then, after a few laughs, you remain silent for a couple of minutes, watching each other.

You didn’t know what compelled you, but after a few minutes on that night, you hit each other with the hardest things in your life and how you were struggling with it.

You had told him about your deepest fear of not being good enough, how you were actually struggling mentally with your responsibilities but also hating yourself for not doing enough in your eyes, for not being the best version of yourself that you had to imagine you would be, for not being the perfect girl everyone thought you were. How sometimes you resented Tony because everyone was expecting so much from you but it also felt like you were going to explode if you didn’t stop. How sometimes you wished you could rebel and get away from whatever image they had from you.

And it was a complete surprise when Peter had told you that he understood. He had revealed, after so many years of friendship, what had really happened with his Uncle Ben; how he had selfishly decided to let a criminal go since he was just stealing some food and then how the same burglar had shot Uncle Ben without a second thought when he had tried to stop him. He felt so morally responsible for Uncle Ben's death that Peter had saved up so much anger inside of him that when he captured the man, he had almost killed him. No one knew about it, no one knew that Peter could hold such anger in him and everyone thought he was just this harmless boy, that could do no wrong or that had never experienced the weight of emotions, how they could drown you.

He showed you his scars and you showed him yours.

You saw each other at your best and your worst.

And your bond became stronger before you even realized it yourself, you knew you were in love with Peter Parker and, although you weren’t sure, you thought he loved you too.

“Peter?”, a fruity voice snapped you both out of the trance.

You turned around to see Gwen Stacy, the petite friend of MJ and Peter at Columbia. You remembered her since you had met her a few times when you drove Peter to college. She was a science major and usually a study buddy for Peter whenever he had to miss class because of his Spiderman responsibilities. She was also way too beautiful; she was blonde with a short blunt bob perfectly framing her face and her sapphire green eyes.

“Gwen!”, Peter said playfully to her. As he exited the elevator with your coat in hand while you cleared your throat, irritation showing its awful head on your heart as you watched him hugging Gwen and the way Gwen pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

When Peter pulled away, he smiled at her and you felt your face dropping.

“Y/N, come!”, Peter said softly as you exited the elevator with an absent expression.

The rest of the evening was okay, you had spent time with Betty and Ned, dancing along with MJ, and even had managed to drag Peter to the dance floor although he had refused at first. Flash had been flirting with you non-stop since he saw you with that dress, to the point that Peter had shot him a glare or two before he stopped. If Peter was being honest, he believed to only have eyes for you that night but your mood had changed since you had arrived and he was clueless as to why.

You hadn’t said anything but he knew your body language enough, almost by second nature, to realize that you were tense and nervous. He could feel your heart raising its beat each time he got closer to you but he also noticed how your muscles tensed up when things got too quiet, at least that’s what he thought.

The thing was that you were annoyed because, at every turn, Gwen Stacy was there talking to Peter or flirting with him, you decided to stay quiet because you weren’t in the mood to fight with someone.

“It’s everything okay?”, Peter asked as he met you in one of the large windows of Flash’s penthouse, watching New York.

You turned around to watch Peter, his wild chocolate curls were controlled by the gel that he had decided to put earlier that evening at your place, he was wearing nice elegant pants with loafers and an open white shirt that fitted him perfectly. He looked perfect for you and you couldn’t help but blush when he got closer to you.

“I’m okay, I just…”, you muttered and the words dissolute in the air, not wanting to finish the sentence.

You weren’t okay but you didn’t know if it was a good time to say so, it wasn’t Peter’s fault that Gwen was interested in him, but it was exasperating that he hadn’t said anything about her advantages. Still, what infuriated you more was your attitude, you weren’t usually afraid of many things and you took pride in that but every time you wanted to yell to Peter that you loved him, nothing came out.

“Y/N…”, Peter asked you as he placed his hand on the small of your back, in a comforting way.

His eyes were searching yours as you licked your lips nervously. But soon, the fear was too much, it overwhelmed you so badly that you stubbornly looked away, glaring at the city.

“I’ll be right back”, you answer and quickly got yourself loose from his hold and walked away, leaving a confused Peter behind.

You felt out of breath when you got to the bathroom and quickly shut the door. As you saw yourself in the mirror you realized how angry you felt, you glared at yourself and cursed under your breath, quickly closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, before you opened them again.

“Get your shit together and just tell him already”, you growled.

You loathed yourself at that exact second, you hated feeling so weak and that the feeling of not telling Peter was eating you alive. It was time to get it over with, you knew Peter, you knew him like the back of your hand and he wouldn’t hurt you, right? He could never hurt you; he was your Peter Parker, angry and sweet, for good or for bad, you knew him. And if he did feel the same way as you did, then it would all be worth it.

You smiled at the thought of you and Peter together, like you had wished for a while now and everything seemed to work. Tony had even mentioned something about it the week before and how he would be totally happy if you had feelings for Peter, which you hadn’t denied to him but hadn’t accepted either to him.

So, you exited the bathroom with new energy flowing through your body, you wanted to tell Peter how you had fallen for him, how you wanted to feel his lips against yours one more time, how you wanted for him to hold you as he did but now with your feelings out in the open.

You wanted him.

You walked through the party, searching for the boy with chocolate eyes and golden specks, without minding your friends who had an almost uncomfortable look on their faces but then you saw it….

Peter who you were in love with, Peter that you saw as your one and only, Peter that you had opened yourself to for so many years and the guy who you believed belong with you was with Gwen Stacy, tangled in an embrace as they kissed each other. She was cupping his face sweetly as he had his arms around her torso, their mouths dancing as if they were the only two people on the planet.

You stared at them in shock.

Everything seemed to shatter into a million pieces. Everything. The late-night talks. The laughs and giggles. The holding hands. The missions together. The time you spend in the lab. The gazes lock in together. The trust.

It wasn’t only until they finished that Peter turned around and watched you in shock.

You turned around without a word and fled, no one could stop you, not even MJ who tried to take a hold of your hand which you brushed off.

You were sure that in that second, you were able to hear your heartbreaking like it was glass, as you hurriedly tried to look for your coat in Flash’s room as fast as you could. You wished that you had brought your suit but you had decided to leave it for the night since the plan had been going back to Stark’s Tower with Peter.

You felt so stupid.

“Y/N!”, you could hear Peter shouting behind you while you look for your coat as quickly as you could but it seemed lost with the rest of the clothes that were on Flash’s bed.

You stopped as you heard the door closing, you closed your eyes and waited for him to say anything. You hoped that maybe Peter would tell you that Gwen had just gone for it and that it was a mistake, something, anything, that would negate what you had just seen.

But he stayed quiet and as each second pass, you felt hot rage bubbled up within your chest.

“Since when?”

“What?”, Peter asked, his voice was small and confused.

“Since when have you had feelings for Gwen?”, you repeated. “It was since you met her? Was it since Halloween? I want to know”

“Y/N-”

“Tell me Peter or I swear to god!”, you shouted, spinning around and fixing Peter with a sharp glare, so full of loathing and pain, that Peter felt like it pierced right through him.

He didn’t understand your rage, he didn’t understand why you had run away after you had seen him with Gwen. He couldn’t even phantom that you had feelings for him like he did for you, it had been a dream for him that you felt the same way that he felt at the same moment that he met you. But years had passed and Peter believed that being the confident woman that you were, there wasn’t a way that you hadn’t already told him how you felt.

“She begun flirting with me since we met, it wasn’t…”, Peter cleared his throat, meeting your gaze steadily. “It wasn’t planned, she just confessed her feelings for me and you like her too! She’s nice and sweet, she’s smart and I…”

You closed your eyes in pain as you heard Peter’s words.

Your eyes welled with tears as you shook your heart in disbelief, you felt as if your heart was being torn apart. Realizing that all the things that you were worried about were the truth.

“I’m so stupid”, you whispered to yourself.

Peter furrowed his eyes and he tried to get closer but you flinched.

It hurt.

“Why are you stupid, y/n?”, Peter asked in a gruff voice, he watched you intently because he knew you well enough to know that you were hiding something from him and if it was what Peter was really thinking, then he needed to know.

But you didn’t answer. You didn’t even want to look at his face any longer, you felt cripple by a broken heart and, in such an uncharacteristic manner, you wished for a second that he could feel the same pain that you were feeling.

“Y/N?”

“Leave me alone, Parker”, you spat as if his name was poison while your eyes narrowed angrily.

It stung more than what Peter wanted to admit as he stared at you for a moment., The way that you had said his name, made him shuddered and tears began to well in his eyes too. He could hear your harshened breaths growing shallow and how you were fighting to keep your tears at bay.

He wanted to stop you but you raced out of the apartment without looking back once. You ran down the snowy sidewalks, running and running in your high heels until you couldn’t see clearly because of your tears. You had kept right on running until you managed to get into the elevator of Stark Tower and you collapsed, sobbing like you hadn’t in your life.

“Dad! Pepper!”

Tony and Pepper had come out running from different parts of the apartment when they saw you on the floor of the elevator.

“Y/N! What’s wrong?”, Pepper said in alarm, as she tried to kneel but her baby bump wouldn’t let her.

But you couldn’t say anything, your sobs wouldn’t let you modulate words as you simply raised from the elevator and clutched her tighter while Tony hugged both of you from behind.

Peter entered the conference room and it was full of avengers, sometimes he still couldn’t believe that it was his life after so many years of working with them, inside the team. But the thought quickly dissipated as his eyes searched for you. It wasn’t too difficult to find you, since everyone was already sitting down, he and Steve were the last ones that had arrived and Fury was already standing up at the edge of the table alongside Tony.

He gave a small wave to Wanda, Bucky, and Sam who had been in the mission with you, Harley gave him an uninterested look which he had ignored because he was permanently annoyed at Harley’s attitude and then he found you sitting beside him, looking absentmindedly whirling your straw around in your drink.

You had changed and it was for good. Your long, long hair was now cut short and it reached a little bit below your shoulders. Your face had become more defined and the pup fat that Peter sometimes bothered you with by pinching your cheeks was gone, now you had sharper cheeks and jaw. You weren’t dressed in sweats like you used to dress before for anything that didn’t involve a party but now you were wearing a turtle knitted sweater that framed your body perfectly with white mom jeans.

You seemed to have grown.

Peter walked up to you and seated himself in the chair across from you, clearing his throat and snapping you out of your little trance. You blinked in surprise and stared at him, looking a little caught off guard.

He looked taller and more fit than before, he had grown into the confident persona that you knew he had deep inside of him, you could tell by the way he was looking at you. But those chocolate eyes with golden specks hadn’t change one bit and neither the constellation of freckles that adorned his face, the ones you loved to trace when you were helping him relax. He was still wearing what he usually wore since the time you met him, except he had dropped the nerdy t-shirts that had been a staple of him during high school, and now he had a white plain t-shirt that combined well with his simple jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt.

But, even if he looked that good, nothing had changed between the two of you.

“How’s Gwen?”, you asked sarcastically as Peter huffed in annoyance.

Peter had tried to reach you for days; he had even intended to go to Stark Tower the day after the fact but Aunt May had fallen ill with a bad cold so he decided to stay with her. But it didn’t stop him from making about a thousand calls to your phone, at night he even wondered if he should call Tony but he was afraid about the fallout of your fight, he knew that Tony wouldn’t change who he was with him but Peter also knew that he would protect you no matter what and if it that meant hiding you from Peter, he would do it.

So, it wasn’t a surprise when Tony didn’t answer either.

Peter couldn’t sleep for days as he stared at his ceiling in silence, replaying the scene in Flash’s room over and over again, your face filled with pain and rage was something that he hadn’t seen. Not even when you were fighting criminals, like the Vulture. And it didn’t help his sleeping situation that Gwen hadn’t stopped texting either.

After you had left the party, Gwen had managed to catch Peter before he reached the elevator and had talked to him about what had happened, she had held him as he cried about you but he decided not to say anything too specific about your fight. Gwen had been there for him and he appreciated, they hadn’t kiss anymore that night but she had been checking in on him, being as sweet as she had always been and Peter was happy? Yes, he was happy that he had someone he could talk to that was there for him since it seemed like even his friends were upset with him too.

But Gwen was not you.

May got better after a couple of days, so, without many hours of sleep, Peter decided to show up at Stark Tower. He hoped that he could talk to you and finally explained what had happened that night, Peter somehow hoped that you would tell him what he wished for but he believed you were far away from that. Still, his only hope was to see you again and talk, say something that could bring you back together.

The elevator opened to the penthouse and it seemed like it was lonelier than what he was expecting. It was late in the morning, so Peter had figured out that you had been already working out since it was your usual routine but he couldn’t hear your heart beating. Peter walked towards the kitchen and hoped that you were already having breakfast and that he had simply missed it but when he arrived, only Tony was there.

Tony turned around and froze as he munched on some berries that he had in his hand.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip and he could feel his hands starting to sweat, he quickly placed them in his pockets as he walked towards the island kitchen, “I need to talk to y/n, Mr. Stark please”

It sounded wobblier than Peter had hoped to but it was sincere enough that Tony sighed and relaxed his tense muscles. “She’s not here, kid”, he said as he shook his head, “She’s gone”

“What do you mean?”, Peter asked once more as he got closer to Tony, panic swimming in his eyes.

Tony walked towards Peter and he placed a hand on his shoulder, he squeezed it. “I’m sorry Peter”

“Tony, where is she?”, Peter glared, shooting a look up at Tony who shook his head, as he looked sideways to Peter.

“She left for a mission”, Tony explained to him while Peter turned around to face him, brows bumped together in confusion, he didn’t recall that you had been assigned a mission on the last meeting. “The one in Europe and Asian, she went with Steve, Nat, Bucky, Wanda, and Sam”

Peter felt his stomach sinking because he remembered when Fury and Steve had disclosed the mission: One year at least on the East of Europe and in Asia, locating Hydra Nests to finalize the threat on countries where they could do the most damage. They had decided to pick Steve, Nat, Bucky, Wanda, and Sam because they were the most experienced ones and it was a dangerous mission, they had to be very careful since they were mostly acting undercover because the government didn’t want them there. It was a real possibility for someone to die, more chances than what they usually faced.

“What?”

Peter repeated the same words as he responded to your sarcastic comment, Harley snickering under his hand while you simply gave Peter a phony smile. It was clear that you weren’t really over what had happened a year and a half ago and why should you? Peter was still dating Gwen, as your father had let you know as soon as you got home. You had still hope that nothing had actually happened between them and although it was a longshot, you still wanted to believe that maybe Peter had waited.

But he didn’t and it burned again as if your past feelings, that you thought you had left behind when you climbed the quinjet to Europe, were filling you once more.

Peter’s face turned into a scowl as he watched your attitude and Harley’s. You had changed personality-wise too and he felt frustration growing inside of him. He had hoped that when you came back you had forgotten whatever your reason was to fight with him, he hoped that you would simply fall back into your friendship and that nothing had really changed between the two of you.

But you didn’t and Peter felt confused, he felt confused because it wasn’t fair. It had been almost two years and you were still filled with resentment.

“Mrs. Stark, Mr. Paker”, Fury’s gravelly voice snapped you both out of your glares. “Can we start?”

The rest of the meeting continue without much trouble, Steve and Nat where in charge of the debrief of your mission and how successfully you had eradicated Hydra nests in the areas that you went but there were different countries that you hadn’t reached, even in a year and a half there was a lot to be done yet. You had talked about how you were helping the different towns or areas that had been affected by Hydra’s activities, how the crime rates had gone down after you managed to intervene and how you had left them different programs so they could introduce to their governments.

Peter had been gazing at you as you continue to tell about your time there, he saw the gleam on your eyes when you were talking about the different ways you had helped people but when you finished your eyes locked again but you looked away from Peter with your chin high and Peter did the same. Each one refusing to look at the other when you intervened in the meeting any further. Although it didn’t work, because you could still feel your heartbeat skipping a beat and couldn’t help the tugging on the sides of your smile when he was talking about how he had defeated the Scorpion four months ago and how the crime rates in Queens had gone down because of it.

But more than that, neither of you tried to face the other.

At least until Fury was updating you on a next mission.

“After that, you would be able to pass through Moldavia, and then it would be easy to reach Kosovo. You’ll arrive in Pristina where people will be waiting for you, it’s going to be shorter than the last but they are being seriously affected by the Hydra activity”, Fury finished explaining as he was turned around from the hologram that showed the route. “The mission has been assigned to-”

“I want to go!”, you suddenly babbled, a hand up in the air with excitement while Wanda gave you a thumbs up from afar in another seat.

Fury rolled his eyes.

“We have a problem here, y/n”, Tony said, nudging one of the files that Fury had in front of him. “There have been some robberies through New York, more importantly, on the last month or so Hammer Industries and Oscorp Industries have been raided”

“Well, Peter can handle it, can’t he?”, you drawled, as you gave Peter a look with a pout on your face.

Peter wanted to be flattered, you thinking that he could handle a threat was nice but he suspected it was coming from the fact that you clearly wanted to get out of New York too and, especially, far away from him.

“I haven’t been able to catch her”, Peter muttered as he answered with a timid look.

“Her?”, you asked, a slight frown on your face as you gazed at Peter who had his shoulders slumped and tried to avoid your gaze. You still knew him; you still knew his body language and there was something that was bothering him.

“Black Cat”, Fury answered as he threw the file to your place and you opened it quickly.

The first thing your eyes focused on was a picture of her, on what you believe was Hammer thanks to the tech. It wasn’t a good photo; you could only white hair wrapped up in a tall ponytail and her black leather costume. She looked good, from what you could see, but it wasn’t much either way thanks to the quality of the camera.

“Hammer should really change its security camera provider”, you drawled as you checked the file. “What about the Oscorp security video? Doesn’t he have one of those?”

“You should know how paranoic Norman is, he didn’t want to give us any footage”, Tony explained as you continued to read whatever information was in the file, but there wasn’t much.

The one interesting thing was the number of abilities she had: extremely superhuman reflexes, agility, and the stamina of an Olympic level acrobat. She knew martial arts from what they had found from the fights that she had and was able to incapacitate her assailants without getting injured.

“Peter, don’t you have footage of her? We can scan her fighting pattern and search for weaknesses”, you suggested as you closed the file and pushed it back to Fury’s place.

But Peter remained silent.

“Peter?”, you asked and you turned around to face him, a dour look drawn on his face and you felt your eye twitching as you realized what he did.

“I…”, Peter began as he felt the glares of Fury and you.

“Please, tell me you didn’t deactivate your baby monitor program”

“I deactivated my baby monitor”, Peter answer quietly.

The way that you slapped your own face managed to make Harley jumped as all of the others looked up to you slightly alarmed. Sam’s face even twisted in a way as he mouthed a small ‘ouch’.

“How can you be so stupid!?”, you shouted at Peter, your hand still on your face and frustration bubbling on your chest.

Everyone stayed silent as their gazes traced back to Peter’s blinking expression, his eyes wide as a plate and a slight blush appearing on his cheeks from the embarrassment. Peter remembered when you lashed out, it wasn’t often and you mostly got angry at yourself when you didn’t manage to accomplish something, but not to a lot of people.

“Here we go”, Bucky muttered, as if he already knew what was about to unfold.

“I was tired of Tony reviewing all my footage, there was private stuff sometimes in there!”, Peter stammered, the high pitch in his voice making it obvious he was a bit nervous but the glare in his eyes dripped annoyance.

“What? Were you using your suit to web Gwen’s hands in bed?”, you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Tony immediately shot you an annoyed look as Harley, Sam and Bucky burst into laughs while Steve and Fury crossed their arms on their chest, as Nat, Wanda, Bruce and Vision had their mouths wide open in surprise.

“Why are you being so unbearable?”, Peter snapped but he quickly shut his mouth, not wanting to say more.

He could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest and his cheeks getting warmer and warmer with each second. Yes, he had turned off his baby monitor program because Gwen had asked him so. No, he wasn’t tying her hands in bed but he was pinning her under him while wearing the suit, it seemed like she was keen on it, but that wasn’t the point that should be brought up in an avengers meeting. He lingered for a moment, wondering if he should go off at you as he stared at you: blush cheeks, narrowed eyes but there was a gleam in your eyes and Peter remembered from your last conversation, you were still hurting.

“You two, enough”, Tony intervened sharply as he glared at your behavior.

You sighed as you slumped on your chair and Peter sat down annoyed, looking down and not wanting to face anyone of the avengers in one thousand years after what you had said.

“She’s not the point, the point is that we think she’s working for Kingpin”, Fury explained once more as Kingpin’s profile appeared on a hologram in front of you, at the center of the table.

It had been a while since you had heard his name, you knew he was dangerous and that he was no joke, especially in New York.

The last time you had heard about him, was when he had been absolved by a judge on drug charges but you knew it was because he had such a criminal organization that his pawns were the ones that had been caught, no evidence relating him directly. Plus, he was also regarded as the owner of much legitimate business and even had ties with politicians so it had become unlikely that he would get caught. Tony had offered to capture him some time ago, but Coronel Ross had decided that NYPD should be in front of that case, that the avengers shouldn’t waste their time on it.

But it seemed like they were being unsuccessful.

“Do we know why he would want whatever she’s stealing from Hammer and Osborn?”, you asked as you watched Kingpin's image on the screen. His heavyset appearance sometimes frightened you, his crystal blue eyes seemed way too dangerous and you gulped as you realized how tall he was.

“No, but you two are going to find out”, Fury answered you as he placed another set of files in front of you and another in front of Peter.

You inhale a sharp breath as it dawned on you who the two of you were. A shiver of panic ran through your spine as you realized that you had to stay in New York and also work with Peter, without any time frame of how long you would have to stay. Peter also felt his throat tighten up, he realized that he had to work with you, this new you that wouldn’t doubt in calling him out if needed.

“She doesn’t want to be here”, Peter whined as he looked at Tony.

“I don’t”, you started but were quickly cut off by Tony.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to”, Tony replied abruptly as he then turned at Peter, “Or if you don’t want to either”. Peter slumped a bit more on his chair. “You are going to work together like you used to because we said so and you can’t say no because we are your bosses. You are not seventeen anymore.”

Sometimes you forgot how severe Tony was, especially how he was with you, you could feel he was still a bit hurt that you had left for Europe without even discussing it with him first. He had simply allowed it because he understood how upset you were, but he wasn’t expecting that you would leave for such a long time, you hadn’t even met Morgan.

Peter had always been a little nervous about Tony, although he had grown from the timid sixteen-year-old he was when he met Tony, he still couldn’t avoid getting anxious when Tony got mad. He knew that Tony had some resentment over what had happened with you, you had left New York because of him and had hurt Tony in the way.

You gazed back at Peter, who was already looking at you.

“I guess we are together in this”, you muttered and Peter nodded.

