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jedi-lothwolf · 2 months

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Whump: The Musical Day 7: The Last Five Years (I will not lose because you can not win.")

Fandom: The Batch Batch

Warning: Cannon typical violence

Summary: When Hemlock invades Pabu, the batch has to fight for their lives as well as the lives of the citizens of the peaceful Island.

Ao3 link

Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. When Hunter had woken up, he was dragged down to the beach by Omega and Deke. They wanted to show him that they had learned how to surf. Even if he wouldn't admit it, Hunter was proud of the clones for learning how to be children.

Wrecker had forced Crosshair down to the beach as well. The warm sand and pleasant smell should help him to relax the man thought. So the three brothers sat on a red towel and started to talk. It wasn't much, but it was somewhere to start.

Mox and Stak joined them shortly and started to work on a sand castle. Some clouds covered the sunny sky. But when Hunter looked up, they weren't clouds. Imperial vessels blocked the sun.

This couldn't be happening. Pabu was supposed to be safe. It wasn't meant for invasions. So many of the people spent too long running just to have to up their whole lives again. Hunter looked back down.

Looking at Crosshair, he spoke. "Get Omega and the boys to the ship. Be ready to leave. Call Echo and tell him we need help, immediately."

In truth, Hunter knew why he chose Crosshair. With his hand, even if he hadn't told them yet, he knew that he'd be the one whose help they need the least. Now if he could still hit any mark, that could have been a different story.

But there was more to that. Wrecker had a history with Pabu. He would protect it fiercely. The island was his home, the people were his family.

As Deke rode a wave in, Hunter stood. The father ran out to two of his youngest that were in the water. "Go over to Crosshair" he told them. They nodded before Hunter went to Mox and Stak and pulled them up from the sand.

"What's going on?" Mox asked. Nervousness was written all over his face.

"The empire-"

"We could tell" Stak interrupted.

"Go with your siblings." It was the first time he had outright called their siblings to their faces. If it had been any other time, Hunter would have said more. For now, it would have to wait."

As Hunter walked the other two over with the rest of the group, Omega started to talk. "We can help!"

"I know, but it's you they want and the boys haven't finished their training. It's safer this way."

"And someone needs to watch Cross." Wrecker tried to add some humor to the situation.

Phee joined them on the beach, knowing that it was Clone Force 99 who had unfortunately brought the Empire to Pabu. Hunter walked over to her before she met the rest of the group. "Make sure Omega gets out of here. They want her and we wouldn't let her get taken again."

"Okay." She looked past the Sargent, "come on kids, let's get you to safety!"

Sighing, Crosshair grabbed Omega and picked her up. "Come on."

"Put me down!" Omega fought Crosshair all the way up the beach.

"Now what?" Wrecker asked.

"We fight."

At the Mauradur, Crosshair was quick to make the decision to leave. Batcher awoke from her nap and laid with Omega to help keep her calm. The boys mostly sat with her or talked to Crosshair as they left the atmosphere and headed to Coruscant to meet with Echo.

As the days passed, the battle of Pabu seemed to be more and more helpless. Civilians were dying, some who had fought and some who had not.

When the bad batch had settled on Pabu, they taught Shep how to shoot. The mayor had agreed to ease their minds, never thinking he would need to use this new skill. Unfortunately it was only a matter of time. Lyana stayed near her father when she could. Mostly she was hidden with other children.

When the invasion began, Hunter had suddenly become a Sargent again. It had been a long time since he played that role. Civilians who had fought in wars, civil or intergalactical, had taken up their old military rank. It was strange.

The invasion had lasted days. Hemlock wouldn't give up until he found Omega, unaware she had been taken off world. Pabu was being torn apart, lives crumbled to the ground and while some knew why the empire had attacked, most didn't. For the people who did, they couldn't and wouldn't be mad at Clone Force 99 for trying to live peaceful lives and for trying to protect their daughter and little girl.

It had been four days into the fighting when Hemlock showed his face. When Hunter met Hemlock for the second time, injured and tired, he knew meeting the scientist twice was three times too many.

"Hello CT-9901, or should I say Hunter?" Hemlock spoke.

Startled and out of breath, Hunter didn't answer. It had been so long since he heard his CT number, he had almost forgotten it. Still, he knew the malice behind it.

"This can all end, just give me the girl."

"Never." Hunter moved behind a counter. He sank to the floor for a moment.

"I figured as much. I truly am impressed that you are capable of forming such a bond with her. A parental role appears to come so easily to you."

The words made Hunter's skin crawl. Why would he be unable to form a bond with her? Omega was his daughter, nothing could change that. Was it because he was a clone? Was that why he was deemed unable to love a child, to have children he felt were his own?

"The safest option for your men and the civilians of this island, is to stop the fighting. You cannot win this battle, Sargent."

"I will not lose because you can not win."

Silents filled the room. They stood in a ruined kitchen. The checkered floors were stained with blood and glass. The cabinets had been torn open by both the empire and the citizens of Pabu. They needed food and they needed wood. The empire hadn't taken their time to bring out flame throwers to scorch the island and its people.

"You, won't win this." Hunter reinforced the idea. "You can't. I won't let you. " Pulling his knife from its sheath, he tried to find a clear shot at Hemlock.

The scientist couldn't win. In the end, he would round up every single citizen and kill them off. With Wrecker taking part in the fight, he needed his to be okay. With everything Tech had sacrificed to save them, they couldn't die here. Crosshair and his kids would be alone. It hurt knowing that Omega would blame herself for the slaughter of the people of Pabu. Echo would wish he arrived earlier and would blame himself for not being there to save them.

They needed saving. They couldn't do it alone. The Sargent only had one shot at killing Hemlock. Blood pooled under Hunter from his injuries. With broken ribs, multiple deep lacerations on his legs as well as his arms and one close to his neck, a few broken toes, and a large amount of bruising, the man was unsure how he had stayed alive this long. He could feel blood on the side of his face but he wasn't sure if it came from his left ear (since he couldn't hear from it) or from his head.

The vibro-knife shook in his hand. It almost felt foreign. Standing slowly, yet staying out of view, Hunter grabbed a piece of glass from behind the mahogany counter. Looking at it for a moment, he sighed. They couldn't afford to lose. Not anymore. Losing meant dying and for the first time in so long, Hunter had something to live for. His brothers and children and family he had made on Padu and his pets (Gonky included) all meant the world to him. No one else needed to die.

However, If he had to give all of that up to save them, to win the battle of Pabu, the battle for his family, he would.

Throwing the glass, Hunter hoped that it would distract Hemlock and his guards. When it did, the man stood fully and threw his knife. As soon as he saw it plunge deep into his skull, he felt a weight be lifted off of his chest. The weight was replaced with a bullet.

The tile cracked when he fell. There wasn't much Hunter could think about. The sound of ships overhead relieved Hunter. It had to be Echo. If not, the empire would take the island in a matter of hours.

Hunter's entire body hurt. The warm feeling of blood tangled with his hair. The glass had cut any exposed skin. The guards grabbed Hemlock's body and went to leave. Hunter listened to the footsteps as they faded. His mind was so foggy that evening and nothing made his sense. But Hemlock was dead. If that was Echo, which it had to be, Pabu would rebuild. The coppery smell of blood filled Hunter's nose.

Dying, Hunter tried to reach for his comm. Hitting it, the world started to fade. His hand rested on the communication device long enough for Echo to notice the soft noise of fire and gunshots that played over his headset. Then his hand slipped off the button and the comm channel went silent.

The man had never expected to wake up again. But when he saw a white roof, he knew something was different. Everything hurt too damn much for him to be dead. There was a steady, high pitched beeping that hurt his ears; or at least the one he could still hear out of.

Had they won? Was everyone safe? Where was his family, his kids?

"Hunter!" Omega yelled, answering one of his questions. "He's awake" she shook Echo awake.

"Hunter?" Echo grounded as he sat up. Then he pinched himself.

"You actually woke up." Crosshair stood up. "It's been a week."

"Leave him alone. He needed his beauty rest" Wrecker joked. The boys and Batcher sat in the corner of the room, still half asleep.

"Is everyone, okay?" Hunter finally said, struggling to speak.

"We're okay."

"Pa-Pabu."

"In shambles. We were about to leave to help with the rebuilding and attend a few funerals. We'll send you regards. They people were rooting for you." Echo told him.

"We're lucky you came in when you did. You saved us." Nudging Echo, Wrecker walked over to wake up the boys.

"Where-"

"Alderaan. Rex has some allies here. We couldn't help you on our own, the damage done to you, it was too extensive." Walking beside Hunter, Echo stood next to him.

"Dad!" Deke yelled, excited. He ran over to him and just about toppled Echo.

"You're actually alive" Stak added.

"Hey." Mox was the last to stand as he was trying to not disturb Batcher.

Hemlock's words about his parental instincts ran through Hunter's head. However, that didn't matter. He was their father. Just because he was a clone didn't mean he didn't form bonds with people he cared dearly for.

"We can stay for a little but Hunter needs to rest, we need to get back to Pabu." Walking to the door, Echo went to tell the nurses that Hunter had woken up.

Omega clung to Hunter's arm, determined to never let go. Crosshair and Wrecker sat at the end of the bed. Wrecker looked rough but that was to be expected.

"Tell me everything later" the Sargent whispered.

"We will." After a few hours, Echo decided it was time to go. Omega and Batcher stayed with Hunter while the rest left for Pabu. Knowing that Hemlock couldn't hurt her, made breathing just a little bit easier. So did knowing that most everyone he cared about was safe; though by now someone would have told him if Phee, Shep, or Lyana had died.

Everything would be okay. It had to be. Now that Hemlock was out of the way, maybe the batch could live a peaceful life. Even if Hunter knew they would end up in the fight, it was a nice thought. But the clone knew his place was fighting for peace. After all, if he wanted Omega and his boys to be safe, he needed to make a safer galaxy. And that was okay with him. If he needed to fight he would. For his children.

@whumpthemusical

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gsstories · 1 month

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First Kunoichi: Origins

Alright, it is 5 am where I am, I cannot sleep and seeing my moot @fernnshxj draw Joan so beautifully with their oc Miori gave me inspiration to tell Joan’s origins, let’s begin! (Btw, I took some liberties and added some stuff of another fandom cause it was pretty interesting-)

Okay, starting off, Joan is not originally from Japan. She is actually from Sweden!

As I stated before, she was the middle of three sisters and they all practiced witchcraft, which wasn’t uncommon in Sweden (and is still practiced nowadays, just not as much I think) All three specialized in in different magical aspects: the eldest, spirits and souls; the middle, magical artifacts and weapons; and the youngest, potions and spells. The eldest was the brains of the group, the leader, the one to come up with a plan against enemies, the mastermind basically. The youngest was the heart, the healer, the one who would help anyone out if they needed it, the sweetest of the three. And lastly Joan, the middle child, she was the body of the trio, the tank, the shield, the most physically strongest one compared to her sisters. They all really loved each other despite their differences in personalities.

They all created the Kunoichi mask and Codex so that each of them could use each other’s abilities without any hindrances and to document every creature they came across. Unfortunately, not soon after creating them, they had been ambushed by those who called themselves ‘The Bishops of the Apocalypse’. War, Pestilence, Famine, Chaos, Death, they all attacked the sisters, who had little to no weapons to defend themselves at the moment aside from the mask. The battle was brutal and long but the sisters won… well, Joan won. The youngest died at the hands of Chaos after taking out Pestilence and Famine, the scene making Joan cry out to her and attack Chaos, who was the one responsible in leaving that nasty scar on her face. After dealing with it, she saw her eldest sister fighting War and then… gods, she wishes she didn’t see. She saw how her sister summoned a weapon, a large sword that soon penetrated through her own heart and War’s, ichor and blood oozing from their wounds. Horrified, now it was Joan against Death, the most dangerous and sadistic of the Bishops. Joan knew she couldn’t win against them like that… so she put on the Kunoichi mask. Without holding back, she slashed, stabbed and ripped Death apart, tears of rage in her eyes after the demise of her sisters. Ichor stained her sharp heels once Death has fallen, a wide grin on their face before inevitably dying. Panting, Joan- First Kunoichi- fell to her knees and started crying, screaming her heart out. Days passed, and she made graves for her dearest sisters, grieving them for weeks, months even after taking sail across the land, scattering the Bishops’ crowns so they could never be found again.

From three to two then to one in less than a second. How awful is that, to lose the only family you have to the worst villains you have ever faced? Truly, this was the tragic beginning for the First Kunoichi.

Before meeting the Ninja, Funo (First Kunoichi) took it upon herself to become a traveling warrior, taking out any beast she came across that she deemed a threat. She never took off her mask, for it was the only thing that brought her comfort, the last thing made by her and her sisters. She was afraid to put her guard down so she became cold, snappy and paranoid at everything and everyone. Except the children. Never the children…

She often reminisced at the idea of a family. Her family. Her sisters had wanted to find love, to have children of their own, they spoke quite a bit about it. Joan thought, that was not the life for her. She never understood love or saw the greatness of having a child but still, she had supported her sisters til the very end. Now she does her best to not scare any of the children, for they remind her of the future her sisters had wanted but would never get.

Funo traveled far and wide, slaying beasts of old across the lands. She never gave much thought to it until she came across a beast… one who was just a child. She was conflicted, she had sworn to kill any beast she encountered but also promised to never harm a child. The child beast was already dying, she realized, and they asked one thing: to help her see the ‘shower of lights’. Funo was… confused but regardless helped the child. Getting to a cliff with a nice view in the middle of the night, she put the child beast there, who sat next to her as the show started. A meteor shower. The child was in total awe at the sight as Funo stared. This child was a beast and yet it was so innocent… Just how many did she slay that were truly innocent? Just how many did she brought to their demise when they only wanted to live a peaceful life?

Her train of thought was interrupted when the child hugged her, sobbing softly before saying:

“Thank you…”

The child passed away in her arms…

…

Since that day, Funo did more traveling than slaying. Meeting people from other cultures while fighting the occasional bandit and such. She learned a lot and so she wrote everything in the Codex, for some of that information came in handy at times. When traveling, she met the one who became her new nemesis: the Sorceress.

For a long time, these two were at each other’s throats, looking to tear each other apart until that one fateful day they met their respective soulmates. The Sorceress met the Sorcerer, who brought chaos and destruction as she did. Frankly, now more of a pain in the ass for Funo but she had to deal with them. That is when she met him. The First Ninja. A skilled, intelligent yet kind of stubborn man who banished the Sorceress to the Realm of Shadows. Their actual first meeting was her having a knife to his throat because he got a tad bit too close to her. Reflexes by now.

The two didn’t exactly like each other, at all! They argued, fought, and treated each other like a nuisance than an actual danger. It took a while but Finja saw her around and she was never, and I mean NEVER without her mask and so he asked about it once. Funo stated “The last time I let my guard down, those I love died and I couldn’t do anything. I’m not letting it happen again.” She was afraid that if anyone she got close to got hurt, she would have failed her mission. She didn’t want that, she wanted them safe. So far though, she never stayed long enough to make meaningful bonds with people so there was really no one close to protect. Aside from Finja but does he really count? (Yes girl)

It took quite a few months, but Finja was able to break the walls Funo had built over the years to protect herself. The first time she took off her mask, she felt very vulnerable and was always on edge, even around Finja- Or, well, Yoshi without the mask (Yes, we called him Yoshi lol-). She still had some trust issues, she slept with a knife. Over time though, she started trusting Yoshi, little by little, and eventually she started feeling SOMETHING towards him. She was confused when her heart started racing when she saw him or how her face turned red when she saw him train.

Like “Dammit heart, what is your deal?!” kind of thing.

Yoshi was experiencing a similar situation but he was probably dealing with it in a more calm fashion. The two sparred together often, either with weapons, using magic or hand to hand combat. In less battle centered settings, they were pretty calm towards each other now, friendly even.

You see what I am going for, they fell in love! It was Yoshi who confessed his love for Joan first and she, well, she blue screened at that before becoming a mess of stutters and trying to come up with words and when they didn’t come out, she punched a wall. Her hand had to be healed.

At the beginning of the relationship, it was pretty much the same as before the relationship. The two… did not know how a couple was supposed to act. PDA was not a big yes for them, they liked to keep that private, a bit of hand holding at times but other than that, nothing more. Yoshi ended up learning more from Joan once a bit of time passed. She told him about her origins, her sisters, their goal, the Bishops… everything. She broke down as she told Yoshi, who brought her into his arms and cried in his chest. This was the most vulnerable Joan has been in years. She cried so hard, she got a headache. Her started calling her ‘Moonflower’ when once stating she liked them and it just stuck.

After a near death experience with one of the Sorcerer’s monsters, Finja did the one thing Funo thought would never happen: he proposed to her. He said “If I am to leave this world soon, I wish it happens knowing I had someone worth it all in the end.” Funo was a blushing mess as she chuckled and said “You’re a fool…”. She accepted and so the term of endearment ‘my fool’ became a thing.

…

After the Sorcerer’s defeat, Joan started feeling ill. She couldn’t fight for as long as she used to, her head hurt, her body burned, just everything started going wrong. Yoshi wanted to do something to help her out but Joan didn’t want him to leave. Every day, she kept getting worse and worse and Yoshi feared for the worst. Joan had accepted it and only wished for Yoshi to hold her when she took her last breath. He did as she wished. He cried and cried as he felt her heart beat no more.

Her grave was made near their home once upon a time, Yoshi visiting it often even after learning The Ultimate Lesson. He doesn’t remember how he met this woman but he knew she meant a lot to him. His dear, his beloved, the ying to his yang…

And most importantly, his Moonflower…

#oc #au #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #rc9gn first kuno #rc9gn finja #rc9gn first ninja #rc9gn au #my art

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epicsteddieficrecs · 1 year

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Epic Steddie Fic Rec (February 5th-March 5th 2023)

Damn, has it already been a month? Time flies! I've had a few busy weekends, I've been away from home for a few of them, so that's why the momentary absence. I hope you enjoy this!

I just want to take a moment to mention that I'm selling some "fandom" bookmarks that I've made! If you like the Avengers, Captain Marvel, The Madalorian, Baby Yoda, or Star Wars, I have some fabrics for you! You can find the info here!

Complete

🖤 it's brutal out here by ithinkicouldloveher (Modern AU, Teacher Steve, Soulmates | 16K | Explicit): or, steve harrington hasn’t yet found his soulmate, but between his best girl eleven jane, the whirlwind that is robin buckley, and a wily group of third graders, he’s got plenty enough on his plate. that is, until another single father by the name of eddie munson stumbles into (the wrong) class.

In Cabin D by blueeyesandpie (Post-S4, Trans Male Eddie, Cabin fic | 6K | Explicit): Steve and Eddie take the party camping...and end up with a cabin to themselves. They've been together a while, but this is their first chance to do anything; they take full advantage.

sun down, you’re up by tkhwh (PWP, Trans Male Eddie | 1,6K | Explicit): Eddie wakes up with Steve plastered against his back while he’s still inside of him after a long, long night. Looks like he has a long, long morning ahead of him too.

All Day Event by Lynn1998 (PWP, Trans Male Eddie | 7K | Explicit): Steve and Eddie are meeting up with Robin and Nancy at the fair. It’s impossible for them to go anywhere without putting their hands on each other.

🖤 we can love each other (i've been told it's okay) by deadratz (Post-S4, Friends to Lovers | 15K | Explicit): Eddie has wondered for a while if Steve knows what kind of signals he sends. He’s wondered if Steve realizes what kinds of things he implies while talking about his failed dates. Eddie ignores it because that’s safer than addressing it. Until it’s clear ignoring it isn’t doing anyone any favors. (Alternatively: Is it gay to sit in your boy best friend's lap while you talk about how bored you are with heterosexual sex? Depends on who you ask.)

Reach Out by VenusDoom3 (No Upside Down AU, Canon Divergent, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): “I didn’t know how much I’d miss you until you were gone. Right before you left, I kinda… figured some things out about myself, but I didn’t know if you’d… but I missed my chance to find out.” Without knowing he intended to speak, Eddie opened his mouth, vaguely surprised at the dusty rasp of his voice. “You didn’t know if I’d what?” “Y’know.” His face flushing even more deeply red, Steve smiled awkwardly. “Be interested.”

"You ever been in love?" by HairMetal666/ @hairmetal666 (Canon Divergent, Post-S2 | 12K | Teen): It's fall 1984 and Eddie starts passing notes with an anonymous classmate. It changes his life

🖤pulling your strings by Thorinoakentwig/ @thorinoakentwig (Time Loop AU | 14K | Teen): He wakes up to the melody of Kate Bush and the sound of Dustin and Lucas arguing about what sounds like who would win in a fight between Batman and Superman. It’s like ice water dripping down his spine and Steve jerks up wide eyed and horrified as the kids look over at him in confusion. (Or: Steve lives the same day over and over again trying to save his friends)

Let's Be More Than Strangers by DrowningByDegrees/ @drowningbydegrees (Canon Divergent, Season 3, Fake Relationship | 19K | Teen): It’s meant to be a one-off favor to Robin, Eddie passing himself off as her boyfriend. Robin gets to hang onto the secret of why she never so much as bats an eyelash at the guys who come into Scoops Ahoy. Eddie gets more ice cream than he knows what to do with and the opportunity to pull one over on the former King of Hawkins High. Unfortunately, it all works just a little too well, and Eddie finds himself continuing to come back. Before any of them know it, Eddie is annoyed to find he’s pining over a straight boy, Steve is drowning in guilt as he falls just a little bit in love with his friend’s boyfriend, and Robin would really like them to figure out their nonsense before she dies of secondhand embarrassment.

🖤 Ahoy, Big Boy by ChronicRabbit/ @chronicrabbit (Canon Divergent, Season 3 | 80K | Explicit): Scoops Ahoy. America’s favorite place to cool down, and quite possibly the lamest summer job under the blazing Indiana sun. Especially if you were former High School royalty, brutally rejected by each and every university you’d applied to and promptly cut off by your shitty parents in an effort to teach: “some goddamned responsibility.” Between accidentally intercepted secret Russian communications, a meddling preteen matchmaker with no collarbones, and increased proximity with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, a measly $3 an hour plus tips is nowhere near enough to deal.

WIP

Burning Love by FluffyChicken (Modern AU, Firefighter Steve | 9/12 | 39K | Explicit): Firefighter Steve Harrington meets one Eddie Munson and their lives change forever.

🖤 better by you, better than me by palmviolet/ @palmviolet (Canon Divergent, Season 1-2 | 20/? | 106K | Mature | Warning: Violence): November 1983. Between unpaid bills, the supposedly straight jock he’s seeing, and letters from his convict dad, seventeen year old Eddie Munson’s got enough to worry about. But when Will Byers goes missing, it sparks a chain of events that will show there are more depths to Hawkins — and to certain people in it, like infamous Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington — than he realizes. / or, the excessively long slow-burn in which Eddie is involved in the Upside Down from the very beginning.

🖤 here be dragons by pukner/ @pukner (Canon Divergent, Autistic Steve & Eddie | 3/? | 19K | Explicit): Eddie Munson has kissed a boy, and now he has to handle the fallout. He’s got to grapple with the fact that he likes boys, likes a boy, and the harrowing fact that he may have inadvertently broken said boy’s heart. (Part 3 of off-script)

Reboot by plutosrose/ @plutosrose (Modern AU, Actor Steve & Eddie | 3/10 | 10K | Explicit): In 2012, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson film a scene in the teen drama Normal Stuff that launches a popular ship on ao3. By early 2013, they aren’t speaking anymore. In 2024, Robin calls Steve with an offer to reprise his role as Andy Hartley in a reboot of their old show, with one important update–his character gets together with Eddie’s.

🖤 Steve Harrington’s Radical Fun Time Babysitting Service by Humanities_Handbag/ @humanityinahandbag, Invader_Sam (No Upside Down AU, 90’s | 23/? | 88K | Mature): Alternatively: Steve accidentally starts a babysitting service, falls in love, panics [in bisexual], and gets himself a boyfriend. (Part 1 of 90’s Music Store AU)

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic rec #epic steddie fic rec

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no6secretsanta · 4 months

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The one who is wise in mind sits apart in meditation

To/giftee: @aowyn

From/URL: @whims-of-insane-fandoms

Happy Holidays!

Dear aowyn,

I hope that I met some of the prompt for your Secret Santa assignment! Unfortunately, I got sick after finishing this fic so I couldn’t edit it so excuse any bad grammatical errors. Barring that, I loved doing this and this also challenged me to do a pov that is not Nezumi or Shion’s. I have never written a Safu pov so thank you for allowing me to do so and especially in a Safu lives AU (mostly based on the manga). I didn’t get to do everything from the prompt, but I hope that the narrative was enjoyable for you.

I think Safu and Nezumi can become best friends in due time and I’d like to believe Nezumi doesn’t really leave in this au. Safu and Shion are platonic soulmates and Nezumi and Shion are romantic soulmates. The three of them bond with their love that was strained thanks to No. 6’s actions but they’re the winners. Safu, Shion and Nezumi win in this au.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

-whims

Safu had become used to staring aimlessly up at the ceiling, arms and legs outstretched in the bed. It had become a strange habit of her to lay in bed like this, but the habit had been unbroken for two weeks. She had become used to the freedom of being able to move her limbs, to not have her limbs strapped down in the operating table or to have her conscience exist outside of her own body. The softness and warmth of her bed was always a grounding reminder that she wasn’t in that dreadful and cold correctional facility and her nightmares of that place could only harm her mind rather than her body.

Surprisingly, she had woken up today without a scream being ripped from her throat due to the memory of those dark days. The less she thought about those painful memories, the foggier they became. It was helpful that she had become preoccupied with other thoughts and memories.

Safu slowly eased her way to the edge of the bed where her wheelchair was waiting for her. The reminder of her current condition made her want to curl up in bed and stay there. However, she refused to do that. She was lucky and grateful to be alive.

She was lucky to have a working body at all, was lucky that Elyurias had taken pity for her plight and had preserved her body and conscious after the destruction of the correctional facility. Science deemed her resurrection impossible and Safu still thought it was impossible. She was dead, her brain ripped out of her body with no way of being a human again.

Shion and Karan called her resurrection a miracle.

She could still remember the moment she had awoken in a hospital bed, wondering if the afterlife really was real, and felt a warm hand on hers. She remembered turning her head to see Shion asleep holding her hand, a blanket covering his shoulders. There had been fresh tears on his eyes, and, for a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

This is no dream, a voice inside her head had told her, think of this as my gift to you to truly make you happy.

When Shion had woken up, it had been to the embarrassing sight of her crying, thanking Elyurias for letting her have this chance to live, to see Shion again, to let her live alongside Shion and for truly making her feel satisfied.

Safu got on the wheelchair with no trouble this time. She’d become particularly good at maneuvering her way through it after so long being wheelchair bound. Despite Elyurias saving her life and reuniting her with her body, the goddess could not completely negate the effects of her brain being outside her body for a long period of time. Her body needed time to relearn things she had taken for granted before, like walking or running or easily curling her toes. Until she fully recovered, she would have to use a wheelchair indefinitely.

It didn’t matter to Safu how long she had to use the wheelchair for.

All that mattered is that she was still alive.

Safu wheeled her way to the door, opening it and wheeling out to the hallway. It was still early in the morning, so she wondered if Shion was awake yet. Recently, he woke up much later than normal, staying in bed until he couldn’t anymore. A traitorous and green-faced side of her reminded her that he had a very human-shaped reason to stay curled up in bed, but she ignored that thought and headed to the kitchen.

“Safu, you’re up early!”

Safu was startled to see Karan, Shion’s mother, already awake and finishing a batch of bread for her bakery. Her hair was up in a high ponytail and Safu noticed it had gotten slightly longer. She had some flour in her apron and she was smiling brightly.

Safu was grateful to see Karan. Ever since she had been found in the ruins of the correctional facility, there had been talk about where she would go after being discharged. Her old home had been already sold and she had no other living family. However, it was Karan that had shut down all conversations and demanded that Safu come live with her and Shion. Karan had been the one that had advocated for her by talking with the doctors on her behalf. Karan had done so much for her when Shion had to deal with issues regarding the dissolution of No. 6 and West Block and other outdated things No. 6 had.

It was Karan that was by Safu’s side almost every day since she awoke when Shion had to deal with other matters. Karan was the one that always attended her visits with the doctor as they checked on her progress. Karan was the one that helped her bathe in the first days, before Safu could properly move her arms.

In these two weeks, Karan had become Safu’s closest friend.

Safu smiled, “Good morning, ma’am, I thought you’d still be in bed.”

“I couldn’t stay asleep any time longer and decided to get a head start. Do you want some bread? Fresh off the oven.”

“Yes, please.”

Karan set down a plate of food and Safu noticed there was another plate and a mug with steam rising from it. With a start, Safu realized someone else was awake and, based on the smell of coffee, it was the one person she still had a hard time understanding.

