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helen-with-an-a · 2 months

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The Object that stood in the way of a World Cup epilogue

Hi. So here is the epilogue to the story. These are 10 snippets of R and Ona's relationship. They do go in order, but they don't really have a set timeline (beyond the first 2 taking place in the 24/25 season); the idea is that they just happen over a few years. Also shout out the anon who guessed that yes, R does eventually know some Catalan

Ona Batlle x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

TW: Suggestiveness, Smut (that isn't really smut but it's slightly more than suggestive if you get what I mean), mentions of previous mental health issues, Injury

Description: 10 moments throughout R and Ona's relationship

Word Count: 6.8k (I'm sorry it's so long but I hope you enjoy it)

First Match of the New Season

“Hola. Bon dia. Hey. Good morning. Bon dia.” Greetings were called as you walked into the building. You passed the media people, waving as you saw the camera pointed in your direction.

“Morning, kid,” Lucy said as you sat your stuff beside her. It was the first game of the season, and you were excited. You were told to be used as a sub around the 60th minute for the first few games, gradually building your strength and stamina. At first, you were a little annoyed. Still, after talking to the coaches, you knew they had your best interests at heart – come back from an injury that had you sitting in the stands for more than a year, not to mention the mental health issues that you had experienced – they wanted to ease you back in, see how you’d cope.

“Morning, Luce.” From the corner of your eye, you spotted Ona walking through the door, chatting away with Ingrid and Mapi. Even in a simple hoodie and cargos, she looked fantastic, with hair in that messy bun that drove you insane and a soft smile as she made her way to her cubby, greeting people as she went. Your match day fit wasn’t too dissimilar to hers; it was hers. You had swiped a faded sweatshirt from her cupboard this morning, kissing the corner of her mouth gently with a cheeky grin.

“I want that one back, you know,” she said teasingly, pushing a finger into your chest as she came to rest by your side.

“And you will … once it stops smelling like you,” you answered cheekily, grabbing her hand and laying a kiss on her palm.

“Ew,” Lucy commented, straight-faced.

“Excuse you, the number of times I’ve been subjected to your nastiness with Keira,” you scoffed. Whilst Lucy wasn’t a big fan of PDA in public, as soon as she knew there were no cameras, she was the biggest cuddler known to man.

“Yeh, yeh. Doesn’t mean I need to see … that,” she shuddered.

“Well, then look away.” You stuck your tongue out at her as you pulled Ona closer, kissing her softly.

“Aye, aye, aye!” Patri whistled across the room, “There are children present here, people.” You laughed as she covered Vicky’s eyes.

Everything was like old times as you went through your pre-match routine. You did a pitch walk with Ona, pinkies intertwined as you wandered around, and a warmup with Lucy, laughing excitedly as you reminisced over the summer. As you walked down the tunnel, you felt familiar arms pull you back.

“Can I do your hair?” She asked. It had been routine for you back in Manchester for her to help you pull your hair back into a bun. She had watched you do it twice before taking pity on you … and your scalp.

“Absolutely you can.” You beamed at her as you gathered your stuff, sitting down in between her legs. She was so much gentler than you as she brushed your hair up and out of your face. She kissed the back of your neck as she finished. You smiled, loving that your little ritual was back. You thanked her and quickly sprayed some perfume before slipping your bib on and heading to the sub's bench.

Unsurprisingly, Barcelona started the season off with a bang, making it obvious that this team meant business once again. It was a solid 6 – 0 win, with the fans going crazy for each goal.

“Vamos!” Patri shouted as she stuck a phone in your face. You cheered with her – your happiness was visible to everyone.

“Mi amor,” Ona called as she motioned for you to come over to her. You started to make your way, stopping and shaking hands with players as you went. You were intercepted by the media team asking for a video about your return.

“Hola culers. Gracias por apoyarme en todo. It’s been a long year, but we’re starting it how we want to continue. Vam-,” you were cut off by a body jumping on you from behind. The warm, sweet scent that engulfed you told you exactly who it was. Ona squealed in your ear as you spun around, her clinging to you, both laughing loudly. You caught a lot of people’s attention as you ran around, dodging through the team and being tracked by a camera.

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

The International Call Up

It was the last international break of the year. You had been doing well, starting games regularly and, more often than not, staying on for the full 90 minutes. Sarina was due to be making phone calls to the squad tomorrow. She had asked for your weekly schedule a few days ago so she could avoid calling you during training … if she was going to call.

You hadn’t received a phone call for the last break. It had stung that you hadn’t even received an email from Sarina or the England team, but having spoken to Leah privately and set up a call with Sarina, they had both reassured you that it was nothing sinister. You had barely returned to the starting XI at Barca, so they thought it best for you to sit this break out. But the seed of doubt had been planted. You saw what happened to Steph when she got injured, and she was the captain, could they be doing the same thing with you? You successfully kept the voices in your head at bay for about an hour before Ona caught on.

“Mi amor, estás bien?” She had asked you when you were lying in bed. It was usual for her to lie on you, her ear pressed to your chest, the methodical beat soothing her before bed. It was strange, therefore, when you denied her from cuddling up to you. She was about to protest when you pushed her to lie back on the pillows somewhat forcefully before diving on top of her. She recognised this behaviour; you wanted comfort and security before speaking your mind. She allowed you to rest your total weight on her, her nails scratching at your scalp and a hand rubbing soft circles on your back.

“What if she doesn’t call?” Your voice was quiet and full of uncertainty. It was muffled; her neck was your hiding place for the moment.

“I know you're anxious about this, mi amor, but she will call. She asked for your schedule, didn't she? She didn’t do that last time.” That was true. Ona knew you needed cold, hard facts—something you couldn’t dispute. “You’re in the starting XI at Barca pretty much every game. And if you aren’t, then you’re a sub instead. You’ve been named in every escuadrón del día del juego across all competitions.”

“But … what if she doesn’t call? It’s been so long since I last wore an England shirt. What happens if she thinks I’m not good enough for it? What if I –” You were panicking more now, sitting up to look in her eyes.

“I’m going to stop you right there, mi amor. I know you are worried about tomorrow, but you need to calm down. Getting histérica won’t help anyone. Deep breaths.” She went through the routine your therapist had set out for you. You had asked her to come to your next appointment after the lack of a phone call. You had scheduled one for the next day, recognising the signs of needing help to process the rejection. She had sat in on the final 20 minutes, taking in all the recommended ways to help you should you ever feel like the world was becoming too much for you. Eventually, you calmed down enough to discuss what was in your head. With each negative thought, she had asked you to either change it into a positive or think of something that challenged it.

“I love you,” she had whispered as you snuggled down for sleep. “So, so much. Whatever happens, that will never change,” she vowed.

“Yo también te amo mucho,” you whispered back.

The next morning, Lucy came into the gym beaming; she didn’t need to tell you that she had been selected. Keira was also softly smiling after lunch, so you gathered she had also received the phone call. So that just left you.

“She does it randomly, recordar?” Ona had rubbed soothing circles into your back when she noticed Keira’s smile.

You were in the changing room waiting for Ona to finish when your phone buzzed.

Sarina: Hi. Are you free for a phone call?

This was it.

Y/N: Hi. Yes, absolutely. Please call whenever.

You barely pressed send before your phone started ringing. The conversation was short and sweet, just like always. She asked if you wanted to join the team, and you accepted instantly.

“So?” Lucy was the first one over to you. The slight smile told you everything she needed to know. She cheered and launched herself at you, knocking the wind out of you.

“Careful, Luce. We do need her for the games.” Keira laughed, joining in on the hug.

“Qué está pasando?” Alexia questioned, frowning slightly at the noise you three were making.

“Sarina phone.” You explained. She knew how much it meant to receive the first phone call after an injury. She surprised you, however, by joining in on the hug. You were still in the middle of the group hug when Ona walked over from the showers. Her hair was wet, and she wore a sports bra and joggers with a small United logo and your number.

“You got the phone call!” She smiled. She wasn’t asking. She knew you’d get it. She had absolute and complete faith in your abilities.

“I got the phone call!”

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

Ona Gets Injured

It was a nice day in late spring when it happened. It was the final game before the international break. You were leaving for England the day after next, being expected at St. George’s Park the following morning. You had 5 minutes left of normal game time; you and Ona had played the full match, legs burning with lactic acid and faces red from the effort. You were winning, but it had been an effort. The first half had ended goalless for both teams. It had been excellent goalkeeping and general defence from them; none of Barca’s shots had been put in the back of the net. Thanks to Patri and Salma, you were now 2 – 0, but it had been a struggle to get there.

You watched, waiting to see if you were needed, as Ona tackled the defender. It was a fair fight; neither was willing to give up the ball easily. As Ona finally freed herself with the ball, a second pair of boots joined the mix. You didn’t see which one did it, but suddenly, Ona was on the floor clutching her ankle.

“Merda. Merda. Merda. Tu gossa. Ai, ai, ai.” Ona rolled around, the swearing sounding wrong coming from her usually innocent mouth.

“Oni… Oni, mi vida.” You scratched along the letters on her back, hoping to comfort her. “Necesitas una fisio?” You asked her. She nodded, her eyes still tightly shut. From behind you, you could see Alexia, Marta, and Patri surrounding the Ref. You stuck your arm in the air, waving the medics over. “What is it?”

“Tobillo. Sus tachuelas atraparon mi tobillo.” You nodded as you rolled her onto her back.

“Let me see those pretty eyes, Oni,” you kissed her forehead as the medical staff appeared.

The game continued after Ona was carried off the pitch. She had adamantly refused a stretcher, but she couldn’t put weight on her foot. You prayed it wasn’t serious, but the grim faces of the medical team told you otherwise. You had sped through the post-match handshakes, catching Alexia’s eyes as you slipped away.

Ona was on one of the beds in the medical room, her ankle wrapped in ice.

“Qué decía? Esta roto? Necesitas ir al hospital? Qué ocurre? Qué tan malo es?” You bombarded her with questions. You had never seen her injured like that before. In Manchester, when she had a concussion, you were an absolute mess – this time was no different. She didn’t answer you, just shook her head, reaching out for you. You ran to her side as you watched the tears fall. With every passing cry, your thoughts started to spiral into worse and worse scenarios.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok. Whatever the doctors said, you’ve got this. Nosotras tenemos esto. You aren’t going to be alone, prometo.” You cradled her head as she cried.

“It’s … I’ve … She …” Ona was trying to tell you what happened but couldn’t catch her breath. She had never been injured like this before.

“Oni, deep breaths for me. In … and out.” You did the same thing she did when you felt overwhelmed, hoping the familiar routine would soothe her more. Buena niña,” you said when she was calm. Now, what did the doctors say?”

“I’ve maybe got a … I don’t know the word in English.” She started to panic again.

“That’s ok, say it in Spanish, mi vida,” you kissed her knuckles gently.

“fractura capilar. I’ve got to go in for scans in the morning. Either way, I won’t be playing in the international window … or for the next month or so, tal vez más si realmente está roto.” Potentially broken. A month or so out, minimum. You know from personal experience how much this is going to hurt Ona.

“That’s okay, mi vida. It will be hard, sí. But I believe in you one hundred percent. We can set up appointments with the therapist again?” It was a strange role reversal. Usually, you were the one panicking and crying, and Ona was the calm, unmoving force in the raging storm.

“And maybe missing the international break isn’t as bad as you think?” Ona started to protest. You once thought like she did, football was your world. It still was in so many ways. But since your injury … and her re-entering your life … things had shifted slightly. You recognised the importance of taking breaks a little bit more seriously now. “No, hey. Listen to me.” You moved to press your forehead against hers. “You’ve been going non-stop for so long. You have also achieved so much under the conditions you were in. I know it’s not ideal, but take the next however many weeks as a chance to properly rest.” You leaned forward a little more and kissed her gently, both of you melting into each other. “Plus, I want a WAG cheering me on,” you added, making her laugh wetly.

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

Going to Ona’s Home

It was a warm day in early spring as you drove down to Vilassar De Mar, the wind whipping gently at your hair. It was Ona’s Abuela’s birthday, and you were spending the weekend with them as it coincided with a rare free weekend. You had slipped away from training, driving to Ona’s family home.

You loved it here; you could happily roam around the streets for hours with the ever-present smell of the sea and saltiness in the air. The first time you had come here was on a similar weekend – her brother’s birthday, you think. You had spent time relishing in the happiness of a regular family, one that made the good kind of loud, full of laughter and love. It made Ona happy to see how easily you fit into her family, playing football in the garden with her cousin’s children, joking around with her brother, helping her mother prepare the food, and chatting animatedly with her father.

“Hola, Àvia,” Ona said as she entered the living room.

“Hola, Néta,” Her grandmother said as they kissed each other’s cheeks. “On és la meva neta encantadora?”

“Todavía no puedo hablar catalán.” You laughed as you hugged the woman tightly. You didn’t know what she had asked Ona, but judging by the blush, it had something to do with you. “Hola, Abuela. Te he extrañado.” Ona loved when you came to her home. Her parents had taken her aside after the second time she’d brought you, asking when she would make you their daughter-in-law. At the time, she blushed profusely, telling her parents she wanted to take it slow but promising that she would make you officially at Batlle one day. But she was beginning to think that day was growing closer and closer with each visit.

“Mi amor, let’s go for a walk, sí? We could go to the cafetería and pick up some Crema Catalana?” Ona said a little while later, already leading you to the door. You loved the little coffee shop with its patterned flooring and twisting vines. The pair of you walked, hand in hand, the short distance to the shop, stopping to take pictures and videos on the way. The fans and the team were going insane at the little snippets of your relationship that you showed online. Everyone loved your love so much that they couldn’t help it.

In this particular video you shared on your Instagram, you had propped your phone up on a bench. As you were busy pressing play and ensuring the phone stayed where you wanted it, you missed the adoring look Ona gave you. Whilst you may not have seen it, the camera most definitely picked it up. You rushed back to Ona’s side, taking her hand and using it to spin her around. You cupped her face as you let your eyes travel across her face. She was so beautiful, God’s gift on earth, you think … no, you know.

“Te amo,” you whispered to her, pecking her lips two, three times. The camera didn’t capture your voice, especially since you muted it and added a song instead, but no one could deny the rosy hue that spread across both your faces. She had pushed her arms around your waist and buried her head in your neck as you rocked gently side-to-side.

You had cut the video for social media there, but on your camera roll, the heavy make out session that followed had been videoed for your eyes only. You had been glad that it was an empty street on a quiet Sunday afternoon. You had pulled away and was greeted to the sight of a dazed Ona, lips kiss-swollen and slightly out of breath.

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

You’re a WAG

For once, your schedules meant you could see Ona play for Spain in person. Usually, you were forced to watch each other’s matches at the hotel, sending each other a steady stream of texts for the other to catch up on after the game. But finally, your matches had aligned in a way that meant you could go to Ona’s match in person. You had just played against the Netherlands, and Spain was playing France. The day after your match, you bid the Lionesses goodbye and headed to the airport. You were so excited when you got the confirmation from Sarina that you could leave camp a day earlier than you were supposed to. You had lied to Ona – it hurt your heart just a little bit when you saw the sadness in her eyes despite the brave smile she put on. You knew it would be worth it, though. You had asked her brother to help secure your tickets, explaining what you wanted to do. He had jumped at the chance, knowing how sad his sister was when you couldn’t make her games in person.

Lyon was loud and busy, with both Spanish and French fans swarming the walk to the stadium. You eventually met Ona’s family, successfully surprising her parents as well. It had been a while since you had seen them.

“Hola,” you said as you sidled up to the small group. Ona’s mother turned, letting out a short, shocked scream before engulfing you in a warm hug. Was the ability to give great hugs genetic?

“Qué estás haciendo aquí? Ona lo sabe?”

“No, es una sorpresa.”

The match was a good one. France put up a fight, but this Spanish team was something else. The way they moved with the ball, the seamless connections, the complete trust – it was something to be admired. You hadn’t really watched the ball, but rather Ona. It had been a while since you could actively watch her in a match. She looked so sexy. What you wouldn’t give to run your hands over those ripping muscles, make her whine and whimper. No, stop! You’re with her parents, you reminded yourself. Later, you promised.

It ended with a respectable 3 – 1 to Spain, with the girls on the pitch cheering and celebrating as they clapped for the fans. You slipped away as the game came to an end. You had spoken to Lucía the night before, asking her for a way to get you onto the pitch. The security guard looked unimpressed, but you pointed your name out on the list of people allowed into the back of the stadium and showed him your ID.

“Será mejor que te apresures y propongas matrimonio. Te ves demasiado bien en rojo para mantenerte como una Lioness.” Lucía called as you hugged her tightly.

“No chance. Putting this thing on was a struggle.” Slipping the red jersey over your head felt wrong, but you couldn’t deny that you liked having Batlle printed across your back.

“Let’s get you to your girl, sí,” She smiled, nodding your head in the direction of the pitch.

You hung back by the tunnel's entrance, some of the Barca girls smiling and waving at you. “Ona, tengo una entrega especial para ti. Ha recorrido un largo camino, así que ten cuidado, sí.” Lucía shouted. You could see the moment Ona spotted you. Her tired eyes lit up, and a smile instantly came to her face. She barrelled into you, arms going around your neck as you lifted her from the floor.

“Déu meu, què fas aquí? Déu meu.”

“Stop speaking Catalan; you know I can’t understand you.” You laughed as you supported her thighs, the other hand running up and down the length of her back.

“You said you couldn’t leave camp early. Me mentiste? If you did, that was very mean of you.” She was still clinging to you, and you made no effort to put her down.

“Technically, sí. I did lie to you. But it was for a good reason, no? Congratulations, by the way. You looked so sexy out there, mi sexy defensora. And that yellow card …” You could feel the heat in her cheeks.

The next day, you woke up to the Lionesses and Spanish football Instagram pages tagging you both in a photo; the moment she ran up to you was captured on video. You looked down at the sleeping woman beside you, her hair a mess, hickeys bitten into her neck, still kiss swollen lips, gentle puffs leaving her mouth. You knew you would marry her.

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

Sant Jordi

Sant Jordi. St. George’s Day. A chance for you to show even more love to Ona. Whilst this wasn’t your first Sant Jordi together, you still wanted to make a big deal of it. In the week leading up to it, you made no effort to remind her of it; yesterday, you had lied when she asked where you were going. You said you were meeting up with Lucy and Keira, knowing they’d easily cover for you. You were actually buying a bouquet of red roses, a single red rose and a handful of books. You knew it was customary for guys to get books and girls to get roses, so you thought it would be best to get both. You didn’t know whether to only get one rose or a bouquet, so you got both instead.

Thankfully, the day also fell on an off day, meaning you had the whole day to shower Ona with your affection. You were taking this day more seriously than Valentine's, determined to exhibit your love to her. You knew she would tell you; you didn’t need to. She knew how much you loved. You showed her every day with the way you gently woke her up to kisses because you knew how much she hated the harshness of an alarm. You showed her every day with your touches; for her, touch was a natural, normal part of the day. Being Spanish, she’d grown up in a touchy environment. To you, it was much more of a conscious decision. You didn’t like physical touch … until she arrived. Once she had very quickly taken hold of your heart, touch had become essential to you. You would gently push her hair back off her face, you would interlink your fingers as you walked, you would stand with your pinkies laced together, you would sit with an arm around her waist at the lunch table as she stood between your legs, you would trace lines up the backs of her thighs if you stood between hers, you would fiddle with her hair. You showed her your love every day by doing the dirty washing, a task she knew you both hated.

You tried to slip out of bed without waking Ona as you woke up. But that girl had a built-in Y/N proximity detector.

“No, d'hora. Tornar a dormir,” She said in Catalan.

“Still don’t know what you’re saying. But I just need to loo; I’ll be back soon, ok.” You laughed as you kissed the back of her head, pulling the duvet around her once more. You raced around the flat, placing the roses in vases and resting them on the table, you stacked the books neatly next to them and your little card on top. Cute and respectable, but not over the top.

“Took too long,” Ona grumbled as you slipped back into bed. Although you had only been gone five minutes, it felt like a lifetime to both of you.

“Lo siento, Oni. Pero ya estoy de vuelta.”

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

Winning Champions League

3 minutes. 2 minutes. 1 minute. 30 seconds. 10 seconds. The final whistle blew. The cheers were so loud as you all bundled on top of each other. Shouts of ‘Campeones de Europa’ echoed in your ears. Barcelona were Champions League winners once again. This feeling would never get old.

“What the fuck!” Keira shouted in your ears, laughing as you hugged each other tightly.

“Holy shit!” Lucy screamed as she landed on top of you both.

“What numbers this one, Luce?” You asked as she squeezed you so tight it almost hurt.

The hugs were sweaty, the screams were loud, and the energy was electric. And you wouldn’t have had it any other way. “Lo hicimos. De nuevo. Juntos,” Ona said as you finally walked into her embrace.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Oni.” You said as you pressed a string of kisses against her forehead.

The party was one for the history books. Music boomed, drinks flowed, and laughter was shared.

“Oni, let me take you home,” you mumbled against her lips. With every drink, your inhibitions were lowered; with every kiss shared, you wanted needed her more desperately.

As you walked back to the hotel room, you couldn’t help but let your eyes and hands explore. The top she wore hugged all the right places; the jeans made her arse look even better. It would be wrong not to push your hands along her waist. It would be criminal not to let your thumb brush her ribs, just under her bra. It would be illegal not to let your fingers drift under the waistband of her trousers. She wasn’t much better. As soon as you entered the lift, she was sucking a dark hickey into your skin, her hand coming up to palm at your breast. You couldn’t tell what mood she was in. When you were at the club, she had seemed so innocent, wide doe eyes that told you she wanted you to absolutely ruin her. But now, with the way she pinned you against the wall, you think she might want to have you underneath her. You didn’t mind either way, knowing you would both be more than satisfied by the night's end.

You got your answer as she laid down on the bed, her jeans in a puddle to the side, her shirt following quickly after it.

“Si us plau.” She only used Catalan when she wanted you to have her in any and every way you wanted.

“Oni, how can I know what you want when you speak a language I don’t understand?” You said, watching her writhe with want as you traced lightly along her body – up her arm, cross her collarbone, skirting around her chest, smoothing across her waist as you came to a stop at her hip, opting to rub maddening circles into her skin.