You closed your eyes again, hoping that it wouldn’t be as bad as you hope it would be.

You had no idea what was coming your way.

*******

author’s note: I’m so so happy to finally be starting this new series. I’ve had it in my mind since last year when I wrote “hey hey you yeah, i don’t like your girlfriend”, literally i’ve been planning it for months and just now I found the time to write it and dedicate time to it. I’m still planning to finish Back to you but i was putting a lot of pressure on myself to write for that series and i wanted to spice it up and change it from the angsty feeling of Back to you.

I know it starts a little bit angsty but it will get much more exciting, a different y/n who has grown into herself as we saw here and whose not afraid anymore to be herself. Which is very different from y/n in Back to you. And Peter’s not that sweet as he was in Back to you, he can call out y/n too and her shit, and I LOVE that slow burn that we are going to see developing in the next chapter and also FELICIAAAAA hits different, especially for a bi like me.

This series is also inspired by my november playlist and i think this mood fitted very well with the story we are going to see.

There will be an update in exactly five days since i already finished chapter one and have started chapter two, i’m going to be updating as fast as i can. Please please please let me know what you think!! I little like or reblog literally make my day, especially general feedback!! thank you sooo much for taking the time to read it.

193 notes · View notes

minithefutureawaits09 · 3 years

Text

You said, “Jump” instead I fell hard for you. (Part 2.)

Pairing: Spirk

Universe: AOS, teen-fic.

A/n: This may or may not end up a series because...because...I...dunno we’ll see. Link to part one :https://minithefutureawaits09.tumblr.com/post/650840335516336128/another-drabble-cause-why-not-pairing-spirk

Any who’s, Let’s begin.

——

Jim sat feeling awkward in the foyer of the Embassy. He’d been told by the woman at the desk that she’d sent a message and Spock would come down to retrieve him. This place was well-taken care of. From the shiny marble floors to the Vulcan script on the walls. Every detail in its place. He felt extremely underdressed.

With his plain brown jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, and worn tennis shoes. His hair he’d bothered to make look decent at least, rather than the messy unkempt style from day to day. The sofa was nice too, a simple blue color to complement the rest of the room. If he was being honest it reminded him of the Emerald City from "The Wizard of Oz," just with the way they had described it and the way this room looks. Just as he started to wonder if he’s been forgotten about a voice says his name,

“Jim?”

”Over here, Spock.”

He stands up and waves, shoving his free hand into his pocket. A smile tugged his lips upward as he eyed the other’s outfit. It was a set of robes, much more casual and comfortable looking but similar to the one that the receptionist was wearing. It was a solid black with soft grey designs over it and again, much nicer than what he was wearing. He held onto both of Spock’s arms loosely as he stood much closer. Taking in those brown orbs as they reflected the light, yet seemed to have a nervous glitz about them.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me,”

“I apologize, though I did not forget, the elevator took longer than anticipated arriving.”

“It’s alright. How’re you this morning?” “I am functioning adequately, and yourself?”

“I’m tired, but happy to see you.” “Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“It’s from the trip here, it was a bit farther than I thought it was.” “I see. Though, I am pleased to see you as well.” “So...”

“Shall we head back for chess?”

“Sure. Lead the way, Spock.”

Jim took hold of Spock’s arm as though he was being escorted. He could see the way he seemed a little bothered, but didn’t say anything. Was he making him uncomfortable? He didn’t seem uncomfortable last night from his touch, in fact it was the opposite. Well...It also might have to do with the receptionist who seemed keen on staring at them, it was just them at the park last night. He made uncomfortable eye contact with her a couple of times.

Once in the safety of the elevator, Jim asked quietly,

“Spock, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all, Jim. It has just been a few years since I have been touched like that.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

It wasn’t a lie, etiquette classes had been almost 7.5 years ago. Though this was likely not what Jim was intending by his question. He knew was referring to the way Spock’s posture had stiffened which was actually a reaction he both couldn’t quite control in time and didn’t know he had. He also realized this may be an opportunity to talk to his partner about the differences in their culture.

They arrived at the door in silence, Spock put in the code, and it slid open. He followed him into the room. Wow. It looked similar to the apartment he and his mom were staying in, though arranged differently.

They were standing in a hallway-like area, on the right, were two small archways that lead to the kitchen and a dining room. On the left, there were three closed doors, he guessed one was the bathroom and had no idea what the others could be. At the end of the hall where it opened up, he guessed might be a living room and a couple of bedrooms.

Spock took his jacket, and he removed his shoes next to the Vulcan's.

“This way, ”

Jim nodded and he took hold of Spock’s hand, who warmly closed his hand around the human’s. He was lead into the open room. He smiled, he’d guessed right. The room was the living room. Decorated with a couple of black sofas, a glass coffee table, and a television on the wall. There were a couple of wide floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the tv and they both had light grey curtains that appeared to be silk.

There was a small table that he hadn’t noticed, by one of the doors. It had two wooden chairs on either side. Spock let go of his hand and pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing for him to sit. So, he sat down and was effortlessly pushed in.

“If you will wait here, I will go retrieve the chess set.”

Jim nodded and Spock disappeared back down the hall. He heard a door open and close. He let out a sigh. He wondered if the Vulcan felt as out of place as he did at the moment. He likely didn’t the young human reasoned, and he seemed way stiffer than when they’d meet at the library. Did Spock even notice the change in his behavior or was Jim overthinking & over analyzing things that weren’t there? Was he trying to read the fine print that didn’t exist, or between the lines thinking some secret message is going to show? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea- No. He wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to hang out with his friend.

First the long and tedious walk here, then the awkward talk with the receptionist, the underdressed feeling, and now the stiff boyfriend. Could his day be going any more funky? He sighed again. The word pulled the boy up short now that he thought about it. Boyfriend. B-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d. This was the first serious committed relationship in his life. Although his company was certainly not appriciated nor welcomed in the beginning he honestly isn’t sure what he’s going to do without it. Sure, he’s lived before without the Vulcan’s presence in his life but he’s not sure he can go back to doing so again.

The blonde was scared from his thoughts by a sniffle. He lifted his hands to his eyes to realize they were wet. Had he been crying? He doesn’t remember ever starting. He wiped the tears away with his hand, but they kept coming. He heard the door down the hall open and he started to panic. Jesus Christ, why can’t he hold it together all of a sudden?

He places his head down, face hidden by his arms as he hopes maybe his partner will think he fell asleep in the shot time from exhaustion. He’s saying a silent prayer his breathing isn’t going to be the thing to give it away. He could always blame it on a nightmare. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Say he fell asleep briefly after laying his head down and boom. Nightmare happened.

He heard footsteps and the faint noise of game pieces in a box coming toward his general direction and stopping closely.

“Jim?”

He opted not to respond. He’d have to come up with another excuse if he did.

He heard the box be sat down in front of him, and a gentle shake of his shoulder followed. Again no response. When the shake firmed up he moved quickly, wide-eyed and a gasp. The hand had shot back out of surprise as quickly as possible. He wiped at his eyes as a few tears continued to fall.

He glanced over at Spock and at first he saw a surprised look come across his face when he moved so suddenly before the Vulcan pulled whatever emotion he was feeling back under control.

“Jim, are you alright?“

“Y—Yeah, jus’ a Nightmare I suppose,”

God who’s cracking sad voice was that?

“Did you actually sleep adequately last night?”

“B—Best I could, I did have a few terrors last night too,”

And they were real bad, he was up for awhile after with his mom. Though why did he just admit that? He internally scolds himself. There was no reason for that.

“Come,”

Spock had taken one of his hands and was pulling him up and leading him to somewhere.

“But what about—”

“The chess game can wait,”

“But I-”

“Jim, please.”

Jim conceded the argument after that, and stood up. He felt an arm around his waist and was pulled close to the Vulcan, his free hand resting against the chest in front of him. Letting go of his hand momentarily, and with a gentle touch, the blonde felt his tears be wiped away. He looked up to meet the other’s concerned look. Though his face remained neutral for the most part, he could see the gloss of concern coating those chocolate like orbs he’s coming to adore, and the hint of a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He looks away feeling ashamed, this was a stupid idea; his cheeks start prickling with warmth as he feels the tears form against his will in his eyes. Spock rests his forehead against his partner’s, and the floodgates open. He tries to shove away, to pull himself together and stop making an embarrassment of himself but the firm grasp around him only tightens.

“It is alright Jim,”

A firm but gentle voice tells him. He’s acutely aware of the swaying motion that started. It’s actually what got his attention; that and the warmth surrounding his thoughts. Emotions that are not his own flowing freely. Understanding, reassurance, were the strongest followed by one he’s unsure of. Admiration? What was admirable about his ugly crying, or the half lie he told? What was so admirable about him in this state?

The warmth around his thoughts pulled a little firmer as the voice whispered,

‘Nash-veh ashaya du,’

He opened his eyes, just as the action was mirrored by his partner.

“Is that you I’m feeling?”

He heard the chuckle in his head that confirmed his question. It was. A smile broke out on his face, even if it was still pink and puffy from his tears. He felt himself be guided over to one of the sofas.

His memory has a small gap. He’s not sure exactly how they got into this potion because in all honesty he was busy mentally talking with Spock. He was listening to his explanation what the difference of what their touch last night versus now was.

It was likely Jim was too out of it to really comprehend what Spock was saying. He wasn’t reacting at all like he’d calculated precisely, or maybe he had overestimate, or— That’s when he felt the leveled out breathing. The stilled mind under his fingers, which he withdrew for a much more comfortable position leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation. Just picking up on Jim’s surface thoughts now, surface emotions. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, he too joined the other in sleep.

#series?#jim kirk #s'chn t'gai spock #spirk #star trek #aos fanfic #james kirk #spirk au #spirk is canon #space husbands #aos #captain kirk

31 notes · View notes

crownedbyluke · 3 years

Text

Long Road Ahead (Chapter 16)

Estelle Finley has been friends with Ashton Irwin and Luke Hemmings for three years. When the boys bring her along on a jam-packed road trip to Cape Cod with the rest of the band, their adventures are just beginning. Through long hours driving, exploring cities, and hidden secrets, something more is bound to happen on this journey. How will this road trip change Estelle’s friendship with the friends she’s come to love so dearly?

Word Count: 2,527

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four}{Chapter Five} {Chapter Six} {Chapter Seven} {Chapter Eight} {Chapter Nine} {Chapter Ten} {Chapter Eleven} {Chapter Twelve} {Chapter Thirteen} {Chapter Fourteen} {Chapter Fifteen}

“Dad?” I asked, utterly shocked at the mess that was unfolding before my very eyes.

“What? No acknowledging me?” the familiar voice asked.

I looked just slightly to the left of my father, the familiar face of my brother Wesley came into view. He clearly hadn’t shaved in at least a month with his scraggly half shadow of a beard. It had been at least two years since I had seen him and now, seeing him again, made me want to scream.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Ashton had his hand on the small of my back, trying his best to comfort me. It felt like everyone in the house was watching me, like I was living my life out on a television screen.

“You remember your betrothed,” my dad said, gesturing to the man standing behind Wes.

My heart stopped. A commitment that I had never agreed to and yet, here was my father bringing it back to haunt me. Aiden Harper. He had certainly gotten taller since we were in middle school. The likelihood of him being less of a giant idiot though was probably very small.

“Aiden,” I whispered, still in shock.

“Who the hell is he Estelle?” Luke asked, voice full of anger.

I met his eyes, finding the storm of hurt and rage swirling in them. It took everything in my body to not just run over to him. There were more eyes on us than I wanted for a conversation like that.

“Oh, I suspect she didn’t inform you. This is the man she is intended to marry in two years time,” my dad said.

Luke clenched his fist. I felt the anger radiating off of him from the stairs. Before anyone got into a fight, I stepped down from the stairs and stood between the two.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Well darling daughter, you seem to think that I can’t stop you from seeing this man child over there, so I’ve come to prove you wrong,” he said with a smile.

It was the same smile I had seen my entire life. One of manipulation and dishonesty.

“How?” I continued.

“You see, your friends here, well, they sometimes do great work at covering up their partying or their general misuse of their fame, but myself and my contacts are more clever than their publicist. I have a multitude of photos and videos of them misbehaving that would surely ruin any chance they had at making another album,” he said, the smile widening.

“You’re lying,” Ashton said from behind me.

“Oh son, you wish I was don’t you? Doubt you’d like that threesome video from your Vegas trip a year ago to get out,” my dad said, gritting his teeth.

I felt the whole room tense. This was serious and it was happening right in front of my face. There were stories of how my dad would manipulate people into what he wanted, but I had never seen it happen. Some of them felt more fabricated than reality would allow. Yet, it was reality and he was doing everything he could to stop me.

“What do you want?” I asked, biting back tears.

It was no longer a question of what I had to do. I’d do it to protect them. Ashton reached for me again, but I moved away. It was my battle now.

“You’ll be coming home with me right now. You can move into your new house in August and you’ll stay in your tiny little apartment until then. You will no longer speak to these children or be seen with them in the media. Oh and you’ll be seen with Aiden getting engaged next week,” he said.

My eyes went wide. Engaged? It meant giving away my entire life to a person who would most likely cheat on me the first chance he got.

“Elle, you don’t-”

“Fine. If I do this, you leave them alone?” I asked, cutting off Calum.

“Yes.”

“You will never threaten them or harm them?” I pressed.

“I promise,” my dad said.

“Fine. I’ll get my stuff,” I said, turning around and marching up the stairs.

The tears fell down my face as I reached the landing. I was defeated, hurt, and exhausted. All I cared about was protecting them from him. There were footsteps following after me as I opened the door to my room.

“Don’t do this,” Luke said, a waiver in his voice.

I looked up, seeing the tears in his own eyes that matched mine.

“If I don’t, you lose your dream,” I said, grabbing the clothes from the closet.

“We can fight this, make it through this,” he argued.

“No we can’t Luke! If he has that kind of stuff on Ashton, what do you think he has on you or Cal? I won’t let you guys be collateral damage!” I said.

“Little dove-”

“Don’t. Please don’t.”

I stopped, balling my fists into the pair of shorts in my hands. That nickname meant so much to me. Luke called me it for the first time after he heard me sing and then he kept using it whenever he was saying something nice or being sweet. It was just our thing. He wrapped his arms around me, taking the shorts out of my hands. His short breaths gave away the fact that he was crying too. We were so close to that happiness I wanted and it was all going away.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

He pulled away, pressing his lips against mine shortly before resting his forehead on mine.

“Don’t walk out the door,” he begged.

“I have to or else everything you worked so hard for gets ripped from you by that man and I won’t be able to live with myself if that happens,” I said.

My hands rested on his cheeks, gently running my finger against the stubble growing. This was it. My lips touched his one last time before I went back to grabbing my things.

“Bugs, you don’t have to do this on your own,” Ashton said from the doorway.

“Yes I do. You’ll do amazing on the next album,” I said, wiping at my tears.

“What am I gonna do without you?” he whimpered.

“I don’t know, but you’ll figure it out.”

He hugged me tightly, putting every last ounce of love into it.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, holding on so I didn’t have to let go.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

After my things were tucked into the suitcase, I gave my last round of hugs. The sound of us all walking down the stairs felt wrong. Everything was wrong. I stopped just short of the door, turning and meeting everyone’s watery eyes.

“I am so incredibly sorry for this,” I said, the weight of the apology heavy on my heart.

“Save it dear. They can watch the wedding online,” my dad said, pulling on my arm to get me moving.

“Don’t touch her!” Luke yelled.

Everyone stopped again. Things felt like they were going in slow motion.

“You might be her father, but you will never be her dad. No dad would put his children through this,” he said, voice laced with venom.

My father smiled at him, letting my arm go. Wesley took my suitcase and nudged Aiden to lead me out of the house. Luke stood there, waiting, but all my father did was smile. Aiden closed the car door after I got in, making me watch Luke stand there as we drove away. Every piece of my heart shattered as I watched him fall to his knees in tears. Timing was a bitch.

TWO MONTHS LATER

LUKE’S POV

“Luke! Come on dude!” Calum yelled from outside my room.

I had yet to leave my bed and it was already 5 PM. He came by every day to check on me and almost every day, he found me still in bed.

“Go away!” I yelled back.

Getting out of bed never felt right or even remotely okay. Since Estelle left, nothing felt right anymore. Everyday was just a different way of going through the motions, barely existing.

“You gotta get out of bed today,” Calum said, bursting through the door.

“Why? We don’t have anything to do,” I said, tucking my face into my pillows.

“Maybe, but you haven’t left the house in two months and it’s time you did,” he said, opening the curtains.

The bright sunshine of L.A. hurt my eyes. Petunia licked my face as she saw the sun. The look Calum gave me felt like one from my mom when I was younger.

“If I get up, will you leave me alone for the rest of the week?” I asked, slowly sitting up.

“Sure,” he said.

I knew he was lying from the smile on his face. My feet dragged as I went to the bathroom. Another routine of washing my face, brushing my teeth, and brushing my hair gone. When I came back out, Calum was holding up new clothes.

“Why?”

“We are going out so put on something that isn’t sweatpants,” he said.

I groaned, taking the jeans and button up from him.

“You realize I’m not bringing anyone home right?”

“Yes Luke. Just shut up and get dressed.”

Legs went through the jeans and arms went through the shirt. It was a facade as to the pain that I felt every single day I woke up and remembered I couldn’t be with my person. Calum messed with my hair and patted my back, ushering me out of the house.

“Be a good girl piggy!” I yelled before Calum closed the door.

My phone dinged.

Mentioned: @Luke5SOS when is there gonna be new music?

The muscles in my face relaxed. No tweets from her...again.

ESTELLE’S POV

The setting sun was blinding through the windows of the cafe. Everyone was going about their evenings, enjoying their coffees or teas. A familiar face tucked underneath a hoodie and a baseball hat walked in, the sun behind him making him glow like an angel.

“One black coffee please,” he said softly.

Stress from the week of teaching melted away as I listened to him. My iced vanilla latte swirled as I stirred it carefully. The chair squeaked against the tile as he sat down. I met the hazel eyes staring at me.

“Hey bugs,” he whispered, taking a sip of coffee.

“Hi there stranger,” I said, a smile slowly coming out.

“How’s life?” he asked.

“Shitty. I miss you guys,” I said.

Our hands touched, the slightest bit of relief washed over me. It felt nice to be able to see him again. The weeks we weren’t able to do this seemed to drag on longer than most. It wasn’t easy to forget about the friends I was no longer allowed to see. The moments I had made me feel more guilty than anything else. He turned his palm over, gently squeezing my hand.

“We miss you too, bugs,” he said.

I wanted so badly to ask about Luke, but knew it would hurt more than I was prepared for. Ashton squeezed again.

“He’s doing his best,” he said.

Tears welled up in my eyes. If Luke was okay then surely, I should be too.

“How are the kids?” he continued, pulling away.

“Good. They’re still excited about school and spritely,” I said with a shrug.

“And you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Holding up. I have to be seen with Aiden once a week so I keep my distance as long as possible until our scheduled outings. He goes around sleeping with women in the off time and pretends to be the perfect fiancé in the meantime. Guess that’s life now.”

“I wish it wasn’t that way,” he said, slightly angry.

“Ash, you know I don’t have that much of a choice,” I argued.

“I know, but I hate it. I hate that you can’t come over or see us or come to shows. I hate that we have to tell everyone that we aren’t friends anymore. You’re my best friend and I have to hide you.”

“I should go,” I whispered, suddenly no longer feeling up for talking.

“Bugs, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, I should go. I’ve got grading and lesson plans,” I said, cutting him off.

Without looking, I walked out of the cafe. The pain took over once I closed my car door as it always did after seeing Ashton. The relics of the past hurt more and more and when I attempted to go back to normal or confront them, I ended up crying in my car. The amount of times I had driven past Luke’s place just to see if a light was on was ridiculous at this point. My phone screen lit up with a text, my background of me and Luke bringing on more tears.

Aida: Miss you. Drinks on Friday?

I ignored it, opting for driving home instead. The drive went by like it always did. My house was empty and lonely. Another thing that was meant to be something else. The exhaustion of the day wore on me as I collapsed into the couch cushions, sleep slowly taking over.

The pounding on my front door woke me from the nap I was taking. I groggily got up from the couch and made my way to it, peeking through the window.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I asked, finding a very drunk Luke and Calum.

“Estelle!” Luke cheered, a giant smile on his face.

“Again, what are you doing here?” I repeated.

“I might have given your address to the Uber driver on accident,” Calum admitted.

“Get in here,” I groaned.

They shuffled inside behind me. I checked the door to see if any of the press had followed them. Calum fell onto the couch, giggling as he did so. Luke kept staring at me.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he mumbled.

“Shush,” I said, helping him into the guest bedroom.

He giggled as I tucked him in. I put a glass of water on the side table for him in case he woke up. As I went to turn off the light, he grabbed my hand.

“I missed you little dove,” he whispered.

His eyes were sincere and it broke every piece of my heart. Luke fell asleep shortly after speaking, his face becoming relaxed and serene. It reminded me of the first time he ever stayed the night at my place. He had slept so soundly that night that he was asleep until one in the afternoon. My heart ached as I looked at him.

“He still loves you Elle,” Calum said from the doorway.

I walked towards the door, shutting off the light as I exited and closing the door behind me.

“I love him too. Now please go rest in the upstairs guest room,” I said with a sigh.

Calum stumbled his way up the stairs before closing the door. My head fell into my hands, frustration building. The morning couldn’t come fast enough.

A.N: It’s been ages and I feel horrible for leaving this on such a cliffhanger for so long, but I want to finish this story. It’s almost done. It’s mainly all written and it’s time Estelle and Luke get their story told. So here we go.

tag loves: @tommossoccer @bbycal @cakesunflower

#d writes #my writing #5sos #5sos fic #5sos fan fic #5sos au #5sos fluff #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings fluff #luke hemmings angst #ashton irwin #michael clifford #calum hood #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fluff #5 seconds of summer angst

23 notes · View notes

ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Fic: Rules of Engagement Chapter 2

Summary: Henry and Em have been friends for almost ten years and involved in a casual affair for just as long. The rules were simple: no romantic attachment and their friends and family couldn’t know. Easy enough to do right? However, when new complications emerge, Henry and Em will need to navigate this relationship of theirs, if they can even call it that. Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 04 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 06

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Emeline)

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: some fluff and a tiny bit of angst

Author’s notes: I want to thank all the comments I got on the first chapter. I didn’t expect this series to get so much recognition. Thank you! Here’s chapter 02. I do hope you all enjoy it and once again I would love to read your feedback.

Chapter 02 - What are the odds?

As soon as Henry stepped out the car in front of the church, he couldn’t help but let his gaze wander, looking for Em. It was almost second nature to him by now, whenever he would meet their friends, his eyes instinctively looked for her.