“Morning.”

Nezumi strolled in from another part of the house, nibbling one of Karan’s breads. His hair was down, an unusual thing to see from him since Safu had mostly seen him with his hair up, and he was wearing some of Shion’s clothes. She remembered that Shion had told her that his clothes were dirty and had to be washed.

There it was again, that pit on the bottom of her stomach that made her feel green. Safu recognized it easily, she wasn’t oblivious to her feelings. She was jealous of Nezumi. She buried those feelings away, but they always found a way to creep back without her wanting them to come back.

She’d wondered a lot who Shion loved. What was that person like? That curiosity had stemmed many years ago since Shion had adopted that faraway gaze, his eyes always seemingly looking at something none of them could see. His eyes were always gazing into a distance, the look that were described in books when wives waited for their husbands to come back after a long separation.

It had resurfaced again that day when they’d encountered the mouse, before she left to study abroad and when she had made her intentions and feelings clear. While she had confessed, Shion had still remained with that calm and cool expression. It hurt to remember it and it also hurt when she remembered him finally show emotion and chase after the phantom he longed for.

Even when she desperately wanted to see Shion during her captivity in the correctional facility, her thoughts had still wondered to who that special person in Shion’s life was. Who was the person that made Shion act so differently? Who was the person by Shion’s side?

When she first met Nezumi, she understood.

“Is Shion still in bed?” Karan said in a tone only a mother could pull off.

Nezumi shook his head, “Yes and no to that. He’s awake, it’s just the prince is planning for today’s trip.”

Karan smiled, “Oh, right. Shion was talking to me yesterday about all the different places he was going to show you and Safu. Safu, are you excited to explore the area that used to be West Block?”

Safu smiled and nodded, “Of course. I’m especially excited to properly meet Inukashi. Shion talks very fondly of their hotel and their dogs.”

On the third day of being back in her body, Shion had talked to her about West Block. About Rikigia, Inukashi and even the children that Shion had come to talk to. He talked about the dog hotel and his days spent helping clean the dogs and about the theater and the many different shops. He especially talked about the place that Shion called ‘home’, the place where he and Nezumi lived during his time away from No. 6.

“There’s so many books, Safu!” He’d excitedly chattered that night, curled up in the bed next to her, “So many books that I know you’ll want to read. It’s really cozy there too so you can stay there for hours reading. Nezumi and I can read with you there!”

Yes, she was very excited to see these places she’d only heard of. Places that made Shion’s eyes glint with joy and mirth in a way that No. 6 could never truly invoke from him. It was also the difference in how he saw her and how he saw Nezumi. The comparison made Safu sick because she was comparing herself to the same No. 6 that tormented her, Shion, Nezumi and countless others.

Karan sat down, eating some bread, and offering Safu her own plate as promised. Safu thanked her and the three of them began to eat their breakfast quietly. Safu found the silence enjoyable. It felt so easy to eat breakfast when she had such good company.

“Don’t get too excited with the dogs, Safu,” Nezumi warned, “Shion and Inukashi really like them, but those mutts are a handful.”

“Nezumi,” Karan chided him, “they’re very lovely animals. Oh, Safu, you’ll simply adore them. Their fur is very soft, and the dogs are so mild mannered. Inukashi is also very respectful and kind.”

“They only appear that way with you, ma’am. Inukashi is very rude so prepare yourself for that.”

Safu chuckled as Karan playfully scolded Nezumi while Nezumi cheekily spoke with her. Nezumi was so witty, a testament to his brilliance that Safu was aware he had. It made sense that he was brilliant, she’d noticed how intelligent and intense his gray eyes were the moment they met. Even if the two of them had not been in the best shape when they first met, she knew Nezumi was brilliant.

After all, he was the one Shion had fallen for.

“Good morning!”

Safu turned her head and saw Shion grinning at them from the hallway. She offered her own smile as Shion grabbed one of the breads that Karan offered him. He ate it and hugged his mother. Karan laughed, chiding him softly, as Shion turned to look at her. Shion enveloped her in a warm hug and Safu felt herself feel lighter.

Shion hadn’t changed completely like she’d feared. Yes, Shion had lost that faraway gaze of his and he was more open in his affection. He had more confidence now, too. However, there were parts of him that had been irreparably changed due to what No. 6 had done to him.

Shion’s pale white hair and his striking red eyes and the red snake-like scar that was all around his body replaced the image of the boy she had grown up knowing. His eyes, his hair and his skin were so different. There were also nights where she was made aware of his mental and psychological changes when she heard him screaming in the dead of night. Shion never talked to her about it, only asking about how she was doing, and it worried Safu. Like he felt that he couldn’t truly tell her the extent of his pain, of his trauma.

Do you talk to Nezumi about it?

Safu wanted to ask Shion that question so desperately. What was the extent of Nezumi’s position as the one Shion allowed to stay by his side, the one Shion loved? Was Nezumi the one comforting Shion after his nightmares? Was he sweet and gentle with Shion or was he callous and cold? Did the two of them exchange horror stories about what No. 6 had done to them? Did they find comfort tangled in their shared bed, gripping their hands, and knowing that this was all real? Safu could not relate, could not understand, when she woke up to nightmares with no one by her side.

What a depressing thought.

“Safu, whenever you’re ready, we’ll get going!” Shion said, pulling back with his eyes glinting in excitement, “We have so much to see today!”

For some reason, Safu felt a sharp pain in her chest looking at Shion. Something about his smile looked so. . . un-Shion-like. It was more strained and almost rehearsed. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but Nezumi spoke first, asking him to at least let them enjoy their nice breakfast. Shion took time convincing to do that but, luckily, the four of them were able to enjoy a nice breakfast before she was going to have her grand tour.

After breakfast, Safu, Shion and Nezumi made their way to what was formerly West Block. Thanks to Shion’s efforts, the wall had come down and there was easy access to and from the two areas. Shion had also advocated for aid to be given to the poor individuals that had been forsaken by the unfeeling officials of No. 6 so there were still many tents at the old border. There were medical tents where doctors gave the residents free checkups and food tents that gave the needy free food so they would not go to bed hungry. Overall, Shion expected there to be a lot of people they had to carefully navigate through as they were the “talk of the city” as Nezumi so eloquently put it.

Sadly, Karan could not go with them in their venture to the slowly recovering slums since she had to tend to her bakery. There was an explosion in clients due to her amazing baking skills, all of them clamoring for a taste of her delicious pastries. Safu was sad that she wouldn’t go with them, but she didn’t mind so much when Nezumi and Shion were such good guides.

Shion helped push her wheelchair, pointing at markets where Nezumi would haggle for their food while Nezumi added a comment or two to make fun of him. Sometimes, Nezumi would be open with them and admit to something that had happened to him in the years he first spent living in West Block. Those stories painted a very tragic picture of Nezumi’s already horrific past, but Nezumi waved away her sympathy.

“He does that often,” Shion whispered to her as Nezumi went to get them some snacks from a place Shion loved to eat from, “He doesn’t like to be pitied, despite how sad it was for him.”

“He’s very proud, isn’t he?”

“Proud and too stubborn to let anyone see him as weak,” Shion agreed.

“You two better not be gossiping about me.” Nezumi shot back.

“Never,” Shion said, looking at Safu and shooting her a wink.

When she laughed, Nezumi looked a bit annoyed but, surprisingly, was also smiling when he saw Shion smiling. Now that she thought about it, Nezumi looked more relaxed than she ever remembered seeing him. He was still on edge, but it was clear that was a result of habit rather than feeling unsafe. He glanced over his shoulders and his hand inside his jacket pocket clutched something he no longer had there.

He also kept looking back to look at Shion, another habit that apparently formed because he didn’t want to lose Shion in the crowd. Every time Shion led them somewhere with excitement, Safu could see the fondness and adoration in Nezumi’s eyes.

Nezumi loved Shion, just as much as Shion loved him. They didn’t express this love openly, but they didn’t need to. Sometimes, Nezumi would linger close to Shion, eyes fixated on the boy who was engrossed in something else. Other times, Shion would touch Nezumi and continue touching him even if he didn’t have to. It made Safu jealous to see this because she still loved Shion despite everything.

However, it was clear that Shion loved her too.

While Shion stared at Nezumi with love, he didn’t hesitate to look at her with a similar gaze. She knew it was love, just not romantic. Shion didn’t have that faraway look when he looked at her. He was actually looking at her, smiling at her, basking in her presence.

It occurred to Safu that her near death experience and their separation had truly rattled Shion. While he had loved her before, his expressions told her that he loved her more deeply now. When he stared at her now, it was as if he were looking at something extremely precious. . . or could it be possible that Shion always looked at her with this level of affection, but she had been too busy focusing on his faraway gaze to notice the extent of his love for her?

Shion was a mystery, she concluded, and he kept mysterious company.

“The hotel is right around here,” Nezumi said, looking bored and disgruntled.

“Nezumi, be nice,” Shion laughed, “Inukashi misses you. You’ve been avoiding going to meet them here.”

Nezumi huffed, “It’s because of Shion.”

Safu frowned, “Shion. . .?”

“Not me,” Shion clarified, “Shion is a baby that Inukashi is taking care of. I found him after. . . I found him when he had no one to take care of him. That’s around the time Nezumi and I were picked up by the correctional facility, so I sent him to Inukashi.”

“And Inukashi has been attached to the little kid since,” Nezumi snickered, “Who knew they had any parental instincts? Maybe their mother did actually gave them positive qualities.”

Shion rolled his eyes and, with that, rolled Safu in the direction of the hotel. True to his word, the place was filled with many dogs and, just like Karan said, they were kind and soft. Inukashi was exactly as Nezumi and Shion described them. Karan could see the positives that Shion saw while also seeing those other traits Nezumi talked about.

“So you’re Safu, huh?” Inukashi asked, eying her with sharp eyes.

They were clever and inquisitive, reminding her a lot of Nezumi. They also had a foul mouth but, like Shion had told her, they were honest and charming. Unlike Nezumi, however, Inukashi was less guarded with her. Safu thought it was not their norm based on what Nezumi had talked about and she was proven right when they redirected their attention to the small baby they were taking care of.

“So, as someone who lived in that horrible place, what do you think of our charming, shitty neighborhood?” Inukashi asked, bouncing the baby on their leg.

“It’s very. . . real.” Safu admitted, “Nothing about this place is artificial. Everything here that is beautiful is because it’s natural. It’s nothing like the beautiful places in No. 6. It’s so. . . lively.”

“Great, you are as smart as Shion said you were.”

Safu smiled, “And you are just as described. Less rude than Shion and Nezumi made you out to be, though.”

“Give them a minute or two.” Nezumi retorted.

Shion laughed, patting Inukashi’s head, “Trust me, Safu will never see that side of Inukashi. Not while baby Shion is here.”

“Hey, don’t make me out to be too nice,” Inukashi said, almost pouting, “I have a reputation to hold, Shion!”

“Ah, of course, the world will end if people know you’re soft on your friends,” Shion said, winking at Safu.

“Hey!”

Shion and Inukashi led her through the hotel, Nezumi pushing her wheelchair when she got tired of wheeling it. Shion pointed out many dogs and said their names while Inukashi told her that there was another pregnant stray they had found. Based on the dog’s physique, Inukashi figured they would give birth soon and asked if Shion could come to see the birth. Shion promised he and Safu would be there, and she found it odd that Nezumi would not join them for the puppy birth.

They ate food in Inukashi’s hotel, enjoying the light breeze and the sunlight in their outdoor picnic. Inukashi and Nezumi bickered playfully while Shion pointed out to her more dogs. Inukashi kept praising Karan’s bread and Safu asked if Inukashi would let her spend a night here with one of their dogs. Nezumi tried to discourage that, but Shion said it would be a great idea for a sleepover with her, Karan, and himself. Again, strangely enough, Nezumi was absent from this plan.

By the time they left the hotel, Inukashi informed them that Rikigia had gone to visit Karan in her bakery so they wouldn’t be able to visit him. Instead, Shion decided that this was the perfect time to go to the place where he and Nezumi lived while Shion was in exile. Nezumi agreed and, with that, they set off to that old, quaint room filled with books that Shion always talked about.

“Welcome, Safu, to our home!”

It was a small room, as expected, with things like a bed, a cute table in the middle, a couch, and other knick-knacks. It was nothing compared to the luxury of some of the homes in No. 6, but Safu immediately loved this place. Not only that but, true to all the stories of this place, this room was filled with books. Safu had never seen real books like this, used to the e-papers that No. 6 relied on. However, upon touching the spine of a book called Don Quixote, she realized she was equally enamored by these books.

“Do you have every book in existence?”

“No, I’m not the Library of Alexandria.”

Safu snickered, picking up a book with no title, “Can I read these?”

“That’s what books are for,” Nezumi replied, picking up a book and giving it to her, “Try this one.”

“Hamlet?”

“I think you’ll like it.”

Safu nodded, opening it to the first page. She began to read, finding herself engrossed by the story as she learned about the ghost of a dead king appearing before people. As she began to read about the succeeding king and the heir, the titular Hamlet, she could see that Shion and Nezumi were moving around the room. She was going to ignore them until she saw Shion give Nezumi a bag filled with things like matches, water bottles and other supplies.

“What are you two doing?”

Shion jumped and Nezumi closed the bag. Shion looked at her and gave her a strained smile, as if he was going to lie to her. Nezumi did nothing but stare at her, as if already expecting a scolding for something.

“We’re just-.”

“Packing.”

“Packing? To move this stuff to your mom’s house, Shion?”

Shion hesitated before shaking his head. Nezumi opened his mouth, as if to explain when Shion grabbed his arm. Something was wrong. Something had changed. No, that wasn’t correct. Nothing changed, it was just that she was going to finally get clarity on . . . on what? What was it that she had not realized.

“Shion? What’s going on?”

“Safu. . .” Shion sighed, sounding defeated in a way that made Safu’s chest ache, “Nezumi is. . . Nezumi is leaving.”

Safu’s eyes widened as Shion avoided her gaze. Nezumi was quiet, still holding onto the bag. She looked at the two of them again and could see how defeated Shion looked. His shoulders were slumped, and she finally understood why Shion had looked so sad before.

“Where is he going?”

Nezumi shrugged, “I’m leaving this place and going out to the world.”

An exploration? It fit Nezumi’s wandering, inquisitive nature.

“When will you come back?”

Nezumi shook his head, “Safu, I don’t have a place to come back to.”

Shion put back a book on the shelf, avoiding her gaze. She knew that he did that when he didn’t want her to guess how he was feeling. Safu knew exactly how he felt. Shion must have been destroyed.

She knew what Nezumi was to Shion. Nezumi was a thief that had stolen a part of Shion’s self for himself, and Shion had stolen a piece of Nezumi for himself. They were intertwined, star-crossed lovers that were hopefully meant to live together for a long time. One without the other was lost and they would rather die together than have one live and the other die. They would do anything for each other, would be willing to live on for the sake of the other despite their traumas and scars.

To hear Nezumi wanted to leave and leave Shion behind as if those bonds were not there, as if Shion’s pain couldn’t destroy him. . . it was too cruel. Safu didn’t want Nezumi to leave. He couldn��t leave. Not when she was beginning to understand this person.

Safu liked Nezumi. Her affection towards him could never be the same as how she felt about Shion, but she had come to hold Nezumi in high regard. Nezumi was the one that had broken through Shion’s seemingly apathetic existence and breathed life into him. Nezumi had been the one to protect Shion, had nearly died for Shion and had lived for Shion.

Nezumi was kind to her, even if it was in his own way. He had understood her intentions in the correctional facility, had honored her wishes and had even mourned her. While Karan and Shion were the ones most involved in her care, Nezumi was the one that had made her laugh for the first time after returning her body. Nezumi had been the one that had not treated her like she was fragile. He respected her and it made her respect him, in turn.

Nezumi was kind, intelligent, witty, scholarly, strong, rude, and cynical. He was able to be vulnerable and open despite being so jaded and cruel. How could he leave when she was barely learning all of these things about him?

How could he leave them?

“. . .No. You can’t leave.”

“. . . What did you say?”

Shion still wasn’t looking at either of them, making an expression Safu couldn’t see. Nezumi gazed at her and Safu felt naked under that intense gaze again. Nezumi’s beautiful eyes were just like the boy himself – beautiful, intelligent, and dangerous. Safu had a hard time composing herself.

“You can’t leave.”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow, amusement washing over his features, “Are you playing the role of my mother, Safu? I don’t need your permission to leave this place. I was just telling you.”

Safu felt herself frown, “If you leave, then you can never show yourself in front of Shion again.”

“Safu!”

This made Nezumi frown, a dark expression crossing his face. That was an expression Safu didn’t think he could make. He wasn’t just angry, he looked hurt and upset. He looked on edge, as if the threat had hit a nerve. Good, she was glad that he was angry too. She was livid.

“Who are you to make that decision?”

Safu lowered her friend, clutching the arm of her wheelchair, “I’m the person that loves Shion the most in this world and he is the person I love the most. It doesn’t matter anymore if that love is romantic or platonic but it’s true. We love each other. Because of this, I know that you leaving will leave Shion torn. It doesn’t matter if he has his mom, Inukashi, Rikigia or me in his life. You. . . you are his precious Nezumi, the one who did what no one else could and breathed new life into him. Leaving him when you don’t have to. . . how selfish is that?! You are so selfish!”

Safu was so angry at Nezumi. How dare he throw Shion aside, leave his side on purpose, when that had been the position Safu had been dying to occupy? She wished she had been in Nezumi’s spot even when she thought she’d die. Her desire had been to remain at Shion’s side, to stay with him, to live with him. Nezumi had everything she had wished for when she had been dying and he was throwing it away.

It wasn’t fair.

Nezumi scowled at her, “I’m selfish for wanting to leave this place for my own sake?”

“Yes.”

“Then are you not also just as selfish, Safu? You don’t care about my feelings on this matter, you only seem to care about your own and, by extension, Shion’s.”

“I am selfish,” Safu replied, “I won’t deny that, I won’t be a hypocrite. I, unlike you, try to avoid hurting others with my selfishness.”

“I’m not trying to hurt others but I’m not going to sacrifice my wants for others. I’m not that self-serving. I refuse to be that selfless.”

Safu was angry and Nezumi was angry too. Just when she thought that she understood Nezumi, he did something like this. Why? Didn’t he care about Shion? About Karan, Inukashi or her? Was he not thinking about how lucky he was that he had all of this?

They could have died two weeks ago. For a moment, she and Nezumi had truly died and left this world. They could’ve left behind this world that, while cruel and broken, was filled with beauty and the people they loved. They were lucky to be alive, lucky to continue living and enjoying the small gifts of being alive. How was Nezumi willing to throw it all away for a selfish whim? Why couldn’t he just appreciate what he had right now?

“You’re so-!”

“Stop it, please.”

Safu and Nezumi turned to look at Shion who had a single tear roll down his cheek. He was clutching his coat tightly and his lower lip was wobbling. He sniffed, blinking away his tears. She could see Nezumi turning to look away, as if guilty.

“This day wasn’t supposed to end in a fight,” Shion muttered, wiping his tears, “I just wanted to enjoy this day with two people I love so much. You’re both so important to my life and I almost lost you both. I thought this day was a dream come true. . . please. . . please don’t fight.”

Safu pointed at Nezumi, “He’s the one that wants to leave. It’s not my fault that he doesn’t understand that no one wants him to leave, not even me.”

“She’s the one who won’t consider my point of view.”

Shion shook his head, “Unbelievable. Two of the smartest people I know . . . and you’re both idiots.”

“Hey!” Safu and Nezumi shouted.

Shion smiled weakly, “Safu, I don’t want Nezumi to leave either but that’s his decision. No. 6 has hurt him badly. . . it has hurt us too. Our scars that remain from that pain remind us that it happened, and we can’t erase that. No. 6 imprisoned Nezumi and took away his freedom, even when Nezumi was no longer in their hands. No. 6 is gone and Nezumi is truly free. Safu, I-I don’t want to be another jailer for him.”

“But you love him,” Safu whispered, putting her head down, “Why would you let him leave if it’ll hurt you?”

“Because it’s what he needs.” Shion smiled, crouching down to hold her hands, “Safu, it would not be an eternal farewell. Nezumi would come back, I know that. I don’t want him to leave but I can’t chain him down to stay by my side. You understand that, right?”

She did. She understood it because, when she thought she was going to die in that dreadful correctional facility, Elyurias had asked her if she had wished for Shion to die with her. The answer had been that Safu loved Shion enough to not be that selfish. She wanted her beloved Shion to live, to live on and change the world, even if it meant she wouldn’t be by his side. She squeezed Shion’s hands tightly, conveying her understanding.

“Oh, Safu,” Shion said with adoration and love, “I’m happy that you’re my friend, my irreplaceable and precious Safu. . .”

“Shion, I just don’t want you to be sad.”

“I don’t want that for him, either,” Nezumi admitted, “I just don’t truly have a place for me here, not in this place that holds too many memories. Good or bad, these memories are something I need to spend time figuring out. I need to. . . I need to understand certain mysteries.”

Safu felt horrible for yelling at Nezumi, but she didn’t regret it. Nezumi looked upset but not devastated. Clearly, he wasn’t just being mindlessly selfish about leaving. He had clearly thought about this decision a lot. She couldn’t begrudge him that. She had just been shortminded in thinking that he was mindlessly leaving out of selfishness and that he hadn’t loved them all enough to stay. She hated this feeling more than the jealousy that sometimes turned its ugly head.

“Nezumi, how about a deal?”

Nezumi looked at her, raising an eyebrow, “A deal?”

“My deal is this: you can leave No. 6 only after I’m fully healed, and I can walk again.”

“That could take months, years or maybe it’ll never happen.”

Safu nodded, “You’re right, but I think I will recover eventually. It’ll leave you enough time to think about leaving right away. You don’t know if you’ll regret leaving months after you’re gone.”

“You think I’ll change my mind, Safu?”

“I hope you do, Nezumi. I really don’t want you to leave and I’m sure Shion, his mother, Inukashi and even Rikigia won’t want you to leave either. But, like Shion said. . . you’re free. We’re not your new jailers and forcing you to stay. Once I’m recovered and you still want to leave. . . we won’t stop you. Just don’t leave right now. We still need you here.”

Nezumi’s eyes were soft as he looked at her. What did his eyes see? Her fear, her jealousy, her anger, her pain, her guilt, her lack of guilt? Her genuine wish for him to not leave? She wasn’t sure what Nezumi saw as he stared back at her. She wasn’t even sure what she saw when she looked at him with the same calculating eyes. He reached out his hand and Safu took it. She could see Shion looking up at Nezumi, also anticipating Nezumi’s answer.

“. . . Alright.”

Safu and Shion smiled, looking at each other and reflecting their relief at each other. Shion hugged Nezumi, burrowing his face against Nezumi’s chest. Nezumi looked caught off-guard, but he melted into Shion’s hug, releasing a sigh that sounded so tired. Shion turned to look back at her and hugged her too.

“Thank you, Safu!”

Safu patted Shion’s back, “I just bought us more time.”

“That’s all I need! All I need is more time with people I love- you, Nezumi, my mom, Inukashi and Rikigia. I’m just so happy to get it.”

Shion was so easy to make happy, Safu thought with a start. She was surprised how easily he had gotten happy with a deal that could still lead to his first love to leave him and, possibly, never return. Some things truly never changed, she supposed. Shion had been easy to make happy too, before that day that Shion was stripped of his elite status, and she was glad that it was a trait that had never been robbed from Shion despite how much the world had changed him.

Shion slowly left her embrace and walked away from Nezumi and Safu. The two of them exchanged puzzled looks as Shion stopped in front of the bed, staring at it for a good minute in silence, until he laid down.

“Come on, let’s take a nap right now.”

Safu wondered if her confused expression was mirrored by Nezumi’s. Shion patted the bed, staring at them both, and repeated himself. Despite repeating himself, Safu was still unsure what Shion wanted so she continued to stare.

Nezumi shook his head, “We won’t fit. Your Highness needs plenty of space to sleep.”

Shion glanced at him, “We will fit if we squeeze together.”

Nezumi groaned and made his way to the bed. Safu smiled and was about to head to the couch to continue reading Hamlet when Shion turned to look at her. He smiled, eyes still red-rimmed with tears, and patted the bed. She felt herself realize that the “we” Shion was referring to wasn’t just limited to Nezumi. The invitation was for her too.

Safu got out of her wheelchair, leaving the book on the chair to read later, and squeezed into the bed alongside Nezumi and Shion. Shion grabbed Safu’s hand and Nezumi’s, closing his eyes. Nezumi sighed, leaning closer to Shion’s side.

Safu stared at them and thought the three of them made quite the sight. Three heavily scarred people that No. 6 tormented who, despite the actions of vile and careless individuals, survived. They had gotten the last laugh, able to live on in a world that they would change for the better. This is how it should be.

They had their roles to play that could, eventually, lead them down separate paths. Nezumi’s nature was to be a wanderer, free as the wind and trying to see it all in search of himself. Shion’s nature was to be someone who remained, ensuring that the wanderer had a place to return to. Her nature was to be an observer, watching everything and keeping memory of the world around her.

It was possible that Nezumi would leave even after the deadline of her walking expired. However. . . However, that didn’t matter right now. What mattered right now was the warmth that Nezumi and Shion had, how tightly Shion held her hand and showed her that he loved her deeply. Nezumi’s head was leaning against Shion’s, eyes staring at Shion with a saddened look in his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Nezumi,” Shion whispered, opening one eye, “Don’t stare at me like that. Besides, I’m taking you both to the theater tonight.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to see any bad performances tonight.” Nezumi groaned.

Shion snickered, turning to look at Safu, “Nezumi used to be an actor called Eve.”

“Don’t tell her that.”

“He looks so beautiful onstage, and he has the most beautiful singing voice. When you see him perform as Eve, it’s like a whole different person. I hope you see that one day.”

“Before you leave, then,” Safu said, clutching Shion’s hand, “Nezumi, you have to perform for us. One last performance.”

“I have to be paid to perform.”

Shion moved and she heard Nezumi give out a soft groan. Based on their position, Safu knew that Shion had elbowed Nezumi slightly. The guarded young man, tough and strong as he was, shared her weakness – a soft spot for Shion. No doubt that, if it had been someone else, Nezumi would have retaliated. But he didn’t with Shion. . . not with Shion.

“Fine, it’ll be a free performance. However, I won’t do it in front of others. Just you two.”

“And Shion’s mom.”

“. . . Fine, in front of her too.”

“What about Inukashi?”

“They’d have to pay but I can give them a discount for the baby.”

“What about Rikigia?”

“He pays full price.”

The three of them laughed. Shion asked Nezumi which of his plays he’d perform. Nezumi replied he was open to any suggestion. Safu asked them if she could browse the books later and get to choose the play which Shion agreed with. Eventually, Nezumi caved in and said that Safu would get to have the choice of which play he’d perform.

The three of them stayed like that, muttering ideas and plans for the future. Shion tried to get up to write some of them down, but Safu and Nezumi pulled him back into the bed. It was too comfortable right now for any of them to move. Shion, a pushover for their demands today, obliged and said that Nezumi would have to remember all of their plans. Nezumi reluctantly agreed, teasing Shion that “his majesty’s wish is my command.”

Safu found that she didn’t ever want to leave this room. She wanted to stay in this room with Nezumi and Shion and forget about the world outside. She wanted to stay here a bit longer and forget about what the future would hold. For a moment, she wanted to stretch this moment into a lifetime. She wanted to remain this happy, at least for a little bit longer.

Safu turned to look at Nezumi, feeling herself growing drowsy, “Can you sing for us?”

“What, like a lullaby?”

“Mmhmm.”

Nezumi smiled and Safu thought he looked younger when he did that with no malice, “Alright, then.”

Safu closed her eyes and a beautiful yet sorrowful song echoed in this cozy and warm room. Safu let herself drift between waking and sleep, feeling herself as light as the song. The hand holding hers was still warm and the voice was so soothing. She felt like she was floating just like when she no longer had a body. However, unlike before, she knew that she had two people right next to her, floating with her.

“You have a beautiful voice, Nezumi. . .”

Whatever happens later didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was the present as the wanderer, the one who remains, and the observer drifted into a restful sleep in a room where they could be safe and sound.

#submission #no. 6 #no. 6 secret santa #nezushi #safu #nezumi #shion #aowyn #whims-of-insane-fandoms

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demona-andariel · 8 months

Text

A Simple Act of Kindness - 19 / ??

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface) x OFC

Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in a stranger's home. Her fate to become another victim of the Hewitt family is all but sealed till a simple act of kindness changes her life forever.

Warning: (Encompassing the whole story in no particular order) dead dove, rape/Noncon, violence, forced marriage, kidnapping, cannibalism, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, angst

Author Note: Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3,743

Chapter 19 - Hope

Hope.