“Por favour,” she whimpered again.

“Much better, my good girl.” You chuckled lowly as you finally touched her where she wanted.

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

Ona surprises you at Camp.

It was your birthday, and you were on International duty. You had wanted to be woken up to a lovely birthday kiss from Ona, greeted with a wonderful sight of her in an old T-shirt of yours and nothing else, and able to have your way with her in every way she allowed. Instead, you were woken up by a grumpy Leah who had used all the hot water.

It wasn’t all bad; you were greeted at breakfast to a chorus of happy birthday before being given a single muffin with a candle in it.

“No cake?” Tooney moaned as you all tucked into you breakfasts.

“Not allowed. According to Leah, anyway,” you grumbled.

“Bitch,” Tooney muttered under her breath.

“What was that, Ella?” Leah asked as she came to sit beside you. Ella shook her head, flustering at her skipper. “That’s what I thought.”

The day was fairly normal. Sarina let you call out teams and make the groups as a ‘birthday present’. It was a bit of a shite one, but the sentiment was there. One person still hadn’t called you … or texted you. You knew Ona was busy. She was also on camp. But you had hoped she could at least have messaged you quickly. You tried not to let it get to you.

“Hey, Y/N, can you go grab me some more cones?” a trainer asked. I thought I had picked up enough. They should be in the storeroom right by the door.” You nodded, shuffling away to do what was asked.

“Feliç aniversari,” a very familiar voice called out to you. Now, before you say anything that means ‘happy birthday’ in Catalan,” you were frozen. How was she here? She should be in Spain, not in England, not standing in front of you. She could see your shock and took pity on you. “I took a flight this morning, lo siento, I couldn’t text or call you earlier.” As she touched your cheek, you jolted back into reality.

“How? What? But? What?” She laughed that wonderful laugh, finding you short-circuiting at her presence amusing. You were quick to snap her up into a hug. Her comforting smell washed over you. Apples, cocoa butter, and Ona. Home.

“Oni, you’re really here?” You whispered, still in shock

“Sí, amor, I’m really here."

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

The Proposals

You both knew the other one wanted to propose. You had discussed as much over a shared bowl of ice cream.

“Do you … I mean … would you ever … could you ever … maybe … one day ... I don’t know … get … married?” You had stuttered and stumbled through the sentence, blushing profusely as she took your face in her hands. She had waited until you had met her gaze before saying earnestly.

“I have never wanted anything more than to be able to say that you are my wife.” Your heart swelled. How was this fantastic, incredible, stunning, beautiful, funny, kind, wholesome woman letting you love her?

“Would you … who would … do you … ask?” She wasn’t confused by your incomplete sentence; she had known you for long enough that you got like this sometimes, especially when things were important to you, but you didn’t know how to say it.

“Who would propose to who?” she asked for clarification, shifting over to sit in your lap. Her hands fiddled with your fingers as your other hand automatically came to draw shapes on her back.

“I mean … Ale told me that she and Olga agreed they would propose to each other. We could do something similar. That way, we both have rings, if that’s something you want, and we both get surprised, and neither of us feels like it’s all on the other or them.” God, she was so smart. This had been on her mind for a while now, but she didn’t know if you wanted to ask or be asked. She didn’t know if she wanted to ask or be asked.

“I like that idea.” You said quietly, smiling shyly at the thought of marrying Ona.

“Then that’s what we’ll do, sí. We both get rings, we both ask, and we both get asked. It’s a win, win, win.”

You didn’t tell her that you already had a ring tucked away in your locker at the training centre, and she didn’t tell you she already had a ring buried in the bottom of one of her drawers.

You didn’t have a big plan for asking Ona to marry you. You had fallen in love with her all those years ago in the comfort of your own home, so that’s where you wanted to do it. You had fallen in love with her in the mornings when you both had bedheads, big T-shirts on, and sleep in your eyes. Of course, you had fallen in love with her in many other ways at many other times, but this was an Ona only you got to see.

It was a rare weekend off. You had stayed up most of the night laughing it away, tracing shapes onto Ona’s back as she pressed kisses on your neck and jaw. The morning light woke you up, Ona still tightly in your arms, and you knew you would propose today. You had already been told by her Abuela to hurry up and marry Ona before she died. You could feel when Ona woke up; her breathing shifted as she snuggled further into your neck, always desperate for more sleep. You stayed like that until 10, no longer able to put off the allure of food.

“Oni …” you handed her a plate of pancakes and turned back for her mug of coffee. The ring in your other hand. Everyone had said they were nervous about proposing, yet you only felt love, happiness, and excitement for the next chapter in your lives. “Et casaràs amb mi?” You asked as you opened the box. She blinked – a slight flicker of doubt crossed your mind. Maybe she didn’t want this after all? She tackled you, instantly snapping you out of your worry. The force sent you both to the ground. “You just asked me to marry you.” She called out happily. “In Catalan.” She added, making you both laugh. She kissed every part of your face she could reach.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You asked.

“Sí, sí, sí. A thousand times, sí.” You pulled her down to you, pouring your emotions into a kiss.

After your proposal, Ona was really thinking hard about what to do. She knew you didn’t want something big or public; she didn’t want that either. But she wanted to do something special, something meaningful and heartfelt. Your proposal had been the most perfect thing: unexpected but brilliantly capturing the essence of your relationship. She decided to wait a little while, allowing the suspense and surprise to build.

It was a cold day in Manchester when she decided to pop the question. The pair of you were visiting for the Derby Day match, flying out immediately after your game yesterday. Where better to do it than where you fell in love? She had told Leah her plan ahead of time, knowing she was the most likely to keep her mouth shut. She asked her to call you both onto the pitch and keep everyone out of the changing rooms while she asked.

After watching a rough match, Manchester could be officially named Red again. As you cheered with your United friends and laughed at those from City (kindly, as you kept reminding them), Ona knew she was making the right decision to ask you now. So much had transpired between you two, most of it here in Manchester. At Old Trafford, you had become in-synch on the pitch. At Old Trafford, you had taken those first tentative steps towards something more than a friendship. At Old Trafford, you had witnessed your love grow together.

“Hey, amor. Let’s go wait for the others in el vestuario, si? I want to see if anything’s changed.” She smiled as you nodded, fingers interlinked and arms swinging between you. You had wanted to keep the engagement quiet, at least until she had asked you back, but that didn’t stop her from wearing her ring on a necklace (except when she was at training – she left it, pride of place on her bedside cabinet), carefully tucking it under clothes, letting it dangle close to her heart.

“It’s strange how familiar this all feels. We haven’t played here in years, and yet you and I are walking down the tunnel at Old Trafford with a Manchester painted red. It’s strange but in a good way,” you said as you pushed open the door, guiding her through with a gentle hand on her back like you always used to do.

“Entiendo. But this is where it all started. Where we started.” It was the perfect segue to her asking you. “Mi amor, turn around.” She said as she sank onto one knee. You did, frowning slightly as you weren’t met with those gorgeous eyes.

“Oni,” you gasped as you took in the sight in front of you.

“Mi amor. I have loved you every day for years. I will love you every day for the rest of my life. Et casaràs amb mi?” Her speech wasn’t long or complicated. You knew how much she loved you, and she knew that.

“Oni, I don’t speak Catalan, remember?” You teased, eyes fogging over with unshed tears.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get to use that excuse with me anymore.” She laughed, standing up and holding onto one of your hips. “Will you marry me, amor?” Her voice was so soft and gentle.

“Yes,” you laughed as she slipped the ring onto your finger. “A thousand times, yes.”

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

Telling Lucy

You kept the engagement to yourself for a week. Neither of you wanted to hide it anymore; you wanted to proudly wear your ring. It was a random Tuesday morning as you walked in, hand-in-hand. You pressed a kiss to her temple as you drifted over to Lucy.

“Morning, Luce,” you said, acting as if you weren’t going to get married to the love of your life.

“Morning, kid. You alright?” She asked, clearly distracted by something Keira was showing her.

“Yeh, not bad. I got my nails done after training yesterday. Do you like them?” You stuck your hand under her nose. Keira was the first to spot it. The dainty ruby winking at here even in the fluorescent changing room lighting. Her eyes shot to yours before she looked at Ona, who was standing with Aitana. Ona had chosen a ruby for the stone (she had told you it was because Manchester was red, but she knew it was your favourite), and you had done a similar thing, picking an emerald that stood out against her pale skin.

“You haven’t even looked at them, Luce” Keira helped. God, Lucy could be so thick sometimes.

“What, oh, yeh they’re really …” She trailed off as you wiggled your fingers. “Holy shit.” She shouted. “You’re getting married?”

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

I'm sorry it's long, but I just couldn't figure out which bits to cut and whatnot. Anyways, that's the end of the story. I hope you guys enjoyed it. And thank you for supporting me - it means a lot <;3<3<3

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janeyseymour · 2 months

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Hey an idea for an epilogue to Love Thy Neighbor would be cool to see how they're doing maybe a year later when they've been living together for a while, or when they tell everyone else at Abbott that they're together. No pressure obviously, love the story!

your wish is my command, llama.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12.

Ousted

Summary: the crew finds out that you and Melissa are dating, and have been for quite some time.

WC: ~2.45k

Since Jared’s arrest with the police three months, a lot has happened. Ellie has only continued to grow and flourish into a beautiful seven year old (Melissa absolutely spoiled your daughter on her seventh birthday, claiming that she had six years of birthdays to make up for), you were able to get restraining orders in place against your husband while also getting all of the child support the bastard owed you and then some (thanks to your girlfriend’s connections), and you had moved into the apartment across the hall and in with the redhead of your dreams.

Ellie absolutely loves living with Melissa, although not much has changed even then. Before the three of you lived together, the redhead was often over at your apartment, and your daughter could usually find the two of you in bed sleeping in as much as you could with the little girl running around on Saturday mornings. You still take her the park consistently, and almost all of her routines are the same as they were when you lived in the apartment across the hall. Nevertheless, it doesn’t make your heart absolutely swell when your now seven year old proudly announces, “Mel! I’m home!” on the rare occasion that you and Ellie venture out without your girlfriend before sprinting to wherever the redhead is in the apartment and launching herself into Melissa’s arms.

What hasn’t changed is that only Barbara knows that the two of you are involved romantically. Everybody else just believes that the two of you are quite close and that you carpool to work because you live in the same apartment complex. It’s not that you’re hiding your romantic relationship- it’s just that you’ve never actually bumped into anybody outside of work because while they’re going out to bars, you’re at home or at the park with your girlfriend and daughter. Neither of you are particularly touchy at school either, so while you hold hands at the park or Melissa will set her chin on your shoulder at home, your work crew doesn’t see those soft, warm moments.

But today is terrible for you. You wake up with a groan, and your hand immediately flies to your lower stomach. PMS really is a bitch for you, and it doesn’t matter how many pills you’re on to try to combat those pains. Motherhood doesn’t stop though, and you go to roll out of bed to wake Ellie for school.

But a gentle hand stops you. “I got her today,” Melissa tells you in her deep morning voice. She sits up and runs a hand through her hair before making her way out of the bedroom and into your daughter’s. You hear Ellie squeal with delight at the sight of your girlfriend, and you can’t help the smile that washes over your face.

You know you have to get out of bed though. Work calls, and with the substitute shortage that seems to never end you know you should be there for your kids- even if it means teaching from your chair with the heating pad pressed up against your body nearly all day. So you roll out and get dressed as quickly as you can before heading into the bathroom to fix your face and ridiculous bedhead.

When you make your way into the kitchen, your girlfriend and your daughter are already eating breakfast and there’s a plate and mug of coffee just the way you like it in your spot. There’s also a glass of water, a few pills, and a hot water bottle waiting for you.

“Good morning,” you sigh as you take your place. Melissa immediately leans over and kisses your cheek. Ellie follows suit.

“Good morning, Momma,” your little girl squeaks out through a mouthful of egg.

You smile over at her before reaching for the medication and downing it with a gulp of water. The hot water bottle gets placed where you’re hurting the most, and you groan in discomfort as you pick up your fork.

“That bad, huh?” the redhead looks at you, clearly concerned at the amount of pain you’re in.

“I’ll be fine,” you grumble. “Just don’t let me forget the heating pad when we leave today.”

Melissa gives you a look of pity before finishing off her breakfast. She clears her spot at the dining room table before glancing to your daughter. “Go be a good girl and get ready for school on your own today?”

Ellie finishes off the last of her breakfast and races for her room.

“And brush your hair the right way, El!” your girlfriend calls after her. Ellie’s giggles can be heard from her room.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I don’t know if I could’ve handled getting her up and ready today.”

“Take it easy today, okay?” she tells you before kissing the top of your head. “I’ll take care of El today. All of you have to worry about today is getting through.”

The three of you are out of the apartment and in the car much faster than you had anticipated. And of course, you forgot the heating pad in your bedroom as you head out for the day, your mind only on the hot water bottle in your clutch. You only realize that once you’re in the staff lounge sipping on your second cup of coffee for the day.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, but of course Melissa hears you. So does Ellie.

“Momma, you said a bad word,” your little girl scolds you.

“Momma forgot the heating pad today,” you groan as you hold your stomach.

Ellie purses her lips into a fine line, as does your girlfriend. “Oh.”

“Shit, I’m sorry I forgot to remind you,” the redhead places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she apologizes. “I’ll run back home and pick it up during prep today.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you sigh back. “I can survive the next eight hours.

You indeed, are barely surviving by the time your prep comes around, and your kids head off to their special class without you there to escort them down the halls. They make their way through the building silently, knowing how much you hate when they chatter in the hallways and wanting to make you proud. Of course, on her way back from dropping her own class off, Melissa runs into your class. She finishes taking them down to the music room before making her way into your classroom.

“Y/N? Hun?” your girlfriend knocks on the doorframe lightly, and the sight in front of her nearly breaks her heart. Your curled up in your desk chair as a few tears make their way down your face.

You brush away at your tears quickly, praying she hadn’t seen them. “Hey.”

She makes her way into your room, closing the door behind you. “Babe, are you really hurting that bad?”

You just nod. “I forgot the heating pad, my water bottle is cold, and I thought I had Midol here, but I was wrong.”

“Honey, I can run-”

“You’re not running home and missing your prep period because I’m an idiot,” you groan. “I’ll be fine.”

“At least let me heat up your water bottle for you.” She holds out her hand, expecting you to put the object in her hand.

You sigh in reluctance before giving it to her. “Thank you.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes. Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head. Melissa peers into your coffee mug, which is relatively empty, before plucking it off your desk and heading down the hall for the staff lounge.

She returns a few minutes later, and you give her a grateful smile. She presses a quick kiss to your temple before she pulls a chair up next to yours and starts on her grading as her free hand gently rubs your back. With the warmth of her hand and the bottle pressed up against you, you manage to doze off. You only wake when she shakes your shoulder gently with an apologetic look.

“Huh?” you grumble as you open your eyes blearily. It takes a second for your eyes to focus again, but when they do she’s standing right in front of you with concern in her own sparkling green eyes.

“Babe, you fell asleep,” she tells you. “Are you really sure you’re okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you hum out as you stretch just slightly from being in a ball for the last thirty minutes. You go to stand to pick up your kids, but your girlfriend stops you.

“I got ‘em,” she promises. She returns with your kids a few minutes later.

By lunch, you’re absolutely drained. Your kids were being well-behaved for the most part, but there’s always shit that you have to deal with when it comes to them. You groan as you make your way down to the staff room, and when you expect to see your girlfriend she isn’t there.

“Anyone seen Melissa?” you ask as you grab your lunch from the refrigerator.

“She just left,” Janine says. “Said something about having to run out, but she’ll be back soon.”

You scowl as you sit down in your spot. You know where she went- home to grab your heating pad and Midol.

“Why?” the second grade teacher asks.

You shrug. “Just curious. She normally beats me in here.”

The redhead comes in about ten minutes later with your heating pad in hand. “Hey.” She plugs it in and hands it to you.

Gregory, Janine, and Jacob all give each other questioning looks. Their looks only grow more confused when you take it from her hastily and press it against your abdomen.

“Melissa, I told you not to go home and get it,” you sigh as the pain starts to go away.

She just shrugs and hands you the bottle of pills she brought from home too. And then she presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before turning to get her own lunch.

That has Jacob and Janine’s mouths fall open.

“Close ‘em,” Melissa quips. “You’ll catch flies.”

“What- what was that?” Jacob points between the two of you frantically. “What was that?!”

Melissa rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t give them the response they’re looking for.

“‘Home’?” Janine searches for words. “A kiss on the head? What is going on here?!”

“We’re dating,” you sigh as your eyes flutter closed.

“Dating?” Gregory asks. “As in… you’re seeing each other romantically?”

“That’s kind of what dating means,” you quip.

“Since when?” Jacob asks. “Mel Mel, I thought we were tight!”

“We are, Jacob,” your girlfriend rolls her striking green eyes again as she sits down next to you. Now that the cat is out of the bag, you pull your chair a bit closer to hers and rest your head on her shoulder.

“Since when?” the man asks again.

Melissa takes a bite of her own lunch. “Officially? About nine months. Unofficially? The day I met Y/N and Ellie.” Your girlfriend looks to her work wife with a smile.

“You knew?!” Janine asks Barbara incredulously.

The kindergarten teacher just laughs. “Melissa is my work wife, of course I knew. Why do you think I’m Auntie Barb whenever Ellie sees me now?”

“Oh my god,” Jacob gasps. “It all makes sense now!”

“What’s the commotion?” Ava asks as she waltzes into the staff room.

“Y/N and Melissa are dating,” Barbara tells your boss. “And everyone else just found out.”

Ava gives the two of you a look in approval, not that you see it with your eyes still closed. “Does this mean Melissa is now a milf too?”

“Ava,” Melissa warns lowly.

“What?” the principal asks. “We all knew you was hot, but now you’re like a mother- milf!”

“I am Ellie’s mother,” you grumble as you open your eyes to glare at your boss.

Ava gives you a smirk. “And we all done been knew you was a milf.”

“Ava, I swear to God,” you warn. “I am not in the mood for this right now.” You close your eyes again, and that gets your principal to quiet her mouth. It doesn’t get the others to stop asking questions though.

Melissa answers them, mostly shortly, for the rest of lunch. The bell rings, indicating that the lunch period and recess period is over though, and you groan as you remember you have to get through the rest of your afternoon with the kids.

Thankfully, they’re angels for you, and you have no doubt in your mind that your girlfriend gave the class a talking to while she was bringing them back in from outside.

You head outside a few minutes late to monitor dismissal duty. When you get there, Ellie is already on Melissa’s hip and clinging to her as she animatedly tells the redhead about her day.

“There’s my little girl,” you sigh as you make your way up to them.

“Momma!” your daughter brightens at the sight of you. She reaches for you before remembering that you aren’t in the state where you can really hold her right now while standing up.

“You can cuddle your momma at home,” Melissa promises her. Ellie seems content with that compromise, laying her head down on the second grade teacher’s shoulder.

Dismissal is over not much longer after that, and the three of you head home. Your girlfriend cooks dinner, you get your daughter to do the worksheet that her teacher sent home, and then you curl up on the couch like you usually do after a long day at work. Ellie snuggles right up to you and promptly falls asleep listening to your heartbeat as she watches her beloved Bluey.

Melissa reaches for the remote and lowers the volume of the television before speaking. “So, how do you feel about the group knowing? About us?”

You shrug against her. “I don’t mind- I’m surprised it took them this long to find out actually, but I’m shocked you ousted us with a kiss to my head.”

“You looked like you needed it,” she tells you before pecking your cheek.

You smile. “I did. And, thank you for bringing me the heating pad, as much as I was annoyed you missed some of your lunch.”

“Anything for my girl,” the redhead chuckles against you. “Think you’ll be feeling at least a little better tomorrow?”

“I doubt it,” you sigh. “You know how I am.”

“I do,” your girlfriend frowns just slightly. “We’ll make sure that we don’t forget the heating pad tomorrow though, yeah?”

You nod against her shoulder.

“And if we do, just know that I’ll run home again for you,” she promises you.

TAGS, and lmk if you wanna be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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toorumlk · 1 month

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Hi I'm so freaking obsessed with your twitter.

Also what's your favorite Romione moment in the books and why?

ohohoho thank you, friend, i’m quite proud of some of the stuff i’ve posted on there B)

and as for my favourite romione moment in the books, when i read the question i first blanked out for a couple minutes, thinking of a bunch of smaller, sillier scenes. but then i remembered that i do have a favourite and it’s from chapter 11 of DH, when remus visited the trio at grimmauld place and filled them in on he goings on of the war -including the implementation of the muggle-born registry. ron’s response upon hearing this (after his immediate outrage) was

and it’s not just the hand holding and the “‘you won’t have a choice’ said Ron fiercely” that played out so vividly in my head like this:

but this scene demonstrates so perfectly the political weight of this pairing (muggleborn/blood traitor) which i think is the immovable narrative foundation of romione. all of their silly moments and idiosyncrasies aside, there is genuine narrative purpose behind this love. ron has always had an astute understanding of the blood supremacist politics of the wizarding world (need i remind that he was ready to curse shitco at the ripe age of 12 for calling hermione the in-universe slur) and just how wrong it is. ron is a pure-blood wizard and by design has so much privilege in this society bc of it, but by virtue of having parents like arthur and molly, he’s grown up knowing the importance of fighting against blood supremacist ideology. always.

so, after hearing about the completely horrifying muggleborn registry ("People won't let this happen," said Ron. "It is happening, Ron," said Lupin.), he immediately turns to his muggleborn best friend and love of his life and says “i’m making you a family member, i’m going to use the protection my family-name has and use it to protect you from the awful injustice of our situation, no you won’t have a choice but to let me help you”

i remember having such a… visceral reaction while reading this scene like holy shit .. these kids, THESE KIDS!!!!! this is the bone-marrow-deep love that makes me feel insane. this dynamic of the blood traitor/muggleborn always there, from CoS all the way to the epilogue. We get to see that romione is the story’s pure blood/muggleborn that finally made it (rip jily and tedromeda :(). we see it in hermione keeping her muggle last name after they get married (oh my god these two actually got married) and we also see it in the hyphenated Granger-Weasley (granger being first!) in their kids’ last names (oh my gof these two had TWO kids). they are a true symbol of change and progress in their world.

also this is one of those moments where i’m so glad that our only window to romiones relationship development is through harry’s narration because it so brilliantly shows the readers this blossoming love story instead of just telling us about it because harry obviously doesn’t have access to the inner thoughts of his two best friends, he can only witness them fall deeper in love. showing the audience acts of love is always more powerful and my god is this an act of showing your love to your beloved.