This time they landed on Todd first, standing outside and holding his baby girl Sophie in his arms. Henry could already feel the smile tugging on his lips as he made his way over, adjusting his button-down and blazer in the process. Last time he had seen the girl, she had just been born, only a week before he had to travel and start shooting The Witcher, but Todd and Clara made sure to keep him updated with pictures of his future goddaughter.

“My God, mate! you’re huge!” Todd commented voice full of awe and Henry chuckled, too distracted by the baby in his friend’s arms.

There was a huge pink bow on top of her brown curly hair and her eyes were bright blue and staring at Henry as he made a couple of silly faces until he got a bubbly giggle.

“What are they doing to you?”

“You don’t want to know. Sorry, I’m late. My flight was delayed.”

“You’re not all that late. Em had wardrobe trouble and Clara is giving her a hand,” Todd said, chuckling as Henry offered his hands up to the toddler, and to his surprise, Sophie actually reached for him, asking to be taken and Henry smirked. “She’s 6 months and already under your charms,” Todd clicked his tongue, handing over the girl.

It was no secret that Henry loved children and children loved Henry. Not only that, but he was also actually good with them. Maybe it was all the nephews and nieces, maybe it was just his natural gift, but kids tended to be in his best behavior with him.

Someone’s got a booboo? Call uncle Henry to kiss it better. Crying fit over a stolen toy or a no? Uncle Henry will hold them until they feel better. Don’t want to sleep? Uncle Henry will tell stories and even do all the voices. Sugar high and need to tire them out? Uncle Henry is on the job with a good dose of Kal…

Henry truly didn’t mind being only a call away for his family and friends. Being the last-minute babysitter whenever he was in town and having a chance of spoiling them rotten. He loved being Uncle Henry but he just couldn’t wait for the day he would be the dad.

First, he needed to find a good partner but so far, his relationships had crashed and burned, some more epically than others. And Henry wasn’t getting any younger. He would hate to be one of those fathers that had their first kid in their fifties, but he was slowly approaching his forties and had yet to meet the woman he wanted to have that kind of commitment with.

Shaking himself out of those thoughts that would lead nowhere, Henry followed Todd to a sideway entrance of the church so they could go in without making much of a fuss. It seemed almost fate that just as they stepped inside, a small hidden door opened and both Clara and Em stepped out.

For a second, Henry just stared, because Em looked so beautiful in that form-fitting soft pink dress, her dark hair falling in elegant waves over her shoulders. He didn’t even notice the sigh he let out or the small snort that came from Todd.

Henry wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself, but he made an exception when it came to this because Em might be the only woman he ever really felt like he could have a long-term relationship with. They just clicked in every aspect.

She was funny and goofy, unafraid of giving him hell whenever he was getting a big head. She could be almost brutally honest at times, but Henry had become quite good at calling her out on it with just one look. Em never failed to make him laugh, and he knew that, aside from Clara, he was the only that got her to completely loosen up. And, of course, he couldn’t forget, that the sex was amazing.

Henry was still dreaming about their last encounter last month, the feel of her without any barriers, and how much trust she laid on him to even suggest such a thing. He loved her even more for it and if only she would stop being so stubborn and accept that she loved him too and that they were perfect together, Henry wouldn’t have this problem. Because he knew Em wanted kids too.

They had this conversation one drunken night about a year ago. She had just broken up with her latest boyfriend, for reasons he couldn’t remember, and came over with a bottle of bourbon ready to drown her sorrows.

It was a cool spring night and they lied in his garden watching the night sky and passing the bottle back and forth, complaining about life and love and everything in between. Kal lodged between them, snoring loudly and making them both fall in a fit of giggles every once in a while.

“Ok, confession time…” Em said, turning sideways to look at him. The way she squinted her eyes to see him made Henry laugh. “I miss the kingstache.” She traced the smooth skin of his upper lip and Henry grinned wide.

“You?” he asked in disbelief. “The one that mocked me the most? That called it a porn mustache?”

“Yes, alright?” she pouted at him knocking against Kal, alcohol impairing her coordination. The dog looked up startled and confused before slipping away from between them. “I miss it. It felt good, especially…”

“Especially what?” Henry asked, turning sideways too and now they were so close he could smell the whiskey in her breath; their noses almost bumping against one another.

“The feel of it whenever you were eating me out,” Em confessed, lip tucked between her teeth as they stared at each other. “And only you could rock a mustache like that, ok?”

“I love how honest you get when we put some alcohol in you,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her lips.

It was supposed to be just a soft peck but Em fisted his hoodie, holding him still while she explored his mouth in a sloppy kiss and Henry felt his body responding to it. The heat spreading, the stirring in his trousers but he pulled away and gave her a stern look.

“We shouldn’t. we’re drunk and nursing breakups…” he warned but she cut him off with another kiss. This one lasted longer, especially as she pressed her entire body against his, one hand coming to scratch his scalp just like Henry loved it and he moaned into the kiss.

“That’s why it’s perfect,” she mumbled. “We can fuck it out of our systems and move on… I don’t want the next guy to be a rebound.”

“Oh, but I can be? That’s lovely.” He arched an eyebrow, hurt and offended. She sat up and rolled her eyes.

“Like I wasn’t a rebound after most of your girlfriends, Hen? You know what? Forget it. I’m leaving.” Em got up in unsteady feet and Henry was by her side in a flash, helping to keep her upright. She could never hold her liquor all that well.

“You’re too drunk. Just stay here. I can get the guest room ready if you’re that pissed at me.”

“I’m not…” she sighed, resting again his chest, but looking away from him. “I really thought Alex was…”

“Really? I always knew he was a wanker.”

Henry felt the warm huff of her laugh against the exposed skin of his throat before she finally looked up at him, chin resting on his sternum, her big and warm brown eyes glassy, lids lowered, her cheeks flushed from alcohol. It was a beautiful sight and he loved how much shorter Em was; how she fitted in his embrace like she belonged there. Henry pushed the thought aside as he guided her inside and up the stairs.

“He was jealous of you, you know?” she flopped on the bed and let Henry take off her jeans, sweater, and bra. “I think he guessed that we have sex on occasion.”

Henry only hummed in reply, picking up one of his old shirts and helping her to put it on. It fit her almost like a dress, hanging almost at her knees, the neckline loose and slipping over her shoulder. He shouldn’t think it was this cute, but he couldn’t help himself. He bent closer, kissing her softly and Em sighed against his lips.

“I’m gonna grab some aspirin for you, please don’t hurl on my floor.”

She gave him a clumsy punch on the shoulder that Henry barely felt, and he chuckled all the way to the kitchen. He wished he could tell Em that he was glad Alex wasn’t the one and that he would like her to see Henry might be. They’ve been doing this for 8 years now and it was probably the longest relationship he had with anyone. If you could call periodically hooking up with a good friend a relationship.

He got back to the room and Em was already asleep, head buried on his pillow and Henry felt bad for waking her up but if she didn’t take anything right now, it would be worst in the morning. For both of them. He shook her lightly and she blinked blearily at him, but still accepting the pill he put in her hand and the sip of water he offered.

“Thanks, Hen. I love you,” she slurred, and Henry chuckled, setting the glass aside while he took off his clothes.

Em would always blurt that out when she was this drunk and it always warmed his heart, giving him hope until the bright light of the day came and he realized that no matter how many times she would say it, Em would still fight this pull between them.

“You’re welcome, love.”

He crawled in bed with her and Em immediately settled against him, tugging on his arm until Henry was spooning her, holding her tight. She was such a cuddler and he loved it. He loved to fall asleep with his nose buried in her head, inhaling the scent of sugar and spice that clung to her. He loved the feel of her warm skin and the soft snores that she never admitted she let out or the way she clung to his hand until she fell asleep.

It was sweet torture to have her like this, knowing that when morning came, Em would be out the door, both of them going their separate ways. But at least for those blissful hours, in the darkness of the night, Henry could pretend otherwise.

For a while, there was only silence and Henry thought she had fallen asleep again. He was almost drifting off himself when she spoke again.

“You will be the perfect partner for some lucky lady out there,” she whispered, her voice surprisingly coherent considering how drunk she was. “And a great dad.”

“Thanks, Em,” Henry smiled and kissed her temple.

“I’m terrified of having kids,” Em confessed quietly, turning in his arms so they could look at each other in the darkness. “I mean, I didn’t have the greatest role model for a family.”

Henry pushed some hairs away from her face, looking at the big doe eyes staring at him with a glimmer of wetness. He knew her mom left when she was very young and her dad was… well, interesting.

“Do you want to?” he asked, thumb caressing her jaw. “Have kids, I mean?” she nodded, a flitting smile sneaking into her face.

“Yeah, two,” she said softly. “Because I hated being an only child. Good thing I had Clara. How about you?”

“I always thought at least three,” he replied, smiling too. “I want my house full, just like I had growing up.”

“At least?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, and Henry chuckled and shrugged. “I guess that sounds good too, maybe a little chaotic… I mean, how would that work with you and your wife working full time?”

“I would take some time off, of course…” Henry said, lying on his back, one arm around her, the other bent beneath his head. “I’m doing pretty well financially, and I could afford to spend some time off-screen or maybe take smaller roles, local productions…”

“You really thought this out, huh?” Em asked head tilted his way and Henry nodded. He lost count how many times he envisioned this scenario, the only thing that usually changed was the face he pictured for the woman in his life. “You would turn the guest room into a nursery?”

“At first, yeah, but I definitely would want a bigger place,” he said, drawing patterns on her arm. “A little farther away from the city, with a nice kitchen and a big master bedroom. A garden so Kal can run around and the kids could have a playground, maybe even a treehouse…”

“That sounds nice, I’d like that,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering close, her breath evening out. With one last smile, Henry kissed her brow and let himself drift off too.

That conversation had stayed with him for way longer than it should. Em didn’t remember any of it of course, but Henry did because it seeded something in his heart that he had to work hard to ignore whenever they were together.

Henry guessed it could be seen as a small blessing that their hookups weren’t happened all that often anymore, even if they were both single. He also couldn’t help but notice that when they did end up together, Em seemed to fight the pull that existed between them until she finally relented and fell in bed with him. It made him wonder what changed. Why she felt like they couldn’t have this anymore.

“Henry! You’re here!” Clara greeted him with a kiss on the cheek before she looked down at her daughter comfortably settled on his arms. “And you already charmed Sophie, I see.” She looked at Todd with a grin. “You owe me a tenner.”

Todd rolled his eyes, taking the girl from Henry so they could walk into the church with their daughter, while Henry and Em took their places at the altar, side by side and he gave her a sideways glance to have a better look at her.

“You look nice.”

“You too,” she smiled at him. Her soft, glossy lips looked so tempting that Henry had to discreetly shift his stance to adjust himself.

“What was wrong with your dress?” His gaze lingered on the generous neckline that gave a very nice view of her cleavage. “Looks really good. Especially your tits. They look bigger somehow.”

“Henry!” Em hissed sharply with a glare, but he could see she was fighting off a smile. “But you might actually be right because I busted a seam under my arm and Clara had to sew it back together.”

Before Henry could comment on anything else, the ceremony started and they returned to their best behavior. Todd and Clara brought Sophie forward, handing the girl to Henry and Em so she could be baptized and they were named her godparents.

It was hardly a surprise for them that the couple had invited them, especially because Henry had Todd as a fifth brother and he knew Em viewed Clara as a sister, but they were both honored by the invitation.

Once the ceremony was over, everyone started to head to Todd and Clara’s place for the celebration. Henry was about to ask Em for a ride since he had taken a taxi but froze when he saw her heading to a car with a guy he didn’t know.

“Hey Todd,” he caught his friend who was on his way to say goodbye to a few guests that wouldn’t be able to make to the party. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Jack,” Todd said, following Henry’s gaze, catching sight of Em chatting with the blonde man. “He’s a friend of Clara’s. He and Em met a couple of months ago.”

“They’re dating?” Henry asked with a frown and uncomfortable burn in his stomach, like acid reflux. He had to swallow hard against the urge to puke.

“I don’t know,” Todd shrugged. “But they seemed to have hit off pretty well.”

As if on cue, Em’s laugh rang loud and bright as Jack held the door open so she could slide inside, and Henry had to clench his jaw to stop himself from cursing. From the look on Todd’s face, his friend noticed.

“Need a ride?” he asked, pulling Henry’s attention back him. “My brother is heading off right now.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Henry tried to push the thoughts of Em and the Jack bloke aside, pay at least a little bit of attention to whatever Todd’s brother was droning on and on, but it seemed to be an impossible task. Fortunately, the younger man didn’t seem to need his interaction to make conversation, so Henry just hummed occasionally, looking out the window. He wondered why Em didn’t mention Jack at all last time they saw each other.

Sure, it was a quick visit, but they did talk a lot before they ended up in bed together. It would have been nice to know in advance that she was dating. Was she dating? Em didn’t strike him as the kind of woman that would hook up with someone else if she was seeing another but maybe that was why she was so reluctant to sleep with him last few times?

Before Henry could reach any conclusion, they arrived and he thanked Todd’s brother for the ride before letting his gaze wander through the small gathering of people, locating Em. She was unsurprisingly surveying the cake and pastries since her bakery provided every single treat offered at this party.

Henry didn’t taste anything yet, but he knew they were delicious. Em had a unique talent for baking and it was no wonder her store was becoming more and more popular. He knew part of it was her perfectionism. Even though her team worked with her for years now and knew exactly how she would plan tables and displays, she still needed to survey everything, making sure it was up to her standards.

He took a step in her direction, but before he could go any further, Clara called his name and caught his arm in a soft but firm grip, giving the guest she was talking to a small smile of apology before tugging him to the side.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” she smiled and for a relatively small woman, she could be very intimidating. It was something to do with her piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through him. “Have you met Jack?”

“Not really,” he replied in surprise and confusion. Sometimes it felt like Clara could read his mind or something.

“Let me introduce you to him, then,” Clara said, pulling him along and Henry didn’t have in him to protest. He was after all curious about the man. “And please, be nice and make an effort to like him.”

“What does it matter if I like him or not?”

Clara turned to face Henry, her eyes narrowed as she stared him down, and weirdly enough, Henry felt like shrinking into himself at the weight of her stare. No wonder she was such an amazing prosecutor. That one stare was enough to make him want to confess all his crimes.

“So, you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Henry asked. This was one of the most cryptic conversations he had ever had, and he had to do interviews about DCEU without giving any spoilers. Clara heaved a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re Em’s judge.”

“Sorry, I’m what?”

“Em’s judge. For a man’s character. If you don’t like a man she’s seeing or interested in, she’ll dump their arse like a hot potato. You never noticed?”

“No! Clara, that’s… insane! I have no saying in who Em dates.” Henry huffed an awkward breath as he watched his friend. She could not be serious, but from the way she was looking at him, he knew she met every word.

“We both know you don’t have to say anything.” Clara rolled her eyes at him. “Honestly, I’m surprised that Alex lasted as long as he did considering your face turned sour everything time he was around. It was like you had shit stuck under your nose. But regardless if you believe it or not, could you make an effort with Jack? I really think he could be great for Em.”

“Fine!” Henry sighed just wanting to get out of this conversation. “But not right now. I haven’t eaten in six hours and I’m starting to get dizzy.”

“Thank you!” She flashed him a bright smile. “Head to the kitchen and grab something. Brunch will still be a while.” She came to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before walking away before Henry could even process what was happening.

Henry stood there for a few moments like gaping fish, still trying to wrap his head around the entire conversation but giving up because when it came to Clara, she was lightyears ahead of them on some things. He might as well do what he was told and get a snack before he passed out.

To Henry’s surprise, when he got to the kitchen, he found Em at the sink, finishing up a sandwich that she handed him as soon as he stepped closer.

“What’s this?”

“Toasted wheat bread, no crust, turkey slices, and that tasteless cheese you actually like. Honey mustard, but no mayo,” she said, leaning against the counter and giving him a smile when Henry’s stomach rumbled. “I figured you didn’t have time to grab a bite to eat at the airport...”

“I didn’t. Thanks,” he grinned at her, taking a bite and groaning loudly, making Em chuckle.

“Settle down, Cavill. It’s not that good,” she joked, popping a piece of turkey on her mouth, but grimacing. “Urgh, this taste like cardboard.”

“You’re ok?” he frowned at Em.

“Yeah, just feeling a little queasy all morning,” she replied. “But I have to eat something or my blood sugar gonna plummet.”

Abandoning his sandwich for a second, Henry moved closer to her, resting the back of his hand against her forehead and then neck, frowning lightly.

“You are a little hot.”

“Thanks,” she flashed him a cheeky smile that made Henry chuckle.

“You know what I mean.” He cupped her cheek and it was a testament of how bad she much be feeling if Em was actually letting her guard down and allowing this small intimate moment in a place anyone could walk in on them. “You might be coming down with something.”

“Fuck! I hope not. This is one of my busiest months,” she let out a long exhale, and maybe it was just Henry’s wishful thinking, but he thought Em might have stepped closer, almost leaning into him and all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her.

“Am I interrupting?” Clara cleared his throat, making them both jump and turn to stare at her guiltily as she looked at them with a knowing smirk.

Henry wondered why she seemed to be everywhere. He knew it was this sort of gift every great hostess had but it could be very annoying when all he wanted was some privacy with Em.

“No,” Em recovered first, stepping away from Henry. “I’m just not feeling well, and Henry was checking up on me.”

Clara just hummed, coming closer and mimicking Henry’s actions, her brow drawing into a frown.

“I don’t think you have a fever, but you’re a little hot. Maybe it’s just that time of the month?” she asked, giving Henry a sideways glance.

“No, I had my period…” Em trailed off with a thoughtful frown as if she couldn’t exactly recall and Clara chuckled.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d joke you’re pregnant,” Clara teased with a smile. “I mean, the bloating and nausea and all that? Anyway, just lie down for a while. You’re probably just overworked.”

Once again, Clara was gone like a quick whirlwind, leaving Henry and Em to stare at each other in shock. He knew his eyes were wide and he was stunned into silence. Em just looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“No!” she snapped once Henry recovered enough to try to say something. “Don’t even think it, Henry. It was once and I have an IUD. It can’t be.”

“You’re right,” he agreed quickly, but his heart was still thundering in his chest, his hands sweaty and he could barely breathe, terror and excitement mingled together in his chest, but he didn’t dare to voice it. Not when Em looked like she was about to throw up.

“Clara’s right. I’m just tired,” she sounded like she was trying to convince herself, not Henry. “I just need a good night of sleep. That’s all. So, we’re not gonna talk about this, because it’s impossible. What are the odds of actually happening?”

Less than 1 percent, Henry found out later, once he was at home and couldn’t sleep, still thinking about the entire thing. He googled it to calm his nerves, surprised by the hint of disappointment he felt at learning it was next to impossible. It wasn’t enough to stop him from thinking and wondering, though.

Enough so that when he heard the sound of his doorbell, Henry nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a noise he practically had forgotten about since Kal would always announce newcomers way before they could ring it. But Kal was back in Budapest. It didn’t make sense to bring him over when Henry would only be staying a day.

Henry glanced at his clock, frowning at the late hour as he made his way downstairs and pulled his door open. Em pushed her way inside, her face tearstained and a mask of fury as she threw something his way. Henry caught by reflex, before staring at her in confusion.

“I hate you, Cavill! I fucking hate you!” she declared, sniffling and hugging herself.

“Em, what…?” he didn’t get to finish his question, because she gestured at the object he was still holding. Henry finally looked down, eyes widening when he realized it was a pregnancy test. One of those pharmacy types and it was positive.

“I did five of them. All positive,” she said, rubbing her face dry and glaring at him. “Damn you and your fucking Superman sperm!”

Henry stared at her wordless, still clinging to the white stick in his hand.

“What are we gonna do?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.

chapter 01 x(tbc)x chapter 03

Tag List (use the link in my bio to add or remove yourself)

@toomanystoriessolittletime @meetmeinthematinee @theolsdalova @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @eevee-of-rivia @reid-187 @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @sallyp-53 @anxiteyfilledcupcake @pinkzsugar @angelic-kisses13 @futuristic-imbecile @wonderlandfandomkingdom @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @a-really-bi-girl @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery @soarocks @partypoison00 @hnryycvll @keiva1000 @shellbilee @ivvitm1109 @babayagakeanu @trippedmetaldetector @missrandomista @stxphmxlls @geralt-yennefer-jeskier @savaneafricaine @foxyjwls007 @bohemianrhapsody86 @thehumanistsdiary @black-ninja-blade @lux-ravenwolf @softrogers @d0ntjudgemy50shades

@i-cant-remember-my-old-login @agniavateira @nadia-rosea @mary-ann84 @littlefreya @cap-barnes @elisewithak @omgkatinka @dearlybelovedluke @jaskierhastwohands @hell1129-blog @rahdaleigh @peaceinourtime82 @shadesofarrogance @wednesdaybraids @thiccgeralt @iloveyouyen @geralt-of-baevia @dancingwendigo @mejana @obsessedwithcavill @watermeloncavill @celestial-vomit @lovethyauthors @henry-cavlll @thethirstyarchive @kittyslove @twlohasmp @lifeofrileyp @iamtheembodimentofhate @luclittlepond @heelsamizayn @radaofrivia @suueeeeeee @wondersofdreaming @adorkabeezle @trust-tequila @townmoondaltwistle @buckysgoldenheart @bichibibi @summersong69 @dogslednation @instantkoalagladiator @littlemissthistle

if your url is crossedout, tumblr didn’t let me tag you.

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x original character #fanfic #series #rules of engagement

288 notes · View notes

penwieldingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Caring Makes You Weak - Part 2

Summary: Harvey Specter, best closer in New York City and Senior Partner at Pearson Hardman, the man most females in the city want, yet he himself doesn’t want commitment, because caring makes one weak. Enter Elle Howard, a woman he met a long time ago. Will she be the one to break down his walls and make him care?

Thanks again for beta'ing @fortheloveoffanfic

Warnings: Light cursing, an evil stepmother(?)

Words: 1544

Hardman was gone, the merger with Zane pushed away again but now Jessica wanted to merge with Edward Darby and Harvey wanted - needed to stop it one way or another.

And now the one person he'd had worked very hard to forget about waltzed back into his life because his associate had taken her case. He was never the committing type and he should have never agreed to help Mike with that pro Bono. It wasn't even his case to begin with, so what had changed?

Staring out his windows he thought back to the first time he had met her. How could one woman rattle his brain like that? First Dana Scott, then Zoe Lawford and now…now there was Elle Howard.

Harvey had met her while out celebrating a big win with Jessica and Louis. When he walked up to the bar, she stood there, the fabric of her dress tight around her curves as she waited for her drink.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, leaning one arm onto the bar while he looked the redhead up and down.