She felt like an idiot. Why the hell did she let herself fall into a fantasy? Her rapist falling in love with her? Winning his family over? Them seeing her as something other than a babymaker and eventual food that she very clearly was at the beginning.

Delusional is what you are. A god damn fool.

Thomas’s large hand held onto hers firmly. Almost as if he was worried she’d pull away. But, she wasn’t lying when she said she was done. Of course, her brain kept insisting on falling back to that hopeless romantic she apparently was. It wanted to believe there is a better future. That all her hard work to win Thomas over wasn’t in vain. That his family could learn to accept her.

She suppressed a snort. That probably wasn’t possible now. And even if they did accept her and pulled her into their circle for some fucked up reason. She couldn’t picture any possible way she’d ever forgive Hoyt. It would have to be some massive apology to change her mind.

“You ain’t blood.”

A sting of pain ran up her right arm as she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. As if that would ever happen. Him apologize? Actually be sorry? A silly fantasy of him groveling at her feet, flashed through her mind. He would try, Thomas would make him, but she'd stomp on his hand and cock in defiance.

The anger that filled her body quickly evaporated into defeat and her shoulders slumped. It would never come true. Nothing even close. She needed to remind herself of that. Needed to stop living in a fantasy. Hoyt would never be sorry for what he did. The Hewitts would never see her more than a babymaker. Thomas would never be by her side demanding his uncle make amends to her.

Thomas paused by the door and picked up her hat. There was no hesitation as he set it on her head. The bandage on his left hand drew her attention. There’d been a fight last night, a major argument. She had heard shouting, Luda Mae screaming, things were thrown and broken. Thomas had clearly punched someone. Hoyt? Probably. How could it not be? The way Thomas flew out of their room when they heard Hoyt's laughter upon his return. The anger in Thomas's face.

She felt her stomach drop with fear. She'd never seen him that angry before. And hopefully, he'd never show her that side of him. Although, she probably would sooner rather than later.

Yesterday had gone a little bit differently than what she expected. She didn’t plan on bearing her soul to Thomas. Didn’t plan on saying a word or acknowledging the rape.

Thomas probably thought she went down into the basement to end her life. She didn’t even notice the knife was in her hand until Thomas showed up. He was so scared, and it made sense. Had she been someone else she probably would have already done it. Ended her life. Unfortunately, despite all that had happened, her god damn brain kept insisting it wanted to live. Wanted to keep pushing forward because maybe, just maybe things would get better.

Idiot.

She probably didn’t need to tell Thomas that Hoyt raped her. He had to have known. How could he not? His family didn’t keep secrets from him. Hoyt was probably a step ahead of her and told Thomas she’d seduced him or some bullshit excuse. Most likely claimed her fucked her ass or mouth because “the baby has to be Tommy’s”.

It did somewhat surprise her Thomas’s reaction. His stunned surprise. But then she had to remind herself that maybe he was lied to. That Thomas was stunned to find out Hoyt raped her pussy. There was a possibility that if she was pregnant it was Hoyt’s. Small, but possible.

She clenched her jaw at the thought. Would it be telling? Did it matter in the end?

From there she just found herself blurting out everything she’d been wanting to say. Consequences be damned. What more could she lose? Her life? Not yet, she still had to have at least one baby.

It was surprisingly easy to shut down from there. To no longer care what happened to her. Rape? Beatings? Isolation? Tied up? Hung up? She didn’t have the energy to give a damn about her fate.

But none of that happened, much to her surprise. He didn’t try to “reclaim” her. Didn’t try to hurt her for lying to him. In fact, she was sure he wanted to feel free with him. Safe. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And, she didn’t care enough to try anymore. He probably didn’t fully grasp what she had told him anyway. He could turn on her, once it all kicked in.

Thomas messed with her hat for a moment, tugging and pulling till he was satisfied with the way it set on her head. His eyes creased behind his mask from a smile. She resisted the urge to mess with his mask in kind. The leather mask he’d put on was his best one in her opinion, and thankfully not his favorite human made one. It was the one he knew she preferred of all the others. Not that she could put much meaning behind that.

The calluses on his palm brushed her cheek as he moved her hair back behind her ear. She couldn’t help but lean into his warm hand.

“He loves you,” the romantic in her said. Perhaps he did, but he was just making things harder for them. His love for his family would always trump his love for her. And sooner, rather than later, he’d prove it once and for all. Better to expect it now than to have her heart crushed and grounded again.

She pulled away.

Thomas slowly clenched his fingers, then he walked away.

Elizabeth gulped as his warm presence left her side, leaving her alone at the front door. Suddenly, her heart started to beat faster with fear.

He’ll be back.

He hadn’t left her side all day yesterday till the fight. They had spent the whole day in their room. Not fucking. Not doing much of anything for that matter. Thomas stood by the door as if he was guarding her. Protecting her. And she sat on the bed. A part of her wanted to go to sleep, because he was there and wouldn’t let any harm come to her. She hadn’t slept much over the last four days. But, only nightmares awaited her unconscious mind.

Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted as Thomas returned. He set down a picnic basket then opened the door. Despite the early hour, it was already hot outside.

Dishes clanged and cluttered in the kitchen, catching her attention. Luda Mae probably. Elizabeth gave the house a quick glance. She didn’t see anyone. She hadn’t seen anyone since the day before yesterday. When Thomas came back after the fight he didn’t let her leave, bringing dinner up for them.

Thomas turned and held out his arm to her. She automatically placed her hand on his arm and let him escort her out. Such a gentleman. They probably looked like such a pretty couple, dressed in their Sunday best. Thomas in one of his nice suits and her in a pretty sundress.

Hope.

Elizabeth quickly squashed those feelings, embracing the numbness.

Time. That was all that was needed. A little bit of time before the truth hit Thomas. Or till he gave up. His family would eventually win out. It was better this way. For her. Why did she even bother trying in the first place? A babymaker. That was all she was at the end.

The wind causing her dress swirl a little. Heat rushed inside of her as her heart picked up and fear spiked through her. She didn’t want to wear a dress, but Thomas had set it out and she wasn’t about to disobey him. But, she felt so vulnerable, despite Thomas being by her side.

She turned her head and glanced behind her at the old house. The dirty, yellow windows hid any evidence that they were being watched. But, Hoyt had always been watching her before, she was sure he probably watched her now.

Hoyt.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t Hoyt raping her that truly broke her. Sure, it was a part of it, but she would have gotten past that. She was strong after all. A fighter. Life kept throwing her lemons and she kept making God damn lemonade with each situation.

She could have pushed through. She would have. Would have healed and gotten stronger. But it was his words that did her in.

How happy the bastard whistled during the rest of the car ride back. Happy as could be because he got what he wanted while she had a war within herself. There was almost immediate regret that she had left the engagement ring on the ground. Fuck him! Hoyt was trying to get into her head and she let him. Thomas loved her and she was sure he would stand by her side.

Except, the moment she stepped out of the car and she saw Thomas her heart dropped and she knew she was wrong. His eyes had fallen immediately on her stomach. There was a giddy joy to him and excitement. A child waiting with glee to open his present.

When she walked up to him he’d placed his hand on her stomach.

Babies.

What a fool she’d been. He looked confused when she placed her hand on his cheek, slowly rubbing that leather mask. But, she had to say goodbye to the man she erroneously believed he was. The fantasy she indulged to cope with her situation. A stupid hope that he saw her as more than just a babymaker. That he could be her partner and truly protect or avenge her. But, she realized that Hoyt was right. The way he looked past her at his uncle in confusion, wanting an answer from that man. Not her.

Elizabeth let out a deep breath. No tears. But, she was tired and drained. She didn’t have the energy to cry.

The hot air cooled slight as they walked into the woods, the large trees covered the morning sun. Where was he taking her? The little meadow where he proposed popped into her mind. Her muscles tensed and she felt the overwhelming urge to run away. The man was giving her false hope.

Thomas lowered his arm and interlaced his fingers with hers. She absentmindedly squeezed his hand back, but focused on the ground.

She just needed to remind herself that he didn’t understand and wouldn’t be able to understand that he was giving her false hope. That no matter how much he tried to show his love it wouldn’t matter in the end. She didn’t matter. His family did. Having babies did. She was just a means to an end.

The insects of the forest made their presence known, filling the silence with their calls as Thomas walked Elizabeth further into the woods. She felt empty.

She’d given up. She hated herself for that decision. Always a fighter. At least, that’s how she used to view herself. Fighter for others never yourself. There was a reason why she fell for Thomas, despite everything he’d done, his family had done. Looking back, she was pretty sure her feelings had deepened toward him when he took care of her a few months ago when she got sick.

No one had ever taken care of her like that before. When she woke up with a fever she figured she’d have to deal with it on her own. Probably push herself and pretend to get better. But nope, Thomas refused to let her get out of bed. And he didn’t leave her side till he was satisfied she was better. She didn’t necesssarily need him. It wasn’t as if she were dying. But it was nice to see someone worry about her. He took care of her then, just like he tried to take care of her last night.

Hope.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. No! She had to squash that feeling again that he’d done it for her. She had to think of him in a less romantic light. He was her rapist after all. The man who forced her to stay with him. Right, he didn’t let her leave the room because he was in fear that she’d harm or even kill herself. If he attacked his uncle then it wasn’t to avenge her, but because he was upset that Hoyt raped her pussy. That Hoyt may have gotten her pregnant and the baby had to be Thomas’s.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Thomas stopped in his tracks. She found herself pressing against his body as butterflies filled her stomach with nerves. Slowly, she raised her gaze from the ground to look around. She didn’t recognize the area. But they hadn’t been walking for that much time. So, they were near the house. The butterflies intensified as her eyes fell on the structure in front of them.

They stood before a little cabin.

Overgrown shrubbery grew around and on the cabin. She wasn’t entirely sure it was livable. Thomas stepped forward and she automatically followed him.

The screen door was actually well intact, not sporting any large holes due to neglect. She blinked in stunned surprise as the main door didn’t fall apart when he opened it. The hinges squeaked and groaned, but held the door firmly to the frame. Thomas placed his hand on the small of her back, encouraging her forward.

She stopped only a few steps into the cabin. The insides looked almost as bad as the outside. It smelled of dust and possible mildew. Leaves piled in a corner near a broken window. Was it even fixable? Livable?

There was a large couch by a wall and a loveseat near it. Both were facing a fireplace and a sheet covered them. The fireplace was interesting. She’d never lived in Texas, she was a Northern girl after all. She wasn’t sure if a fireplace was even needed. But it did look nice.

The place had clearly been worked on at some point. Not recently though. She could see the thin layer of dust on the floor and furniture. Wooden beams stood ready for drywall to be attached to them to create walls to separate the rooms. But, from where she stood, most of the house was rather open and visible.

Why bring her here?

Hope.

Her heart picked up its pace as she desperately tried to squash that feeling. She gulped before turning her gaze to Thomas.

The floorboards creaked with each step he took. He set the picnic basket down in the kitchen area before nonchalantly reaching out and tugging on a wooden beam. It was as if he was testing how sturdy it was. She half expected it to snap and for the whole house to topple onto them, but it didn’t.

He moved around, carefully tapping the wood and testing it as if this was the first time he’d entered the cabin as well. As if he knew what he was doing.

Hope.

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth took in a deep breath and let it out. No. They were there for a different reason. They were probably going to sell the house and they needed someone to majorly clean it or something.

Her fingers gripped the fabric at the top of the couch. Yeah, clean and polish so that another family of cannibals would live on the Hewitt land. Opening her eyes, Elizabeth found Thomas.

He stood in the corner of the room. Behind him she could see the way into what she assumed was the kitchen. His eyes were soft, but his body slightly tensed. He was watching her carefully. It was almost as if he was holding his breath.

Hope.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. He didn’t expect that. Neither did she. She felt her heart pound hard in her chest.

“Please, Thomas. Don’t give me hope,” her voice cracked. “You’ll kill me.”

He quickly shook his head and took a step toward her, hands reaching out. She rushed backwards, hitting the front door hard with her back. Her whole body screamed to run away, but she couldn’t lower her hands to turn the doorknob and appease her flight reflex.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. Her hands moved automatically in front of her as if she could stop him. But, she couldn’t handle it. Not anymore. She was barely hanging on by a thread. She was going to lose her goddamn mind, her will to live. And for whatever reason, she didn’t want to. This was the only way she could survive. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Just let them do whatever they wanted and expect nothing good to happen. Be the mother of his children and watch them be raised without having a say. Just be. That’s all she wanted now. To just be even if that wasn’t really living.

Thomas took a step back. He looked away for a moment. She couldn’t move, could barely breath as she watched his movements. He set down the bag, he had slung over his shoulder, onto the end table by the couch.

Her whole body remained tense, stiff. She was unable, unwilling to give in to hope. Hope that perhaps she did have a higher value than Hoyt was making it seem. That Thomas was her ally. Her partner. That he was devastated and angry at his family and at Hoyt for what Hoyt did to her. That he would stand by her side.

Sifting through the bag, Thomas froze. She saw him gulp. Clearing his throat, he stood up and pulled a book out.

A wave of disappointment washed over her. So dramatic over a stupid book? She did like reading, but a book wasn’t going to fix the situation. Wasn’t going to make her feel better or give her the reassurance she needed.

Thomas walked toward her and she tried to shrink back. But there was nowhere for her to go. Stopping in front of her, he grabbed her hand with his free one. She refused to look at it as she stared up at him. Her mouth opened and closed in a silent plea. Thomas didn’t take the book away. Instead, he closed her fingers around it before taking a few steps back, giving her room to breathe.

The weight and feel was oddly familiar. Dropping her shoulders, she lowered her gaze. She did tell herself she would do whatever he wanted and not argue, after all.

Her eyes widened and her world swirled on her.

“My… my album,” she heard herself say, but she didn’t recognize voice. Her mind remained blank, refusing to believe just yet. It had to be a dream. Her imagination.Wishful thinking perhaps?

With reverent care, she opened to the first page. The first two pictures were of her and her brother at their local fair. Both were doing their best to make a silly face in one photo. The other photo she had her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed to his cheek.

Hope.

Butterflies filled her stomach. No, she couldn’t allow herself that hope. Snapping the album shut, she looked up at him. Anger bubbled inside of her.

“I… I get to keep it?” she asked, her voice was soft with fear. Those weren’t the words she wanted to say. She wanted to scream at him and demand he burn it. Or beg him not to give it to her. To throw it away in front of her. Not give her hope.

He nodded his head.

She felt her legs buckles as her knees gave out on her, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Thomas’s boots scrapped the wooden floor and suddenly, his strong arms wrapped around her, catching her before she hit the ground.

He easily lifted her up, pressing her tightly to his chest. Her fingers clenched onto the album tightly. It was a strange feeling as her body moved through the air while Thomas held her.

He moved them to a couch and sat. It creaked and groaned from their weight. His fingers pressed hard against her body, not letting her go. She didn’t want him to let her go and wrapped one arm around his neck to hug him. The album pressed between them.

Hope.

No! She shook her head on his shoulder. She couldn’t allow herself to give in. Thomas’s family meant everything to him. She wasn’t blood. She wasn’t family.

Lifting her eyes, she meet his hazel ones. Soft. Caring. She couldn’t help but shake her head.

“Thomas,” she whispered, fresh tears started to flow down her cheeks. That was all she could say. Her throat refused to give any other sounds.

Thomas released her legs and moved his free hand up to his leather mask. He didn’t hesitate in taking it off. Her fingers reached out to caress his face, like she’d grown accustomed to doing. She wanted him to be comfortable with being himself around her. No matter what he looked like.

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly enjoying her touch. Then, grabbing her hand, he brought it to his mouth to kiss it. It was difficult to breathe. Difficult to comprehend or allow herself to believe what was happening.

Her eyes fell on his scrapped knuckles. She sniffled.

“You… you beat him up because he raped me? Not…not because you were worried he got me pregnant?”

Her light brown eyes raised to met his hazel ones. Since he couldn't talk she learned to read his face a little. And his eyes couldn’t lie to her.

He held her gaze and firmly nodded his head. Letting her hand go, he reached out and stroked her cheek. Her whole body trembled as she fought with herself. She couldn't give in. The album was just another thing that could be used against her. Taken away from her.

A sound came out of his mouth. His throat moved and he grimaced then frowned in frustration. He was clearly trying to make a certain sound and couldn’t.

“Thomas-” He placed his finger on her lips, silencing her and shook his head.

His throat moved as he swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a long breath. Then, squaring his shoulders he focused on her again. There was so much determination in his eyes.

“Ww,” he coughed and grimaced.

Tightening his grip on her with his left hand, he set his right hand on her chest and cleared his throat.

“Wife.” The word came out forced, just a little high pitched and clearly hurt.

Wife.

Hope.

Chapter 20 - To Trust, Just One Last Time

#thomas hewitt x oc #Smut #horror #fanfiction #Texas Chainsaw Massacre #noncon tw #tw noncon

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angelofrainfrogs · 4 months

Text

Going Back: Ch. 7

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: Things are looking up for Gregory. After putting the soul of a formerly-immortal killer to rest, he and his new family can finally begin their lives anew. Sure, Gregory might have been cursed with mysterious Remnant in exchange for being involved in this mess—not to mention his caretakers consist of sentient robots and ghosts… But there’s no doubt that the bond they share is unbreakable. They love him, and he in turn.

All in all, life is finally starting to go right for once.

…Unfortunately, true peace is a hard-won battle. There are other things to contend with besides William’s decrepit soul, and Gregory will learn that his role in the lives of the Aftons and Emilys is far greater than anyone could’ve imagined.

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Down in Bonnie Bowl, the hare himself lined up a winning shot. The strike sailed straight and true down the lane, causing Bonnie to fist-pump the air when the pins fell aside.

“Righteous!” he exclaimed, ecstatic to play again after all this time away.

“Bon-Bon!” shouted Sam from the entry doors. “Come meet everyone!”

Looking over his shoulder, the lanky lagomorph sent a smile to the group of humans. They even had a kid with them this time!

An… Oddly familiar kid.

But a scan to the group from afar would indicate the only person he met prior besides Sam was Michael—descendant of his own original creator and a pretty solid mechanic.

“Hey, y’all!” the bunny called, springing towards the group with a happy-go-lucky stride. “You folks trying to play a few games with me?”

Freddy's face had fallen ever-so-slightly at Bonnie's lack of acknowledgement, though he was quick to cover up this speck of disappointment. Of course Bonnie wouldn't recognize him... he didn't exactly look like Freddy anymore.

“Hey, Bon; yeah, we're here to hang out for a bit!” Michael confirmed with a wave.

Whereas the other animatronics were aware that something had gone down over the weekend, Mike still wasn't entirely sure what Bonnie remembered. As Sammy said, they'd had to pull his AI from an old save file dated before recent events—around the time Bonnie had officially been declared “replaced” instead of just “missing.” Without any sort of context for why Freddy would make such a drastic change, there was no telling how easily Bonnie would process his friend's transformation.

“Let's do some introductions,” Michael continued. “Obviously you know me and Sam. This cute little monster is Gregory—” Here Mike would pinch the boy's cheek, much to his dismay, then move on to clap Charlie on the arm. “—and this is Charlie; she's an old, old friend of ours. And this, if you can believe it...”

Placing a hand on Freddy's back, he gently pushed the redhead forward a few steps. “This is your old pal, Freddy.”

“Hello again, Bonnie,” Freddy greeted, still wearing that huge, infectious grin. He'd never wanted to reach out and hug the rabbit as much as he did in this very moment, but felt he deserved a tad more explanation first. “Despite how this may look, I am in fact still a robot—my AI was transferred to this body for reasons that will take a bit too long to explain at the moment. However, it is still me! It is so good to see you, old friend.”

Bonnie looked highly confused at the declaration that this random human was Freddy Fazbear. He certainly didn’t look like him… but when the guy spoke, Bonnie was very inclined to believe him. Oh, the urge to tackle his friend was far too real! One could see the excitement grow inside Bonnie before Freddy was scooped up and tossed gently in the air. Bonnie was quick to catch him in a hug, messing up Freddy’s hair with an oversized paw.

“Ol’ sport!” that twangy southern accent drawled, nuzzling the side of his face against Freddy’s affectionately. “You thought you could hide from me in that little people costume? Sooorry, Fredbear! You can’t get rid of this bunny so easily.”

The others could only stand and witness the rabbit maul Freddy with affection. While Bonnie had an idea of how long he'd been decommissioned for, he had no frame of reference for why. All he was sure of was that he’d severely missed his animatronic pals—and the bear earned a selfishly tight hug as Bonnie swayed with his friend to and fro.

Only when the excitable rabbit finally eased up did Freddy reach up to playfully rub the top of Bonnie's head—a gesture which made his expressive ears flop every which way. Freddy's smile only widened, having almost forgotten how wonderful it was to see his best friend's smiling face not just on a poster or in his memory banks.

“I missed you so much, you silly rabbit,” the ursine man said, giving him one more squeeze. He then looked towards the ground briefly before meeting Bonnie's bright gaze. “Although, I will need to be set down one of these days, if you do not mind. You must meet the others!”

“So—you got a haircut, right?” Bonnie teased, gathering so far that Freddy’s new form had to be an animatronic of some type. Coming to stand beside Freddy was the small kid—Gregory, as the young Afton introduced. Bonnie squatted with a curious tilt of his head to be more on his level.

“Oh, and you’re Gregory!” he cooed, reaching for Gregory’s hand to shake heartily. “I am the one, the only, Bonnie Bunny!”

From his squat position the eccentric rabbit took Charlie’s hand as she too approached, crossing his arms over his chest to reach both her and Gregory at once. “Charlie! Such a neat name; I love it!”

Whatever prior hesitation Gregory and Charlie may have had, there was no doubt that Bonnie in his true form was nothing short of charming. Now that he and Freddy were together again, it was almost like watching the old TV show. Gregory could see the familiarity with how Bonnie acted to how he was in the original Fredbear and Friends.

“Another surprise for you, Bon-Bon—" Mike chimed in, garnering the rabbit's attention. "—you know how your scan of me kept registering weird? Like I said, it's not a malfunction; Freddy, Charlie, and I are all robots! Close your eyes, Gregory.”

When the boy did so, Michael reached up to pull back the flap of skin on his neck revealing his access port. He moved over so the astounded bunny could examine it closer before hiding it away again.

“Henry Emily created these bodies,” Freddy added, pointedly not including the timeframe for these technological marvels. Later he could sit down with Bonnie and explain all the sordid details. For now, he just wanted to focus on the happy reunion. “Over the years he moved on from creating animals and strove to make lifelike androids—this is the result! And would you like to know something amazing? The other day, I was able to eat a hamburger... without it clogging up all of my systems!”

Michael couldn't stop a snort from escaping at this proclamation. The way Freddy described consuming a burger was like he'd discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Although, to robotic AIs who never thought they'd get a chance to do such a thing, he reasoned the feeling was probably similar. He just hoped Bonnie didn't get jealous and want a body of his own anytime soon.

With fists resting over his hips, Bonnie popped up animatedly to stare at Freddy with intrigue and amazement. “Hold up—the Henry Emily? Goodness gracious, what I’d give to meet my creator! You’re lucky, Fredbear!”

He’d pay his kudos to Freddy, happy for him regardless of whether or not Bonnie would ever get his own human form. Though it would be nice, walking around like all the people do…

“Oh man… I want to eat a burger! How’d it taste? What’s tasting even like? Haha!” the jolly old rabbit inquired, laughing at the absurdity of Freddy’s new life.

Gregory was sort of blindsided by how Bonnie moved. It was mesmerizing in the way Sun or Moon moved, every movement fluid like a nimble dancers. It was certainly more human than Roxy or Monty’s animation cycles. Then Gregory remembered that the same thing happened to Freddy when exposed to human souls… Gregory chose not to dwell on this as Bonnie came over and inspected the nearly undetectable slit in the back of Michael’s neck, looking at him and Charlie with awe.

“Well aren’t y’all a couple of technological marvels! That’s really something…,” he murmured.

“You know I would only do such a drastic thing as move bodies for a good reason,” Freddy said, his tone a bit softer than before as he placed a hand on Bonnie’s arm and squeezed. He too could sense the subtle changes in the bunny’s movement and emotional capacity.

Like Freddy, Bonnie was still clearly himself at his core—thank god William Afton’s murderous personality hadn’t rubbed off on him—but he just seemed… more. More expressive, more fluid, more alive.

“Yeah, so… I told Bonnie that a lot went down while he was out,” Michael piggybacked on Freddy’s comment with an exhausted grin. “I figured we’d let Freddy spill all the details later, but I’ll just tell you, Bon—your friend is quite literally one of the kindest souls we’ve ever met.”

Freddy chuckled softly, and if his cheeks reddened slightly with joyful embarrassment, who was to say? He lifted Gregory into his arms, setting the boy on his hip to face their latest animatronic companion.

“A detailed explanation will be provided in time, yes,” Freddy began, then pressed the briefest kiss to the top of Gregory’s head before looking up at Bonnie with the utmost pride a papa bear could muster. “But all you need to know for the moment is that Gregory is my boy, and I have taken on this form to care for him as best I can.”

Gregory slung an arm around his dad, looking up to the bunny. Bonnie’s head was tilted as Freddy explained, and Gregory witnessed as he processed the information faster than a falling anvil.

Bonnie felt something weird. It was an odd emotion he’d never experienced before, or was designed to at all really. It was the sharp knife of what Bonnie could only assume to be... jealousy? As fast as that odd, stabbing metaphorical pain was, it left even faster. The emotion never registered on the animatronic’s face. But when sanity hit Bonnie he reminded himself that being jealous of a 12 year old was… Pretty silly.

Bonnie would quickly chalk this weird glitch to the suddenness of it all. Coming back online after so long with things being so different… This was probably a normal feeling to have in the current situation.

“Shucks, Freddy—the little guy must mean a lot to you!” To Gregory’s relief and happiness, Bonnie reached out to pat Gregory’s head without any violent or weird intent. “Anyone who’s got Fred that wrapped around their finger is a friend of mine! And that means y’all are gonna visit me whenever you can, ya hear?”

He’d not take no for an answer; the family would be dropping by as often as they could.

“Of course!” Freddy replied, grinning from ear to ear. Now that Bonnie was back online and functional, it would be a monumental task to keep the pair away from each other. Looking to the rest of his companions, Freddy posed the question: “Well, since we are already here... how about a round of bowling?”

“Oh, you're on, Fazbear!” Michael exclaimed, glad for the chance to do something besides stand around talking. He'd been still and focused for most of the day with Bonnie's repairs, and while he was glad the rabbit was up and running again he was admittedly tired of staring at him. Looking too long at those red eyes reminded Michael of who used to be inside... which was a topic he didn't want to think about.

Besides, Bonnie—the real Bonnie—was the kind of guy you just loved to hang out with, and Michael wasn't going to give up that chance.

“Gregory, you and me are going to smoke your dad,” Michael said when Gregory was set on the floor, meeting the boy's gaze determinately. Whether they played individually or added up their scores in teams, Michael knew Gregory was the best “human” player they had. Putting up a bet against the bowling alley's namesake was a lost cause, but maybe they could beat Freddy with Gregory's new skills...

Gregory stood separated from his father now, running to high-five Michael.

“We're totally smokin' them!” he agreed. Bonnie cracked his knuckles at that.

“Did you hear that, Fred? I think these fella’s don’t even know what they’re in for.” The duo were naturals at the game, and Bonnie’s winning streak began anew starting tonight. He’d make a show of stretching, as if working out his joints to limber himself up for their game. Sending a wink to Samuel, he told the man: “Boss, you’ll be on our team. Right?”

Sam chuckled nervously. He wasn’t the best at bowling, but with Freddy and Bonnie’s skill, he might be able to skate by with letting the two of them take the helm of the game.

“Sure! Why the heck not?” he agreed, somewhat bashful as the group made their way for the lanes.

“Excellent. They do not stand a chance,” Freddy said with a grin, mirroring Bonnie's attempts to stretch out his limbs. When they settled at the lanes Freddy turned his wide smile on the opposing team, wishing them a simple: “Good luck—you will certainly need it.”

“Oh—you've got sass now, Fredbear. Okay.” Michael sneered back, hands on his hips. “Don't get too ahead of yourselves... you might be surprised at our amazing skills.”

It didn't take long for the teams to devolve mostly into smack talk, all in jest as they continued to playfully poke fun at each other too much to finish a proper game. At one point it was less of a bowling competition and more of a demonstration for Sam, with both Charlie and Freddy instructing him on the proper way to hold his wrist, and with Bonnie telling Gregory the worst knock-knock jokes either he or Michael ever heard. The group would simply have to find out who the true bowling champions of the Pizzaplex were another time.