(and not to go on an unrelated tangent, but this is exactly why i could never ship my girl hermione w any DE or DE-adjacent character. no fucking way. not when the concept of a muggle-born registry exists in this universe, not when the antagonists in this story wish to eradicate people like her from their society. idk about the rest of y’all but im going to keep taking the narrative seriously bc the worldbuilding obviously has real world ties/implications and i like engaging with the canon. tangently to the tangent, i saw someone (a ron basher) on twitter say that ron, OUR RON FROM THE ABOVE EXCERPT, was “one bad day away from becoming a death eater” ohhhh ohhh i ought to beat you with sticks bc HUH? this is the same kid who said he would’ve boarded the train back to kings cross if he got sorted to slytherin, the house notorious for birthing DEs, at the tender age of 11)

anyways, all this to say is that romione is incredibly, realistically, materially romantic and i love them and i love their love <3

#romione #harry potter #harry potter and the deathly hallows #pro romione #bc duh #romione meta #hp meta #harry potter meta #toorumlk #nusreplies #my art #bc the hands #ron weasley defense squad

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asterias-record-shop · 1 year

Text

—𓆩[in our next life || EPILOGUE]𓆪—

𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 1.7K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - that I know of, there is none! maybe besides cursing(?) but it's pure fluff, just let me know if you think i should add anything!

Ten years later…

This would be the second rope being tied around your wrist, to the same man. Things were different now; the games were over, Finnick built you that house on the river bank, and you had a son this time too.

Your dress was similar to the one you had before, especially because Cinna designed this one too, but this time, it was much smaller than the ballgown you had before. It was still poofy, yes, but this time it was lined with pearls taken from your first dress in strands of gold. Your hair was pulled into your preferred style, a flower crown of white camellias, pearls stranded in your hair as well.

You probably loved this more than your first outfit, a white bouquet in your hands as well. You were going to cry even more this time, you were sure of it. When someone knocks, you turn with a quick confirmation for them to come in, Katniss peeking her head inside. “Someone wants to see you…”

You giggled as your son ran in, gasping loudly. “Momma, you look so pweety!”

You laughed at his childish dialect, smoothing down the front of your dress. “Yeah? You think papa will like it?”

He nods his head vigorously. “Yeah! And if he doesn’t, he’s crazy!”

You giggled, offering your empty hand. “Wanna walk mommy down the aisle?”

He continues to nod, running over. “Momma, I’m glad you’re getting remarried. That bracelet is dirty.”

You laughed, nodding with him. “Is it baby? Well good thing papa’s getting me another one, right?”

“Yeah!”

You named your son Atlas, and for heaven's sake, he came out exactly like Finnick. Golden hair and bright sea blue eyes, a perfect smile and the freckles you loved since you were a child.

He takes your hand, leading you out the room as Katniss follows behind. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

You smiled back at her, giggling. “Thank you, Katniss.”

You walked out the back door, stepping down the steps of the large wrap around porch Finnick had built himself. The second you stepped into the meadow of different kinds of wildflowers, all of the memories came flooding back.

“Finnick, we’re not supposed to be here!”

You whisper yelled at him as he dragged you to the edge of District 4, laughing.

“So? Come on, we’re almost there!” He pulls you harder, groaning. “Y/N, don’t be a scaredy-cat!”

You groaned. “My mother will kill me.”

He snorts. “Fuck your mother.”

You gasped, slapping his bicep before he sharply tugs you forward, a gasp falling from your lips before you screamed out as you both began rolling down the hill. His hand keeps your face in his neck as he laughs, your arms wrapping around him as his other hand holds your side.

You finally get to the bottom, Finnick laughing like the funniest thing in the world just happened as you sit on his chest, looking down at your grass stained dress. The Reaping would happen in a few days, and your mother had just bought you this dress. She would kill you if you came home like this.

“Finnick, my dress is all dirty!” You whine as he sits up.

“You’re so over dramatic, darling. We can clean it when we get back, look at all the flowers,” he says, smiling as he picks one and puts it behind your ear. “I know they’re your favorite.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you picked one and tucked it behind his ear. “My favorite wildflower, Finnick. Not my favorite in general.”

He laughed, clearing his throat. “My apologies, your majesty, your favorite wildflower. Is there any way you could possibly forgive me?”

You giggle, humming. “I mean… I guess so,” you say, making him grin before you boop his nose. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

He starts to blush, but hums. “Oh yeah? What?”

You purse your lips, letting out a soft ‘hmph’ as you fix yourself on Finnick’s lap. “Well, if I’m your highness, that means I’m queen, right?”

He purses his lips in response, nodding. “Yes, it does.”

“Well then, you can be my knight. To protect me and stay with me for the rest of my life. Sounds good?”

He smiled widely, nodding. “Sounds good. I’ll be your knight, Y/N?”

You put up your hand, offering your pinky. “Promise?”

He smiled, nodding as he wrapped his pinky around yours before pushing his hand up. “Lock it.”

You do, watching as he kissed your overlapping thumbs before doing the same. “You can’t break it now, Finnick!”

He nods before smirking. “Y’know, we just shared saliva.”

Your brow ruffled. “No we didn’t.”

“You kissed after me,” he teased, chuckling. “That means you got some of my saliva in your mouth.”

You blushed madly, quickly wiping your lips. “Finnick! Don’t say that!”

He laughed as he pressed his face into your neck. “Oh come on! Knights and queens belong together.”

You purse your lips. “No, kings and queens belong together.”

“Knights and queens make better pairs,” he says immediately before humming. “Y/N, I want to do something.”

Your brow ruffled. “Okay?”

He shook his head. “With you. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop and I will, I promise, but I’ve been wanting to do it with you for a while.”

You nodded. “Okay, I will. What is it, Finnick?”

He blushed madly, cheeks turning a bright red as he looked away. “C-Can you close your eyes?”

You do, closing them tightly before something soft lands on your lips. You don’t realize it at first, but Finnick was kissing you. Your lifelong crush was kissing you.

You don’t open your eyes until he pulls away, slowly finding his eyes as he swallows. “W-Was that okay?”

You look at him confused. “Did you just kiss me, Finnick?”

He looked away, mumbling under his breath. “Yeah, yeah I did,” he was blushing madly. “I just… I‘ve been wanting to do it for a while and-”

You pressed your lips to his before he could even finish, holding his cheeks before pulling away. It was soft and quick, but that’s all you really needed. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you rub them softly, clearing your throat. “I uhm… you don’t have to ask next time.”

He starts to smile. “So I can kiss you whenever I want?”

You shove him. “Of course not, dummy! We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend!”

His smile falls. “Why not?”

Your brow furrowed. “You… you want to be?”

“Yeah, I do,” he says quickly, fixing the flower over your ear. “I want to love you until the end of time.”

“Forever?” You ask and he nods.

“And when we meet again in our next life.”

You inhaled shakily as you stood at the end of the white carpet rolled out between the chairs of people, only the most significant you truly wanted to come. Finnick stood on the dock, hands ringing together nervously before he saw you. His jaw drops as he stares, Cinna grinning as he stands between him and where you were going to stand.

Mags had sadly died a few months before Atlas was born, peacefully with you and Finnick by her side. Of course you were heartbroken, but you also knew you would meet again in your next life.

The drums started to play as Atlas tugged on your hand making you look down at him.

“Mama, are you okay? Daddy’s crying.”

You look at Finnick who, sure enough, had tears rolling down his cheeks before he wiped at them.

“Yes baby,” you whisper, your own eyes filling with tears. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m amazing, I’m so, so happy.”

“Well, come on!”

You laughed as he tugged you down the aisle, waving at everyone as Haymitch and Effie grin at you. You smiled widely at them, wiping at your cheeks as you finally got to the dock where the drums stopped.

Atlas ran around you both, running to Cinna who sighed loudly.

“And at last, the day has finally come,” he says, announcing it to everyone here. “Where the King and Queen of Panem are getting married again.”

You can feel the rope being wrapped around you both, your hand holding one end as you stare up at Finnick who leaned his forehead against yours. Cinna continues to speak as Finnick takes the other end, Katniss and Peeta stepping forward to do the same thing they did the first time, but this time, they cut off the previous rope from your wrists before melting the second one around again.

“I have a gift for you both,” Cinna says as the rope stays wrapped around you both, slowly taking a box from his pocket before opening it. “To add onto your rings.”

You gasped as he took out two more rings, one a thinner band with a pearl on it made for Finnick while the other was a vine-shaped gold with a pearl on it as well. He slips them both onto your fingers as you look up at Finnick, eyes watering as he sighed. “I fucking love you, Y/N Odair. I love you so much.”

You giggled, stroking his cheek. “I love you, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and in our next life.”

He sighs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Until the end of time and in our next life, darling.”

“Give her a real kiss, Finnick!” Effie shouts, Atlas groaning in disgust as Finnick pulls his hand from the rope, both of his strong palms resting on your jaw as he pulls you closer, kissing you passionately.

You could taste the slight saltiness from the tears, but you groaned against his lips as you pulled him closer, lower. Everyone cheers as Atlas groans once again.

“Stop being nasty!”

You giggle as you pull away, smiling up at him again. “I love you too, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and when we meet in our next life.”

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪 𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪 𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪 𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪 𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪 𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪 𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪 𓆩[@c78r]𓆪

In our next life taglist: 𓆩[@poppet05]𓆪 𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪 𓆩[@jewelrybean25]𓆪 𓆩[@arzua10]𓆪 𓆩[@savagemickey03]𓆪 𓆩[@ok-boke]𓆪 𓆩[@instabull]𓆪 𓆩[@maxinehufflepuffprincess]𓆪 𓆩[@starryeddie]𓆪 𓆩[@ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations]𓆪 𓆩[@taestrwbrry]𓆪 𓆩[@iveraly]𓆪 𓆩[@b1llzb1tch]𓆪 𓆩[@avoxrising]𓆪 𓆩[@aquawhore]𓆪 𓆩[@luna-ann]𓆪 𓆩[@maliaaaa]𓆪 𓆩[@jyessaminereads]𓆪 𓆩[@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere]𓆪 ��[@crowleysqueenofhell]𓆪 𓆩[@alexa-33]𓆪 𓆩[@wh0re4life]𓆪 𓆩[@duwcsd]𓆪 𓆩[@nyainterlu4ee]𓆪 𓆩[@magical-spit]𓆪

omg. OMG. THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! OMG!

This is the last chapter, omg. With a heavy heart, this is (kinda) the end! I will start taking requests for Finnick in this universe, the link to request is in at the top! Don't be shy my loves!

719 notes · View notes

elyvorg · 3 months

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Kieran Part Bonus: I AM SO PROUD OF MY BOY

And now for my really actually final analysis post about Kieran, covering both the epilogue and also his scenes in the League Club room once you’ve finished that. Somehow both of these relatively short pieces of content still managed to be packed with delightful nuance showcasing both how Kieran’s still struggling with his issues and yet also how much he’s grown since his main arc. They are absolutely lovely and fill me with so many warm happy feelings about my boy.

Honestly, it’s remarkable, not just from a Pokémon-writing perspective but as a piece of fiction in general, to have this kind of satisfying follow-up for a character arc. Usually once a character’s arc reaches a resolution, their story just ends there, and we don’t get to see more of how they’re processing what they’ve been through and learning to grow further in the aftermath. So it’s a really wonderful breath of fresh air to get to see something like that for once here with Kieran! The Pokémon writers absolutely did not have to make the epilogue and postgame content focused on showcasing this, and yet they did. I am, once again, pleasantly boggled by how much they cared about doing Kieran’s story justice. Just, wowzers, man. There really is no more appropriate word for my amazement than that.

(This is an epilogue, if you will, to my previous two analysis posts discussing Kieran’s character arc in The Teal Mask and The Indigo Disk! Reading those before this is probably recommended.)

Before even getting into things that are strictly from the epilogue itself, can I just say: I really love that Kieran took a mental health break from Blueberry Academy to give him some time to process things? (Okay, the game only calls it a “break”, but let’s be real, it is for his mental health, and this is Good.) It just makes me very happy that the writing acknowledged that he’d probably need something like that after what he’s been through instead of going straight back to business as normal at school – and in an in-story sense, it’s lovely that Kieran realised he needed this and didn’t try and force himself to just keep going as if nothing had happened. He’s starting to learn to take care of himself and not push himself way too hard!

Making new friends

The first lovely sign of Kieran’s growth that we see in the epilogue is that, not only does he want to catch up with you, he also wants to meet your friends from Paldea! He must have spent some time during his break thinking about the fact that you mentioned you had friends from there.

And the thing is, with Kieran’s insecurities, it would have been so easy for him to slip into a mindset of “your friends are probably way cooler than me, why would you need me”. But instead of letting himself get caught up in that jealousy spiral again, he fought against it and did the healthy thing of asking to meet them himself. Hopefully he can become friends with them too and then he’ll have nothing to feel jealous about! He outright says when he meets them, “Any friend of [yours] is a friend of mine!” Look at him go. (Arven should take notes on how not to act insecure about one’s best friend having other friends, because damn, Kieran’s managing to be more well-adjusted than him now.)

All this is also just a sign that Kieran’s hoping to try and make more friends in general. He’s such an introvert that he must have figured that’d be easier for him to do with people for whom he has a mutual friend to get to know them through. Plus, if they’re your friends, then he already has a guarantee that they’ll be good and nice people. Way more manageable for him than trying to approach complete randos.

And really, it’s such a huge remarkable thing for Kieran that he is trying to make friends now. Friends, plural! This is the kid who used to be so lonely and shunned by others that his big dream was to one day be like the ogre who, according to him, doesn’t care that it’s all alone. And maybe then, if he managed that, he’d be able to befriend the ogre – just that one other person who is also alone and outcast. It never even crossed his mind to try and imagine that one day he could be confident and worthy enough to just… have some human friends. That wasn’t even an option in his head – it was “learn to not care that he’s alone” or nothing.

And yet look at Kieran now, actively reaching out to try and make new friends! I am so proud of him.

Learning to ask for help

Soon after you meet up with Kieran, it becomes apparent that something is Very Wrong with his sister. According to Kieran’s account, it was shortly after he sent you the letter that Carmine became possessed, so it’s not that the letter was secretly a call for help in which he couldn’t bring himself to admit the actual problem.

And even now that you’re here… Kieran wasn’t going to tell you about this problem at all until Carmine happened to wander up and start mochi-dancing in front of you. He tries to play the whole thing off like it’s totally normal and she’s definitely just… excited to see you???, even though he has to know that doesn’t make any sense at all. On some level this is just because it’s really scary to admit to himself that something is very wrong and he doesn’t have a clue how to fix it. But it’s also because… he still doesn’t feel like he has the right to ask you and your friends for help.

This is one of the ways in which Kieran’s issues and low sense of self-worth from before are still lingering and have not just been magically, instantly fixed. While he may be making a conscious effort to fight through his insecurities to try and make more friends, he hasn’t started consciously tackling everything that was holding him back just yet. It seems like he imagines that asking your friends for help, these people he’s only just met, would just make him a burden on them and maybe spoil any chance he had of actually becoming their friend himself. (Although, even if you’d come to visit him alone, I suspect he’d still struggle to ask even just you for help, simply due to his old ingrained mindset that he’s not worthy enough to deserve it.)

Happily for Kieran, your friends are all good people who instantly unthinkingly offer to help without him even needing to ask them! Kieran’s sheer surprise and gratitude when this happens is so telling about his insecurities for why he didn’t feel he could ask, but it’s also lovely to see him starting to realise that his instinctive way of thinking about this is mistaken. Welcome to having friends, Kieran, this is how it works actually! Most people are good and will be happy to help out a friend in need! It’s okay to need help sometimes!

There’s another very innocuous line that I find interestingly telling about Kieran’s mindset regarding this. When you’re all at the community centre wanting to use the TV, Kieran laments that it’s stuck playing the tourism ad because the caretaker hid the remote, so Arven immediately suggests you all look for it. And Kieran reacts, in surprise, “Why didn’t I think of that?” It reads as largely rhetorical, but… it’s a good question.

Why didn’t Kieran think of just trying to find the remote? Because he’s spent so long stuck in a mindset where, if things are bad for him, it’s just what he deserves for being weak and there’s nothing he can do about it. His response to his problems during the main storyline was to completely separately fixate on making himself Stronger so that, in theory, problems would just stop happening to him entirely. It never occurred to him to try and just face and deal with his problems directly – at least not until the climactic battle with Terapagos, which was the first time he ever found the courage to take such an approach – so the notion to do so still isn’t quite habitual in his mind just yet.

Hopefully Kieran asking why he didn’t think of that wasn’t quite so rhetorical, and he was reflecting on it himself a little when he said it. He ought to realise that actually, taking action to directly solve his problems is a good thing and something he should strive to do more! He has already begun to do so in some ways by reaching out in an attempt to make more friends, at least.

Solving the problem

Kieran sure does get a lot more practice at Directly Solving Problems thanks to the events that go on to occur that night, doesn’t he. I love that the epilogue’s plot, while ostensibly just there to give players an opportunity to catch Pecharunt, is also a narrative that exists to let Kieran get to be a hero alongside you.

It’s somewhat low key, but Kieran definitely gets pretty freaked out about everything that’s happening. Which is really perfectly reasonable – though the effects of the possession are incredibly silly, it’s still got to be genuinely frightening to see people he knows getting controlled against their will by some unknown force, especially when this includes his own family. (One detail I love is that the game uses that lack of a highlight in his eyes during certain lines to communicate the fear he's feeling and trying not-so-successfully to hide; it’s a small thing, but it works so well.)

Once you’ve fought off his possessed grandparents, Kieran starts to panic, convinced it’s only a matter of time before it gets him (even though the evidence of how exactly the possession occurs is right there if he’d just stop to think about it for a moment). On some level, he must still have this sense that, if it can get all these people he looks up to, surely it’ll get him too who’s so much weaker than them. His inferiority complex is still there and affecting him, especially in this stressful situation.

Good thing Kieran has you by his side, the strongest coolest friend ever whom he knows he can rely on! If you hadn’t been there to reassure him and snap him out of it, he really might have lost himself to his panic. Or he might have just not even tried to battle the possessed people and do something about all of this in the first place – see the earlier point about how him facing problems directly is still not instinctive to him. He’s able to do so here, but a lot of that is probably thanks to being able to follow your lead. Still, this is bound to help him get better at doing so on his own in future!

Kieran’s also still a bit too liable to feel like things are his fault even when they really aren’t. He blames himself for not warning Arven and Penny about the mochi in time, even though he was literally about to do so when Pecharunt showed up and sniped mochi directly into their mouths. That can’t be called Kieran’s fault at all! He tried! (And, hey, it’s not like you made any attempt to warn them either.) But he still feels responsible for it anyway.

And he’s also still rather defeatist when it comes to facing Strong Opponents in battle. Kieran couldn’t defeat Nemona earlier in the day, so when it comes down to facing off against her in order to get to Pecharunt, he just feels like he can’t do it, end of. Really, that’s not necessarily the case – since this is an emergency and not a friendly battle for sport, there’s no reason you have to beat Nemona in a fair 6-on-6. Anything to get past her will do; the two of you could have taken her on in a 12-on-6 double battle, perhaps! Kieran did not need to momentarily feel useless in this situation, but he did, because not being able to win against someone still equates in his mind to being No Good At All. Kieran, nooo.

Happily, the narrative provides Kieran with something else to do with himself while you fight Nemona so that he is very decidedly not useless in the slightest – fighting off the entire town’s worth of people behind you??? That is equally as necessary as taking down Nemona, something without which you’d never have managed to get to Pecharunt, and it must take some incredible battling skill to be able to hold off that many opponents at once. Like, dang, Kieran. I really hope he’s able to reflect on this in the aftermath and realise how incredibly strong and cool that was of him, because it was.

(He was holding his own one-against-many, just like he always admired Ogerpon for doing!)

Kieran’s fear and pessimism also show through just a tiny bit as you’re fighting Pecharunt at the end, when he reacts to the fact that you were able to damage it. Apparently he was afraid that this thing would be completely invulnerable and it just wouldn’t be possible for even someone as amazing as you to beat it and stop the curse. Yikes, that must have been a scary thought. But still, it all worked out in the end! Kieran’s learning that even when things are scary and feel overwhelming, by facing up to them and doing his best, it’ll usually turn out okay! Especially because he’s not alone and has friends by his side to support him now.

And, hey, one way or another, it seems like the events of the epilogue did help give Kieran that last little push he needed to decide to go back to Blueberry Academy! I imagine he was already thinking about doing so – he is actually a very stubborn and determined person at his core, so I don’t think he could ever have been considering just giving up on it – but all of this probably helped give him the confidence to make that leap. The thought of apologising to everyone for how he acted must still be incredibly daunting – but, he’s begun to realise that he can face scary things!

His old Kitakami team

During the epilogue’s battles, I was absolutely delighted to see Kieran send out Poliwrath, one of the Pokémon he used in Teal Mask but not in Indigo Disk – because this is proof that he’s been reconnecting with the Pokémon friends he left behind back then! As it turns out, the rest of his team for these multi battles is the same as his Champion team, with only the Polis switched, but even so, Poliwrath’s presence is enough to be a promising sign for all of his old Pokémon friends.

And this gets further confirmed by his dialogue with Arven in the clubroom! Arven asks Kieran which of his Pokémon he’s closest to, and he mentions his Hydrapple (which has been with him since it was an Applin), his Poliwrath and Politoed, his Yanmega, and his Furret! This accounts for all of the Pokémon Kieran had in his Teal Mask battles up to the third one, after which he started to fixate hard on getting stronger to prove himself to you, so these are likely all of the Pokémon that were friends of his from the start. And he still considers them friends now, which means he reconnected with them all and apologised as necessary for any leaving them behind/thinking they were weak/etc that he might have done! Yes good, Justice For Furret was had, I could not be happier.

