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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Sixteen

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 9.3K

Notes: Hiya pals.

“Welcome home, Mr Bennett.”

Tom looked behind the suited man and his clipboard. Beyond the small dockyard pier, he could make out the beginnings of a town still sleeping. Mist, or was it rain, was rolling in from the horizon of hills. In just a few hours, the train would take him through those valleys, along the Pennine Way and to Manchester.

“Not quite home,” Tom said to the man, who smiled in turn. “But almost.”

The boat from Gibraltar to Scotland had taken five days and, after his journey through central Spain, Tom was glad to be back at sea. In England, summer would have been making way for autumn but the heat still lingered in Spain. Days of walking, being bundled between cars, and of weeks waiting in Gibraltar for any news of his departure left Tom agitated. The heat had not helped. The days at sea had given him plenty of time for reflection. Stood on the stern of the boat, gazing as mainland Europe disappeared, he watched the surface of the water for disturbance. After the Battle of River Plate, he couldn’t shake the fear that U-boats were lurking beneath the waves, waiting to strike. Fighting for attention alongside these fears were thoughts of Bess. She had told him, before he left, that the Navy could be the making of him. In a way, she was right, for faced with the open ocean and endless sky, Tom felt freer than he ever had on land.

Home was so close now; he could almost smell it as the gentleman on the dock led him and a few other evaders towards a waiting vehicle. Roast dinners, grease from the dockyard, rain on the cobbles, perfume at the Palais and buttered chestnuts at Belle Vue. The dusty picture house, clean linen, Bess’ hair. Tom had tried to think of what he would do when he saw her, for seeing her was inevitable. For a while he thought of going to the Infirmary; she couldn’t scream at him while in her uniform. Or else, he could climb into the window of her flat like old times, but he didn’t know which was hers and hadn’t she said that the boarding matron had a strict rule of no gentlemen? Perhaps Tom could charm the woman. He wasn’t a gentleman, after all. He settled on seeking her in Longsight. Neutral ground. What he’d say he didn’t know, but that was one part of the plan he could account for; no more performing.

By evening, Tom and the other evaders that had made the crossing were trundling southwards, through Scotland and towards England. It was a supply train, and they had been given bunks by the men that worked to deliver steel, food and other resources across Britain. Tom watched as the sun set below the Pennines, knowing that in the morning he would awake in Manchester. He looked at the photograph of Bess. Almost nine months since he had laid eyes on her at the train station. Maybe tomorrow, he would see the real thing.

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Bess removed the blackouts to be dazzled by sunlight. She stood at her window a while; autumn was coming and soon all warmth would disappear from the sun. God she hated Manchester in winter. She scanned the city skyline. At least, what was left. As if in some perverse game of dominos, a few buildings that had been there last night were gone, dark smoke billowing in their stead. She had heard the first loud crashes. The air raid sirens hadn’t noticed this attack, and after the first distant explosion came banging doors as the girls of Carver Mills, dressed in nightgowns and curlers, hurried to the shelter at the end of the road.

Despite the terror of the night past, Bess found herself in unusually high spirits. The months had not been kind to her, and she could count on one hand the few times she had been truly happy since new year. Most of those times had been the first promising two weeks of 1940, sharing stolen kisses and glances with Tom. But this morning, with the sun shining through the horror, Bess felt perhaps if she couldn’t conquer the world, she could at least conquer the day.

She sat at the small vanity. She had been dancing at the Palais over the weekend and her rollered curls lingered. If she draped them just right at the base of the neck, she could hide them from Sister Stern under her nurses cap. Bess surveyed her reflection. It was a day that called for rouge. Rolling the lipstick from its tube, Bess swiped the colour across her lips and thought of the men at the hospital. She’d certainly brighten their day. The last thing to do was grab the photo from her nightstand. The paper was worn at the edges but despite this, and the black and white hue of the paper, Bess could feel Tom’s blue eyes gleaming at her. She tucked him into the pocket of her apron and donned her coat before glancing round the flat. It wasn’t much, but in the early autumn light, it felt like home. Perhaps she’d have Joan and Helen over that evening for supper and wine, if they could find some.

The bus was just pulling away from the stop when Bess reached it, and she ran to join it. Douglas appeared at the open door and held out his hand to haul her onto the moving vehicle.

“Thank you,” she half whispered, half panted. Douglas touched his cap. A little awkwardness still coated the air after she had kissed him then revealed her feelings for his son; the month since had left little time for her to visit but she made a point to every time she was in Longsight. She valued Douglas’ friendship too much to allow her moment of insecurity and fear get in the way.

“Your father’s down the front,” he said as Bess moved to find a seat. “Looking a bit worse for wear.” Bess nodded and found her father slumped against the window behind the driver. His hair was unkempt and a little stubble was starting to show.

“Dadda,” Bess nudged him as she sat down. “Dadda!” He woke with a start and looked at her. A sleepy smile spread across his face and he took her hand in his own, patting it gently.

“I was going to pop into the hospital on my way home, to see if you were okay.”

“We’re all fine,” Bess squeezed his hand in reassurance. The Blitz was taking its toll on Fergal. More frequent air raids on the city meant that after his shifts at the dockyard he was straight into his warden’s uniform and on patrol, helping put out fires or guiding civilians to safety. Since Albie’s death, he was rarely home, his time taken up with helping the war effort and avoiding his grief. Bess laid her head on her father’s shoulder and they sat in amicable silence.

“Heavy night last night, they got Oxford Street. Palace Theatre got hit.”

“Many dead?”

“A fare few my girl, a fare few.” When they arrived at the Royal Infirmary, Fergal spoke again. “I do worry about you Bess. It’s only a matter of time before they get the hospital-”

“We’ve got a shelter in the basement, Dadda, we’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek. “Tell you what, I’ll come by at the weekend for dinner. Stay over?”

“I’d like that, you take care.”

She waved off her father and Douglas from the stop as the bus made its way to Longsight, then hurried in to begin her shift. Sister Stern said nothing about her hair and lipstick, though from the twitch of her eye, Bess knew she wanted to. She was right too, the men loved it. She, Joan and Helen were the most popular nurses at the Infirmary with their beauty, charm and care. With every flirtatious comment, smile to her friends and patient helped, Bess felt her heart lighten. Uncertain the cause of this newfound contentedness, Bess was desperate to cling onto it regardless, and set about making plans for the evening with Helen and Joan.

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On any other day, the walk from Manchester London Road to the Bennett house would take an hour. But as Tom strolled the streets that had coloured his childhood, his buoyance at being home turned to horror. The pub in which he snuck into for his first pint was no more than a pile of rubble. Houses of friends gone, skeletons of their childhoods all that remained. Even his secondary school, once an imposing building, had been brought down to a singular wall and the scaffold of the gymnasium. He felt sick. The war had at last come home. What if he arrived in Longsight to find it no longer existed? Walking through smoke and the rising dust of devastated buildings, he saw lines of people watching on as wardens and firemen attempted to put out the still simmering flames of the night before. At Victoria Park, a woman was trying to calm her young children, some of whom sat atop the rubble, as men scavenged what they could from the bombed-out street. A football lay abandoned in the road and Tom, taking pity on the woman, offered to kick the ball about with her sons while she rested.

By the time he had arrived in Longsight, any thoughts of happy reunions had vanished, replaced by the anxious dread that had followed him since his final days on the Exeter. The fear that around every corner, no matter how safe or familiar, life could be upended as easily as the spinning of a top. Keen not to feed his fear, Tom walked along the ginnel, avoiding the sight of the street and what it may hold. He reached the gate to the yard of his home as paused, taking a deep breath. The handle was cool in his hand, and it clicked gently as he opened it. Washing was strung across the line, mostly his dad’s shirts and a few of Lois’ small things. Instinctively, Tom took the sleeve of one of Douglas’ jumpers and brought it to his face, inhaling the smell of familiar laundry detergent. It fluttered from his hand in the breeze, and for a moment, Tom felt he could cry. It was that exact sound that stopped him. High and coarse, a wailing cry came from within the house, and Tom’s heart somersaulted.

Tentatively, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped inside the house. A dull light streamed through the net curtains. Nothing had changed. The piano sat unused, the chairs the same, exactly where the family liked to sit. Douglas at the table, Lois by the window and Tom at the hearth. The only difference was the baby that lay swaddled and crying in its basket, set on the kitchen table. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tom inched towards the little creature. Its red face contorted as it kicked its covered legs and balled its tiny fists. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but Tom knew that somehow, he loved the little babe. Steps thundered on the landing upstairs. Tom just managed to tear his eyes away from the child when a pair of feet appeared on the stairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming-” Lois slipped down the last few steps in her haste, buttoning the blouse she wore. “Come here then, you little bugger.” There was a moment when Tom thought he was a ghost, had died at Dunkirk and drifted home, for Lois looked straight through him with unseeing eyes. Her steps faltered as she made towards the Moses basket, looking at the space Tom occupied. She stopped and the wailing continued. The two siblings stared at each other, neither moving, as though scared they would startle. It was when Tom smiled at his older sister, dimples appearing in his cheeks, that Lois knew he was real. With a shriek she leapt at him, arms tight around his neck as she burst into sobs.

“Hiya,” he whispered with a laugh. She pulled back to look at him, taking his face in her hands and assessing him, making sure he was there. Deciding it was true, her brother was really home, she took a step back and smacked his arm, hard.

“You bloody bastard,” she laughed through her tears. “We’ve been so worried.”

“And busy,” Tom nodded his chin in the direction of the baby. Lois wiped her face with a watery smile and scooped the baby into her arms.

“Give over,” Lois huffed, unbuttoning her blouse and sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth. Tom watched as the baby’s cries turned to snuffles of contentment.

“Christ. Everything’s so different,” Tom whispered. Manchester, the war, a baby. The home he had longed for was irrevocably changed. And yet, looking at his sister cradling that little baby in her arms, Tom felt that somehow everything would be ok in the end. Lois watched Tom watching the baby and another small sob left her. “Don’t be soft,” Tom laughed, though he held out his hand and Lois took it.

“I’ve missed you,” she wiped her eyes again. “Needed you here.”

“Did you know? Before I left?” Lois nodded. “You should have told me.”

“I was scared. I’m sorry,”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, and Lois gazed back down at the baby. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He said with a chuckle. The baby had finished feeding, and Lois held the little creature up.

“Sit down then,” she said, indicating the armchair opposite the rocking chair.

“You what?” Tom tried to sound light, but a spike of terror caused his ears to turn pink.

“Just sit down!” Tom did as he was told, and Lois lowered the baby into his arms. She laughed at her little brother, whose eyes were wide in shock. “You can relax, Tom. Lean back in the chair and I’ll put a cushion under your arm. Just take her head, that’s it-” Everything in Tom’s body stilled. His breath became deep, his racing thoughts quietened and any sound beyond the house disappeared. The baby in his arms licked its little pink lips, still milk-drunk, and looked up at him with shining eyes. “This, Tom, is your niece.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Language.” Lois teased. “And this, little one, is your uncle Tom.” Knowing she was in tender care, the little girl gargling in his arms took hold of the finger that had reached out to brush her cheek.

“Fuck,” Tom said again, and wiped a tear of his own from his eye. With Tom missing, Harry married and facing a world of raising a child on her own, Lois had lost all expectations for the future she once dreamed of. A little piece of hope she thought missing slotted back into the space of her heart, as she watched her brother embracing her daughter. She ran hand through Tom’s hair tenderly and he leant into the touch, reminded of their mother. After minutes of contented silence passed Tom, never looking away from his niece, spoke.

“Is she Harry’s?”

“Yes. Though what he’ll have to do with her, I don’t know.”

“Bastard.”

“Quite.”

When he spoke again, it was to his niece. “Doesn’t matter thought, does it? You’re perfect.” Lois smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Are you alright with her there? I’ve got some folding to do,” Tom waved his hand; he’d sit there forever. “Not sure what to call her yet, I thought it’d be nice to name her after mum?” Tom nodded and Lois’ heart burst with pride. Her little family would be ok.

They talked for hours. Tom told Lois about his travels around the south of Europe, and about Dunkirk. How he ended up in Paris and his escape. About Claudette and the others he met along the journey. Lois told him of ENSA, Harry’s betrayal and of adoring Vernon. Of the baby and the birth; she spared him the detail, all but one fact. “Bess helped me deliver her.”

“Oh right,” Tom’s voiced croaked and Lois smiled to herself.

“You’d better go over and see the Vaughns later. They’ll be so happy to see you.” She came back to sit next to Tom and her daughter, now sleeping in her uncle’s arms. “I don’t suppose you’ll have heard that either, God, there’s so much to tell you-”

Tom didn’t get the chance to find out what Lois had to tell him, for the front door clicked open. Douglas walked in, shucking off his shoes and coat. “Where’s my granddaughter then?” He was happier than Tom had heard him in a long time and his stomach sank a little. Was it wrong, to have hoped to find his father devasted? Maybe he was right after all, maybe things were easier if he wasn’t here.

“Dad,” Lois’ voice was soft.

“Yes, love?” Douglas turned from hanging up his coat and glanced at his daughter, before his eyes flickered to the man sat beside her, cradling his granddaughter. Tom stood and Lois hastily took the baby from his arms. Douglas looked between his daughter and son, mouth a little ajar, and swayed on the spot.

“Hi dad.”

The words were barely out of Tom’s mouth before Douglas clapped a hand to his own and laughed. He bent double, laughing, and at this Lois began crying again. It was when his father stood straight that Tom saw the tears rolling down his face. “Dad,” Tom stepped forward but hesitated. For the second time in his life, he froze. The first was when Bess fled from this very house in tears, the second was now. Luckily for Tom, he didn’t have to wait long, for Douglas staggered forwards and gripped him in a desperate hug.

“My boy,” Douglas laughed through his tears. “My boy,”

“Hi dad,” Tom said again, weakly. Douglas, as Lois had done, cupped Tom’s face to look at him.

“My brave, brave boy.” Tom laughed awkwardly, but his heart soared with happiness. At long last, he was home.

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The afternoon was reaching for evening when the Bennetts finally grew tired of chatting. Baby Bennett was sleeping on her grandfather’s shoulder, who was watching his two children with adoring pride. Tom had taken the picture of Marie down from the wall and placed her at the table, the way the Vaughns did with their mother. Sipping the last of their tea, they sat in gentle silence and simple enjoyment of the fact that their family was together again. And not just together, but growing.

“What are your plans, Tom?” Douglas asked as he placed the babe back in her basket.

“Well, I imagine it won’t be long until I’m called back.” He hurried on at the darkness that befell Douglas’ face. “But it won’t be for a while. I’m not sure how much paperwork it takes to resurrect the dead. In the meantime, it’ll be a few good meals and see as much of home as I can.”

“Speaking of which,” Lois said. “You best get over the road. They need some good news and I think you’re just the thing.”

“Must have been devastating when I left, all the good-looking fellas gone-” Lois smacked his arm again.

“Be off with you!” Tom kissed her cheek and patted his father’s shoulder.

“Save some tea for me, Lois. I’ve been dreaming of your roast dinners.” Dressing in an old jumper and clean slacks, he made for the door and the Vaughns. The air was still warm from summer though an autumnal breeze was gathering through the street. A few little girls playing in the street shrieked when it lifted their petticoats around their woollen tights. Tom laughed. That’ll be the little one someday. Crossing the road, something else fluttering in the wind caused him to stop dead. A black ribbon, tied around the knocker of the Vaughn’s front door. His blood ran cold. Surely, Lois would have told him if it was one of the girls. If it was Bess. The sensitivity of the day’s emotion caught at the back of his throat and he swallowed. Hadn’t Lois tried to tell him something before his dad arrived home? Tom watched with quiet fear as the ribbon teased him, before stepping to the door and knocking. He straightened his jumper and ran a hand through his hair. God damn it, he should have looked in a mirror before he left. Or at least washed. Tom was just shaking out his shoulders when the door opened and he snapped to attention.

“Co-” The words died in his throat as the eldest Vaughn sister jumped at him.

“Oh my God!” Cora withdrew to look at him, then crashed into him once more. “Oh my God! Dot. DOT! Come down here right now!” She dragged him over the threshold. As yet, Cora had said nothing to Tom, and no words were exchanged further when Dot came hurtling from the back room and screamed at the sight of him. Running across the kitchen, she jumped into his arms and bounced up and down.

“You’re alive, oh thank God,” Dot turned back to her sister. “Some good news at last!”

Cora didn’t take her eyes off Tom. “Bess will be thrilled,” Tom could have sworn he saw Cora smirk.

Bess. Tom remembered the front door. “Cora. What’s happened? The ribbon on the door,” Dot stopped her giddiness, still holding on to Tom’s hand.

“Oh Tom,” Cora shuffled around the table to hold her sister. “It’s our Albie. The Siege of Calais-” Her voice died away and Dot hiccoughed. Tom looked between the sisters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hating how feeble the words were and how they sounded in his mouth. Dot looked up and tried to smile through her watery eyes.

“But at least we have you back. And like Cora said, Bess will be thrilled.”

“I’m going over there to Manchester soon actually, Tom, taking some food round for Bess. If you want to come?”

Cora looked to Dot, who still had hold of Tom’s hand. She began to swing it, looking up at him mischievously. “Um,” he coughed. “Yes, will do.” Christ.

The journey back into the centre of town was easy. One of Douglas’ friends from the bus service gave he and Cora two free tickets on account of him returning home, and the bus detoured around the bombed buildings. Tom thanked God; he didn’t know if he could stomach it. Not when his mind was so occupied on seeing Bess within the hour. Next to him, Cora chatted away about Roger and how well he was doing with the RAF, about the memorial mass for Albie, and at that Tom tried to listen. But through imagined glimpses of the Vaughns’ grief, all he could see were flashes of Bess running alongside the train. It wasn’t until he and Cora departed the bus and arrived at an old mill building that he noticed he hadn’t been paying attention at all to the route they had taken. All he knew was that this was the old cotton trade quarter of the city. Tom looked up at the tall chimneys, smog-stained red brick and the shadow the old mill cast. Half of him thought that facing the Germans would be less terrifying than stepping in here and he laughed. Cora smiled lightly.

“Are you excited to see her?”

“Pardon?” Tom’s reaction was quick, so quick that when he whipped his head around from gazing up at the mill, he heard it crack.

“Give over Tom, I’m not stupid. I know all about you and Bess. She told me, after I caught you both kissing in the window.”

Tom grinned mischievously and rubbed the back of his neck. “I always get caught, in the end.”

“At least this time it isn’t trouble. Though I’ll tell you know, Tom Bennett. I adore you, but if you break her heart, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I think Dot’d kill me first.”

Cora laughed. “That she would. Now,” she put her hand on the door knocker. “Mrs Russo, the boarding mistress, doesn’t like gentlemen visitors so we’ll just tell her you’re waiting outside. Then we’ll sneak you in when she isn’t looking.”

“Aye, aye!” Tom saluted and with a laugh, Cora knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. There was a little noise behind the door and the two heard a pair of footsteps growing louder. It opened to reveal Mrs Russo, broom in hand and beaming, her bonny face shiny with exertion of cleaning.

“Cora, love, hello!” She pointed at the basket of food in her hand. “Got any for me?”

“Just deliveries for Bess I’m afraid,” the two women laughed and Tom sensed this was an ongoing occurrence. Mrs Russo then turned her eyes to him appraisingly and did not hide that she clearly approved.

“And who is this handsome lad?”

“Mrs Russo, this is Tom.” Cora lightly touched his shoulder. “A childhood friend. He’s just returned home this morning.”

“Ah, the missing fella!” Mrs Russo clapped her hands. “Bess has told us all about you, of course.” Tom felt a blush rise up his cheeks and Cora smirked. “Now, I don’t allow young men in the house, even ones as good looking as yourself, but would you take a cup of tea while you wait for Cora? I can open up the courtyard for you.”

“Only if you join me, Mrs Russo.” Tom winked.

“Oh, he is a charmer! I can see why you girls are so fond of him. I best get back to my cleaning but if you follow the building round, I’ll open the gate to the courtyard. Coming, Cora love?”

Tom began to walk along the red brick wall as Cora whispered, “I’ll come and get you when the coast is clear!”, and followed the lady inside. Mrs Russo had already opened the courtyard gate and hurried back to her chores when Tom reached it. Washing, bedsheets and nurse’s uniforms, hung between every window and at the centre of the small patio was a table and two chairs, a steaming cup of tea already awaiting him. No sooner had Tom sat down and taken his first sip was Cora hissing at him from a side door.

“Psst! Tom!” Tom hastily threw the tea into a plant pot and strode towards Cora. “Bess is still at work but I can let you in. You’re alright waiting for her, aren’t you?” Tom nodded his assent and felt his heart rate double. The two wound their way quietly up a few flights of stairs before Cora stopped to fumble with a set of keys. “Here we are, Bess’ humble abode.” She entered the flat first and Tom followed. It was as if he was trespassing on the room of someone recently deceased; it was so full of life yet the occupant was nowhere to be found. He half expected Bess to jump out at them.

The kitchen was miniscule. A cup and plate had been left by the sink, and Cora set about washing them for her little sister and putting away her parcel of food. On top of a rickety table was a vase, the dried flowers losing their leaves and scattering around two picture frames. One of Bess and her family, one of Etta. Tom smiled and moved to the window. Despite the missing buildings and the faint smoke rising from the air raids, Manchester looked magnificent in the late summer light. The sun was low on the horizon, piercing through chimneys, spires and mills. A little way off, Tom could make out the cranes of the dockyard. Beside him was an old armchair, its fabric faded and patched in places. Over the top lay some clothes, haphazardly draped, and a book of Nursing Practice. A little to his right, the bedroom door was askew, and Tom just caught a glimpse of the bed when Cora spoke. She was halfway out the door.