“Hey, Gregory—what do you say you and I take a field trip?” Michael asked, sidling closer as Bonnie was called over to judge Sammy's latest attempt at a strike. “As thrilling as Bonnie's jokes are, I think if I hear one more 'knock knock' come out of his mouth I'm going to knock myself out. Besides—” He grinned, raising a questioning eyebrow. “—I think it's time we give Evan and Lizzie a little tour of the Pizzaplex. How about it?”

Michael looked over at the quartet by the lane and let out a snort. “Or, I guess I should ask—do you think you can convince your dad to let you out of his sight for more than five minutes?"

Mike had charismatically convinced Gregory to split from the group with the promise of seeing his friends again—and Gregory did promise them he’d be back to hang out for longer tonight. Besides, he hadn't even seen the other kids in a few nights. Without much of a fight on his part, Gregory nodded and ran to Freddy’s side.

“Dad! Dad—” Gregory said, having to repeat himself. Normally Freddy was fairly attentive, but now that he was distracted by his best friend, it took two tries to get his father to glance at him.

“—Dad,” he said a third time, followed by the pressing question: “Michael and I wanna go see the others downstairs. That's cool, right?”

“The others?” Freddy repeated, looking to Michael as he stepped over.

“Yeah, I thought I could take Gregory down to see them,” Michael clarified. “It'll give you guys a chance to catch up too, while we're at it.”

“Well, I suppose that would be alright—I am sure they miss your company, superstar.” Freddy smiled down at his son, smoothing out his hair. With a little exclamation of pleasant surprise, Freddy patted his front pocket. “Now that we all have cell phones, it will be easy for us to keep in touch! Please call me when you are on the way back so we know when to expect you.”

“You got it, big guy.” Michael gave Freddy a salute, then called to the others. “Hey, Gregory and I are heading out for a little bit—see you guys later!”

“Don't do anything stupid!” Charlie laughed after them, watching her brother throw an easy gutter ball that nearly had her into stitches from the disappointed look on Sam's face.

Gregory would argue… except she kind of had a point. He and Mike found themselves in stupid scenarios all the time, though it seemed more or less that stupidity followed them rather than them seeking it out actively. With a roll of his eyes and a spring in his step, Gregory called to Charlie in a sarcastic manner that only further served to fuel her laughter. “Don't worry, we probably will anyway!”

“Take it easy, youngsters!” Bonnie waved, taking his place again by Freddy's side with unabashed interest as they caught up on life.

***

Now that the path to the basement was a familiar one, the trek downstairs seemed shorter each time. Before they knew it Michael and Gregory were at the door to Henry's workshop, which was cracked open invitingly. As a courtesy, Mike knocked before entering. “Uncle Henry? You in there?”

“Michael!” Henry's tone was surprised, and there was a hurried bit of shuffling papers and slamming drawers before the door was pulled fully open. The pair were greeted by Henry's smiling face and his hands moved to rest casually on his hips. “What brings you guys to the depths?”

“We're looking for Evan and Lizzie,” Michael explained, peering around the room suspiciously. For all he knew, they could be waiting to ambush him somewhere; he hadn't forgotten Liz's threat from the last time they'd seen each other. Upon finding no sign of plotting siblings, Michael turned his gaze back to Henry. “Any chance you've seen them?”

“Hmm... can't say that I have.” Henry gave a shrug, although from the mirthful light in his eyes it seemed like he knew more than he was letting on.

For a moment Gregory was worried. Where could they have possibly gone?

Little known to him that their friends were waiting to prank Michael so hard, he'd double-die of embarrassment. That's what Lizzie would proclaim anyway. After having Cassidy steal a fair amount of whipped cream from the bakery, Liz and Evan were sitting out of sight with the canisters at the ready.

“Oh man—come on, Mike. I think I know where they're at.” Gregory said knowingly, starting into the darkness of what Henry so lovingly referred to as the depths. “They're inside the dinner.”

“Alright, I'm following your lead” Michael replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. They walked even farther down towards the diner, which sat quiet and empty.

Well, at least it looked to be empty. The silent, shoulder-shaking laughter of the youngest Aftons would say otherwise. Evan and Lizzie hid just around the corner of the front doors, lying in wait for their prey to walk through. There was one sibling on either side, positioned for maximum pranking. Right on que Michael stepped past the entryway, not even getting a chance to call out before he was met with a sudden attack from both sides. He let out a rather high-pitched shriek and tried to cover his face, but unfortunately for him Evan was able to float and together with Lizzie they were able to completely cover their brother in sticky sweetness in no time flat.

“Aw, for—you got it in my hair, man!” Michael griped once the cans had been emptied and discarded on the floor. He wore a sour expression as he listened to surround-sound giggles, huffing a put-out: “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up...”

Even Gregory pointed and jeered. At first the ambush had shaken him due to the amount of times he’d been scared in the dark. Realizing the attack was on Michael for a change, he was able to see the smiling, happy faces of Elizabeth and Evan Afton proudly accosting their brother with four cans of aerosol dairy. With hands braced over his knees, Gregory was struggling to catch his breath as he laughed heartily with the little prank they played. This would serve Michael right for messing his hair up with all the noogies...

“Oh NO—your face, Michael!—” Liz tried to explain, wiping away a tear from the stress of laughing.

“His face?” Gregory asked, finally able to suck in a breath as he moved to help clean the whipped cream off Michael’s shirt. “His voice! Bro, tell me how you got your voice that high!”

Michael grumbled something unintelligible as he desperately tried to shake the whipped cream out of his hair. Even if he was annoyed, he had to admit they got him good.

“Even you, Evan?” Michael lamented when he felt tiny hands combing through the back of his head. There was only one of his siblings that could get that high, and sure enough Evan was floating just to the left of his face. Michael sighed dramatically, running a hand through his brown locks and grimacing when it came away full of dairy. “My own little brother, turning against me...”

“It's payback,” Evan responded simply, though payback for what would be something no one but him could answer. In response, Michael's forlorn expression flashed to a wicked grin and he suddenly shook his head like a wet dog, flinging whipped cream all over the diner floor and, more importantly, all of his siblings.

“So was that!” he responded, laughing at their shocked expressions.

The children had to raise their arms to block the barrage of foam flying through the air. It proved to be unhelpful as the kids were covered in the specs of froth in no time flat. Elizabeth growled, though no real anger was in her tone of voice when she said: “Quick! Do plan B!”

“What was plan B?!” Gregory asked, concerned and confused as he wasn't even told about this supposed back-up plan.

Crouched and poised for attack, Elizabeth told Gregory to: “Tackle him!”

What a betrayal, being attacked so ruthlessly by your own family members. As predicted, Gregory and Liz went for the legs as Evan had the highest vantage point to latch onto Michael and knock him off-balance.

Mike went down immediately, arms pin-wheeling for balance as he fell back onto the dusty floor. While Gregory and Lizzie tackled his legs, Evan went right for his chest, pushing against it with a round of uproarious laughter. As soon as Michael was down for the count Evan perched on top of him, grinning down at him with unbridled satisfaction.

The whole event ended up with the quartet in a messy pile on the floor, their fading laughter stilted as they tried to catch their breath. Eventually Michael turned his head to take stock of the aftermath, lifting up one of Lizzie’s strawberry-blonde curls and letting it fall back against her cheek with a gross splat! Michael snorted in amusement, satisfied his siblings got pulled into their own prank. “Serves you all right, thinking you can one-up me. Amateurs…”

Far before they’d gotten cruel, Michael’s pranks had been infamous in their little hometown. He could pull them off by himself just fine, though sometimes he’d rope Charlie or Sam into it… if they weren’t the intended victims. Evan and Lizzie picked up their skills through long-term exposure and osmosis of watching Michael work.

After all this time, Mike still hadn't lost his edge. Still as rambunctious and cunning as he was when they were children, Liz would grimace as her perfectly coiffed curls saturated with heavy whipping cream. It reminded her of the breakfast in bed fiasco on Father's Day... Her and their mother spent hours cleaning the resulting mess out of their clothes and the entirety of the kitchen.

“Liz,” Gregory said, pulling her from the now bittersweet memory—and thankfully so. “Your prank sucked.” This earned him a handful of whipped cream smushed across his nose.

“Silence, dork,” Elizabeth chirped back. “Besides, it was Cassidy that gave Evan the idea...”

“Hey! You’re the one that was all excited to get Mikey back for the other day!” Evan deflected, then blew a raspberry at her when she rolled her eyes.

“Alright… I hate being the grown up here and say it’s time to move on, but since clearly none of you are up for it I guess I have to,” Michael remarked, sitting up with a heavy sigh. Evan was shifted into his lap, upon which the ghost wrapped his arms around Michael’s torso and squeezed.

“Okaaaaay… Whatever you say, Mike,” Evan relented, gazing up at his brother with the most innocent eyes and smile as his tight hug forced some lukewarm whipped cream to completely soak through Michael’s shirt.

“Little shit!” the man gasped. As he pried his brother off, he couldn’t be too mad—Evan learned from the best, after all. Once free of clinging siblings, Michael looked down at himself with a grimace. “Okay, well, Gregory and I were going to bust you guys out of here and show you the Pizzaplex, but I think we need to take a detour to the Gift Shop first… and the bathroom.”

Evan might be able to “reset” his ghostly form and rid himself of dairy remnants, but the others needed to wash up and change before the stuff had a chance to fester. Gregory stiffened up at the mention of entering the public bathroom to wash up.

“Psh. I'm fine. I don't need to clean up.” He would brush it off, like being covered in diary wasn't going to be an issue after a half an hour when it starts to warm. Liz looked at him, a glimmer of amusement in her jeweled eyes.

“Oh yeah? You like smelling of curdled milk, then?” her posh tone inquired facetiously, earning her a sharp glare. He wanted her to let it be, yet something told Gregory that Liz wasn't the type to easily back down or take back the things she says.

“Yes,” Gregory stated firmly. “I love it. That's my favorite smell.” It was said so straight Liz might believe the lie, were it not so ridiculous.

Michael instantly realized his mistake, and mentally smacked himself for putting Gregory in an awkward position. Of course the kid would be terrified of public bathrooms after what happened last time he’d gone in one…

“You know what? Change of plans—we go to the Gift Shop, grab some new clothes, then head to the Daycare,” Michael said, getting to his feet and trying to brush off as much excess whipped cream as he could. Hopefully Henry wouldn’t mind the mess in the diner until Mike could come back and clean it up. “This stuff’s gnarly, but as long as we get it off soon I think it’d be fine if we don’t immediately take a sink shower. I guarantee Sun has a stockpile of stuff to clean up after the kids.”

“Oh, I think Puppet’s there! She’s got some new friends,” Evan piped up, following along behind as Mike started the walk back to the surface. With a quick full-body shake, Evan returned to his original dairy-free self. Not for the first time, he was glad he’d chosen to forgo his android in deference to his ghostly form.

Gregory looked to Evan with controlled jealousy. Gregory hadn't been positive, but he was sure that night in the bathroom had killed him... Only he was forced to stay in this body, and not given an incorporeal form like Evan. It still tethered him to this world and the messes he created within in. Still, Gregory would count his blessings that his heart restarted eventually. Trading that for having a mess-free life wasn't the best idea anyway.

“Yup—” Gregory agreed. “—Sun and Ennard are becoming fast friends with her.”

Liz's smile grew tight. So that was where that petty amalgamation went to. She wasn't fine to hang out with, but the spooky Puppet and the creepy old Daycare attendant were?

“Reeeally now? You don't say,” Liz asked through grated teeth. After clapping her hands together in one enthusiastic motion, she forced a grin. “Let's go visit! We need to clean up anyway. Why not?”

Michael smirked at Lizzie’s tone. Any opportunity to keep the amalgamation away was just fine with him. On their way out they stopped by the workshop to let Henry know the Afton’s were going upstairs for a while. Henry was all for it, and Michael couldn’t help but notice his poorly-contained laughter at the state of them. Apparently the old ghost had more knowledge of the plan than he let on.

With an eye roll and a sarcastic, “Thanks for the heads up, Henry,” Michael ushered the kids up to the surface. The back passageways they emerged into weren’t of great interest, but when they reached the main atrium Evan and Lizzie stopped dead in their tracks. Evan floated up next to Michael’s shoulder, gazing in awe at the flashing neon lights and signs.

“Welcome to the Mega Pizzaplex,” Mike said with a grin, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture.

“Whoa…,” was all Evan could get out, deep brown eyes reflecting the rainbow of colors around him.

Elizabeth was holding onto Evan's arm like a lifeline, her own eyes catching the neons. It was like a mall—but so much larger. All of the strip malls in the 80s were puny compared to the vision that Samuel had in mind. It was clear to Liz that despite all the time that had passed, sweet Sammy Emily was still very much a kid at heart. He knew what would captivate and amaze the masses to the point of returning again and again.

“No way...,” Liz chimed in softly. It wasn't long before she felt a tug, Gregory gently pulling the two kids forward and further into the atrium.

“Come oooon!” Gregory beckoned playfully. “There's so much to see! Let's go!”

Evan barely registered as he was moved, too entranced by the sheer size of this place and the loving nods to Sammy’s childhood. The heavy 80s theme created a weird dichotomy in Evan’s mind. He knew many, many years had passed since ‘83—though admittedly he’d stopped counting long ago—and being surrounded by such familiar colors and patterns brought him right back to the malls of his youth. Yet when he looked closer everything had a sort of sleek, technological feel to it like nothing the ghost had ever seen before.

“Hey, uh… what year is it anyway?” Evan asked, his voice small as if afraid of the answer.

“It’s 2023,” Michael replied with a soft, understanding smile. Evan’s jaw dropped, expecting the response but still not ready for it.

“Al… Almost 40 years…,” he whispered, expression twisting as he tried to process the information. He wasn’t necessarily upset about the lost time—at least, not too much—he was just shocked that things seemed to have both changed and remained the same. Although, he figured the Fazbear franchise was probably an exception to the passing of normal time. It always was.

“It looks like Back to The Future in here,” Liz compared with wide eyes. Did Evan ever watch that movie? Probably not. She only remembered watching it once when Michael was finally in a better mood. She supposed it was for the best that things looked this way. Anything beyond her comprehension would only serve to throw Elizabeth into a panic. This place—these sounds... They tightened something in her chest, winding it up and strangling what she thought was her heart.

She missed so much. How could Dad do this to her?

She, Michael, and Evan should be old together. They should be experiencing this through the eyes of nostalgic adults—yet Liz only felt like she was truly coming home for the first time after a long, stressful road trip. That was the only way she could comprehend it, by comparing it to a movie that hardly fit the description of the retro-aesthetic technological marvels she saw around them.

Gregory weaved his hand into Liz's. She had a long stare that made Gregory uncomfortable with the road she appeared to be slipping down. Even then she nearly didn't notice the kind gesture until he squeezed her hand hard.

“Yeah—but Back to the Future doesn't have pizza slushees," he remarked, earning a disgusted look from Liz.

“Oh, that’s foul!” she gasped, seeming completely serious until a smile finally broke through to show her pearly white teeth. “Where can I get one?”

“The bowling alley, but that’s our last stop because all the boring adults are hanging out there with Charlie,” Michael informed them, completely ignoring the fact that technically he too was a boring adult.

“There’s a bowling alley in here?!” Evan piped up, and it was Mike’s turn to grasp his hand and be his earthly tether. It seemed that the more excited he got, the higher he was apt to float.

“And a go-kart arena, and a mini golf course, and laser tag—not to mention a billion arcades,” Michael added with a grin. He took Lizzie’s other hand and pulled her along as well, not wanting them to get too distracted from their current destination. “Don’t worry, we’ll check everything out after we get cleaned up. You guys are going to be blown away with all the merch this place has!”

With that Michael managed to get his little group to the Gift Shop with only a few more pauses to point out interesting things. He released his sibling’s hands when they walked through the doorway, telling them: “Have at it! There’s changing rooms near the clothes. You might as well use whatever you’re wearing to squeeze what you can out of your hair—everything needs to be washed anyway…”

It took a lot to get Liz and Evan to focus. Right now the two kids were all riled up and eager to see the playground that Samuel had concocted. He always said that when his dad finally let him work at the locations, he had big plans for the place. Lizzie never quite understood everything that Sam would rattle on about, but his passion for it made her listen intently every time he spoke of his dreams. It was one of the things to admire about the Emilys. They were quiet people from afar, but get them talking about something they loved and you could watch them go on for hours...

As Liz wandered around the shop, she found accessories and trinkets that caught her eye and pocketed them for later. She had only needed a shirt, as miraculously the skirt that Henry fitted this android with was otherwise pristine. Everything stayed true to the old merchandise that once sat by the crate full in their garage, though the quality was much better than the cheap things her father made as their first round of toys and shirts. It wasn't too long before Liz found a pink shirt. With the cutest Chica logo she’d ever seen, how could she refuse?

Gregory decided to go for a shirt he had seen earlier—a muscle tee that came tumbled and “worn” in appearance. When he reached for the garment, he was surprised to find another, similar hand attempting to tug it off the rack as well.

“Oh! Good choice!” Evan laughed when he realized who he was having a mini tug of war with. Evan didn't need the shirt, but that didn't mean he couldn't admire it. Maybe he could pick one up later—he still technically had an android if he ever got tired of floating around, and he'd certainly need a variety of outfits. It was like his own soul-powered dress-up doll. He released the fabric in deferment to Gregory, grinning widely. “This stuff's so rad! Not like what they sold before—this is like... the good stuff!”

Meanwhile, Michael had swiped a similar muscle tee off the adult size rack, along with a pair of dark wash jeans with iron-ons of all the Glamrock's grinning faces down one leg. Bonnie was noticeably absent, which wasn't unexpected, although now that he was friendly again Mike wondered if he could find a loose patch that he could add himself... For now though, he rushed into a changing room and preformed the fastest quick-change the world had ever seen, not wanting to take his eyes off his siblings for a second. He emerged in his new attire, using the back of his old shirt to soak up whipped cream remnants from his hair. Lizzie's shoes could be seen in the crack under the next changing room door, so Michael focused his attention on the lookalikes.

“Find anything good?” he asked, bumping Gregory with his hip as he sidled up next to them.

Gregory teetered with the bump, but laughed it off while gesturing to Evan. “We were going to grab the same shirt—apparently the stuff here is better than it used to be.”

With the changing rooms close by, Gregory quickly slipped into the one that Michael just came from.

“No, you don't even know—” Lizzie snorted from the stall next to him, remembering when their father nearly had a nervous breakdown to find a shipment of plushies with their faced printed on the butts of all the dolls. “—Evan, remember when Dad cried because of the butt-faces?”

“The butt-faces!” Evan and Michael exclaimed in unison. They glanced side-long at each other, then simultaneously burst into laughter.

“He was yelling at that guy for hours!” Evan reminisced through giggles, vividly recalling how he'd peeked into his father's office only to find William screaming into the phone, clearly having a major communication issue with the poor soul on the other end.

At that time, William's anger hadn't been scary—no more than a typical stressed-out father's wrath was apt to get. Will had caught Evan peering around the corner with wide, terrified eyes, and only then was he able to regain his composure. After telling the man in not so kind words that he didn't think they were getting anywhere and to expect a call from his business partner tomorrow, William had moved to Evan's side and taken him out for an apology ice cream for clearly freaking the kid out. This trip had been extra special in Evan's mind, for it was one of the rare times he actually got to spend some quality time with his dad without at least one other kid hanging off his other side.

“Evan? Hey, buddy?” Michael's voice broke through the ghost's reverie. Evan came to with a start only to realize everyone was staring at him, Gregory and Lizzie having long-since emerged from the dressing rooms. To his surprise, Evan felt cold tear streaks running down his face.

“O-Oh...,” he murmured, then gave a big sniffle and wiped his face. Why did even the happy memories make him cry? He shifted his gaze to the floor, the pallor of his pale cheeks darkening the smallest bit in embarrassment. “Sorry... I'm okay, I promise. Can... Can we go to the Daycare now?”

It was so easy to be lost in the better memories, a time when things made sense and their dad had been more present. Gregory wouldn't push it, or even point out that Evan was crying—instead he slung his arm around Evan's shoulders with an encouraging grin.

“The Daycare is ridiculously fun. I don't even care if it's made for toddlers, it's like a giant playground!” he said, trying to hype Evan up now for what was likely going to be a fun time in Sun and Moon's little kingdom. “And you get to see how Puppet's doing!”

Where Gregory saw the Puppet as a guardian and friend, Liz had mixed feelings on the doll. It wasn't the Marionette's fault for not getting to Charlie in time, but for a while Lizzie resented the animatronic and wouldn't even visit the ticket counter anymore due to the secondhand shame and anger she felt when looking at it. Little did she know that if she’d just visited once, she would be visiting Charlie as well...

“Yeah! Let's go!” Evan urged, his mouth flipping into a little smile as he slipped an arm around Gregory's back, walking with his “twin” side-by-side.

Michael watched them for a moment, his face pinching with regret the second Evan's back was turned. Someday they'd sit down and have a long talk about things—about what happened in '83 and how Evan existed from then until now, unpacking decades of hurt and anger. However, at the moment they were headed to the Daycare, which was sure to perk up their spirits with its bright colors and even brighter attendant.

“We can't let those two out of our sights, Liz,” Michael murmured, slipping his hand into his sister's and gently tugging her along. “I bet they're already plotting something...”

It really was such a good feeling being able to hold hands with a family member you haven't seen in a while. It was so easy to fall back into old customs and rituals, too. Liz could almost hear their mother now, asking that Michael hold her sister's hand while they were out in public. When Mike asked why, their father would chime in to say that people would want to kidnap Elizabeth—but no one wanted to steal him. He either was too annoying or not cute enough. The joke now was supremely less funny than it was forty years ago, but the memory of being happy fueled Lizzie’s will to become happy again. So, in the spirit of celebrating how good things used to be, Liz swung their arms a little in their gait.

“I don't know—can’t say I trust new Evan,” Liz begun to scheme, thinking out loud as the boys in front seemed to get on like a house on fire while the actual dangerous combination plotted the twins’ downfall right behind their backs. “We need to strike preemptively.”

“Agreed,” Michael replied with a nod, then leaned down to whisper a suggestion in Liz's ear that had her nearly choking as she tried to hold back her laughter.

The group continued in their happy pairs, following Gregory's lead to the Daycare. The upstairs pick-up area greeted them with bright overhead lights, letting them know that Sun was currently out and about. Michael peered through the netting and caught sight of the Daycare attendant on the opposite end of the play area, seated on one of the foam blocks and gesturing wildly as he recounted stories of the little sunbeams placed under his care. Puppet and Ennard were lingering nearby, watching Sun attentively and seeming entranced by his over-exuberant way of speaking with his entire body to make up for his lack of facial expressions.

“Hey, Sun! You've got visitors!” Michael called, and Sun whipped his head in a 180 so fast it was a wonder his neck didn't snap. Mike glanced down at Lizzie, then made a split-second decision to lift her under the arms and swing her feet-first into the wide opening of the slide before she had a chance to protest.

“Be a good sis and chase Ennard away, will you?” he murmured, knowing she didn't need a bribe for such a fun opportunity. With that he gave her a little push, sending her plummeting into the darkness of the plastic tube.

“WAH!” Liz didn't expect to be thrown fast down slide. With gravity increasing her speed, Liz shot out of the tube at the other end squealing half from adrenaline and half from fun. Gosh, when was the last time she could say she'd gone down a slide right into a massive ball pit?

When she surfaced again, who else would she make direct eye contact with but the elusive Ennard themselves? Without warning, Ennard let out a high pitched and garbled shriek. Their voice positively pierced the sound barrier, its fear-soaked tone the interlude for Ennard’s escape. They flipped their body, turning all the way around to scale the wall and run for Sun's room for cover. It wholly confused both the Marionette and her newest friend. In fact, the odd-frequency Ennard emitted had her jump from her seat to cling to Sun as they watched them escape.

“Oh, that wasn't hard at all!” Liz would laugh to herself, regaining her composure and breath from the exhilaration. It wasn't long before Evan and Gregory fell in behind her. Evan would technically be the first to enter before Gregory, but the other boy was clinging to Evan's back so they could argue that they fell into the pit at the same time.

“I so made it first!” Evan exclaimed with a giddy laugh, disentangling himself from Gregory so he could wade through the ball pit, enjoying the satisfying click of the plastic.

“My goodness!” Sun exclaimed, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern as his head swiveled from the children in the ball pit, to his little room Ennard disappeared into, then to the wooden door as Michael pushed it open. “What just happened?! Our new friend's never acted like that before!”

“Oh, don't you know? Ennard's a total scaredy-cat,” Michael said with a nonchalant shrug, unable to resist the jab. Now that the amalgamation was temporarily out of the picture, he could actually enjoy some time without constant metallic breathing over his shoulder. Mike reached out for Puppet as he neared the Daycare attendant, allowing her to slither around his shoulders in greeting. “Anyway! Sun, I've got two new kids for you to play with—meet Lizzie and Evan.”

As always, Sun's attention was quickly pulled to the children in his Daycare. With a loud gasp, he pressed his palms against the sides of his face.

“Gregory, I didn't know you had a twin! What a cutie you are!” Long arms reached forward to scoop Evan up. They grasped him under the shoulders and began to lift, when suddenly—the boy was nowhere to be found. Sun stared at his empty hands, tilting his head in utter confusion. “Um... hmm. Where did you go, sunshine?”

“I... think you freaked him out,” Michael muttered, looking around as well. He should've warned Evan about Sun—or better yet, told the Daycare attendant that the kid probably wouldn't appreciate an animatronic going for his face, no matter how friendly they may be.

“I'm okay!” Evan's soft voice piped up from a completely different location, and everyone glanced down to see the little ghost fade into existence behind Mike, clinging to his leg as a shield against the touchy Sun. Despite his words, he stared at the animatronic with a wary expression.

“I'm sorry, little one—I didn't mean to scare you!” Sun apologized, deciding it best not to ask how the child had teleported at the moment. Instead he turned his attention to Lizzie, asking her tentatively: “Do you like being picked up?”

“If you try, she'll probably yell at you,” Evan added helpfully, still half-hidden behind his brother's leg, then let out a little giggle. “Or bite you. You never know with her.”

What was the point in even correcting Sun? Evan and Gregory were practically twins at this point. There was no denying it. To Gregory, it would be a little bit funny that Evan would choose to run away. He and Liz were far scarier than anything left in the Pizzeria, being actual honest ghosts.

Laughing, Gregory filed in to Michael's side, patting Evan's shoulder reassure the poor kid. It was amazing how ghosts still kept their self-preservation skills even when they had nothing left to preserve...

Elizabeth eyed the jester somewhat skeptically at first, though the rapport he had with her brother put her at ease. She would hold up her hand, symbolizing that she was willing to touch his palm in a high five as greeting for now.

“I think it might hurt my teeth if I bite him, Evan,” Liz giggled, happily touching her hand to the Sun's. “Gregory told us you love to play games!”

“Oh yes, yes!” Sun exclaimed, happy to receive positive affection from at least one of the new kids. His static grin seemed to widen as he stood up to full height, pressing long fingertips against his chest. “Games are my specialty, after all! Well, that and arts and crafts—but I love both of them equally! Do you all want to play a game?!”

“...Hide and seek?” Evan ventured, no longer cowering thanks to Gregory's reassurance. He was still a tiny bit wary simply due to the sheer size of this thing, but the attendant really did seem nothing but nice.

“Of course!” Sun agreed with a vigorous nod. “Hide and seek it is! Who wants to be the seeker first?”

“Doesn't matter to me, as long as Evan doesn't use those invisibility powers—or the teleporting,” Mike said, looking down at his brother with a raised eyebrow. “That would totally be cheating.”

“I won't!” Evan replied in a sing-song tone, hands clasped behind his back and staring at Michael with the innocent grin of an angel. Only Gregory could see the fingers crossed behind Evan's back as he made the promise.

Gregory was both equally impressed and thoroughly surprised at Evan's mischievous streak. All the Aftons had one, which meant that Gregory fit in perfectly with the rowdy bunch of kids. Gregory would keep this secret, as Evan may be kind enough to share some of that cheater’s magic with him later on.

Much to their surprise, the Puppet waved from the top of Michael's shoulders. After garnering their collective attention, she pointed to herself—since she happened to be the last one to be found last night, she would get her turn as seeker over tonight! Besides, the Puppet was very meticulous. She could find a razorblade in a grosser’s dozen of cupcakes.

“Oh no!” Liz laughed, knowing this fact to be true. “No way! You'll find us all so quickly, Puppet! I'll seek first.”

“Technically Puppet won last night,” Michael piped up with a shrug, lifting the Marionette up and down with the motion. “We were never able to find her hiding spot, so... she should seek first.”