(Okay, we never saw the second Poli back then, but the way he talks about both Polis together suggests they’re a pair, so I imagine they were both his friends back then, too. He also never used Applin against you before evolving it into Dipplin – which is fair, Applin is very not good in battles – so the lack of us seeing another Poliwag/whirl is probably because he felt he needed to use a diverse team that didn’t have two of the same species. He doesn’t have to battle with all of his Pokémon for them to still be his friends, after all! He still doesn’t battle with most of them now in the clubroom battles either, which use his same Champion team, but that doesn’t stop them from being his precious pals!)

(On the other hand, since there is no sign nor mention of them in the postgame, I suspect that, like Cramorant before them, his Gliscor, Shiftry and Probopass from the final Kitakami battle got released. Kieran would have only had them for like a day or two during the events of Teal Mask, since he only caught them after he fixated on getting stronger, so I doubt he’d grown very attached to them during that time. Still, that’s okay, because hey, he did make them stronger, which is probably all they ever expected from him when they joined his team.)

Nemona is Good

One extremely delightful aspect of the epilogue and beyond is Kieran’s interactions with Nemona. It turns out that her outlook on battling is exactly the kind of thing Kieran needed to help regain a healthier view on it himself!

His feelings about his own battling skills are still very all-or-nothing at the beginning of the epilogue. When Nemona excitedly declares that she’s heard he’s really good at battling, Kieran’s pretty dismissive of that idea. He couldn’t beat you, therefore that means he’s Not Good At It, right? (Kieran, no.) He also says that Nemona “destroyed” him once they’ve battled – but based on the fact that she has nothing but praise for how good he is, I very strongly suspect that he actually gave her a really tough fight, and he only framed it that negatively because losing at all still makes his inferiority complex blow things way out of proportion.

Happily, delightfully, Nemona tells Kieran exactly what he has always needed to hear this whole time, which is that it shouldn’t matter whether you win or lose, because battles are fun either way! And with a moment to reflect on that, he agrees… yeah, they are, he had a lot of fun!

We’d heard from Drayton that Kieran was always a kid who’d deeply enjoyed battling, from the very beginning. But it seems that somewhere along the way he’d stopped loving it so much, at least when he’s the one battling - probably because he’d often lose, which would trigger his inferiority complex and make him feel bad. We only saw a small glimpse of his passion for battling ourselves at the beginning of Teal Mask, mostly when he watched you battle his sister, and a little bit in his own early battles with you, but he still felt bad over losing, poor kid.

But with Nemona’s help, Kieran’s been able to remember just how much he always loved battling and can just enjoy himself with it again! In your clubroom battles with him, he has a line just before he Terastallises where he says “these feelings never change” – and though he doesn’t specify what feelings he’s talking about, the one thing about Kieran that has never changed this entire time, even if he sort of lost sight of it for a while along the way, is the thrill he gets from battling! He also says in another line that he’s “having a blast” – which is phrasing that Nemona uses that Kieran never has before, so apparently he picked that up from her? Aww. I am so glad he could meet her; she is exactly the breath of battle-loving fresh air he always needed.

Kieran’s clubroom conversation with Nemona is also very good and helps him let go of his all-or-nothing mindset a little more. Nemona praises him for how quickly he climbed the ranks of the BB League, which he insists is meaningless because he pushed himself unhealthily hard and then still couldn’t beat you in the end. But Nemona helps him reframe it and think of it as: he was incredibly dedicated, and it must mean he really loves Pokémon and battling, which is true! This has to help Kieran view his training arc in a more positive light instead of focusing on the negative aspects like his toxic obsession and lack of self-care. Hopefully if/when he starts training hard again, he’ll be able to feel better about it and not associate it with all the bad things, thanks to Nemona! (But also, Kieran, please remember to not neglect self-care again, that was bad. I imagine he has indeed got the message about that, since the way he talks about that aspect in this conversation seems tinged with regret.)

Carmine is Trying

Another thing we see in the epilogue – admittedly only a small glimpse near the end, but it’s something – is that Kieran’s relationship with his sister seems to have gotten a little bit healthier? They each make equal-opportunity Sibling Banter jabs at each other, and Kieran doesn’t slump and shrink and look so defeated when she bites back against one of his. There’s probably still some ways to go here on their dynamic becoming completely truly healthy, but it’s definitely progress from before, which is good to see.

I think Carmine really must have reflected on her role in Kieran’s breakdown and is trying in her own fumbling awkward way to do better by him now. A delightful sign of this is one of her scenes in the clubroom, in which she resolves to be less protective of Kieran, even if it’ll make her lonelier without him around as much. That’s exactly what she needs to do! After all, this whole thing started because Carmine couldn’t bear to let her brother endure even the tiniest amount of badfeels that would have come from learning he happened to miss out on meeting the ogre. Carmine has realised on some level that she needs to have more faith in Kieran and his ability to endure and get through stuff on his own, rather than trying too hard to protect him from everything ever, which just results in coddling him and stifling his possibility for growth. She still does want to look out for him from a distance and be able to help if he really does need it, but she’s trying not to overdo it any more. Yes good, I am proud of her too.

Reconciling with his schoolmates

I said already in the Indigo Disk post that it’s incredibly brave of Kieran to resolve to apologise to everyone he hurt and make amends, and this is still true. That has to have been so scary, but he went and did it anyway! It seems he even apologised to the people who cared about him, such as his sister and Amarys, for worrying them with his behaviour – which also means he has managed to comprehend the fact that people cared about him, even back then when he was at his most unlikeable.

And by the sounds of what he says in his clubroom scenes, most people took his apologies well and are talking to him like normal now, which has to have been such a relief. It means a lot that Kieran wasn’t expecting anything of the sort and apologised anyway despite expecting backlash, simply because it was the right thing to do – but hey, most people are nice and can probably tell he was decidedly Not Himself during that time and are willing to put the past behind them! Social interaction isn’t quite as scary as he’d used to think, it turns out!

Even then, some things are still a bit weird, and with how far-reaching his impact as Champion was, Kieran’s bound to keep having to deal with this for a while. There must keep being more people he was a jerk to that he still hasn’t apologised to yet, people being intimidated by him because they don’t realise he’s changed, constant reminders of some of the hurtful things he said and did back then. Making amends is going to be a pretty long-term thing, but Kieran is putting in the effort to do so all the same, because it’s the right thing to do, and he is so brave.

Someone who is making this harder than it needs to be is Drayton, because of freaking course he is. He still insists on rubbing in the “ex-Champ” thing, even though Kieran has made it clear he does not appreciate being called that (of course, he no longer minds that he’s not Champion any more, but the fact that Drayton insists on constantly reminding him of his past self has to sting). On the one hand, Drayton is still concerned about Kieran in his own way, because he does effectively ask if Kieran’s eating better meals now, but on the other hand their entire clubroom interaction features him deliberately dodging Kieran’s genuine attempts to just engage with him in an effort to make amends, and, geez. This is exactly what he wanted from Kieran all along, and yet he is somehow still not satisfied. Seriously, Drayton.

At least Drayton is the only one of the Elite Four to be like this, and the others seem to be on good terms with Kieran now! Look at Lacey insisting that the past is in the past when Kieran acts confused that she’d want to help him after he was such a jerk to her. (Someone needs to take notes there, Drayton.) And it seems like Kieran’s got another good friend in Crispin, who’s in the same class as him! Our boy is making so many new friends and it is wonderful.

Of course, his insecurities are still around, and he’s still a little too liable to assume he’s doing something Wrong in social situations, as we see in a couple of his clubroom interactions. That one with Arven about his Pokémon is an example, as Arven phrased things as if he expected Kieran to have just one single closest Pokémon buddy, and Kieran seemed to feel bad that he actually had multiple candidates and couldn’t pick – but happily, Arven reassured him that it’s cool to not be able to choose, too! And in Kieran’s interaction with Crispin, he reflexively apologises for not having watched the latest episode of a show, but Crispin calls him out on the apology, and Kieran is able to question himself as to why he apologised and conclude that he didn’t need to, because it’s not like Crispin’s going to mind.

He is learning! He does not need to feel like he has to perfectly match his conversation partner’s expectations in order to be their friend! Kieran’s approach to his own issues has become so healthy and filled with self-reflection and growth, and I am so proud of him.

Friendship with you

Kieran is also able to be a whole lot healthier about his friendship with you, now that you’re properly friends again after everything! Possibly my favourite completely innocuous line in the epilogue is when he casually mentions that you and he became friends during the school trip to Kitakami. This is actually huge, because Kieran had spent so long utterly convinced that you couldn’t possibly have meant it when you called him a friend back then, not after the lie and all of his issues about being too weak to deserve it. But now, he’s been able to reflect on that and realise… of course you meant it. Of course you always wanted to be his friend, right from the very beginning! It wasn’t on purpose of you that he got left out of meeting Ogerpon at all, because you’re a good person and you wouldn’t do something like that, and he never actually deserved that after all.

(Perhaps sometime during his break, he had a proper talk with his sister about what happened and why she lied, and Carmine finally got to fully express that you and she never meant to hurt him and shun him with that.)

Kieran is still not over his idolisation of you, mind you. He reacts to you being the one to find the TV remote of all completely mundane things with “Wowzers! ‘Course you found it first!” – which, really isn’t a wowzers or an of course? Your magical protagonist powers do not and should not extend to this, and yet they still do in Kieran’s head. But even though he still views you this way, Kieran is so much healthier about it now. He’s no longer bitter and jealous and beating himself up for not being as perfect as he thinks you are, since nobody is (not even you, not really) – instead, he’s just so incredibly thrilled that he actually gets to be friends with someone so cool!

I really love that the devs went and gave Kieran a new losing animation for his clubroom battles, too. His previous ones always had him being varying levels of upset about losing, but not any more! He just stares in wide-eyed awe at your amazingness, and then breaks into a big smile and thanks you for the battle, because he still had great fun even though he lost! And he’s able to freely admit that he looks up to you because you’re so strong, or, in an optional line in the epilogue, he admits that he’s jealous that your friends are all really good people. He still has those feelings, but he’s able to healthily express them now without letting them twist him into something harmful.

It seems like he’s still a little insecure about if he deserves to be friends with you, though, based on a few small things. When he asks you for a trade in the clubroom, he appears hesitant to ask, as if he’s not sure he has the right to, and if you say no – even though there’s every chance this is just because you want some time to decide on an appropriately special Pokémon to give him – he slumps, probably having had his sensitivity to rejection triggered. And even once you’ve traded, he can later ask if you’re absolutely sure he can really keep the Pokémon you traded him, because he can’t quite believe he could get to have such a cool gift from you of all people. Aww, Kieran. Hopefully his hypothetical future interactions with you will help squash this insecurity of his further, because he deserves to feel comfortable in his friendship with his best friend!!!

Ogerpon

Another seemingly-innocuous but extremely good line in the clubroom is that Kieran can ask you if Ogerpon’s doing well and say that he thinks she’ll be pretty happy with you. He says this in a completely casual way, with no hint of bitterness – which tells us that he’s no longer jealous that you caught Ogerpon! It makes sense that he wouldn’t be, because he doesn’t need her acknowledgement any more like he used to think he did in order to feel worth something. He’s already got acknowledgement and self-worth and happiness now for so many other reasons, after all! So he can just be selflessly happy for Ogerpon that she’s found a trainer she can feel safe and happy with too, without being irrationally preoccupied over what she thinks of him.

It is interesting to see in this dialogue that Kieran initially calls her “the ogre” before correcting himself to “Ogerpon” – apparently, he’s only quite recently made an effort to shift what he calls her in his head. It’s true that in his reaction to her in the Champion battle, he did indeed just call her “the ogre”. It’d make sense that he didn’t actually work to shift his mental idea of what to call her during his Indigo Disk arc, despite knowing her species name, because the name “Ogerpon” likely brought back too many painful reminders of everything that happened in Kitakami. It was probably easier for him to just stick with “the ogre” and try to forget anything had changed. But he’s okay with what happened now!

And maybe Kieran trying to make a habit of using her name now is a sign that he’s started to realise that Ogerpon is her own individual who’s not quite the same as the mental image he always had of what “the ogre” was like? Maybe. It’s hard to be sure. Unfortunately the epilogue/postgame can’t do much with Ogerpon because it’s always optional for her to be on your team or even in your game at all (since you could in theory have released her or traded her away). But we can at least hypothetically imagine that in Kieran’s continued interactions with you, he’ll get the chance to hang out with Ogerpon a little and come to understand her better. It certainly seems now that he’d be able to hang out with both you and her without feeling uncomfortably jealous, which is a good start! (And Terapagos is on the list of ‘people’ he owes an apology to, so let’s imagine he gets a chance to do that, too.)

Moving forward

The “climax”, such as there is one, of Kieran’s mini-arc of scenes in the clubroom is him excitedly telling you that he’s had the BB League drop him from their rankings. Although your character seems a little bewildered by it (they are still a bit of a social dumbass), this is in fact an extremely good thing for Kieran! He’s taking a step back from the competitive side of things for the sake of his mental health, so that he can untangle himself from the toxically-obsessive mindset that he was in back when he was only focused on winning! Look at Kieran doing all this good self-reflection and self-care, it is so lovely to see. He doesn’t even seem to view this as any sign of him failing, either – he’s just comfortably acknowledging that he needs to do this for now for his own sake and there’s no shame in that.

Kieran seems pretty sure that he is going to want to get back into competing once he’s cleared his head a bit, but he’s already so much more casual and healthy about it! He says he’s going to shoot for the Champion title again, and even if you respond with a friendly taunt of “You still won’t beat me!”, he takes it so well. He’s genuinely okay now with the thought that he might never quite be good enough to beat you – he just wants to have fun trying. Look at how far he’s come!

In the meantime, while he sorts his head out, he just wants to spend time with his Pokémon (who mean a lot to him as far more than just sources of battling strength!) and his human friends (whom he has so many of now???) and figure out what he really wants to do with himself from here. Good for him!

Kieran’s still just a kid, and seeing him already learn how to grow from his mistakes and face up to his lingering issues and be just so emotionally healthy about things now is such a promising sign for wherever he’s going to end up in future. I love that the epilogue and these postgame clubroom scenes put so much effort into showing us this about Kieran now, reassuring us that he really is going to be okay. I truly could not be more proud of or happy for my boy.

#pokemon #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #the hidden treasure of area zero #mochi mayhem #pokemon kieran #kieran pokemon #trainer kieran #rival kieran #character analysis #ramble #friends

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rorywritesjunk · 6 months

Text

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up.

This is the last chapter with the epilogue at the end. This has been a lot of fun to write and I've enjoyed it so much, thank you all for reading it and replying! I've loved responding to you all. So thank you thank you thank you. I liked how this chapter wrapped things up. Moments go a little quick but that was the intention. Nothing was to really be drawn out.

Title comes from “Sailing Song” by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu @fluffybunnyu @skyofsteel @lavalampskyy @gingernut1314 @ane5e @madam-o @the-angriest-angel

Chapter Six

Your husband decided to stay back on the ship while you and the kid went into the town. His excuse was he needed to get the crew ready or something, but you didn’t push him for a real reason. Part of you wanted him with you when you went into town because you didn’t know what to expect. Would some kind of portal open up and tear the kid away from you, kicking and screaming, or would it happen in an instant, like when he first appeared? You were going to cry either way, you just wish you had some kind of idea of what to expect.

But you also didn't want Buggy coming because again, what if some portal opened up and tore your husband away from you as well as the kid? You didn't want him disappearing on you at all so you just gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading off the ship with the kid.

“I think that the table was over here.” Kid Buggy said as he held your hand, leading you down a street. You knew what he was looking for but you let him take charge, wondering if he knew here to look. The table wouldn’t be there anymore, it hadn’t been since you turned 14 and left to start your apprenticeship and your parents moved elsewhere. They still made jewelry and sold it, but in another town on another island.

It was hard not to tell him everything, because even though Buggy said he doesn’t remember anything about this whole ordeal, what if this was different? What if something was triggered that changed the course of the kid’s life from this moment forward? You didn’t want to take the risk. You loved your life, your husband, and the life you two had together. Nothing could change that, so you never told Kid Buggy that he stole from your parents, or that he would become a Devil Fruit user at a young age (he never questioned Buggy’s head popping off his body during their first meeting), nor did Buggy ever tell him what happened between him and Shanks.

“You think so?” You replied as you followed after, smiling down at him as he turned his head in every direction, a look of concentration on his cute face as he tried to remember where to go. He stopped a few times, looking around, wondering where to turn. You were patient, giving his hand a squeeze whenever he’d start walking again.

“I’d bring you back with me if I could, y’know.” Buggy said as he looked up at you. “Introduce you to everyone. They’d think you were great.” He then looked away, searching for the table of merchandise that no longer existed. “But I know you wouldn’t wanna come with…”

“If I could come back to my husband in the end, I would.” You assured him with a smile. “But you’ve seen how you are as an adult, you can’t survive ten minutes without me, so I have to stay back with him.” Truthfully, if you met the crew, you would have brought hell down upon them. While your husband would speak highly of being an apprentice under Gold Roger, you had other opinions, ones that you wouldn’t share because you didn’t want to upset Buggy. There was always something under the surface whenever you listened to your husband speak about it. The self-doubt, fear of failure, everything, and one time when he was drunk he cried about Shanks, often feeling lesser than his friend, but then the next morning as he sobered up he would curse the same man.

“Yea?” He grinned. “Really? I think you’d like it. You could even meet Shanks, since you said you never got to meet him.”

“Maybe something will happen and I can someday, Buggy.” You steered him out of the main walkway, letting people pass as you knelt down in front of him. “I want you to know that I have loved spending time with you, sweetie. It’s been one of the best things ever.”

He blushed at that, avoiding your gaze as he looked away. “Are you saying goodbye to me?”

“No! Not yet, just…” You hesitated. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, the praise, compliments, affection even. You wanted to give him as much as you gave your husband because you saw the way he would brighten up when you’d tell Adult Buggy how handsome he looked in his coat while you’d straighten his cravat, or when you’d let him know how much you loved him every night before going to bed. You meant every word you spoke to Buggy as an adult, and you wanted him to know the same as a kid. “I want you to know you’re a wonderful kid, Buggy.”

He was still red in the face but he allowed you to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He mumbled something in response and you didn’t quite hear it, because he suddenly pulled away from you, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“I can hear Shanks!” He said as he looked over your shoulder. “I think he’s calling for me!”

You turned in the same direction but didn’t see or hear anything. What was going on? He grinned at you before he suddenly took off running in the direction he was looking. You got to your feet and started after him, but he was fast. He turned down an alleyway, calling for Shanks, and when you finally caught up to him your heart dropped. It was a dead end and he was nowhere in sight.

So this is how it ended then.

You came back to the ship an hour later and went right to your room, ignoring the looks of the crew and even your husband. He noticed you were alone, so he told the first mate to keep an eye on things while he went after you. Buggy wasn't sure how upset you would be, because even after ten years of marriage he wasn't sure how to handle it.

He found you sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with something in your hand. Buggy hung his coat and hat up before taking his boots off and climbing into bed next to you. You immediately leaned into him, curling up against his side as he put his arm around you.

“I'm going to miss seeing you as a kid.” You sniffled, looking at the once stolen pendant in your hand. “You were so sweet, Buggy.”

“I was a little shit.” He rolled his eyes, clearly having a different opinion on the whole matter. You looked up at him with watery eyes and he sighed. “Fine, yes, I was a sweet little shit.”

“I just wanted you to feel safe and loved, Buggy.” You wiped at the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “And you're not going to remember any of it. What was the point of any of this?”

He just shrugged, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He wasn't really good at using words to comfort you. He was used to actions like giving you gifts or finding ways to make you laugh instead. He hated seeing you so upset, but he knew better than to tell you to suck it up and move on. The one time he said that to you ended up with you giving him the cold shoulder for a week and he couldn't deal with that again.

“I just wanted you to be okay, Buggy.” You mumbled as you tucked the pendant away in your pocket. “I hate you went through so much before we met.” You rubbed your eyes. “And…and you're not going to remember any of this.”

“Yea, well…” He hated saying sappy things, like something out of a silly romance novel. He sighed and gritted his teeth. “If I didn't become an apprentice and continue being a pirate, we wouldn't have met.” You glanced up at him and his cheeks started to turn red. “The kid will be fine, because he will meet some way too nice tailor, fall madly in love with her and be an idiot about it, and she will show him all the love he will ever need.” He huffed and pulled his arm away from you, crossing them over his chest as he looked away. He felt a little uncomfortable but he knew you needed to hear this. “And when they hug for the first time he'll remember a moment of feeling safe as a kid but he won't know why, and when they kiss for the first time it will make him realize how much he wants her in his life.” He took a deep breath and exhaled before scowling. “Okay? So… so the kid won't remember what you did for him but he'll have a sense of familiarity when he meets his future wife, because she treats him with kindness and never asks for anything in return, and he really doesn't deserve someone like her.”

When he was finished with his rant he looked down at you, only to be horrified when he saw new tears streaming down your cheeks. Oh shit. He didn't mean to make you cry.

“S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-” He was at a loss for words. “Why are you-”

“R-Really?” You whimpered. “You felt that way when we met?”

He turned even redder if possible, unsure if he should keep talking or not, but you were almost smiling now as the tears rolled down your cheeks so he sighed and nodded.

“Y-Yes.” He said, looking away from you once more. “I… I knew the moment you gave me a hug that you and I were meant to be, because I felt safe in your arms and… and you took good care of me even before we started our relationship.” He scratched his cheek, looking so very uncomfortable to be carrying on like this, but your crying was letting up and you were looking at him with such love in your eyes that he thought he was going to literally fall to pieces in front of you. “Fixing my coat, clothes, even my gloves. It… it was nice and you didn't have to do that because I wasn't the nicest person to you at times, y’know.”