“I know what happened, Tom, before you went away. Bess has a steely mind and a sensitive soul, but she needs the truth.”

She didn’t allow Tom to add anything more before shutting the door. He was left alone.

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“Got a bottle of wine from one of the lads,” Joan said, placing dirtied bedding into the wash bin. Helen was smoking discreetly out of a store cupboard window, carefully avoiding Sister Stern.

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“Said I’d give him a kiss,” Joan said sweetly and Bess laughed.

“Honestly,” Helen pretended to chastise her friend, but still smiled as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “What time shall we come up to yours Bess?”

“Eight o’clock, I’d say.” Bess was helping Joan to tidy away the linens before heading home to pick up some sewing work. “Gives me a chance to finish the clothes.”

“I wonder if there’ll be another air raid?” Helen worried the skin of her lip as she flicked her cigarette away.

“If there is,” Joan straightened and stretched her back from the day’s labour. “I’m glad I’ll be with you girls.” Bess squeezed her hand and waved her goodbyes.

The five o’clock sun set the city ablaze, and when Bess stepped onto the street, the glare the sun cast from the windows caused her to walk straight into somebody.

“I’m so sorry,” she held out her hands to steady herself against the person.

“Bess,”

Bess looked up, and into the sullen and scarred face of the man before her.

“James!” Bess took an instinctive step back. “How are you? The scarring is healing well, glad to see my stitching was neat.”

“Yes, I uh-” James looked nervously at her and shuffled on his feet. “I’m here to see one of the doctors about my sight. If he thinks I’m healed, it’ll be back to the front for me.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Bess reached out to hold his arm. “The offer still stands, James. If you want someone to write to, you know where to find me.” She gestured to the building behind her. “Good luck.” She began to walk away when the calling of her name stopped her.

“Bess, if I do go back, would you come for dinner with me before I go?”

“James-”

“Please, just one last time.”

Despite his height, the soldier seemed to slouch under Bess’ gaze. His messy hair blew in the breeze and the coat he wore hung loosely around his shoulders. He looked completely lost.

“James, I’m sorry. I’m taking care of my heart at the moment, I don’t think I can handle any more heartbreak.” The man she spoke to straightened at this, seemingly buoyed by the fact that in some life somewhere, he could have the capacity to break this magnificent woman’s heart. The reality was entirely different, and Bess’ mind drew images of blue eyes and thin lips before her. Still, this little offering seemed to ease the soldier’s spirit and she smiled. “Good luck, James,” she said again, before heading for the bus stop.

Mrs Russo was exiting Carver Mills when Bess arrived home a while later. The little woman was buttoning her coat over a blue skirt Bess had mended for her when she spotted her tenant.

“How was work love?”

“Exhausting.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that Cora popped round a little while ago with a very handsome man and a food basket for you.” Bess smiled, imagining the fuss Mrs Russo surely made over Roger. He really was taking his time with that proposal.

“Perfect. Helen and Joan are coming up for supper later if you’d like to join us?”

“Oh heavens no!” Mrs Russo smiled. “I’m off to see my daughter, and besides, you girls don’t want an old biddy like me hanging around. No, you have your fun.”

“And you,” Bess passed Mrs Russo in the doorway and dragged herself up the stairs towards the flat. Despite her weariness, and run in with James, Bess still felt in her heart the lightness that had settled there that morning. For the first time, she smiled as she thought of Albie. Bess had never been particularly faithful, unlike her mother and father, but she wondered if this happiness and warmth came from her brother watching over her. Perhaps he was annoyed at her moping and was sending her a gift from the heavens. He always got annoyed when she was miserable, the likely cause being their twin moods. Or maybe it was because she had finally settled into her life in Manchester, away from her family. It was true, she missed them, and missed the piano, but this newfound sense of freedom gave her something she hadn’t known since she worked at the atelier. Only three miles away from where she was born, yet somehow this little world felt like hers entirely. The only thing that could dampen her happiness was Tom. She heard Albie’s reassuring and logical voice in her head. “Missing, not dead.” She reached the door to her flat, a little out of breath and pulled her keys from her bag.

“Missing, not dead.” She said aloud to the stairwell, placed her key in the door and began humming Mack the Knife. The sun painted her kitchen a brilliant gold, and Bess stood in the open doorway letting the last of the day’s warmth touch her face. She turned back to the door, still humming and locked it before removing her coat and shoes. Reaching up under her dress, she unhooked her itchy tights and pulled them off also, the cool tiles of the floor sending shivers up her legs. It was as she was retrieving the contents of her bag that the sudden and harsh scraping of a chair across the kitchen floor caused her to gasp and spin around.

A man was stood at the table. Wisps of his blond hair were haloed in the golden sunset, his broad shoulders squared, and Bess could just make out the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Electricity hummed in her fingers tips. If I reach out and touch him, she thought, I might spark. At this surge of power, of energy, warmth welled in her bosom and her chest burned, as though taking her first gasping breaths of oxygen. Bess’ body, far before her mind, reached out to the figure, lit like a beacon in the autumnal light. She stepped forward, yet the figure didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

Bess would have known it was him had she been blind. If he’d not been a man, but a perfect ray of sun or a bird perched on her window or the chime of bells on Sunday, she’d have known. She would have known it as the air stilled around them. If he hadn’t come back until she was an old maid, and he an old man. She would have known it was him, just like she knew he was the reason for the day’s high spirits. Bess raised her hand and, shielding her eyes from the light, she saw him. The depths of those grey eyes, the sweep of hair. The strong neck that led to that stone jaw. The slope of his nose, pink at the tip and those lips, curved and oh so tempting. She edged ever closer, her hands instinctively reaching out to him.

Tom had been prepared for stony silence, a confrontation, or an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a “welcome home”. But when Bess looked at him as though he were the only man on earth, Tom Bennett could do nothing but watch. Watch, as she stood bathed in the sunlight. Watch, as she took in every feature of him. Watch, as her shock turned into recognition, and watch as she advanced on him, her dark eyes set and certain.

“Bess, I-” his voice was barely above a whisper, and the hopeful need he heard in his own was matched in the stormy eyes of the woman before him. Months of despair and self-hatred, years of waiting and wanting all came undone at the sound of his voice. Taken over by carnal desire that only he could ignite, Bess rounded the tiny kitchen table and collided with him.

“Tom,” her voice was shrouded in desperation, and no sooner had his name left her lips were they on his, warm, wanting and needy. Tom sighed, letting Bess devour him in a frenzy of lips, teeth and tongue, and in an instant his hands were at her back, pressing her body flush against his chest. Bess pushed Tom into the wall and pawed at his chest, desperate to touch any part of him she could. Pulling away from his lips, she tugged at the jumper he wore. She dropped it to the floor and pressed her body against his, wanting nothing more than to melt into his touch. Bess untangled her hands from Tom’s hair and frantically began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the offending garment and Tom watched with proud awe as she ripped it away from his body and ran her eyes over his hard chest. When a small gasp left her parted lips his pride turned to fear however, until Bess ran gentle fingers under the skin his left shoulder. There, above his heart and below his collarbone, the puncture of scar tissue darkened his alabaster skin.

Seeing horror flash across her eyes, Tom placed a hand on hers and held it over his scar. “They shot me,” he said simply with a sad smile.

“And that’s why you didn’t come home,” it was a statement more than a question, and Tom nodded. Slowly, Bess removed her hand from the scar and placed a tender kiss to the mottled skin. Tom’s wayward heart drummed in his chest as something akin to hope anchored there.

“I’m sorry,” Bess whispered, peppering kisses across his chest, always returning to kiss the gunshot. “I’m so sorry,” her voice quavered and when Tom moved away from her she whined. Tears were forming in her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She reached out to Tom but he batted her hand away and instead took her face in his hands.

“Why are you apologising?”

“I didn’t say goodbye to you,” Bess took a shuddering breath. “What if you hadn’t come back? It’s, it’s-” Her voiced raised in pitch. “It’s so close to your heart, Tom.” She had barely finished the words before prolonged grief racked her body. She tried to hide her face but Tom didn’t let her. Instead, he ran a thumb over her cheek and committed this moment to memory. In the streaming, yellow light, and filled with tears, her brown eyes looked gold. She must have been wearing lipstick during the day, for the faded pigment lingered at the centre of her full lips, now wet with his kisses and slightly parted. A flush covered her cheeks and nose, and her eyebrows were knitted with anguish. Tom grinned with tenderness for her. Once more running a finger over her cheek, he wiped away a tear and spoke softly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he kissed her slowly, savouring the taste of her salty tears and the warmth of her tongue. “I’m here, Bess. I’m home.” At this, Bess whimpered through his kisses and clutched at his shirt. The sound sent tremors straight to Tom’s cock and he inhaled harshly, attempting to restrain his desire to take Bess where they stood. Urgent for closeness, Bess wound her hand through Tom’s sandy hair and gripped hard at the nape of his neck. When he moaned aloud, she ran her tongue along his lips before moving to nip at his jaw, down his neck and his bare torso. His head fell back and hit the wall as she ran her tongue up the length of body, skirted her hands over his chest and wound them around his neck. She bit him there once again and Tom laughed.

“I missed you so much, love.” Tom whispered, the ghost of a smirk on his handsome face.

“Tom,” Bess ran her tongue along the column of his neck and bit the pulse point there. The action caused Tom to buck his hips and Bess giggled. She did it again and this time, Tom growled. “Fuck, Tom,” once more her hands found his hair and she tugged him down in a fiery kiss, their tongues fighting to gain dominance. One of Tom’s large hands gripped Bess’ waist and pulled her towards his groin, where she felt the growing hardness beneath his trousers. Head spinning, and whining at the friction through his trousers and her layers of uniform, Bess broke the kiss and licked her lips seductively. Tom pulled forward. She pulled away.

“I dream of this every night, Tom Bennett.”

That was it. That was all it took for Tom Bennett to snap. Months, if not years of wanting Bess Vaughn burst from him as he roughly took hold of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. No longer were his kisses soft and loving, but hard and wanton. Bess mewled at his display of ownership over her and began unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck,” he tore his mouth away from hers to suckle at her neck; hot, wet kisses as she fought to free him from his trousers. When the belt was undone, still dominating her mouth with his tongue, he gripped her hips with his hands and forced her backwards until her legs hit the wood of the kitchen table. With both hands under her backside, he hoisted her onto its surface and she grabbed him for another devouring kiss. Without coaxing, she spread her legs and Tom groaned as he stood between them, grinding against her layers of skirt.

“Tom,” Bess’ head tipped backwards and he ground into her. He reached behind her back and pulled the ties of the nurse’s apron and threw it to the ground. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms about his shoulders, Bess clung to Tom as he fought with the buttons and zip of her bodice. Cold air and Tom’s long fingers traced the skin there when he managed to undo it, and no sooner had Bess moaned is name was Tom pulling her free of the arms and bodice of her uniform. He huffed at the sight of her brassiere, and with no warning or hesitation, ripped its satin straps so that Bess’ chest was entirely bare to him. Instantly, her pink nipples puckered with cold and Tom’s eyes blew wide. He dipped his head to kiss at the full flesh there, and Bess’ hold around his waist tightened.

“Please, Tom.” His name was all she could say. Tom was all she could comprehend. Still teasing her breasts, Tom reached beneath her skirt and roughly pulled down her knickers. She moaned with need as Tom ran a finger through the treasure he found there.

“Fuck,”

Bess bucked her hips.

“Fuck,” he said again, bringing his lips back to hers and moaning into her mouth. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing this to you.”

Bess laughed with the pleasure and power those last words brought her. “Yes I do,”

“Confident,” Tom smirked as he continued to kiss her and run his long fingers through her now dripping folds.

“’I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock. Watched you take me.’” Bess quoted, and Tom stilled. Through lust-hazy eyes, he looked down at her. His fingers stopped their work and Bess whined.

“What did you say?”

“’I don’t want to imagine anymore what those nimble fingers of your can do.’” Bess quoted again, and she watched as his pupils dilated further and his Adam’s apple bobbed with nerves. He huffed a laugh and Bess bit her lip.

“How do you know that?”

Bess tried to drive her hips upwards, frantically trying to feel his fingers against her but he moved them away. “What do you mean?”

“I-I didn’t send that letter,” Tom whispered, his mouth close to hers. Bess frowned a little, confused but eager for their reunion to continue.

“Well, you have a guardian angel because not only did they send you back, but they sent that letter too. And I’ve read it every night and every morning since it arrived. I’m tired of using my hand and pretending it’s your mouth around me.” Bess kissed him quickly, chastely.“I could say exactly the same.”

Tom regarded her with admiring shock then, with a harsh thrust as quick as lightening, brought his fingers to dip inside her. Bess cried out but was silenced by Tom’s hot mouth on hers. Who was more wanton, neither could say, for no sooner had he touched her was Bess bucking her hips onto his hand. Faster and faster, Tom fucked her sex with his fingers. First one, then two. When he added a third he felt Bess clench hard around him and he buried his head in her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered, curling an arm around his neck for purchase. “Please, I need you Tom.” At the sincerity of her words, a singular sob rent its way from Tom’s tense body. He looked down at her, at his Bess, spread before him on the table, half dressed and flushed with lust. It was true that Tom had thought of this moment, though his dreams could never equal the excitement, terror and elation that he felt roaring through his veins. But his obsession with Bess was so much more than lust. These nine months he had carried her in his pocket, through battles and enemy-occupied states. If he did have a guardian angel, surely it was she. Surely, it had always been her. On the Exeter, wasn’t it her hair he saw in the flames? When entangled with another woman he didn’t know the name of, wasn’t it her lips he’d imagined? It was memories of her, teaching him piano, nights at Belle Vue or the Palais, the momentous occasions he had made her belly laugh, or quiet evenings sharing a cigarette that had got him through those lonely, fearful nights at sea. It was the certainty that when he got home Bess would be there, waiting for him or not, that dragged his tired and war-battered body across Europe to safety. He needed her, completely and entirely.

With a swift kiss, Tom removed his fingers from her arousal and fumbled hastily with his slacks. Bess bolted upright and her hands found his. Together, with smiles and desperation, they wrestled with his slacks and briefs until the growing hardness that had strained so uncomfortably against the hard fabric was freed. Bess’ mouth watered at the sight and she kissed Tom with a renewed hunger. Looking back to his hard erection pressed against the soft flesh of her thigh, she whimpered. A few pearlescent beads of precum were gathered at its pink and swollen tip, and the veins that travelled along the shaft to its base in the thicket of blond curls throbbed. Without hesitation, Bess gripped his wide length and Tom hissed as she pumped his arousal before lining it up with her centre. Bracing his hands on the table either side of her lips, Tom’s head fell forward against Bess’ and she ran the tip of his cock along the entrance of her dripping sex. She inched closer to the edge of the table, mouth falling open in a silent moan as the tip of Tom’s painfully hard cock pressed against her entrance. He was panting with need, and the effort to not slam his hips forward and fully seat himself inside her. Already, their kisses were sloppy. The small kitchen was alite with the heat of the sun and their bodies. Bess’ hands gripped his broad shoulders and Tom took himself in hand, but when her legs wrapped around his slight waist, he faltered.

“I-I-Christ,” he was cunt-drunk before he’d even fucked her. “I don’t have a sheath.”

Bess ran a hand through his flaxen hair. She had waited years for this man, known since the war began that it was Tom Bennett or no-one. Any consequences of loving him wholly be damned. “I want all of you, Tom,” she whispered. “Please.”

And Tom, with a shuddering breath, inched himself slowly into the welcoming heat of Bess’ body. Simultaneously they groaned, as Tom bottomed out in the warmth of Bess’ cunt. Her head tipped backwards and exposed the column of her elegant neck. Not moving within her, Tom leant forward to kiss the delicate skin there, the act pushing him forwards so that the tip of his cock brushed that sensitive spot within Bess’s pussy.

“Fuck,” her cry sounded pained, and Tom would have withdrawn from her were it not for the piercing of her nails in his shoulders, or the plump flesh of her thighs holding him ever closer. Slowly, so tantalisingly and cruelly slowly, Tom edged out of her heat, causing Bess’ eyes to flutter shut. He paused to watch the heaving of her breasts as she raggedly gasped for air, and at his stillness she looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Please-” Whatever she was to say next died in her throat, for Tom slammed his hips so forcefully into hers that she saw stars. Over and over, Tom thrust his aching cock into her heat as she mewled and clawed at any part of him she could reach. With every snap of his hips Bess’ body came alive for him, from the quivering of her walls around his cock to the babbled gasps of “more”, “Tom”, and “harder”.

For Tom, the tight heat of Bess around him, the image of her coming undone at his touch and the desperation with which he had always wanted her reached a feverish pitch in which the overwhelming cacophony of feeling rendered his mind utterly blank. All he knew was Bess, the sound of her pleading voice, the harsh rasps of their hot breath on each other’s bodies and the obscene sounds of their love making. Harder and faster he pounded into her, all thought of gentleness gone from both their minds, bodily need and years of craving each other taking over.

The banging of the table legs against the floorboards of the old flat was barely audible over Bess’ moans and Tom’s muttered adorations, and neither noticed nor cared. Tom was too caught up in the waves of pleasure washing over Bess, and when her body fell back against the table and revealed her parted sex taking his cock so perfectly, he reached down to circle a thumb over her needy clit. Bess gripped his wrist and Tom felt her cunt clench around him.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, and at her demand Tom felt he could continue no longer. Eager to satisfy her, he ground his jaw and with a hand at her hip and the over rubbing perfect circles over her sex, he watched as a flush of red bloomed across Bess’ cheeks and chest. Her body tensed and began to quake, and Tom knew he had never seen anything so beautiful; he promised himself he would bring Bess to pleasure as often as he was able. The shockwaves of her orgasm pulsed through her body, hard and untameable, and at the feeling of her climax Tom came undone, growling lowly as he came within her. Bess’ body went limp and he brought her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. In turn, Bess kissed the side of his forehead and laughed. When he looked at her through his loving and fucked-out gaze, he saw the surely uncomfortable position she was in; legs spread wide around his waist, leant slightly against the hard table and half dressed. Slowly, Tom pulled out of her still quivering sex and Bess gasped. The sound made Tom grin with smug satisfaction and Bess laughed. He kissed her smiling lips and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered with a chuckle. Bess stood and, as she did so, the skirt of her uniform slid from her hips and pooled on the floor. Completely naked in front of him, Tom reached out a hand and caressed he full hips.

“Now you’re the one apologising!” Bess stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his perfect lips and feeling his cock grow hard once more at the touch of her bare body. He laughed.

“I had grand plans for when I came back to you, and fucking you on the kitchen table wasn’t one of them. I’m sorry-”

“I don’t know,” Bess cut him off with a languid kiss. “It seems appropriate to me, the course of our lives seems to have occurred in the kitchen.”

“Not anymore, love.” Bess raised a quizzical brow but her question went unanswered, for Tom bent low and flung Bess over his shoulder. She squealed and held his waist, Tom’s own hands firm on the plump roundness of her bottom. Bess could sense the shit-eating grin her wore and she smacked his arse.

“Cheeky,” Tom walked her to her bedroom, kicking open the door and dropping her on the bed. His eyes were hungry and she expected him to ravish her. Instead, he crawled atop her and rested his head against her soft stomach and curled his hand around her hips. It was then that Bess realised that hunger and lust for another person were not the same, and her heart beat with a fresh wave of love for the man clutching at her body.

“I missed you,” he said again, running his hands up her sides. She shuffled beneath him, rolling onto her side and Tom was forced to look up. Bess was reaching for the drawer of her bedside table.

“I want to show you something,” her voice was strained as she stretched awkwardly to retrieve something amongst the pile of makeup, magazines and fabric samples. Sitting up, naked and vulnerable, Bess handed Tom a bundle of paper. It was only when he looked closer that he realised they were letters. Each dated, with his name in the centre. He looked from them to Bess with wide eyes, doubting that anyone, including his father or Lois, had ever loved him this much.

“I never stopped writing, after you went missing,” she wiped her eyes and a glimmer of the old Bess, defiant and hardy, appeared before Tom. He wrapped a hand in the copper hair at the base of her neck and kissed her deeply.

“You’re some woman, Bess Vaughn.” And with dexterous fingers, he opened the first letter and began to read.

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long, hen dos and Eurovision and mega work deadlines and illness got in the way. Forgive me. Expect communication and long, sexy, heart-felt smuttiness in the next chapter! See you soon (I promise!)

EDIT: If you've read Come Back To Me, you may have noticed that in my illness-addled mind I called Bess the wrong name. All sorted now.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

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author-ssi · 3 months

Text

Expectancy ~KTH

{Part II}

➜Pairing: Kim Taehyung x OC

➜Genre: Soulmate AU, Fluff, (Slight) Angst, (Slight) Smut, Series

Warnings: None for this part

➜Word Count: 2.7k

➜Summary: The first words soulmates ever speak to one another are written on each other's body - and those very first words immensely daunt famous CEO Kim Taehyung, to the point he's dreading to meet his own soulmate.