“I can count down for her!” Sun offered with a little wave of his own. “Just give me ten extra seconds after I finish to find my own hiding spot, okay?” At the Puppet's agreeing nod, Sun clapped his hands together before reaching out to take her from Michael's shoulders. “Alright, everyone—to the count of thirty! One... two...”

And just like that, the game began. Michael didn't even have time to wish his siblings good luck before they shot off like rockets to various corners of the play area. Not wanting the mortification of being the first one found Mike did likewise, mentally grumbling at the fewer choices he had with his larger frame compared to that of the kids'. Hopefully he could find a good spot that even the Puppet would take a while to locate...

Those kids were faster than lightning. Gregory followed Evan; rules said they couldn’t hide in the same place. Carefully, Gregory would stack a large pile of those play cans that rested in towers around the Daycare. He did this as quickly as he could and with time to spare, locking himself inside a little prison of colorful stacking cans. He’d do his best to keep still, and hopefully Puppet wouldn’t notice the freshly made tower and decide to knock it down. Inside his tiny fortress, Gregory watched as Elizabeth made her way slowly and carefully into the ball pit. Her outfit was so colorful it might as well serve her as camouflage.

Lowering herself below the threshold of the pool side, Liz would slip under and wait patiently under the surface. She was happy to do so—this pit was a lot cleaner than the old Fazbear diner’s ball pit. Maybe it was awful to keep thinking of him, but Liz could almost hear her father telling her, “Sweet pea, no; it’s filthy in there. Go play elsewhere,” before being gently pulled from her excellent hiding spot.

But her father wasn’t here anymore, and wouldn’t be ever again…

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be alone right now. So far, Elizabeth hadn’t had a moment to herself to process everything that'd happened just a few days ago. Quietly, Liz wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged, self-soothing as she remained by her lonesome for now.

Ten seconds after Sun stopped his counting, an eerie silence fell over the Daycare.

It was not something Liz had noticed, depersonalizing where she was in the moment. Gregory sure had, though. The Puppet moved so quietly there was no way to tell where she was unless crawling in plain sight. However, it was clear that she wanted to surprise them when Gregory caught her sneaking and scaling up the sides of the jungle gym.

Michael managed to wedge himself in one of the plastic tubes at the last second. It was admittedly tight fit—he wasn’t nearly as flexible as Sun. Thank god he didn’t have a human body, or his back would certainly be sore tomorrow from being so twisted.

Meanwhile, Evan used the rare moment of not being watched to do a little exploring. He hadn’t explicitly been told that Sun’s room was off-limits… Besides, if anyone would be able to find him no matter where he roamed, it would be Puppet. Evan also had a second reason for his chosen hiding spot—he wanted to finally get a look at the mysterious Ennard that was obsessed with one of his siblings, yet terrified of the other.

He knew what Ennard and Liz had done to Michael. His sister told him the whole sordid truth during one of those dark, horrible nights they’d still been trapped in animatronic shells. Lizzie hadn’t wanted Evan near the unstable amalgamation, using its fear of her to shield her brother from its presence. And while he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Michael about that incident, it was understandably clear he hated Ennard, too.

Still… Evan was an Afton, notoriously curious despite his timid nature. He knew of Ennard’s help in stopping their father, and their willingness to protect not only Mike but Gregory and Charlie as well (even if it was only at Michael’s request). Plus, Puppet liked them! Surely they couldn’t be that bad, right?

The recent escape from Sun’s clutches gave Evan a little burst of confidence—just enough for him to float up to the little stage when no one was looking and peek into the room behind. The area warmly lit by string lights was quite organized and clean, though notably empty of animatronics. However, the faintest shuffling let Evan know Ennard was still around, likely keeping tabs on the Daycare situation. Steeling his nerve, Evan clenched his little fists by his sides and whispered:

“Ennard? Hey, my siblings are gonna be SUPER mad if they know I’m here, but I wanted to say hi…”

***

Previous Chapter ~~ Next Chapter

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

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moth--knight · 11 months

Note

For the ‘So Many Ideas’ post about WIPs, I’d love to hear about any ideas you have for the stuff listed in the post!!!

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ! ! ! ! AHHHHHHHH I love a good excuse to talk about the feral ideas that are constantly scratching at the cat posts of my brain. I am going to ramble (as per usual......my apologies) so putting my answers below the cut.

Fics I want to write

All of the fics I write are ones I want to write, so this category is a bit funny. But I REALLY want to write a very dorky and self-indulgent Tokyo BayoJeanne rivals fic where they play competitive Splatoon. LMAO. I don't know if I ever will, because it is so ridiculously niche and silly.....but the idea is floating around currently. Jeanne is a Splatana Wiper Deco main and her backup is the fucking Bamboozler (ANNOYING TRYHARD MOMENTS). Bayo mains Dark Tetra Dualies and her backup is the Dynamo Roller. They spend entire matches just trying to kill each other, much to the chagrin of their teams. They meet IRL and are like. Oh she's hot. Oh no. OH nooooooooooo. Their first date is bowling which is way too fucking competitive and they end up making out in the bowling alley's shitty arcade. Love wins.

Fics I want to read

Lumen Bayo. I want this fic so badly as something I could just sit down and devour. In an ideal world, this fic would be written together by dubhgloinne, Dikhotomia, and Wilmaa and I would sob and scream and bite my hand until it bled at every chapter. Alas. They are not writing it, *I* am, so I will do my best to emulate the things they all do fabulously well and translate it to my own style. Part of why this fic is so daunting is because it is something I want primarily to read, and I am not sure if I can pull off the actual writing haha. We shall see.

Also a BayoJeanne coffeeshop AU. How the hell does this fandom not have one yet (as far as I am aware). I have started writing it but.....I know nothing about coffee. Or tea for that matter. So I will probably never finish writing this one. Someone else, PLEASE. I FUCKING BEG. BAYOJEANNE COFFEESHOP MEET CUTE ! ! ! !

There is just One Scene and I could write it but it would be waaaay more cool if I had all the build up to the scene but unfortunately. I can only figure out the Scene

Oh god. I have one tiny snippet of scene for a sequel to my orpheus fic, where Jeanne and Bayonetta have a full fight over Jeanne's over-protectiveness ..... but it would hit harder if I properly set it up and properly let them cope. It has been sitting in my drafts for months. I may never finish it. But I want to.

I keep changing my mind. Where am I going with this

Fun fact - last year I started planning what was supposed to be my first proper multi-chapter (side-eyes DH) set post Bayo 2, where Jeanne and Bayo would manage to bring a small cohort of witches back to life accidentally due a failsafe put in place by the Umbran Elder. But I was worried I was veering too close to some of the amazing ideas andthatisterrible has explored in their Endlings series and couldn't stop changing my mind on what to do with it. I have since abandoned it. I came up with an OC for it (a butch Umbra named Calliope) that I was IN LOVE WITH. She appears briefly in my blood and darkness fic, but this would have been her chance to shine. Alas. RIP to her.

This has been done a million times before. But. Hear me out

Jeanne and Bayo falling in love post Bayo 1. I have written this fic twice before, a million other people have written it, and yet here I am doing it a third time. But here me out. t4t BayoJeanne falling in love. DO YOU SEE THE VISION.

I will 100% Never Write This. This is just my Emotional Support Idea no one can ever know about bc it makes sense only to me

This used to be my t4t bayojeanne fic, but cringe is dead and I am free so I am actually writing it and will post it someday. I don't think I have any current ideas that fit this category.

Would be better as a comic...

I have had this idea pinging around in my head about Umbran hair rituals since last May (and playing Origins has only made it worse) but I think because so much of it is about feeling and vibes it would make for a much prettier and more impactful comic. I can't draw though so. RIP. I will probably break down some of these ideas and incorporate them into other fics though.

This will be my magnum opus if I can just get my 50 pages of ideas into a coherent narrative

Lumen Bayo. God please. Praying I can pull it off. I love it so so so so so much.

All I have are vibes

Eldritch horror Bayonetta, who gets a hold of both Eyes of the World and uses them to prevent Jeanne from ever dying. She becomes a god and loses her humanity in the process, and Jeanne is horrified (both by what her lover has become for her, and because she still loves her despite it all). My favorite Mass Effect fic of all time plays with a similar idea/theme, so I am drawing inspiration from it. But I only have vibes, not a real plot. It will probably be pretty experimental.....if I could write it in a similar style to this fucking incredible fic by Dikhotomia that would be epic. One day. ONE DAY.

WIP I started and haven't updated in 2 years and oh god its beEN TWO YEARS???

LMAO. It was this fic but since I finished it I don't have any other WIPs that have been sitting stagnant for more than four months. The other ideas pinging around my brain right now are Origins focused (I have a longer Morgana/Rosa endgame Origins AU fic in the works, but who knows when that will see the light of day.

ANYWAY. Hope this was interesting?

#asks #moth writes #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK SPOOKY AHHHH IT WAS FUN TO PARSE OUT SOME OF THIS #I am very normal about my ideas (lying through clenched teeth)

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my-meadowlark · 2 years

Text

Fic: Proverbs 4:23 [Glee - Quinn/Rachel]

Title: Proverbs 4:23 Fandom: Glee Characters/Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, with mentions of all or most of their canon ships. Rating: T Word Count: 5877 Summary:

Lucy Fabray is thirteen years old when her Sunday school teacher holds up a single red rose for all the students to see. “This,” she says, cheerful in a way Lucy has learned to associate with lessons that end in talks of hellfire and eternal damnation, “is your heart.” Quinn's life between Lucy and the night Rachel wins her Tony award, from her point of view. A series of unfortunate events, if you will.

Written for the prompt 002: Heartbreak from my femslash100100 Zeros table. Available on AO3 or under the cut.

Proverbs 4:23

Lucy Fabray is thirteen years old when her Sunday school teacher holds up a single red rose for all the students to see.

“This,” she says, cheerful in a way Lucy has learned to associate with lessons that end in talks of hellfire and eternal damnation, “is your heart.”

The teacher smells the rose, puts on a big production about how lovely it is. Just like their hearts. Is Lucy’s heart lovely? She doesn’t see why it wouldn’t be. Her mother always says it’s a shame she won’t lose weight so her inner beauty can shine through.

“Here,” the teacher continues, handing the rose to a girl in the front row, “smell it. Feel how soft the petals are. Beautiful, isn’t it? Pass it on so your friends can feel it, too.”

By the time it reaches Lucy, the rose is a little bit droopy. It’s missing a few petals and some of the ones it still has look like they’re barely holding on after being rubbed by half the class.

“Would you like to receive that rose?”

The teacher is looking at her, and Lucy nearly sighs because she knows by now what feels like the right answer is never the right answer in Sunday school. She doesn’t even know what they’re supposed to learn from this. Is it gratefulness? Then yes, she would like to receive the rose. Humility? Keeping sweet? All signs point to “yes” being the right answer.

“Yes?”

“No!”

The only reason Lucy doesn’t roll her eyes is the last time she did it she was grounded for two whole weeks. No, then. Fine. No.

“No, ma’am.”

“Exactly,” the teacher emphasizes, like they’re all supposed to ignore the fact that she told Lucy what to say, “you wouldn’t. And that — that’s what your heart looks like after letting a bunch of people play with it.”

Lucy looks down at the sad little rose. She’s sure there’s a lesson here somewhere but she’s not really seeing it right now.

“Purity! It’s the only way to protect your hearts.”

Ah. Lucy feels herself relax on her chair. Okay. This is about purity. About not letting boys anywhere near her heart (she’s fairly sure when her teacher and her mother say “heart” they actually mean boobs, not that she has any just yet). These are Lucy’s favorite lessons. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her to stay far, far away from boys. She doesn’t want them anywhere near her.

“Lucy, can you tell us what’s Proverbs 4:23?”

The only thing Lucy is naturally better at than keeping boys away is memorizing Bible verses.

”Above all else, guard your heart.”

***

1 Corinthians 10:13

Quinn Fabray is fifteen years old when she decides purity is, actually, her least favorite topic in Bible study (Sunday school is for children).

It happens little by little. At first she doesn’t even realize she’s falling behind. In fact, she thinks she’s the best at it. Most of the other girls at Bible study have boyfriends already. They talk constantly about crushes and boyfriends and saving themselves for marriage and how much they struggle to keep their purity promises.

Quinn feels like an example to them all. Look at her. Look at Quinn Fabray. She’s thin and pretty and she never thinks about boys at all. She doesn’t struggle with purity, ever. She’d sooner eat vegan bacon again (gross) than touch a boy. She’s perfect, isn’t she?

You’d think so.

The first thing she notices is a change in tone when they ask her if she likes someone. It’s subtle, but it makes some kind of defense mechanism within her ring the alarm bells.

“You still haven’t found a boy you like, Quinn?”

There’s no admiration in the girl’s voice. No envy. This girl doesn’t wish she was just like Quinn Fabray, and that’s— Quinn is doing something wrong, and whatever it is needs to be fixed before everything else that makes her Quinn comes tumbling down and all that’s left is Lucy again.

“Frannie?” Her sister was born perfect. No surgery or eating disorder needed. Surely if anyone is going to be able to help, Frannie is the person to call. Even if she lives in a whole different state. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m listening. Do not lick your sister’s foot.” Quinn can hear her niece screeching in the background. “Luc— Quinn, it’s not about avoiding boys. You’re not supposed to avoid them.”

“I’m… not?”

“No. No, you— Okay, this is your warning. I will superglue you to the naughty step.” There’s a deep sigh, and (not for the first time) Quinn wonders if Frannie’s perfect life makes her as blissfully happy as everyone says she is. “You’re supposed to want to be with boys. You know?”

There’s something in Frannie’s wording that makes Quinn feel like whole paragraphs will appeaar in the empty space between the words if she points one of those CSI purple lights at them.

“Quinn. Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“You’re just— you’re a late bloomer, okay? I was, too.”

“I… am?”

“Yes. But people will start talking if you keep avoiding boys so you need to find a nice boy you don’t hate and just… you know. Go to a movie or something.”

There’s so much she needs to ask. People will talk about what, exactly? Isn’t she supposed to keep the rose hidden away? Why can’t she just keep going to movies with her friends? Why does this whole conversation feel like it’s in a secret language and she’s lost her decoder ring?

“But Frannie, I don’t get it, what are they going to talk—“

“Sorry. Sorry, Quinn, I’m— listen, Tobias just got home. I have to go. Just play along, all right? Fake it ‘till you make it.”

“Fake wh—“

Quinn stares at the phone for a few seconds after her sister hangs up. She doesn’t think she’s been this confused in her life.

Two weeks later, a girl at Bible study asks her again if she has a boyfriend, and when Quinn says no she mutters “that’s a bit weird” under her breath. For a split second, Quinn thinks she used a different word. A Q word that’s not Quinn and means something like weird but in an entirely different way.

Her mouth goes dry. Of all the sins she’s heard discussed at the dinner table — and there have been many — that one is by far the worst. Jesus saved prostitutes, but he didn’t save any of them.

She has her first date with Finn Hudson two days after that.

He’s nice and Quinn doesn’t hate him and he’s the quarterback so he’ll earn her a few more votes to be prom queen like she’s supposed to be. He takes up too much space and his hand feels uncomfortably large in Quinn’s and his voice is all wrong when he says the right things. But he’s nice and she doesn’t hate him.

By their first month anniversary, Quinn feels like she’s finally starting to understand the unspoken rules of this whole thing. She notices the subtle looks and comments that mean not letting Finn kiss her has crossed the line from suitably pure to weird, and she gives him a good luck kiss before his game. She joins the Celibacy Club for extra ideas on things she’s supposed to struggle with for Bible study. She even uses the time they spend making out (that’s one of the struggles that gives you extra points for stopping) to revise for her exams in her head, so at least it’s not time wasted.

“Stop. Finn!” Quinn pushes him away, wills herself not to shudder at the feeling of his rough, large hand on her thigh. He’s so nice, but he’s wrong, wrong, wrong, and Quinn sits up on the bed and smooths the skirt of her cheerios uniform over her thigh like she’s hoping the familiar feeling of the fabric will erase the other one. “Stop. Remember— remember 1 Corinthians 10:13.”

He stares at her, obviously confused.

Quinn sighs. “He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.” There’s more to it, but that’s the important bit right now. Finn is nice and Quinn is perfect and she will make sure he is not tempted beyond what he can bear. “Okay?”

Finn nods.

“Okay.” Quinn taps his hand in a way she hopes comes off as affectionate and offers him a tight smile. “Go. I have to shower before Bible study.”

They’ve been dating for almost four months when Rachel Berry barges into her carefully curated life like an unnervingly tiny bull in the proverbial china shop. Finn wants to join Glee club, which makes no sense from a prom king point of view. And he’s been getting close to Rachel Berry, if Santana is to be trusted. Which she… kind of is, most of the time.

And Quinn can’t lose Finn. Finn is nice and she doesn’t hate him, and he always stops when she tells him to, and she’s almost completely used to the smell of his aftershave so she doesn’t feel like taking a shower every time they make out anymore. She can’t start all over again with another boy. She just can’t.

So she confronts this Rachel Berry, as is her right and her duty. And here’s where the trouble starts: she gets it.

She gets it. She gets why Finn would like her. It’s the big brown eyes, she thinks. With long dark eyelashes that don’t even look fake. The soft-looking skin. The slight hint of floral in her perfume. The ridiculous outfits — those ugly soft sweaters and patterned skirts and knee-high socks and the strip of tan skin between the hem of the skirt and the elastic of the socks. The small hands, the delicate fingers, the manicured nails.

Fear has a taste, Quinn will have you know. She knows because she feels it the second she realizes she’s somehow discovered the decoder ring that reveals the true meaning of Frannie’s advice. She tastes fear the very second she stares down Rachel Berry and feels like she’d act just like Finn if she was in his shoes.

That evening at Bible study, she gets to choose the verse to reflect upon. 1 Corinthians 10:13.

“He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.” Quinn reads out loud from the highlighted paragraph in her study Bible, and for the first time since she was a chubby little girl praying for a pony at Christmas, she actually hopes there’s someone up there listening and willing to help.

“But when you are tempted,” she continues, “he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

When Noah Puckerman offers her the fourth wine cooler of the night at the party, she takes it as a sign. This, Jesus can forgive.

***

Proverbs 23:22

Quinn Fabray is still fifteen years old when she realizes she’s been lied to.

Forgiveness is a lie. Hate the sin, love the sinner? A lie. Unconditional love is a lie. It’s all lies. All lies, and she doesn’t have a home anymore.

She lies in Finn’s bed at night and stares at the ceiling and forces herself not to focus on how his light snoring sets her teeth on edge. She doesn’t have a home and she doesn’t have her parents and she figures Bible study and the Celibacy Club are out of the question, too.

She has a baby she can’t keep. She has Finn, who’s nice and in love with Rachel Berry and that makes her jealous in all the wrong ways. She has Puck, who’s more a problem than an asset but at least he’s a boy.

She has her father’s loud, thundering words etched in her brain.

”Honor thy father! Exodus 20:12, honor thy father!”

Her mother’s silence felt just as loud.

And then the kitchen timer ticking down the seconds she had to grab the essentials and leave her father’s home (it was never really hers, was it?) forever, and her mother’s hurried kiss wet with salty tears and her hushed words as she closed the door behind Quinn.

”Proverbs 23:22”

Quinn closes her eyes even if she knows she’s not going to be able to sleep. She can feel her baby kick sometimes, like popcorn. This isn’t the baby’s fault. Poor baby, she figures, being born into this mess.

Proverbs 23:22. Listen to your father who begot you. Quinn wishes she could stop listening to her father in her head. Calling her a whore, telling her she’s condemned. Ruined beyond repair.

A few months later she’s holding her baby girl, ugly and perfect in that way only a newborn can be. Wet with Quinn’s blood and all kinds of gunk (they really should make a bigger effort with the sex ed curriculum at McKinley), her little face too swollen for her eyes to fully open to look at Quinn.

She doesn’t even identify the feeling as love at first. It’s like an uncontrollable wave. Something beyond comprehension. She’d die for every wrinkle on her daughter’s brand new hands. She’d jump into traffic to save every single sticky hair on her little head. She’d kill with her bare hands anyone who tried to keep her from breathing in the smell of pain and life on her skin.

Beth is perfect. She’s perfect and Quinn can’t hate herself because she made her. She made this perfect little baby girl and her father was wrong. She’s not ruined. Just a little broken, but not beyond repair. Her mother was wrong. She doesn’t need to listen to him.

When Shelby comes to pick Beth up a few hours later, Quinn asks for a moment to say goodbye. She apologizes to her daughter and assures her Shelby will be a wonderful mom. And when she kisses her warm little forehead and smells her hair for the very last time, she suddenly remembers the second half of her mother’s verse.

“Listen to your father who begot you, and do not despise your mother when she is old.”

Quinn cries for both her mother and her daughter, and whispers that last part in Beth’s left ear before she hands her over to the woman who will be her mom.

***

Song of Solomon 3:4

Quinn Fabray is sixteen years old when her best friend comes out.

And the ground doesn’t open up to swallow her whole. God doesn’t smite her, their friends don’t shun her.

There’s just a guitar and a song by Fleetwood Mac. And it’s not — and this is the important bit — the first time someone’s used a Glee Club performance as a vehicle to declare their love. Lord knows it happens far more frequently than it should. What amazes Quinn, what has her feeling unshed tears burning at the back of her eyes, is the fact that this is just that. Just another love song. Another two people in love.

Santana is in love with Brittany and that’s that. Their love isn’t worse or better than any other love that’s been paraded around this room. It’s not different. It isn’t lacking. They’re not unhappy. Their relationship isn’t a constant struggle or some deep dark secret best left hidden away.

Two girls, as it happens, can just be in love.

Later that day, when she’s holding Santana through the heartbreak of Brittany wanting to stay with Artie, Quinn thinks of that droopy little rose for the first time since Sunday school. Above all else, guard your heart.

Finn is nice, and he’s in love with Rachel. Quinn doesn’t love him and that makes him perfectly safe. His mediocrity and lack of drive makes dating him the equivalent of choosing the merry-go-round instead of a rollercoaster. Except, of course, for Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry who seems to know she’s above them all and yet keeps tying herself to human anchor Finn Hudson. Rachel Berry with her big brown eyes that well with tears when Quinn tries to tell her — tries to make her see that she’s so much better than this stupid town and all the stupid boys in it. Rachel Berry who asks why Quinn is so mean like she’s an idiot and blind and stupid and why can’t she listen? Why can’t she understand what Quinn means when she says she’ll be Finn’s wife? Why won’t she look at her and understand? Why can’t she see?

God, she hopes nobody can see.

Quinn feels like she’s on a treadmill that’s just a little faster than she can run. Finn and Sam and Finn again and Rachel freaking Berry and Santana resurrecting Lucy Caboosey like a nightmare from hell that’s somehow less terrifying than this ever-growing feeling in her chest that flares up every time she sees Rachel.

People talking about the future and Quinn picturing her own face in one of those real estate posters on the back of a bench at the park and feeling like she used to when she had morning sickness.

A t-shirt that says LIKES GIRLS in big bold black letters which she hides in the darkest corner of her closet so she can wear Lucy instead.

Her mom wanting her back.

Junior prom and a dress that’s perfect just like her face and her date except he’s wrong. He’s all wrong. And Rachel Berry who just— she can’t— she won’t listen to her, really listen, and the look in her eyes when Quinn slaps her because she can’t take it anymore.

Finn calling her the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life because he’s a dumb boy who doesn’t realize how stupidly, unbearably lucky he is for the way those big brown eyes look at him. Finn calling her the right thing but it sounding wrong, and then Rachel calling her the prettiest girl she’s ever seen and it feeling just right.

Just right.

She’s not prom queen and her mom holds her like she hasn’t since she was a little girl and tells her she loves her anyway. Judy tucks her in and kisses her temple and tells her she’ll be crowned next year. Senior prom is the real one, anyway. She soothes Quinn’s sobs even if she has no idea what they’re for, and when she reads from Quinn’s old book of Bible verses for children, the only one Quinn can think of is Song of Solomon 3:4.

I found the one my heart loves.

***

1 Corinthians 16:14

Quinn Fabray is eighteen years old when Rachel Berry gets engaged.

Not to her.

Obviously.

She wants to shake her. She wants to ask if one slap wasn’t enough. She wants to murder Finn Hudson just so he’ll set Rachel free.

God.

She has Ryan Seacrest’s face tattooed on the small of her back and her hair was pink for five minutes and she tried to steal back her daughter in what she’ll call a momentary loss of sanity but even she knows this is a mistake. She can’t marry him. Rachel can’t marry him.

And the worst part, what keeps Quinn up at night, is that if Finn loved her like he says he does — like Quinn knows she does — he wouldn’t have asked. He’d step aside and let her be the star she is. Can’t he see? Can’t he see Rachel was born to do amazing things? Can’t he see she’s so much bigger than anything he can offer her?

Can’t Rachel see?

Sometimes in the middle of the night she convinces herself Rachel is just as scared as she is. Just as terrified of saying things out loud. Does Rachel wonder why Quinn can’t understand what she really means, too?

Just in case, she decides to ask.

“Were you singing to Finn and only Finn?”

Rachel says yes.

And yet.

Quinn keeps running through the scene in her mind. The look in Rachel’s eyes, the way her hands moved, the tone of her voice. She doesn’t want to go to the wedding, but she decides to go anyway just in case. Maybe Rachel will stop halfway through. Maybe she’ll look at her with those eyes when they ask if anyone knows of a reason why they shouldn’t get married and Quinn will stop this tragedy of a wedding in its tracks.

Maybe she should forget about it. Take Rachel’s answer at face value, admit she lost, and let it go. Maybe she’s the last person in Rachel’s mind on the day she’s going to marry Finn.

Except.

There’s a text. Rachel is thinking about her — wants her to be there — and Quinn, of course, of course, of course is on her way.

When she wakes up in a hospital bed, she can’t move her legs and Rachel is not Finn’s wife.

She should probably take it as a sign. Being hit by a truck while on her way to (maybe) stop someone’s wedding is a pretty clear sign she’s not exactly following God’s plan.

And she does take it as a sign. At first.

There’s Joe and Artie who are even safer than Finn. Yale which will take her far, far away from Rachel and on to a completely different life. Senior year keeping her too busy to focus too much on anything else. There’s physical therapy and her mother’s hyper focus on prom going on overdrive because this is the real one. The big one. The very peak of Quinn’s high school career (the department of admissions at Yale would beg to differ, but Judy Fabray follows her own agenda). Finn again, because he’s always been prom king material and Quinn has a dream to make true.

And then, once again, there’s Rachel.

“Do you not understand what you mean to me?”

The words are right. Quinn is sure Rachel said that word for word in several of her wildest dreams, right before kissing her. But — and here’s the heartbreaking part — the thing is, Quinn does understand. Right there, at that very second, she understands. She understands exactly what she means to Rachel, and she understands it’s simply not the same thing Rachel means to Quinn.

Love works like that, sometimes. It doesn’t always go both ways.

So Quinn lets Rachel go. But first, she gives her her crown. She makes her prom queen. She gives Rachel her dream. And as she watches her dance with someone else, another one of those perfectly memorized verses comes to mind.

Let all that you do be done in love.

***

Psalm 139:14

Quinn Fabray is nineteen years old when she sleeps with another woman for the first time.

It’s Santana, who is her best friend and in love with Brittany, which makes it all feel just short of real and takes the edge off the knowledge that she’s actually going to sleep with a girl.

They dance first, and Quinn doesn’t love Santana — not in that way — but it feels right. Her cheek is soft when it brushes against Quinn’s. She smells like perfume and her hand fits perfectly in Quinn’s.

She likes the way Santana’s breast fits against her palm, the way she kisses her, the sounds she makes. After a split second of trepidation, she discovers she likes the way Santana tastes, too. The way she feels around her fingers. The way she says Quinn’s name when she comes.

There’s a part of Quinn that knows what it all means. She knows how she feels and what she needs to do to be happy, but she can’t. She sees it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. She sees Santana and Brittany and Kurt and Blaine and she understands it’s not that big a deal these days, but she can’t do it.

She can’t.

And so, there’s Biff. Biff who is not nice and she sometimes hates him but he’s not in love with Rachel Berry like Finn was, and he will give her the adult equivalent of a prom queen crown. She’ll get an obscenely large engagement ring and summers in the Hamptons and her children will be called Miffy and Archibald, probably, and won’t her mother be proud?

Won’t everyone envy her?

She’ll be perfect again, like she was a lifetime ago for a brief few months when she was the head cheerleader dating the quarterback and she couldn’t put a face to the name Rachel Berry.

She’ll be Mrs. McIntosh and Quinn McIntosh and she won’t even share Lucy’s last name anymore. And just like she changed when she became Quinn, she can change when she becomes Mrs. McIntosh. She can be someone who never got pregnant in high school. Someone who never had to give her newborn daughter to another woman. Someone who never fell in love with the same girl her boyfriend loved.