She turned a smile on her lips and a drink in her hand. "I believe I'm still good, thank you."

"Well, why don't we move on to the next one?" Harvey smirked at her, holding out his hand for introductions. "I'm Harvey Specter."

Rolling her eyes, she emptied her drink and grabbed the clutch laying on the bar top. "And I'm not interested." The redhead nodded her head and moved to walk around him.

The warmth in his belly was replaced by a coldness as if someone had doused him with ice water. It had been some time since a woman had brushed him off with not being interested but he clearly was and he needed to get to know her. "Please, just let me buy you a drink." he said, his hand lightly holding onto her arm.

Sighing, the redhead turned, her blue-green eyes narrowing in on the lawyer. "You don't like a woman saying no, do you?"

"I always win them over, so I'd say you should take my offer." Harvey told her, nodding at Louis and Jessica, who just left the bar.

Moving closer to him, the woman smiled, her eyes shining with mirth. "Well in that case, I expect you to work your magic to win this case Mister Lawyer."

"How did you know I'm a lawyer?" Harvey asked astonished, not that he could have hidden his job in a bar full of businessmen.

The redhead smirked, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "It's not so hard to figure out, to be honest. So I'm looking forward to when you've won that case, too."

"Harvey!"

Blinking, the dark haired lawyer turned to face his associate. "What you got, Mike?"

"I've been calling you five minutes straight." the dark blond said, a smile on his face as Donna laughed at her cubicle. "What's got you so occupied?"

Shaking his head, Harvey held out his hand to look over the files. "Did you find some dirt on Tanner we can use?"

"Ah, not yet." Mike scratched the back of his neck, watching his boss carefully. "I wanted to ask Louis to help me with the financials, something doesn't seem right."

"Then get to it, I got something else to take care of." he got up from his chair, buttoning his jacket before he left his office. "I'll be back later, keep my schedule clear."

Donna and Mike looked after their boss before they faced each other. "What just happened?"

"I have no idea Junior, but he's been in a mood ever since you got back from Elle Howard last Friday." the secretary said, taking a sip from the latte Mike had brought her at lunch.

Once outside on the street level, Harvey waited for Ray to drive up. He needed to get a clear answer to the questions circling around his head. The black Lexus stopped in front of him and his driver got out, opening the door for him. "Where to, Harvey?"

"To the past." he sighed, giving his driver the address. The Indian man nodded his head, started the music and drove off.

"You want to talk about it, boss?" Ray had known his employer for nearly three years now and in all that time nothing had rattled him like the case he took on with Mike Ross. Harvey shook his head, watching the city fly by as the car made its way out of Manhattan and over to Williamsburg.

"Elle!"

Elle had to get the cries of her kids out of her head, so she decided to go grocery shopping and enjoy the walk over to the store not far from her apartment. Just when she got back, the redhead saw a black car parked on the street in front of her door. Sighing, she tightened her grip on the bags and ignored the sound of a car door opening.

She would recognize that voice anywhere. "What can I help you with, Harvey? Is there something good happening with the case?"

"Mike is still looking into it, but actually I'm here because I need to ask you something." the lawyer said moving closer to her. "Why did you really leave those years ago?"

Elle knew what he was getting into and she still had her secrets, things she couldn't have told him then and would definitely not tell him now. "You know it didn't work out for us."

"You still believe that?" he argued, pushing one hand into the pockets of his suit pants, clenching it with all his might. "I know that isn't the reason why, so stop that bullshit and tell me what made you rethink everything."

Shaking her head, the redhead walked around him, moving swiftly to the entrance of the apartment building she shared with Mike, but Harvey was faster. His hand held onto her arm, tight enough to stop her, but loose enough to not hurt her. Elle blinked her light eyes at the lawyer as she tried to form words without spilling what she had longed to tell him all those years ago. "We both wanted different things and you know it."

"Is that why you suddenly up and left New York? I asked Lucille and she told me you went to Boston. You didn't even think that you could have talked to me?"

Pulling away from him, she opened her mouth to answer him, but there was no sound coming out. Elle needed to get her head straightened out before she could really talk to Harvey and just when she knew what she would tell him, her phone rang again. The redhead pulled it out of her jeans' back pocket showing Charlie's name on the display. "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

"Mum" he sniffled and Elle immediately felt tears come to her own eyes. "Please come and get us. I hate it here."

She could hear his cries and the lawyer in front of her was totally forgotten. "Charlie, baby, what's going on?"

"I want to come back to you. I hate Sarah and she doesn't even want us there. She's mean to Izzy and me. Please, mommy, come and take us home."

Clasping a hand to her lips, Elle fought the urge to break down when she listened to her sweet boy cry because of her ex husband's new wife. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can't come and take you home. You know that we still have to wait a bit."

"No! I wanna go home now. Izzy doesn't like it here, too." the young mother could hear her youngest crying next to her son and she knew she had to put an end to it.

Closing her eyes, Elle took a deep breath. "Charlie listen to me, I'm going to come over and we'll talk, okay."

"Okay, I guess." She knew her son wasn't satisfied with her answer, but there was no way she was giving Travis more power over her, than he already had.

Harvey had listened to the conversation and was trying to come up with possible scenarios to fight against Tanner, just so he didn't have to listen to the kids crying for their mother. "I'm coming with you, Tanner isn't going to be happy with you showing up at his house."

"I can do that on my own, I know Travis." Elle tried to argue with the lawyer but from the look he shot her, she knew she'd have to fight him tooth and nails. "I don't need your help to make sure my kids are fine."

Shaking his head, he took a step back from her. "It's either me or I'm sending Mike to Tanner's house and you know it's not going to be pretty." Harvey held up his phone, ready to dial his associate so he could make sure nothing was going wrong and would destroy the case.

"Okay." the redhead muttered, lowering her head in defeat, she trusted Mike, but not around her ex-husband, he could be petty and it would end up in bloodshed if something went wrong. Rolling her blue eyes, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. But at least let me get the shopping inside."

#harvey specter x ofc #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter #suits imagine #suits usa #gabriel macht imagine #gabriel macht #original female character #fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

inkrabbit · 3 years

Text

Jisei - Sandayu Oda

I finally did it. The one-shot I wanted to do for Oda is complete. This story takes place after “Don’t Fear the Reaper”, and if V goes back to save Takemura. There are 2 different endings, and they are both labeled. Also, words written in italics are just Oda speaking Japanese.

Also, a bit of a spoiler for the secret ending! Especially Takemura’s part in this story’s Bad End!

Summary: A month after the events at Arasaka Tower, Oda manages to track down Takemura in order to ask him for one thing: forgiveness. The result of V’s actions have been eating away at the man, and he feels as though the last person he needs to express his remorse to is his old master.

Trigger Warning: Mentions and actions of suicide, blood, and gore

Word count: 1,732

He failed. After years and years of trying to prove himself better than his master, he failed. Perhaps now he could understand Goro’s pain when Saburo died; that ultimate hopeless and defeated feeling. It made him ill, and as he knocked back another shot of whiskey, he grit his teeth, slamming a fist down on the table. Arasaka was in shambles, Hanako had hidden herself away to grieve, and Sandayu? Well, he couldn’t bring himself to show his face. Twice he had failed, and twice he had beaten himself up over it. V, that despicable merc, had ruined everything. All he was and all he stood for had been reduced to nothing but ruble and regret.

He had thrown himself down to the feet of Miss Arasaka, pleading for her forgiveness. She had granted it, a gentle caress to his cheek with a sorrowful smile. But it didn’t make him feel better. He started out the first week groveling and feeling sorry for himself, contemplating committing seppuku in order regain any sort of honor to his name. But something nagged at him, and what would’ve been his final words were crumpled up and thrown into the trashcan that resided by the old motel’s bedside.

Hanako had been nice enough to finally tell Sandayu of Goro’s fate after the general fall of Arasaka, and after he had gotten over his self-loathing. The only redeeming quality he could find in V. The merc had run through a hail of gunfire to go back and save Goro, and the man had been in hiding ever since. Oh, but that didn’t stop Sandayu from trying to track the man down day in and day out, desperate to reach out to him. Goro had always been there for him, even when he was supposed to be strict and cold during training. He needed the man’s forgiveness as well.

It took almost a month, but he had finally done. Sleepless nights and determination had led him out to the Badlands, heat beating down on him and his hair sticking to his forehead. The motorcycle he had “found” was parked across the street in an old abandoned parking lot, and Sandayu found himself walking towards an old store. Any last traces of Goro had led back to this spot, a lone building that he couldn’t even identify. He could see why it was chosen. Walking up, however, he stops. The old dusty windows show his reflection, a broken and strange man who barely even recognized himself anymore. His dress shirt was wrinkled and open, the black tank top underneath clinging to his body as sweat made the material damp. His once nice slacks were replaced with jeans, torn in a couple places from recent fights he had found himself in when traveling out to get food. He looked horrible and felt more ashamed the more he stared at himself with tired and lifeless eyes. Shaking his head and taking a breath in, he continues into the old store.

Cobwebs and dust clutter the building, along with trash and insects. Sandayu can feel his skin crawl as he travels deeper into the outlet, scanning all he can. Nothing comes back useful and he searches every nook and cranny. Old books, candy wrappers, cans and bottles, some paper bags that once contained food. But as he travels further back, he finally spots it. Large double doors and seem to lead to a second level. Anxiety picks up as he walks forward, pushing one of the doors open and listening intently.

Good End:

The sound of soft footsteps catch his attention as he travels down the old stairs. His heart leaps when he sees Goro at the bottom, standing in front of a counter, his back facing him. He looked in better shape than Sandayu, his own dress shirt still pristine as he picks up a shot glass, knocking back the contents. Gathering his courage, Sandayu stands at the bottom of the stairs, hands in tight fists as he inhales deeply.

“Takemura-sama!” he calls out. Goro jumps, eyes wide as he whips around, pistol at the ready. His stance falters as he eyes at the younger man, who’s bowing deeply before him. “Please, forgive me!”

“Oda…?” Setting down the weapon, Goro straightens himself, even daring to walk a few steps forward as Sandayu picks himself back up.

“I have not only failed Hanako-Sama,” he continues, “but I have failed you as my mentor. Please, forgive me. I was not enough.”

The two stand in silence, Sandayu searching Goro’s face, desperately trying to find out what was going on through the man’s head. Finally, Goro sighs, coming forward to gently grasp his shoulder.

“You should not apologize, Oda-san,” he sighs. He gets ready to fire back, insist that he did, but Goro cut him off. “When Saburo-sama was killed, I was filled with deep regret. To have failed my only duty when I could have prevented it. I think about everything I could have done differently every day.”

Sandayu stands there, listening intently. They hadn’t spoken since their last meeting at the docks, and he had never heard of the man’s anguish until now. How he described everything… it’s exactly how he felt now.

“Sometimes, things happen. And we cannot stop it,” he goes on, leading him over to the counter. An opened bottle of sake sits next to the shot glass, and Goro fills it up, offering it to him. “Saburo-sama was to be killed, and I could not stop it. What happened at Arasaka… you could not stop it, Oda-san. It was, how one would say, “the hand they were dealt”. And we must accept that.”

“Arasaka was everything to me…” He stares down at the contents in the glass, his grip tightening. “And it just-”

“I understand,” He glances up, though Goro’s gaze is focused on the bottle in front of him, staring at it with distant focus. “I have… been reading a lot of jisei as of late, and have found peace in some of them.”

“Takemura-sama,” That’s when he notices it. A small wooden box a few feet away, the top open to reveal an old looking tantō. He feels his blood run cold.

“Just like you, Arasaka was all I had,” he continues, finally bringing himself to look at the younger man. “but you have nothing to apologize to me for, Sandayu. You were the most brilliant outcome of my entire career.”

With one last glance to the tantō, Sandayu slams the glass down and envelopes Goro in a tight embrace. The man catches himself, steadying his balance as he slowly brings his arms up, wrapping them around the younger man. They stay like that for a while, the silence almost deafening.

“What do we do now, Takemura-sama?” Sandayu finally asks, his voice soft as he slowly pulls away. Goro sighs, but gives him a small smile.

“We take time and heal,” he tells him. Turning, he shuts the lid of the box before picking up the shot glass, knocking back the sake. “I believe it would be easier to do it together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

Bad End:

There’s nothing but the sound of his own footsteps, and for a moment, he’s worried all of his hard work had gone to waste. Maybe Goro wasn’t here? Maybe he had made a mistake somewhere, his exhaustion causing him to be faulty in his search. But as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and starts for the next set, he stops. No.

“Takemura-sama!” Sandayu’s voice is shrill as he cries out his master’s name, nearly falling down the cement steps as he rushes over to the man. Goro was here, alright. And Sandayu was too late. The man was laying on his side in a puddle of his own blood, a few pieces of paper sprawled out around him. He sobs as he kneels beside the man, pulling him up and into his lap, his eyes glazed over and his body limp. He caresses his face, incoherently speaking to the man, pleading for him to come back. The only person he felt he had left in this world was currently laying dead in his lap, his hair having been taken out of its bun and the ends soaked in the crimson water.

“Goro, please!” he cries loudly, shaking the man, slapping his cheek, trying anything to make him come back. “Do not leave me! I need you! You have always been there for me, so why not now?!” He stops for a moment, unable to look away from the older man. His body was still warm. Had he been sooner… “… Why couldn’t I be there for you?”

Taking Goro’s hand in his own, he gives it a tight squeeze, trying to calm himself. He finally looks around at the papers that were scattered across the floor, scanning them. All appeared to be jisei and it made his stomach churn. The bloody tantō lies a few inches away from him, and it just fuels his slowly burning rage. Why couldn’t he had been faster? Was he already dead by the time he parked the motorcycle? Should he have called out for the man?

Instead of getting up and trashing the place like his body screamed to do, he instead leans his head down, pressing his forehead to Goro’s and closing his eyes. He speaks internally, and he speaks fast, stumbling over words as he still heaves shaky breaths. He hopes the man can, somehow, somewhere, hear what he’s saying. How he asks for him to forgive his failures and how he thanks him for all he had taught him. He apologizes for their last meeting, and he tells him how he longed for them to just a day together.

Finally, he gently lowers Goro back to the ground, closing the man’s eyes and admiring him. He finally looked like he was at peace, his muscles relaxed and for once his eyebrows weren’t knitted together. He picks up one of the poems, wondering what was going through Goro’s head in his last moments. None of the poems resembled his handwriting, leaving him to wonder what his jisei would’ve read. Setting the paper down, he looks over to the tantō. All throughout his apprenticeship, he had followed in Goro’s footsteps exactly. And as he stands here now, he wonders: Should I continue to?

#cyberpunk 2077 #fanfic #sandayu oda #goro takemura #tw #suicide #blood #gore #some spoilers

20 notes · View notes

vostara · 3 years

Text

love me like you hurt me - p.2

we make mistakes, we leave them by the door

pairing: Rafe Adler x Original Female Character x Samuel Drake

blurb: “But once, I think I loved you.”

word count: 14.9k+

title inspiration: I Run to You - MISSIO

The second (and final) part of the series. I’ve very much loved the process of writing this story and I adore Sabina and her interactions with Rafe and Sam. You can expect to see more of her in the future, since I have spin-off/sequel one-shots planned. I don’t know when they’ll be released, but they’re coming.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | 02 ... series masterlist

February 2001

A month ago, Sabina packed her duffle bag and left Scotland on the first flight that she could book. She flew to England, then took a train to France. Swung her way through Switzerland, Italy, and Austria, before finding herself here.

Germany.

Sitting on a bench inside of a tiny museum, Sabina stares at the painting displayed on the wall. Before her is a sea of lavender. Plants are angled towards the right, leaning with an invisible breeze. In the center is a young woman, dressed in a high-collared white dress. And in her lap is a toddler, waving around a bundle of flowers.

From her peripheral vision, she watches as a man joins her on the bench. His hand twitches, and he reaches out for her, tempted to brush his fingers against her own. Instead, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to look at the painting.

“You found me,” Sabina says.

The man remains silent.

“How?”

“It’s not important,” he says.

Finally, she turns her head to look at him, turns to look at Rafe. “You paid someone.”

“Actually,” he shakes his head. “I asked Nate.”

“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“No, but he made a startlingly educated guess.”

Sabina hums. “I don’t suppose he came here with you, did he?”

“Nate left,” he sighs.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure he hates you.” She reaches for the ring on her finger, fiddling with the sapphire gemstone. “When did he leave?”

“About a week after you did.”

“So,” Sabina says, “there really is nothing at the cathedral, then?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rafe responds.

“We’ve spent weeks looking. Weeks digging holes, turning over every single pebble. There’s nothing there,” she says. “No clue. No treasure. No sign that anything associated with Avery has ever existed there.”

“There has to be something there.”

“But there isn’t,” Sabina directs her attention back to the painting. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. Let the treasure disappear into obscurity.”

“Why are you giving up?”

“Why would you care?” Sabina counters. “You’ve got the cathedral, all of the clues. If you find the treasure on your own, you get all of the profit. A hefty sum to add on top of your hefty inheritance.”

Rafe clenches a fist.

“Sam was the Avery expert,” she continues. “Without him and without Nate… I just don’t see the point in continuing. Their knowledge about this is leagues above my own. The truth is that I was probably just tagging along for the ride.”

“I am sorry, you know,” Rafe says, “about Sam. His… it wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It all feels surreal,” Sabina admits. “Like I’m wandering through a terrible dream. I feel like I’m going to wake up, any minute now, and he’ll be there to greet me with a horrible cup of coffee and stale croissants.”

“Were you two…”

“Together?”

Rafe averts his gaze to the tile floor.

“No,” she says. “Not quite. We were… complicated. He was never really good at commitment—neither of us were, really.” Sabina sighs, “Maybe it’s due to our similar upbringings. We both grew up without our parents. Stability is a luxury that we haven’t quite experienced yet.”

“What happened to them? Your parents?”

With a slight tilt of her head, Sabina mulls over her response. “When you spoke to Nate,” she says, “did he specify exactly where I would be in the museum?”

Rafe takes a moment to think. “He did, yeah.”

“The first time I came here, I was with Sam,” she says. “It was raining outside, so we popped in to escape from the cold. And when I saw it,” she nods her head towards the painting, “I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Sam joked that he would steal it for me one day. Though, knowing Sam, he was probably being serious.”

She stands and takes a few steps closer to the painting, her face glowing from the faintest hint of a smile. “Mother and Daughter Pick Flowers, such an original title. Artist: Jean-Jacques Pierre de la Sablonnière, a French painter. It was quite well-known that he hated men. In fact, he refused to paint them. Claimed that they were vile creatures. It is believed that when the Duke, Prince Louis Amilcar François d’Orléans, attempted to commission him for a painting, he laughed his face and danced on his way out of the villa. Of course, the Duke was upset, embarrassed. He stormed into his garden and shouted for his guards. And poor Monsieur de la Sablonnière was found dead, stabbed through the heart, just three days later.”

She turns around to look at Rafe, whom is still sitting on the bench. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says, walking back towards him. “I was a child when they died. Old enough to remember them, sure, but I can’t remember people if they barely had a presence in my life. What I do remember is this painting. A replica was hung in the living room, above a neglected fireplace full of dust. I wanted to be the little girl in the painting, to also have the joy of sitting in a sunny field, picking flowers with my mother. It’s a bit said, you know, that I don’t remember my mother’s face, but I remember my nanny.”

Sabina sits down on the bench, inches away from Rafe. “My parents were murdered,” she says. “After months of being away, they had finally come home. I was so happy. Even though I had grown out of bedtime stories, my father read one to me. And when he was finished, I begged him to read another and another. I think I was afraid that he would never read me one again. We stayed awake, long after my bedtime, but neither of us cared.

“My mother died first. We heard her screams, her pleas for help. Heard her begging the the intruders to stop. My father picked me up, carried me into his study, and hid me in a secret space beneath the floorboards.” Sabina unclasps the gold chain around her neck and places the medallion in Rafe’s hands. “He gave that to me. Told me to keep it safe, hidden. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I recall the sound of a gunshot. Of papers being pushed, scattered. Cabinets crashing against the floor. I see blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. I feel it dripping down onto my face, onto my hands.”

Sabina exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I don’t know who, specifically, killed them; they were never caught. But since then, I’ve spent an alarming amount of time running away from people who wish to murder me. Whatever my parents found, whatever that medallion is, it’s worth something. The boys and I speculate that it’s related to Avery’s treasure, but we’ve been unsuccessful with our attempts to solve the puzzle.”

“Sabina,” Rafe says, “let’s work together.”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Tell me,” Rafe looks down at the medallion, brushing his thumb over the etched symbols. “Do you still want to find Avery’s treasure?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t—not without Sam—”

He reaches out towards Sabina and wraps his fingers around her hand. “You don’t need the Drakes, Sabina. You’re more intelligent than you think you are.”

“Why are you looking for this?” She asks. “What could you possibly gain? It can’t be the money, you already have that.”

“Curiosity,” he says. “Boredom, maybe.”

“Treasure hunting: an unusual cure for boredom.”

Rafe chuckles.

“I want to be equals,” Sabina says. “We split the treasure, fifty-fifty.”

“Hey, I’m the one footing the bill for—”

“Fifty-fifty. Take it, or I walk.”

“Deal,” Rafe says.

December 2015

A few years ago, Sabina figured out that life with Rafe is easier if she avoids the topic of Nathan Drake. Though her husband would never admit it, it was clear that feelings of rage, frustration, and jealousy were building up inside of him. He hated what Nate had accomplished on his own, hated what he had accomplished without him. And Nate’s current involvement with Avery’s treasure hasn’t helped. In fact, spending the past few weeks chasing after him had skyrocketed Rafe’s anger, making her husband almost unbearable to be around.

After Scotland, they followed Nate here, to Madagascar.

Drowning beneath the burning sunlight and stifling humidity, Sabina does her best to keep herself calm, composed. So far she has been successful in convincing Rafe and Nadine not to murder Nate at first sight, but as the promise of finding treasure draws closer, their patience is beginning to wan. Currently, the trio are driving in a jeep through one of the cities, providing a much appreciated gust of wind to cool down their sweaty bodies.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few moments later, he laughs. “Here I am, I’m calling what I thought was Sullivan’s phone… and look who picks up,” he says. “How you been, Nate?”

Her ears perk up at the name.

“I wish,” Rafe chuckles. “That only would’ve cost me a few shots of rum, right? No, no, I had to pay top dollar to find you guys.”

Sabina frowns. Just how much money has Rafe invested into this not-so-friendly competition? He must be more on edge than she had assumed.