“I fixed your gloves just to spend extra time talking to you.” You said, giggling as you wiped your eyes with the hem of your shirt. He looked at you in confusion. “I made it up that your gloves needed fixing. I just… wanted to spend time with you after fixing other things, and you didn't know what I was talking about so you let me.” You smiled brightly at him. “I lied because I liked you, Buggy.”

His jaw dropped, a look of betrayal on his face. “What?! You lied?!”

You laughed. “What? I liked seeing your hands without them, honey, because you always wore them. That was the first time I felt your hands without gloves on, you know.”

“I can’t believe you lied!” He wouldn’t drop that tiny detail. “After all this time you lied about my gloves needing to be fixed?”

You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you from being upset, and you appreciated it. It still hurt having the kid disappear so quickly out of your sight but it was a comfort to hear from your husband the little bits he could recall, even if it wasn’t exact moments of his time with you. You didn’t want him to be hurt, or go through the heartaches of growing up, but if it meant the two of you meeting and falling in love, then maybe you could accept that you couldn’t fix everything.

“I love you, Buggy.” You told him as you leaned over to kiss his cheek. He turned red and looked away again but he put his arm back around you, pulling you closer to him before he looked back at you.

“Yea, yea.” He kissed you on the forehead and sighed. “I love you too.”

~*~*~

“Buggy! Where’ve ya been?” One of the older crewmen asked. Buggy didn’t turn around, instead looking at his now empty hands. Where did the pendant go? He just snatched it off that table and he had it in his hands just moments ago, but now it was missing. Did he somehow drop it? “It’s been twenty minutes, kid! Don’t take off like that!”

He glared up at the man. “Not my fault you can’t keep up with me!”

The man just laughed and patted him on the head; the kid immediately swatted at his hand, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t take off running, he had just been with the crew and then it seemed like everything went still for a moment. He didn’t want to say anything so he kept quiet, trailing after the adult as they went to join up with the others.

“We weren’t too worried, y’know. Figured you’d turn up once you got hungry.”

Buggy just nodded, glaring at the ground as he walked along. It’s not like he disappeared or anything. He was just out of sight for a few minutes. Shanks and him did it all the time.

They were walking down the street that the vendor was on where he took the pendant from. Did they somehow get it back? He hesitated but risked taking a look as they walked by. The adults were talking to a customer, showing off pieces while a girl around Buggy’s age sat nearby, looking completely bored. When their eyes met she perked up a bit and gave him a big smile. Buggy made a face and looked away but the adult he was with noticed the exchange and laughed.

“Flirtin’ with the local girls, Buggy?”

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Let’s get back to the ship!”

“Don’t you want to say bye to your girlfriend?” He teased as Buggy glared at him, his face red. He was about to say something else when something tugged on his sleeve. He spun around, ready to fight, but froze when he saw the girl standing there, holding a flower in her hand with a big smile on her face.

“The red flower looks like your nose.” She told him as she took his hand and placed the flower in it. “I like it.”

Buggy didn’t say anything as his hand closed around the flower. He was frozen where he stood, not sure how to respond to that, but the moment didn’t last because she turned and went back to her parents, taking her seat near the table once more. He didn’t know what to say or do next, but the adult grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him along, laughing and joking about young love and other stupid shit Buggy didn’t care about. He stuck the flower in his pocket and looked back at her once more, his face still as red as his nose. She was watching him leave and gave him a smile and wave as he left.

Yea, okay, he decided she was kind of nice, but he wouldn’t see her again so there was no point in saying hi to her or asking her name.

It was just a one time meeting by chance.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

Text

Foresight (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: The only time modern reader actually uses her intuition and hits the nail right on the head.

Warnings: I barely know by now. Smut. Fingering. Oral sex (F receiving) Non-con/ Dub con. I mean, reader consents, but you have read this series. Pregnancy.

A/N: And… It’s a wrap, folks! My first series. Think of this as the epilogue. As always, you can shout at me in my asks.

Previous parts here.

There is a certain irony in this, you think. You were once someone of no importance in a world filled with millions of people. Then, you were a servant in the Middle Ages. Now, you are a Lady of a noble house, married to a Prince.

Yet, it’s the first time you are held in such a way. A slightly longer chain than the one for your wrists connects your ankles together. Despite being in one of the highest positions a woman could be in these times, you have never had less freedom.

Now it’s a new girl, delivering your food. No matter how hard you try, she never answers your questions about Mina or what is happening outside your rooms. You discover it is because she doesn’t have a tongue. And she is terrified of even looking at you, too. You wonder what Daemon has done to her.

Was she born like that? Did another Lord punish her? Or worse. Did Daemon take her tongue? Trying to guess what happened to her is good entertainment. Unfortunately, you soon realize it frightens her too much when you speak to her. You wouldn’t want to cause her a heart attack, and so, you have to quit it.

You feel like an asshole. But you are desperate for company, to get someone to speak to you. The hopelessness you first felt has started to feel much like realization. You are not leaving. You are stuck with Daemon.

To keep your mind occupied, you try to remember as many details of the time you are living in. You start with the cutting of tongues as your inspiration. Someone did something similar in the show. You didn’t pay as much attention to the story as you would have if you had known it was going to become your life.

But someone had. Surely. What was it, with Westeros, and the forceful taking of the organs? They cut hands, tongues, fingers, eyes. God.

If you remembered something else, it could be useful. Unfortunately for you, you had been too fixated on how hot some people looked to follow subplots. The exercise is useless, but you start writing what you can remember on parchments and hiding them from your captor.

You feel like you are going insane. The only thing you do is pace and read, pace and read, all day. Something is wrong with you. You feel strange, like you are wearing clothes a size too small. Uncomfortable. Cranky. Sensitive. Lonely.

You read once, that human beings have more needs than just eat, sleep and shelter. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. People need to own things, they need friends and intimacy, they need purpose. Otherwise, bad things happen.

Oh, but what? Could all your symptoms be explained by it? If you had a phone, you could look it up. Hell, even if it was the sixties, you could search it in a book. Not in the Middle Ages. Or well, Westeros.

You long for Daemon’s company. He comes every afternoon and sits near the fireplace. You talk to him because there is nothing else to do. From time to time, you repeat that you are not a dreamer. He laughs.

“You wouldn’t be this perfect for me if you weren’t.”

He is very cultured, and interesting. It's something you are desperately attracted to. It’s not only that you are now in what it’s effectively solitary confinement, no. Deeper than that. Just like Rhea, Daemon is one of the few people in the Runestone that can read. His mind is more open, he is less superstitious. Talking to him makes you less lonely.

There is no way you can rationalize it, though. What you are doing is wrong. It’s a betrayal to Rhea, to someone you loved more than you could ever love him. But you are weak, too broken down by grief and fear to oppose him.

You need someone to tell you everything will be alright. And Daemon makes sure he is available for the job. He fights off your loneliness when you ask him to.

Sometimes, Daemon sits next to you on the bed and talks about Valyrian history or traditions. His tone is soft, and calming. His face lights up when you show an interest in the topic or ask questions that prove you are following his monologue. It’s like seeing an entirely different man.

Before, you would have resented being babied in the way you are. Daemon treats you as if you were a little girl, one he entertains with tales and praises when she is good. Now, you crave the comfort of it.

You still bathe together. Daemon never touches you, though. Not after the night you tried to escape. Sometimes, he just looks at you. You sit there, basking on the freedom of being able to move without the cuffs. You are no longer embarrassed of your nakedness.

The chains frightened you, at first. You are not stupid. You are married to him, in chains and in a room bare except for the bed. What else would you think, if not rape? But Daemon was smarter than that. Insidious. Slowly, he had been coaxing you to let him touch you. At first, you squirmed like your pants were on fire when his hands were on your skin. Then, you had slowly come to accept it as part of your routine. And lately, to crave it.

He had been conditioning into it, you are sure. First, the offers to tend to your wounds, then, massages to your sore ankles and wrists. It was a merely chemical thing, you tried reassuring yourself. Your brain had come to associate endorphins with his touch, and so, like an addict, you sought more.

But you knew, it was no long now before you weren’t able to resist him. It was not a thing of physical strength. He wasn’t going to grab you and force you down. No. It was more complex than that.

Daemon had acquired himself a dreamer, according to him. He was not keen on alienating you, but seducing you. He intended for you to be the one to come to him. Worst thing? You were so touch starved, and so lonely, it was working. Stockholm syndrome, surely.

The next chain would be a child. It was the obvious thing to do, to keep control over the Vale and you. You would never leave if you were pregnant. What would you do, in your world, with a child that could potentially tame dragons and whose legal existence you couldn’t prove? It would surely be too late for abortion, and most probably, time would have passed. How to explain your disappearance?

And of course, there is the fact that your body is rioting against your brain. No matter the phase of your cycle, you are perpetually horny. The smallest of touches or looks make your mind spiral, you daydream about sex and feel the urge to jump Daemon’s bones almost daily.

Maybe there is some truth to whatever they are serving you. The milk and wine are always laced with spices, to make you more agreeable to his advances. At first, you thought it was silly, but by your current state, they seem to be working. You are desperate to be able to masturbate. But bound hands are not particularly useful. Besides, you have an inkling that’s not really what you want.

Every night before bed, Daemon takes the cuffs off and lets you walk around your room. You make small laps around the room, sometimes he tries teaching you the dances people do at feasts. Then, he gets you ready for bed.

Daemon rubs salve into your wrists and ankles. You don't ask him, but you know it has to have some aphrodisiacs on it. When his hands touch your skin, it feels electric. You knew aphrodisiacs existed in your world, even if they were fickle and old wives tales. But in a world where there is magic and dragons? Why not?

Even if not, the whole thing is an assault on your senses. The room filled with incense and candles, the baths, the soft silky clothes. The silence. Usually, when people are not busy enough, they get horny, right?

Perhaps it's the mirror. There is one placed in your room for baths, once you are not on suicide watch. You see yourself for the first time in months, and nearly don’t recognize your reflection. Your hair is longer, falling messily down your back. The sheer shifts you wear, specially tailored for you, make you look put together and sensual.

Collarbones exposed, accentuated hips, bare arms. Botticelli’s Venus comes to life. The image arouses you. You feel naughty in all the right ways, sexy, desirable.

Each night, Daemon’s hands rub the salve slightly higher. You find yourself yearning for his touch, anticipating the moments you will get with him. He massages your calves. Your forearms. He kisses your shoulders. You mewl, desperate. But Daemon doesn't do anything.

You share secrets like they are oozing out of your pores. Aemond's birth. Criston Cole and Rhaenyra fucked. Lucerys. Joffrey. Harwin Strong. Alicent and the rat looking man. Daemon dutifully repeats them to Viserys.

Were you meant to feel this way? You had never expected it, not in a million years. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff. Any second now, and you could plummet down. But what a fall it would be.

Tonight, he is on his knees. Despite being in a dominant position, sitting on the edge of the bed, you don't feel powerful. Daemon has a way of entering a room and just making anyone else fade into the background. He overpowers anyone easily, by sheer presence alone.

Daemon grabs your ankle and gently rubs at it, spreading the salve. He has said he doesn't want you to scar, or hurt. But your newest cuffs have padded interiors, making this whole act pointless. Neither of you voices it.

You shiver. His hands massage your calves.

“Daemon.” The first mistake. You have never, not once, called out his name before. It comes out soft and whiny, in a sweet whisper.

“Should I stop, dreamer?” He gives you a coy look, as his fingers go higher and higher. Ankle, calf, back of the knee. His hands are warm against your skin. Daemon seems to have a fascination with touching you. He cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tries.

You say nothing. Daemon kisses your ankle, then your leg. He mouths along your knee. You feel so aroused, you think you are about to pass out. You shouldn’t give in, you know, you know. But it’s the sweetest torture.

He stops right above your knee, looking at you with mischievous eyes. You pant, looking at him like you are about to murder him if he dares deny you now.

“My poor little dreamer, have I neglected you so?” Daemon smirks, and parts your legs, making room for himself. “Don’t worry, we will fix this right away.”

“Stop it.” You mutter, but before you can start explaining to him why this is a bad idea, you feel a sharp sting on your thigh. You moan, feeling utterly confused. In your aroused state, the sting of the bite feels almost pleasant.

“It doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” Daemon soothes the hurt with his tongue. He looks hungry, pupils blown and hair mussed just so. “Besides, I have been very patient with you, have I not?” His fingers dig in more harshly. He is right, of course. He could have fucked you already if he wanted to. It's not like anyone would come to your defense.

“You have.” You agree, shakily. His tongue draws little ribbons over your inner thigh. You cannot stop moaning, for some reason. And you are no stranger to sex, not as Daemon thinks. You were not a virgin when you got here. Despite knowing this screams of consent issues and that he is trying to manipulate you, you cannot help it.

You wonder how Rhaenyra and Laena ever stood a chance, being mere girls when they met him. If everyone told you this was wrong, but the first time he touched you felt this pleasurable, would you believe it?

No. You are more than enough proof of it.

“I will make it good for you, little one.” He kisses higher, this time. Along the juncture where your leg meets your hip. “It's a kindness most wives don't get.”

“I know, but…” You stop talking and melt into a sight when he rubs a finger over your labia, spreading the wetness there. You know if you keep talking, he will be able to hear exactly how much his touch is affecting you.

“I just want to look at you. And kiss you a little.” Daemon says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. His hands rub soothingly along the outside of your thigh. “I won’t take your maidenhead… Yet.”

Maidenhead. What’s that supposed to mean? You try to remember, certain that you have heard it before. Rhea mentioned it? Or was it the girls? Maidens. They called maidens women who were virgins. God. He thinks you are still a virgin.

He won’t fuck you, tonight. You hope that his plans for just touching and kissing include an orgasm because you feel like you will go mad if you don’t come tonight.

You could tell him the truth. But what would you gain? Daemon only believes what pleases him. You have told him time and time again that you are not a dreamer. You even tried telling him you were from the future. His words still ring in your ears.

“A world where men and women are equal? And there are no Kings? Oh, my poor confused little thing. You have been reading too much again.”

So telling him would be no use. He might believe it another attempt at getting him to let you go. Or he might actually believe you and try to eviscerate any previous lover of yours. Or gauge their eyes out. Perhaps cut a hand. That’s who Daemon is at his core.

No, it’s better this way. Playing along will get him to be gentler, and he won’t even be able to tell the difference.

“Won’t it hurt?” You ask, and it comes out just the right amount of shy to be believable. It’s easy, leaning on the lingering fear of the fact that this is Daemon you will be going to bed with. Your body reacts to him like it has never reacted to another lover before, yet you shouldn’t be doing this. He is skilled at it. Whoever he was fucking before, she has trained him well.

But now that you have allowed yourself to think, your hesitance takes hold. This is wrong, in so many ways. You shouldn’t be doing this. Yet, you want him so much, you feel like you might burst into flames if you don’t get him right now.

The lure of the forbidden, in all its glory.

“Not tonight.” He kisses your inner thigh, open-mouthed. You tense in anticipation. Daemon can be giving when he wants to be.

“I don’t want it to hurt.” You close your legs, trapping his hand between them. Your lower lip lightly sticks out, playing the part of the disgruntled little girl.

Daemon chuckles. One of his fingers rubs teasingly over your clit. Being a brat always seems to rile him up, and you feel smug at knowing him so well.

Oh, god. What are you even doing? Are you seriously contemplating ways of manipulating him during sex? You shouldn't even be thinking of fucking him. It's disgusting.

It’s not. Not when Daemon’s hands are on your thighs, not when his lips are on your skin. You are just too needy for it. Too many nights have passed since the last time you had been touched in such a way.

His hands knead into your thighs. The touch is greedy, possessive. He makes a tsking sound, and rubs a tight little circle over your clit.

“I’ll warm you up to it. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t… We really shouldn’t…” You plead, weakly. You are trying hard not to succumb to the pleasure.

“Why not?” He asks, pressing his finger over your hole and making you nearly sob in pure neediness. He is not entering, just threatening with it. Both holding you in place and feeling you flutter around him.

Daemon waits for your response, but when you don’t answer as quickly as he hoped, he starts sucking a bruise on your inner thigh.

“Because it’s wrong! You killed Rhea. You have no morals. And… Besides, it’s not me. I don’t want it.” You try to scramble away, suddenly regaining your senses. It must be the oils. Or the food. Or whatever he puts into your wine.

“Oh?” Daemon presses your hips down with an arm, and rubs around your clit again. He makes a show of taking his fingers away from you and admiring them in the light. Your arousal shines on them, sticky wet. “If you don’t want it, why are you dripping all over the bed? What is it, if not arousal?”

“The oils! The incense!” You complain. His hand, soaked in your juices, comes to cup your face.

“Oh, sweetling, no.” Daemon laughs. He presses his thumb on your lower lip. Despite your best judgment, you open up and taste yourself. “They are not meant to warm your blood. This is all you.”

Your whole body feels hot with embarrassment. He has to be lying. It can't be. You can’t be this… This… No. No. He has to be lying.

Daemon laughs even more at the face you make. He kisses your neck, then your collarbone. He pushes at the strands of your shift, kissing all over your breast. You feel too ashamed, still reeling at the realization that this is, in fact, all you, to push him off. You are the crazy woman who is begging to have sex with a killer.

He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. You moan, arching your back to offer more skin to kiss. Daemon does so, greedily.

He kisses your sternum, then your belly. He bites at the curve of your waist, making you squeal. His lips go lower, kissing over your womb. Then, your mound. And finally, your labia.

Daemon pulls your lips apart and gently nips your clit, taking it between his teeth. Despite how gentle he is being, you jolt. It’s too much stimulation at once, and it’s bordering on the painful. Yet, he shows he can read your body well, because he quickly recovers and chooses to kiss your clitoral hood instead.

You moan again, all high-pitched. The vibrations of his laughter feel very pleasant against your sex.

“That's it. Melt into it, little dreamer.” Daemon says, before going back to eating you out. This time, he sucks slightly harder. You tense in his arms. You can feel the pleasure rising and rising. Never has a partner driven you this fast towards an orgasm.

It's too much and too little.

“I… More, please.” You plead, petting his hair.

He gets up, and kisses you, for the first time in months. You sigh into his mouth. It's then that he pushes his finger inside of you. Immediately, you tighten and tense around him, all sense of embarrassment gone.

“This was just what you needed, wasn’t it?” Daemon whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe before speaking again. You buck your hips, trying to get him to move his finger. He complies, making a come and hither motion. His other hand rubs circles on your clit. “Yes, you needed someone to show you who you really were. My needy little dragon.”

You try to swallow down your scream, muffling it with your hand. The praise, mixed in with the raspy, hungry tone it's delivered in, makes your head swim.

“Come on, don’t fight it.” Daemon encourages, and bends down to take your nipple inside his mouth. It's enough to send you over the edge. This time, you actually scream, tensing under him. White, hot, blinding pleasure. And he strokes you through it, making everything more intense.

As you pant there, coming down from your high, it occurs to you to return the favor. It had been one of the best orgasms of your life, you wouldn't mind pleasing him in exchange. Your mouth watered at the thought of what else he could do.

You place a shaky hand on his thigh, but Daemon pushes it away, gently.

“You will learn to please me too, Wife. In time. But not tonight.” Daemon kisses your cheek, sweetly.

“When?”

“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out.” It’s then when it sinks in. Daemon is never planning to let you go. You start to cry. What have you done?

Daemon sighs. He starts rubbing soothing circles on your back, as if you were a child. That night, he stays. You fall asleep in his arms, warm and relaxed. For the first time in weeks, you do not dream of Rhea.

A few months go by. The season changes, from warm summer to harsh winter. And just as the season changes, so do you.

You wake in your chambers, the bed next to you cold. Your ankles hurt.

You put on a light dress, and go in search for your husband. As you pass the servants and guards, they give you respectful nods and greetings.

Daemon sits on the Iron Throne. Viserys’s health has been worsening, lately. He looks up at you, taking his eyes from the parchment he is reading. His eyes greedily trace your figure.

“I swear you get more beautiful every day.” He says, as you let your dress pool at your ankles.

“Everyday I look rounder, more like it.” You complain. At the door, the guards discretely look away. If you want to parade around naked, so be it. It’s up to them to avert their eyes, if they don’t want to lose them, Daemon has instructed.

No one dares oppose him. Not anymore, with you by his side. Viserys’s reign might just go down as one of the bloodiest in history, with how hard the two of them have been working to rid the realm of any future enemy of Rhaenyra.

He laughs.

“You do not. You look like my dreamer.”

You roll your eyes at him, cradling your belly. His breathing hitches, minutely. There is arousal in his expression, once again. The more obvious your pregnancy becomes, the more he wants you. Daemon likes how your body has changed, how there are stretch marks on previously smooth skin, how your breasts are fuller.

“My ankles hurt. Make it better?”

What was life before him? You can barely remember how you functioned before, having to make all the decisions and thinking. Trusting him is easier. Daemon loves you. He wants the best for you.

You don't hate him as much as you thought. You might even love him back. No. You love the pleasure he gives you, you are hooked to it. You need him like a heroin addict needs her next fix.

Before, you used to be a good person. You cared about others. Now, you care about yourself, the baby and him. In that order.

You had plans. You had a future, a career. Now, you live the day. If you think too hard about tomorrow, you feel like you can't breathe. So you don't. It's easier, this way.

Daemon likes you more like this. Not a little girl anymore, but a woman. One he molded into his perfect partner. Strong, but never stronger than him. Smart, but not enough to escape him. And a little broken. Still with a bit of fire, still a little rebellious. But never trying to get away.

He says you are more of a goddess than a woman. Special. Holy. Before, your courses aligned with the moon, your pregnancy timed just right. The baby should be here just when spring turns to summer. What could you be, if not a little goddess?

The mysteries of womanhood fascinate him. It’s made even worse with your knowledge of the future. He seems to think all you know about pregnancy is part of your powers as a dreamer. Once, you made the mistake of telling him the baby could hear him. Daemon has never skipped a day of talking to them since.

You barely think of Rhea, these days. Daemon keeps you away from Runestone and occupied with other matters. Matters that are much more pleasurable to think about than your past.

“Come, Lady Wife.”

And you do.