Kim Taehyung

A variety of scenarios would, more often than not, cross Taehyung's mind regarding his first meeting with his soulmate and more specifically, what would follow after his soulmate's first words to him. Ranging from dealing with an outburst of frustration and sorrow to a response of a playful and harmless nature, he had pondered over all the possible courses those three dreadful words would lead to. Thus, he would be lying if he claimed that facing the teary-eyed girl now, wasn't one of the predicted outcomes. Even so, he still remains at a loss; cluelessly staring at her as she attempts to wipe her tears away with her sleeve-covered fists.

His heart broke at the sight.

Unhesitatingly taking a step closer, he soon embraces the weeping girl. Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his body. In this moment, Taehyung feels as if he's just put the last piece missing in the puzzle of his life. Yet, one question still lingers in his mind, "Why exactly do you hate me?". It seems insensible and selfish of him to raise that kind of question right now but he's so desperate to know that it just slipped out. Alas, his response comes in the form of a small whimper soon progressing into another surge of more intense crying. Taehyung's eyes widen at the sight of the inconsolable girl in his arms and he hastily blurts out the first words of comfort that come to mind, "A-ah, it's fine. Hey, it's okay. Shh shh".

Several reassuring strokes on her back later, when her crying begins to cease, the girl in his arms lifts her head to face him. Breath getting caught in his throat, Taehyung instantly commits her beautiful features to memory. Vibrant brown eyes, bow-shaped coral lips, a mole under the corner of her left eye; on which he's almost tempted to lay a kiss, right then and there. He resists this sudden urge and instead focuses on the red hues that have appeared on her cheeks. Briefly wondering whether the reason behind them is the embarrassment from being close to him or the chill of the evening breeze, he eventually opts in favour of the second one, "You must be starting to get cold. We could go back inside to talk, if you want to". Removing his hands from around her slim figure, Taehyung offers her a small, slightly awkward smile. Brown eyes melting into their counterpart, he swears he can make out the contemplation in them as she gathers her thoughts trying to come up with what to do. "No. I don't want to go back inside, I'll just close early today". Her voice bears the same intensity her first words to him had. However, noting that she hasn't distanced herself from him yet nor shown any intention of rejecting him, he decides to take a chance...

"Alright then. Shall we go somewhere to talk, just the two of us?", he offers an earnest suggestion along with a charming smile. Either way, the worst she can do is decline in which case his alternative is to allow her some space for the time being. I could always drop by to see her tomorrow! "We could go to your place. But first, give me a moment to close the shop. Okay?", her firm tone underlines the words that leave her mouth, as if she's issuing a command rather than asking permission. He brushes it off though, this being the last thing he was expecting to hear, so he finds himself excited and optimistic by this unexpected turn of events. Be that as it may, he tries to play it cool while trying to convince himself not to get his hopes up. "Okay, I'll wait for you in the car", he answers having put on an aloof façade and offering her an easy-going smile before temporarily parting ways. Once inside the car, Taehyung takes off his mask and earbuds feeling like he's finally able to breathe. Not only is he shocked from having finally met his soulmate but also startled and at the same time impressed with her unexpected boldness; in other words, his mind is in disarray. He still can't believe he found her out of nowhere at a regular bakery, of all places! To think I might have walked out on her without ever knowing... Looking down at his soulmate tattoo, now visible from behind his watch, he smiles fondly. If it weren't for these words, he would have never met this empowered yet meek-looking young woman. Thinking back to their interaction, it seems like he was under pressure whenever she spoke or looked at him with her firm gaze. Even then, Taehyung was mesmerised by her vibrant eyes and melodic voice. It feels like he is familiarised with her, like she's seen right into his soul.

Hence the word 'soulmate', I guess...

The opening of the door from the passenger's side of the car brings Taehyung back to reality as he turns to look at his soulmate, who's quietly settling herself on the passenger's seat and proceeds to put on her seatbelt. He sheepishly rubs his chin in order to resist the temptation of reaching out and taking her hand in his own. He'll have to hold back; at least for now. Starting the car back on, he enters the highway about to head to the direction of his house when suddenly he is remined of his previous destination. "Would you mind if we made a small stop on the way?", he says indirectly asking for permission, to make sure she's okay with it. Thankfully, she is and Taehyung wastes no time to take the next exit, feeling glad he won't leave little Ae-cha disappointed. Plus, that way, he'll get to break out the news to them sooner rather than later. He smiles happily, feeling lucky that his soulmate is so understanding which also makes him less nervous to introduce her to them when the time comes. And that's when it hits him; he hasn't even asked her name! "We never got the chance to introduce ourselves, did we?", he sheepishly chuckles turning to face her after stopping at a red light. "You're right but you really don't need to introduce yourself to me, I already know who you are", she brushed him off briefly glancing his way before looking out the window. "Still, I think it's only right for me to introduce myself to my soulmate. So, I'm Kim Taehyung. Nice to meet you", he insists, not at all discouraged by her blunt words. He extends his hand to shake hers with his signature boxy smile, slightly thrilled to have an excuse to touch her once more. "I'm Kang Mi-rae", she proceeds to introduce herself as well, placing her hand in his and firmly shaking it.

She's guarded.

Be it the fact that she has barely met his gaze since getting in the car or how quickly she pulls her hand away from his after their handshake... Taehyung doesn't find it hard at all to draw that conclusion.

A few moments of silence later, he finally pulls up his car in front of a rather large yet lovely family house, "I'll be right back". After receiving a small nod of affirmation from Mi-Rae, he gets out of the car with the bag of hotteok in hand walking up to the door. After a couple of knocks, it flings open and the next thing he knows is an excited Ae-cha tightly hugging his legs, "You finally came!". Feeling his heart melt, he wastes no time to pick her up in his arms. "I did and guess what... I have a little surprise for you", he whispers playfully, delighting in the way her eyes sparkle at his words. "A surprise!? What is it!? Tell me!", she asks impatiently with an enthusiastic grin. Raising his hand that's holding the hotteok, in front of her line of vision, Taehyung lets out a laugh when he sees her bursting in a series of giddy squeals. He hands it over to her, softly pecking her cheek in the process. "Oh, Taehyung! Welcome!", a female voice interrupts their heartwarming moment as a woman approaches the two of them at the threshold. "Mum! Look, hotteok!", announces a thrilled Ae-cha to her mother who smiles warmly in return. "Wow, why don't you go eat them with the banana milk Dad bought for you yesterday?", she offers reaching out her hands to embrace her daughter. "Yeah", little Ae-cha agrees reaching for her too and soon finding herself in her darling mother's arms. "Aren't you going to come in?", the woman addressed Taehyung placing her hand cosily on his shoulder. With a slightly disappointed look taking over his face, he shakes his head negatively before responding, "Well, you see, something came up...", he mutters rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly.

Kang Mi-rae

Waiting in the car for him to get back wasn't a problem for Mi-rae. She needed the time to take it all in, anyway. Long story short, she met her soulmate and instead of running into his arms blissfully, she uttered the worst thing she could possibly say to him. "I hate you". Who says that to a guy they've just met!? And on top of that, proceed to cry their eyes out instead of explaining themselves!? Not to mention bluntly demanding to head to his house and then being gruff while he's simply trying to engage her in conversation!? What is wrong with her!? The way she's acting, he must be thinking she's mentally unstable! Even if he does though, he is definitely not showing it. Far from it actually! Taehyung actually reacted to her absurd meltdown calmly and even brushed off her offish behaviour that followed after it. She's on the verge of blushing again, merely by the memory of how he was holding her so close to him not so long ago. She can recall the dismay in his tone when he asked her why she hated him. If only instead of crying, she told him how far from the truth that is... She doesn't hate him, not at all! She hates how long it took for him to find her. Not that it's his fault, it is just the way the universe works. She sees it now... It is meant for it to take so long; the longer it takes, the more healing it'll be. She can already sense it... Her past struggles and never-ending loneliness fade away the more time she spends with him.

Bitter thoughts aside, Mi-rae always knew that if she were to meet her soulmate, she would love him more than any other woman has ever loved a man. She would not pay mind to his background, financial or social. She would simply love the man she was destined by the universe to be with. For him to turn out to be Kim Taehyung of all people, is an entirely different issue. You'd have to be living under a rock in order not to be aware of the infamous CEO who goes by the name of Kim Taehyng. Even if she wanted to avoid knowledge of him, she couldn't, since he has been appearing on the cover of almost every magazine with a topic on celebrities. As far as she can remember, there has always been an article or sometimes even an entire section dedicated to him alone! Whether it be actual facts or mere rumours about him, the editors never missed the opportunity to publish every piece of information they had gotten their hands on. How does she know all this? Obviously, Mi-rae's not the type to read such magazines; but her friends are! They all had a major crush on Kim Taehyung and never missed a single opportunity to suck in all the information and rumours circling around him. Even if that was before they had found their soulmates, considering who ended up being her own, she now regrets not paying attention to her friends going on and on about him. Mi-rae sighs regrettably as she turns her gaze to check on what her soulmate is doing.

Is that a woman holding a child the one he's talking to!?

Eyes widening, she cranes her neck to get a better view, frowning at the sight. Don't tell me he has a family! No way, he's known to be a bachelor! But what if he's managed to keep this part of his private life a secret!? But why would he come here now? Probably to let his wife know about him finding his soulmate and assuring her that he's going to reject- Enough, enough! Ask him to clarify his intentions when he gets back. No sooner had she collected herself than Taehyung got in the car. "Sorry to have kept you waiting but I needed to deliver hotteok to my little girl, she was craving it!", he offers her an apologetic smile and puts on his seatbelt before starting the car. "Was that your daughter?", is the question that never becomes audible; the words caught in Mi-rae's throat dreading the affirmative answer that might follow it. Instead, a good-natured smile is shown in return, "Don't worry about it".

After a quiet 10-minute car ride, Taehyung finally pulls up in front of his house. House, more like a mansion! Stepping out of the car first, he opens the door for her and holds out his hand. Placing her small hand in his large one - hoping he won't notice it slightly trembling - she glances at him with a tense expression before stepping out of the car herself and letting him show her the way. Once inside his house slash mansion, Taehyung lets go of her hand to remove his coat and she's suddenly overtaken by an unprecedented feeling of emptiness. Not the emptiness she has felt before; that lonesome and unfulfilling sentiment, but rather a sense of yearning for skinship - one that seems only he can satisfy. The touch of his hands on her shoulders instantly diminishes the feeling and she whips her head towards him only to see him smiling at her affectionately. Slightly pulling on her coat gesturing his intention to help her take it off, he pulls it off her shoulders and then her arms. She notes that she's extremely aware of every part of her body that his hands brush upon. Pivoting herself to face him, she watches as he hangs the two coats. "Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?", his request breaks her out of her staring. "Not at all".

Sat in a comfy armchair is how she decides to wait for him, her eyes scanning the space around her while her thoughts swirl in uneasiness. All she wants to do is lose herself in his arms, diving into the warmth of his embrace but- How can she do that if there's already a woman he's chosen to hold like this!? I have to ask him! What I'll do with the answer- Well, it depends on the answer! "I'm back, sorry to keep you waiting yet again", his apology falls on deaf ears when she raises her gaze towards him.

How can someone's appearance be so simple and so flawless at the same time...?

This man... He's utter perfection.

Clearing her throat to compose herself, she rises from her seat before he gets the chance to approach her. "It's fine. Actually, I have something I want to ask you", she manages to keep her tone steady and serious despite being overwhelmed by dread. Taking a step closer to her, he envelopes her hands in his, looking directly into her eyes; his gaze so intense it feels like it can pierce right through her. "You can ask me anything, sweetheart", he says in a voice so low it almost resembles a purr. In an attempt to ignore the goosebumps that immediately spread on her body and the fastened beating of her heart, she focuses on uttering her question. "I-I... I wanted to a-ask you... if you... Um", she stumbles through her words unable to tear her gaze off of him. Her fidgety state distracts her from noticing the way Taehyung starts leaning towards her. Wait, is he going to ki-! "Was that woman earlier your wife!?", she ends up almost shrieking at his face with her eyes shut fearfully. She didn't want to phrase it so bluntly but what's done is done. All that's left now is his next words and whether they're going to leave her relieved or broken...

#bts #bts x oc #kim taehyung #v #bts fluff #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung x oc #bts taehyung #bts v #soulmate au #soulmates

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beewolfwrites · 1 year

Text

Enemies with Benefits

No, not those kinds of benefits. Get your minds out of the gutter ;)

This was a request from a commenter on AO3, but unfortunately I lost the comment so I can’t paste it here.

(Chishiya x fem reader/OC) - unnamed female character, so it could be either.

_______________________________________________________

It couldn’t have gone more wrong.

Right from the outset, he had been dealt a poor hand. A Nine of Spades - it was hardly a place for a Diamonds specialist.

Chishiya had barely scraped out of the venue alive, with a gash along his shoulder blade and a graze in his side. His entire group had wound up dead, including the driver, which turned out to be a rather fortunate turn of events for him. It meant that he had been able to slink across Tokyo’s darkness without been seen by a soul. There was nobody left alive to witness his injuries. Nobody to take advantage of him in this vulnerable state.

Well, aside from just one person.

In the early hours of the morning, Chishiya had crept back into the Beach through the fire escape, only to find himself standing outside of a particular hotel room. Her hotel room. It wasn’t his first choice, but what choice did he have?

He held up a hand, hesitated, then knocked three times. There was a grumble from deep inside, followed by a creak of bedsprings. A pad of feet. A long sigh. Finally, the door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a simple blue camisole and shorts. As soon as she laid eyes on him, her face fell and she folded her arms across her chest.

‘What do you want? Can’t you see how late it is?’

‘Let me in.’

‘Why should I? People might get the wrong impression.’

He really wasn’t in the mood for this entitled act of hers. He slowly unzipped his white hood to reveal the bloodstained t-shirt beneath. ‘Let me in,’ he hissed.

Her lips parted in realisation, and she craned her neck around the doorway, checking the hallways to ensure that they were alone. One never knew who was lurking by the stairwells. Satisfied, she held the door open and whispered, ‘Come on in.’

Chishiya ducked past her into the room. It was scruffy at best, with clothes carpeting the floor, loose makeup strewn across the dresser, and an unmade bed that was nothing more than a large tangle of cotton sheets and blankets. It was still warm when he stroked the mattress.

‘Hey, don’t sit there yet.’ She gestured for him to move aside. ’I don’t want blood everywhere.’

He complied, too tired to come up with a clever response as he waited for her to lay a towel on the mattress. He sat down on it as she scowled and fretted around him. He briefly wondered whether it was worth walking out and just dealing with the pain. It would certainly be less headache inducing than having to listen to her snappy comments. But it was too late; he had lost his chance. She was already rooting through the contents of a small red box.

‘I can’t believe you actually came to me for this,’ she muttered, plucking items out one by one. ‘This would kill my reputation if anyone found out.’ She paused to wave a dressing strip at him. ‘You’re going to have to take off your hoodie.’

Groaning a little as his shoulder blade stung, he shrugged off the hoodie as best he could. ‘Believe me, this was the last place I wanted to come.’

‘Yeah, sure it was.’

‘It really was.’

‘I didn’t ask for your opinion,’ she retorted, seating herself on the bed behind him and pinching the material of his t-shirt. ‘You realise this has to come off too, right? I’m not a miracle worker.’

Reluctantly, he began to remove his t-shirt, but only got half way before grunting in pain. He mentally cursed. Never in his life had he felt more uncomfortable, being injured and at the mercy of someone he couldn’t stand. The only silver lining was that Niragi wasn’t around to see this.

‘Here.’ She tugged at the edges of his shirt, helping him peel it off. ‘The blood is kind of stuck to the fabric.’

Her fingers brushed his bare ribs, and he flinched. Chishiya hated the idea of being so exposed like this, and every swipe of her cool fingers left him more and more unsettled. With a harsh tug, she finally managed to remove his shirt, eliciting a grimace from Chishiya.

‘Be careful,’ he reminded her. ‘I didn’t come here for you to make it worse.’

She balled up the bloody shirt and threw it into the bathroom. ‘Keep being snarky with me and I’ll kick you out.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ he murmured, only to recoil as she pressed a handful of wet gauze to the burning gash on his shoulder blade.

‘Stop moving,’ she instructed, digging her nails into his arm to keep him still. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.’

‘I don’t feel lucky,’ he said, as she poked and prodded, cleaning each of the wounds in turn.

‘Well, you are. You don’t need stitches, so that’s lucky in itself.’ Having cleaned his wounds, she removed the plastic wrapper from a dressing pad. There was a brief silence, before she laughed dryly.

‘What?’

She placed the dressing pad on his shoulder blade, arranging it carefully with her fingertips. ‘I just had a thought. If we switched places, you wouldn’t have even opened the door.’

He considered it for a moment. ‘I would.’

She unwrapped a second dressing pad. ‘Don’t even try and lie to me—’

‘I’d open the door.’

Her fingers pressed the pad against the wound in his side, lingering there for a few seconds longer than necessary. ‘Wait? You’re serious? I thought you hated me.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ he said quietly.

Even with his back to her, he could feel her confusion. ‘But then, why…?’

‘You become more interesting when you’re annoyed.’

‘Hey!’ She flicked his head lightly, causing him to flinch. ‘I’d like you more if you weren’t so rude.’

‘Hmm…’ Her comment stuck out to him. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed her little slip-up. He smirked and half-turned his head to look back at her. ‘Does that mean that you already like me a little?’

There was a sharp intake of breath before her palm crashed into the side of his head with a loud thwack. His ear stung with the impact, and he cradled a hand to his cheek. The bed shook as she shimmied out from behind him. But it was only when she grabbed his hoodie and his dirty t-shirt from the floor that he noticed the light scattering of a pink blush across her cheeks.

‘The door’s over there,’ she said, holding out his clothes. ‘Take these and go.’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

‘Then tomorrow night I’ll sneak into your room while you’re sleeping and tweeze all your eyebrows off.’

It was pointless threat. Not to mention empty. ‘And what exactly would that achieve?’

‘Ultimate humiliation.’ She waved the bundle of clothes at him, still waiting for him to take them. ‘It’s your choice.’

Sighing, he took his clothes from her and stood up, somehow managing to slip his hoodie back on as he made his way to the door. With one hand on the brass doorknob, he spoke quietly, ‘I was never here.’

She made a noise of irritation as she came to stand behind him. ‘Obviously. I wouldn’t be seen dead helping you.’

‘I’m serious,’ he said firmly. ‘Nobody can know about these injuries.’

‘Yeah yeah,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I get it, you know. I’m serious too. So, you’d better keep your damn mouth shut Chishiya Shuntarou.’

He stifled a smile as he exited her room and trudged back down the hallways towards his own.

She had always been an interesting one — someone to watch, with her brash nature and curt manners. Although it caused him more trouble than good, he quite enjoyed their sparring. It kept things mildly entertaining, at least in this hell-hole. And it pained him to admit it, but when she wasn’t borderline drunk, stressed over a game, or spitting verbal venom at him in public places, he actually found himself enjoying her company. But he would never say it out loud.

It would just have to remain his little secret.

#alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #Chishiya x reader #chishiya x oc #aib #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #chishiya

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wildmoonworld · 5 months

Text

First Night Out

Pairing: Danny Wagner x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: alcohol, cussing, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), oral sex, hair pulling, pregnancy, MINORS STAY AWAY!!

Summary: Danny was made to be a Dad and watching him with your children, makes you fall in love all over again. Will Jake be happy for the both of you come your big day?

Part 4

ITS A BOY!!!!

After all the excitement from finding out what the gender of the baby was, slowly everyone started to trickle out of the house.

The only people that were left were AC, the boys, and yourself. Emmy had left with your mother to go spend the night at her place. You started to clean the kitchen, from what you had thought the boys and AC were outside in the backyard carrying on.

You were pulling the decorations down from the walls, when you heard noises coming from down the hall. Not just any noise, muffled moans. You walk down the hall and stand in front of the guest bedroom. The bed frame knocking on the wall, the moans were muffled with a pillow. You lean close and you can tell the moans were female, AC was outside with the boy…or at least that’s what you knew like 20 minutes ago.

“Shhhhh…keep that pretty mouth shut.” you heard from behind the door. The voice you heard was familiar, almost too familiar. You straighten your back, walking away to make your way to the kitchen sink where you had an overview of the backyard.

Danny was sitting on the patio, along with Josh and Sam…but no AC or Jake. It had to be them in your guest room. Your cheeks are flushed, your blood starts to boil from the jealousy of her getting railed by the one person you so desperately wanted to be touched by.

You shake your head, removing the thought of Jake from your mind. You didn’t want to crave him, but there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he spoke so confident that made you weak.

You were drying dishes and putting them away, when you hear the guest door open and then the back door. You go to the sink and see AC walk towards the rest of the boys, sitting down and pouring herself a glass of wine. But no Jake.

As you were staring out of the window, you feel a presence behind you.

“See darling, that will be you soon.” his voice is confident, you turn to face him.

“How about next time you fuck someone, take them to your house.” you spit back at him, your hands are propped against the counter. Your eyes begin to wonder landing at his center. He steps closer, his pointer finger is placed under your chin lifting your head to make eye contact with him.

“The next person i fuck, will be you. And it will be right here.” he whispers, just inches from your lips. Your mouth is slightly open, your breathing gets heavier. You press your knees together trying to contain the fire that is happening between them.

Looking into his eyes, you place your hand on his bare chest. You lean closer, barely touching his lips.