“…you pulled off some clever moves there,” he says. “But in the end, all that matters is who gets to Avery’s treasure first.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Nate, you know I’m always game,” Rafe responds. “But my partner,” he turns his head slightly, to glance over at Nadine, “well, she prefers to… mitigate unnecessary risks.”

Sabina tenses and her eyes flicker over to Nadine, but she ignores her gaze.

“Look, Nate. I’m gonna make you a one-time offer here,” he continues. “You drop everything. Go home, live your life… and I’m willing to forgive and forget. For old time’s sake.”

Nadine looks over at the man, as he listens to Nate’s response.

“Okay,” Rafe shrugs. “‘Pro Deus quod licentia.’ For God and liberty.” He smiles, “These are nice pictures, Nate. Good composition.”

A feeling of dread punches Sabina in the stomach. She leans forward in her seat and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder.

“You stole my cross!” Rafe says. “Listen, Nate, if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll accept my offer. What’s it going to be?”

“Rafe,” Sabina says, jostling his arm.

He ignores her.

“Well, Nate, one more thing—Nate!”

A pause.

“You… you do realize that your phones are equipped with GPS, right?” He asks. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” He ends the call, finally turning to look at her. “What?”

“What did you do?” She asks.

“Honey, don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe—”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Sabina yells. “This is—this is absolutely crazy!”

“Sabina,” Rafe says. “I need you to calm down.”

“Me?” She laughs. “You need me to calm down? Have you listened to yourself once in the past few weeks? Hell, the past few years? Everything is Drake this! Drake that! God, maybe you should’ve married him, huh? He’s all you ever talk about. Too bad you’re sending people to go fucking murder him!”

“I am not going to do this with you right now.”

“Is this why you hired Shoreline?” Sabina says. “So you could get rid of anyone that stands between you and that treasure?”

Rafe doesn’t respond.

“When this is over, I’m done.”

“Sabina—”

“No, I am sick of this. You aren’t the person I married. You aren’t even the person from five years ago.”

“Sabina—”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just… shut up.”

September 2001

Sabina fiddles with her emerald green satin dress. It was something that would have cost her a small fortune, more than triple the rent of her tiny overpriced apartment, but Rafe had insisted on getting it for her.

This is ridiculous, she had said. It’s just a dress.

Really, it’s nothing. Rafe said, waving away her protests. If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to dress the part.

I can’t ask you to pay for this.

You don’t need to ask, he chuckles. I’m telling you that I’ll pay.

But I’ll only ever wear this dress like once, maybe twice.

That would be a real shame. You look really beautiful in it.

The comment had shut Sabina up, bringing forth a light blush to stain her cheeks.

I know that this doesn’t seem like pocket change to you, Rafe said, but it is. And even if it wasn’t, this dress would be worth the price.

“Sabina,” a voice calls. A hand reaches out for her own, intertwining their fingers between hers. “Relax,” they say, “the more you twitch, the more attention you’ll bring to us.”

She sighs, looking at Rafe. She squeezes Rafe’s hand, as she glances around the room.

The pair were at an exclusive, membership-only bar. A hotspot for filthy rich assholes, those that are usually linked to shady business deals and other questionable methods of income. Sabina felt out of place, standing amongst the elite of wealthy society. While these people sweetened a cup of tea with liquid gold, she was one to ration a bottle of honey.

“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I feel like everyone can tell that I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” Rafe says. “Everyone knows that you’re here with me; they all watched us walk in together.”

“Every time I exhale, someone looks at me like I’m tainting the air.”

“Ignore them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she huffs. “Nobody is looking at you like you’re trash that someone dragged in from the street.”

Rafe chuckles. “They’re curious about you.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone believes I’m a gold digger that’s playing you.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. He begins to lead her out of the bar.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“But the seller—Rafe—he could be here any moment.”

“He can wait five minutes,” he says. “You look like you’re about to suffocate.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Sabina.”

She sighs, but stops her struggle.

Rafe leads her up a short flight of stairs and then outside, onto a balcony. The late night air of Germany chills her arms, triggering a layer of fresh goosebumps. But she ignores the cold when her mind becomes focused on the view in front of her. The balcony overlooks a vast forest of pine trees, illuminated by the silver-blue haze of moonlight.

Sabina takes in a deep inhale of the crisp air.

“What’s bothering you?” Rafe asks.

“What?” She turns to look at him. “Nothing. Nothing, really.”

“Wow,” he takes a step closer to her, placing his hands on the iron railing. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing with that response.”

“I’m fine.”

“The key to a good partnership is communication,” Rafe says. “So, communicate. Talk to me, huh?”

“I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Sabina admits.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“And your money,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I can’t solve the medallion?” Sabina grips onto the railing in front of her. “Can’t solve the puzzle or figure out whatever piece I need in order to even attempt solving it. Or what if it’s broken? What if it was part of something else and that something is long gone? Rafe, I’ve barely contributed anything in the past year.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sabina interrupts him.

“We’ve hardly made any progress,” she says. “Maybe I’m holding us back, leading us in the wrong directions. God, I keep turning those fucking rings. As if it’s going to make a difference and one day I’ll magically line it up correctly and everything with click into place. But it hasn’t happened… and I’m not sure if it will.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rafe says. “We’ve been circling the same set of clues for longer than either of us would like to. But that doesn’t mean we should give up altogether.”

“I think we should part ways,” Sabina says.

His eyes widen.

“We started off as business partners, but let’s be honest. We’re hardly fifty-fifty. You’re footing the bill for everything,” she says. “Our trips. Our purchases. Our bribes. You’ve even started paying my bills, covering my living expenses. We can’t be equals if the contributions aren’t equal. You give everything, but I have nothing to give in return.”

“If you think I’m mad about the money, you’re mistaken. I’ve told you before, money isn’t a problem.”

“You keep saying that!” Sabina runs a hand through her hair, ruining the perfect curls. “I appreciate the help, I really do, but I feel like I’ve become far too indebted to you. If we don’t find Avery’s treasure, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” he says.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t financially support you because I want you to feel like you’re in my debt,” he says. He reaches out for her hand, but freezes, unsure. “I do it because I believe in you.”

“You’re sucking up to me,” she smiles.

“I do it because I need you,” Rafe gently wraps his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him. “I want you to be in this with me.”

Sabina blinks, confused by the hint of longing in his voice.

“I care for you, Sabina. I’m in love with you,” he says.

She freezes, processing his words.

“You’re not a burden to me. You’re brilliant, one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And despite every terrible that that has happened to you, you still manage to show kindness. You are caring, protective of those close to you.” Rafe pauses, taking a breath. “When we were in Columbia, when you almost—”

Died.

The pair had gone to the country just a couple of months prior to investigate a cave with a potential lead. While examining the markings carved into the stone, Sabina had set off a trap, triggering an explosion. Rubble had fallen down near the exit, blocking her inside and separating her from Rafe. Moments later the cave was flooding. Desperate, Rafe and Sabina pushed and pulled at the debris, trying to make a big enough hole for her to slip through. As her lungs began to fill up with the water, she started to lose consciousness. Rafe had managed to pull her through a gap, just before she had blacked out completely.

“I realized how much you mean to me,” Rafe continues. “I want a life with you.”

Without a moment to waste, Sabina grips onto Rafe’s tie and pulls him closer. She presses her lips against his, overwhelmed, but attempting to convey all of her emotions in the act. Sabina moves her hands to rest one against his neck. The other travels to the back of his head, allowing her fingers to clutch onto the short strands of his hair.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

And in this moment, he needed her, with or without the treasure.

Rafe pulls her into his arms, flush against his body. His nails dig into the satin, longing to instead feel the bare flesh beneath the fabric. His kiss is eager, desperate, intense, yet too gentle at the same time. Sabina can sense that he wants to feel more of her and it’s something that she’ll happily give.

December 2015

The sound of splitting wood and crashing debris echoes in the rainforest, originating from Nadine’s last known location. Rafe and a couple of the Shoreline mercenaries were hot on her heels, rushing to get to the Nate before he could slip away again. Trailing behind, Sabina struggles to keep up with the men, but her short legs can only do so much.

“…forget about her! We gotta get out of here before they—”

The man’s voice comes to abrupt stop when Rafe runs out of the ruined buildings of Libertalia and into the open. Rafe raises a gun, pointing it at the men in front of him. The two mercenaries follow suite, also aiming their weapons at the targets.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, alarmed. “Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”

Nearly gasping for air, Sabina approaches the exit.

“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe says. “Nate. Samuel.”

Sabina halts, frozen by the name. Samuel? Who the hell is—

“Put your guns down!” A new voice yells. “All of you.”

Samuel?

The old sapphire ring on her right hand feels heavy on her finger. For years she hadn’t noticed the jewelry, burying away its significance in her life. Now it was the only thing her buzzing brain could focus on.

“No,” her husband responds.

“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine says.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine.” Rafe takes a small step forward. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”

“You willing to bet her life on that?” One of the men says.

With shaky steps, Sabina steps into the clearing. Her eyes focused on Shoreline’s targets. There, she sees Nate, looking exhausted and worried. He’s covered in dirt, dust, and droplets of sweat. To his left is Nadine: held hostage, gun to her head. And there, holding the gun, is a familiar, but aged, face. The face of a dead man, of a man that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. A man that she had shed countless tears for, before she had forced herself to lock away her memories of him, to bury him deep, deep in the back of her mind.

“Sam?” The name is whispered through her lips, ignored by everyone.

“Go ahead then,” Rafe says. “Shoot her.”

“Sam,” Nate warns.

“I die, you both die,” Nadine says.

“So be it,” Sam hisses into her ear. “Not another step!”

“You mean… like this?” Rafe takes another step forward.

“Sam, put the gun down!” Nate says.

“I warned you.”

“Do it!” Rafe taunts.

Nadine shouts, “Rafe!”

Just as Sam’s finger begins to press down on the trigger, Nate rushes towards him. He shoves the gun upwards, away from Nadine.

The sound of a gunshot rings in the air.

And Nadine uses the opportunity to slam her elbow back into Sam’s stomach, allowing her to slip away from his hold.

“Wait!” Sabina screams, running towards the Drakes.

Nate holds the gun up in the air. “It’s done!”

“Hold your fire!” Rafe turns to yell at the mercenaries, holding up his arms. “Don’t shoot!”

Sabina rushes to Sam’s side. He’s hunched over, stunned from Nadine’s blow. “Oh, my god,” she says. “Sam?”

The man lifts his head to look at her. “Bina? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Nate, put the gun down,” Rafe says. “Sabina, what are you doing?”

She ignores him.

Nadine picks up the gun. “Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” she quotes, walking passed Rafe.

“What can I say?” Rafe replies. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I don’t understand—I thought—Sam—”

“It’s complicated, but I’m here,” he responds. He lifts his right hand to brush the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I missed you.”

“Sam—”

“Jesus, will somebody go get her?” Rafe addresses the mercenaries.

The man to Rafe’s right approaches Sabina, gun still trained on Sam. He grabs onto her arm, attempting to pull her away from the older Drake.

“Don’t touch her!” Sam yells. But when the mercenary points the barrel of the gun directly into his face, Sam stops protesting.

Rafe steps forward, approaching the Drakes. “Samuel. You okay?” He reaches forward to brush off some of the dust on the man’s shoulders. “I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe slams his handgun across Sam’s face, knocking him down onto the ground.

“Hey!” Nate says. “C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.”

Rafe reaches for Sabina, pulling her away from the mercenary. With a firm grip on her arm, he positions her to stand slightly behind himself.

“C’mon now,” Nate says. “You’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.”

“Oh, a deal,” Rafe says. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.” He takes a step forward, pulling Sabina with him, and then kicks Sam in the face.

“Rafe!” Sabina snaps.

“Oh, you can go ahead,” Rafe says to Nate. “I’m listening.”

“Alright, just… alright,” Nate leans down to help Sam stand back up. “Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.”

“And in exchange, I let you live?”

“Yeah,” Nate hesitates. “That and a small cut.”

Rafe laughs. “The gauchos on this guy.”

“Just enough to get him freedom, okay?”

“His freedom?”

“Nathan—” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Nate interrupts. “He did hard time. Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar, he owes him a lot of money.”

“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Rafe says. “Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Sabina frowns, confused, and turns her head to look at her husband.

Nate looks over at Sam, before turning his attention back to Rafe. “What?”

“Oh,” a look of realization shines on Rafe’s features. “Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”

“We’re wasting time,” Nadine says.

“Just a second,” Rafe responds. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he chuckles, “you know? And then I heard that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery—is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He spent the last two years tracking down the second Saint Dismas cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.”

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, “Two years—”

“No,” Nate says.

“Oh, yeah.”

“No, that’s bullshit!”

“Oh, Sam?” Rafe turns his direction towards the man. “Care to refute?”

He sighs. “Nate…”

“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus, no, no…”

Sam takes a step closer to his brother. “Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours,” he says. “It was always ours.”

“No!” Nate yells. “I left my life for you!”

“Hey, look, look, Nate,” Rafe says, laughing. “If it’s any consolation, he duped me, too. He pulled a Houdini on me. He brought you and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Sam says.

“You do? Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”

Nadine approaches the bickering men, “Rafe.”

“What?”

“One way or another, end it,” she says. “Or I will.”

Rafe nods. “Well, you heard the lady,” he says, aiming his gun at Sam.

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Don’t—”

“Hey,” Nate says. “You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe. You need us.”

“Rafe, put the gun down,” Sabina says.

He ignores her, eyes focused on the Drake brothers. “Yeah, you’re right,” Rafe says, lowering the gun. He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re half right. I just need Sam.” Rafe raises the gun again, pointing it at Nate.

Sabina pulls her arm out of Rafe’s grip and rushes forward to stand in front of the Drakes. “Don’t,” she yells.

“Honey,” Rafe sighs. “I need you to step out of the way.”

Sabina shakes her head. She holds her arms out to her sides, as if her small frame could shield the two men. “I can’t do that,” she says.

“Bina,” Sam reaches for her shoulder.

“Don’t even think about touching my wife,” Rafe says, aiming the gun at him.

“Put the gun down!” Sabina says.

“You’re really going to defend them,” her husband scoffs. “You’re picking these two assholes over me, your husband?”

“It’s not about picking sides,” Sabina says. “And why should I side with you anyway? You’ve known Sam has been alive, all of this time? And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? Why would you do that?”

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

“You talk in your sleep,” Rafe sighs and lowers the gun.

“Okay? So?”

“You say all sorts of things, you know,” Rafe takes a cautious step forward. “You reenact your memories, your nightmares. You relive all of those traumatic moments that you keep buried. You’ve screamed about your parents, screamed about the night of their murder. And you cry about… him,” he says, glancing at Sam. “You regret Panama, regret not pushing harder at looking for an alternative plan. You regret not telling me what he meant to you.”

“I—”

“But one day you stopped,” Rafe says. “I didn’t tell you about Sam because I thought that you had finally finished grieving his death. I didn’t want you to go through that all over again.”

Sabina relaxes her arms. “How dare you make that choice for me,” she says.

“It’s not like he ever bothered to search for you. He didn’t even tell his own brother he was alive,” Rafe says. “What makes you think that he would’ve bothered to see you, Sabina? If he had never betrayed me, we wouldn’t all be here right now. Not like this. You might have gone the rest of your life believing that Sam had died in that prison.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat. Her heartbeat is racing, pounding against her chest. She angles her body to look at Sam.

He avoids her gaze, turning his eyes down towards the ground.

An admission of guilt?

Rafe takes another step forward. “I lied to you, I’ll admit that.” He extends a hand in her direction. “But I didn’t do it out of malice. Step away from them, honey. We can find the treasure. We will find the treasure.”

“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You lied to me.”

“I never did it with the intention of hurting you,” Rafe says. “But I promise you that I won’t make that mistake again.”

“How can I trust you?”

"We’re partners, remember? Not just for this treasure, but in life.”

“Please,” Sabina says. “Don’t hurt them.”

“Everything is going to be okay, honey.”

Hesitant, Sabina reaches forward, placing her hand on top of Rafe’s open palm.

“Bina, don’t,” Sam says.

Rafe steps closer to his wife, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he says, eyes focused on Sam.

Sabina digs her nails into the back of his shirt and buries her face into his chest.

With one arm wrapped around his wife, Rafe aims his gun at Nate. “Back to business then.”

“Wait,” Sabina tries to pull herself out of his hold, but Rafe’s grip is firm. “You promised—”

“Wait now,” Nate says. “You’re making a mistake, you got—”

“Rafe, don’t!” Sam steps forward, partially blocking Nate. “Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen I—”

Ignoring their pleas, Rafe fires the gun. The shot misses Nate, but hits Sam in his left arm. The impact of the bullet sends him stumbling backwards, causing him to bump into Nate. Less than a moment later, Nate disappears, falling off the edge of the cliff.

“Nathan!” Sam yells.

Rafe turns to look at Nadine and the mercenaries. “Take him,” he orders.

February 2002

A morning glow peaks in through the curtains, illuminating the couple tangled beneath the bedsheets. Sabina whines at the touch of light and hides her face beneath the covers. Beside her, Rafe shifts, awoken by the movement. His hand brushes against Sabina’s naked back, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“Good morning,” he says.

“No,” Sabina mumbles, “go back to sleep.” She buries her face into his chest.

Rafe chuckles. “You know that I’d love to do that.”

“Don’t argue. Just sleep.”

He places a hand on top of the one Sabina is laying on his chest. Rubs his thumb across the tops of her fingers. “But I have business meetings I can’t postpone any further,” he says.

“Give me the handcuffs,” she says. “I’ll chain you to the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe pushes the cover away from her face. “You seem to enjoy wearing them more than I do.”

“I’m not the one who plans on leaving.”

He cups her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “If I keep postponing, they’ll walk away completely.”

“Fine,” Sabina pouts.

Rafe recaptures her lips. He grabs onto her hips and coerces her to lay down on her back. When he moves to hover above her, Sabina wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her body.

“You know that I love you, right?” Rafe says.

Sabina nods, pulling him in for another kiss.

But he pulls away, choosing instead to look at her flushed cheeks. Rafe smiles and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. He rolls off of her and opens the drawer in the beside table.

Sabina sits up in the bed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe turns back towards her. “Marry me,” he says, holding up a small black velvet box.

She blinks up at him, processing the words that are swimming around in her discombobulated head. “What did you say?”

As he takes a nervous breath, he pulls back the lid of the box. “Will you marry me?”

Sabina’s eyes focus on the object inside, a ring.

A pear-shaped diamond, set on a sleek white gold band.

“You want… to marry me?”

“I do,” Rafe frowns. He’s hurt, confused by her response. “I love you. There’s no one in the world I would rather be with.”

Sabina reaches for the box, pulling it out of Rafe’s hand. “But the treasure,” she says, “we haven’t found Avery’s treasure yet. What if we never find it? Would you still want to be with me?”

“Yes,” he responds. “I don’t want to marry the treasure. I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Sabina sniffles, overwhelmed by emotion. But there’s a twinkle in her watering eyes and a small smile on her swollen lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes!” She throws herself onto Rafe, knocking him down onto the bed, and peppers him with feverish, giddy kisses.

December 2015

The moment Sam had revealed where the treasure was, still on Avery’s ship, Rafe gathered together some of the Shoreline men. Using the distraction, Sabina approaches the mercenary that has been assigned to keep an eye on the Drake brother.

“Jonas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

She tilts her head in Sam’s direction. “If you let me speak with him alone, I’ll wire five thousand dollars into your bank account.”

He pauses, mulling over the offer. “Gotta be honest with ya, I’m not sure if dealing with your husband’s temper is worth that price.”

“Ten thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sure,” Sabina shrugs. “It’s his money anyway.”

“Try to be quick about it, yeah?” Jonas steps out of the way, allowing her to slip inside of the small alcove.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Sam looks up at his guest. His hands are bound, tied tightly with rope. The gunshot wound in his arm is bandaged, but splotches of blood have seeped through the gauze. He sighs, leaning back against the stone wall. “Bina,” he greets.

“Hey, Sam,” she says. She sits down on the floor, away from his reach. “So… I’m not sure on how to go about this discussion. My kind-of-ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn’t a scenario that I was ever prepared for.”

“Listen, I—”

“Were you going to tell me?” She interrupts. “Were you ever going to let me know that you were still alive?”

He sighs. “I thought about you, all the time. But I didn’t think that I was ever gonna get out of there. And then, when I did, well, Rafe was the one pulling those strings. Thirteen years had gone by. I figured that you had already moved on.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Sabina admits. “I did get married—”

Sam laughs, a cynical chuckle. “You sure did, huh? Married Rafe. Could’ve picked anyone in the whole world, but you picked him.”

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she says. “What was I supposed to do? Dwell on you for the rest of my life? Stay single, alone forever? I thought you were dead. How could you have expected me to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back?”

“You didn’t have to pick him,” Sam mutters.

“I didn’t have to, but I did! I wanted him. And I knew that he wanted me.” Sabina pauses, using the moment to calm herself down. “‘After we find the treasure, run away with me.’ That was your pseudo-proposal, word for word.”

“I remember,” he says.

“When Rafe asked me to marry him, there was no caveat,” she says. “He simply wanted me. It wasn’t all or nothing. I wasn’t part of a package deal.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were.”

“Sam,” Sabina shakes her head. “If you had never gotten trapped in that prison, if you had made it out of Panama with Rafe and Nate, do you really think that we would still be together?”

“I—I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to think that we would be.”

“I think you would’ve left me,” Sabina says.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“For two decades, all you’ve thought about is that treasure. You didn’t even tell Nate that you were alive. You kept him in the dark, then you lied to him. If tracking down your brother isn’t one of the first things you do once you’ve gained your freedom, then where am I on that list?”

“Things were complicated.”

“Not nearly as complicated as you pretend them to be,” she says. “You’re just a selfish asshole. You don’t care that you’ve hurt people, betrayed them, let them down.” Sabina sits up on her knees and reaches for the back pocket of her pants. She pulls out a pocket knife and flips it open.

“Hey,” Sam says, doing his best to inch away from her. “Bina, I know you’re upset. But you don’t need to do this.”

She wraps her fingers around his bound hands and pulls him towards her. “I’m such an idiot,” she mutters. Sabina saws her knife through the rope, breaking the binds.

“What—”

“I love Rafe, I do,” she says. “But once, I think I loved you. I cared about you, at least. I might be a bit pissed off at you right now, but I won’t stand by while Rafe holds you captive. Just get out of here.”

Sam holds onto her hands and leans towards her. “Come with me,” he says.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You know what kind of man he is,” he says. “You deserve better.”

Sabina shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not sure if you’re much better.” She pulls herself away from him. “None of us are who we used to be. Rafe and I have our problems, but when we work, we work. I won’t deny that things have been a bit strained, lately. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t fix our marriage. I won’t throw all of this away for you. Not anymore.”

Sam nods his head, a grimace on his lips.