You wear other kinds of chains now.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x female reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #asoif fanfic #asoiaf #asoif/got #divine intuition series

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superblysubpar · 8 months

Text

masterlist | the music

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for the movie franchise Star Wars | mentions of the holiday Halloween being celebrated by others and reader enjoying it | Leigh is not my character creation, a shared character who @sweetsweetjellybean originally created & I put a little twist on for this story with her permission.

Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

9.4k words | A/N: I can't begin to express my gratitude for those who've read this story & those that helped me get through writing it, especially my beta extraordinaire @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz for helping me break that pesky wall of self doubt and writer's block always. I have a big long A/N on the epilogue that's posting right after these two chapters with more sap. Thanks for being here, I love you immensely if you've made it this far from the beginning or you're just arriving 💛

In the movies, they like to make those big plot twists drag out for the protagonist to let it really sink in. Or maybe it's more for the viewers. Special effects, camera angles, flashbacks, and poignant music playing - all to make seconds feel much longer than they are.

In your experience, these plot twists are usually predictable. Of course that guy’s the villain, it was the best friend all along, he’s Luke’s father, et cetera, et cetera. You’re utterly baffled every time by a character’s lack of intuition to see it coming. You’ve booed at writing and acting and told yourself that in real life, it’s so different.

Sure, surprises happen. Reality does not care about predictability, the fragile state of the human heart, or what’s fair. You get that. People cheat, they make mistakes, they die, they lose - and there isn’t some fade-to-black-happy-ending guarantee when they do. There isn’t a countdown on the bottom of a screen letting you know there’s still time left to make it all back from whatever happened, no assurance that it’ll all work out.

To call something real - something happening directly to you - a plot twist, seems horribly wrong though. Is there another word for it? Those moments that manage to catch you off guard, that come without warning or a build up. Moments that hit you repeatedly like a knife to a chest in a slasher flick. Or feel like the instant demise of oxygen leaving your lungs as a door opens to space. That sucker-punch from a red glove to the jaw when you think you’ve just won the big fight.

What do you call that shit?

Robin’s voice is an echo, muffled and distorted as if you’re deep underwater. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, you are so much prettier than Steve mentioned.”

Who is with Steve?

Robin keeps going, putting her entire foot in her mouth, oblivious to the way Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. You only stop staring yourself, after what feels like hours, to finally take in their intertwined hands as Robin babbles. “Wait, I mean…no, see…alright, he told us you were pretty is what I’m trying to say, but like you’re even prettier…”

Who the hell is with Steve?

Her laugh cuts through the fog and your eyes finally focus on the woman attached to the sound.

She’s pretty, just like Robin keeps saying over and over again.

Dark, shiny hair, piercing eyes that you can see - even from this distance - are a hazel to almost match his. A hypnotizing smile, curves and a confidence radiating off of her… everything you wish you were but aren’t.

She laughs again, assuring Robin she gets it (in an infuriatingly humble way), introducing herself as Leigh Kensington.

Nancy perks up at the name when Robin gasps and shouts, “Oh my god! Nance!” Robin looks back, waving her over, “Just like Legally Blonde!” Her voice attempts to lower as she sighs to Leigh, “She loves Reese Witherspoon. It is Vivian Kensington right?” The question louder and directed at Nancy again. Robin doesn’t even take a breath to let her answer though, “Which is hilarious because Steve’s mom’s name is Vivian and you’re dating Steve and you work in legal, right? And-“

Emerald glass shatters around your feet as the bottle of beer falls from your hand, the sharp shards scatter quickly, too broken to ever be put back together. Your legs turn to lead and muscles are no longer in communication with your brain as it finally makes the connection to what you’re seeing and hearing and what that means for you.

“Shit! Jesus, woman-“ Eddie jumps back from you as the glass skirts across the pavement further.

Robin finally turns in your direction at the commotion, her brows knit together in worry. Face progressively getting more concerned as it tightens. Her hand lets a bean bag fall to the board with an echoing thump. “Hey, you look-“

Not waiting to hear the end of her sentence, you will your legs to work and spin, taking off in search of literally any place that isn’t there. Your feet pound against the pavement, thuds that vibrate through the rubber of your soles all the way up to your eardrums.

It’s seconds, less than a minute, and it’s as if the entire stadium - hell, your entire world - has spun upside down. Roars to your left, the rumbling of fan’s excitement from the nosebleeds down to the field mingle and harmonize with the rapid beating in your chest. As you keep running with no real destination other than away, your shoulders bump stranger’s, meeting their frowns and scoffs with whispered and rushed apologies. The familiar sting behind your eyes forms, eyelashes growing damp as you suck in a sharp breath. No more running, you need somewhere to hide.

You’re not going to cry about this. You’re not. How could you be so stupid? How could you let this happen?

The familiar long line all women are accustomed to grabs your attention and you’re off again. Disgruntled and shouted annoyance from everyone in line echoes across the dull gray tile as you rush past them, yelling something about an emergency. You slam a turquoise door, sliding the silver latch with shaking fingers as your forehead rests on the cold material of the stall. You focus on breathing through your nose and out your mouth, this is fine. You’re fine.

A buzz in your pocket once, twice, and then a third time, and you don’t have to pull your phone out to know they’re texts from him. Despite your better judgment, you look:

It buzzes a fourth time and you lock the phone, debating just chucking it into the toilet.

The sleeve of your sweatshirt presses to your mouth as you clear your throat. No tears are falling for him, not today, not ever.

You hate Steve Harrington.

This was always the plan.

You hate Steve Harrington.

It’s not like you were in love with the guy.

Even as you think it, the panic turns to defense inside of yourself - scrounging around for rocks and bricks, reinforcing the wall around your heart you had started to let crumble for a boy you thought was worth it.

“Girl, what the hell?”

A familiar pair of red converse with writing and doodles covering any space they can, mirror your feet at the base of the stall. You step back, fingers hovering over the latch, ready to tell her it’s fine. Robin isn’t an idiot though, and you’re certain that despite your denial, she’ll take one look at you and make you spill your guts.

Her feet move closer, the familiar clink of rings meeting metal hits your ears, letting you know she’s pressing her palms to the door. Robin’s voice is softer and for one brief, horrible moment, you think she knows. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The guilt that’s hovered over you for months like a storm cloud, releases, engulfing you completely, the promise of sunlight no longer on the horizon. Funny how just hours ago, you were thinking about Robin finally knowing, about how she couldn’t be mad, not when you were both so happy. Your gut twists. You’ve lied to your friend for so long, and for what?

“Just, um, cramps.” The lies keep on building, pushing at the dam you’ve created to keep it all from her. You’re just buying time now, the pressure is going to reach its breaking point soon and you’re worried your friendship with Robin will be washed away when it does.

At the mention of cramps, the disgruntled voices of those in line turn to understanding - muted solidarity in the form of tampon and painkiller offerings.

“Robin, why don’t you grab her some food or something? Maybe a ginger ale? I’ve got stuff in my bag and we’ll meet you all out there,” another familiar voice suggests.

“But I can-“

“That would be really great, Robs,” you interrupt her protest, pushing out the words to sound as eager as you can.

A pair of white tennis shoes sneak between Robin’s and the stall door - like Nancy is trying to put space between the two of you, shielding her girlfriend from any more of your lies.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Robin starts hesitantly, “I saw this gourmet grilled cheese stand thing and-“

“No!” Fingers curling over your mouth at the severity of your interruption, you take a beat before quietly continuing, “Uh, um, actually, just some chips please?”

Your eyes close, willing the memory of your last grilled cheese away. Now is not the time to remember the man you shared it with.

How he looked at you.

How he asked you to open up, how it made you feel when he said he knew you.

How he kissed you.

You hate Steve Harrington.

The initial shock has stopped sizzling and is now a full burn, anger releasing over your frazzled nerves. What else has Steve claimed, what other things could be ruined when all you can do is relate them to him? But as quickly as the anger for him forms, you have to glance down and realize there are three fingers pointing back at yourself.

Why did you give him the opening?

“Roger that, kitten!”

You’re sure she gives a salute to your closed stall door, the red sneakers turning on their heels, her footsteps fading away. The pristine white of Nancy’s twist slightly towards the door. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Can I come in there?”

Clearing your throat once more, you try to brush her off, “Nancy, really, I’m fi-“

“Bullshit.”

Maybe it’s the way she says the word - that a girl you don’t know all that well can see through your lies, be so sure you’re not fine. Maybe it’s because you desperately wish that you could have opened the door for Robin, to leave the football game and go drown in margaritas and dissect every little thing that led to this moment and let her tell you it was all going to be okay and boys are stupid. Or maybe, it’s the fact that you’ll never get to do that, never allowed to tell Robin, that makes you slide the latch unlocked for Nancy Wheeler.

She slips in quickly, her brown curls that are clipped in a half up-do bounce as she tilts her head quizzically at you. Her arms cross over the embroidered team logo on her sweatshirt, her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She’s got this way about looking at you that, without saying anything, makes you want to tell her everything. An energy radiates off of Nancy, a quiet curiosity bubbling under the surface - or perhaps it’s frustration. You’re being studied, a puzzle she can’t crack.

Her lips twist as she clearly debates her words before she finally settles on a simple, “You didn’t know?”

Nancy’s question makes your stomach drop, solidifying that she not only knows about you and Steve, but that Leigh is not a new or unknown development. Your mind swirls to their argument on the beach, Nancy finding you in the bathroom - how long has Steve been seeing Leigh?

“No,” your response comes out in a half laugh, trying to cover up any feelings that attempt to sneak out and reveal too much. The toe of your sneaker scuffs at a knick in the tile as you avoid her eyes.

She tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs. Her face pinches into that quizzical look again, huffing, “He’s an idiot.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. You don’t want to dwell on how she connected the dots about you and Steve or how you’ve all been lying to Robin, and you especially don’t want her pity. “Nancy, I really don’t need you to comfort me. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

At the clamp of Nancy’s mouth shutting and the purse of her lips, you regret the icy tone almost immediately. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try again. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” trailing off because where do you even start? You’re mad, hurt, confused, blind-sided, the list could go on and on and you don’t care to reach the end at this moment. You force a smile, changing the subject all together, “Don’t you want to get out there and hear how incredibly little Robin truly knows about sports?”

Nancy’s lips twitch and her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. “Right, well, if you change your mind, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Sometimes, people say things to say things - like they feel as if they’re supposed to say a certain thing when a certain situation calls for it. One look at the kindness in Nancy’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, and you know that is not the case right now. She genuinely, truly means she’s there to listen if you need it. Despite lying to all of them, despite barely knowing her, and the realization has tears forming behind your eyes for an entirely different reason than earlier.

“Thanks,” the word leaves you quietly. It feels small and inconsequential in return for a gesture you’re not even sure Nancy realizes the weight of.

That is, until she turns from the door, her hand hovering over the latch as she faces you again. “I should mention though, that one of you is going to have to tell Robin. Sooner rather than later. And I make no promises it won’t be me, but she should hear it from one of you.” Her tone is adamant with absolutely no room for arguing.

Your guilt tugs you down harder now, only able to nod in response.

Nancy’s head bobs once in return, silently agreeing to drop the subject unless you bring it up again, and she leads the way out of the bathroom.

You hear Robin before you see them. She’s passionately arguing her case about a new musical group that Eddie is scoffing at. Leigh holds her hand up at Eddie’s argument and begins agreeing with Robin, who beams before sticking her tongue out at him.

“Hey.”

The word freezes you and Nancy clears her throat as she makes her way towards the others. Steve pushes off from the brick wall as you turn to face him.

You’ve seen many looks in his eyes before now. When they glint with mischief and charm as he flirts, how they soften as you tell a story. When they’ve turned darker as clothes are shed and they get to roam freely over your body, taking you in like an artwork. How they seem to melt like honey all over you when you’ve found them staring and they don’t care to appear ashamed he’s been caught.

Now, they’re looking at you with far too much pain behind them that doesn’t seem fair. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that, he shouldn’t get to look sad.

Steve extends his hand, a green can with beads of condensation running down the sides of it in his palm. You ignore how your fingers touch and they way his try to linger as you take the soda from him.

When you don’t say anything, he pulls the sleeves of his maroon sweater over his fingers, the toe of his boot scuffing the pavement as his brows meet in the middle. Several pieces of hair fall over his forehead that’s wrinkled with concern, letting you know he’s run his hands through it too many times to have already broken whatever products he’s put in it.

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a sec?”

A sec.

A quick conversation, one he just wants to get over with. To tell you what? Things you’ve already concluded from his surprise today? That he’s with someone. He wants to stay friends. He never felt the way you were starting to feel for him. This was always the plan.

You’re not interested in anything Steve has to say any more.

“Game’s about to start, Harrington, maybe later.” Your tone is clipped and short, smile forced.

His brows pinch closer together as he tilts his head, the harsh line of his jaw flexing. “Really? Cause the way you ran off and that tone could have fooled me.”

“I’m fine, I don’t know exactly what you’re hearing, but if you have something you’d like to say, by all means Steve, let’s hear it.”

Steve closes his eyes and a long breath leaves his nose, “Please-“ his plea is cut off by her.

“Hi, I’m Leigh. It’s so nice to meet you, Steven’s told me so much about you! I hope everything is okay? Everyone was so worried…”

She reaches forward, arms wrapping around you and your stiffening body.

She’s fucking hugging you.

“Uh, yeah, you…too. And yes, thanks, I’m fine. This will help.” Untangling yourself from her, you hold up the can and force another smile. “Thanks Steven.”

Leigh beams at him, grabbing his hand and you just can’t help yourself, turning to him again. “Actually, Steven was just letting me know he had something to tell me, what was so important, buddy?”

Eddie coughs as Steve narrows his eyes. Nancy claps her hands, interrupting the tension filled moment, “Alright, ready guys?”

Robin points towards the bleachers. “I’m ready for tip off! To our seats!”

Nancy gives you a look, some sort of attempt at bringing light to the moment in front of her, before she wraps her hand around Robin’s arm and starts to walk away. “It’s kick off, hun.”

Leigh laughs as Robin lets out a long ‘Oh’, Steve and her following. When Steve glances back over his shoulder at you, the full can of soda meets the trash as you turn towards Eddie. Stealing the fresh beer from his hands, the plastic cup tips to your lips, foam slowing you down as you chug.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy killer.” Eddie tugs on the cup, pulling it from your mouth. “From my understanding, football games are long and we need to pace ourselves. Stevie is not worth a two in the afternoon black out.”

Your mouth opens to protest and he waves his hand in front of your face, “Ah, ah, ah, you can squeeze my fingers or something whenever you feel like punching him instead.”

“Ed-“ you begin, adamant you need another drink (or twenty) to deal with the day you’re about to have.

He begins to walk away, waving his hand dismissively, “No really, I’m a secret masochist, I’ll love it.”

Your eyes narrow, hating the way your lips fight a smile that wants to meet his mood. Despite everything, you’re grateful for him and Nancy. Unsure of how to even attempt to show them how much you appreciate them. Especially after Nancy’s reminder that someone was going to have to tell Robin eventually, and these two had been lying for the both of you, keeping your secret when they didn’t need to.

Up ahead, you hear Leigh laugh, catching her head thrown back and his smile, the squeeze of her fingers on his bicep and you gulp. Your feet plant to the ground harder and you tug on Eddie’s wrist. As the group rounds the corner, heading to their seats, he turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised.

Eddie must see something in your expression because he mumbles, “Such a fucking idiot,” before he turns to the nearest vendor. “Yeah, hi, I need four very large beers. And I’m talking take your idea of large and triple it.”

This time the smile wins just a little. It’s quick to fall though, when Eddie taps his cup to one he hands you and proclaims, “If you can’t date ‘em, drink about ‘em. To the losers who break our hearts.”

“I-“ ready to tell him that’s not it at all, but his look makes your mouth close.

You don’t say it out loud, you don’t dare to speak it into existence - Eddie is wrong. You’re not broken hearted, you’re just mad Steve didn’t tell you. You’re mad that clearly they all knew, so why not you? That’s all.

Your cup taps Eddie’s again and you let the beer wash away the bitter taste in your mouth.

Screw Steve Harrington.

As the third cup of cheap beer hits your lips, you risk a glance down the line of your row again. Immediately regretting it like you have every other time. Leigh pushes the loose strand of hair on his forehead back and your eyes return to the field quickly. You’re sure your skin is turning just as green as the artificial turf, the beer making it a little easier to admit to yourself that you are jealous of the intimate moment. Your gut twinges slightly at the remembrance of only a few short weeks ago when you purposely tried to make him feel what you are now. You have no right to be mad at him.

The players blur as they move in an intricate dance only they know before anyone else. You’ve always liked sports, but today has been a good reminder as to why. Players and teams practice and memorize skills and plays that work - but there’s no guarantees. They need intuition to know when to use certain moves, to have a good defense and follow their gut and deviate from the plan when they think the other team is pulling a new play.

It’s all predictable, but not at the same time. Risks and playing with the odds, yet revolving around something incredibly low stakes like a ball in a net or getting past a painted line on fake grass. It’s also realistic. Sure, there are once in a lifetime passes like the Minnesota Miracle or a ball sinking into the net from a distance unfathomable as the final buzzer sounds - but most of the time, it’s just about who’s the best that day. Who ran faster, who slipped through someone else’s mistake. You like that the players can pour themselves into it and it’s still not going to be a win every time, because it’s just not sometimes, and that’s okay. They lose and they get up and they do it all over again. They also know that if they win, it doesn’t mean they’ll keep doing so without hard work and dedication.

Poetic to your circumstances, really. Steve was just better at the game, and you knew the eventual outcome of your deal with each other. So really, is there anyone to be mad at here other than yourself?

Steve’s laugh echoes down the line and your jaw clenches, because maybe Steve was better at the game, but he certainly wasn’t playing fair.

Yeah, you can still be mad at him.

Your eye twitches as Robin and Leigh gush over horror movies they both love, a breath you didn’t know you were holding leaving you when they head off together for a bathroom break.

His eyes actually burn your cheek from the way they stare down the row in your direction now that he doesn’t have her to focus on. Clear to you now that all you are - all you ever were - is an afterthought, something to pass the time.

Refusing to look his way, you try not to feel bad about the sigh you hear all the way from five seats away.

Oh, I’m sorry Steve, are you mildly upset that I don’t want to talk to you after you got me to open up just to blindside me?

You’re not surprised when a dark denim leg presses against your shoulder, his large brown boots landing on the open seat next to you as he climbs over. As he sits, you stand, quickly making your way down the row, occupying Robin’s empty seat on the other side of Nancy.

Steve stands, hands on his hips as he frowns. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”

Turning your attention back to the field, your knees bounce with restless energy, anticipating his next move. An intricate dance just like the players below you.

Steve climbs back over, and you can’t help but relish a little in his groan and mumbled comment about being twelve under his breath as you shimmy between Eddie and Nancy, shoving Eddie into your old seat, ignoring his grunted protests. Unable to help yourself, you smirk into your beer, watching out of the corner of your eye as Steve’s jaw clenches. Making him irritated seems only fair under the circumstances.

You’re ready for his next attempt, sure he’s going to make Nancy swap with him or come up behind you. So when he puts his foot on the chair, you move to the edge of your seat. Steve pounces, tumbling over the back of the row in front of you instead. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed pink as his hands land on the armrests of your spot. His arms cage you in as he leans over the back of the blue metal chairs, ignoring the grumbled complaints of those he bumped out of the way in his pursuit.

His face fills your vision, freckles that dot the sharp slope of his nose, the light scruff he’s let grow more highlight’s the angle of his jaw and the curve of his cupid’s bow. For a second you forget you’re supposed to be mad when you finally meet his eyes. They steal all of your attention and you hate that you can’t look away.

You hate him.

“We’re gonna talk,” he huffs, catching his breath.

“You should hit the gym.” A sad attempt to change the subject, to hurt him a little. Your eyes flit down to his lips in a mistake. You can’t look at his eyes again so you settle on his cheek, trying your best to ignore the endearing pair of freckles.

“I know you’re mad, and if you just let me explain, I-“

“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain before today Steve!”

The hush of the people around you makes your eyes close, taking a moment for a calming breath. Eddie coughs into his fist on your left and squints at the field, Nancy scratches the denim on her thigh and clears her throat on your right.

Steve’s eyes narrow, his top lip pulls in, tongue licking over it before he lets out a cold laugh, “Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do, tell you while we’re fucking? Or how about after you told me about your parents? I-“

The beer in your hand splashes across his face as he coughs and sputters. His fingers wipe over his eyes and you stand, pushing past the gawking crowd and down the stairs.

Nancy and Eddie were right.

Steve Harrington is a fucking idiot.

You’d rode the train past your stop twice, both your airpods in and a look about you that dared anyone to even glance at you the wrong way. At the sight of the sun sinking past the horizon, you bite down on your cheek, willing your gut to stop twisting as it attaches a thing you love to him. Steve Harrington was not going to ruin sunsets for you, you draw the line at fucking grilled cheese and football.

The flick of your entryway lamp illuminates your place, the lyrics “You call me strawberry wine…” drift out of your airpod as you remove it from your ear. You’ve had enough of the universe’s poetic irony today. Tossing the case and your keys into their dish as you turn the lock on your door.

The sunset is the least of your worries, what didn’t he touch here? Your door, the coffee mugs he proclaimed as his favorites, the counter, the fire escape. You reach for the bottle of wine on top of your fridge as you click on the Instagram notification.

A caption reading ‘We just hope both teams had fun🏈 ’ below her photos. A selfie first, Robin’s bashful face filling the screen, getting her cheek kissed by Nancy. Another, this one with you - she must have caught it during bags - a shot of Eddie and you mid-laugh. The last one clearly taken after you left, the group in the stands, Steve’s sweater gone, replaced by a dry light blue t-shirt. You click your phone locked again and drink straight out of the bottle as you walk down the dark hallway. Old wood floors creak underneath your feet as you make your way to your room.

Fuck, your room.

It’s a moment that perhaps you should be crying during, do normal people cry when boys like Steve Harrington blindside them? When a man you start to break down for was spooning you fully clothed at the start of the day and getting a beer tossed in his face by the end, shouldn’t some sort of despair come out in the form of dramatic tears? Nothing leaves your eyes though as you strip the sheets off of your bed. Steve’s not worth any. No guy is.