“In your fucking dreams, Jake.” you whisper back, you lightly shove him to step back. His smile is sinister like, before turning to walk away he shoots you a wink.

Standing in the kitchen alone again, you let out a sigh. Jake’s presence had you in a chokehold and you hated that the most. You loved Danny and nothing could replace that feeling. You would never hurt him.

~~*~~

“What about Zeus?” Danny hollered from the bathroom as he was getting ready.

“You really want to name our son after a God?” you responded, going through your closet to find something to fit your very round belly.

“What about Linus?” you followed with after your last comment.

“Babe, that sounds like a snobby rich kid.” he says, walking into the bedroom.

“…yeahhh, you’re right.” you reply, holding up a summery white dress, printed with purple flowers.

“I have one i think you’ll love. Archer.” he is standing behind you admiring your belly in the mirror you’re standing in front of.

“YES!” you turn around to face him, your eyes are wide with excitement. You’re standing in just panties and bra.

“Archer, it is then.” he responds

“Y/n, please wear that dress. You’ll look so beautiful.” he follows.

Turning back around, you hold it up again. You take it off the hanger and pull it over your head. Your swollen belly has gotten bigger in the last few months, you were approaching your due date here in the next few weeks. You and Emmy had moved in with Danny a couple months ago, with him having more room than your old house. You both thought it would be fitting.

Danny was down the hall in Emmys room, helping her get dressed. You waddle your way down the hall, propping yourself against her doorway. You place one hand over your belly and the other on your lower back.

“Mama, isn’t my dress pretty!!” Emmy says while sitting between Danny’s legs getting her hair put into braids. He was getting better and better with this hair thing.

“I see baby, you look soooo beautiful.” you say back, smiling at Danny as he is focused on her hair. After, her hair was done she ran into the living room and plopped into the couch.

“Good job, Daddy. You really amaze me.” you whisper to him as he is walking towards you.

“I’ve learned from the best. By the way, you are one smoking hot Mama i have ever seen.” he says, leaning in for a kiss. Your belly was pressed against his torso, his hands quickly find your sides to hold your swollen belly.

The three of you went on to the cookout, everyone is drinking, playing corn hole, music is playing. Emmy is standing next to Danny, she is helping him beat Uncle Sam at their game or that’s what she thinks. Jake is at the grill monitoring all the food as it is being cooked. Every so often, you will catch him staring over at you. Josh is sitting with you in the shade, he made you fresh lemonade being that you couldn’t drink. He was so thoughtful, the two of you had become the best of friends.

“So, have you figured out what little man will be called?” he asked, before taking a sip of his cocktail.

“I think you might just have to wait a couple weeks for the answer.” you reply, swirling your lemonade.

“Ahhhh, would i be some inspiration to your decision?” he says

“Maybe just a bit. Don’t get cocky on me now.” you respond, giggling before taking a sip of your drink.

“Me? Cocky?? Never, mamas.” he waves his hand in the air.

You slide to the end of your seat, attempting to stand up. Your belly has made it challenging to move in every way. Josh quickly stands and grabs your hand, pulling you up to your feet.

“Ask for help before doing anything on your own, please.” he says, placing a loving hand right above your belly button.

“Josh, i’ve done this before. I’m okay.” you said, placing your hand over his.

“I wish you could see how beautiful you look.” he replied, giving you a sweet kiss on your temple.

You smile, waddling up the steps to his back door. You find the kitchen and start gathering everything we might need to eat. You hear the backdoor slam shut, you jump. Your hand is over your chest, you turn around. Jake.

“Jake, for fuck sake. You cant do that to me, i could go into labor.” you spat, turning back around to finish what you were doing.

“I’m sorry, is there anything you need me to do?” he said apologetically, walking over to stand beside you.

“Grab those.” you pointed over to the plates.

He does what you say, you both turn to walk back outside. Before opening the door, he turns to face you.

“Seeing you become a mom again, is more beautiful than anything i have ever witnessed.” he spoke, staring into his eyes. You knew he was being genuine.

“Thank you, Jacob.” you said, you were shocked.

Opening the back door, he reaches for your hand to help you down the steps.

~~*~~

It’s a week before Archer is due to arrive. You were miserable, more than you were with Emmy. The doctor said to try natural ways to induce labor, being you weren’t dilated enough to even go into labor. Which means, walking, eating dates and or even sex. Every night, Danny would put Emmy in the stroller and would go on walks with you. That didn’t work. Dates, that didn’t work. The night before your due date, you had gotten Emmy down for bed. You waddled into the bedroom, standing at the end of the bed.

“I need you to fuck me.” you said to Danny, your hands were on your hips.

“Ohhh, do I now?” he say, sitting up on his elbows. He was tucked into bed, watching tv.

“This child needs to come out.” you turned around and plopped down on the bed. Danny pulls the covers back, getting out of bed. He gets on his knees in front of you.

“What do i need to do baby?” he asked, grabbing your hands and glaring up at you.

“Have sex with me, please. I cant go another day.” you answered, with defeat in your eyes.

You had avoided sex with him for a few weeks now, being that everything was becoming way to uncomfortable for you to enjoy anything.

He slid his hands down your thighs, parting your legs. You lean back, propping yourself up with your hands. You were unable to lay on your back, he was reaching you to the waistband of your panties. You had forgotten that you weren’t able to shave because of your belly. You reach for his hands.

“Wait, i haven’t been able to shave.” you say quickly.

“Baby, i don’t care. It’s a natural thing and you know if you needed help you could just ask. I’d always help.” he replied, placing sweet, open mouth kisses on your thighs.

A sigh of relief escaped your mouth, leaning back again. He pulled your panties down to your ankles, tossing them to the side. He spreads your legs apart, he’s taking in the sight while licking his lips.

“Fuck, y/n, your pussy is so beautiful.” he whispers almost in a growl.

You bite down on your bottom lip as his kisses become higher. He places a small peck onto your clit, taking his fingers he spreads your lips revealing your pink wetness. He takes the pad of his thumb and dances circles onto your clit, making you shiver and whimper. Finally, flattening out his tongue he licks from your entrance to your throbbing bud. Your mouth falls open, you tossed your head back. He starts circling his tongue throughout your folds, making your body jerk. Sucking on your clit, you reach down to place your hand in his curls. You start grinding against his tongue, you’re about to reach your climax and Danny pulls away.

“Ohhh no, not yet my love.” he says, standing up he grabs your hands to pull you up onto your feet. His lips meet yours, leaving your mouth slightly open for him to slide his tongue against yours. His hands reach the edge of your shirt, lifting it up over your head. His mouth connects with your neck, placing wet kisses in that sweet spot that sends chills down your spin. His hands grab your hips and slowly turn you around. He places his hand on your back, pushing you down toward the bed so that you’re bent over. Your hands are holding you up in place, he pulls his boxers down to expose his hardened length. His cock, bounced out of his boxers tapping your ass.

He takes his length in his hand, running the head through your wet folds. He massages your clit, before sliding up to meet your entrance. Edging his head inside of you, you groan.

“Please Daddy, don’t tease me.” you beg.

“Impatient Mama.” he responds, slowly sliding himself inside of you.

“Fuckkkk, you feel so good baby.” he follows, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

You grip the sheets, sex is so much more intense when being pregnant. His pumps become faster and harder, your moans become louder. He reaches for the neap of your neck, grabbing a fist full of hair and pulling you back so you can hear him groan into your ear. His hand that is on your hip, makes its way to your ass cheek. Spanking you, leaving a red handprint.

“Fuck yeah, harder please.” you say between your teeth, you’re almost to your climax. He lets go of your hair, both of his hands are on your hips now. He lifts one of his legs onto the bed to make his strokes harder and deeper.

“Come on…cum for me, pretty girl.” he says, pounding into your pussy as hard and fast as he can. Finally, your eyes roll back, your vision goes white and your entire body tenses up. His follows right after yours, you can feel his cock pulsating inside of you releasing his warm load within you. His hands are holding up your hips so you wont collapse onto your belly. He pulls himself out of you, you turn around to sit on the edge of the bed. He ran to the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth, spreading your legs he wipes you up. He helps you stand and walks you over to your side of the bed, pulling back the covers and you crawl in. He walks around to his side and slides in right beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Thank you for always listening.” you say quietly, while laying on his chest.

“No need to thank me, darling. You’re the mother of my children, i will always listen.” he responded, rubbing your back.

He said “children”, you still adore him for considering Emmy his own. Your mind keeps playing that entire sentence over and over, until you peacefully fall asleep.

~~*~~

Later that night around three in the morning, you’re woke out of your sleep with sharp pains in your lower back and sides. You sit up and throw your legs over the side of the bed, hunching over waiting for the next contraction.

Four minutes apart, that will give you enough time to take Emmy to your moms and get to the hospital.

“Danny…baby, it’s time.” you say shaking him awake, breathing through the contractions. They are bearable, to where you’re able to walk.

“Dannyyyy” you are humming through every contraction, three minutes.

He wakes up dead out of sleep, sitting up and looks over to you. You’re holding onto the doorframe of the bathroom, breathing slow and steady.

“What do you need baby? Have you called your mom? Is Emmy awake?” his questions are flowing out of him, as he’s running around trying to find clothes to put on as quickly as he can.

“Hospital bags….wake Emmy…call my mom.” you reply, walking over to your closest to find something comfy to wear.

You’re all in the car, Emmy is in the backseat slumped over still asleep. Danny is focused on the road, you’re in the passenger seat breathing and humming.

“Two minutes apart, right?” he asked with his hand on your thigh.

“….yup…” you reply, talking became impossible to do the closer together they became.

~~*~~

Seeing Danny become a Dad, was the most amazing things for you to witness. The labor and delivery, really showed you how much you needed him in your life. He was the best support system, rubbing your back, feeding you ice chips, and being there for support as you got your epidural. The entire time, he was amazing. Many times through out the night you realized, you could see yourself marrying this man.

You had waken up to the sight of your boys, Danny was holding Archer just admiring his tiny features. He had obviously been up the last few hours, letting you sleep and rest.

“Can i hold him?” you asked, in a sleepy voice.

He walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, placing Archer into your arms. He was asleep, you just couldn’t get enough of his tiny nose and dark wavy hair.

“He’s perfect isn’t he?” Danny whispers

“He looks like his Daddy, so i’d say he’s pretty perfect.” you whisper back, gently sliding your finger down his nose making him smile in his sleep. You looked over to Danny, catching his gaze. You placed a sweet kiss on his lips, the door clicks open and you can hear people shushing.

Josh, Jake and Sam. You wave for them to come in, they all three gather around you admiring the little one.

“Y/n, you birthed Daniel’s twin.” Josh looks at you smiling.

“Would you look at that, he’s a cute little guy.” Jake responded, he was standing behind your head. You could feel him leaning down to place a kiss on the top of your head.

Sam and Danny were over in the corner of the room, whispering and being weird. You didn’t care what was going on, you were on the newborn high that every mother gets. Josh had asked to hold Archer, you placed him into his arms and he laid back with you on the bed. Your head was laying on Josh’s shoulder. Jake went to sit on the bench near the window. Danny walks over, sits beside you and grabs both of your hands.

“Y/n, I love you. More than you possibly know. I have never felt so at peace with another human being, like i have felt with you. You are my breathe of fresh air and everything in between. Watching you create, carry and birth our child has made me fall in love with you more every day.” he says, not breaking the eye contact. You’re unable to make words come out of your mouth, tears are just flowing. The hormones are still trying to balance each other out.

“I cannot see a life without you. Y/n, will you marry me?” he follows, pulling a black box from his pocket. Inside was a diamond ring, emerald cut, with a simple silver band. Your dream engagement ring. You felt the exact same way about Danny, watching him care for you, Emmy and Archer. You couldn’t see yourself without him.

“…yes, a million times, yes.” you responded, wrapping your hands around his neck. Letting go, he pulls your face into a long kiss. Pulling away, he pulls the ring out of the box placing the ring onto your ring finger. You grab his face and kiss him once more, then wrapping his neck in your arms again.

From the looks of it, Jake seemed happy for the two of you…for now.

Part 5

#gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #gretavanfleet #daniel wagner #jake kiszka #danny gvf #jake gvf #danny wagner gvf #josh kiszka

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nerdieforpedro · 7 months

Text

I’m your fool Sugar

Joel Miller x plus size OFC

Fanfiction 18+

Masterlist / Joel Miller Masterlist / Drops of Sugar Series

Summary: Super soft Joel (no-outbreak) and female reader have a great relationship. She wants to give Joel a surprise to make him come home sooner.

Warnings: fluff, light smut (not great detail), Joel and reader using pet names, not really much, that’s for part two 😎

Layla was happy, it had been so long. Way too long since she had been. She had gotten up early, disheartened to peel the thick, chiseled arm that laid across her stomach. It belonged to Joel Miller, her boyfriend of the last nine months. Not that they called each other that. Neither of them had said it. Joel stirred, feeling the loss of heat and growled, angry that morning had come so soon.

“It’s alright honey, I just have to go in early. Get some more sleep. Tommy’s supposed to take care of things in the morning, right?’ Layla consoled him, knowing he wasn’t going to like any answer she gave him other than to lay back down. The man groaned at the mention of work. She lifted his hand and kissed it, her fingers, running over his rough palms and fingertips. He peered up at her, turning on his back, her shoulder had the bite mark on it he made last night, and he saw her scars on her back, he let go of her hand and ran the hardened skin of his finger pads across their raised dark edges. Layla hated them, but Joel enjoyed running his tongue over them before he took her from behind and claimed her for himself, twice last night.

“I’d much rather you didn’t darlin’, I wanna make you sweat your blowout again. Then I can help you grease your hair and brush it back. It makes my hands softer.” The elder Miller brother grinned, Layla stood up and shook her head laughing and she grabbed onto the dresser so she didn’t fall. How was he gonna say something sexy and hilarious at the same time?

“You’re a damn fool Joel Miller, you’re lucky I like you a little.” The woman chuckled, stepping into the bathroom and popped on her shower cap, turning on the water and hopping in. She started washing herself before Joel appeared before her.

“I’m your fool sugar. Ya want me to come in with ya?” He grinned, removing his boxers and dropping them in the hamper. Layla sighed, she really would like he too, but she would be late for work, she knew what he wanted to do.

“You can’t. I need to be there on time.” Layla said deflated. She really would rather let him in the shower, the sexy contractor had even remodeled it to be wider, sacrificing some of the closet space for an activity he deemed more important. She thought he was crazy for asking her to move in after three months and she felt crazier for agreeing. Joel would have had her move in sooner but knew it was way too soon to ask, though he did end up asking after he had her swallow his large load in his office the first time. He hadn’t planned it and it didn’t seem she didn’t either but he want her home, at his home, ready to cuddle with him and Sarah on the couch. After coughing a bit Layla had asked is he was serious and he replied that he was, pulling her up to him and in his lap.

Layla finished shower and quickly dressed as Joel made breakfast downstairs, if she was going to go in and be working those long hours, he made sure she ate before she left. He had made her lunch before she got home last night and it was in the fridge, he pulled it out as she sat down, eyed the delicious food and its chef who wore a plain black apron to prevent the butter from popping in his toned chest. A sight she never thought she would see a man cooking her breakfast willingly and not because she told him to. She felt like she should tell him that she loved him right then or she could have told him four months ago after he turned one of the six bedrooms he has in his house, into an office for her. It could have also been said when after one month of dating, he finally told her that he wasn’t fond of fucking clothes before he stripped her and himself bare. Joel called her a “stunning beauty that he was glad to have spill out of his hands because that meant he might actually get his fill of her.” It had also been the first time Joel saw her cry and promised that he wouldn’t make her cry again unless she asked him to, that made her laugh and him beam, that infectious laughter that lightened his heart.

Layla left for work knowing that it was going to be a long one with all these damn presentations and the prep work that went into them. She got a text from Joel stating that Tommy was handling the work at the office, and he was going to take Sarah out for a daddy/daughter day. Her heart swelled at the thought, he was always so attentive to Sarah and seemed to be walking on eggshells after he introduced them each other two and a half months in. Sarah and Layla looked at each other and laughed that the ever-intimidating Joel Miller appeared to be a shrinking violet before his daughter and lady friend. Sarah remarked how her father beamed and seemed to have a new lease on life, Layla told his daughter that Joel had done the same for her. He kissed Layla’s cheek and grinned saying he was happy to help. His daughter laughed and said she wondered how he snagged her mom let alone Layla with lines like that. Butterflies formed in his stomach when Layla told Sarah that it was part of his charm, his daughter swore that was the first time she saw her father blush.

By the time Layla got home in the evening, the sun was setting, and the house was empty. Joel had texted that he went into the office for a few hours to work with Tommy for a bit and Sarah had gone over to her friends from soccer for a sleepover for the weekend. Having the house to herself, she decided give Joel a reason to come home a little earlier. She sent upstairs and looked through the back of her closet, laying out some black stockings (she double checked to make sure they didn’t have runs- thankfully they didn’t) her red and black corset that was tight, but the clasps were on the front, so it was much easier to get on and the black crotchless panties that matched. The woman grinned and texted Joel immediately.

Honey, I need you to come home now. I’m going to wash off the day and put on a little outfit for you.

She hit send and within a minute she saw the dots starting and stopping, then her phone vibrated. The man called.

“Sugar what chu mean? An outfit?” He whispered the last part so Tommy wouldn’t hear. They were in the office together.

“Joel, you’re supposed to come and find out. Maybe it replaces something you ripped last month. I had a hell of a time buying them without you knowing.” Layla teased in a raspy voice. “The later you are, the more I’ll have to play with myself until you come home love.” She hung up the phone as Joel stood in the middle of the room.

What did he rip last month…? He had ripped a night gown of hers but that was last week, the panties were last month but she had plenty of those. His Sugar had gotten pissed to him for ripping her button up work blouse, but it was silk and felt so good against his skin it was sinful, so he removed it. He didn’t fuck any clothes except…Well damn.

“Tommy. I gotta go. I’ll look at the shit on Monday.” He grabbed his jacket and keys off his desk and was out before Tommy could ask. The younger Miller brought laughed at how sprung his brother was.

Joel was going home to see if he was right.

Part two

@morallyinept @grogusmum

@fhatbhabie

#fanfiction #pedro pascal #writing #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x plus size reader #fluff #joel miller fluff

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genz420 · 7 months

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The Fire That Burns With Us - Chapter 96: The Dance of Dragons.

Master List

Previous Part

138 - Harrenhal

The news had not yet reached Harrenhal.

The news that the Reds had taken the capital.

That his innocent sister Helaena had thrown herself out her window in her grief.

That the mighty dragon that is Morghon had been killed by Vermithor and the dragonseed Hugh Hammer.

That the Blackwood knight had disappeared after the revelation of the death of Queen Helaena.

That the all dragons in the dragonpit and the young prince Maelor had been killed.

Or of what Aegon had done on Dragonstone.

Aemond had yet to know that the Velaryon fleet led by Corlys and Laenor was searching Blackwater Bay for any sign of Visenya. But the mangled pieces of Silverwing, Vermithor, and Morghon had been littered on the water's surface.

Aemond had returned to Harrenhal after receiving a letter from their forces that the rogue prince and the blood wyvern were approaching. He was accompanied by a dragonseed Nettles and her dragon Sheepstealer, who seemed to be flying towards the Vale.

The one-eyed prince would not allow his uncle to seize Harrenhal while they took the capital away from the greens. Aemond was fully ready to embrace his name as Kinslayer. To end the life of the mighty prince Daemon and his deformed dragon.

He plans to remove Dark Sister from Daemon's soon-to-be-burned corpse and give it to Visenya, for she should wield the sword while he takes Blackfyre and the conqueror's crown. A fantasy that the prince holds onto like a fool.

Aemond hadn’t missed Harrenhal. The only thing bringing him back was the thought that Daemon would try to have his children harmed and that he could end the Rogue's life. But deep feelings in his stomach warned him that death would come, maybe not for him.

The cold and bitter weather of the Riverlands was like a warning that he chose to ignore. As the mighty prince dismounts his dragon, the feeling of impending death does not leave him. That feeling only rises in his chest as he watches Daemon dismount Caraxes.

The two dragons had both lived a long and eventful life. Bringing greatness to House Targaryen and being blessed with some of the best riders the house has ever seen. Vhagar is a seasoned war criminal who helped shape House Targaryen from a minor Valyrian house to one of the strongest Houses Westorest has ever seen. Caraxes has bonded with Aemon and Daemon, fighting in the step stones and the Fourth Dourinsh War. But most importantly, the two dragons have bonded throughout the years, flying together with Alyssa, Baelon, and Aemon and then Daemon and Laena. But not the bond and feelings the Dragons had once shared are erased with the hate their current riders feel for one another.

The older of the two was wearing his dragon armour, Dark Sister at his hip. Daemon, too, was in the dark about the events happening in the East. Caraxes lets out a whistling whine of disconnect as Daemon leaves his side. Unlike his rider, Caraxes knew what was to come.

The two self-proclaimed Prince Constorts did not waste any more time; the air was thick and foggy as the two left the safety of their dragon's side and met each other in the middle. Both knew the fight would not start on land but in the air, another beautiful but tragic dance between dragons. Unlike Daemon, Aemond was not clad head to toe in armour, the simple chestplate that Rob had gifted him.

As the two reach each other, the tension rises with each moment they watch each other. Not long ago, each one of them held respect for one another and almost cared about the other. Perhaps they would have been closer if things were different, if the Greens had never schemed for the throne, and Daemon had never left for Pentos. For Aemond is Viserys son, yet he took after Daemon more than his own father.