“Just so you, I’m glad you’re alive,” Sabina says.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I know,” she says. “Okay,” Sabina stands up. “Right. I need you to punch me or something.”

“What?” Sam says, also moving to stand up.

“Well, we need to stage your escape,” she says.

“Can’t I just walk out of here?”

“I paid off the guard. It’ll look suspicious if you disappear after I leave.”

“I’m not going to punch you,” Sam says.

“Just punch me! Then take out the guard.”

“Bina—”

“Sam,” she hisses. “For once in your life, just listen to me. We don’t need to argue about everything.”

“Oh, my god,” he groans. “Why does your plan involve me punching you in the face?”

“What—I never told you to punch my face.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Is that where you wanted to punch me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Maybe I should punch you in the fucking face,” Sabina says, taking a step towards him.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying that—”

“Oi,” a voice interrupts.

Sam and Sabina turn to look at the entrance.

Jonas the Mercenary stands there, gun pointed in Sam’s direction. “What’s going on here? You untie him?”

“Jonas,” Sabina says. Her eyes flicker over to Sam, before focusing again on the mercenary. “Thank god you’re here! Samuel was… threatening me. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t cut the rope.”

“That so?” He takes a few steps forward. “Guess we should tie him back up.”

“Right,” she agrees.

“Go stand by the door,” he says. “I’ll bind him.”

Sabina throws one last glance at Sam, before heading towards the exit. Just as she walks passed the mercenary, she slams her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off-balance. Sam rushes forward and pulls the assault rifle out of Jonas’ hands. Using the grip of the gun, he slams it across the man’s face, leaving him dazed and gasping on the ground. For good measure, Sam hits the mercenary again, breaking his nose.

“Go,” Sabina says.

Sam looks at her, opens his mouth to tell her something.

“Go! Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” he says. Without another moment to spare, Sam sprints out of the alcove.

Sabina gives him a head start. She waits for thirty seconds, before making her move. Clutching a fake bruise on her side, she stumbles out of the alcove, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! I need help! Rafe!”

A couple of mercenaries run towards her. “What’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “It all happened so fast—oh, my god, Jonas—Jonas is in there.”

“Sabina?” Rafe says, running towards her. “Honey, what happened?”

“Sam! He—he escaped!”

He directs his gaze to the mercenaries. “Find him,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Sabina says. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t and he—he had a gun. I didn’t know what to do.”

Holding the sides of her face in his hands, Rafe leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

“I got tangled up in the fight,” she says. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. “He’s probably heading for the treasure. We need to go catch up.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“We are so close. We’re practically right there. Just need to beat him to it.” Rafe grabs onto her hand, pulling her along with him.

They rush down the tunnel, heading for where the boats are docked. As they enter the area, Sam is driving away with one of the boats. Rafe drags Sabina towards Nadine, whom is loading up a boat with treasure.

“Sam just stole our goddamn boat,” Rafe says. “He’s headed for Avery’s ship. Come on.”

“Let him,” she says. “We’re done.”

Rafe looks at her, confused. “We’re done?”

“Most of my men are dead, Rafe. And those who aren’t have already left.”

“Can you see that?” Rafe asks, pointing in the direction of Avery’s ship. “The end is literally in sight.”

“That maniac pirate of yours has rigged this entire cave. I’m not setting foot on his ship.”

“Nadine, if you cut and run right now, the loss of all your men—everything that we’ve done—is for nothing.”

Nadine points to the raft on her left. “We have millions in gold, right here. I’d say that, plus our lives, is something.” She steps around Rafe, moving to finish getting the raft ready for departure.

“No wonder so many of your men abandoned you,” Rafe says.

Nadine turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Sabina glances at the mercenary standing behind her, alerted by the sound of him adjusting his grip on his gun.

Rafe steps away from her, approaching Nadine. “We’re on the verge of making history here, and you’re willing to just walk off with a pittance, a fraction what Sam’s gonna get from that boat.”

“If he can walk away from that ship alive, he can have it,” Nadine says. “Hell, I’d say he’s earned it. God knows you didn’t.”

A moment of stillness, and then—

Rafe slaps Nadine across her face. “Now look,” he says, following another brief pause. “We can stand here and insult each other all day, or we can finish what it is that we—”

Nadine interrupts him, slamming her fist into his stomach. She shoves Rafe onto the ground and then aims her pistol at him.

“Rafe!” Sabina rushes to his side.

“Oh,” Nadine yells, “we’re finishing it all right—” The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her attention away from the man.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the mercenary says, with his gun aimed at her.

Sabina helps Rafe onto his feet, double checking him for any other injuries.

“Yeah… the thing about mercenaries, Nadine,” he says. “Their loyalty, it’s bought. It’s not earned. Now, come on. Either we finish this thing together, or we can just end it right here.”

Sabina lifts her eyes, meeting her gaze with the other woman. “Just get in the boat, Ms. Ross,” she says. “Please, nobody else needs to die right now.”

Nadine glances down at her weapon, before slowly lowering it. “Let’s go make history,” she says, tucking the gun away.

“Atta girl,” Rafe says, gesturing towards the boat.

When Sabina and Nadine make eye contact once again, Sabina mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Nadine holds her gaze for a moment, before climbing into the boat.

September 2002

Growing up, she had never imagined what her wedding might look like. She had never pictured her dress, the venue. She had never thought about who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Getting married had always seemed like an event that would be too extravagant and… depressing. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. No family to invite. Her friendships had always been rather brief, dependent on where she was traveling and if they could help her get what she was looking for.

People kept telling her that her wedding would be one of the happiest days of her life.

Yet, she had never felt so isolated from everyone.

Standing on a raised platform, Sabina stares at her reflection in the large trifold mirror. Her head feels heavy, stuffed full with curled extensions that are pulled up into an intricate bun. Her lace cathedral veil is pinned into place, once again. In her nerves, Sabina has already tugged it out of position five times. The strings of her corset are pulled tight, constricting her ability to breathe. She wants to tear them out, wants a breath of fresh unrestrained air, but it’s too late for that now. Fiddling with her diamond ring, Sabina resists the urge to smooth down the organza fabric of her dress.

When she had first put on the ivory off-the-shoulder ball gown, she had felt like a fool, like she was undeserving of the dress. The fabric was covered in thousands of crystals, each of which were carefully positioned by hand. The crystals were arranged in complex floral designs and placed beneath a layer of organza. This dulled their shine, creating the softer, ethereal sparkling effect that Sabina had wanted. But still, she had felt that this dress was too glamorous.

Upon seeing her, Rafe’s mother had surprised her with tears. Telling her that the dress was perfect, made for her. And in that moment, Sabina had also cried. Was this how her own mother would have reacted? Would she be in agreement with Mrs. Adler? Or would she have longed to see Sabina in a different silhouette? Marrying a different man?

“Miss Hewitt,” the wedding planner’s voice captures her attention. “I don’t want to rush you, but we are behind schedule. Your groom is starting to get a bit nervous.”

“Ten more minutes,” Sabina says.

“Miss Hewitt,” she sighs. “Your guests have already been waiting for an hour.”

Sabina shakes her head. Subconsciously, her fingers grasp onto the edge of her veil. “Just give him ten more minutes,” she says. “He’ll be here.” And once again, the material is pulled out of place.

The woman frowns, giving Sabina a pitying look. “I understand that you want him to walk you down the aisle, Miss Hewitt.” She snaps her fingers at the hair stylist, prompting them to get up and work on resecuring the veil. “However, Mr. Drake didn’t show up for the rehearsal yesterday.”

“Maybe he mixed up the times,” Sabina says. “Or… Or he’s stuck in traffic.” She winces when the stylist stabs her scalp with one of the pins.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.”

The door to the dressing room opens and an older woman steps into the room. With her red lips pulled into the slightest hint of a frown, she asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Mrs. Adler,” the wedding planner greets. “Miss Hewitt has been insisting that we wait for Nathan Drake’s arrival, even though I have told her several times that it is extremely unlikely that he will be in attendance.”

Sabina sighs, closing her eyes. “Just ten more minutes,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just want ten more minutes.”

“Miss Hewitt—”

“Give her the ten minutes,” Mrs. Adler says. When her eyes settle on Sabina’s reflection, the sharp contours of her face soften. “I would like a moment of privacy with Sabina.”

Without further instruction, the wedding planner, the hair stylist, and the makeup artist all hurry out of the room. The bridesmaids, dressed in mauve colored chiffon gowns, are quick to follow.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Adler approaches the bride, taking great care to avoid stepping on the much-too-long train of her dress.

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Instead, she rests her hands against her stomach, hoping to appease the stabbing sensations coming from inside.

“A wedding can feel overwhelming,” the woman says. “I was a mess for my own day. In my heart, I knew that I was marrying the right person, but I still had my doubts. I had a bit of a freakout, myself. Locked myself in a bathroom, for half an hour, and debated about the pros and cons of marriage. It’s okay to be nervous, Sabina. Most brides are. But I wonder if there is something else bothering you, something beyond nerves.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat.

“Your life has been deprived of a mother figure,” Mrs. Adler continues. “If it’s alright with you, I can be that figure for you. You are family now, my dear. You can talk to me. I will listen.”

“God, there’s just so many people here,” Sabina gasps.

“Rafe was a bit generous with the guest list,” Mrs. Adler agrees. “Is that why you’re upset?”

“To be honest,” Sabina says. “I’ve never put much thought into a wedding. I never imagined that I would be walking into a room full of hundreds of strangers. Everyone is here for Rafe, aren’t they? They’re not here for me. I’m just a show.”

“Tell me why you are here.”

The bride frowns, confused. “To get married.”

“Then you are here for Rafe,” Mrs. Adler says. “Not for your guests. And Rafe, Rafe is here for you. He is waiting at the end of the aisle,” she smiles, “for you. Forget about the people who have come to watch. The truth is that most of them are not really here for Rafe. They are here to keep up appearances, to maintain a good impression. When you reach the end of the aisle, you will forget all about those strangers.”

Sabina turns to look at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.

“I have a gift for you,” Mrs. Adler says. She reaches for wrist, unclasping a gold bracelet lined with rubies. “I was planning to give it to you after the ceremony, as a little ‘welcome to the family’ gift, but I think that it would be better for you to have it now.” The woman reaches out for Sabina’s left hand, pulling it towards her, and then secures the jewelry around the wrist.

“It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Adler continues. “She gave it to me on my wedding day. And now I continue that tradition and give it to you.”

“Mrs. Adler—”

“Gemma. Call me Gemma.”

“Thank you, Gemma.”

“I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself,” Gemma says. “Wipe away those tears, yes?”

Sabina nods.

Just moments after Rafe’s mother exits the dressing room, the door reopens.

“Holy shit,” a man says. “Look at you.”

Through the reflection in the mirror, Sabina sees him. She gasps and turns to look at the man, “Sully?”

“Hey, there, kiddo,” he says, approaching her. “You know, I had a feeling you would be a stunning bride, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“It’s the dress,” she replies. “A forty-seven thousand dollar custom made gown.”

“That’s some serious cash,” Sully whistles.

“This is just the ceremony gown. The reception dress is even more.” Sabina shakes her head. “I can’t even believe I’m wearing something so expensive.”

“You are marrying Rafe. Did you expect anything less?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Sully,” Sabina smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. I know that you and Rafe are… far from friends.”

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding, kid,” he says. “But what are you still doing back here? Not that I don’t enjoy the sight, but you’re starting to make Rafe sweat out there.”

“I invited Nate,” she says. “God, I even asked him to walk me down the aisle.”

Sully nods, beginning to figure out the problem. “Nate’s not here, is he?”

“I think I always knew that he wouldn’t show,” the bride sighs. “I just wanted to be wrong. I know that he hates Rafe, but I thought that maybe—just maybe—he would show up for me.”

“He’s still coping,” Sully says. “Won’t even mention… Sam… nowadays.”

Sabina hums. “Me, too,” she admits. “Sully, am I crazy? Just two years ago, I was willing to drop everything and run off with Sam. And now I’m here, getting married to somebody else. What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe that’s why Nate’s not here? Maybe he thinks that I’ve forgotten about Sam or that I’m closing off that part of my life.”

“Hey,” Sully steps forward and holds onto Sabina’s hands. “No one blames you for moving on with your life. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you love Rafe?”

“Yes.”

“And does he make you happy?”

Sabina nods.

Sully gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to let go of Sam,” he says. “You deserve a life of happiness, especially after everything that you’ve been through.”

Before she can stop herself, the question spills through her lips. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”

“Of course,” Sully says.

“Thank you,” Sabina wraps her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.

December 2015

Heat tingles against her skin.

Prickling.

Stinging.

As she breathes, she coughs. Her lungs are stuffed, filled with ashes. When Sabina is finally able to open her eyes, she sees a world of red. She blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of her vision. Sabina groans, rolling onto her back.

She hears a voice yelling for someone… yelling for… Sam?

“Hey, Nate,” a different voice says.

She turns her head to look for the source of the sound. Through the haze, she can see the outline of a man, her husband. In Rafe’s hand is a gun, raised and pointed in front of him.

The first voice replies, “Where is Sam?”

Sabina tilts her head, releases a gasp in pain, and looks at the other man. Nate has his own gunned pointed back at Rafe.

“Oh, he’s right there.” Her husband looks over to his left, where Sam is trapped and unconscious beneath a wooden beam.

“Sam!” Nate calls.

“Relax, he’s alive,” Rafe says. “You know, this idiot nearly got us all killed.”

Oh.

That’s right.

The explosion.

Sam… Sam had caused it, had—

“I’m getting him outta here,” Nate says.

“No, you’re not.”

“Rafe, you can have the treasure, alright? Just let me save my brother.”

Her husband laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? How noble of you, but no.”

“We stay here any longer and we’re all dead,” Nate says. “Is that what you want?”

“That’s not what I said. What do you think, Nadine?”

The Shoreline leader steps in through the doorway and descends the short staircase. Her gun is pointed in Nate’s direction.

Sabina pushes her back off of the uneven wooden floor, moving into a sitting position. The back of her head is burning, throbbing. Pressing her fingertips into her hair, she winces when they make contact with an open wound that’s soaked in some sort of liquid. “Fuck,” she whispers. Sabina brings her hand in front of her face, stares at the warm blood coating her finger tips.

“Good to see you up and about,” Rafe says. “Be a dear and relieve Nate there of his gun.”

“Hand it over,” Nadine says, approaching Nate.

“You really think you can trust him? Huh?” Nate says.

“Not your concern.”

Ignoring the trio, Sabina crawls towards the unconscious Drake brother. “Sam,” she calls, shaking his shoulder. She tries to lift up the wooden beam that has him pinned down, but it doesn’t move. “Sam, wake up. Sam?”

“Now, why are you trying to instigate? Nate—” Rafe says, stepping closer to the mercenary. “Nadine and I are partners, I don’t screw over my partners.”

Nadine takes the gun out of Nate’s hand. Slowly, she starts to back away.

“Get over there,” Rafe orders, pointing his gun towards the other end of the room. “You and your brother though… Right from the start, you took advantage of my generosity. You tried to cut me out and it’s high time you learned—”

Nadine presses the barrel of her gun against the back of Rafe’s head.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Now you give me your gun,” she says.

“Sam,” Sabina whispers again. “C’mon, wake up.” She shakes him once more, more aggressive, more insistent. “I need your help.”

Sam’s eyelids twitch, but nothing else moves.

Rafe scoffs, “Nadine.”

She interrupts him with the cock of her gun. “I won’t ask you again.”

The man sighs, then surrenders the gun. “You are being profoundly stupid right now,” Rafe says. He steps away from Nadine and rubs the back of his neck.

“Look over there,” she says, indicating to her right.

“Nadine,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her. “Stop screwing around—”

The mercenary angles her gun down towards the floor, shooting a bullet between his feet.

Sabina screams at the noise, startled.

“Jesus!” Rafe yells.

“I said look!”

“Okay,” he says. Rafe glances over. “It’s a couple of skeletons. So what?”

“I don’t know as much about history as you boys,” Nadine says, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea who those two are.”

“Well,” Rafe says, “enlighten us.”

“It’s Avery and Tew,” Nate explains. “They killed each other.”

Rafe glances over at Nate. “Good for them. What’s the point?”

“Everyone obsessed with this treasure gets what they deserve,” Nadine says. She takes a step back, working her way back up the stairs.

“So what,” Nate calls. “You’re just leaving us here to die?”

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” she responds. “Whether you die or not, I don’t really care.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says. “Don’t.”

The mercenary ignores him, turning her gaze to focus on the other woman. “Sabina,” she says. “If you want to get out of here, come with me.”

“What?” Sabina lifts her head to look at Nadine.

“You don’t need to burn alive with all of these dickheads,” she explains.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Rafe chuckles. “You two have been fighting for weeks—”

“Shut up, Rafe,” Nadine says.

“—and now you wanna be best friends?”

Sabina shakes her head, unsure of what to do. “Nadine, I—”

“Make your choice. Now. I’m going to leave, with or without you.”

“I can’t—I can’t just leave them here,” Sabina says.

“You deserve better than this,” Nadine sighs. “Goodbye, Sabina.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says, moving towards her. “Wait—”

“So long, Rafe,” she says, before pulling the door shut and locking it.

“Nadine! Nadine!” He yells. Rafe slams his fists against the wood. “You open this goddamn door right now!”

“Rafe,” Nate shouts. “She’s gone!” He crouches down next to Sabina, eyes focused on the same wooden beam that she has been struggling to lift. “C’mon, give me a hand. We’ll all get out of here.”

“Oh, no,” Rafe says, pacing around in the corner of the room. “No, that won’t work.”

“I’ve been trying to wake him up,” Sabina looks over at Nate. “But he just hasn’t been responsive.”

“It’s okay,” Nate says, placing a comforting hand on Sabina’s forearm. “C’mon,” he calls to Rafe. “Help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door.”

Together, Sabina and Nate attempt to life the beam, but struggle with the weight.

“No,” Rafe says.

“Rafe,” Sabina lifts her head to look at her husband. “For god’s sake, just help us.”

He reaches for a sword lodged into one of the skeletons and pulls it out. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins, knowing that you and your worthless brother are still sucking air.”

Seeing the sword in Rafe’s hand, Nate stands up and starts to back away. “Alright,” he says. “Just… Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside.”

“Nate, just shut up,” Rafe says.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sabina says, standing up.

“Seriously, Rafe,” Nate says. “This is insane, even for you.”

“You want to hear insane? Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.” Rafe takes a step forward and swings his sword at Nate.

“Jesus!” Nate curses, dodging the weapon.

“Nathan Drake found a lost city in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali desert.” Rafe swings the sword again. This time the blade slices through Nate’s shirt, breaking the skin of his chest.

Sabina takes a cautious step forward. “Rafe, please. Put the sword down.”

But the man ignores her, opting to attack Nate once again.

Nate leaps back, barely avoiding the blade. “God damn it—come on, we can get out of here together.”

“Nathan Drake discovered the fabled El Dorado.” Rafe lunges at Nate, swiping the blade twice at the man. With the second swing, the edge of the sword slices across Nate’s chest, leaving behind a new, shallow wound. Again, Rafe attempts to cut into the other man’s skin.

“C’mon Rafe, stop,” Nate says.

“Nathan Drake is a legend,” Rafe laughs. “You know, I shot the man who told me that.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t like me very much.”

“You know, for all your ‘greatness,’ Nate, you have nothing. You are nothing. And I warned you to get out of my way.”

“Stop it!” Sabina screams. She charges into Rafe, shoving him away from Nate. “Rafe, babe, I need you to calm down.”

Rafe hardly spares her a glance, instead moving to step around her.

“Please,” Sabina clutches onto his arm, a poor attempt to hold him back. “Don’t do this.”

He pulls his arm out of her grasp and pushes his wife away from him.

Losing her balance, Sabina stumbles and crashes into a pile of debris near Sam’s body. A jagged piece of metal pierces into the skin of her left arm, leaving her with long gashes. Blood spews out of the wounds, sliding down her flesh and onto the floor. She whimpers, pain pulsating throughout her body.

Eyes focused solely on Nate, Rafe is unaware of what he has caused. He swings the blade at Nate, leaving several more cuts on his chest and arms.

Dodging the sword, Nate grabs onto Rafe’s arm and punches him in the face with his free hand. With both hands firmly gripped onto the arm, Nate struggles to maintain control in the fight. He forces Rafe up against a wall, but Rafe slams his forehead into Nate’s, sending him stumbling backwards.

Rafe seizes the opportunity, pushing his opponent down onto the ground. Fighting against Nate’s resistance, Rafe attempts to shove the blade down into the man’s neck. “I have sacrificed everything to find Avery,” Rafe says. “And I’m not gonna let a couple of two-bit thieves, a senile con man, and a washed-up journalist take that away from me!”

“Enough!” Nate pushes back against Rafe, shoving the man off of him. He reaches to the right and wraps his fingers around the handle of another sword.

“You care about that parade of losers so much,” Rafe says, circling Nate. “I’m going to make sure they join you.”

Sabina presses her hand against the fresh wound, unsure of how to slow the bleeding. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, “shit.” The liquid seeps through her fingers, mingling with the once drying blood of her head injury.

“En garde, dickhead,” Nate says.

“That’s the spirit,” Rafe smiles.

Nate lunges at him, slamming his sword at the man. The two blades clash against each other and Rafe jumps out of Nate’s reach. When Rafe swings his sword at Nate, the Drake brother rams his elbow into Rafe’s nose and then kicks him in the chest. Rafe stumbles back, hitting the wall behind him. Nate swings again, but this time Rafe kicks the man away from him. He takes a step forward, aiming to slice through Nate’s throat, but Nate blocks him just in time.

Starting to get dizzy, Sabina lays down on the floor. She lifts her wounded arm, forcing herself to take a better look at the cuts. Droplets of blood splatter against her cheeks.

Sabina closes her eyes.

Daddy!

She’s a little girl again, running into the outstretched arms of her father.

Daddy, you’re home!

She wraps her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him down into the ground.

Hey, sweetheart, he says. You should be asleep. He secures his arms around Sabina and lifts her up into the air.

No, she shakes her head. No, I missed you.

I missed you, too. He presses a kiss against her cheek. But you know that Daddy has a lot of work to do.

No, no more work.

Sweetheart—

Why do you always leave? I don’t want you to leave anymore.

Her father sighs. My work is important. I’m going to find something amazing, sweetheart. And when I do, I promise that I won’t ever have to leave you again.

Daddy, please—

Richard Hewitt collapses.

Becomes a bleeding corpse, staining the hardwood floors.

And young Sabina hides beneath the planks, her tiny hands covering her mouth. Eyes are wide, staring at the blood leaking through the cracks, the crevices.