Tugging harshly at the last corner of the fitted sheet with a frustrated grunt, you throw all of your bedding out into the hallway and slam the door. The flutter of paper on your desk as the door swings closed catches your eye, your chest tightens at the realization of what you left there.

The glow from the setting sun outside washes over the photobooth strip as you walk towards it, lit up in a perfect square of tangerine. Your thumb brushes the last photo as you pick it up, wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.

It rips easier than maybe it should have, diminished to something small and as broken as you can make it before you toss it in the trash in your bathroom. Your eyes linger on the shower curtain and then your shampoo. The wine bottle presses to your lips again as you make a mental note, adding those to your list of things to replace tomorrow as well.

Your phone pings again, the group chat you’ve just been recently added to:

Your thumb presses the lock after turning it to silent, the dots from Robin appearing letting you know you don’t want to keep reading all of them talk. Your bare mattress stares at you as you drink more wine. They’re home. Together? In his apartment? In his bed?

It doesn’t matter, good for Steve, hope he’s happy. Good fucking riddance, right?

Opening your bedroom door, you sigh at the pile of bedding, stepping over it and making your way to your couch. Your protective wall is still standing, your armor dusted off and polished once more. It’s time to pick up the pieces, replace what’s broken, and move on from what others like Eddie may want to tell you is heartbreak, but you would argue is just called life.

And life is pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something, right?

Halloween season used to be one of your favorite times of the year. Parties and opportunities to dress up like someone you’re not. Evenings to be a character in a story far different than the one you were living, with lines already planned for you to say, an ending meticulously thought out. Now, however, the red fabric that clings to your body serves only as a reminder of how your life is the furthest thing from picture perfect.

Originally, when you found the dress thrifting with Robin, it had felt a little like fate. A tiny and gentle nudge from the universe in the right direction - a sign. Now, you’re sure it was actually some twisted joke. Someone, somewhere out there, is laughing it up as they play with you like a plastic doll. Because even meeting Robin, a thing you were positive was divine intervention, is now wrapped around him. Some evil force at work as they had you meet her, then him, while they cackled and said ‘Ha! Watch this! This one’ll be good.’

Your costume now a cruel oxymoron - a girl who resents love dressed as someone who cherishes it. Pretending to be a girl who loved a boy endlessly, so devoted, she claimed to die the day he supposedly did. A girl who-

“You know,” a finger pokes your cheek, “For a princess, your sour look is not very princessey.”

Robin raises her eyebrows at you, hands on her hips, orange fabric of her skirt swishing around her thighs as she turns. Her sparkly red turtleneck and shine of her black mary jane’s glint in the strobe lights that are making sweeps over the room.

You try to smile, if only for the fact that Nancy actually got her to wear the costume. Crossing your arms, your eyebrows raise as you respond, “Well, you must be a detective or something, Miss Dinkley.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but fights a smile, fiddling with the magnifying glass in her hands. When you don’t say anything more though, her big blue eyes soften as they glance up at you through fake glasses, and she reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, is everything okay? I feel like…” she trails off, shaking her head, at a loss for words it seems - an unusual thing for her.

The line for the bar shifts forward and you nod, that terrible feeling still sits heavy in your stomach like a bag of rocks - you’re weighed down, to be left at the bottom of your guilt to drown. “I’m fine, Robin,” it slips out when you repeat the words quieter, because maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aha!” She points a finger in your face, “You just said be fine, implying something is in fact not fine currently and-“

“Robin,” your laugh is unconvincing even to yourself. You rub your temples as you face the bar. “Quit being a meddling kid.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out with a little more bite than you intend and her mouth shuts quickly. It’s silent for only a few seconds though, before her shoulder bumps yours. Her question quiet, “How long were you waiting to use that one?”

Your head rests against her shoulder in a silent ‘I’m sorry’, hers against yours in an equally unspoken ‘You’re forgiven’ as you sigh. “Oh, just since you put on the costume.”

She hums and then lifts her head and faces you. “Last thing, and then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

Facing her, you swallow harshly as she stares at you with eyes that feel like they can see everything. Even more so when she says, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. And if there’s something going on…” she trails off before smiling sadly and continuing, “You can tell me, okay? You can open up and I’ll probably talk too much and offer too much advice, but comes from a place of love and-“

You hug her tightly, Robin wraps her arms around you just as fiercely as her sentence breaks off. Your response sticks in your throat, an alarming hope of ‘what if I told her?’ rising in you that you need to squash down quickly. She can’t know, despite Nancy’s warning that she should. If she did find out, you’re not certain she’d be on your side anyways. It was all your idea to lie to her, it’s selfish of you to ask her to comfort you in this situation.

Especially after you made her practically drag you to the party tonight. Eventually giving into her puppy dog pout (for a girl who easily falls for it, she has a pretty convincing one herself), your guilt all but consuming you at this point. You could put on a smile, a brave face - you could pretend to be someone you’re not, just tonight, and just for her.

You haven’t seen Steve since the football game, ignoring any sort of notification related to him in your phone. But in the process of trying to remove anything Steve from your life, you’ve removed Robin from it as well - a packaged deal. Each ignored message, each call you watched ring and left unanswered, every dodged lunch, were just more punches to your gut, pieces of your heart ripped off and stepped on. You missed Robin so much, one night out, forced to make small talk with him, was a fair price to pay for the deceit and lies - if it meant you got to see her again.

When you break away from the hug, it’s your turn for the bar finally. Both of your eyes widen at the sight of the specialty drink menu. ‘Bootini’s’ and things like a cocktail called ‘Vampire Kiss’ making both of you frown at the dollar signs next to each. You’re suddenly grateful for the tequila that’s still filling your stomach with warmth and Eddie’s insistence on taking the shots before leaving Nancy’s.

“They do have like, a regular bar, right? Cause your girl is on a budget and…” your sentence trails off as Robin smiles at something, someone, over your shoulder.

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.”

His voice alone is enough to make your shoulders go up, to cause your stomach to twist, but when you spin to see him, you know it’s not the tequila making the room feel fuzzy and your stomach heave.

He can’t be serious.

He is not wearing that. He’s not.

“Come up with that all by yourself, did ya?” Robin pats Steve’s shoulder and before he can reply she’s holding up a hand in front of his face, letting out a low whistle. “Hoolly cooww.” She motions for Leigh to spin who blushes and laughs, but obliges as Robin keeps going, “Miss Morticia Addams, if you wanna ditch Dingus here…”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, an edge to his tone you may have found amusing if it wasn’t because of his best friend hitting on his girlfriend. “Seriously, Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him and Leigh laughs more, squeezing his shoulder. “I should be the one saying holy cow! Look at you two! Y/N, where did you find that dress?”

God, you hate that she’s nice.

Her dress is phenomenal. The low cut, black fabric that hugs her curves and drapes over her flattering in a way it simply wouldn’t be on you. She’s got the perfect gauzy sleeves, the rings and red lips and nails, she’s even got a rose and scissors in her hand.

You hate that you want to like this girl.

Your smile is tense, “I, uh-“

The bartender clears her throat and you point, saved by the bell, turning your back on the group. A name of one of the drinks leaves your lips and you’re vaguely aware of Robin saying something about finding the others and to not order her something with whiskey in it because he remembers what happened last time.

The deep breathing through your nose is a sad attempt for composure when you get a longer chance to take Steve in. Even with the dim bar lighting, the mirror behind the shelf of various liquors gives you a perfect view. You’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or punch him.

Steve’s dressed in all black, head to toe, the v-cut of the flowy top revealing quite a bit of his dark chest hair and you swallow, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. You always hated how Buttercup couldn’t tell it was Westley, in fact, you hate it in any movie when a character has a mask over their eyes and suddenly everyone is unable to tell who they’re dancing with, hell who’s kissing them. If anything, the black band of fabric across his face only makes the lips below and the eyes underneath it stand out more - the curve of his top lip you can still feel under your tongue. The colors of his iris’ so distinctly Steve that you’d recognize anywhere - instead of a sea after a storm, a forest. He really went all out, even his scruff shaved to have a thin mustache, he’s wearing the black cap pushing down his normally styled and perfectly messy hair, and when you glance down, you’re not surprised to find matching pirate boots standing next to you.

His hand reaches across your chest with a matte black card - that kind that isn’t glossy like a normal one and you quickly hand the bartender crumpled bills instead, earning a sigh from Steve.

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” Weeks of no contact, and you hate that your voice doesn’t come out strong and confident when that’s all you can think to say.

Risking a glance his way, you find his eyes are already on you, his jaw clenching before he asks, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Your inhale is sharp - how can he be this cruel? How can he act like that costume means nothing, or like the last few weeks weren’t awful? Weren’t they awful for him? To go from talking almost every day to nothing?

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?” Gesturing up and down his body as you ask. He truly can’t be this much of an asshole, he can’t-

Steve shrugs. “I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Turns out, he can be.

Before you can even start to formulate something nasty to respond with, a person walking by shouts out, “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!” Clapping Steve’s shoulder as they waltz past like it’s the 90’s and people still say ‘dudes’ to strangers.

Dude did just make your point for you at least, though.

You hold your hands out to the retreating body in a show of ‘see?’ and then childishly flip Steve off. “The case rests, your honor.”

“It was last minute and I didn’t-”

His weak and pathetic attempts at excuses fall on deaf ears as you push your way through the crowd towards the beacon of red neon announcing an exit for this god forsaken bar.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but you don’t think it is - screw Steve Harrington for ruining a fucking bar, for ruining the word dude, for ruining The Princess Bride, for ruining everything.

Screw everything.

The sting of rejection and the quiet anger that’s been sitting at a simmer since the game rests over an open flame now. Your insides quickly grow to a rapid boil. Apathy and anger rage for the top spot as everything you’ve tried to keep under a lid steams, ready to overflow and burn.

Ignoring the calls of your name, something still makes it past your seeing red rampage of an exit, connecting the voices, aware of Steve saying something to someone, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care who or what. The cool air hits your body as you push outside, stinging against the damp skin under your eyes.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, his voice quiet, “Y/N-“

“Don’t touch me, Steve,” you warn, taking a step backwards after yanking your shoulder from under his fingers. Your hands balled into fists as you spin to look at him.

He runs a hand through his now uncovered hair, face fully revealed without a mask too. He watches you closely, his voice gentle, as he raises his hands up, “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-“

“You don’t get to check on me anymore, or worry about if I’m okay, you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone scathing.

Steve’s gaze bounces over your face, his jaw hardens as the vein in his forehead dances. Somehow his voice is soft despite the bite to it, “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I am your friend, and I -“

Your laugh causes him to break off. You gesture inside and then to his outfit. “Friends don’t treat each other this way, Steve.”

He drags his palms down his face, his own disbelieving laugh echoes against the brick of the bar. “Are you kidding me? I have been nothing but your friend! I am sorry about what I said at the game, but really, when was I supposed to tell you? And this costume…I…” He shakes his head, licking his lips as he takes a step closer to you. “Look. I should have told you about Leigh sooner, but if you would have given me five minutes to-“

“Five minutes. A sec.” Your hands move in quotation marks as you recall the conversation he wanted to have at the game too. Your face pinches into an irritated scowl as your hands drop in front of you, palms open. Exasperation laced around your words, “What the fuck is there to explain anymore, Harrington? You’re dating her and you didn’t tell me - the story is over.”

Steve stands just in front of you now, that gravitational pull at silent work again, even weeks apart unable to switch it off. Your bodies move with each other, your voices rise in sync, your chests fall with shared breaths. A different sidewalk, that same feeling of flight or fight, but you know that it’s too late this time. Even turning the heat off isn’t going to fix the damage that’s been done.

Another laugh huffs out of him, “You’d like that, right? That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything.” He shakes his head and points to his chest, towering over you, “This is all such total bullshit. You’re mad at me for something that was your idea, because you didn’t get to decide when it was over.” He shrugs, waves of nonchalance carrying his words through the air to hit you hard like a slap across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

Any maturity you attempted to have towards the situation has evaporated.

“Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

Your chests almost touch with each ragged breath as his hands run through his hair and he pulls. A frustrated groan at your words, while the volume at which his come out becomes louder, “I’ve got plenty of fucking mirrors, why don’t you take your own advice! You’re a hypocrite. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t ask me for this arrangement. Tell me that the words ‘no feelings’ and ‘just sex’ didn’t leave your mouth. Tell me what you have to be upset with me for then!”

Your chin quivers at his words, the truth of them daring the tears behind your eyes to fall.

Steve gulps, his fingers dance on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes shine with his own held back tears, like he regrets how he said it but not that he did. His voice quiets as he pleads, “Tell me.”

He doesn’t get to look at you like that. He doesn’t get to say those things to you and then look at you like that.

What happened last time Steve Harrington asked you to open up and tell him something?

Tequila lingers on your tongue, aiding in the formation of words that are meant to sting - you want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. You bite down on your jaw, the anger and pain ready to fall down your cheeks as you remove yourself from him.

Your hands press against his chest, “You’re bullshit. This is bullshit.” A small shove as you practically growl the next words, “I’m a hypocrite? How about the fucking bathroom at that party where you told me I couldn’t have it both ways, but then you’re dating someone while getting all jealous?” Another shove, this time his fingers brush your wrists, a halfhearted attempt to get you to stop. “Begging me to open up to you? For fucking what, Steve? This costume? You…” you close your eyes and let your hands drop, letting the words do all the work now, “You’re a liar. You’re an asshole.”

Steve’s head ducks down, his fingers brushing his nose before he rolls his shoulders back. When his mouth opens, you step backwards, shaking your head.

“Lose my number, Steve.”

His eyes roam over your face, waiting, searching. He only nods once and takes his own step back.

“As you wish.”

Your breath sucks in sharply, a sob you’ve been holding in since the moment he said the words ‘Sorry we’re late’ threatens to finally crack out of your chest. You wish you had another beer to toss in his face for using those words at this moment.

It’s not said with the kind of reverence of the movie. There isn’t a narrator to let you know what he actually means by the phrase. But you know. It’s not an ‘I love you’, not like this. No, it’s merely a promise to do as you asked.

All you can do is turn away from him, hold your chin up and roll your shoulders back as you walk down the sidewalk.

There is no hopeful glance back over your shoulder, no loud smacks against the pavement made by his feet chasing after you like in the movies.

Like you said, your story is over.

'One New Voicemail':

“Hey, just thought I’d try ya, I know you’ve been busy. Um, well, Steve and I are heading to the Rocky Horror show tonight and I know he’d love someone to aid in his teasing of how totally into it I get. Right Steve?”

[muffled sounds of movement and whispers]

“Hm…yeah, I uh-”

[a clear smack to his shoulder]

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you or we’ve done something just the three of us! Anyways, call me back, text me…beep me if you wanna reach me…ugh, sorry that was so lame, okay bye. Love you!”

If you were surviving before them, you could survive without them. It seemed simple enough.

You’ve never stayed in one place for long, friendships like Robin, Eddie, and Nancy had been left before. Friendships that were never given a chance to really even start before you were gone. The promise of any relationships packed into boxes and off to the next city. Addresses and phone numbers and notes of ‘Keep in touch’ left to collect dust until forgotten about completely.

So, it should have been easy to continue to ignore their messages. To ignore the holes in your chest, to ignore the want to call or text one of them when something happened as mundane as a stranger calling another stranger ‘toots’ in your mailroom. If Steve touched things in your life and now caused them to wilt in your memories and sights, the other three made things bloom. They breathed life into you again.

You weren’t going to let Steve Harrington take something like that away from you.

Which is why you found yourself curled into your father’s sweater for courage, walking down the sidewalk towards the cemetery with a promise to meet them there.

Orange and brown leaves crinkle underfoot before they blow across the pavement. The moon is full, the sky that deep indigo it seems to only get this time of year. Both a perfect backdrop for the bare trees that dance in the wind and the blocks lined with homes with glowing porch lights. Orange buckets overflowing with candy rush past in a blur, laughter and squeals of children echoing down the street past you.

As you make it to the black iron fence, your eyes roam the blankets and patrons occupying them in the park next to the cemetery. Apple and brown sugar meet your nose and you take special note of the mini donut booth attached to the scent. Which is where you see Eddie, shoving two in his mouth and rolling his eyes at Nancy. He spots you and grins around the sugary dough, nudging the shoulder to his right and nodding in your direction.

Robin spins and you see her shoulders visibly fall and a grin spread across her face. She says something to the other two who head in the direction of the blankets and she races through the crowd. Muffled oofs and sorry’s meet your ears as she dodges and spins around people balancing concessions.

You reach the front of the line, a sandwich board proudly displaying the original ‘The Evil Dead’ poster sits next to an older woman on a stool at the gate. She smiles at you, holding a flashlight towards the ground. “Ticket, dear?”

“Rose! Rose, she's my girl!” Robin shouts, breathless as she makes it to the gate.

“Oh!” The elderly woman smiles wider, ushering you through, “Have fun ladies! Tell Edward I’m still waiting for my hot chocolate.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robin salutes with two fingers and then grabs you in a hug. “Jesus Christ I missed you!” Her voice is loud and she shrinks in your arms as the lights of the booths go out and the crowd surrounding you turns and shushes. Her voice shifts to a whisper, “Whoops. Come on, we’re towards the back and we still have all the commercials to chat without too many nasty looks.”

Robin holds your arm in a death grip, a silent promise to not let you out of her sights and clutches so long as she can help it again it seems. When you reach the blanket, Nancy and Eddie’s conversation stops abruptly and their smiles seem painted on as they look up at you.

It’s one of those moments, those silences that are too stilted and too abrupt, letting you know exactly what was being discussed just seconds before. You wave a little, ears burning since you have no doubt about who the subject of their interrupted conversation was.

“Eddie,” Robin begins, huffing as she falls to their cushy spot with extra blankets, trays of drinks, and several bags of sweets littered around them, “Rose is fiending.”

“Oh shit!” Ducking and wincing when someone turns around and glares at him. He grabs one of the cups with a big R on top and squeezes your shoulder as he stands, “Be right back! Glad you came!”

Sitting as Robin pats his now empty spot next to her. “Can I get you anything? We have cocoa and cider, donuts, popcorn, candy corn, caramel corn, basically any kind of corn and-“

“Robin,” Nancy hums, almost singing, as she sips from a cup. She squeezes her fingers. “You have to actually take a breath to let her respond.”

“I’ll never say no to a cider or donut,” you point to the items with a laugh.

Robin grabs them and hands it to you. She whacks pillows and squishes around, rolling and frowning and readjusting.

Eventually, she sighs, content, and grabs Nancy’s hand and then a donut from your bag and knocks it against one in your fingers before taking a bite.

“Happy?” Nancy asks as Robin hums around the sugar she licks off of her lips.

“You know it. Only thing that would make tonight better is…” she trails off with a grin.

You take her words as a warning to look around, wondering where he is and mentally preparing yourself.

Nothing could have prepared you though.

It happens quickly and yet not at the same time.

Your head turns to see them walking hand in hand. A swing of fingers as they walk past twinkling lights, the breeze blowing her hair perfectly.

Nancy says “Shit,” under her breath as she sits up. When you turn to look at her with a frown, she opens her mouth but no words come out.

The movie starts.

Eddie slows down as he makes his way back towards the blanket, looking at Nancy then over his shoulder then back at you.

Robin waves her arm too much and you turn to look again, trying to figure out what you’re not getting.

Steve’s eyes meet yours and he stops, tripping over his own shoe.

Leigh waves and something sparkles on her hand in the moonlight.

Robin beams and squeezes your wrist. “Oh my gosh I can’t believe they actually came! I figured with the whole engagement thing they wouldn’t. Now it’s all officially perfect. All my favorite people together on my favorite day.”

Plot twist: Steve Harrington is engaged.

WCIL taglist:

@loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

#steve harrington #modern!steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #we'll call it love

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beardedjoel · 9 months

Text

closer | part twenty two - finale!

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au.

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: in this final chapter, you and joel reconnect and discover just how deep your feelings for each other run. 8.6 k words. chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), soft!dom joel, cockwarming as the whole show, unprotected piv, sweet slow in love sex, dirty talk, praise kink a/n: I'M EMOTIONAL AS FUCK RIGHT NOW AND IDK WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT. i love love love these two lovesick idiots so much, they've helped me grow as a writer and i'm so happy so many of you have loved reading this story also. as much as i've written it for myself i also wrote it for all of you who encouraged me along the way, so THANK YOU SO MUCH! i could never express just how thankful i am for how much love this story has gotten. i promise this won't be the very last of this reader and joel, i would love to do a small epilogue or drabble sometime soon as well. anyways this has been such a rant THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU and please enjoy this final chapter!

You bound down the stairs giddily, happy to take in the familiar sights of Joel’s house in the light of day. You had missed its cozy comforts, the way it had been a second home to you, how Joel had been home to you. You’re practically vibrating with happiness, the feeling warm and radiating from the middle of your chest outwards. You’re tingling with anticipation to see Joel again, even with the fact that you’d just spend the entire night next to him. You couldn’t wait to interact with him, look into his eyes, and give him a good morning kiss. It nearly felt surreal, like you weren’t sure if this could have ever happened again.

You hear the soft drone of the TV, and when you don’t see Joel in the kitchen, you make your way to the living room, where he’s seated, sprawled out on his cushy couch. His eyes look only half-focused on a sports channel, running highlights and going into detail on all the recent games, and you immediately tune it out. When you enter the room, Joel looks up and his eyes widen, his coffee halfway to his mouth. He finishes the sip, slurping purposefully and setting the mug down on the side table next to the couch with careful hands, not once taking his eyes off of you. You stand in the doorway, stark naked, not having bothered to even put on one of Joel’s shirts this morning.

“Isn’t that a sight,” he says quietly, one hand still wrapped tightly around the warm mug, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. His tone seems controlled, but you can tell this is having more of an effect on him than even you’d expected. You try to not wear too big of a smirk as you stand, inspecting him.