And then it all comes tumbling down once again, right there in Lima (where else?) when Biff finds out and looks at her with the exact amount of disgust she deserves and Quinn realizes she’ll never, ever be perfect again. Maybe she never was.

Except for one single beautiful perfect moment when it was just Quinn and Beth in the world. Beth who was absolutely perfect and made Quinn perfect just by virtue of having brought her into this world.

So when Puck asks her for another chance, Quinn forces herself to focus on that. Beth was half Puck and she was the best thing Quinn has ever done. Sometimes, she tells herself, people simply don’t get to be with their soulmate. Sometimes people just get to be with someone who’s nice enough. Someone they don’t hate most of the time. Someone who reminds them of the one perfect thing in their life.

Eleven months later, after a fight outside a wedding chapel in Las Vegas and a returned engagement ring, she stands in front of the mirror in a motel bathroom and looks at herself. Her outside has been carefully built piece by piece. From Lucy to Quinn. Shiny blond hair and a perfect little nose and the proverbial curves in all the right places. It’s all very pretty. Perfect, even, if you overlook a stretch mark or two which she’s made peace with because they remind her of Beth.

She’s rebelled against all that perfectly crafted beauty before. The pink hair, the tattoo, the nose piercing. Anything to distract herself and everyone else from what was underneath.

”You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. But you’re so much more than that.”

Rachel’s words come to mind as she keeps studying herself. What else is she? She’s a very pretty girl. And what else?

It takes her a long time. Minutes pass and she holds the word on her tongue but stops herself before she can let it out.

She’s so pretty on the outside. It took so much work to be this way. Is she really going to ruin it now?

Quinn closes her eyes and thinks about Finn and Puck and Sam and Joe and Artie and her professor from Yale and Biff and Puck again. She thinks about their voices and their hands, the way they kissed her and touched her.

She thinks about big brown eyes and the most beautiful eyelashes. About Santana gasping her name. The strip of golden skin between the hem of Rachel’s ugly skirt and the elastic of her even uglier socks.

“You’re a lesbian.”

She opens her eyes and looks at her reflection in the mirror and is genuinely shocked to see she looks the same. No three sixes on her forehead. No ground opening up to swallow her whole. Nothing’s changed. She’s still herself. On the outside. And she’s herself on the inside, too.

How can that be wrong?

She remembers, vaguely, waking up after her nose job high on all kinds of drugs and barely able to focus her swollen eyes on the people around her. She remembers a blurry shape that looked like her dad and another that sounded like her mom, and a third one she couldn’t place until she heard her voice.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

It was the first and the last time she heard her sister speak to her father in that tone. Quinn had a feeling the only reason she wasn’t raising her voice was the fact that she thought Quinn was asleep.

“It’s for her own good,” her father said, “you’d do the same if your children needed something fixed.”

Frannie’s toddler son started fussing, and she picked him up and held him as comfortably as her gigantic seven-months-pregnant belly allowed.

Quinn watched her sister shake her head, and though her swollen eyes didn’t let her see her face very well, the scoff she heard told her the family eyebrow had definitely made an appearance.

When she realized her sister was walking over to her bed, Quinn closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep just so she wouldn’t be pulled into whatever they were fighting about.

“Take that lollipop out of your mouth, please. Give your aunt a kiss and go get grandma Judy.” The little boy’s lips left a sticky candy mark on Quinn’s cheek.

And then there was just Frannie.

“Oh, Lucy Quinn,” she said in a way that sounded like a sigh. Frannie kissed Quinn’s forehead and tucked a strand of still-brown hair behind her ear, “there was nothing to be fixed.”

Before she left the room, Frannie said one last thing: “Psalm 139:14, dad.”

Quinn knew it, of course. It made her cry then and it makes her cry now, for entirely different reasons.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

***Proverbs 4:23

Quinn Fabray is twenty-six years old when Rachel Berry wins a Tony.

She watches from a hotel room in London at an ungodly hour of the night (morning?) thanks to timezones, but she knows she wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway if she tried.

So she stays up and watches.

When they say Rachel’s name, she feels vindicated. She was right. She was right all those years ago, when she told Rachel she was meant to be a star and do great things far away from Lima and its stupid boys. She was right when she told her she shouldn’t get married because she had dreams to chase. She was right. She was right.

The screen doesn’t do Rachel’s eyes justice, but when she looks into the camera Quinn feels a little out of breath anyway.

Several of her wildest teenage dreams started just like this. With Rachel walking onto a stage to receive an award and Quinn watching in awe of her. And Quinn can’t look away. She knows she should. She should at the very least mute the television because she knows whose name is going to feature in Rachel’s speech, and she knows it won’t be the one in Quinn’s dreams.

Her thumb hovers over the power button on the remote, and then the mute button, and though it’s been what feels like a million years since she’s prayed or read a Bible, she finds herself remembering that one day at Sunday school when the teacher showed them a rose.

“Proverbs 4:23,” she mutters under her breath, equal parts amazed and annoyed she still remembers most of the verses she was forced to memorize. At least they come in handy at trivia nights from time to time.

Proverbs 4:23.

Quinn has broken every single rule she learned as a child. One by one, she’s managed to shatter them all. All except for one. Proverbs 4:23.

”Above all else, guard your heart.”

And she has. God, she’s guarded it so closely if it really was a rose it’d be in a glass case like the one in the Beast’s castle. Finn and Puck and Sam and the rest of them. Santana, even. All the women she’s dated since coming out. She’s never let any of them go anywhere near her heart.

So why can’t she just turn off the TV? Rachel’s already unfolding the (perfectly memorized, Quinn’s sure) speech and Quinn is sitting there like an idiot, waiting to be hurt.

What’s the point in guarding your heart if it’s going to get broken anyway?

And then it happens. Rachel says his name, and it hurts but not in the way Quinn was expecting. It’s a pang of sadness, a lot like the pain she gets in her back sometimes when her body remembers just how much it used to hurt. A phantom pain, almost.

Quinn figures it out as Rachel exits stage right. She’s carrying her Tony and Kurt and Blaine’s baby and Jesse’s ring. And Quinn’s heart. She’s had Quinn’s heart for the last eleven years. And Quinn is so happy for her. She’s where she belongs — on Broadway, making history, proving she’s always been a star. In a different life Quinn would’ve been there in the audience and in the speech.

She wonders where she would have had to change course to end up there and not here, alone in a hotel room half a world away. Maybe if she’d remained Lucy. Maybe if she’d never dated Finn. If she’d never joined Glee Club or given up Beth or been terrified of what would happen if she stopped guarding her heart.

Eventually, Quinn decides the phantom pain of a broken heart is a fair price to pay for everything else. If she was still Lucy, maybe Beth wouldn’t exist. If she’d told Rachel how she felt, maybe Rachel wouldn’t be holding her first Tony award.

With a sigh, Quinn looks at the clock and realizes she only has five hours before she’s supposed to be at her first book signing this side of the Atlantic. Matters of the heart aside, she has a good life. Her novel, where someone who sounds suspiciously like a Lucy that was allowed to exist gets the girl, has become an international sensation. She gets to travel and write and be free in a way she wasn’t even aware she’d been craving.

She likes to think she kept that promise she tried to make by the piano all those years ago. She likes to think she did send Rachel on her way. That she had at least a part in it.

Love looks like that sometimes. Like letting go.

Quinn picks up the copy of her book on her bedside table. The copy she meant to mail to Rachel but then didn’t because it felt like intruding, somehow. Like letting a piece of her into a life Rachel shares with someone else should be Rachel’s choice alone.

In all her book signings and talks so far, there’s one question she always gets asked: What’s her favorite part of the story?

And she always answers the same way: the third page.

She flips to it now, with the sounds of Rachel’s perfect night still coming from the TV, and the sight of the words makes her smile. The real love story begins and ends on the third page.

To Lucy, and Beth, and her. ★

Title: Proverbs 4:23 Fandom: Glee Characters/Pairing: Quinn/Rachel Rating: T Word Count: 5877 Summary:

Written for the prompt 001: Awakening from my femslash100100 Zeros table. Available on AO3 or under the cut.

#faberry #fanfic #unrequited faberry #fanfiction #fic #femslash100100 #zeros #my fic

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anonniemousefics · 2 years

Text

Better Than Dreaming

Masterlist | Ask Box | Ko-fi

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 4614

****Rating: NSFW (Aged up characters)*****

Synopsis: The one where Inej has sex dreams.

Author’s Note: Y’all, I cannot stress enough how little plot is here. This is just a sexy good time with an attempt to be somewhat canon compliant, but don’t take me to court over it. This fic is not here to win awards - it’s just here to party. If it’s not your jam, don’t read it. If it *is* your jam, comments/reblogs/coffee fuel me. :)

Inej sits on his desk, heart pounding, gripping Kaz’s open shirt with white knuckles.

His dark eyes smolder with the desire he no longer tries to hide – his kisses are ravenous, all-consuming. When his hands rip open her shirt, sinew and muscle taut in his forearms, her breath comes short and high in her chest, her cheeks aflame. Saints, she needs him. His lips are at her neck – her head swims as she tilts back. His fingers dig into her thighs when she scrapes hers over his chest. Kaz is perfect in candlelight – she drinks in the shadows that play on his well-muscled shoulders. She sinks her fingers into his soft, black hair, pulls him closer. He grips her waist, fits his body between her parting legs.

He’s kissing the tops of her breasts when she slides onto her back. He’s working his way down her arching body with his lips, his fingers – she’s bare now. She’s not sure when that happened, but she doesn’t care, because now, so is he. She wraps her legs around his waist, and the sounds of his groans are delicious. A flame coils itself up her spine. His skin is hot against hers – his lips are everywhere. She needs – she needs –

He is thrusting – she is wracked with pleasure. Her mouth is slack; he’s biting his lip. His chest presses against hers, and she scrapes her nails along the muscles of his back. His hands, oh, his clever hands -- he’s undoing her, fast. More, she begs, please, Kaz, Saints, she’s close, so close –

“Inej. Inej!”

Inej gasped when her eyes flew open in the dark of The Slat – very clothed and very untouched. The realization hit her with a surprising and instant wave of regret. Every nerve in her body stood on end.

“Are you all right?” Next to her, Kaz was propped up on an elbow, looking concerned in the ghostly glow from the moon through the open window. “You were breathing funny.”

Inej drew a hand over her eyes with a sigh. She felt like she’d been running, like she needed to catch her breath.

“Another nightmare?” Kaz asked, brows drawn tight beneath his sleep-mussed hair. Inej was gripped with a fresh desire to seize it and grip it and make him finish what he started.

Which was, of course, absurd. They weren’t that type of couple. In reality, Kaz Brekker, for all his fierce and dangerous talk, was, on his best days, gentle when he managed to be affectionate, and, on his worst days, a complete basket case of nerves in the bedroom. There was no, and probably never would be, seizing or shirt-ripping or frantic love-making all over his desk.

Inej wasn’t sure she even wanted that anyway, if they ever did manage to touch each other’s skin without keeling over. She liked the way things were. She really did. She liked that they fell asleep fully clothed and tucked against each other, her body enveloped in his warm, protective embrace. She liked the soft, careful kisses he left on her cheeks. She liked the way their hands fit together – Kaz could manage that easily these days. Why her sub-conscious was being so filthy all of a sudden, she couldn’t guess.

“Inej?” Kaz was still waiting for an answer. Her heart was still pounding, and she had no reasonable explanation for it.

“Um.” She rubbed her eyes. “Something like that,” was all she found to mutter.

Kaz settled again back onto his pillow and into the silence. That could be the end of that, Inej figured – any second now, he would roll over and pull her close again and they’d fall back asleep and --

“What was it about?” he asked, unfortunately. Great. Now she needed a lie. Inej pushed her fingers into her hair, nervously.

“Um.” She was so bad at this. “You know, we don’t need to talk about it. It’s late.”

“It’s just,” Kaz glanced over his pillow at her, still looking concerned, “it almost sounded like you were trying to say my name--”

“Oh, Saints.” This could not be more embarrassing. Inej scrubbed her hands over her face.

“And I will gladly make appearances in anyone’s nightmares, saving yours,” said Kaz. “If I did something--”

“You didn’t.”

“I have never wanted to give you a reason to fear me, but if I ever did--”

“It wasn’t a nightmare!” she exclaimed, thankful for the dark and the way it would hide the blush on her cheeks. Kaz’s self-deprecation at this exact moment was a little maddening, especially given that her body still ringing from what her sub-conscious apparently desperately wanted him to do to her.

Across the pillows, Kaz now looked confused.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” she repeated, trying to salvage her dignity. “Yes, you were in it, congratulations. I am fine. Everything is fine. Go to sleep.”

She started to roll over.

“Oh.” Perfect. Behind her, Kaz was having a revelation while staring up at the ceiling. “Oh.”

“Like I said – congratulations.”

“Was it good?”

“‘Was it’--?!” Did his ego really need stroking at half past midnight? Inej buried her burning face into her pillows. “Obviously, it was good,” was her muffled confession as she pressed the pillow over herself.

“No, this is not ‘obviously’.” Kaz poked her in the side, trying to get her to unbury her face. “I would have thought you didn’t have good dreams of that nature, given everything that happened--”

And, truth be told, Inej was a little surprised by it herself.

“Well, lately, I do.” She peeled down the pillow just enough to look up at Kaz’s crooked smile as he peered down at her, propped up on an elbow again. “Just of you,” she said, softly – although, wait, that did need a caveat. “And sometimes Nina,” she added with a shrug. Kaz spluttered.

“What?”

“Oh, come off it. Have you seen Nina? I’m pretty sure everyone has sex dreams about Nina.”

“I don’t have sex dreams about Nina.”

“I don’t believe that for one minute, Kaz Brekker.”

Kaz gave a defeated gesture of his hand as he flopped back on his pillow again. The moon gave a silvery glow to his room, across his quilt and his makeshift desk, littered with papers and books. For a moment, Inej watched the pair of their feet beneath the covers, two parallel bumps in the darkness at the foot of the bed, until Kaz moved his foot to nudge hers.

“Tell me what it was about,” he prodded, in a low voice.

And there was an edge to his voice Inej liked, something not entirely chaste, not entirely like the kisses she was used to receiving from him. She tucked the pillow back underneath her and rolled over to look up at him. When she caught his sideways glance, something flickered deep in her chest.

“You had me on your desk,” she murmured back, and she didn’t think it was a trick of the light when she thought she saw his chest rise suddenly. “You tore my clothes off of me. And you kissed every inch of me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Inej let her gaze wander over Kaz’s face, his sharp jaw, the length of his throat to the buttons of his nightshirt. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“And you liked that,” but Kaz didn’t say it like a question. He said it like he’d already heard how much she did, just perhaps didn’t quite believe his own ears.

In the dark, Inej’s lips twisted in a coy smirk she couldn’t contain if she tried.

“Yes,” she said.

“And then what,” Kaz pressed. “What happened after that.”

Inej liked this. She liked the way her nerves sang at the sound of his voice. She liked not being the only affected. She raised herself up on her elbows and leaned close to his cheek, like she was going to leave a soft kiss there. Instead, she bent close to his ear, close enough to breathe in the cologne on his neck.

“I had my legs around you,” she whispered there. “And you had me on the brink of coming undone.”

“And then?”

Inej chuckled, lowly. She left the quickest kiss against the stubble on his jaw, and Kaz drew in a quick breath.

“Then you woke me up,” she said, settling back down onto her pillow, and Kaz gave a rueful laugh.

“I,” he declared, “am an asshole.”

“Mmm. And I forgive you. Come back, hold me – it’s late.”

“Of course, love. I’ll be right there.”

But when Kaz didn’t move, Inej glanced over her shoulder at him, confused. He was just – laying there. He didn’t even seem to be scheming. His knees were drawn up beneath the quilt, and he was just staring at the ceiling like he was caught in some far off vision.

“Problem?” Inej asked. Kaz simply shook his head. So, there was definitely a problem.

“I’m happy, you know,” she reminded him, because perhaps she’d made him feel guilty, had made him feel like she needed something he couldn’t give her. “It was just a dream. I don’t need to do any of that, ever, if you don’t want to. Your desk can remain undefiled.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Kaz groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t talk of defiling things,” he said, and then added, more to himself than anything: “Why that, of all things?”

“Are you okay?” Inej was becoming more concerned than confused.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out. “I’m--” He glared at the ceiling.

“You’re what?”

“I’m – having--” Kaz’s words were coming out disjointed and awkward, and for a brief moment, Inej wondered if he was going to need a medik. Then he gestured to his bent knees, to the shadow that fell between his legs, and suddenly Inej was having her own realization.

“Ohhhh.”

Kaz was doing his level best to maintain his dignity in the midst of a raging erection.

“It will pass in a minute,” he mumbled into his hands, and Inej could never understand why, but she’d never felt so smitten.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” she said, gentle as her cheeks warmed.

“I’m not,” Kaz insisted, rubbing his eyes. “I just – I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want this to…bring up some horrible memory or--”

“It’s you,” Inej insisted. “It’s not.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” and Kaz was right. These nights in his bed, tucked against each other, had been hard-won. There had been nightmares and panic and tears. There had been nights where she’d wondered why they kept trying at all, that maybe she was broken beyond repair and unable to be held, that maybe his love was wasted on her.

She didn’t believe that anymore.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Inej promised him. She rolled over just far enough to take him by the wrist, just over his nightshirt. “And I am not afraid of your body.” With that, she tugged at his arm, a silent plea to hold her close as he always did.

Kaz drew in a breath and rolled to his side, fitting his long arms around her slim frame. She’d always fit against his body like the final piece of a puzzle, in a way that was just meant to be, and she found she slept better these days, when she could nod off like this.

Tonight, though, anticipation flowed through her veins when her heart pounded at the warmth of his body. Here in the moonlight, she still had a toe in the dreamscape, and her body remembered the cresting sensation that had been too abruptly interrupted. She was craving something – if not a resolution, at least just a little more.

Kaz was still hard when she pressed against him. Through the thin cotton of their night clothes, she felt him nestle along the curve of her ass. And she found she liked the way he fit there, too. She pushed back against him, almost like a challenge, or a reassurance, a nonverbal way of showing him she was not afraid.

Kaz made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent ripples through her core. And he pushed back, slowly, gently, pressing the length of his cock against her. His arms around her, he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

She’d meant to hold him close and fall back to sleep – she really did. But that sound, that sound he’d made at the feel of her ass against him. It was better than any sound she’d dreamt up. And now Inej had no thoughts at all – only a need to push against his cock again, to hear him wanting her once more.

She pressed back against him again, rolling her hips in a rocking motion, relishing the hardness of his length against her, the way he groaned into her neck and tightened his grip on her fingers. They were still completely clothed, the majority of Kaz’s skin safely encased in cotton, thus sparing him the fear of his memories and panic, and yet -- the world was deliciously shifting, the entire energy of the room changing with each roll of her hips. Why had she never thought of this before?

“Do you know what you do to me?” Kaz rasped close to her ear, and it sent shivers dancing down her spine. She turned her face towards him.

“Should I stop?” she asked in a whisper.

Instead of replying, Kaz let go of one of her hands to trace the length of her waist with his fingertips. When he found her hips, he gripped her hipbones and pulled her, rocking her ass against him again.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed. He kissed the shell of her ear, and her breath caught. She rocked back against him again and again, his fingers digging into her hips. He buried his face against the back of her neck.

“I want,” he groaned, disjointedly. Inej knew. She wanted, too. She wanted, and she had no words for it. She only knew she loved the feel of him, all of him, against her, wanting her, falling apart for her. His hand was flat against her stomach, pressed just below her navel, following the rocking of her hips, and it just wasn’t enough.

“I want,” Kaz tried again, his breathing ragged, “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Inej barely knew herself. She’d spent a few desperate nights aboard The Wraith trying to get to know the desires that lay hidden inside her, buried beneath years of trauma, and what called to them. A few times she’d been able to bring herself to the brink, her toes curling, her body arching on her narrow mattress. She wasn’t sure she could do that with an audience yet. But maybe that wasn’t necessary. Maybe it didn’t need to be anything more than feeling good.

She took the hand that pressed against her stomach, and Inej pressed Kaz’s fingers between her legs. And she rocked and rocked against him, letting her eyes drop closed as her head tilted back against his, feeling each soft, gentle motion as he moved his fingers in time with her hips.

If there was any lingering memory of the Menagerie threatening to raise its ugly head, in this moment, it was small enough to pin up somewhere in the back of her mind, out of reach. In this moment, Inej could sink back into Kaz’s arms, into their familiar warmth, and lose herself to the sounds of his breath and the feel of his fingers through her cotton trousers.

And then, when he said: “Your dream,” Inej felt like she was emerging from another one again. Except she wasn’t. She was still there in his arms, breathing with the gentle rising of the desire in her veins.

“My dream?” she asked, in a haze.

“In your dream,” Kaz was breathing hard when he tried again, “when you were calling my name – what – what we were doing?”

Inej blinked – what kind of stupid question was that? About a sex dream?

“Having…sex?” She couldn’t think straight like this, not with his hard cock pressed against her, not with his fingers doing all that. Surely he was going to feel how wet she was through her clothes.

Kaz huffed a laugh against her neck.

“I know that. How--” Inej pressed back a moan as his fingers made an especially delicious circle around her center, and Kaz groaned at the enthusiastic response of her hips. “how—were we—having--”

“I was on my back,” Inej found the wherewithal to respond finally. “On my back, on your desk. You were--”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kaz flipped her onto her back. He shifted his weight, wincing a little with his bad leg, and her body seemed to know what to do – she parted her legs to invite him in. The old mattress on Kaz’s bed squeaked and complained as he moved and fitted himself between her thighs.

“Is this all right?” he checked. He held himself up with his hands on either side of her. Curious, she ran her hands up over the swell of his biceps to his shoulders, all hidden from view with sleep clothes, but now very much there for her own tactile enjoyment. She was nodding in speechless agreement.

“It would have been like this?” Slowly, Kaz lowered himself, his lips just barely brushing her hairline. She drew in a breath as he rolled his hips against her, the hard length of him rubbing her just right. She gazed up at him and his tousled hair with hazy eyes.

“Was it something like this?” he rasped again. It was nothing like this, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her dream had been ridiculous, fanciful, improbable, not to mention impractical. It hadn’t been real at all. The reality of Kaz, hard and pressed against her, his eyes aching to please her, his gasping breaths and the heat of him, even through their clothes, maybe even especially through their clothes – it was exquisite. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what he was doing. It didn’t matter she wouldn’t have known any better anyway. Just wanting this alone felt miraculous. Like something from a dream.

“Inej,” Kaz was speaking in a strained whisper, his lips so close to her. His breath fanned out across her forehead. “Say something or tell me to stop, I’m--”

Inej could recognize the hint of panic in his voice in an instant.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, and she brought her hands to cup his neck beneath his shirt collar. Her fingers desperately twisted in the cotton, arresting his attention. She just needed him to keep his eyes on her. “Don’t stop, Kaz. You feel so good.”

“You feel – ah fuck.” Inej moved her hips in time with his, grinding against his cock, and Kaz’s eyes started to roll back in his head. “I don’t want to say anything stupid,” he spouted, his head lolling slightly. “I don’t want to say anything that would remind you of--”

“I’m here with you.” Inej said it like a chant. Like a prayer. Like a spell she wanted cast over this whole sacred space and what was happening between them. “I’m here with you. I’m not thinking of anything but you.”

Kaz locked eyes with her, eyes that carried a thousand horrors and a thousand triumphs. But, in that moment, she knew he only saw her. The remnants of panic were subsiding with every breath he took. He grabbed one of her hands like a lifeline and entwined their fingers over her head.

“I’m not thinking of anything but you,” he echoed. And he dipped his head and took her lips against his.

Inej was lost to a whole new world of sensation then – mouth, lips, teeth, tongues. She let her free hand slide over his the slopes of his back muscles. Desire fluttered inside her like a moth’s wings in lamplight. She was drawn to his taste, his touch with a similar inescapable pull. She gripped his waist, held him as close as she could as they moved against each other. Everything else in the world seemed pointless. This was better than dreaming – better than just about anything. Really, why even bother with breathing when she could be doing this instead?

This was, she thought then, perhaps what it had always been meant to feel like – bodies against bodies, lips and breath and hearts pounding together. If it was never anything more than this, fully clothed but completely consumed in one another, Inej wouldn’t mind one bit.

But suddenly, abruptly, Kaz stopped moving altogether and jerked his head back from their kiss. He was drawing in a sharp breath, and, for a moment, Inej thought for sure the panic had returned – their fun was over. She tried to keep her face neutral, stashing away any disappointment over something he couldn’t help. But when she caught sight of the full view of his face, he just looked flushed, a little overworked.

“Problem?” she asked.

“I just--” His head sagged with sigh, his hair flopping forward. “I shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t?” She didn’t remember telling him any shouldn’t’s, and she was the one who started this, after all.

“It’s just--” Who would have thought the Bastard of the Barrel, con-artist extraordinaire, would be so tongue-tied in bed? “You could finish me like this. And I didn’t know if you were, if we were—ready—for that. If it would—make you--”

Saints bless him for his extra care, but at present, Inej was uninterested in any more talk. Slowly, gently, she withdrew her fingers from his, bringing both hands back to his collar.

“Kaz,” she murmured, drawing him closer. “I am going to kiss you again.”

“All right.”

And when she brought their lips together, when he let out a long sigh against her mouth, she showed him exactly how ready she was – she slid a hand along his chest, over his stomach. And she palmed his hard cock through his pajamas.

Kaz groaned against her mouth, sinking against her until his arms nearly gave out under him. He slid his arms under her then, rolling them back onto their sides, facing each other. With her hand still cupping his cock, Kaz leaned over her to seize one of his gloves from his nightstand. And then, in a flurry of frenzied kisses and shaky groping, he wrapped one arm under her waist and the other – oh, the other – gloved and trembling, he hovered above the waistband of her sleeping trousers.

“Can I?” he whispered above her lips and waited until she nodded to slip his fingers over her aching center.

They couldn’t kiss then, either of them, in this haze of lust and years of tension that had finally found a way through their shared brokenness to release. As Inej stroked him, fueled by his frenetic breathing and the way he gripped his close, Kaz watched her carefully, meeting every twisting, writhing intake of breath with careful pressure, like he was coaxing open a lock.

Inej felt like her entire body was on the brink of exploding. It was dangerously close to being too much. For a moment, she feared she’d flown too close to the sun – she would never feel release. That last moment of her dream would be her reality – forever aching, forever wanting, every nerve standing on end. It would turn to pain – she would be ripped open –

“Tell me what you need.” Kaz broke through the rising wave of dread in her as she whined beneath his ministrations. “I’ll give you anything you need.”

“You,” Inej begged, unsure of what she was even asking. “I need to be here with you.”

“You can have all of me,” Kaz breathed. “Anything, Inej, anything.”

And she wasn’t sure why, but her fingers lingered at the waistband of his trousers. She wasn’t thinking. She was greedy. She needed – she needed –

“Yes,” Kaz rasped. “Anything.”

And Inej slid her hand into his pants. Wrapped her hand around his hard, throbbing cock. Slid her hand all the way down his slick shaft and back up again.

There was nothing more visceral she could have done – the very action rooted her into the moment and out of her anxieties. One stroke, and every fiery nerve ending curled inward. Everything overwrought in her turned to butter, churning warm and soft and wonderful –

“Ah, Kaz!” Her body curled with the sensation, like flame burning down a wick. “That’s it,” she sighed, again and again. “That’s it.”

Beside her, Kaz was swearing colorfully, his hips bucking. Something warm and liquid was running over her wrist, but she was far from bothered – she was still ascending. She released her hold on him.

The sensation pulsed through her body long after Kaz stopped swearing, this resolution, this grand finale. Inej sighed and twisted and settled with it, soaking in the pleasant aftershocks that hummed in her bones. Beside her, Kaz collapsed onto his back, chest heaving.

They lay there, spent and silent, for what felt like several minutes. Inej was vaguely aware of having a little concern about what Kaz was thinking about this new territory they’d just breached.

Eventually, though, Kaz started to laugh. She dropped her head to the side to see him running his ungloved hand back in his hair.

“Was that--?” He almost looked sheepish, his cheeks flushed in the afterglow. “I genuinely do not know if it counts as sex if our clothes are still on at the end.”

Inej burst out laughing. How were the two most dangerous people in Ketterdam so incompetent at something as instinctual as sex?

“Maybe?” she giggled as Kaz pulled off his glove and sat up to clean the mess on her forearm with a handkerchief. “I think Nina would say it counts.”

“This,” Kaz pointed at her, “this asking Nina Zenik for sex advice -- this is why you’re having sex dreams about her.”