It splatters against her cheeks.

Why couldn’t you pick me?

“—Bina!”

Somebody is shaking her.

“Bina, open your eyes.”

When they press a hand against her cheek, Sabina leans into the warmth.

“C’mon, baby, wake up.”

She opens her eyes and smiles at the sight of a familiar face. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m right here, but I need you to get up, okay? Nathan and Rafe are about to kill each other and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“Nate… Rafe?” Sabina blinks at him, unable to fully comprehend the words. “What?”

“Bina—”

She tunes out his voice, focusing her attention to the burning warmth surrounding her. When she turns her head to the left, her eyes grow wide. The muddied thoughts in her head dissipate, cleared by the view in front of her.

Rafe swipes his sword against Nate’s stomach and cuts through the fabric of his shirt. He strikes him in the chest with his foot, knocking him down onto his back. Sword pointed at Nate’s throat, Rafe takes a step forward.

“You know what, Nate? Underneath all the bravado, you’re just a sad little boy with delusions—of grandeur… who, by the way, can’t fence for shit,” he says.

Sabina rolls onto her knees, then stumbles up onto her feet. “Wait—”

Rafe raises his sword, ready to end the fight. “So long, Nathan Drake.”

“Nathan!” Sam yells, attracting the attention of both men. He grabs the handle of the sword laying near him and tosses it in Nate’s direction.

Nate grabs it and strikes the blade across Rafe’s own.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you? That’s good,” Rafe says, between each swing of his sword. “Don’t hand it to me. I’ve had everything handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Everything except this!”

Nate whips his sword in front of him to block another powerful strike, but Rafe’s blade breaks the metal.

“I earned this,” Rafe says. “All of it.”

September 2012

If you ask Sabina to picture her idea of romantic vacation, this is what she would tell you. A candlelit dinner at a truly exquisite, but probably overpriced, restaurant. Walking through the Paris streets, long after dusk. Sharing bottles of wine between giggling, messy kisses. Falling into a comfortable, happy slumber with the love of her life.

But getting everything that you want is impossible.

And for her tenth wedding anniversary, Sabina spends it without her partner. Drunk in her Parisian hotel room, staring at the blurry lights outside of her windows. Her cheeks are swollen. Eyes are puffy and dirty from smeared mascara and navy blue eyeliner. Brunette hair tangled and pulled up into a lopsided bun.

Rafe was supposed to be here. Was supposed to meet her in Paris over a day ago. But her husband had canceled, saying that an issue at work would require his immediate attention. Saying that he would make it up to her, whisk her away to a private island where no one could bother them.

She almost believes him.

When somebody knocks on the door to the suite, Sabina jumps off of the armchair and stumbles across the room. She throws open the door, and without a moment to pause, wraps her arms around the woman standing there.

Chloe Frazer. A fellow treasure hunter that she had met a couple of years ago. The two had become fast friends, bonding over a discussion about whether the treasure described in The Copper Scroll even existed. And if so, where it could possibly be.

“Oh,” the Australian woman says. “I’m happy to see you, too, love.”

Sabina’s words are slurred. “Chloe, I’m so… so happy you’re here.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of the hallway.” Careful, Chloe urges Sabina back through the door. Glancing around the hotel room, she sees shards of broken glass and puddles of red wine. Several partially consumed bottles lay flat on their sides, a source for many of the wine stains.

Sabina grabs onto one of Chloe’s hands and drags her to the dining table. “You must try this Caber… net Sau… Sauvig… non—Cabernet Sauvignon!” She picks up a bottle of wine and hands the whole thing to Chloe. “I must warn you, it’s very… very heavy on the cherry, but it is so good and… six hundred dollars?” Sabina laughs, “Wine is so expensive.”

Chloe grabs the bottle, notices that it is almost empty, and takes a sip. “Not bad,” she hums. “And how many bottles did you buy?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “A few. Maybe… ten.”

Mid-sip, Chloe chokes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sabina continues. “It’s all Rafe’s fucking money anyway. He won’t even notice.”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, if I were you.”

Sabina picks up another bottle of wine and collapses onto the sofa. “I think he’s going to leave me,” she says.

Chloe frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I think I’ve done something terrible.”

“Alright,” Chloe joins the woman on the couch. “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Sabina unclasps the chain around her neck and hands her medallion over to Chloe. “I solved it,” she says.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You… solved this?”

“Yes.”

“The mystery puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve for decades?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Chloe takes another sip of wine. “I’m not sure how this is bad news, but we can come back to that. First, I wanna know how you solved it.”

“Right,” Sabina nods. She takes back the medallion and stands up.

The two women enter the bathroom, where Sabina tosses the medallion into the sink and then closes the drain. She downs a large gulp of wine, before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink.

After a couple of minutes, a dim light appears, glowing from the object. The wine in the sink moves in gentle waves, the liquid disturbed by something beneath the surface. Once the wine settles, Sabina reaches into the sink, retrieves the medallion, and sets it on the counter.

The object looks distorted, with portions of the gold metal jutting out of place. Many, but not all, of the symbols glow in a faint yellow color. The marking in the center, Avery’s sigil, is popped up and pushed away, revealing an inscription.

The treasure you seek will only bring death.

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a clue,” Sabina says.

Chloe picks up on the woman’s train of thought. “You think it’s a warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told Rafe?”

Sabina leans against the bathroom wall and slides down to sit on the ground. “No,” she says, with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Chloe says. She grabs the medallion, before joining Sabina. “Why not?”

“I think he’ll leave me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I want him to stop looking for it. I want him to let go of Avery’s treasure,” Sabina says. “If the warning is true, then I don’t want him to find it.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

Sabina chuckles. “How do you tell someone to give up on the one goal that drives them to keep going every day? How do you tell them that you’re selfish and you need them to sacrifice their dream?”

Chloe sighs. “I don’t know,” she says.

“You know, I think I was in love with someone,” Sabina admits. “Before Rafe.”

“Oh?” Chloe turns to look at her.

“It was complicated,” Sabina pauses. She pushes strands of hair away from her face and blinks away the forming tears. “And I never really figured out my feelings.”

“Do you miss them?”

Sabina leans over to rest her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “He was also looking for Avery’s treasure,” she says. She takes the bottle of wine away from Chloe and drinks the remaining liquid. “It killed him. All he wanted wanted to do was find that treasure. Would’ve done anything for it. It’s strange, isn’t it? How all of the men in my life are obsessed with this stupid thing. I don’t think the question is if Rafe will die for this treasure. I think the question is when. When will Rafe join Sam and my father?”

“Tell him how you feel,” Chloe reaches forward, laying a comforting hand on Sabina’s knee. “He can’t read your mind.”

“What if he doesn’t want to listen?”

“Trying to force a man like Rafe to listen is probably impossible,” Chloe admits. “But if he really does love you, he will do so.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Sabina lifts her head to meet Chloe’s gaze. “If doesn’t love me?”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on, love.”

December 2015

Sabina slams her body into Rafe’s back. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his chest. “No more,” she says, “let it go.” Rafe tries to pry one of her arms off of him, but Sabina tightens her grip. “I said stop!”

“No,” Rafe says. “I’m ending this. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“If you kill him,” Sabina takes a shallow breath. She still feels the wounds throbbing on her arm. Can still feel the blood oozing from the split skin, staining Rafe’s already dirtied shirt. “I will never forgive you.”

It’s subtle, but Rafe tenses at her words.

“If you kill him for this treasure,” Sabina continues, “then I will leave and you will never see me again.”

“Sabina—”

She buries her face into his back. “All of my life, I have never been enough. My father… Sam… they both picked the treasure. They both chose to leave me, no matter how much I begged them not to. And now you’re doing the same thing. But this time you found the treasure. It’s here—it’s in your grasp—and it’s still not enough for you. No, you can’t just have the treasure, can you? You want it all to yourself. All of the credit, the glory.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe says. “This is ours. We worked for this."

“No,” Sabina shakes her head. “This is your moment, not ours. It stopped being ours years ago. You can’t have it all, Rafe. You can’t have me and the treasure, not like this. I love you, I do, but I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch you be consumed by your hatred and jealousy.”

Slowly, he lowers the blade.

“I want you to pick me,” she says. “For once in my life, I want somebody to choose me. Only me. Please, I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Don’t let me lose somebody else I love.”

Rafe releases his grip on the sword, dropping the blade. He reaches for her injured arm and, gently, pulls it away from his chest. A frown on his face, he examines the wound before turning around to look at her.

Sabina blinks up at him, relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Slightly dizzy, Sabina leans into his body, pressing her forehead into the croak of his neck. “I know,” she says. “I know.” Too weak to stand any longer, she fully collapses into Rafe.

“Hey,” Rafe says, grabbing onto her. “Hey, honey? Honey, you okay?”

“I—”

Her words are interrupted by an explosion.

And within moments, the burning room is flooded with water.

…

The world is warm, comfortable. A light breeze tickles her nose and cheeks. In the distance, a woman laughs and children giggle. Sabina opens her eyes to the view of sunlight beaming at her through an open window. Her eyes shift, just a sliver, over to the left.

Sam is sitting there, slightly hunched over in his chair. His eyes are focused down towards his hands, down at a ring held between his fingers.

The ring he had given her.

“Hey,” Sabina says. It barely comes out as a whisper.

Sam jerks his head up. “Bina?”

She blinks, beginning the process of waking up. And that’s when she realizes that this environment is unfamiliar to her. She’s surrounded by plain, white walls. And the smell of sanitizer fills her nostrils. “Where… where am I? Where’s Rafe?”

When she tries to sit up in the bed, Sam jumps out of his chair and places his hands on her stomach and shoulder. “You’re in the hospital,” he says. “Rafe had to step out, handle some of your paperwork, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Are you okay? Is Nate okay? The—the explosion—oh, my god—”

“Everyone is fine, Bina. Just lay down.”

“But—”

“Lay down,” Sam says.

Sabina nods and relaxes back into the bed.

After taking a few deep breathes to calm her racing heart, she turns to look at Sam. “My ring,” she points at the object that’s still in his hands. “What…”

Sam sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would still have it,” he says. He leans forward, placing the ring on the bedside table. “Not after all of these years.”

“It was all I had left of you,” Sabina confesses. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

Sam gives her a small smile.

“Besides,” she says, “it looks like you stole my birds."

He squints his eyes, confused. “What?”

The woman lifts her hand off the bed, pointing a finger at the birds tattooed on the left side of Sam’s neck.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. A faint blush sprouts across his cheeks. “Yeah… Got it in prison. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again—I just—I thought it would be nice to have.”

“Nice to have, huh?”

“Your husband wasn’t too thrilled when he put the dots together.” Sam leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You know, matching tats and all. Wouldn’t shut up about how he’s married to you.”

“That sounds like Rafe,” Sabina laughs.

“Still can’t believe you’re an Adler now,” Sam says.

“Hewitt-Adler, actually. I hyphenated. Couldn’t quite let go of the family name, I suppose.”

Sam hums. “A lot changed when I was away.”

“Yeah,” Sabina agrees. “Things are different now.”

“Did you mean what you said at Libertalia?” Sam asks. “About us only being together because of Avery’s treasure?”

“Sam,” she whispers.

“Do you really believe that I would’ve just left you if we never found that treasure? Did you think that I didn’t love you?”

“Our relationship was… Everything happened so fast. It really was a bit of whirl-wind romance, wasn’t it?” Sabina says. “One day, I’m following a strange man into the dirtiest hotel room that I have ever seen. And then, with the blink of an eye, I’m having secret rendezvous with him whenever we can find an excuse to ditch his brother. Between chasing clues and traveling the world, where was the time for me to realize your feelings? How could I have known that you loved me? When you never told me those words? When it was clear that your priority would always be the treasure? I couldn’t compete with that, Sam.”

“Bina—”

“The answer,” she interrupts, “it was going to be yes. Yes, I would run away with you.”

Sam reaches out to hold Sabina’s hand. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Bina.”

“Answer me honestly, Sam,” she says. “Back on Avery’s ship, if you had been in Rafe’s place, would you have picked me?”

“Of course,” he responds, without hesitation. “Of course I would choose you.”

Sabina smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

Longing to know what life would have looked like, had she been able to spend the past fifteen years with Sam.

“You have to let go,” she says. “The girl you love, it’s not the same person that I am now. You care about Sabina from fifteen years ago. The Sabina that… loved a life of adventure, with you. I think, if you had asked, she would have done anything for you. But the person you’re looking at now, she’s already let you go. I don’t know if I could love you again, not the way I used to, not the way you want me to.”

Sam sighs, “I know.”

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand. “We found the treasure, though. At least we accomplished something, even if it took a decade and a half.” Sabina turns her head to look at the beside table, focusing her gaze on the medallion. “I solved it, you know.”

“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow and picks up the necklace. “When?”

“A few years ago.”

“What did it tell you?”

“Why don’t you keep it,” Sabina says. “Keep it and figure it out for yourself.”

“Are you sure? You parents—”

“Probably never even found it, if we’re being honest. I bet they stole it from someone. We’re all thieves, aren’t we?” She chuckles. “I’ve carried it around for so long, clutching onto terrible memories. I need to move on with my life. I don’t care what you end up doing with it, but please, just take it. I don’t want it, not anymore.”

Sam nods and slips the object into his pocket. “You gonna give me a hint on how to solve it?”

“You’re going to want a lot of red wine."

The door to the room slides open, startling them.

“Get away from her,” a voice growls.

Sam jumps away from Sabina, hands held up in the air. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus, we were just having a conversation.”

“Rafe,” Sabina smiles and attempts to sit up.

“Hey there, honey,” he walks up to the side of her bed and reaches for her hand. Rafe turns his head to look at Sam. “You can go now.”

“Are you kidding me? She just woke up.”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, “and now that she’s awake, we don’t need you here.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Get out,” Rafe snaps.

“Alright,” Sam responds. “I’ll just… go outside for a smoke.”

When Sam exits the room, Rafe directs his attention back to Sabina. “You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

“You picked me,” she says, ignoring his questions. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I told you that I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” Rafe says. “That hasn’t changed. I realize now that I’ve neglected you, but I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough for me.”

“You’re not entirely to blame. I should’ve just told you how I felt.” Her breath hitches, and she whispers, “Maybe all of this could have been avoided.”

Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I would have listened to you at any other moment.”

“But in the end, you listened. And right now, that’s all that matters,” Sabina smiles.

Her husband sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Where do we go from here?” Rafe asks, pushing strands of hair away from Sabina’s face.

She hums, enjoying his touch. “Do you remember our wedding day? How we hid in the dressing room’s bathroom during the reception?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “You said you were so tired of talking to an endless parade of strangers.”

“They were all so boring,” she says. “And all they did was congratulate us, before trying to impress you with some bullshit story about their life. I remember being so desperate to get out of that dress.”

“God, I remember all the damn buttons on the back.”

“It took you forever to undo them! I thought I was going to be stuck in that thing for the rest of my life,” Sabina laughs. “It was a very pretty dress, though. A mermaid style. Lots of lace. Oh! And the detachable train. I think I liked it more than the dress I wore for the actual ceremony.”

“I was too busy looking at you,” Rafe admits. “I can’t really remember what the dresses look like anymore.”

“Oh, my god. And your mother!” Sabina exclaims, remembering the night. “Do you remember how we were in the bathroom for so long that she ran around trying to track us down?”

Rafe laughs, “And she almost walked in, right as I got the dress off.”

“I had to throw my body against the door to keep it shut. Told her that I just needed a few minutes to myself. And then she asked if I had seen you—”

“—And you told her that I was probably out in the gardens.”

“We escaped through a window, didn’t we?”

“Did we?”

“I think so,” she says. “When your mother left, we walked out of the bathroom. I told you that I wanted to leave, start the honeymoon a little early, so you pulled a robe off of one of the chairs.”

“And then we climbed through the window,” Rafe says, nodding his head. “And we sprinted to the car.”

“I don’t think your mother ever really forgave me for that.”

“I think she was more upset with me, to be honest.”

“We need to work on our marriage,” Sabina says. “No more lying. No more secrets. We need to be open, to communicate, like we used it. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we, babe? I think we can be those people again.”

“I think so, too,” he agrees.

“But first,” Sabina grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Let’s go back to Copenhagen. Relive those honeymoon memories.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Rafe whispers.

a/n: thank you so much for reading this! if you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging this story. i am a very small fanfic author and every reblog really does help in giving me exposure to potential new readers. however, i do also appreciate any likes or comments you’re willing to give.

again, this is not the end of the road for sabina, rafe, or sam! i have one-shots planned in the future, but currently there is no timeframe for when any of them will be posted. you may want to consider bookmarking the masterlist (linked near the beginning of this post), so you can check back in the future.

Twitter: VostaraFics

Ao3: Vostara

24 notes · View notes

duskowithapen · 4 years

Text

Day One: Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Writers Month 2020: Day One

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Luka x Marinette

Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles

Miraculous AU where Marinette is the tattoo artist with some very impressive ink and Luka is pining from across the way where he works at his sister’s flower shop. Day One of Writer’s Month 2020 – Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

“You’re drooling.”

Luka straightened quickly, wiping a hand over his chin. “No I’m not.” He turned around to see his sister walking in from the back room, a sprig of lavender tucked behind her ear.

“You might as well have been,” she says, walking closer to lean beside him at the counter. “Not that I’d blame you – Marinette’s cute.”

The Marinette in question was the owner of the tattoo parlour across the way. On quiet days like today, she could be seen sitting outside her shop with a sketchbook. Luka swallowed dryly. The sun was shining off her impressive tattoo – a full sleeve that wound around her wrist and up over her shoulder in a tangle of flowers and vines that he couldn’t see clearly.

“Well?” Juleka’s dry voice snaps his attention back.

“Well what?”

She waved a hand towards the door. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

Luka splutters. “W-What? Why would I – what makes you think –” How’d she known I’d considered it?!

He’s saved by the bell – literally – as Rose walks in. “Jule’s, what are you doing to your poor brother this time?” She asks, joining them at the counter which was suddenly feeling a little cramped.

Pecking her partner on the cheek, Juleka smiles innocently. “Trying to convince him to get a tattoo.”

“Oh, you totally should!” Rose claps her hands. “You have to go to Marinette – between her and Nathaniel, you’ll get the coolest tattoo! Marinette was the one who designed ours!”

“Really?” Luka glance at Juleka’s uncovered wrist. It was ringed by a flower wreath – red and purple roses (passionate love and love at first site), hot pink dahlias (commitment) and bright red gladiolus’ (strength and integrity). Rose had one exactly the same. It was a beautiful representation of their relationship – one Luka was waiting for them to consummate with a marrige. It was also a nod to their shared brainchild.

The Secret Garden might have only been a few years old, but it had blossomed into one of the most successful flower shops in Paris, often completely selling out around any holiday, and with a reputation for incredible flower arrangements, which Luka was proud to say he had a hand in.

Luka smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a tattoo,” he said after a moment, “Maybe something for you and mum – like her raven tattoos.”

Juleka’s smile was small, but no less terrifying for it. “Then go talk to Marinette now. Doesn’t look like she has any clients.” She was still sitting outside her shop.

As Luka was pushed out the door, Rose shoved a small posy of cherry blossoms into his hand. “Give Marinette these – they’re her favourite!”

How does she know her favourite flowers? Luka thought wildly as the door locked behind him. Slowly crossing the narrow avenue, he could feel their gaze burning into the back of his neck, and his hands became sweaty. They were making him nervous. He didn’t normally get nervous. He normally wasn’t going to ask a very cute girl to give him a tattoo.

Marinette looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were. Luka dug his fingers into his leg. You’re here for a tattoo, he reminded himself, not to check out the artist! But he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the blue sheen to her pigtailed hair, the welcoming smile stretched across her face, the impressive artwork which looked even better close up. Spiralling around her arm on pale green stalks and vines were cherry blossoms, pink orchids, blue morning glories, larkspur, hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils. Renewal, fertility and abundance, affection, cheer and goodwill, sincerity, luck and good fortune… he thought absently. After so long working with flowers – and even longer hearing about them from Rose – the symbolism came to mind automatically.

“Uh… hello?”

Luka blinked. Her eyes are really blue. Then he remembered himself and smiled. “Sorry. Are you Marinette?”

Her grin became wider. “Yup! Are you Juleka’s brother?”

“Yeah. She and Rose said that these were your favourite flowers?” He held out the blossoms. “They asked me if I could give them to you.” Well, technically they did. Even if it was meant to be more from me than them.

“Awww, thank you!” Marinette buried her nose in the pale pink petals and breathed deep. “They’re beautiful!”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said numbly. Her smile was almost blinding. “Uh, there was something else.”

Marinette’s head tilt made her pigtails bounce. It should be illegal for someone to look this adorable. “How can I help?”

“I was wondering about getting a tattoo.”

“Oh, of course!” Marinette leapt to her feet. “What else do you come to a tattoo parlour for? I’m so sorry, come in and we can get started right away!” She babbled. “Or should I say, welcome to Charmed Ink! Do you have any ideas for what you want? I’m partial to flowers as you can see, but I’m good at more tribal stuff too, and lettering, but Nathanial’s the best for portraits and a lot of the animal stuff..”

She continued to talk even as Luka took in Charmed Ink. The art on the inside of the tattoo parlour made it look larger than the comparatively small storefront suggested. The back wall was painted with an incredible mural of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, framing a red bridge arching over a river. The side walls were white and in scattered groups were photos of tattoo art – in one clump was a variety of dragon tattoos, in another was various words in all different fonts. The two tattoo stations were set in the back corners, with a small waiting area directly before the entrance. This was where Marinette led him, stopping quickly at a desk partially hidden by a folding screen.

She noticed his awed look at the back mural and smiled, a little calmer now. “That was a collaboration between Alix and Nathanial – he’s my other tattooist. They were all in my class in collége and lycée – same with Juleka and Rose, actually.”

“They did a great job,” Luka murmured. “And I’ve seen your work before – the tattoo you did for my sister was incredible. I was kinda looking for something similar.”

“Were you wanting a tattoo on your wrist too?” Marinette sat on one of the plush couches, and Luka sat across from her.

“No, I was thinking of something on my shoulder – my left shoulder,” He gestured, “Maybe going down my arm a little? I don’t want to go for a full sleeve now, but looking at your tattoo, I’d definitely consider it for the future.”

Marinette’s blush travelled across her cheeks and up her ears. “That – that’s a good plan. I can definitely work with that.” She made a note before looking at him under he lashes. “Were you wanting flowers?”

At Luka’s confused look, she continued, “You said you wanted something similar to your sisters, but you didn’t want it on your wrist…?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Luka tapped at his knee a little, quick staccato beat. “Yeah, I was thinking blue iris, gladilous and maybe daffodils.”