“You were a fool to come alone,” Aemond is the first to break the tension, his voice deep, commanding yet soft as velvet. His tone is that of a man who knows the weight of his words but, yet Daemon can not help but think he sounds like a boy trying to command authority and power.

Aemonds grip is like a viper on the hilt of his sword. He was weighing the choice of drawing his sword and trying to end his uncle where they stood, but he did not have a valyrian steel sword like Daemon. He wasn’t wearing armour to protect himself. But surely he could be fast enough to draw his sword and drive it through Daemon. He has the advantage of youth and possibly more rage. Yet his body remains unmoving, and he almost looks like a beautifully carved statue as he glares at Daemon. The eyepatch burning against his skin, the sapphire underneath forever cold, like it held the souls of those claimed in this war, for that fateful night on Driftmark was the reason this war had advanced so fast.

Daemon shifts his weight onto one of his feet, his hands resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. His hand wrapping itself around the pommel, he has killed hundreds of men with the sword and no doubt the next victim would be the boy in front of him. A son for a son was not enough; he should avenge Lucerys by spilling the blood of his murderer.

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon retorts, far more relaxed than the younger Targaryen. His shoulders were not tensed like Aemond's, and he could be mistaken for having a civil conversation with his nephew if it wasn’t for the matching grips on their sword.

Daemon knew that he could unsheathe Dark Sister now, drive it through the younger's stomach, and be done with it. Vhagar might burn him to death, but Ceraxes would be safe. Ceraxes would be available for his sweet Rhaena to claim.

Aemond would have come even if Daemon was not by himself, and he knows that Daemon would have never tried to approach Harrenhal again if Visenya had not gone to King’s Landing. A father is scared of his own daughter and what punishments he might face for daring to enter the Riverlands again.

Aemond brings his lips together in a tight line. Perhaps Daemon was right, but what could he have brought to make him waver in this fight? The dragonseed he had formed a relationship with? The Black Queen on his spoiled dragon? Daemon had no more allies that would make Aemond nervous about killing. No, he was the one with the allies. He could have stayed in King’s Landing, told Visenya about his plan, and asked her to occupy him. Brought Morghon and the Cannibal with them. But he refuses to make his wife a kinslayer like himself.

Both of them knew that going against one another was the only way they had a chance of killing each other.

“Yet you are, and I am,” Aemond tells Daemon, grip leaving the hilt of his sword as his arms apart and almost daring Daemon to unsheathe Dark Sister to kill him. Aemond doesn’t allow his feelings to affect his voice, the slight nerves he feels for the battle to come. Instead, he relaxes his shoulders to mirror Daemon and lets out a soft hum as a smirk creeps onto his face. “You have lived too long, uncle,”

Daemon puffs his chest out, eyes narrowing at Aemond as he speaks before slowly nodding, agreeing with him about the statement. Daemon has lived out many people dear to him. His mother, father, brother, grandmother, Aemna, Laena, his Strong Boys, and now his two daughters sired by Rhaenyra.

Daemon had lived on borrowed time since he fought in the step stones.

“On that much, we agree,” Daemon tells Aemond, giving him one final nod before turning his back towards Aemond, not fearing that Aemond might stab him. Aemond spares his uncle one last look before he does the same.

Both princes return to their dragons, praying to their gods for safety.

Daemon prays that he will be able to return to Dragonstone to give his wife the good news of Aemond's death. To see his daughters, all of them, once again. To be able to watch his sons grow. To bring justice to his son's death, to give justice to Lucerys.

Aemond prays to also return to his wife to give her the news of the death of Daemon and Caraxes. To remove the last power of the blacks. To be able to watch his children grow up in the red keep. To see his wife on the iron throne. To send his brother to the wall and allow his sweet sister to finally be happy and safe. To wear the conquered crown. To mend the realm and prove himself worthy of the name Targaryen.

But neither would have their prey answered. It is as if the gods had finally punished them for the peace and happiness they had lived in and punished them for their sins.

Because neither could return to their wives, the two Queens are now dead.

Rhaenyra burned by her usurper brother and his half-dying dragon. Aegon, the younger, forced to watch as his mother became ash and dragonfood. Only leaving a few charred pieces of her left.

Visenya having a dragonriders death. Killing the dragonseeds, Hugh Hammer, Ulf the white, and the two dragons Vermithor and Silverwing. But also, in the process, ending her own life, along with one of her dragons, Morghon. Both of their remains sinking to the bottom of Blackwater Bay, allowing Visenya to rest in the same waters as the rest of the Valeryons, just as she wanted. The cannibal flew East after circling the bay for two straight days.

Neither of them would see their children again. To watch their sons and daughters grow.

Aegon, the younger, now traumatized after witnessing his mother's death. Viserys is thought dead now in the lands of Lys. Baela is scarred from her battle with Aegon. Rhaena is safe and with her new hatchling.

Laenor, Daenys, and Aenar are being held within the ruins of Harrnehal, which is within his eyesight. If only Aemond had shared the gift of foresight, he might have climbed on his dragon, flown to Harrenhal, and brought his children to the now-claimed King’s Landing.

On that day, the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 138 AC. Aemond and Daemon, along with Vhagar and Caraxes, lost their lives. The two sets fall into the god's eye once Daemon leaped from Caraxes and plunged Dark Sister in Aemond’s one good eye.

The battle above the god's eyes would be the last battle of the Dance of Dragons. The Blacks dissolved quickly into the Reds.�� The Greens followed suit after the death of Aegon, the usurper on Dragonstone. The red held the capital but without a queen, leaving the succession of the Spiky Chair up for debate to the three small councils.

Once the arrival of the winter wolves and the Black Aly arrived in the shambles of King’s Landing, they made quick work of breaking the betrothal with Daenys and Rickon and instead betrothing Daenys with Aegon the Younger and Laenor to their daughter, Sarra.

Daenys becomes the “first” legitimate queen of the Seven Kingdoms with her consort Aegon II. A marriage that was closer to a friendship rather than a marriage. Yet both still did their duties to the realm.

Robert Tully denied the position of Daenys hand, instead returning to Riverrun to see his wife give birth to a daughter. She was quickly betrothed to Aenar, who later became lord of Riverrun, with his wife, Catelyn Tully, taking most of the title's responsibilities—a match made by the gods.

Benjicot took the role of the hand of the queen instead, along with taking on the responsibilities of raising the three children, not allowing anyone to hold or be near them for close to three years after the war, fearing that something might happen to the last connection he had to Visenya and Aemond. The Blackwood knight also protected the little Princess Jaehaera until she married Bloody Ben in secret one faithful day, becoming the lady of Raventree Hall.

The dance of the dragons was the true downfall of the house, Targeryn, for even years after the war in peaceful times. No house looked at the house the same; the death of the dragons allowed the once perfect marble of the house to crack and slowly, through the years, fall apart.

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Last chapter. I loved writing this story in the beginning as it was just a little daydream that my friend told me to write. I never thought that it would get this far, ever. I know that this story is cheesy, badly written, and probably full of plot holes I don't see. But I am dyslexic, and I never thought people would read this. Thank you all who have commented and read this far along. Truly the comments are the only reason why I didn't just give up on this story and delete it; they mean more to me than you could know.

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Taglist:

@tempt-ress @kassies-take

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krmy2386 · 2 years

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Routine

(Domestic!Rhett)

Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Based on the song You by Chris Young (Yes it is country but is freaking adorable!!!)

PLEASE DON’T STEAL!

Please be kind!😅

This was not the original idea I had for Rhett but the the lovely @shakespear-picaso-lovechild suggested more domestic!Rhett and I couldn’t resist!😍

No major warnings. Family angst if that counts…Domestic fluff!😂❤️

Rhett loved his routines, but he never found anything that made him feel the way he did about Y/N.

Word count: about 1,100😅…

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Rhett liked routine, always had. In the mornings he’d wake up early, eat breakfast, tend to horses, feed the cattle, and fix fences. At night he would work until physical exhaustion set in or until his mom would drag him inside to at least eat something. Then do it all again the next day. His routine is what comforted him since no one else would.

Until he met Y/N.

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Now, gone were the days of rushing off in the mornings at ungodly hours and dragging himself in late at night. Now he was late just about every morning and rushing to get home as soon as possible.

Rhett’s new routine would mean technically waking up at 4:30, habit from the ranch, but he wouldn’t actually get out of bed at about 5:30. Every morning he would lay there for an hour and contently hold Y/N while she slept.

When she finally did wake up herself at 6 Rhett would be up and dressed but she would still have to practically force him out of the door for him to get to the ranch and only be about 20 minutes late.

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The first person to notice the change in Rhett was Cecilia. When Rhett and Y/N first started dating Cecilia was thrilled he was slowing down. Less drinking, less bull riding, and less other scandalous activities. But the happiness was short lived. Rhett began spending every second of free time with Y/N. He was skipping family dinners, lunches, etc. in favor of seeing her.

The second person to notice was Perry. He quickly realized that the work load he spent years pawning off on Rhett was coming back to him. He forgot how crappy some of the ranch work could be. It was only made worse by his drinking. Rhett’s tardiness meant Perry had to drag himself out of bed earlier to start with the horses. The smell would typically make his hangover worse and Royal complaining that the work was done poorly would give him a raging headache for the rest of the day. Rhett was no longer there to pick up his slack.

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Their nighttime routine was Rhett’s favorite part of the day. He would pull up to see the porch light left on. He would walk through the door, remove his boots and have only a few seconds before Y/N launched into him with a huge hug as if they hadn’t seen each other in months rather than a few hours. Rhett always returned the hug with as much excitement, plus a kiss on the cheek.

He would ask what was for dinner and if she needed any help. She never let him, Rhett never knew if it was because she wanted him to relax or the fear of him burning down the kitchen.

They would eat and discuss their days and what the rest of the Abbott family was up to. Y/N admittedly didn’t have the best relationship with Cecilia and Perry. Y/N hated how they treated Rhett, and they claimed Y/N “took” Rhett from them.

Rhett remembers the day his mom and brother tried to convince him to end things with Y/N. They claimed he was becoming unfocused, lazy, and that nothing should be as important as their family, especially “some girl.” He calmly looked at them and shook his head. He packed a bag and moved in with Y/N that night. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone disrespecting the woman he loved so much.

He still showed up for work everyday and stayed for dinner at least one night a week. But he made himself very clear that Y/N meant everything to him and she wasn’t going anywhere. They needed to accept it and move on.

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Strangely it was Royal who everyday would ask Rhett, “How’s your girl doin’?” Rhett never understood how his father, who was stone cold to everyone else, immediately accepted Y/N. Rhett suspected it was because when she did come around she made sure to listen to his stories and ask questions about the ranch, his bull riding days, childhood, etc. No one, not even Cecilia could get Royal to open up like that.

Y/N once explained that Royal, much like Rhett, just wanted to be heard by someone who cares about him. Not someone who cares about the ranch or the cattle or the profit, but cares about him. The next day Royal pulled him aside, handed him a small ring box and in his stoic voice said, “That better be on her finger soon, boy.”

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After their dinner routine, the two would clean the kitchen, shower, and relax before bed. Sometimes things got heated (😍🔥), sometimes they didn’t. Either way the two would sit on the couch and Rhett would watch mindless TV while Y/N either read a book or scrolled the internet.

One night, sitting on the couch, Rhett was trying to think of the best way he could to ask Y/N to marry him. His dad didn't give him a specific timeline along with his grandmother’s ring, but Rhett new he didn’t want to wait much longer to ask her. He knew that she wouldn’t want some huge gesture so proposing at a rodeo was out of the question. As pretty as it could be on the ranch he didn’t really want his mother and/or brother involved. But there was one family member who adored Y/N more than Royal, and maybe even more that Rhett.

Amy Abbott was over the moon when her uncle told her he wanted to propose. She looked up to the woman as a roll model. Y/N was strong, beautiful, a little girly, and altogether a kind person. Amy wanted to be just like her. Rhett swore her to secrecy and they began devising the perfect proposal.

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Y/N was stunned when Rhett decided to change their routine. But when he announced that Amy wanted a girls day with her, Y/N jumped at the opportunity. She adored the little girl and wanted her to experience things outside of the ranch. Even things as small as manicures and ice cream.

The two spent the day getting their nails done and shopping. Amy was practically buzzing with excitement the whole day so Y/N would be lying if she said she didn’t suspect anything. Especially when Amy insisted she wear her new dress home that night. Y/N knew whatever was going on was going to be special.

Y/N pulled into the driveway after dropping Amy off. She walked in the house and called out for Rhett. She looked out the window into the garden and her previous suspicions were quickly confirmed.

She saw Rhett, standing under white Christmas lights. He was wearing her favorite one of his shirts and smiling like a fool. She walked up to him and he pulled her into a tight hug. He began whispering into her ear how much he loved her and how he never wanted to spend a day apart. Y/N’s eyes began to water and then he dropped to one knee.

“I thought I knew what love was, but I didn’t have a clue until I met you. I didn’t know I could love anything so much. Y/N L/N, will you marry me?”

With all the love in her heart, Y/N said, “YES!”

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Rhett loved his routines, but he never found anything that made him feel the way he did about Y/N.

Thank you for the encouragement!❤️❤️❤️

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild @3tabbiesandalab

#thank you #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader

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separatist-apologist · 8 months

Text

Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

Summary: An evil enchantress has locked Princess Feyre Archeron in a tower, secluding her from her family and removing her entirely from the outside world. Trapped and alone, Feyre turns her gaze to the stars, dreaming of returning home to her sisters- of finding peace. She's determined to escape before her birthday and the annual starfall that marks the occasion just as soon as she can figure out a way down.

When a thief breaks into her tower, Feyre takes her chances and leaves with him, unaware of who this man is and the price freedom will try and extract from her

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

I am LIMPING over the finish line this week.

Feyre was back in the tower.

She hadn’t fought it, which was maybe the worst part of being put in. She’d merely taken off the beaded blue dress, leaving it draped over a chair. Amarantha had taken her shoes, her weapons—everything but the clothes on Feyre’s back. And then Feyre had blinked, her world shifting until she was standing in her tower. Amarantha gave her some absurd speech about caring for her and then brushed out Feyre’s hair, stole some of her blood, and left Feyre with a manacle clamped around her ankle. As a safety precaution. She could still move through the tower, but she could go no further than the circular walls. She couldn’t sit on the windowsill, foot dangling over the ledge. Couldn’t jump, ending this all, either.

Feyre merely sat in silence, staring at the painted walls. She’d been so close to freedom. She’d almost made it. How foolish to pin all her hopes on one man. And yet…and yet Feyre couldn’t find it in herself to regret it. She’d tried. She’d put herself out there, like the women in her books were always doing.

And it wasn’t her fault if Rhys left. The heartbreak was worse than words had ever described, and yet her thudding, dull heart was still beating, right? And she was still alive. Amarantha couldn’t kill her or she would have, and Feyre didn’t think she could keep Feyre manacled to the floor forever, either.

A prince knew about her. He didn’t know what she was exactly, but he knew she was magic, and maybe he’d tell someone. And that someone would come looking, or tell someone else, on and on until the secret was so widespread Amarantha couldn’t keep Feyre hidden. She’d have to unchain her, to move her—and Feyre would be ready.

Feyre wasn’t going to let Rhys rewrite their narrative, though. He’d loved her, cowardly as it had been. She knew he had. And maybe she hadn’t been his true love. Maybe she wasn’t the woman he’d been willing to stake everything on. But he’d loved her all the same and he couldn’t run from that.

So that night, Feyre pulled out her paints and utilizing the space beside her bed, began sketching out those violet eyes. Maybe one day she’d hate them. But that night, once she’d finished, Feyre rolled to her side and stared at them.

“You left me,” she whispered with a sigh. “And I wouldn’t have left you. Not unless someone forced me.” Feyre felt better having said that, even if he couldn’t hear her. And when she closed her eyes, she could still see him looking at her, kissing her goodbye even if he wouldn’t admit it. Where had he gone, she wondered. Far from Velaris, she bet. Maybe he’d boarded a ship for the continent. Did he miss her?

Feyre liked to believe he did.

Feyre woke the next morning like she always did. It was shockingly easy to fall back into her old routine. She cleaned and cooked and brushed out her hair. She painted. She stared at Rhys’s eyes and held full conversations with them until she was half-convinced she’d gone insane. Feyre dreamt of them again.

And again.

By the fifth night, Feyre’s ankle had begun to bleed, dragging around the heavy manacle and she was desperate for a glimpse of the night sky. She wouldn’t quite reach the window. Despair had begun to well within her. No one was coming. No Nesta—that had always been a lie, hadn’t it? But deep down, Feyre had been clinging to some small hope that Rhys would change his mind. That he’d rush to her, having realized leaving her was a mistake and they’d escape together again.

She sighed, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall nearest the window. From here, she could see a small sliver of the sky, and the twinkling stars overhead. Feyre didn’t have it in her to make a wish this time. Nor did she care when she heard the tell-tale scraping of one the blackguards trying to scare her by dragging his sword against the stone.

Feyre closed her eyes, drowning the sound out, along with what, frankly, sounded like obscene grunting. There was a way out of this. She wasn’t broken. She could figure it out, could—

“Hello, darling.” Maybe she was broken, if she was hearing Rhysand’s voice so clearly. Feyre peeked open one eye, certain she’d see nothing but open space.

But there he was. Disheveled, and strangely sweaty despite the cool air. His black tunic was the same one he’d been wearing the night he vanished, blotted with dark stains that looked suspiciously like blood.

“Miss me?” he asked, offering her a lopsided grin that almost hid the apprehension in his eyes.

Feyre was on her feet so fast it made her bones rattle. She didn’t think—just acted. Her frying pan had been taken from her, leaving just the palm of her hand. Feyre slapped it across his cheek so hard Rhys’s neck snapped to the side, eyes wide with surprise or pain or both.

“Okay,” he breathed, taking a measured step away from her. “I deserved that.”

“You left me!” she whispered, breathing so hard the rest of what she wanted to say got stuck in her throat. Rhys raised his palms in defense.

“Not on purpose. Not because I wanted to. I’ve been trying to get back to you—”

“Is that really true, Prince Rhysand?”

He winced. “I should have told you. Feyre, I—”

“Why are you here?”

Rhys blinked. “Why—why am I here? Feyre, I’m in love with you. I have been trying to get back to you since I left you.”

“It’s been five days,” she accused as something fragile in her chest began to mend. Don’t shatter it, she begged silently. “You’ve been gone for five days.”

“I was…tied up…for two of them,” he said, his eyes shifting to the manacle around her ankle. Rhys dropped to one knee, a fluid motion that robbed Feyre of the ability to breathe. “My uncle and I had a little unfinished business in the dungeon of my fathers palace. And then I had to tie up some loose ends but Feyre, my only thought, my only goal, was to get back to you as quickly as I could. I came as quickly as I could. I left my throne in the hands of a friend…and for all I know, he might decide to keep it.”

Feyre didn’t know what to say. Rhys’s nimble fingers had pulled a pin from his boot and had begun wiggling it through the lock on her manacle until the iron slipped free. His fingers wrapped around the slim appendage, gently caressing her skin.

Rhys glanced up at her, like he was waiting for her to ask some obvious question. “I thought you left me,” was all Feyre could think to say.

A smile split his face. “Where would I go? I can’t think of one place that your presence couldn’t improve. I should have told you who I was when we met. And maybe you could have told me who you truly were, too, princess.”

So he knew, then. Feyre wondered if Amarantha had rubbed it in his face the way she’d done to Feyre. Rhys didn’t seem too upset, nor had he risen from his place on the floor. She kept waiting for him to stand.

“Besides,” he added with a lopsided grin, one side of his face bright red from where she’d slapped him. “You left before I could give you this.”

“Rhys,” she whispered as he pulled that ring from his pocket.

“It’s always been yours,” he said lightly, catching her hand before she could snatch it away. Sliding it over her finger, Rhys continued, “Sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

“Rhys—”

“I have an army,” he said, his voice pitched softer. There was a desperation edging his words, eyes a little dimmer than before. He was clutching her hand like it was a lifeline. “And gold. I was going to offer it to you before Avalon. I was going to ask…I was going to ask you to be my wife.”

“You didn’t know I was a princess—”

“I never cared about that,” he swore, swallowing hard. “I still don’t. I just…I’m begging, Feyre. Marry me. Come home with me, and I’ll lay the world at your feet.”

“What about your dreams?” she asked him, certain she was going to tell him yes no matter what he said. “Your careful plans?”

“You are my new dream,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Say yes.”

Feyre pulled him to his feet, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him as her answer. She didn’t think she could get the words out anyway. Rhys groaned, crushing her against his warm, potentially bloodstained body.

Some part of her still thought it was a dream. “You love me?” she asked him when they broke apart, searching his face for the lie. Rhys nodded, solemn.

“Then take me home, Rhys,” she said, her voice cracking on the word home. She’d never had one of those. Not in her entire life—Ellesmere had never truly been a home, and the tower had been a prison. But Rhys…Rhys was offering her something she’d only ever dreamt of. Freedom, a place her sisters could live in exile if they wanted. A kingdom, an army, a throne…and all of it was home.

Rhys grinned, eyes suspiciously glassy. “This…way…” his voice trailed off, one hand shoving her behind him. Feyre saw her, standing like a shadow in front of the window, watching the pair of them with those dark, emotionless eyes. Her skin was practically translucent, her red hair dripping like blood around her face.