“Again, Kaz, face facts – literally everyone has sex dreams about Nina.”

From the look on his face, you would have thought Inej was claiming that all of Ketterdam dreamt of bedding his sister. Kaz was equal parts disgusted and incredulous as he returned to his pillow. Inej laughed again and curled on her side, facing him. He was grinning widely at her and stretched out an arm beneath her to gather her to his side.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your laugh?” Kaz asked, as Inej rested her head on his chest. She smiled against him. His heartbeat was even, steady, thrumming beneath her ear.

“You’ve mentioned it,” she said.

“It’s your best quality,” Kaz told her. “As is your smile. And your hair. And your legs.”

“Not my stealth and my cunning wit?” Inej was grinning as she made mental notes – sex made Kaz Brekker chatty.

“Those make you invaluable,” Kaz explained, tracing circles over the outline of her lean shoulders. “Your laugh, though – your laugh made me fall in love with you.”

Inej craned her head to stare up at him, a little dumbstruck. It wasn’t that she didn’t know – it was the carefree way he’d offered it up. Like he had nothing to hide from her anymore.

That night, like so many other nights, Kaz held her close as long as he could, while their eyelids grew heavy and they traded kisses in the dark. And Inej fell asleep tucked against him, dreamless – at peace.

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #kanej #kanej fanfic #kanej smut #kanej fanfiction #fanfiction #soc fanfiction #one shot

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scuttling · 3 years

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Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it��s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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chrisbitchtree · 2 years

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Two Scoops of Fudge Ripple and One Scoop of Love

Happy early Valentine's Day! My gift to all of you, over 5000 words of fluff and angst and pining!

I think it was @memes-saved-me that said the fandom is sorely lacking in fics where Billy works at Scoops. It got me thinking about Steve cracking Billy's icy exterior slowly, as they worked side by side!

Read on AO3

***

August

Steve’s father had let him laze around all summer, but now, a week before school started, he was on Steve about getting a job.

“It’ll be good for you son.” He said, opening Steve’s curtains to let in the morning light. “You can earn some of your own money, and feel what it’s like to be a man, taking care of yourself.”

Steve was way too hungover for this, having spent the night before getting drunk at the quarry with Tommy and Carol. He agreed to go to the mall and look for a job just so his dad would leave. As soon as his door was shut, he closed his eyes. Next thing he knew, it was noon.

He headed to Starcourt, the new mall in town, resumes in hand, and wandered store to store, asking if anyone was hiring. Unfortunately, most jobs were filled, either by summer staff who would be staying on through the school year, or other Hawkins teens who hadn’t waited until the very last minute to try to find an after-school job.

The only place that was still hiring was Scoops Ahoy!, the ice cream shop in the food court. Steve was horrified when he saw the ridiculous sailor outfits that the employees wore, but he was desperate, so when he was offered the job, he took it. He was instructed to be back at the shop the next morning at 9am for training with an employee, Robin, and another new hire, Billy.

---

The next morning, summoning up all the energy and optimism that he could, he returned to the mall to start training. When he arrived, he was greeted by the sight of two teens, a girl with a bored look on her face, wearing the signature Scoops uniform, and a boy standing beside her, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. He presumed that they were Robin and Billy. He was pretty sure that he recognized Robin from school, but he’d never seen Billy before.

Steve waved at them. “Hey, I’m Steve. I’m here for training?”

Robin greeted him with a small smile and a “Hey”, but he got nothing from Billy. He thought he’d try for a joke. “Oooh, strong and silent type, eh?” Billy continued to look at Steve like he was dirt on the bottom of his shoe. This was sure turning out to be a great first day.

“Don’t take it personally,” said Robin, rolling her eyes. “He won’t talk to me either. Follow me to the back.” Steve followed behind her, and Billy brought up the rear. Robin spent the day showing them around the shop, and how to properly scoop and serve the ice creams. Steve’s favourite part of the day was when they got to sample the different flavours, so they could make recommendations to customers.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible day. Billy may have been a dick, but Robin was really nice, if a little snarky and sarcastic. He left with his upcoming schedule and uniform, praying to any god that would hear him that he wouldn’t have to work with Billy often if at all. He hadn’t spoken a word all day, so Steve had no clue what his deal was. Maybe he’d graduated and would be working during the day. He could only hope.

September

Steve started his senior year hoping it would be a quiet one. He’d had a dramatic junior year, leaving his friends behind to date Nancy Wheeler, only to have it blow up in his face when she declared that their relationship was bullshit and left him for Jonathan Byers, another boy in their grade. He’d been heartbroken, and it had taken him months to work his way out of the funk it had put him in and try to win back the favour of his friends. Tommy and Carol weren’t the best people, but they were always down to get him drunk enough to forget his troubles, and for that Steve was thankful.

---

He entered homeroom on the first day of school, and of course that asshole, Billy, was sitting right in front of his assigned seat. Steve couldn’t believe his bad luck. Billy barely glanced at him before going back to scribbling in his notebook. Steve sat down, willing the time to go by quickly, so he could get out of this awkward situation. When the teacher called his name for attendance, he finally heard Billy speak. “Here,” he drawled, syrupy sweet. Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Interesting.

Steve’s bad luck continued. None of his friends were in any of his classes, and Billy, who’s last name he’d discovered was Hargrove, was in three. English, Math, and they were lab partners in biology. Great. Billy finally spoke to him, but it was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him, and he would only talk when it was necessary for the assignment.

---

The icing on the cake was when he showed up for his first shift at Scoops and Billy was there, along with Robin. At least the ridiculous sailor suit brought even Billy down a peg. No matter how attractive you were, it was hard to look good in knee high socks, shorts, and a handkerchief, with the whole look pulled together with a sailor hat.

Steve took the first shift on cash while Billy scooped, and Robin supervised them. His first customers were two girls from his art class, Jessica, and Caitlin. He gave them his flirtiest smile and the line he’d been practicing in his head all day, hoping that it would help distract from the uniform. “Ahoy ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain. Billy snorted softly, trying to hide it as he got out his ice cream scoop.

The girls giggled, placing their orders, and thankfully doing him the favour of ignoring his, in retrospect, very cheesy line. Billy managed to make them decent sundaes, only botching Jessica’s once. Every few customers, they switched back and forth, so they could make sure they were getting the hang of both roles. Robin had it easy, standing behind them, telling them when they were messing up.

The weeks went by, and Steve started to get more comfortable with his job, but he still couldn’t shake the nerves he got around the great silent Billy Hargrove. He still wouldn’t speak unless it was to customers. He’d been able to glean from classmates that Billy had moved from California with his father and stepmother and stepsister, but outside of that, Billy was still largely a mystery.

---

Robin was great though. They’d become really close while working closing shifts together, just the two of them, once he and Billy finally got out of their training period. They liked to tease each other, Robin going especially hard on Steve’s lack of game when it came to girls. He told himself it was the uniform that was keeping them at bay. Yeah, that had to be it. They’d be all over him if he worked The Gap.

October

Before Steve knew it, the first month of school had flown by and October was here. As Robin started having to attend more practice sessions for the school marching band, Steve started getting paired with Billy at work a lot more. About a week before, he’d finally deigned Steve worthy of talking to, but only if it was absolutely necessary. Steve was sick of this guy looking down at everyone around him like they weren’t worth even a minute of his time. He finally blew up one night while he and Billy were wiping down the counters right before closing time. The food court was dead, so the silence was especially noticeable.

“What’s your problem, Hargrove?” Steve shouted, without even thinking. “You come in here, acting like you’re better than everyone else, but guess what, you’re not! We’re both in a mall in Hawkins, fucking Indiana at 9pm on a Tuesday, wearing sailor uniforms!”

Billy at least had the decency to look embarrassed, a slight blush creeping up onto his cheeks. “Woah, it’s not you, pretty boy. It’s this place. I didn’t exactly choose to move to this shithole. My dad dragged me here, then forced me to get a job, right at the end of summer, and there was nothing else left.” He then walked away, grabbing a broom as he went, leaving Steve unsure of what to say.

Being in the same situation himself, minus the being dragged to Indiana from California thing, Steve could empathize with Billy. He made it his new goal to crack Billy’s angry façade. He slipped around the counter, following the other boy. “You know, I’m here for the same reason. My dad forced me to get a job too.”

Billy sneered at him. “He didn’t drag you away from everything you’ve ever known, Harrington. Tell me how it’s the same.” Steve couldn’t really argue with that, barely having left Hawkins in his life. He went back to wiping the counters, but he wasn’t going to give up that easy. He would get Billy to talk.

November

Once Steve got Billy talking, he started to wish he hadn’t. All Billy did was poke fun at him. At his inability to successfully flirt, which he still blamed on the uniform (even though Billy wore the exact same thing and had girls hanging off his every word any time he worked the cash register), at how flat his work hat made his hair, at his poor scooping technique. “Nice try, princess,” Billy said, laughing, after another girl shot Steve down. “Let a real man show you how it’s really done. Next five girls that walk in here, I’ll get their number.” He stayed true to his word, even scoring the numbers for each of three friends that had come in together. Steve wanted to say he didn’t know how Billy did it, but he could charm anyone. He even had Nancy’s mother eating out of the palm of his hand one time when she brought Nancy’s siblings in for a cone.

As they were closing for the night, Steve admitted defeat. “I have to hand it to you, man. You’ve got game. I don’t know how you’re going to have time to take all those girls out.” Billy laughed, waggling his eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have to double up, take out two at a time and let them fight for who gets me.” Steve couldn’t fight the little twinge of jealousy he felt at that. And he surprised himself when he realized that he wasn’t jealous of Billy. He was jealous of the girls.

---

As the month went on, he could feel himself falling hard for Billy. He would never admit it to anyone, but he almost looked forward to the other boy’s shenanigans. They never discussed anything deep like they had the night they’d talked about their fathers, but he was fun to be around, and Steve felt warmth in his heart every time Billy directed his grin at him. They goofed off, making increasingly ridiculous sundaes, and talked about their favourite movies and sports teams to pass the long hours at work, the time going by even slower now that there were less customers as it got colder and darker outside in the evenings. He could honestly say he looked forward to Scoops now.

He also grew even closer with Robin. She was easy to talk to, and while she liked to make fun of him, it was never truly mean spirited. They had a lot of deep conversations behind the counter, sharing their deepest fears and most closely guarded secrets and dreams. One night while discussing relationships, she confided in him that she was a lesbian. Steve was shocked but pleased that he had someone that he could confess his feelings about Billy to, without being judged.

Once he got it off his chest, he couldn’t stop. “He’s so perfect, Rob. He’s so tan, and he’s got all these freckles, and you should see his abs. It’s hard to play basketball in gym when he’s skins. And his beautiful curls, and his blue eyes. And he’s so smart and funny, and he’s secretly nice, even though he won’t admit it. He puts on a big show about being a jackass, but two weeks ago, a kid came in and didn’t have enough money for a sundae, and he paid for it himself. I saw him.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh man, you have it bad for this guy, Steve. Do you think he feels the same way?” Steve sighed. “I’m honestly not sure. Sometimes he’ll look at me, like he really sees me for who I am, like he’s looking into my soul. But then the moment will end, and he goes back to ribbing me, and I don’t know what to do.” Robin patted his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll work out the way it’s supposed to.”

December

Steve knew he wasn’t dumb, but he didn’t always have the easiest time with reading. His school had wanted to test him for dyslexia when he was younger, but his dad said he just needed to apply himself, so they’d never done the tests, and Steve was left to try to wade through all the reading material for school, which was often a headache. He got by as best as he could, but he already wasn’t doing great in English this year, and he needed to get his marks up if he hoped to get into university, so he pushed down his pride and went to Billy for help.

Sitting behind Billy in class, he could see all the A+ papers handed back to him by the teacher, so he knew he understood the material better than Steve could ever hope to. He knew Billy would tease him for it, but it was worth it if he could get a passing mark on the big test they had coming up on Moby Dick, the book they were supposed to be currently reading. Steve had tried, but he just wasn’t getting it.

He brought it up to Billy one night when it was completely dead in the shop. Even with Christmas shoppers, there still wasn’t a big market for ice cream right now, so he didn’t have to risk anyone else hearing him admit that he didn’t understand the book. “Hey Hargrove,” he said, nervously. “Since we’re in the same English class, I was wondering if you could help me with Moby Dick? I’m trying so hard, but it’s just going over my head. I can pay you.”

He braced himself for Billy’s usual teasing, but his voice was surprisingly soft as he responded. “You free tomorrow night, amigo? I’ll come over to your place and help you for a six pack of beer.” Steve, who had been expecting Billy to charge him months pay or something ridiculous like that in return for help, was left almost speechless. “Ar-are you sure?” Billy nodded, one of his heart melting grins on his face. “Yes, now get out of here before I change my mind.” There was the Billy Hargrove that h knew. Steve went to the back to organize some of the messier supply shelves, a small smile on his face.

---

The next night, Billy showed up at his house at 8pm. Steve opened the door and Billy stepped in, his own copy of Moby Dick in hand. “Damn, Harrington,” he said, with a low whistle, as he looked around. “I knew your parents were loaded, but this is insane.” He looked out onto the back deck. “I have to get out into that hot tub some time.” Steve chuckled, a little embarrassed by his parents’ excess, but excited by the idea of having Billy alone, in just his bathing suit. “Help me pass this test, and we can have celebratory beers out there.” Billy grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal, pretty boy.”

They settled in at the dining room table, side by side, both with their copy of the book open in front of them. “Ok,” said Billy “What parts are you having trouble with?” Steve sighed beside him. “All of it. Like I know there’s a whale, and a guy, and he’s trying to get the whale. But that’s it.” Billy nodded. “That’s the actual plot but let’s talk about the symbolism.” Billy moved his leg a bit, until it was pressed up next to Steve’s. That couldn’t be an accident, could it? But if it was on purpose, Billy sure wasn’t giving it away. He was keenly aware of the solid warmth of Billy’s leg for the rest of the night.

They spent the next couple hours discussing the symbolism in the book, until Steve was yawning. Billy glanced at him, smiling. “Ok, princess. I think it’s time to call it a night.” Steve couldn’t argue. He was practically falling asleep at the table. “Ok, yeah, I’d better let you get home. Thanks again, Hargrove.” He stood in the front doorway, watching as the other boy got in his car and drove away. Who knew Billy would end up being such a good guy?

---

Thanks to Billy’s help, Steve passed the test. Not with flying colours or anything, but a pass was a pass, and that’s all he’d needed. He clapped Billy on the shoulder. “I passed! Thanks to you! I was serious. You and me and celebratory beers in the hot tub. Tonight, after you’re done work.” He knew Billy worked the afternoon shift at Scoops that day. Billy grinned. “I’ll be there, Harrington.”

Billy got out of work at 7:30, so shortly after that he changed into his swim trunks and sat down in the living room to wait for the other boy. When 8pm, and then 8:30pm went by with no sign of Billy, he started to get worried. It was 9:15pm when there was finally a knock on Steve’s front door. He opened the door, ready to chew Billy for being so late without calling, but what he was greeted with left him speechless. Billy had his swim trunks in his hand, but he was also sporting a black eye and a bloody nose.

Steve gasped. “What the hell happened, Hargrove? Who did this to you?” Billy wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I got in a fight. Don’t worry about it. Are we getting in the hot tub or what?” Steve wanted to probe him for more information but decided to leave it for the time being. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get that bloody nose cleaned up first.” He led Billy to the guest bathroom where he got him some wet tissue to wipe the blood away.

Once Billy was all cleaned up and in his bathing suit, Steve grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and led the other boy out to the hot tub. Billy immediately hopped in and melted down into the hot water. Steve cracked open the cans and handed one to Billy. They sat in silence, sipping their beers.

Once Billy had finished his, Steve decided to try asking what happened again. “So, do you want to tell me who you got in a fight with? What the hell could have happened between 3pm and now? All you did was work!” Billy hung his head, speaking softly. “It was my dad. He got upset because your stepsister had to walk home from her friends house because I couldn’t pick her up.” Steve was shocked. “But you were working. Were you really supposed to leave in the middle of your shift to pick her up at a friend’s?”

Billy sighed. “He just gets worked up sometimes. He forgot I worked and took my stepmom out for dinner, so when no showed up to get her or picked up the phone when she called home, she walked. I went home to get my swim trunks and he got pissed. He has a bit of a temper, and he can’t control it sometimes. I’ll be fine. This is nothing…” He stopped talking, seeming to realize that he was implying that his father had done much worse.

Steve raised his hand, cupping the other boy’s jaw. “Oh, Billy. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, princess, s’not your fault that he’s an asshole.” He gave Steve a watery smile. It broke Steve’s heart. He didn’t know what made him so bold, but he reached his thumb up, running it over Billy’s bottom lip. Then he surged forward and kissed the other boy. It was brief and chaste but sent sparks running up Steve’s spine.

For a second, it seemed like Billy was going to deepen the kiss, but then he abruptly broke away. He climbed out of the hot tub, Steve watching him, nervous. “I’d better get home. My dads already pissed enough as it is, without me missing curfew.” He didn’t even wait for Steve to see him out. He just tugged on his clothes and rushed out the door, leaving Steve unsure of what to do. Had he read Billy wrong? He was so sure the other boy wanted it too. Fuck.

---

Unfortunately, his and Billy’s work schedules didn’t overlap at all over the holidays, so he was left worry about how Billy would act when Steve saw him again, right through to the beginning of January. He was going a little crazy at home alone, with only the occasional shift with Robin to keep him from going fully off the deep end.

Every day that they worked together, he spent the whole time examining what had happened that night from every angle with Robin. “Fuck, Robin. I don’t know what to do. I thought he was into it, but I read it completely wrong. He stormed away before I could even say anything, and now we haven’t talked since, and it’s going to be so awkward. Could I have read it wrong? I was so sure. So fucking sure, Robin. Why the fuck am I so dumb?” Robin had to physically restrain him when he tried to bang his head against a shelf in the back room at Scoops.

January

Finely, the very last day before they went back to school, he was booked in to work with Billy. The other boy greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary, and then it was so busy with shoppers trying to make the best of the last little bit of time off that they had that he and the other boy barely had a moment alone all day.

Finally, it was closing time, and Steve worked up the courage to broach the subject of their kiss. Billy wasn’t having any of it. “You need to forget that ever happened, Harrington. We both do. Things don’t end well for guys who’re into stuff like that. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find a nice girl, get married, have a couple of kids, and life will be nice and uncomplicated.”

Steve placed his hand on Billy’s arm. “I don’t want nice and uncomplicated, Billy. I want you, and I’ll take whatever that means.” Billy grabbed his coat and bag and started heading to the front so they could lock up and head out. “I mean it, Steve. Drop it. I’m not getting into this with you.” Steve felt helpless, and like he was about to burst into tears, his face hot. He tossed Billy the keys and stormed away, before the other boy could see him cry.

---

Things continued this way through the rest of January. Billy was still kind, but they’d lost whatever had been building up between them through December. The other boy joked and teased Steve, but the most personal detail of his life that he shared with Steve was what he planned on grabbing in the food court on his dinner break.

Even with the way Billy was acting, Steve couldn’t shake his desire to kiss the beautiful boy. Every time they were alone, he had to resist the urge to crowd Billy up against a wall and have his fill of him. He spent the month pining, watching Billy flirt with every girl that walked in the place, putting on a show every time. He would have to try his best to move on from the blond.

February

When Steve was in a relationship, he loved Valentine’s Day. He loved to make grand romantic gestures and buy over the top presents. This year, he was downright anguished, what with all the hearts and roses and mushy greeting cards popping up for the upcoming holiday. He wanted nothing more than to buy a heart shaped card and oversized stuffed animal for Billy, but he stuffed all his feelings down, and accepted Robin’s invitation when she invited him over to watch horror movies in leu of actual Valentine’s Day plans.

Valentine’s Day rolled around, and Steve headed over to Robin’s for 8pm, as instructed. When he got there, she was outside, and ran up to the car before he could park. He rolled down the window as she approached. “Do you think you could drive me to the mall for a minute?” She asked, as she opened the car door, making the decision for him. “I forgot that I put a couple pints away for us at Scoops. It’ll be quick.” Steve agreed, heading off towards the mall.

When they arrived, he parked, heading in with Robin. When they were halfway across the parking lot, he suddenly remembered who was closing that night. Billy. “I think I’m just going to wait in the car, Rob. Just be quick.” He turned to start walking back to his car. She tugged on his arm, pulling him with her. “No, just come with me. I’ll only be a minute.” He sighed, following behind her.

Just as they were approaching Scoops, Robin stopped. “Oops, I forgot my wallet in your car. You head in there. I’ll be back in a second.” She plucked his car keys out of his pocket and jogged away before he could answer. He headed in the store and greeted Billy, as it was the polite thing to do. There was nothing like being left alone with your unrequited crush on Valentine’s Day, and he didn’t want to make things more awkward than they already were. He leaned against the counter. “Hey Hargrove, how’s it going, busy night? Lots of pretty single girls looking for love with a part time ice cream shop employee?” He tried to play it off as teasing, but even to his own ears he sounded miserable.

Billy shrugged. “A few, but I told them that I was saving myself for someone special.” Oh great, thought Steve. Now he’s going to rub in my face that he’s found someone else. I bet she’s beautiful. But when he looked up at Billy, there was something that looked a lot like hope in his eyes. Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

He kept his eyes locked on Steve, even as he shifted nervously. Steve knew something was up, but he didn’t know what. Billy pulled out his ice cream scoop. “Can I interest you in a scoop of ice cream while you’re here, pretty boy?” Steve decided to play along. “Sure, Hargrove. What do you have to offer me?”

Billy listed off the flavours. “We have the usual. Chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, the U.S.S. Butterscotch, strawberry, and fudge ripple, or, we have a new flavour. It’s called the King Steve. It’s chocolate, with soft and gooey caramel core, and it’s topped with warm, melty fudge and cinnamon hearts, for a bit of spice.” Steve’s heart was melting faster than ice cream on hot summer day. “I’ll have two scoop of fudge ripple, and I think I’ll try the King Steve. Have you ever tried it before?” Billy lowered his voice, leaning over the counter to whisper in Steve’s ear. “I’ve only tried a taste, but it was delicious. Electrifying, in fact. I’d like to try a whole lot more. Seconds and thirds. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.” Steve cupped Billy’s jaw in his hands, drawing him in for a kiss, slow and deep, trying to imbue everything he felt for the other boy.

He pulled back so he could get some air. Billy smirked. “I was right, pretty boy. I think it’s my new favourite flavour.” Steve flew around the corner, pushing Billy into the back room. Billy pinned him against the wall, capturing his lips in another kiss. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’ve been awful to you. I was scared, but you didn’t deserve that.” He kissed along Steve’s jaw, sending shivers up Steve’s spine. “I promise to never hurt you again. Will you be my valentine?” Steve tangled his hands in Billy’s curls. “Yes, Billy. I’ll be your valentine. Will you be mine?” Billy chuckled. ‘Yes, pretty boy. I’ll be your valentine. Now and forever. If you’ll have me.”

They continued to make out, until they heard Robin calling their names. “Hey, Steve! Billy! They’re going to lock us in the mall if we don’t leave soon.” The boys laughed when they realized how long they’d been in the back room. Billy grabbed his bag and the special ice cream flavour he’d concocted, which he placed in a cooler he’d clearly brought to work with him. He gave Steve one more kiss before they headed out.

Steve drove Robin back to her house, but she stopped him when he turned off the car. “Oh no, dingus. You have a date to get to. You don’t know how hard it’s been hearing you pine over him while being in on his little secret. Go get your man. Go.” Steve had never driven faster in his life than he did to get back to his beautiful boy.

---

When Steve got back to his house, Billy was waiting on his front step, cooler in hand, still in his ridiculous Scoops uniform. Although Steve didn't think it was so ridiculous anymore. It's crazy what a crush, and not to mention many shifts with a prime view of Billy's ass in the shorts could do to change your mind. Steve hurried out of his car and up the front steps. “Hey, beautiful,” he called to the other boy, thrilled that he got to speak to Billy that way. “Waiting for someone?” Billy laughed. “Yeah, a real pretty boy. Long legs, fluffy brown hair, gorgeous chocolate eyes, and the most kissable lips. Seen anyone fitting that description?” He pretended to look off into the distance. He swatted Billy’s chest. “Nope, can’t say I have. Guess you’ll have to settle for me for now.” He tilted Billy’s face up, there lips meeting for a deep, drawn-out kiss.

Billy finally broke away after several minutes, taking Steve’s hand in his own. “As much as I love that, it’s freezing out. How about we take this inside?” Steve led him into the house by the hand. He shrugged off his coat and grabbed two spoons, then led Billy up to his bedroom. They spent the rest of the evening feeding each other spoonfuls of ice cream, letting the cool bites melt on their entwined tongues. It was a night that Steve would never forget.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #my billy baby #my fic #chrisbitchtree writes #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfic #harringrove fic #fluff #angst #fluff and angst #pining

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans + mentions of animal death Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Time to meet the family! What exactly has Cassandra told her mother? Can Bela convince her family to calm the hell down? We'll find out! Spoiler: there's the start of a cute date afterwards Notes: Once more we visit Bela's private study, which I first described in a chapter of Serenade. Added a few more details this time. PS reader is probably low-key a theater nerd with a hint of a goth phase, just saying. Also this chap is a little short, sorry. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands

3: Rumbling Thunder

Heart racing, you step into the dining room, just behind Bela. Both of you are nervous, but find comfort in each other. Still, what you see upon entering only makes you feel worse. At the head of a large table stands none other than Lady Alcina Dimitrescu. Besides her is her middle daughter, the one who confronted you earlier, who sends you a knowing smirk as you walk in. Lady Dimitrescu, on the other hand, is scowling. Her eyes are squinted in a clear display of disapproval. If not for Bela’s hand squeezing your own, it was likely that you would have fainted from fear.

“I see Cassandra has wasted no time in spreading rumors,” Bela said bitterly. You’re amazed by her ability to stand tall in the face of her family’s tension. Yet there was a part of you that wondered if you were worth the struggle, at least for your soulmate. Thankfully, you are not given much time to ponder the thought. No, you’re being pulled towards the closest side of the tabe, guided next to an ornate seat. Neither Bela nor yourself sit yet, however. “Please, mother, do not be hasty to make your judgement. I promise that-”

“Do not presume to tell me of my own business, daughter. The timing of my judgement is my prerogative, not yours,” Lady Dimitrescu interrupted, staring right at you. A shiver runs down your spine at the eye contact. What did Cassandra say to her? You wonder, struggling to breathe past the lump in your throat. Even Bela becomes visibly nervous at the interaction. “Now… are you certain, without a doubt, that this is your soulmate?” Did she really even have to ask? What were the chances that Bela would save you, one person out of at least a dozen in the cellar, for any other reason? Still, your soulmate straightens up at the attention, and replies as confidently as possible.

“Yes, of course, mother. I would not dare risk your anger for any lesser reason,” Bela assured. Then she gives your hand another soft squeeze, before pulling hers back a little, catching the thread that bound you together with her fingers. Lifting it, she tugs it somewhat absentmindedly. Out of habit you immediately return the action. Unfortunately, those around you would be unable to see the display. For all they knew, the two of you could be faking it, simply attempting to get out of the situation unscathed. Surprisingly though, you see Alcina hesitate. Her left hand twitches as if she was thinking of her own red string. Has she ever met her partner? Did she know the pure joy that her daughter had so recently felt?... Maybe she’d be more sympathetic to your situation if she had.

“We will see if your defiance pans out in time, Bela. For now… Why don’t we hear what your pet has to say about themselves, hmm?” Lady Dimitrescu suggested, giving a somewhat devious smile. Next to you, Bela grimaces, then sends you a pleading look. Alas, you cannot read her mind, and can only guess as to how you’re supposed to respond. Bowing is a sign of respect in virtually all cultures, you think, probably a good place to start.

“It is an immeasurable pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Lady Dimitrescu,” you said, before giving your full name. Then you rise from your bow, once more making eye contact. Out of the corner of your vision you see Cassandra rolling her eyes. “I know that I am a mere human, and hardly the epitome of a prime specimen. But I am determined to prove my worth, for there is no prize on this earth more grand than being allowed to love Lady Bela. Every ounce of my willpower is prepared to devote myself to this task, entirely, so that I may give Lady Bela the courtship and happiness that she is deserving. It is both an obligation and an honor.” Hopefully your soulmate wouldn’t mind you using the same line twice, at least under these circumstances.

In the seconds that follow, several things happen: One, you see Cassandra frown a little, and refuse to look in your direction. Two, Lady Dimitrescu makes a surprised face, but quickly shifts into an expression of satisfaction. Thirdly, Bela’s hand finds your own again, giving it an incredibly soft squeeze. Last but not least… someone you haven’t seen before enters the room. She has red hair, a green pendant around her neck, and eyes that light up with curiosity when she sees you. If you had to guess, you’d assume that she was another one of Bela’s sisters. Here’s hoping she’s a tad bit friendlier, you think.