“Is there a meaning behind those flowers, or…?” Marinette made another note.

Luka nodded. “Yeah. Gladiolus’ are mum and Juleka’s birth flowers, not to mention their symbolism – strength and integrity. Blue Iris’ are my birth flower, meaning faith and hope, and daffodils are good luck and good fortune, but I also like the yellow.”

Marinette hummed. “I take it your favourite colour is blue?” She asked, waving her pencil at his blue hoody and matching Jagged Stone t-shirt. With a wince, he realised he was still wearing the Secret Garden apron over his faded jeans. Whoops.

“How did you guess.” Luka deadpanned, and he grinned at Marinette’s chuckle. “But seriously, yeah, I like blue and yellow. And, if we’re going for something like the start of a sleeve… think you could incorporate a snake or something in there?”

“Snakes are transformation and renewal, aren’t they?” Marinette murmured as she wrote. “There was this one symbol I remember, with a snake biting its tail…”

“The ouroboros,” Luka nodded, “It’s an eternity symbol.”

“Hmmmm…” Marinette started sketching in earnest. “So we’re going for something that can be added to later, definitely going for a circling snake – probably around your arm – but should the head be going up or down – put the flowers in colour clusters, or mix them up… maybe have them growing out of the snake? But if the snake is blue… you’ve got the more teal tips to your hair, so I could go for something more on the green side of the spectrum to help tie it in, but the snake should also stand out…”

All Luka could do was watch as Marinette seemed to get lost in a creative haze. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page as she sketched, occasionally going back over a line with her eraser, muttering about her hand not listening to her brain. Once or twice she looked something up on her phone before continuing – at one point, she leapt out of her seat to go and stare at one of the photos on the wall.

This process went on for about twenty minutes, Luka browsing through social media in between watching Marinette with what Juleka would probably class as a ‘disgustingly lovestruck’ look on his face. He couldn’t help it! She was just so vibrant, pouring all this passion into her work. Not to mention the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle with something at the bottom of the page.

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down with a bang that made him jump. “So! I have a tentative outline – tell me what you like and don’t like, and we can work from there.”

The sketch – and Luka didn’t know how Marinette could class this as an outline given the level of detail – featured all the aspects he wanted. On the front and back sketch of his arm and shoulder was a winding snake, the head sitting just under his collarbone and the rest of its body circling his arm before ending just above his elbow. But it didn’t just circle his arm. It also twisted around the gnarled and knotted stems that supported intricate bursts of flowers. An iris sat directly below the snakes head before more flowers dotted the stem around his shoulder to a larger, more detailed flower on his shoulder blade. Gladiolus’s tangled with the main body of the snake, interspersed with tiny iris’ and leaves, merging with daffodils close to his elbow. Each flower differed in size, though the iris on his back was the largest, probably about the size of his palm if he got the proportions right. Notes on both sides of the sketch were arms with arrows and a frankly scary amount of question marks. Luka looked away when he saw the words ‘dark coffee brown’ and ‘burgundy vs wine’.

“This… this is incredible Marinette.” He looked up at where she was wringing her hands. When she bit her lip, he had to refrain from reaching up and biting it for her. Concentrate Couffaine!

Marinette giggled, the sound high with nerves. “Thanks Luka. It’s a bit rough, and I’d want to go over the colours with you before we start anything, but I’m glad you like it. Anything you’d want to change?”

“Not really,” He hummed. “How would you continue this, if you were going for a full sleeve?”

When Marinette took a seat at his side, leaning into his shoulder a little, Luka stiffened. He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d split the posy of cherry blossom flowers into two and attached them to her pigtails – their scent wafted over him, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, if I was going to do a full sleeve with the snake, I’d make the snake the body of the tattoo,” she said, pointing at various parts of the sketch, “Probably make the circuits wider and accentuate the gaps a little more with the flowers. The head would have to be a little bigger, to make it proportionate, but otherwise not much would change.”

Luka nodded slowly. “So, say, if you maybe did that – the thing with the head and the – the circuits? And then have the snake ‘end’ in a clump of flowers above my elbow.” It was his turn to point, dragging a finger along the clump of daffodils and trying very hard to ignore the way Marinette pressed just a little closer to see. “Maybe if you added some of the gladiolus and iris here as well, and then if I add more to the tattoo later, you can have the rest of the body kind of emerge from there.”

“That would work really well actually,” Marinette said as she took the sketchbook back. Luka tried not to pout as her warmth moved away. “I can make a wreath just above your elbow – kinda like what I did for Juleka and Rose – and have the snake’s body ‘disappear’ into that. It would be easy work to make it ‘reappear’ beneath it later.”

Marinette scribbled these notes in as she spoke, before turning back to him. “So, about price… for a piece like this – half sleeve, colour and design… you’re looking at about one and a half grand.”

His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “That low?” While he hadn’t seriously thought about getting a tattoo before today, he’d spent time with a lot of people who had. A full sleeve tattoo could cost as much as four grand – a half sleeve would be at least two.

“You’re getting the friends and family discount.” Marinette shrugged. “And I’ve been in a bit of a designing rut lately – all people seem to want are dragons or family names. This is a bit of a godsend, actually.”

Luka smirked. “Friends and family discount, huh?”

With her nose in the air, Marinette sassed, “Of course. Juleka’s my friend, and you’re her family.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Luka leaned in a little. “That’s why, huh? I’m hurt Marinette.”

“Hopefully you aren’t so sensitive when it comes time for me to break out the needles, Luka. I don’t want to listen to you crying for the six hours this is going to take.” The smirk she shot him sent a thrill through his chest. She’s got some fire.

“Oh believe me, Marinette.” Luka steadied himself on the couch back behind her shoulders and gave Marinette his best stage-ready, sweet-talking, come-hither bedroom eyes before growling out, “I don’t think six hours with you will be any hardship.”

#WritersMonth2020 #tattoo artist/florist au #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #tattoo artist marinette #ao3 #fanfiction #I'm a day late #sorry

90 notes · View notes

jeonggukkiepabo · 4 years

Text

KILLER QUEEN [KTH] ♦ Secret Easter Bunny

IT’S POSTING WEEK! You, my love @yongcherie are my victim, hehe. I wrote this piece for you inspired by 5SOS’ cover of “Killer Queen”, I hope you like it. <3 Truly yours, lavender.

SUMMARY: She’s all over the news, but she’s never been seen. Everyone talk about the Killer Queen, everyone wants to be the one to catch her. Police Officer Kim had a rough day and goes home with a woman he’d never seen but was yet so familiar.

WARNINGS: smut, sexual content, dom/sub tones, mentions of crime, hate sex, unprotected sex, choking, spitting.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

To the world, you were almost a celebrity - loved and hated at the same time. To him, you were a mystery. You would never get caught, you would never leave anything behind that could help them find you. But, all of them knew who you were. Well, at least they knew the name you went by. The “Killer Queen” had her first appearance in the late 1930s when you started robbing banks all around Seoul. Women in crime weren’t a thing yet, most of them were still located at home, not allowed to leave their houses while taking care of their many children - unlike you. You were independent, not needing a man to buy you diamond rings, not needing a child to keep you company. All you needed, all you wanted, was the thrill of swimming in freshly stolen money.

He had never seen you, but your name was known worldwide, ever since you’ve started to leave delicious looking pieces of cake behind you whenever you left the crime scene.

“My love. My enemy. You will never find me, never get me. But don’t be sad, eat cake instead. xx Killer Queen”

You loved the game, the thrill of those policemen running after you but not being able to even come near you. You’d get secret invitations from them, who were you to decline the chance of a bank robbery? Little did they know that you’ve always been there before them, sometimes even hanging out in the bank while they were there, enjoying those beautiful men with masculine features and furrowed brows, screaming while realizing you were gone, once again.

Of course, neither of them knew what you looked like, nobody knew about your curly red hair, the green emerald eyes that were always surrounded by smokey eyes. Your beauty mark right above the corner of your lip that you tugged into a knowing grin whenever you walked past a police officer.

By now, you’ve had more than enough money, you wouldn’t even need to commit crimes anymore but you just loved the fun and games. You loved getting dressed like a fine lady, but having a gun hidden in your stockings. You loved wearing that one black dress that stopped right above your knees - a shame during those years -, but your overknees were hiding the piece of skin that you always showed whenever you needed to bewitch someone. Some man.

You knew you were pretty, beautiful even. You had several men walking after you, buying you whatever you wanted from caviar to cigarettes and you were well versed in etiquette to always smile and take their offers. Of course, you’d never take those men home, because literally none of them were the slightest bit attractive. Fat snobs with more beard than the Chinamen just weren’t your type. You loved the attention, but you weren’t a whore. To be exact, there was only one man on this world that you’ve laid your eyes on.

Kim Taehyung, one of the youngest police officers this decade. He just turned 21 when he absolved the test and ever since you’ve been playing that lovely game of cat and mouse with him. The first time you’ve seen him you were speechless. You knew all of the policemen, Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon and even Jeon Jeongguk, their apprentice. But Kim Taehyung was a whole other level, his beauty almost being the reason you got caught because you kept staring at him for too long. At his black, permed hair. Those beautiful deep brown eyes with a glint of anger in them, but also… curiosity? Your favorite part of him was his defined jawline, sharp and precise like a strong Greek god. Obviously, you’ve had never seen him without his uniform, but you knew from experience that he had to be toned - they always were. At least Jeongguk was. But that’s a whole other story. Taehyung was taller, much taller than yourself, although your long legs had always been admired by men all over the world. But Kim Taehyung, he was a giant. Everything about him was huge. Even his hands, large and long, built to wrap around your throat easily. Just the thought of him was overwhelming you and ever since that day, you knew you had to get onto him.

Today would be the day, the lovely September breeze blowed through your freshly curled hair, causing you to shiver here and there. You were wearing your favorite black dress with lace details and heels that would never allow you to run, but you never needed to anyways. You even used your favorite perfume, the one that came straight from Paris, and applied some plumping gloss before you went out of your house, picking up a piece of cake from the bakery that you sprinkled with some gunpowder until a cursive KTH was readable on the pink icing.

For today, you didn’t plan to rob a bank, you wanted more. Your first official meeting with Taehyung should be special, you had planned this for months now. Knowing his exact working schedule, you decided that today would be perfect.

It was early afternoon, around 4.30 PM and you knew that Taehyung would be working until 9 PM the least. As of today, it was your biggest crime ever. Murder, just to get Taehyung's attention. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right? In the beginning, you opted to kill his roommate, Park Jimin, but his cute squishy cheeks and bright eyes just screamed innocence. Instead, you opted for some random jogger, did what you had to do as you hid in the trees to leave a piece of cake behind after you called the police to report a crime.

Hours later, it was around 11 PM, you were sitting in Taehyung’s favorite bar, enjoying some cocktails by yourself while you waited for him to arrive. Once the door opened and Kim Taehyung walked in, not wearing his uniform anymore but a white shirt and black jeans instead, you couldn’t help but sit down right next to hime. “Hello stranger. You seem distracted”, placing a glass of his favorite bourbon in front of him, you sipped on you own cocktail. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, until he decided to give in. “Yeah, I am. Work stresses me out, I’m in need of a break but I can’t because we’re working on this one case and we can’t rest until we found her and…” “Oh, you’re a police officer? You seem so young!” You smiled politely at him while looking him right into the eyes. “You should take a break whenever you need it, stranger. Work won’t pay you once you’re suffering from burnout, right? Take you wife and go on a road trip, calm down and once you’re coming back, you could always return to your case. I mean, you’re not the only one working on it, are you?”

Taehyung laughed bitterly, swallowing his entire drink in one go, catching the last drop on his lips with a flick of his tongue. “No wife, just me ‘n my hyung. It’s not that her bank robs aren’t enough for us to handle, no. She just fucking killed someone! Ugh, sorry, you probably don’t want to hear me rumble”, he twists his glass before looking at you again.

“I’ve never seen you here, what’s your name? I would always remember someone as beautiful as you.” You giggled at his lame pick up line, placing one hand on his shoulder while leaning over to his ear. “I’m Koya. But don’t tell anyone, please. I want to keep being the mysterious red haired girl at the bar”, you winked at him before ordering another round of drinks for the both of you.

“So, officer. There’s no wife, right? How? You’re handsome, you’re successful. What are you hiding inside that pretty head?” Crossing your legs, you accidentally brushed his by doing so. “I don’t know, really. It’s just that this case follows me everywhere. You’ve probably heard about the Killer Queen, she’s always in my head. I even dream about her, almost every fucking night. I don’t even know what she looks like, yet she won’t leave me alone!” He grabbed your hands in his much larger ones, squeezing them lightly. “I’m obsessed, Koya! Obsessed! She ruins my mind without even knowing it.” You just laughed it off before placing one hand on his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe someone should take you home, officer.”

Taehyung shudders under your touch, sighing. “Maybe, yes. But my hyung’s home and I don’t want him to worry about yet another mysterious case. I’ll just stay here and-” “Or you’re coming home with me? I know how to take care of a lonely man, c’mon, pretty boy.” You held out your hand for him to take and once he reached out for you, you pulled him out of the bar.

“You’ve never told me your name, officer. How should I call you, once you’re balls deep inside me?”, you were leaning over to Taehyung who already seemed a little tipsy. He turned his head in surprise, watching you carefully. “Tae… Taehyung.” “Alright then, Taehyung. Let’s take you home and I’ll take good care of you.”

Once you headed back to your apartment, you drag him into your bedroom, pressing your lips to his delicate neck and started to suck around his jawline, pressing kisses to his adams apple. You hadn’t even started - yet he was a moaning mess under your touch. In one swift motion, Taehyung grabs your chin, forcing his lips onto yours and kisses you roughly. You know you just won. Taehyung is yours for the night, all your wet dreams will be coming true and you almost forget what you had to do to get him into this position.

Taehyung’s hands hungrily roam your body, grabbing your ass and giving it a light slap that causes you to jump. “Who do you think is the one in charge here, babe?”, you bite his earlobe softly, pulling on the dangling earring while slipping your hand down his tight pants. Taehyung moans, head thrown back in pleasure. Giggling, you grab his aching cock through his underwear. “You’re right, it’s me. I’m the one that will make you feel good, that will make you come. You’ll do what I say, understand, darling? Be a good boy for me.”

Taehyung laughs and shakes his head with a wide grin before throwing you onto your bed. The bounce almost presses the air out of your lungs and you can’t help the huff that leaves your lips. “Nah, love, I don’t think so.” Taehyung’s lips find your sweet spot way too easily, his tongue tickling the skin of your neck. You groan, trying to push him off, but his hands slip around your wrists to pin them above your head, his beautiful teeth smirking down at you. Once his mouth is right next to your ear, he huskily whispers.

“Remember that I’m a police officer and domination is my job. Don’t you think you could change that. Mhh, you’re lucky I don’t have my cuffs with me, angel. Now, what does a pretty girl like you do in a bar? Drinking pretty drinks alone? Don’t fool me, Koya. You’ve been waiting for me, yet, I’ve never seen that angelic face of yours. Who are you, mysterious girl?”

His fingertips slowly trail down your cleavage before he dips them in between your breasts. You try your best to hold back any moans, but you can’t help the whimpers falling past your lips as you breathlessly answer. “I already told you who I am.” Even though you’ve alway been the dominant part in any of your sexual relationships, you can’t help but submit to Taehyung. It’s like you’ve been waiting for years to find the right one to show you where your limits are. And you’re desperate to know.

“You’re not just the girl in the bar. You’re not just Koya. Tell me, what do you do? How do you know me?” Taehyung bites the soft skin behind your ear, fingers trailing down you legs, not caring to remove the heels that made them look so much more elegant. Sitting up, he looks down at you, trying to mesmerize your face. Those bright red curls, framing your head in contrast to your pale skin. Those green eyes, full of lust and admiration. Those lips, tainted by a knowing smirk. Your voice as you whisper your answer. “I’ll tell you once we’re done, as long as you’re being a good boy.”

Taehyung huffs, his lips leaving a wet trail right above your stockings. “Then I’m not going to touch you unless you beg for it, love. And your lips already made me wonder what the rest of you might taste like. Now c’mon, hurry up. Tell me who you are.” He ruffles your dress up to your stomach, your emerald lace thong now fully exposed to his starving eyes. “God, you’re a queen”, he lets out a shaky breath, growing even harder by just looking at you.

You giggle, whispering a soft “little do you know” before pulling that dress off your body. Then, you point at his shirt, raising an eyebrow. “That needs to be off, I want to see how trained officers really are.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow as well before a cheeky smirk replaces his expression. “Mh, your smug tongue has to go, princess.” With that, Taehyung lifts his shirt over his head before stuffing it right into your mouth, smearing lipstick all over the fabric and your chin. “Sad enough that you can’t beg like this. Look at you, all dripping wet for me even though I didn’t even start yet.”

His fingers quickly pull on the expensive fabric of your thong, roughly ripping it in half, leaving the shreds wherever they landed before dipping one finger between your folds. “Mh, isn’t it sad that you don’t want to talk to me? Instead you’ll just have to lay here, watching me and enjoying the show, not getting any of it. You could’ve gotten my tongue, my fingers, my cock. Poor you.” Taehyung stands up, opens his jeans and pulls them and his boxers down his toned legs. His knees dip down besides your legs again, but this time his hands don’t explore your body. Instead, Taehyung roams his own chest, contours the abs that you want to lick so badly. His left hands reaches down to grab and massage his balls while he takes the right thumb between his soft lips, sucking on it slowly. “Mh, I’m still tasting you, Koya. Wish I could taste more of you, so delicious”, he hums with closed eyes.

Thumb still in his mouth, Taehyung grabs his cock and starts to glide his hand up and down, not being able to hold in the growl that leaves his chest. You try to sneak one hand between your legs, wanting to find at least a tiny bit of friction, but Taehyung wasn’t having it, slapping your hand away while flicking his index finger against your clit. He stops pleasuring himself for a second to pull his shirt out of your mouth. Are you still sure that you don’t want to tell me who you are? C’mon, angel, be nice. How. Do. You. Know. Me?”

You just roll your eyes, bored of his little games as you chew on your bottom lip, guiding two of your fingers in front of your mouth to spit on them. Saliva was running down your chin as you moisten your nipples and pinch them slowly. “I can play that game too, Tae.”

You move your fingers down your stomach, closer to the wet heat that throbs between your legs, circling your clit quickly before plunging two fingers into your cunt. “And I love playing games. If you don’t want to touch me, no problem. I can do it all by myself, just keep watching.” Your fingers move faster and faster while the other hand massages your breast. You know you’ll be close soon, this entire day has been riling you up enough already. Taehyung seems to notice too, pressing one hand onto your stomach to press it down, leaning over your pussy as he opens his mouth with a knowing smirk. Your eyes widen, not being able to hold back anymore as you come with a loud scream, messy and all over the bed - and Taehyung’s face.

Looking down at Taehyung, your eyes widen as you see him trying to catch every drop with his tongue before swallowing down all you gave him. “Oh angel, look what you’ve done.” His thumb starts to rub over your sensitive clit again. “You’re such a bad girl, if I was on duty I would’ve probably gotten you arrested for your behavior, Killer Queen.”

Your smirk vanishes as you watch him with nervous eyes.

“What are you doing now, hm? You can’t run, you can’t hide. It was stupid to think I wouldn’t know, wouldn’t figure it out. Leaving a piece of cake, just for me, huh? I wish I could shove it down your pretty throat and leave you choking on it, love. I despise you. You’ve ruined so much for me. And now, killing someone just to get me to fuck you? You’re so pathetic. But I’ll take your wish for granted, slut.”

With that, he turns you around quickly, pulling you up on your fours before slapping your ass in such a pace that you couldn’t even count how many times Taehyung ended up spanking you. Then, without any warning, he slips right into you. Stretching you out so painfully, but oh so good. “You like that, bitch? Getting fucked by someone you’ve been running away from so long? Is that your game? Just to get my attention? You’re so pitiful.” Something wet lands between your shoulders, running down your spine to pool in the curve over your ass. Taehyung just spat on you. And you loved it. “I’m sure you want to feel like the guy you killed? Want to feel every little bit of oxygen leaving your body?” He whispers against the shell of your ear as he grabs your throat in his large hand. “Yes, Taehyung, fuck. Yes. Yes!”

You’re a moaning mess under his touch, obviously enjoying his roughness and dirty talk. “I’ve been watching you for so long, Taehyung. Always been there when you arrived at the crime scenes. I loved watching you getting angry, but also flustered at my remains. You never knew what I looked like, but you always wanted me. Don’t flatter yourself, Tae. You’re just as pathetic as I am. And-”, you let out more and more moans, nearly screaming as Taehyung pounds into you faster now.

“Shut up! I can get you arrested at any time now that I know what you look like. I could never forget those tits”, he roughly grabs them with his free hand, “or this sinful mouth”, he turns your face to spit directly in between your gasping lips, “and you know that. You’re mine now, Koya. Mine.”

With that, he pushes into you one last time, feeling your walls clenching merciless around him, your wetness trailing down both your thighs. “Turn around”, Taehyung demands as he waits for you to face him, not hesitating to shove his cock between your lips and down your throat. You swallow him down like the good girl you are, playing with his balls and looking up at him through teary eyes. His gaze was rough, not a tiny bit of affection was written in his eyes as a growl escapes his mouth, sweat dripping down his forehead onto his chest.

He pulls out just before reaching his orgasm, just to paint your face with his cum. After one last moan, he sits back down, still looking at you. “What am I supposed to do with you, Koya? You fucking killed someone, I couldn’t let you go, even if I wanted to. I must call my team. They’ll be here about twenty minutes after I’m gone, maybe even less. Be smart, Koya.”

Taehyung sighs while getting dressed, looking over just to see you lightning a cigarette without any rush. He shakes his head. “They will kill you, you know that? You’re a criminal. That’s your chance to run and never come back. Now that you’ve had me, nothing holds you here anymore. Be fucking smart!”

You just laugh it off, wiping the remains of his cum from your lips as you exhaled the toxic smoke. “And where would be the fun in that, Tae? C’mon, get them boys. Try to catch me.”

Frustration overcomes Taehyung as he grabs your cheeks. “I’m trying to help you, Koya. Run!” He presses his lips onto yours one last time before heading out the door. The last thing he heard was a faint “See you soon, Taehyung. Same place, same time? Maybe I will kidnap your little Jeonggukkie that time?” before he made his way towards the police station to report your address.

All he could do was hoping that you were long gone before the squad enters your home. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a single chance to see you ever again.

#secretbunny #kim taehyung #yongcherie #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #vantaenet #maknaesmutsociety #magicshopnet #bts smut #kim taehyung smut #taehyung smut #maknae smut #easter #jeonggukkiepabo #masterlist

286 notes · View notes