“Oh, Rhysand,” Amarantha whispered, revealing sharp fangs and a mirthless smile. “When will you learn?”

“Oh, no,” Feyre whispered, clutching his arm. There was no way out—and no way Amarantha was going to let her leave. She was only half corporeal, a faded image against the air. She wasn’t there, Feyre realized. She was merely projecting herself somehow, was going to kill him while giving neither of them a chance to fight back.

Rhys still withdrew the dagger hidden in his sleeve. “You don’t get to touch her,” he said, his voice filled with menace.

Amarantha’s smile filled Feyre with dread. “Is that so?”

She struck him before either Feyre or Rhys could blink. Sharp as a knife, the air cut through Rhys’s clothes, slamming him to the floor as blood bloomed around him. Amarantha laughed, ignoring how Feyre screamed. She could fix this—she could open up her skin, could force him to drink as she wrapped her hair around him.

“Don’t touch him!” Amarantha snapped. Rhys looked up at Feyre, wild eyed and ashen. Feyre had one hand to his chest, his tunic wet and dark.

“No,” Rhys breathed. Amarantha reached for Feyre, perhaps to drag her back so she could watch him die. Sitting up, his dagger still in hand, Rhys fisted Feyres hair and with one perfect slice of his blade, cut the strands at her shoulder.

Amarantha screamed. Screamed like she was in pain, her expression shifting into something inhuman. Something monstrous, with fangs and dead, onyx eyes that belonged to a monster and not a woman. The knife clattered from Rhys’s hand and he slumped back, his breathing shallow and labored.

Feyre looked again at Amarantha, but she’d vanished with a sickening pop, gone back to wherever she’d been when she interrupted. Somehow, and Feyre didn’t understand it entirely, Rhys cutting her hair had wounded Amarantha. Maybe significantly enough that she could be killed. And if Feyre had been smart, she might have left Rhys to die on the floor of her tower and tracked her down to do exactly that.

“Rhys,” Feyre said instead, palm pressing against that gaping wound. “Rhys, why would you—”

“She can’t hurt you again,” he panted, eyes wild. “You’re safe, now. Go to Velaris. Tell…tell Azriel and Cassian we were married. Show them the ring. It’s yours—all of it is yours.”

“Rhys, I don’t want it. Rhys, look at me! Come back!” Feyre wept, grabbing that knife to cut across her palm. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

With a shaking hand, Rhys cupped her cheek. “You were my new dream,” he said, exhaling softly. Slowly.

“No!” she cried as dark lashes fluttered shut. A tear slid down the bridge of her nose, splashing against his lips. Feyre didn’t want his kingdom or his crown—she only wanted him. Pressing her face against his now still chest, Feyre let herself sob into his clothes.

“You were my dream, too, Rhys,” she managed, clutching at his clothes. Salt water mingled with the blood, turning the tips of her now short hair crimson. “Come back to me. Please. Please come back.”

Feyre twisted, looking at the night sky and the stars twinkling overhead. Could they hear her? Just this once, she thought to herself, looking at a trio of stars shining brighter than all the rest. “Bring him back. Please,” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything.”

There was so much nothing for so long the silence nearly killed her. Feyre poured all her hope into that one wish, desperate for just once, the world to acknowledge her. Haven’t I given enough, she wanted to scream? Don’t you owe me something?

Just when she’d been about to give up entirely, to walk away, hunt down Amarantha, and make her truly suffer for everything Feyre had been through, she felt a thud against her palm. Feyre looked down, holding her breath.

Just in time for Rhys to open his eyes.

And smile.

RHYSAND:

He could have been drowning in that ageless dark for centuries. Time felt endless, broken only by the tiniest sliver of starlight. Rhys clawed his way toward it, desperate. Feyre, it’s Feyre. He just had to get back to her, even if that meant defying death itself.

Though in the end, it was Feyre would managed to thwart that old, ancient god. Rhys didn’t know how—only that when he opened his eyes again, she was looking down at him with a bloodied cheek and glassy eyes.

“There you are,” he managed, his voice raw as though he’d been screaming. “I’ve been looking for you.” Feyre’s laugh turned to a sob quicker than he would have liked. Sitting up, and ignoring the pain radiating in his chest, Rhys wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips to hers. She was crying, but Rhys was laughing. What else could he do? They couldn’t both cry, and it seemed like Feyre needed to do more of it than he did.

So Rhys kissed her until there were no more tears, until she was holding his face, body wedged between his legs. He wanted to ask her how she’d managed to do it without her hair and decided he didn’t care. They were together, and that was what mattered to Rhys.

Though, they were also in the tower Amarantha had just killed him in, and maybe they ought to leave, at least. Retreat for Velaris where it was safe, if nothing else. Rhys pulled himself off her, too sore to do what his cock was demanding of him.

“Darling,” he murmured, stroking tear stained cheeks. “We should go.”

“Yeah,” Feyre agreed, eyes filling with tears again. While Rhys struggled to his feet, Feyre rushed around the tower quickly, gathering a few items she thought they might need which included her frying pan. Rhys merely took his dagger, sliding it back into the sleeve of his ruined tunic.

They paused at the loose stone he’d pried from the floor, both turning wordlessly to look at the golden brown hair pooled on the floor. Rhys didn’t care for it—as far as he was concerned, that hair might have been the manacle around her ankle, keeping her shackled.

Feyre reached toward her scalp, raking her fingers through the short strands. “I never realized how heavy it was,” she finally said.

And that was it. She climbed down the musty, dark stairs and Rhys went after her.

This time, they had a horse. Rhys put Feyre in the saddle, climbed up behind her, and drove that animal as hard as he could without killing it. For two days, he and Feyre stayed out of sight, moving through the woods and the mountains, far from villages and prying eyes. Wherever Amarantha had retreated to, whatever fate had befallen her wasn’t likely to be permanent. She’d come back with a vengeance, and Rhys wanted her to hesitate. He wanted her to feel a little fear as whatever plan she’d clearly meticulously put together began unraveling.

They did very little talking over those two days. It was as if Feyre couldn’t bring herself to fully acknowledge they were together until he whispered the words, “Welcome to Velaris.”

She cried again, loud, ugly sobs into his disgusting tunic. Rhys held her, twisted in the saddle, her cheek pressed to his chest.

“You’re safe. We’re home,” he said, repeating the words over and over until the city came into view. The Illryians were there, watching with silent eyes as Rhys strode into his city. He didn’t want to know how many of his uncles' men had died in the week of his absence. Nor did he want to know what it had taken to hold the city without a true king sitting on the throne.

He had her, now. And they were safe. That was all that had ever mattered to Rhys.

And all that ever would.

It took another week before Feyre slept through the night unbroken. Another week before he could lift the curfew on the city and welcome back the rest of his court. And a week after that to make her his wife. Her father protested, sending messengers with decrees that Feyre was to return home unharmed and unmarried.

Rhys married her anyway. He married her under a full sky of stars, married her with a laugh, smiling so hard it made his jaw hurt.

“I love you,” he’d said, holding her face in his hands so she had to look at him. “I love you.”

“Did you know me on sight?” she’d asked in that soft, mocking way of hers.

“Yes,” he replied, lips brushing her own. “How else did I end up beneath your frying pan?”

She’d smiled, then. A real smile, broad and unrestrained and so filled with light it made Rhys ache. All he wanted was to see that smile—every day, all day. His thief became his wife, became his Queen. But Feyre had always been his salvation, even if he’d been too stupid to recognize it.

And she wasn’t alone. Six months in Velaris brought word of her elder sister in Avalon, married to one of the Vanserra’s. Rhys knew better than to ask if she’d gone running for help, too. By all accounts—and there were so many letters—it had been a love match borne of another enchanted trick.

And the eldest, with some kind of horrible, death defying magic, had cheated the last spell Amarantha had ever cast upon the Archeron sisters. Rather than losing her life, she’d merely fallen into an enchanted sleep. Feyre went to the Vanserra’s, pleading for a prince to wake her so they might finally kill the witch once and for all.

And before they left, Rhys pulled Cassian aside. “Spells are precise magic, brother,” he murmured. “True loves kiss—”

“A prince,” Cassian said flatly. “I am neither.”

“A bastard prince,” Rhys reminded him. “Just try. Fuck the Vanserras.”

That made Cassian smile, if only a little. “We’ll see.”

Cassian left, marching a unit of men toward the mountains where the sleeping Archeron lay, hidden behind a wall of thorns and, if the rumors were to be believed, a terrible dragon. He’d convinced Feyre to remain behind, well aware she, too, wanted to lead that charge. Rhys was far too selfish to hand her over—to risk her to Amarantha’s wrath. If Nesta Archeron needed saving, he’d let Cassian handle that.

“Do you think it’ll be enough?” Feyre asked him, curled in a chair in her art studio. Rhys reclined in the doorframe, watching as he so often did. “Waking Nesta, an Illyrian army…the Vanserras?”

“It’s the most we’ll ever get,” Rhys replied, not bothering to ask how Feyre had known he was there. She was painting herself for once, smiling brightly against a backdrop of falling stars. Rhys intended to ask her for it when she finished. He wanted to hang it in his study, so she could watch him even when she wasn’t around.

“I suppose it’s a start,” Feyre murmured, twisting to look over at him. Tendrils of that shoulder length, golden brown hair fell in pretty waves around her face. Rhys smiled, delighted when she returned it, beckoning for him to join her.

“You are so bright,” he told her, pulling her up so they could sit together in that small chair, a tangled mass of limbs. Feyre brushed her mouth over his jaw. “My life was perpetual night before you.”

“You’re sentimental for a thief,” she teased, running her finger tip along the bridge of his nose.

“How about for a man in love?” he replied, mouth ghosting her own.

“Especially so,” she replied.

Rhys only smiled.

There were worse fates, after all.

#feysand #i am FREE #and so sleepy

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jahayla-parker · 6 months

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King Of My Heart : Nikolai Lantsov x Reader Series

Part 5

For warnings, descriptions, and previous parts, see series masterlist here.

Recap: Y/n nodded downwards politically at Nikolai before she turned away from him again. She’d intended on making her way back to the palace and rejoining the obscene party they were hosting before calling it a night as soon as it would be reasonably permitted. But, she felt the Prince take hold of her wrist to keep her from moving away from him.

Y/n really just couldn’t catch a break this week, could she? At this point, she doubted she’d make it to Sunday before losing her mind. Why did Nikolai have to be everywhere? Sure, it was his castle but, Saints! Couldn’t he go enjoy another part of it, somewhere she wasn’t at?!

“Why can't we just let whatever this pointless rivalry is go?" Nikolai asked. Truthfully, he’d grown tired of always having to be on guard and try to think of snappy insults whenever the Princess was around. His hatred of y/n consumed him so much so that he often thought of her even outside of summer. Nikolai constantly found himself thinking of the Princess and possible new insults or remarks he could make the next time he saw her. As much as he hated her, Nikolai frequently looked forward to seeing y/n. So he could utilize the new comebacks he’d created during the fall and winter months, of course.

Yet, Nikolai was tired of y/n taking up so much space in his mind. Besides, they now were set to spend the rest of their lives betrothed to one another. Nikolai knew the hateful passion he felt towards y/n would never diminish enough to allow them to be friends much less anything more than aromantically married. He suspected y/n felt the same way. But, couldn’t they at least both realize they were on the same team now? That they now shared the same goal? And as such, at least be civil to each other so they didn’t keep driving each other mad?

Nikolai was pulled from his thoughts as Y/n shook her head and mumbled, “just leave me be”. He sighed and shook his head as well. “No”.

Y/n groaned but let out a huff of relief when Nikolai started to remove his long slender fingers from where her gown’s sleeve ended just below her palm. She froze in shock as she felt a weird warm tingling sensation shoot through her body as the Prince’s fingertips grazed her bare skin during their departure from her wrist. Y/n tightened her jaw as she mentally questioned herself over the reaction. She stared at Nikolai with a look that she hoped showed her annoyance and desire to be left alone. “Niko-“ she began.

“You’re stubborn,” Nikolai acknowledged. He smirked as he continued, “but, so am I”. As y/n glared at him, Nikolai chuckled teasingly. “Why do think this fight has lasted so long?” He pointed out smugly. “And all because of… what?” Nikolai asked as he shook his head dismissively.

“You know what,” y/n snarled. Her brows were slanted inward as her eyes shot imaginary daggers at Nikolai.

Nikolai puffed his chest and rested his hands on his hips. “Do humor me, oh wise one,” he taunted. He felt slightly guilty for his snappy remark, especially when he was trying to get them to be cordial with each other. But, Nikolai couldn’t help himself as he was becoming offended by y/n’s ongoing refusal to treat him with even a shred of civility. Especially after he saw she was clearly capable of if; not just to her friends, but strangers, and Saint’s sake, even to wild animals!

“The summer,” was all y/n offered as an answer to Nikolai’s question. She was intentionally answering vaguely as she didn’t care to get into all of this again. Y/n knew Nikolai remembered what he’d done years ago and was only trying to act as if he didn’t. As if he was innocent in all of this, when in reality her hatred was the result of his actions back then.

Nikolai chuckled sarcastically at the Princess’s indirect response. “Well, clearly,” he replied, waving his hand aloofly, “after all, when else would I have had the chance to upset you?” After his rhetorical question was met with deserved silence, he tried again. “Care to actually answer the question in a complete sentence this time?” Nikolai asked y/n.

Y/n breathed out through her nose as she maintained her composure. She responded with one, sharply spoken word, “think”. Y/n rolled her eyes as Nikolai’s face shifted from smug to irritated when she didn’t just remind him of the incident herself.

“You know when it started,” y/n argued as she watched Nikolai purse his lips. “Therefore, you know why,” she added. As y/n watched the Prince, she noticed the confusion he tried to hide with his outward display of annoyance. Perhaps Nikolai didn’t remember. It should’ve made y/n feel guilty for having treated someone so poorly for years when that person didn’t even know what they’d done to deserve it. However, in this situation, the possibility Nikolai didn’t remember what he’d done only made her more upset. The day that it happened was a day that had stuck with her ever since; the precise moment burned in y/n’s mind and scaldingly branding her heart with every detail, leaving her with a constant ache ever since. Yet, the Prince dared to either pretend he didn’t do anything wrong, or truly hadn’t even thought twice about the way he’d treated her that day?

While y/n was thinking through the situation, she watched as a look of what seemed to be realization and hesitation took over Nikolai’s face.

“Wait,” the Prince spoke breathily, “this is…”. Nikolai’s disbelief shifted to frustration and disappointment. “This is because I bumped into you and made your dress dirty when you were…” he paused, trying to recall their exact ages that summer, “six?” He mentally scolded himself for believing for a second that y/n wasn’t the shallow Princess he’d led himself to believe she was over the years since that night.

Y/n glared at Nikolai. “Eight,” she corrected pointedly. “And, that’s not what-“ y/n began, ready to defend herself. She was furious that Nikolai simplified the incident in order to make y/n sound like a spoiled brat who only cared about her dress and therefore now hated the Prince when he’d done nothing more than “innocently bumping” into her years ago. Which was not the case.

“Yes it is,” Nikolai declared confidently despite his disbelief in not having realized this earlier. “That’s when you started acting differently towards me,” he pointed out. Nikolai could still vividly recall the way y/n had suddenly gone from being friendly to him- the way she was with the other kids, even Vassily (who was always an ass if you asked Nikolai)- to treating him with disdain. He hadn’t realized it before now that her change in attitude towards him lined up perfectly with when that incident happened. But, now it was clear.

“You didn’t make it dirty,” y/n defended herself, saying the line in the same condescending and judgmental way Nikolai had. “You shoved me into the mud,” she choked, the unexpected action from him still too ingrained in her memory. “And, you ruined my first ever-“ y/n stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about this. Not with him. “You know what,” she shook her head, “doesn’t matter”.

Y/n refused to let Nikolai in. She refused to let him see how just much he’d hurt her. She refused to let Nikolai enjoy the power his actions had over her back when there were kids. Him learning any of that would only give him more ammunition to use against her.

“That wasn’t your first dress, Princess,” Nikolai chided. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Nikolai felt justified now that he learned the cause behind their decades long rivalry and hatred was something so vain in y/n’s behalf; he no longer needed to feel bad for having ignored any of her ‘positive traits’ when this was seemingly all it took to make her switch from a sweet Princess to a spoiled diva. This whole rivalry had gone on for over 10 years all over a single dress he accidentally dirtied when she, as a Princess undoubtedly had plenty of others.

Y/n took in a deep breath but refused to look at Nikolai. “Never said it was,” she pointed out, her voice mumbled. She really didn’t want to keep talking about this. All of the emotions and details of the incident were starting to drown her.

“You were saying-“ the Prince argued, planning to reiterate how egotistical y/n is and had been.

“I don’t need you to tell me what I was saying, moi tsarevich,” y/n sassed. She huffed loudly as she straightened her back, elongating her posture. “I was saying…,” y/n reiterated, “it was my first ballet costume, Nikolai”. She didn’t look his way as she hissed his name.

“What?” Nikolai asked, unable to think of anything else. He didn’t understand the point of her correction nor why she would’ve been wearing a ballet costume that day. But, he could sense the profound sadness and nostalgia in y/N’s voice.

Y/n wordlessly shook her head. She glimpsed over at Nikolai for a brief second before quickly averting her gaze. Y/n still didn’t speak as she studied the now-ivy covered pearl-gray rounded rectangular stone hip-height wall from a distance. The same wall that had been behind her over 10 years ago when Nikolai had pushed her backwards into a pool of cold murky sludge. Y/n would’ve preferred not to be having this conversation at all, much less with Nikolai of all people. She certainly didn’t want to explain herself any further, not wanting to risk Nikolai knowing too much about her personal life. But, when she caught a glimpse of Nikolai stepping closer to her in an almost sympathetic way, she relented. “I’d been begging my parents for years to let me take ballet lessons,” she began, pausing until she knew if he was actually listening.

Y/n saw that while Nikolai hadn’t responded, he was clearly staying attentive. So she continued with her explanation. “They finally agreed as long as I took care of my equipment,” y/n sighed. As the weight of her emotions that day came flooding back, she stared at her feet. “I was…” y/n attempted, her voice trailing off.

Y/n didn’t have to look up at know Nikolai was watching her intently. She could practically feel his eyes on her as if they were trying to absorb every detail possible. The same way she could tell that his breath was shallow and he was on edge.

“I was so excited to wear that costume that summer to greet everyone,” y/n began again, a infinitesimal smile on her lips at the recollection. “I made sure to do whatever I had to do to not ruin the costume,” she recounted. “I skipped the painting class, the juice boxes, and even opted for the disgusting salad over the spaghetti for lunch”. Y/n silently shook her head. “Then… you just came barging over like the arrogant Prince you were and knocked me into the mud,” her voice wavered uncooperatively, “staining it and the sticks in it tearing the costume.”

Y/n sighed loudly as she clenched her jaw to keep her emotions at bay. “I was blamed for it, because ‘Perfect little Nikolai' wouldn’t ever do that to a Princess’,” she quoted. “They didn’t trust me enough to let me continue lessons or to ever get another ballet costume gown again”. Y/n braved a look Nikolai’s way, “and, you...”. She cut herself off with a huff in disbelief. She held a sad look in her eyes as she quickly looked away from him.

“You never even apologized,” Y/n’s voice betrayed her; cracking from her pent-up emotion. “You just stared at me as I sat in the puddle,” she shook her head as she bit into her bottom lip, the memory still too fresh. “And… y-you,” she scoffed exasperatedly, “laughed, and just ran away”.

Nikolai’s brows were furrowed so intensely that a tension headache was already forming. His chest felt as if it was pinned inside a tightened vise. The Prince’s guilt and shock left his feet cemented to the ground and arms stitched to his sides. “Y/n, I-“ Nikolai’s voice was strained from the sheer force it took him to speak past the self-condemnation and shame imprisoning his brain and tongue.

“Save it,” y/n fulminated. She confronted Nikolai with a razor-edged scowl. “I don’t want to hear some nonsense proclamation about how that is not what happened,” she warned. “We might not have known each other very well back then, but I’d never have treated you the way you treated me for no reason”. Y/n tsked audibly as her eyes broke away from Nikolai’s seemingly emotionless face.

“And, as if that wasn’t enough,” y/n continued; her demeanor making it clear she thought it was in fact enough on its own. “But, then, you had the audacity to disparage me as if I started it,” she pontificated. “So don’t try to smooth talk your way out of this,” y/n advised, “I know better than to fall for your spurious charisma, your highness”.

Nikolai felt the vise on his chest tighten throughout y/n’s statements. The remorse-fueled vise continued its hellacious assault on him until he felt as if all the oxygen left his body and his lungs imploded. He mandated himself to take an emphysematous breath. “N-no,” Nikolai spoke in a strained manner. “It… No, that’s not what I… just… let me explain,” he blathered. “Please,” the Prince added beseechingly.

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madameaug · 8 months

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Don't Shut Me Out || JJK x OC

Pairing: Semi Non-idol Jungkook x Non-celebrity Jennette

WC: 3.3k >

Context: Losing anyone can be hard, but even harder when that person is your best friend. Grief takes many forms, and everyone has their own timeline to heal. Jungkook is no different. With the loss of his best friend, he finds himself shutting everyone close to him out.