“Did I miss anything? Ooh, please tell me we’re having this lovely stranger for breakfast?” She asked, grinning maniacally. So much for being friendlier, you think, figuring that she was being literal. Based on the way Bela tenses up in response, you’re probably right. Before she can protest, however, Lady Dimitrescu clears her throat and speaks.

“Ah, Daniela… This stranger-” she says the word with far less venom than you anticipated, but it is venom nonetheless- “is your dear sister’s soulmate. We will not be draining them of blood. Again. Assuming that they behave themselves. Is that clear?” She asked, staring down at the newcomer. There’s a slight pause, tension still lingering in the air, followed by a sigh of relief from Bela. Much to your surprise, neither Cassandra nor Daniela seem particularly upset by this announcement. In fact, the latter simply shrugs and takes her seat at the table. Next thing you know everyone else is sitting as well, including Bela, who gestures for you to follow suit. “I’ll have one of the servants fetch you some more… appropriate food. Cynthia, my dear?” Soon enough a maiden, perhaps a decade or two older than yourself, hurriedly enters the room. With a bow, she addresses Alcina.

“Yes, Lady Dimitrescu?”

“Have Miss Bouregard make an extra plate of whatever it is you sort eat, and bring it here. We have an… unexpected guest,” Alcina explained. At that, Cynthia glances at you, her eyes briefly widening in surprise. Without another word she turns away, giving another bow before heading away to fulfill her task. Once more you’re the only human in the room. Oddly enough, you manage to feel quite at ease, as if surviving one round was enough to guarantee you’d win the overall game. Well, at the very least you now had a chance. Regardless of what was to come, you were glad for that, for this opportunity to be with your soulmate. At the end of the day… little else mattered to you.

———————————

Much to your relief, the rest of breakfast proceeded smoothly. Conversation was sparse, with most of it being hushed whispers from the other side of the table, but you hardly minded. Normally you would find it rude. Now, you were simply pleased that they weren’t being up front with their hostility. More so, it allowed you and Bela to have your own conversation, which mainly pertained to your plans for the day. Several times during your discussion, a glance elsewhere would show you that Alcina was paying attention. Exactly once you even saw her attempting to hide a smile. A sense of pride had swelled in your chest at the sight.

It has remained there, even until now, as you move into Bela’s private study. One quick survey of the room tells you a thousand things about your soulmate. For starters, it’s clear that she’s musically inclined. There’s a harp in one corner, adjacent to a folded music stand, as well as a small bookshelf dedicated entirely to sheet music. A couple medium sized instrument cases are nearby, but you don’t immediately recognize their shape. Further into the room is a rather old looking desk, slightly worn, yet clearly cared for. Possibly passed down the generations? Next to the desk is a massive window with a couple spare chairs. All across the walls were bookshelves and mementos, including several skulls (at least one of them human). Every book you looked over appeared to be well read, with many bookmarks inside, some held together by tape and prayers.

“This… this is sublime, my darling. I could rest here for a month and hardly finish cherishing half the space!” You said, grinning at your soulmate. She’s equally pleased, seeming a tad relieved as well. Perhaps she had worried you’d be thrown off by the skulls? Wanting to reassure her, you approach that particular shelf, examining them closely. However, you do not touch them, not wanting to risk damaging her collection. “Truly marvellous. Dare I ask where you got these specimens?” It’s a joke, but Bela stiffens nonetheless, making you quickly redact your statement. “My apologies, I meant it as a jest. Though you are welcome to tell me more about them if you so desire! I will listen with rapt attention, I promise.”

“Most of them are gifts from Cassandra. During the summers we hunt, her more so than Daniela or myself. I… dislike wasting anything, and there’s only so much to be done with most bones. They have quite a few ornamental uses, however. Useful for study, as well,” Bela mentioned, smiling softly. Then she moves to stand next to you, carefully reaching to grab one of the skulls. “This was from one of our hounds, actually. I raised her from puppy to adult, took her on every hunt, even let her sleep in my quarters on colder nights. When she got sick I…” A pause, mouth open but unmoving, eyes slipping shut. “I couldn’t bring myself to put her down. Even argued with my mother, night after night, begging for another choice. None came, of course, and in the end even I could not deny her the softest embrace of death… Still, you must think me strange, to keep such a thing as a reminder of her.”

“Not at all, my dear. We all remember, and grieve, in our own ways. I’ve often found myself intrigued by skulls, of all sorts,” you admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “All we are, our minds or mayhap our souls, contained in one hard shell. It’s incredible, and terrifying, all at the same time, to hold one in my hands, or even merely examine one. Oh, what stories these bones could tell, if only they could talk… Though I suppose there are entire fields of science devoted to such a thought…” With that said, you look back at Bela just in time to see her staring fondly at the canine skull. Then she places it back on its perch, dusting her hands off afterwards, taking one last moment to appreciate her collection.

“I’m glad you and I agree on this,” she said softly. Once more she’s looking at you, smiling wide. “Now let’s make memories of our own, to hold in our bones forevermore, yes?”

#bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #tw animal death

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my-soul-sings · 3 years

Text

kiss the girl: epilogue

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 2 extra (ft. marius) | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | epilogue

You can read this on AO3, see the replies to this post for the AO3 link.

***

Partners

“You’ve been sulking the entire day,” Celestine points out the moment she enters Artem’s office. “I don’t get what you’re so upset about. You’re dating now! Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Artem sighs, tossing his pen down onto the stack of affidavits that he’s been proofreading and running one hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes, but I didn’t think that us dating would lead to this.”

He glances out the window of his office, where he can see her packing her things and clearing her desk. Kiki is helping her, and there are other colleagues stopping by at her desk to presumably give her their well wishes, since today is her last day at Themis Law.

The news came only two days after they officially became a couple. To say that Artem was shocked when she dropped this particular bomb on him would be an extreme understatement. Even now, he still can’t quite believe it, and his heart sinks at the realisation that he won’t get to work closely with her like they have been for so long now.

The topic came up when they were discussing how they should act in the office now that they were dating. They had decided to keep things under wraps for a while, not wanting any of their colleagues to find out so soon, but Artem had assured her that he would find a way to let the office know, so as to avoid any unwanted gossip about them and how their relationship might affect their work.

However, she apparently already had plans of her own, and it seemed as if she had thought this through carefully for a while now.

“I’m going to quit Themis Law firm,” she had announced out of nowhere, and he had choked on his glass of water in the middle of dinner.

“Pardon?” He thought he didn’t hear right the first time, or that she had misspoken.

Unfortunately, she repeated it again, every word crystal clear, but even then he couldn’t make sense of it.

“Why? Why are you leaving? You don’t have to quit just because we’re dating.” He had taken her hands in his, squeezing them, hoping he would get through to her. If she was worried about gossip in the office, he would take care of it for her. He would come up with a foolproof plan to make sure that no one had reason to speak poorly of them or their relationship.

“Artem, I’ve thought this through for a while now. It’s not an impulsive decision,” she had explained, squeezing his hands back. “I love working with you. I really do. But it’s not a good idea for a boss and subordinate to be dating each other in the same department. There’ll be a lot of questions and gossip, and I don't want your reputation to get affected by this.”

“I don’t care about that—”

“I know you don’t,” she interrupted, placing her finger to his lips. “But I care about how this will affect you. And this isn’t the only reason. I don’t want any disagreements between us at work to affect our personal relationship.”

He had wanted to object to her second point, but was immediately reminded of the time they had a huge argument over Sharon’s case. There was no denying that problems at work could affect their relationship. But still— “We can work it out.”

It was a bare assertion on his part, but he truly believed that they could make it work. But, she wouldn’t listen. Deep down, he already knew that there was no changing her mind once she had made her choice.

So all he could do was accept her resignation letter, albeit reluctantly, and count the days till she had to leave.

“You’re acting like it’s the end of the world,” Celestine’s voice brings Artem back to his sombre reality. “It’s not like you’ll never see her again. You’ll still see her when you go out on dates.”

“It’s different from working together with her,” he grumbles, sinking deeper into his internal pit of despair.

There’s a knock on his door just then, and it opens to reveal his girlfriend’s face. She takes only one look at him before breaking into an amused smile, mirroring Celestine’s expression. They both seem to find it amusing that he’s upset about all this.

“I’ll leave you to talk to this big baby,” Celestine tells her before leaving the office swiftly, not giving Artem the chance to protest that he’s not being a baby about this at all.

“Someone looks upset,” he hears his girlfriend say, and he looks up to see her approaching his chair.

“Should I be celebrating that we’re no longer partners?”

“We still are,” she says, taking his hand and casting a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure that no one is peeking into his office. Once she confirms that the coast is clear, she turns back to him with a smile. “And it’s not like I’m leaving for good. I told you, I’ll be back when I become a senior attorney. You can hire me back to work at Themis Law firm and I’ll be an actual partner working on equal ground as you, not just as your subordinate.”

He knows her solution makes the most sense, but it’ll take between five to seven years for her to become a senior attorney.

“I know it’ll take a while,” she says, as if reading his mind, “but you’ll wait for me, right?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, still wearing the frown on his face that’s been there all morning. Maybe Celestine is right; he is being a bit of a baby about this, but he can’t help it.

“Or, do you think I don’t have what it takes to become a senior attorney?”

Her pitiful tone and words snap him to attention and immediately he straightens his posture, his expression contorting in panic. “Not at all, that’s not what I meant. You’re one of the brightest junior lawyers I know, and I have no doubt that you’ll make senior attorney eventually.”

She begins to chuckle, and then it grows gradually into full-blown laughter. He doesn’t really know what’s so funny about what he just said; he had meant every word.

“Then wait for me. I’ll make you proud, I promise,” she grins, holding out a pinky finger towards him. “I’ll be back, partner.”

He smiles, unable to argue with her when she’s being this cute. Raising his hand, he hooks his pinky finger around hers as well, pressing their thumbs together.

“I’m already very proud of you, my partner.”

She beams at him, and he would kiss her right then and there if they weren’t in the office. It’s a good thing he doesn’t, because suddenly he hears a knock on his door. They drop their hands and break apart barely in time before Kiki, Celestine and a few other colleagues pop in, holding a cake and inviting them both to come out for a small farewell party being held at the pantry.

She follows the group out, and he trails closely behind her. Before she moves ahead to join them though, she turns around and mouths, “Dinner? Tonight?”

A smile forms on his lips. It’s strange to think back to how he used to be so awkward around her, entirely dependent on a book to find ways to grow closer to her. And now, it’s become so natural to ask each other out like this, to have her head fall against his shoulder when they're watching a movie, to receive little kisses from her when he does something that makes her happy, and to hold her close in his arms on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

They’re partners now, albeit in a different sense of the word. And as much as he’ll miss working with her, Artem won’t have it any other way. All he has to do is wait for her to come back, which he knows will happen eventually.

In the meantime, he’ll get to thinking about what they can have for dinner. Maybe they can eat at the new restaurant that she told him about last week, or maybe he’ll cook for her, or she’ll cook and he’ll be her guinea pig for the night.

Whichever it is, he’s already looking forward to it.

***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this story till the end! I hope this story made you laugh as much as I did while writing it. If you have the time, do leave a comment and let me know what you thought about it! I always love hearing your thoughts, they really make my day. Thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos or supported this fic in one way or another, you have been super encouraging throughout this process which I truly appreciate <3

I'll still be writing for Tears of Themis, and if you want to shoot me any writing requests, feel free to do so (although I can't guarantee that I'll write out all the requests that I receive).

Thanks again for reading 'Kiss The Girl' and hopefully I'll be back with more fun stories. :) Take care and I wish you all the best week ahead <3

#tears of themis #artem wing #tears of themis artem #artem fanfiction #artem wing fanfiction #tears of themis fanfiction #artem #artem fanfic #artem wing fanfic #tears of themis fanfic #my writing #kiss the girl

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undermattsun-archive · 3 years

Text

taste

(skate rat) kawanishi taichi x fem!reader | w.c 3.5k

a/n: SURPRISE it’s a sequel to mouth <3 my original skate rat sin i suppose, and also like my first real fic/drab for the fandom. god bless. as always thank u to @bakatenshii + @sugardaddykenma for putting up with me ranting about this fic (and also putting up with me since mouth)

big big thanku to #1 wife @pomsuki for reading this for me and yelling at me to finish this damn thing <3

18+ university age | pls read ALL warnings

warnings: drugs, public sex, dub/noncon exhibitionism, degredation, humiliation, dubcon, blood, slight injury (it’s a bloody nose), toxic behavior, misogynistic energy? vibes? you’ll know when u see it honestly

reading mouth isn’t necessary but it is appreciated! and pls check out melt + nightingale syndrome for they exist in the same skate rat universe (+ they’re delicious fics) also the people who wrote em r BIG SEXY

There were more than enough reasons to quit Kunimi Akira. He never texts back, he doesn’t go to class, he’s fucked a few of your friends and he couldn’t commit if you paid him. He was simply a waste of time, it was like every second spent with him was another mark ticked off a test, a percentile lowering on your next paper.

But chucking Kunimi would be like trying to sort grains of rice, difficult and damn near impossible. He always knew how to draw you back in and he enjoyed the mind games a lot more than his bored expression would let on.

Despite the impossibility of quitting him you had to at least try, so you swore up and down that hooking up with him at Oikawa’s party some odd months ago was truly the last of it, that you were done with him and all of his irritating skate rat friends.

Which begs the question of how you ended up at the little concrete amphitheater on campus, sandwiched between Hanamaki and Matsukawa on one of the steps, a blunt being passed between the two of them without so much as a second glance towards you.

“Say, when’s the last time you and Kunimi had fun?” Makki’s grin is nothing short of lascivious, a slimy feeling weighs on your tongue as you shrug off a shudder.

“Say, was that ever any of your business?” You retort, snatching the blunt from his lips bringing it to your own and inhaling deeply, revelling at the warmth creeping down your throat and filling your chest.

“Quit it Makki, she’s not gonna fuck you. Kunimi got her ‘round his little finger,” Mattsun coos, taking back the blunt, “besides, heard she’s a fuckin ice queen in the sack. Boooring.”

A sharp inhale keeps you grounded, the sound of Iwaizumi’s board slamming back down onto the pavement reminding you where you are, who you’re with. You’re not going to fall for Mattsun’s little games too.

“Tch.” Daggers prick at your lips, but you bite your tongue knowing that fueling the fire will earn you nothing but a headache. It’s not like you’re waiting for anything, or anyone, stealing a few more hits and leaving would be the best option.

“Oh? Nothing to say? But I heard your mouth was your only redeeming quality.” You focus your gaze on Iwaizumi telling Oikawa to stay out of his way, trying not to let your growing discomfort scare you away. The stubborn refusal of letting Mattsun’s words win only letting a dull ache grow at the base of your skull, prickling further when he and Makki let out low mocking laughs.

“Hey fucknuts!” Your head whips over to see a blur of crimson race by, followed gradually by a few other familiar faces you’ve seen around at parties and on campus.

“God, not these assholes.” Makki laughs as Oikawa makes faces at one of the newcomers. Your eyes drag across the unfolding scene as the number of rowdy idiots grows. You swallow hard, knowing that staying any longer would only cause your headache to further bloom.

“That’s my cue to leave.” You sigh, it’s not like you were waiting for Kunimi in the first place. You weren’t. You were just...killing time.

“Leaving?” Your head tips back to look up at the source of the question, Kawanishi Taichi, of course.

“Yeah, dunno why I’m here in the first place.” You brush off his quirked brow and shove Mattsun hard with your shoulder as you stand up. With a curt nod, you smooth a hand over your jeans, turning on your heel to brush past Kawanishi, ignoring the low whistle that falls from his lips. You make it a good distance down the walkway before the sound of crunching footsteps behind you prickles at your ears as you ready yourself to tell whoever it is to get lost.

“Want a ride?” You let out a huff as you look over your shoulder to see Kawanishi standing so nonchalantly, hands tucked into his pockets as he chews on a toothpick.

“Shouldn’t you be skating around with your little boyfriends?” The comment slips out, followed by your tongue sliding over your bottom lip as if it’ll soften the sharpness of your tone.

“Nah, just droppin 'em off,” his eyes rake up and down your figure as you turn to face him, “where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your little boyfriend. You were waiting there like a lost puppy for him.” A protest rises in your chest, curbing it when you see a flash of something akin to flirtatious teasing in his normally passive eyes.

“I... I don’t have one.” The words are slathered in honey, punctuated with a flutter of your lashes as Kawanishi takes another step forward.

If Kunimi likes playing all those stupid games, why not play a few of your own?

“Is that so?” His head tilts slightly, you feign shyness, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you smile sweetly at him, confirming your statement with a nod of your head. “My car’s just over in the parking lot.” He tips his head in the direction of the closest lot, before turning to start walking. Without hesitation you easily fall into step beside him, trying to dampen your rising nerves.

Despite the dumb little hookups peppering your dating history, you had only gone so far with most of them, Kunimi being one of the few —and the only one you crawled back to— that you had made the unfortunate pleasure of going all the way with. You keep pushing away at the thoughts of inexperience as Kawanishi approaches an old, beat up, black Corolla, the paint flaking off with dings and dents littering across the body, the impeccably shiny rims on the wheels making you snort.

It was a rather famous car across campus, seeing it around with stupid skate rats crammed in there with the windows fogged with smoke was an almost daily occurrence, especially highlighted by how it’s tied to one too many stories of girls having varying encounters with Kawanishi –and sometimes one of his friends– in said car.

“Wanna smoke or skip to the real fun?” He never minced any words, always up front or just completely skipping out on the conversation. It always made him the best project partner in the odd classes you’ve shared over your uni years.

“I don’t like waiting.” The fuzziness nipping at your spine from the few hits you took earlier were just enough, not wanting to dull your senses completely during this encounter. The bluntness of your answer causes a smirk to play at Kawanishi’s lips as he opens the door to the back.

“Well then, ladies first.” He gestures to the gray cloth seats, you make a point to ignore the questionable stains littered across it as you slide in, trying to focus instead on figuring out the heady scent permeating through the car. Cheap cologne, cigarettes, weed and maybe stale beer, and something that was distinctly him.

Your eyes are drawn to a stain on the roof that looks oddly similar to an eagle, the thought unfinished as Kawanishi practically dives in after you. The sound of the door slamming preempting hands roaming over your body and lips moving against your neck.

“Kawa-”

“Just Taichi.” He clips as he works the buttons of your jeans, a coarse hand working against your spine as he unhooks your bra.

“Eager much?” You laugh as he pushes at your shirt and bra exposing pert nipples to cool air, simultaneously managing to work your jeans past your hips and down your thighs.

“You said no waiting.” With a chaste kiss to your lips he’s maneuvering you onto your stomach, raising your hips in the air, face shoved halfway between the seat and door. You let out a huff as your hand braces itself against the door, while the other on the seat below you, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped setting.

“Mhm.” It’s the best reply you can manage as he grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass, already hard. You can only imagine how many women he’s had in this situation to award all six feet and three inches of himself the ability to move so successfully around in the cramped backseat.

Nimble and worn fingers circle around your hip, dipping down to tease at dampening lace, eliciting a soft moan from you. You push back against him, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out as he curls himself over you to scrape his teeth over your nape. His fingers continue to run up and down against your clothed cunt, pressing at the growing slick spot marking your wanting hole.

“Excited huh?” He mumbles as he skims his tongue against the shell of your ear, you manage a low hum in reply as he slides his hands back up, tugging down the flimsy piece of clothing, exposing your needy cunt to hungry eyes. He wastes no time pressing his fingers against your twitching hole, causing you to wiggle your hips just enough to earn a low chuckle and send the message of just how much you want him, need him.

Without any further hesitation he slips in a finger, your back arching with the realization his fingers are longer than Kunimi’s, chest burning at the fact you could even think of another man in this situation. As if he can sense your wandering thoughts Taichi works in another finger, another following quickly after. There’s no urgency in his movements, each twist and thrust of his fingers methodical, curling in just the right way, making sure to brush his thumb over your throbbing clit to send a stinging pleasure up your spine.

You can’t deny the way he’s taking you apart so sweetly, the tightening deep in your belly achingly sweet, as he starts to thrust his fingers even deeper, tiny gasps and whines starting to grow louder and louder as you careen towards bliss. With a particularly rough curl of his fingers you feel yourself come undone completely, punctuated by a shameless moan.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the fogged glass pulls you out of your blissful haze, still acutely aware of the way Taichi has his fingers lazily twisting inside of you.

“It’s open.” He tugs you back by the hips slightly as he retracts his fingers painfully slow, listening as he unzips his jeans. Your heart races as the passenger door opens, shifting uncomfortably to try to catch a glimpse of who’s slid into the car.

“Oh, so that’s where you went, Mattsun said you were hanging around.” Your blood runs cold, your state of undress tightening your chest as you become painfully aware of the situation you’re in. The passive tone of Kunimi’s voice nips at your skin, tears away at the search of mindless fun that you had tried to pursue with Taichi, filling your chest with raw embarrassment.

“What do you want?” The tear of a wrapper following the question, whatever protest you had silenced by a hand coming down to grip harshly at your ass.

“You have my grinder.” Kunimi slips into the passenger seat, the sound of the glove box popping open making your eyes squeeze shut.

“Yeah well close the door at least.” Your eyes widen at Taichi’s statement, you didn’t want Kunimi to just close the door, you wanted him to leave.

“Whatever. Can I smoke in here?” It doesn’t sound like much of a question, more of a declaration with the ‘can’ and the question mark tacked on for decoration.

“I don’t care, do you?” You crane your head just enough to catch the blasé expression on Taichi’s face, a quirked brow directed more at your ass than you.

“Yeah sweetheart, care if I’m in here while you’re whoring yourself out?” Kunimi scoffs, the irritated tinge to his bored tone making you furrow your brows.

“Oh fuck you.” You start to rise on your elbows, only for Taichi’s hand to land between your shoulder blades, keeping you from moving any further. You let out a huff as Kunimi clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Sorry babe, it’s me who’s fucking you this time around, maybe Kunimi can get the next round.” Before you can even bother with a retort, Taichi drags the head of his cock against slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You let your head hang down, the click of a lighter grating on your nerves more than you would like to admit.

“Please, fuck me, I want it so bad.” The whininess of your voice annoys even you, but if Kunimi wants to stick around and get on your nerves, then two could play that game.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Just like before he slides in slowly, carefully, as if to make you memorize what each inch of him feels like splitting you apart so sweetly.

“Shit.” You exhale shakily as you try to adjust to him, it had been months since you last fucked anyone, since you last fucked the asshole sitting passenger.

He sets a leisurely pace, steady and infuriating. There’s a hand clamped down on your hip, fingers digging in painfully to keep you in place, to establish that he’s the one calling all the shots. You huff, still trying to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. There’s something in his actions that makes you feel greedy, desperate for so much more than he’s offering.

There’s no way around it, you’re completely at his mercy, left taking the shallow, slow thrusts that only makes the desperate ache deep in your cunt grow.

“Hook a finger or two in her mouth.” There’s a pause in Taichi’s motions, letting you finally take a deep breath of the thick weed laced air. “Don’t look at me funny, do it and see what happens.”

You hear a non-committal hum as those devilishly nimble fingers skim past your jaw, a whimper preceding his index pushing past your lips with a harsh tug at the corner of your mouth, the painful stretch of your cheek causing you to clench down on his length.

“Oh? You were right.”

“She’s already broken in,” Kunimi takes a long drag of the joint hanging in his fingers, “no point in holding back.”

It’s as if a flip is switched in Taichi, the statement becoming an immediate challenge as he hooks in another finger beside the other, yanking harshly as the snap of his hips becomes almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, swirling with the heady smoke defiling the air.

“W-Wait Taichi.” The words are garbled around his fingers, and you’re quickly dismissed as he snakes around his other hand to hook his middle and index on the other corner of your mouth, the stretch in your lips burning as he shifts from the quick paced thrusts to deep, hard strokes.

His only reply is to tug harshly on your mouth as pathetic whines and distored words spill from you.

You can feel yourself start to shake almost violently, still reeling from your earlier orgasm and suffering at the hands of Taichi’s now vicious pace. Each thrust pushing you into madness, each tug of his fingers bringing you back.

“Fuck, fuck.” He curls over you again, sloppily running his tongue up your nape. “You wanna cum?”

“Mhmm,” you yelp at a particularly rough slam of his hips, “please.”

He grunts, moving a hand to grip at the back of your head while keeping his other hand planted on your hip, fingers biting into your hip. There’s no warning as he grinds into you, the hold on your hip finally relenting as he slides his digits back down to pinch at your throbbing clit, the bit of pressure sending you careening over the edge.

“T-Taichi.” Pleasure wracks through your body, your legs tremble violently as you try to move your hand on the door, shoulder aching from holding yourself in place. The second your hand moves, you give into the force of Taichi’s hand on the back of your head, forcing you to slam face first into the door, the impact making your nose sting, blood immediately starting to gush, running down your face and chin.

You’re not sure if he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he continues his assault, the once careful, methodical thrusts turning desperate and depraved as he moves with reckless abandon. His teeth drag across your shoulder, before pulling out completely.

“Don’t need this.” You grip at your nose, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping onto your fingers, looking over your shoulder again to see Taichi pull off the condom. You can’t even protest with the way you’re bleeding profusely, pinching at your bridge at a poor attempt of stopping the bleeding.

“Stay still.” In one swift movement he’s plunging back into you, bottoming out immediately, a muffled yell falls from your lips, arching your back as he drives into you with just a few more hard thrusts you feel his seed spill inside you.

For a moment you two stay suspended, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix, making you groan in a twisted sense of pleasure of pain. He pulls out painfully slow, delivering another harsh slap your ass as he sits back.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout your nose.” He helps you flip onto your back, swiping his thumb over the blood trickling onto your lip before shucking off his t-shirt and handing it to you. “Don’t have any tissues.”

“So who’d you like playing fuck toy for better?” For a split second, somewhere between the back breaking orgasm and your nose being slammed into the door, you had blissfully forgotten that Kunimi was still in the car, but now that perfect illusion just had to be shattered.

“Must you be such a dick all the time?” You manage to pull your jeans back up, hissing at the stinging pain in your hips and lower back, ignoring the lewd feeling of Taichi’s cum starting to leak from your abused cunt.

Beside you Taichi manages to tuck himself back into his pants, reaching under the driver's seat to yank out a hoodie reeking of weed and cigarettes.

“Maybe you two should just get together already.” Taichi lets out a low chuckle as he pulls on the hoodie, getting out of the backseat, slamming the door hard before throwing the driver’s door open. You don’t even bother trying to hook your bra back on as you pull your shirt down, letting yourself slump back down and lay across the backseat as you reach up to check if your nose is still bleeding.

“Like hell.” Kunimi twists around in the passenger seat, looking down at you with an amused smirk, offering the freshly rolled joint to you. “You look like shit. I said she was broken in, not to break her more.” He only gets a wry laugh from Taichi as he starts the car.

“Thanks, right back at you.” You sit up just enough, looking at Kunimi expectantly. He shakes his head before twisting the joint in his fingers and placing it between your lips, producing the lighter. Just as he’s about to hand it to you he brings his hand back a bit, grabbing your jaw with his other as he lights the joint. He picks up Taichi’s bloodied shirt, pouring water from a twisted plastic bottle onto it before passing it back to you.

“Cute, blew her back out and you’re doting on her.” You watch as Kunimi moves to sit back in his seat, not even bothering to spare you a second glance as he shrugs. You dab away at the drying blood on your face, ignoring a few of the splotches that landed on the joint.

“Guess I play favorites, drop us off at my place.”

“Us?” You exhale after a long drag, narrowing your eyes at the back of Kunimi’s head as Taichi pulls out of the parking spot.

“What do I even get out of doing that?” You can’t help but nod in agreement of Taichi’s statement, feeling yourself growing annoyed at the way they seem to ignore your entire presence.

“You can fuck her again.” Kunimi offers and you almost drop the joint as your jaw falls open at the absolute nerve of the man.

“Excuse me? I’m right here?” The way that neither of them even flinch at your statement, let alone acknowledge it makes you slump back into the seat, begrudgingly accepting the fact whatever you say isn’t worth shit to either of them.

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound like he’s actually considering the offer, but the quick look over his shoulder as he turns out of the parking lot sends a chill down your spine and your stomach to twist.

“Believe it or not, her mouth’s her one redeeming quality.” The two of them snicker, like two old pals sharing an inside joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re brushed off once again as they toss back a few more comments before Taichi stops at a red light, looking over at Kunimi, then back at you and finally back towards the road.

“Yeah alright.”

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