Warning: mentions of death, angst, alcohol, blood, bullying

Iron Haven was the number one place for organized fights. It was the same place that Jungkook trained and fought at. Jungkook, as a fighter, was gaining more attention as he defeated stronger opponents. On the days leading up to a match, Iron Haven was the only place Jennette could truly look at her boyfriend. He ate, slept, and breathed the gym. Tonight was a special night for two reasons.

One is that Jungkook's parents were in town to watch him fight. This would be the first time they would watch their son work magic in the ring. It must have come as a shock seeing their, quiet- big-eyed, child become this powerhouse. Roundhouse kicking opponents and delivering painful cracks to their jaws.

The second reason is that the boxing legend Charles "Lucky Punch" Young would be in attendance. Charles was a brawler who was strategic in the ring. He was a reining champ in the South East for four years straight. Now that he was retired, he scouted for boxers to train and mentor. An opportunity that had Jungkook's name written all over it.

Jennette had picked up Jungkook's parents and had just arrived at Iron Haven. The parking lot was full, and foreign cars were lined out beside each other. Jennette parked towards the back of the building. She led his parents to the family entrance of the gym, and they sat near the front of the ring.

Murmurs of the audience circulated around Jennette. All of them were discussing the fighters and who they believed was going to win. Many doubted Jungkook's capabilities. Jennette wanted to turn around and stick up for Jungkook, but she didn't. She knew how hard he had been training the past month. Jungkook's actions would speak for themselves.

The lights dimmed and the stage lights swung as the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers. The crowd yelled, cheering for their favorite fighter. Jungkook's opponent came out first. Nigel Cruz. He was tall and muscular. Beads of sweat already collecting along his hairline as he bounced lightly. His nose was bulky, with a thin bandaid over the bridge, hinting at the amount of times it may have been broken. His gloves were black with light gold along the wrist straps. They also matched the shorts he was wearing.

Nigel scanned Jungkook was a hawk, as Jungkook removed his dark-colored hoody. Physically speaking, Jungkook was on par with Nigel. Jungkook's parents cheered in Korean for their son.

"Fighting!"

Jungkook smirked, recognizing their voices. He controlled his breathing, not allowing himself to get to worked up. He had to stay out of his own head when he was fighting. Watch his opponent closely, and do not give out his moves too soon. He had to keep his face pretty for Jennette.

Tapping gloves the match officially began. Nigel threw fake jabs, trying to get Jungkook to flinch. But Jungkook was ready, not letting the taunts get to him. He was cool as a cucumber. In a quick second, Jungkook hit Nigel with a left hook, temporarily disorienting Nigel. He touched his lip, feeling the blood swell in his lip. Jungkook's expression remained neutral as the crowd roared at the first punch.

The men kept throwing solid body punches at each other, each making Jennette feel queasy. This was the part of Jungkook's job that she hated. Watching someone you care about take these blows that any regular person would curl over. Her stomach jumped with each punch Jungkook received.

The first two rounds passed by, and Jungkook's mother excused herself walking away from the ring. Jungkook was fed water by his coach and dapped the minor blood stains on his face. His eyes traveled to where he saw Jennette and his father sitting. Both of them give him a thumbs up. He didn't have time to question where his mother went before the break ended and it was time to face Nigel again.

Jungkook's mother returned to the stand with a somber facial expression. She spoke to her husband, and soon, his face was heavy with many emotions. It didn't take a mind-reader to know that something bad had happened. Jennette wanted to inquire what was wrong but decided it was better for her to mind her business. At the next minute break, Jungkook's mother darted up and went to the ring, on the side closest to Jungkook.

Jennette couldn't decipher the message all that well, as her Korean was still elementary. Whatever the message was, Jungkook grew a look of concern. Jungkook spoke fast as if he was in a panic. A facial expression Jennette had never seen Jungkook have in a long time. Jungkook's parents excused themselves as they left the stand.

Clearly occupied, Nigel started gaining the upper hand in the fight. He had a little over 30 pounds and three inches on Jungkook when he started to pummel him. Jungkook held his hands over his face to brace the beat-down Nigel was giving him. The referee separated the two, and the purple bruise marks littered Jungkook's outer forearm.

Literally on the edge of her seat, Jennette clung to the metal bench she sat on. She winced at the blow Nigel gave to Jungkook's ribs. It was getting hard to watch. Saved by the bell, Jungkook picked himself up and sat on the chair. His coach yelled at his face, slight specks of spit coming out of his mouth. Jungkook wiped the blood trickling down his nose. The pep talk seemed to have worked, as Jungkook became merciless with his attacks.

In a sudden gust of momentum, Jungkook tackled Nigel to the ground. Stradling the bigger man, Jungkook wound his fists back before striking him repeatedly. Aggression was seeping out of Jungkook. He was like an animal, as blood splattered across the mat. Going on for far enough, the referee stepped in to get Jungkook off of Nigel. Before he could be fully pulled off of Nigel, Jungkook combo-punched him in the chest. A painful gasp of air left Nigel. The knockout timer commenced, giving Nigel ten quick seconds to get up before Jungkook would be declared the winner. In a look of disappointment, Nigel's coach held his head low as the referee lifted Jungkook's hand. Declaring him the winner of tonight's fight. Like a bat out of hell, Jungkook ducked under the ring.

"Jungkook, wait up!" Jennette huffed, catching up to Jungkook outside. But Jungkook was on autopilot. He slipped on his hoody and sweatpants before walking up to his parents. The three of them spoke Korean, leaving Jennette out of the conversation. The conversation was tense. Jungkook tossed his father his car keys as Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Jungkook what's happening?" Jennette spoke softly. One of his eyes was bloodshot red, with a purple bruise above his eyebrow forming. She was sure underneath his hoody, more bruises would make their appearance.

"I can't talk right now."

"We always talk to each other."

Jungkook held back a frustrated growl. "Baby, I'm serious. I can't really talk right now. An emergency came up, and I need to deal with it."

"I can help you deal with it. You don't have to deal with it alone. I'm here for you." Jennette held his face gently, not wanting to touch a sore spot. She tracked Jungkook's eyes, taking in his body language. His eyes were looking away from hers, looking over at the car his parents were sitting in.

"I really have to go, Jennette." With a quick peck to her forehead, Jungkook jogged over to the car. The tires squealed from how fast Jungkook sped off from the parking lot. Leaving Jennette standing there with plenty more questions than answers.

Jungkook woke up in his childhood bedroom looking at the old posters loosely hanging on the wall. It was like he was in a time capsule and was in the past. His model car collection in glass on top of his bookshelf, filled with comics and manga. His comforter was black with grey sheets as an ode to the brief 'punk rock' phase that he had when he was just sixteen years old. Turning his head to the right, he watched his curtains slightly flap due to the wind. The sun was preparing to rise, creating an aesthetically pleasing orange and pink skyline.

Ever since he left Georgia, Jungkook felt like he was moving slower than the world around him. Gravity's force seemed more powerful, ensuring Jungkook felt grounded to the Earth. His body felt heavy like he was lugging around bricks on his back. And it had nothing to do with the fight from two nights ago. Jungkook lifted his phone to see the missed calls from Jennette. He sighed before putting his phone back on the bed, face down.

He knew how he left Georgie was less than ideal, but he simply didn't have time to explain what was happening. Pieces of the puzzle were moving so quickly that keeping her in the dark was just easier. Right now he needed to go the hospital. Hopefully, the doctors will have a positive report on Jihyun's condition.

Meanwhile, back in Georgia, Jennette woke up alone, yet again in her bed. Missing Jungkook by her side. They were avid cuddlers in bed. Jennette faced Jungkook's chest and intertwined her legs in between his. Her arms embraced him and held his shoulders while Jungkook wrapped around her waist. Jennette loved this position so she could wake up first thing in the morning and see Jungkook resting so peacefully. He was the same face she wanted to see before she went to bed first thing when she woke up.

She didn't understand why she was getting this cold-shoulder treatment from Jungkook. This was the longest that the couple had gone without communicating with each other. Jennette would even accept a one-word response from him. Something. Anything. All she knew was that Jungkook made it safely to his parent's house, and that information came from the 'Find my iPhone' app. She dipped her tea bag in the hot water, watching for his notification. Disappointment settles in when the notification never comes.

---

"Jungkook, you can come in now." A nurse stood in front of him. Her hands were clasped in front of her stomach. Jungkook followed quietly behind her. He stood before the room where his friend laid in a coma due to his heart's critical condition. Yet his exterior looked so normal. His hair was styled and parted. The skin was still clear and smooth. Jihyun looked like he was sleeping. If Jungkook better matched the description of someone in critical condition.

"It's not like you to sleep in, Jihyun. Should probably lay off the Soju." Jungkook closed the door behind him, giving him privacy with his beloved friend. He had heard on the internet that talking to loved ones regularly it stimulates the brain.

"I brought something." Lifting up his old high school yearbook.

Just as he opened the first page, a Polaroid slipped out of it. The picture showed Jungkook as a scrawny freshman, sporting his awkward-length bowl cut. It covered his eyes most days, and he frequently had to move the strands out of his face.

Jungkook analyzed his baby face. His eyes were so big, with a shine of youth and innocence in them. He was in his school uniform, standing alongside his buddy Jihyun. Jihyun was one of the few people who spoke to Jungkook. They first met at a convenience store, where Jungkook had learned that Jihyun attended the same school but was also his senior. With difficulties making friends, Jungkook clung to Jihyun.

Jihyun didn't mind. Jungkook was like the little brother he never had. They had similar interests and lived two streets down from each other. Sometimes, he takes Jungkook to dance practice with future bandmates. Things turned for the worse when Jihyun graduated and enlisted in the military. Jungkook was yet again alone, but now with a target on his back. He would become the latest victim of bullying by the ex-girlfriend of Jihyun and her group of friends. Why Jungkook was selected for the constant harassment was simple enough. Jungkook was the closest remnant of Jihyun, so hurting him indirectly hurted Jihyun. One could reason.

But sometimes bullies can smell weakness. Appearing 'weak' is how prey reveals themselves to predators. With Jihyun gone, the predators were crawling down Jungkook's back.

With no defense mechanism handy, Jungkook was left at the mercy of his bullies. The mental hazing that he went through was a test of endurance. Pieces of his dignity were stripped away from him. Every day he dealt with threats of physical harm. Promises of welts on his body and facial disfigurement. But nothing would truly compare to the emotional damage Jungkook desperately tried to fight off. Thoughts of worthlessness crept its ugly head in Jungkook's thoughts. It got to the point where the bullies no longer needed to torment him. He was tormenting himself and knew what buttons to press to do serious damage.

Somedays, Jungkook wish they would just inflict the beating. The pain would disappear, and the scars would heal. But the constant battle in his mind would be irreversible. Jungkook lost himself in that time. The loss of his innocence stung his eyes as he placed down the picture and flipped through his yearbook. He didn't realize how often he appeared throughout the pages. The light in his eyes was gone in each picture. His heart ached, reliving some of those painful moments.

Black text caught his attention as he was about to put down the yearbook. Inside the blank pages contained the handwriting of his good friend Jihyun.

Hi Jungkookie

I wonder how long it will take for you to find this. You looked pretty bummed out at your graduation party. Why the long face? I would tell you this to your face, but I'm pretty good at reading when people want to be left alone. Your mother told me you had a rough time in high school after I left. I am always here for you when you need me.

Jungkook could easily hear the gruff Busan accent Jihyun had as he read the brief passage. He wished he had found this note all those years ago. He looked longingly at his friend, wishing that he was awake. Wishing that he will get well soon.

----

Meanwhile, Jennette was just at a standstill. The distance between her and Jungkook was widening in a way that was more than physical. She was checking his location like clockwork. Noticing that he only went to one of two places. His parent's house, and a hospital ten miles from his parent's house. That was it. Jungkook hadn't reached out to her since. She had no option but to contact one of Jungkook's good friends, Jimin.

"Jennette? It is so good to hear from you. How is everything?" The morning voice was present in his voice. Jennette looked at the time, instantly remembering the thirteen-hour time difference. It was 5:00 a.m. in Seoul.

"Things are fine."

"Something troubling you?"

Jennette pressed her lips together, questioning whether she should confide Jungkook's recent behavior in Jimin. It wasn't typical for either of them to go running to their friends whenever an issue occurred in their relationship. They both shared the philosophy that the ins and outs of their relationship should be kept between themselves. But with Jungkook withdrawing himself from Jennette, she needs outside help. Help from the people who knew Jungkook just as well as she did.

So Jennette confided in Jimin. Letting him in on his anti-social attitude the past couple of days. Jimin was extremely informative in recapping the relationship between Jihyun and Jungkook. Explaining how influential Jihyun was in rebuilding Jungkook's self-esteem after high school.

Jennette sat on the other end of the phone, just gobsmacked. In the early stages of their relationship, when they were just friends, Jungkook described his childhood as peaceful and easy-going. He told her fond stories of high school, taking taekwondo lessons after school, and hanging out with Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung. She wished Jungkook was here right now; she would take him into her arms and squeeze him tight.

She saw the first-hand effects of bullying on children and young teens. Whether the aggressor is the victim's peer or parent. The mental and emotional lashes that it leaves are indescribable.

"I assume Jungkookie is attending the funeral."

"I guess so, too. He didn't tell me where he was going in Korea. Just because it was an emergency and he was needed there."

"I plan on attending the funeral in a few hours. I will talk to Jungkook. Don't worry." Jennette could tell that Jimin was smiling. She thanked him before hanging up the phone. She knew what she needed to do now.

Jihyun's condition didn't get better after Jungkook visited him. He stayed in his room for four hours, retelling stories that only they knew. Stories that would be the only thing Jungkook would be able to hold onto, now that Jihyun had officially passed. Yesterday around 5:00pm Jihyun's heart rate started slowing down. Til it finally gave out, he was pronounced dead twelve short minutes later. Now Jungkook sat on a park bench in the graveyard where Jihyun was buried.

He replayed the events leading up to Jihyun's death. His mother told him about his heart attack while he was in the ring. Jihyun being placed in a medically induced coma to slow down the effects of the heart attack. Hence, the doctors asked for all loved ones to be present. As his temporary stable condition would not last long.

But he was grateful that he was present to watch him take his last breath. But the loss of a good friend would take more than just a few days to heal from.

Jungkook cried harder, each sob coming from the bottom of his heart. He'd never experienced a loss this great before. He had no idea about Jihyun's heart condition. He was healthy last year at his birthday party. Drinking happily and telling stories from his earlier years in the military. Now he was buried in his families graveyard, on the opposite side of reality.

In the moment of pain, he turned to a nasty habit. A habit he put down when he moved in with Jennette two years ago. Jennette. He wished that she was here at the moment. Regret settling into his stomach. A week and, he had not talked to his baby. Not that he was very open to the communication of his end.

His finger hovered over her contact, blowing out cigarette smoke. He contemplated what she would say if she saw him right now. Seeing him in such a vulnerable spot, not the goofy, charismatic boyfriend she grew to love. In mere seconds, Jennette picked up the phone. The phone angled below her face.

"Hey baby, it's me." Jungkook smiled at his phone. Missing the scent of her natural hair products that he grew so accustomed to.

"You have no idea how hard things have been lately."

"Tell me, bug, I'm all ears." Like the good listener that she is Jennette opened her ears but, more importantly, her heart to Jungkook. Just listening to him speak, she could hear how much his heart ached. She also noticed the stream of smoke coming out of his mouth occasionally.

"I really wish you were here. I didn't realize I was this co-dependent." Jungkook chuckled.

With perfect timing, Jennette slipped her arms around Jungkook's shoulders. Her face affectionally touched his cheek.

"Well, what if I was?"

Holding onto her arms tightly, Jungkook embraced the hug. Jennette was the first to let go. Quickly taking the cigarette out of his hands, and stomping it out.

"C'mon. Let's go for a walk." She held her hand out for Jungkook to accept.

"You can always talk to me. I'm always here for you."

A/N: Took me longer than expected to write this (my bad)

#x black reader #jungkook #bts x black reader #jungkook x blackreader #black women #black fem reader #black oc #jungkook x jennette #black writers #black women writers

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minevn · 9 months

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What happens if the MC offers to part with LI?

You'll actually have the option to do this at the end of the game and this is one of the routes you can pick in the Mine epilogues :3! Aki isn't in here mainly cause I couldn't think of anything she would do that is so bad you'd want to part with her.

Minato: Minato respects your wishes and leaves you alone. He spends his days working harder and taking care of his grandparents to get you off his mind. After his grandparents pass he'll probably move away. He won't stalk you or anything like that, once again he wants to respect your wishes.

Haruto: Haruto doesn't flat out see you, but he does hire guards to look after you and keep an eye on you. He might resort to breaking and entering in order to watch you sleep, just so he can see you without you seeing him. This is also one of the times where his mental state gets REAL bad and he'll eventually end up kidnapping you. I have stated that no matter what, you two will be together forever.

Jun: Jun heads back to college as soon as possible to get her mind off of you. But you are her muse and she finds herself making outfits on a base of your body, a character that looks so like you. She makes clothes that she thinks you'd look amazing in. When she goes home again, she just HAS to see you, has to see how you look now so he can update the bases he uses to look like you now. She'll visit you every night, she cannot leave you alone.

Hoshi: Hoshi also tries to just let you go, to respect your wishes and better himself. Tries telling himself that you're just like his ex, making up fake stories and lies about you in his head to try to make him hate you. But the fact of the matter is that you AREN'T like his ex, you're so much better, and he's OBSESSED with you. He truly thinks that you are the only person that he can work towards getting comfortable with, you are someone who deserves who he used to be. He might try kidnapping you, though he's never done it before so it's really bad and uncomfortable. He'll try explaining to you, and he KNOWS he sounds crazy but he seriously cannot let you go, so just give him one more chance, please?

Habiki: He'll pretend he doesn't care and goes straight back to square one, being moody and a complete jerk. I feel like Habiki doesn't really realize that he's obsessed with you and NEEDS to see you. In the end he cannot stick true to his words of leaving you alone and will stalk you, waiting for the perfect moment to make you HIS.

Kage: Due to the cameras, he never stops watching you. Even if you found out about the cameras and removed them, he would just place new ones. Watching you is his favorite past time, he'd be miserable without you in some type of form. Although he doesn't see you physically, he'll never stop watching you through cameras.

Kei: Much like Kage, he never stops watching you due to cameras. Anyways, it'd really be a shame if you left him after he did SO much to help you, after everything he did for you. It'd suck is he stopped helping you and letting you be in danger from those around you. It's okay, you'll see how much you need him soon enough :)

Yani: Agrees, but never REALLY leaves you alone. He's always watching. Always. If you EVER end up liking someone then she's committing identity theft just so you two can be together. She might honestly kidnap you again! They just love you so SO much, how could you possibly even think of leaving her????

#💝-minevn #visual novel #yandere vn #🎤-asks #🐠-Minato #📙-Haruto #🎀-Jun #🍽️-Hoshi #🎻-Habiki #👤-Kage #💻-Kei #💕-Yani

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loveandmurders · 2 years

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Hi! Please, tell me, can I ask for another part of "Missing Piece of Ambrose", where a sister takes care of her brothers? Where is the brother injured or sick? And she's running around him, taking care of him, coddling him. She completely devotes herself to this brother, but she does not forget to kiss, hug the other two, too.

Hello there! Thank you for this cute request <3 I picked Bo because he needs to be taken care of from time to time!

Hope you'll enjoy this very fluffy one shot <3

(If you haven't read the beginning of this series (lost baby sister!reader x Sinclair brothers (House of Wax), you can check my masterlist here)

MISSING PIECE OF AMBROSE V

Warnings: mentions of murders and blood, Bo being injured, mention of you removing a bullet from his flesh and sewing his wound

You could tell the tourists were harder to kill than usual because your boys weren’t back home already and it was getting quite late. Dinner was almost ready and you hoped they would be done soon. You had missed them today and you hated to be lonely like that, especially since you were back home. You knew you were being selfish but it felt like because you were back, your brothers’ attention should be nonstop on you. You needed them. You were softly pouting to yourself, looking at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time in two hours. You finally sit down at the kitchen table and try to not get bored and to stop pitying yourself like that. They would be home soon.

The peace of the house was broken with the arrival of Bo. You heard the front door being violently opened and you could tell he wasn’t in the greatest of moods. Vincent was trailing behind him, trying to stop him. You were confused at first until you saw the blood dripping on the freshly clean ground.

“Oh my God” you gasped and you quickly left your chair to join Bo. “You’re hurt!” you exclaimed and you grew worried like never before.

“Noticed,” he grumbled, upset and in pain.

You tried to approach him but he pushed you away. He clearly was pissed he had been shot by one of the tourists. His ego could really get the best of him. But you weren’t going to let him bleed like that in your living room.

“You got them all?” you asked Vincent who quickly nodded before his attention went back on Bo. He clearly wanted to help his twin but Bo wouldn’t let him to.

You decided to take the situation into your own hands. You knew Bo wouldn’t resist you for too long; he was wrapped around your little finger most of the time. At the same time, his ego would never let Vincent be around as he was taken care of.

“Maybe there is some stuff to clean around in Ambrose…? I mean the tourists seemed to have been very… careless” you told the masked twin who seemed to get the hint pretty quickly, as usual.

He kissed your hand as a silent thank you, before leaving you alone with Bo. Even though he felt a bit jealous that all your attention was soon going to be on Bo, he was quite relieved you were there to take care of him.

Bo would have been to half take care of himself and let the wound get nasty just because he would have refused his brothers to help him out. His ego would kill him one day but you didn’t say anything as you helped him sit down. Of course he snapped at you; he didn't need your help, but you didn’t care about what he would say. You were determined to be his little doctor for as long as his wound would need it. And nothing could stop you, not even his rude manner. You were so calm and focused on him, Bo wasn’t sure what was going on inside your pretty head.

“Remove your shirt, so I’ll have a better look at your wound” you instructed him before leaving the room to get the first AID kit in the bathroom.

Bo was a bit thrown off by how much you didn’t listen to his protests or didn’t react to his mean and sarcastic comments. A little part of himself was wondering if that meant you were more stubborn than him… Which seemed absolutely impossible. At least, that was the proof you were a true Sinclair.

When you returned with what you needed, he had stopped arguing, only starring you with defiance. You simply arched an eyebrow at him. At least, he had removed his shirt and that was all you cared about. You took another chair and sat in front of him, already leaning toward his chest to have a better look at him. You were really displeased that the bullet was still inside his shoulder.

“Gonna remove the bullet” you said and he let out a very sarcastic laugh. You sent him a questioning look.

“Ain’t a nurse, girl.” he said in disdain and you tried to not take it personally; the pain wasn’t making him a nice person… well it was only making him worse actually.

“You fucked up with my clean floor so you better let me take care of your wound” you replied and the two of you look at the ground where the pool of blood was. You hummed and Bo couldn’t say anything back. “It’s not like you could do it yourself anyways. And even though I'm not a nurse, I’m your baby sister and it’s also my job to look after you” you replied. His blue eyes went back to you and you swore he let escape the ghost of a smile on his lips. He seemed satisfied enough with your answer because he didn’t argue anymore with you. He couldn’t argue when you were reminding him you were his baby sister.

You had to admit it was the first time you were taking care of a wound like that. You weren’t truly certain you could get the bullet out of his shoulder and then sew him back but you wouldn’t admit you couldn’t do it. Actually, you needed to show Bo you were capable of taking care of him, no matter the situation. Thankfully the bullet wasn’t too deep into his flesh, so you were able to remove it with a disinfected trouser. You put more disinfectant on his wound and you could tell he was pretending to not feel any kind of pain. His toxic masculinity was definitively working in your favour, because you needed to sew him back up. He didn’t say a word as you pretended it wasn’t human flesh. You finished the job quite neatly actually and you were glad about it because you were starting to feel sick.

“Ya’re pale” he commented and you sent him a look.

“Yeah, you aren’t looking that good yourself.” you replied and he huffed.

You finally wrapped his shoulder up with some bandage and you leaned back into your chair. You were really happy with yourself. You gave him painkillers with a big glass of fresh water, even if he didn’t ask for it. He took everything without a comment.

“Ok, let’s get you some rest” you decided.

“Ya real ain’t gonna let me in peace, huh” he muttered and you gently smiled.

“No” you simply said and you guided him upstairs.

Despite the situation, he was carefully looking over you as you climbed the stairs. It wasn’t because he was hurt that he was going to let anything happen to you. You faked not seeing it. You put him to bed and removed his shoes. Once you were done, he was quick to grab your wrist and to pull you on his chest. You were careful to not hurt him and put your head on his unharmed side. He hugged you and fell asleep almost instantly. You carefully watched over him before thinking of the floor you would have to take care of, once again. But it was fine, you needed to take care of Bo first. You gently kissed his skin and stroked his side as softly as possible to help him to sleep well. He smiled into his slumber and brought you closer to him, nuzzling into your hair. There was no way you could leave his embrace now, but it was alright. You took a little nap as well, always feeling happy in his arms.

He was stirring when you opened your eyes. He looked down at you with a new kind of softness shining in his eyes. You tried to get up but he didn’t let you go. You chuckled before rolling your eyes at the moody cuddly brother you had.

“Going to change your bandage, let me go” you hummed and he agreed, but only because you were coming back soon.

You tried to be as quick as possible and when you came back, you helped him sit up before redoing his bandage. He was watching you in silence now and you couldn’t guess what was going on behind his baby blue eyes. You kissed his cheek and he leaned into your touch. He had calmed down a lot.

“The dinner was ready, I’m going to get you some food, okay?” you offered and he nodded.

He was too tired to fight now, and he was quite enjoying being taken care of, even if he wouldn’t admit it. You went downstairs and you instantly saw that your floor had been cleaned up. Vincent and Lester were at the table, eating the food you made for them. You smiled and kissed the two of them on their cheeks and foreheads. You would never forget to be affectionate to all of them, because they deserved the world in your eyes.

“Thank you for the floor” you said and Vincent signed “you’re welcome”.

“Food is good?” you asked and they both started to thank you and praise you. Your smile only widened. You were happy you were able to be a good baby sister to them. It was what you wanted the most.

“Going to feed Bo, hopefully he’ll be alright soon” you said

“Sure thin’ he’ll be when ya’re takin’ care of him like that” Lester commented and you shrugged

“Would do the same for any of you” you replied as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be there for your brothers. And they were adoring you for that.

“Don’t forget to eat too” Vincent signed and you nodded.

“Promise. I’d be useless if I didn’t have enough strength to look after Bo anyways” you giggled and you took two plates.

You went back upstairs and put the food on Bo’s night table. You checked him all over again, as if you hadn’t redone his bandage just a few instants ago. You asked him several times how he was feeling. He was surprisingly soft and he didn’t snap at you anymore. He made you sit next to him and you both started to eat. You also made sure he had water.

“Ya’re treatin’ me as if I was gonna die” he commented after a while and you looked up at him in surprise before shaking your head.

“No, no. I’m treating you as if I loved you… which I do” you replied and Bo stared at you for a little while before humming.

“Ya were like that when we were kids” he said and you arched an eyebrow

“How so?”

“When one of us get sick or hurt, ya’d fuss around us, doin’ anythin’ for us to feel betta” he told you

“I don’t remember, but it feels about right” you smiled “I don’t like to see you like that so I’ll do my best” you added “and I’m sure you’d be the same if it was me… except that you’d be yelling at me for having been so stupid” you teased him but it clearly caught him off guard.

“’m sorry ‘bout that” he whispered “Always should have been nicer to ya” he added and stroked your cheek before looking away. You put your head on his unharmed shoulder.

“‘S okay, I was just joking” you said and you kissed his cheek again.

You both finished eating in silence. You took the plates and decided you would do the dishes once Bo would be back to sleep. You helped him to lay down again and you kissed his forehead.

“Rest some more, okay?” you asked.

He didn’t answer at first but before you could leave his side, he grabbed your wrist once again. You turned back to him.

“Stay,” he said and you nodded. You had a lot of things to do but you weren’t going to deny him anything in his state. You settled next to him and watched over him as he slept peacefully. It was easier for him to rest when you were around. You gave him a sense of comfort and safety. When he woke up once again, you gently loved on him and checked some more on his wound. It was going well, you were hoping that he would be fine quickly. Of course, the wound would need a lot of time to fully heal but he would be able to go back to his work if he wasn’t forcing too much on his arm or shoulder. He let you cuddle him and look after him, enjoying it more than he would ever say. He was also very grateful for everything you were doing for him. He made a mental note to be really nicer to you, because you were trying your best for the family, for him, and he didn’t deserve you at all. You were so devoted to your brothers and he knew it, he could see it so clearly now. He didn’t know what he would do without you.

You finally got up to give him some painkiller and you asked him if he wanted anything. He just wanted to go on the couch with his family by his side. You nodded and hoped Lester was still around, because it would have been nice if all of you could be reunited. You both went downstairs and you settled him comfortably on the couch with extra pillows. Lester was still in the kitchen, playing with a knife. You gently tugged him.

“Come, we’re gonna watch a movie all together” you said. He looked up at you and agreed without hesitation. The house was so calm and peaceful for once, so he didn’t mind to say longer, especially because you were the one to ask him to.

You went into the basement, and found Vincent working. You gently knocked at the door and he looked up at you with a quizzical expression. You walked to him and gently hugged him. He let go of his tools, to hug you back.

“Movie time with everyone” you said and it wasn’t a question because you were ready to drag Vincent upstairs if you had to. But he simply nodded and followed you, always so soft and ready to do anything for you.

You were glad to see that Bo and Lester were gently chatting when you came back. Everything seemed to go better than before and you were happy about that. You sat in between Bo and Vincent and Lester settled at your feet with Jonesy on his lap. Bo put on some random western movie he found.

You didn’t really care about it, but you enjoyed the peace of the moment. At some point, the five of you eventually fell asleep, all cuddled up against each other, happy to be a not so dysfunctional family after all.

PART VI

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@6-6-6-riddler

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hoodievixen · 10 months

Text

With My Own Eyes - Part 8 (Dream of the Endless x OC)

Based off of this

Summary: Morpheus just wanted to keep his soulmate safe. She just wanted to make her own decisions. Doesn't help that he doesn't show her his face.

Words Count: ~ 2.7 K

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, witchcraft, bad grammar and even worse spelling, !Comic Spoilers!

A/N: This is it, the end. (Almost forgot to upload it today... oops) Prepare for some angst.

Tag List: @intothesoul @ poemfreak306

Master List

Her bed was too soft. Instead she clambered to the ground, curling herself into a ball, backed into a corner, walls pressing into both her shoulders. Sibyl mumbled descriptors of everything she saw, ignoring the tears running down her face. She should lose herself to her emotions, she might start another fire. She didn't need to deal with that at the moment.

Even her tactic of keeping in the physical and not the mental was not working. As she was describing any item she saw in great detail, more items appeared. She swear they came in puffs of sand. The first was her bag she had left in her room in the Dreaming, then the paintings she made in the Dreaming, and every sketchbook she dared scribble in. Even notes of grimores she left in the library. Anything that could remind him of her he sent away.

Soon Lily was clenched into as small of a ball that she could get. Her breathing out of control, as the only thing she felt was lonelyness, complete and utter lonelyness.

----

Johanna wasn't sure what she was expecting for the loud banging at her door in the middle of the day. Defiently not Lily, drunk off her ass and crying. "You do know it's only three," Johanna commented, letting the closest thing to a friend she had lean into her.

It wasn't strange for Lily to disappear for days on end without so much of a word. However returning drunk was indeed new. "Heart break knows no time but sorrow," the witch sighed.

Johanna hated how she'd get poetic when drunk. Luckily Lily rarely gets drunk. "Did you get back tk get her with Jerome?" she wondered dragging in the drunkard. "You know that never ends well."

With uneven balance Lily stood up straight staring at her arm. Rarely did Lily walk around with her arms bare. Johanna knew Lily got annoyed with how people would come and touch her cause of her tattoos, but also that she was hiding her soulmate's name, something the magic user hasn't even seen, until then.

Johanna felt pitty for her friend. There scralled on her arm in pretentious writing was Dream of the Endless. She felt bad for Lily, connected to that prik by date. Clearly she didn't have good feeling a about it either, as the skin it was on was red and irritated with small scabs developing. Lily had been vigorously scratching at it, as if to remove it. Even in that moment she dug her nails in the raw skin.

"I'm guessing that prick's the reason your like this," Johanna commented, bringing in the witch to have her sit on her couch.

Lily glared at her arm. "I don't even know what he looks like," she said softly.

Johanna sat down, letting her sad friend lay down in her lap. "You aren't missing much," she commented, picking at Lily's hair. By the looks of it it hadn't been washed in days. "His hair's a mess, eyes are creepy, and personally his cheeks are bit too sharp for my taste."

Lily looked up to her friend, wide eyed and with fresh tears. "You know what he looks like?" she asked in disbelief. Silent tears ran down her face.

-----

Lily woke up with a hwad ache and a show back. "How much did you drink?" a annoyed voice asked.

She peaked up to find a familiar person, and in a familiar place. "I think like... too much,"she answered, though mind elsewhere. While she had grown used to not having dreams with being in the Dreaming, sh hadn't had one since she got back.

Johana stoop up from her desk, coming to sit down next to her friend." Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to try and skin your arm again?" She handed back Lily's dager.

Lily took it back, before throwing it in the pile of her jacket and shoes. It was then she noticed she had a thick bandage over her arm, where her soul mark was. She hated it now more than ever. "What have you figured out from my drunken rambling?" she wondered, placing a cold hand against her forehead.

"Well the oh so lovely Dream of the Endless sis somehow your soulmate, and refused to show you his face," Johana explained, "Which confuses me."

Sibyl sighed. "Basically dude kidnapped me, and we made an agreement I'd stay in his realm for about a month, before deciding if I'd stay or go."

"Did you try the teleportation spell?" she questioned her friend. Sibyl didn't have a long streak of being the most clever.

"Oh yeah," Lily assured her, "And I should have just finished it.

But I stayed, begrudgingly at first. Then I grew to not mind being there, than I liked it that, and..." There were words Lily wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to. Her eyes stung and heart ached at the thought of it.

She let out a deep breath. "The entire time he had on this monstrous helm, like seriously, spine trunk. He refused to show me his face. I was patient, but I couldn't let him continue to do what he wants without showing me he trusts me. I went to remove it myself, cause it was either taking that thing off or being done with our relationship. I thought he'd see logic and reason. Instead he took ending it not his own hands, sending me away... I haven't even had a dream since."

Lily looked to the floor, meloncholic. By some miracle, or dehydration, she wasn't crying. "I'm angry, sad, and so frustrated," she groaned, finanly getting to voice her feelings. "I don't even want to acknowledge we're soulmates. I don't even want to be soulmates. I'd do anything to get this fucking name off of me."

-----

Ripples through the universe are not common, but they do happen. So two happening within such quick succession of eachother was something to take interest in.

The second one struck sunthing deep within Dream. Something he had long since ignored and tired to forget. No matter what he had to go a see what it was, knowing nothing good will come from the visit.

It had been centuries since he last visited the Mediterranean island. He had never thought he would step foot on it ever again. The care takers asked no questions, but kept their haze to the ground, moving out of the Endless' path.

Dream stepped into the small build that had been his son's home for most of his deathless life. Or what had expected to be deathless. The caretakers had already prepared the head of Orpheus for burial.

There was only a handful of being that could bring about the end of Orpheus. Dream knew it was no of his siblings, none would do such a thing. Even Desire, after all his son was a means to an ends for his sibling. He had to wonder who, no what has killed Orpheus.

It could have eazily been missed. Tucked in the corner of the window sill was a flash of reflected sunlight. It was a large metal knife, no dagger. Dream kne that Dager, from one side being solver while the other iron, the worn and loved leather gril, and the protective charm carved in the pommel. The fish time he had seen it, it had been pull on him, the next it was covered in it's owners blood. Now it was clean, not a single drop of crimson. Red however, there was a strand. Near the blade was a strand of red thread, cut red thread.

Sibyl had been there, and somehow involved with the death of Orpheus. While she had powers more so than the average human, no witch would have the power to undo the deal between Death and her nephew. Something wasn't right. Not in the slightest.

Dream pulled up his sleeve, and urge that pricked at the back of his mind. He hadn't known what feelings he felt anymore for that name on his arm. He once loved it, bringing him hope, and was something he protected. But now it left a sour taste in his mouth. He had believed that Sibyl had been different, different for his past lovers, different from all other humans. She was the same as the rest. He knew that the moment she tried taking off his helm. Dispite his best effort to forget them, her words of trust did ring in his ears, causing a sliver of guilt. Had she had a point?

It did not matter anymore, as his arm was baren.

-------

Johanna thought she was finally done with all that. It had been a couple days since Lily last called her in tears or in anger. She couldn't blame her, but it was getting to be a lot. When the magic user felt a precense in her flat, she assumed the witch had somehow gotten in on her own again. Turning on the lights revealed otherwise.

There ein the middle of the room was something she did not want to see again. Even if only in her dreams. "Why are you here?" she asked Dream of the Endless.

"Constantine," he said in a low tone. "I need your assistance with finding someone."

Johana gave him a look of questioning. "Can't you just wait until they fall asleep?"

Dream's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "They have somehow managed to disconnect themselves for myself and realm entirely."

Johana noticed how his gaze lingered down at his arm. She scoffed. "If it's Sibyl Crow you are looking for," she started, "You entirely deserve what she's done."

Dream glared at the woman. "How do you know Sibyl?"

Johana rolled her eyes, "You really think a magic user and a witch living in the same city wouldn't at least be aware of eachother."

"You appear to be more than acquaintances," Dream continued to push.

"That's cause Lily's a clinging bitch," Johanna groaned, "She's so lonely she'd befriend a rabid dog..." No matter what she had tried, she couldn't get rid of the witch. She just gave up after a while.

She had already pulled out her phone to call the witch. Maybe he'd go away if Lily herself told him to fuck off. It went straight to voicemail. Johanna let out a sigh of annoyance, though not concerning.

"Have you tried her flat?" Johanna asked. It was still early into summer break, there wouldn't be a reason for her to be working yet.

"It is warded against my entry," he explained.

"Well lucky for you, I got a key," she answered, pulling said key from a drawer. Sybil had put it on a rediculous key chain of a pink puff ball, as to prevent Johanna from loosing it.

--------

Sibyl's flat was a mess. Not that it usually wasn't. However there was the makings of a pyramid of empty cans, both of energy drink and alcoholic. Lily wasn't much a fan of either, never consumes the in large quantities. Take out Containers filled the trash can, as well as plenty of counter space. Usually she kept her witchcraft neatly packed away in the small dresser that was her alter, yet scattered about her entire apartments were books on anything mildly unnatural in subject, maps of laylines and other things Johanna didn't understand.

Something caused her heart to stop. "She wouldn't," Johanna mumbled, grabbing at the pages of scarred notes about the apartment. She barely payed attention she Lily called her, thinking the witch just needed someone to rant to. Still Constantine caught it in bits and pieces, Sibyl was looking for a way to sever her fate from Dream's. "Lily's dramatic, but she wouldn't pay that price," she tried to reason with herself.

"What do you know Constantine?" the Endless demanded.

"Please tell me her names still on you," Johanna pleaded. She would deny it to anyone who asked, but Sibyl was her friend, someone she could trust her life with. She didn't want to loose her just like everyone else.

Dream looked away, giving the exrocist all the answer she needed. Johanna dropped the pages, which would take her too long to understand at all. "Fuck," she groaned, "Sibyl, what did you do?"

------------

Sibyl had severed her fate from his. It fit right in with all other failures of relationships he has had. This one had the most promise, but had lasted the shortest. Dream would teuely never love again. Still Sibyl payed a price because of his actions. If he couldn't pay part of it, he would at least want to know what it was.

Destiny may have had it written in his book, but he wouldn't share it with anyone, nor even his brother unless it said he would. There was a much more for sure way to learn what occurs in fate. To talk to the Fates themselves.

"I, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, summon the fates," he called to the universe. He had gathered his offerings, prepared to pay the price. "The three who are one, the one who is three." Something was different, there wasn't the same reaction of the world around him to the called of The Three.

"I'm gonna stop you there," some called from behind him, "It's one who is one now."

Dream turned around not believing his ears. There stood Sibyl, though not the same as before. Her arms were bare, of both his name and her tattoos. Her clothes shifted colors like an aurora boreal is, her hair floating in a breeze that was not there. Her eyes....

-----------

Sibyl stood in the circle of her own making. Chalk of frowned calf bones, spores from a mushroom grown on the corpse of a deer, and the blood spilled from the womb. Those were just in the outline, Sibyl was not proud to tell what took her to gather everything for the spell. She held her bleeding arm out before her, calling to the universe. "The three who are one, the one who is three, the Hecate."

The wind and rain which had gradually grown around her was all but silent in that moment. "We haven't been summoned by one such as you in a long while, child," a voice beyond years croaked.

Sibyl turned around to find three woman standing before her. She was quick to fall to her knee, stoll holding the offering of her own blood to them. "Please I ask of you, sperate my fare from his," she pleaded, "I do not wish to be bound to someone who can't trust me with the most simplest of things."

"Child, raise your head," a soft voice called out to her. Sibyl hesitantly looked up.

"Oh lovely," the maiden cooed, "We gave you a hard fate, that would come with many reward of you shall over come it."

"We over you this advice for what you have given," the crone continued, "Have hope."

Sibyl gribded her teeth. She was sick and tired of supernatural beings thinking less of her. "I didn't ask for advice," she hissed, "I gave you a sacrafice, just get this name off of me."

The mother reached out and stroked Sibyl's cheek. "You know better than to seek tk your elder than that, your auntie taught you better."

The maiden replaced the mother, her had on the young witch's cheek. "Your blood may be special, but no amount of it will be the price to do what you want."

Sibyl let out a deep breath. "I will pay whatever price," she confessed.

"Your soul," all three said at once. The crone stepped away from the girl. "You're human soul." The wind started to pick up once again.

"It binds you to this world," the maiden said.

"It binds you to the ones you love," the mother.

"To unbind you, we must take it," the croan.

The wind had became much worse than it had before, picking up dirt and howling in the night.

"We three will become one, and you will become we," the unified voice of three bellowed over the wind. "All magic come with a price. You know that well. A price for a price, only for something great. What it will be up to you, and not me."

------

Her eyes held no color, just white. Though she was looking at him, she wasn't seeing him. "Do you need to ask?" she said sarcastically, "As you can clearly see what price I payed." Sibyl gave up her sight to become the physical embodiment of fate, which she did to sever herself from him. He wonders of that was the plan all along. Him fated to be alone, for ever.

#Sandman #sandman x reader #sandman x oc #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x y/n #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character

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