“Y’better be comin’ right over to this lap if you're gonna walk in here lookin’ like that.” He cocks his head, making purposeful, long movements of his eyes to roam over your entire body, stopping longer to admire your tits, nipples slightly erect already from the chill of the air and your anticipation for Joel this morning. You close the space between you, padding over to the couch, where Joel adjusts his legs, making room for you.. You stop short, drumming your fingers on the edge of the table where Joel’s mug sits.

“Coffee first,” you declare, turning to walk back over to the counter, making sure Joel has a clear, impeccable view of your ass as you go. Joel gets up to follow you, and you hear a distant groan, no mistaking that it’s his back still bothering him.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” he asks impatiently, standing across the island in the kitchen, watching you. “My lap was ready for you, darlin’.”

You twist your lips to the side, purposefully ignoring him. “Now where were those mugs…” you mutter, reaching up on your tip-toes to look through cabinets, stretching your body out and offering an even better view of all your assets.

“You know damn well where those mugs are, sweetheart,” Joel growls out from across the room, arms folded in front of him. “Ignorin’ me… can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath, but still loud enough that you can make it out.

“Silly me, you’re right,” you reply airily, immediately opening the correct cabinet and getting a mug out before filling it with coffee. When you glance at Joel before opening the fridge, the look on his face is odd, unreadable.

“I, uh… still have the creamer. A new one. Stupid, I know. I bought a new one when the old one went bad. Jus’ in case…” Joel pulls his lips into his mouth and avoids your gaze for a moment.

Your heart beats harder for a few seconds, a hole opening in your chest that you feel like you might fall right through. It feels like your heart breaking in real time, realizing that all this time, Joel still cared so much, so fucking much. You clutch your chest, fingers brushing over your bare skin there, and give Joel the softest, warmest smile you can conjure up.

“Thank you,” you say, wanting to deliver it with sincerity and show the meaning that it has for you. Joel gives you a simple nod, knowing nothing more needs to be said about it, that you both understand what it means and what you both went through. You move along, pouring the creamer in your coffee and walking back to Joel, letting him guide you back with a rough hand on your lower back.

“Gonna jus’ ignore my questions, now?” Joel asks, in the half-teasing, half-irritated way that can only mean he’s brewing up all kinds of ways to punish you. He lowers himself back onto the couch with an equally loud groan, and you lift your brows, wondering if you should question him about it.

“You wouldn’t want me to be without my coffee, would you?” you ask, your voice syrupy sweet as it comes out of your mouth. You blink, fluttering your lashes for affect and Joel simply narrows his eyes at you, clearly not pleased with your teasing this early in the morning.

“How do you want me, then?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stand before him. Joel’s eyebrows shoot up at the question and he smirks wildly.

“You bad fuckin’ girl,” Joel tuts with a shake of his head, seeming to instantly forgive what transpired in the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit on down, put your back right here,” he says, patting his chest gently, clad in a classic Joel look of a faded sports tee. You do as he asks, climbing onto his lap with your back to him, scooting your ass all the way back until it’s flush with his torso. Joel’s arms go around you, his legs falling to the side slightly to make room for yours to dangle in between them.

You both sigh in contentment at the feeling of being close to each other on top of the sexual temptation you’ve quite literally just placed in Joel's lap. He reaches a hand to the side to grab his mug, bringing it to his lips over your shoulder. Once he takes a sip, he quickly nuzzles the side of your head.

“Y’sleep okay?”

“Better than I have in months,” you say with a breath of laughter, and Joel nods in agreement.

“Me too, darlin’. Wore each other out,” he says.

“So much pressure off of both our shoulders. I don’t know if you feel that too, but I do,” you tell him.

“Mhm. Feels like… all is right again, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nod, reaching for your own cup, precariously perching yourself to keep your balance on Joel’s lap, your ass rutting into his crotch a bit more. Joel groans quietly at the sensation, which you definitely don’t miss. You both went pretty hard last night, and you’re not sure what Joel will be feeling up for today if his back was any indication.

“How’s your back?” you ask, while the topic is on your mind. “Promise I won’t tease,” you add on lightheartedly.

Joel grumbles a little bit but then sighs in resignation. “I’m not in good shape here darlin’, if I’m honest. But hell, what’s a man to do when a pretty girl sits in his lap naked as the day she was born, but his back hurts? Be a fool not to take advantage of this,” he says, frustration cropping up in his tone. You realize Joel must be feeling touchy about his age these days, especially considering his birthday was yesterday.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you turn slightly and reach a hand over your shoulder to stroke Joel’s face gently. “I just want to spend time with you, whatever you want to do. I don’t want you to mess you back up even more.”

Joel finds it in him to grumble a bit more, but he places a kiss on your bare shoulder, murmuring a thank you into the skin. You two sit and drink your coffee in peace for a little while with the TV as background noise, but you feel the unmistakable bulge of Joel’s cock hardening underneath you as he absentmindedly runs his fingers along the soft skin of your thighs and arms.

“Hmm,” he mumbles quietly to himself, as if he’s trying to decide what to do - absolutely ravage you or keep his back from being completely fucked and sending him out of work for a few days.

“Joel… your back…” you say before he can even get any ideas.

“I know… I jus’...” he starts

“I have an idea,” you announce, cutting him off. “If you let me take care of you a little - get a heating pad, all of that stuff.l, I’ll sit right back here and let you do whatever you want to do to me. You’ll barely have to move. No pressure to do anything that’ll hurt you.”

Joel cocks an eyebrow, intrigued at your offer. “Y’shouldn’t have to take care of me like that…” he starts, and you immediately want to stop that train of thought before it derails completely and leaves him feeling bad about himself.

“Said I wanted to take care of you, so let me,” you say, and Joel starts to protest, but you cut in again. “How many times have you taken care of me, done so much for me? And for so much more than a day of nursing a bad back. Let me do this for you, Joel.”

Joel’s lips turn into a contemplative half-frown as he makes another thoughtful noise, and he then smiles a little. His fingers come up to touch your shoulder, tracing so gently along the skin that you get goosebumps immediately.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” Joel asks gruffly, giving in.

You have him instruct you on where he keeps the heating pad, insisting you know he has to have one around along with icy hot patches, Advil, the entire works for someone like him who complains about his back often enough. He grumbles at how correct your guess is, hating that it makes him feel old and weak in front of you, but you’re quick to remind him the only reason his back is hurting today is from ravaging you within an inch of your life last night. That seems to satiate him well enough, a proud grin slapped across his face at the recollection.

“Yeah, yeah, all in that closet outside the bathroom down here,” he tells you. “Y’better not go putin’ on any clothes while you’re away.”

You laugh, putting your hands on your hips as you stand up in front of him. “Got a naked nurse fantasy, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs out a laugh, amused. “When it comes to you, darlin’, everything’s a fantasy f’me.”

“Smooth talker.” You give him a dramatic eye roll but feel your heart jump at his words. ”Okay, just sit back, I’ll be right back with everything,” you assure him, rushing to the closet and digging out all the supplies you think you’ll need.

You smile to yourself at the old, worn down heating pad Joel has, something that looks like it’s been passed down and gotten nearly too much use, the old blue and pink plaid pattern faded and tattered. You make a mental note to buy him a new one at some point, knowing Joel’s practical brain won’t allow him to purchase something brand new since “this one works just fine”.

You catch Joel struggling to sit back and get comfortable, a grimace on his face, and you frown. You’ve never really seen Joel in pain until now, and it’s harder than you’d thought it would be. You feel a sinking feeling, just wishing you could take this pain away from him immediately. At the least, you’ll do everything you can to help him feel better.

“Hey, let me help. Let’s get the heating pad behind you,” you tell him, rushing over and trying to get everything set up. “Take these,” you say, barely looking as you try to hand Joel a few Advil while plugging in the heating pad at the same time. He grabs the pills from your hand and swallows them dry, and you glare at him before handing him the water you’d set on the side table for him.

His eyes widen with guilt, and he takes several long gulps from the glass, trying to hide a groan that escapes with the effort of setting it back on the table.

“You’re in worse shape than I thought,” you say, frowning deeply, eyes full of concern.

“Stop your worryin’, meds and the heating pad’ll have me right as rain in no time, okay?” Joel assures you, letting you place the heating pad on the couch before easing him down onto it. He sighs deeply as he relaxes into the steadily growing warmth of it.

“There we go,” you say gently, giving him a smile.

“Now hold up your end of the deal, darlin’.” Joel’s eyes are expectant and mischievous - at the least you’re glad he seems to be feeling slightly better already.

You simply smile, biting your tongue from giving him some kind of snarky comment and sit back down, returning yourself to his lap, sitting yourself between his legs and resting back into him.

“All yours,” you say quietly, craning your neck back slightly to lean your head onto his shoulder. His lips gingerly touch the skin there, sucking right where your pulse comes through, and you moan, back arching slightly, but you’re careful to keep from putting too much weight on Joel’s hurting body right now.

“Wanna be my little plaything so bad don’t you?” Joel murmurs as his hands come to your chest, groping gently at your breasts, testing the weight in his palms before he squeezes them again, running his thumbs over both of your nipples simultaneously. You squirm, thighs rubbing together as the sensation from your nipples seems to go straight to your clit, sending it throbbing for him already.

Joel is gentle and calculated with his moves now, lips soft as they ghost along your neck and shoulders, thumbs barely brushing your hardened pink buds. You whine over and over, already feeling like you could reach your high if he keeps this up.

“Open those legs f’me, sweetheart, Joel says, hands on your thighs, softly nudging them apart. You spread your thighs slightly, but Joel tuts. “Wider than that, darlin’, all the way, please,” Joel asks, and his use of ‘please’ catches you off guard, but you find you kind of like it for a change of pace. You slide your thighs over top of Joel’s, settling so that your legs are now spread open over top of his, landing on either side of his thighs.

“Much better,” Joel coos in your ear before slowly sliding a hand down your front, tauntingly, teasingly making its way between your legs. You writhe, your breathing picking up when Joel slides a finger between your legs, groaning as the wet heat envelops it.

“So soft n perfect f’me already,” he says shakily, finger traveling up your seam, sending you shuddering as it passes your clit.

“Mmm,” you moan out. “Feels so good when you play with me.”

“I know it does, baby, this lil’ hole is just weepin’ for me, ain’t it?” Joel asks, lewdly playing with your wetness, sending squelching sounds throughout the otherwise quiet room. “Needs to be stuffed full of me so bad, poor baby.”

You nod eagerly, breath coming out more staccato now as Joel teases you. He pushes two fingers inside of you, sliding them in effortlessly and beginning to pump in and out. You moan breathlessly, squirming on his lap as your slickness coats his fingers and starts to run down onto his hand. Joel lets out a pleased hum near your ear and you whine in response. He increases the pace, grunting quietly with the effort as you try not to writhe too much on him for fear of hurting him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby, can’t take this. Need to fill you up,” Joel whines, his breath hot on your neck, movements becoming more erratic. “Feel so fuckin’ good, missed you too much, darlin’.”

You cry out as his fingers hook inside of you, a ‘come here’ motion that has your legs wobbling instantly as you shake on top of him. “M-missed you so much, Joel. Can’t get enough of you…” you breathe out, barely able to focus on anything but Joel’s thick fingers absolutely ruining you right now.

“W-wait. But you can’t hurt yourself,” you add on, coming to your senses for a moment, worried about his back. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll let you use my mouth.”

Joel sighs, his fingers grazing your g-spot and you whimper. His free hand slides up your belly to your chest, cupping one of your tits, using his hand there to press your back into his chest a little more.

“Can I just…” Joel says, a gruff and quiet voice coming out of him now. “Let me just put it in, I fuckin’ need this sweet little pussy wrapped around me.”

He pulls his fingers out so suddenly that you yelp quietly with the loss before he cups your needy cunt with his hand, pressing his palm down into you. You squirm a little, trying to get some friction from his rough skin on your clit.

“Fuckin’ ruin myself to feel my cock in here, but y’know that already,” Joel says, grunting as he squeezes you tighter, your nipple between his fingers being pulled taut.

“Joel…” you cry out, “I’ll sit on it, make it all better for you, promise.” You turn your head to try and meet his eyeline, going in for a long, deep kiss that he meets eagerly.

You lift your hips up, balancing yourself on either side of his thighs. “You won’t even have to move,” you assure him, “Just get to enjoy me.”

Joel’s hands wrap around your torso and his mouth presses to your back. “Always enjoy you, but I swear to God darlin’, I can barely move right now, got it? So no funny business here.”

“Right.” You nod a little too enthusiastically, further setting off Joel’s doubts that you won’t be able to just sit quietly on his cock. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“My good girl,” Joel murmurs into your skin, peppering it with kisses. “How’d I deserve this?”

“Hush now, and get your cock inside of me,” you retort, and you can practically feel the surprise radiating off of Joel from behind you at your demanding attitude.

He tuts quietly and blows out a breath. “Yes ma’am,” he says with a chuckle.

You reach in between your legs, where Joel’s hard length is only covered by his boxer briefs, and your fingers itch with need as you wrap your hand around the fabric hidden heat of him.

“Shit,” Joel hisses through his teeth at your touch, arching his hips up into it before groaning in pain.

“Shh, just relax, baby,” you tell him, stroking him several times before pulling the waistband down, letting his cock spring out - red and throbbing, dripping precum for you already and you salivate instantly at the beautiful sight.

“C’mon, now, sit pretty on this cock f’me,” Joel says, patting his lap impatiently. His cock juts up, immediately pressing against your slick folds when you lower yourself slightly, and you bite back a moan, lip pulled between your teeth. You position yourself over top of his bulbous head, just letting it touch your entrance and swirl your hips, letting your warm arousal start soak his tip.

Joel moans unashamedly right in your ear, hands now clenched around your hips, squeezing tightly as you tease him. You rub back and forth, gathering more of your slickness onto him, letting it drip down until you know he can barely take it anymore from his labored breathing and tensing muscles.

“Not - n-ot fuckin’ nice to tease,” he grits out, barely able to speak through clenched teeth.

“You’ll have to teach me a lesson when you’re feeling better.” You smirk, and sink down slowly so that you can feel each bit of him entering you. Your breathing hitches as you get more and more full, and you hear Joel let out a sigh of his own as your wet heat surrounds him.

Joel’s breathing comes out shaky as your hips press flush with his again, seating yourself completely on his cock. You never fail to be surprised at just how full he makes you - it makes you feel equally insane in the moments you have it and in the ones you don’t.

“Oh, darlin’... fuck,” Joel whines, and you grin wildly, loving the way you’re affecting him right now. You lean back slightly, relaxing onto his chest in pure bliss as Joel keeps you full, his cock throbbing inside your equally pulsating cunt. Joel’s head dips to your shoulder, resting there, and his stubble sends goosebumps across your skin.

“Feels nice, don’t it?” he asks, his voice continuing to shake. He’s trying to keep it together, and you’ve rarely had a chance to see Joel fall apart quite like this, and it’s absolutely beautiful. His body is trembling below you, breath uneven as it fans across your neck, and you swear you can feel every inch of his cock throbbing inside of you, so much more so now that you’re just still.

“I-it’s hard to keep still,” you say, biting the inside of your lip.

“I know, I know, me too,” Joel replies soothingly, his palm rubbing up and down your spread thigh. “Let’s just enjoy it, hm? Distract ourselves,” he suggests, trying to turn his attention to the TV. You nod a little, trying to shift slightly to get more comfortable, the movement jostling you just enough that Joel lets out a sharp hiss, and you suck in through your teeth in sync.

“S-sorry,” you choke out, biting your lip again, harder this time.

“No you ain’t,” Joel snarks, and you both chuckle softly, little movements of your bodies following with it and you both still immediately, eyes widening. A moan threatens to pass your lips as you feel a build up of pressure inside of yourself from Joel’s cock pressing on your walls, and you’re desperate for movement, desperate for friction in your clit as it throbs.

“Fuck…” Joel breathes, his hand trembling slightly as he continues rubbing your thigh. “You- you're so wet, darlin’, I-I can feel everythin’.”

Your arousal coats his cock, a seemingly endless slickness pouring onto his shaft, starting to want to leak out around him, and you’re only getting more turned on, more antsy to start moving and grinding your hips.

“Just focus on the TV, lemme enjoy ya,” Joel urges, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself despite the only thing you can feel being Joel inside of you, rock hard and wanting. You manage to glue your eyes to the screen, the droning voices of sports broadcasters reaching your ears, but you can’t hear a word they’re saying. You decide to close your eyes, continuing to rest back on Joel. A small whimper escapes you after a few minutes of trying to ignore the pressure inside of you, but Joel’s hands are all over your body, only making you ache deeper for him, a place deeper than he’s even filling right now that you aren’t sure how to reach. Joel’s own breathing has sped up, and you can feel him, warm and now damp with sweat, a wall of muscle behind you.

“Baby… fuck…” Joel says, fully panting now, “Makin’ me crazy, can feel your little hole flutterin’ f’me honey….” Joel pants for a few more moments, unable to catch his breath completely. “Oh you’re too good, baby, not gonna last like this.”

“Please, I wanna feel you come like this. I’ll feel everything.” You urge him on, your hips absolutely screaming at you to move, to do something. Your hand reaches behind you to his cheek, cupping it and scraping your fingertips along his beard. He buries his head in your shoulder, turning his lips towards your neck.

“I- shit,” Joel groans out, sweat coating his forehead, and you feel his hips twitch underneath you so you double down, pressing your body down into his, trying to give him as little room to move as possible.

“Just like this. Don’t move,” you assure him. You feel him nod into your shoulder, and a whimper passes through his lips that you’ve never heard before. You feel yourself clench around his length at the power trip you’re on, and Joel’s sounds become louder as you cunt tries to milk the orgasm out of him. Your own quiet moans intermix with his and you feel your walls squeeze him, a reminder of just how god damned full you are.

“You’re so big, feels so fucking good…” you murmur, letting your fingertips trail along your leg. You snake a hand between your thighs, letting your finger just rest on your clit, the pressure heavenly in its aching state. You squirm enough that Joel notices, and his hands fly to your hips in a death grip.

“Stop movin’, honey, fuck, please,” Joel begs, his panting, growling breaths stuttering out against your shoulders.

“I can’t… it’s too much,” you whimper, squirming a little more. You’re close too, you can feel it, the overstimulation of Joel’s cock just pressing in the same devastatingly perfect spots inside of you is starting to get to you, a steady build of pleasure swirling in your stomach.

“Come for me, Joel,” you whisper with a heady voice, turning your neck as much as you can to see his face.

He lets out a soft whimper that trails off into a little moan, and you feel it all - his hips bucking up slightly into you, trying to press deeper even though there’s no more room left to give, his warm ropes of cum spilling into you, coating you, marking you as his.

“Jesus,” you whisper, feeling your cunt clench around him as it tries to pull out everything he’s got. Joel breathes heavily against your back before flopping his head back with a satisfied sigh. You follow suit, resting back against him in exhaustion, and Joel winces and lets out a yelp.

“My back, baby, careful,” he cries out with a grunt, and you sit forward instantly.

“Shit, s-sorry.” You begin to lift your hips, Joel’s cock wet and heavy as it slides out of you, leaving you so much more empty than you’ve ever felt before. You could’ve lived just like that, full of him, held by him, for the rest of your days.

“‘M sorry, honey, should’ve been able to…” Joel starts, his cheeks flushed and forehead shining still, but you shush him.

“That was perfect,” you say, smiling brightly to reassure him. You sit next to Joel on the couch, letting one of your arms drape around his torso.

“Alright, that’s all you get today. Strictly resting the back from here on out, okay?” you say more sternly, rubbing his chest.

“Oh, yes ma’am,” Joel chuckles, and pauses for a beat, deep in thought. “Look at you, honey. Can’t even believe sometimes this is the same girl I met in June. Bossin’ me around, now.” Joel’s eyes flash mischievously at you.

“N-no, I just… I want you to feel good - feel better. Not bossing…” you stammer out, the sudden, unconventional compliment from him sending your mind scrambling and face going pink. You shrink down onto the couch slightly, feeling exposed.

“See she’s still in there,” Joel chuckles as you nervously fall apart in front of him, and you give him a shy smile reminiscent of the ones you had when you two first met. “‘S’okay, just givin’ you a hard time. I’ll be a good patient now.” Joel pinches your cheek quickly before letting out a long sigh, leaning back further into the couch and wincing slightly.

You spend the rest of the morning and afternoon coercing Joel into letting you take care of him, and by the evening, he’s complete putty in your hands. He’s fully accepted your care at this point - letting you remind him when to take the heating pad off again without any grumbling, throwing more Advil his way, reminding him to walk around every so often to keep the muscles moving. By the evening, when you offer to run out to pick up dinner for you two, Joel immediately protests with an uncharacteristic whine, swinging an arm around you to hold you down onto the couch.

“What if we jus’ ordered in, hm? Then y’don’t have to leave me,” he asks you, brown eyes going into full begging mode. Joel Miller giving you puppy dog eyes might just be your new favorite thing, you’ve decided, as you smile widely at the sight.

“Oh, you can’t look at me like that, then I’ll never leave,” you reply, tilting your head as you study this completely new expression on Joel’s face.

“That’s kinda the idea, sweetheart,” Joel says, smirking a little now, letting up on the absolutely soul crushing look he was giving you.

“Well it’s working,” you snip teasingly. “I’ll stay with you then, won’t leave for even a minute.”

“Good,” Joel sighs in relief and relaxes back onto the couch, a satisfied grin on his face.

Joel hardly lets go of you the entire night, arms wrapping around you in any way he can, always pulling you back into him. Even while you’re sleeping, you stir several times when he presses you close again, the heat of his broad chest radiating into your back. You realize that he’s still awake, a restless energy radiating off of him. Your eyes flutter open and you see his eyes cast down, studying you as you turn your head to look up at him.

“What is it?” you whisper hoarsely. “Your back?”

“No, no, that’s feelin’ much better. Jus’ lookin’, go back to sleep now, darlin’,” he replies, smoothing a hand down the side of your head. You raise an eyebrow but feel too half asleep still to pay him much mind or find a retort to tease him with. Instead, you find yourself turning in his arms to face him, burying your head in his chest, warm and steadily moving with his breaths. His dusting of salt and pepper hair tickles your skin just slightly, not enough to bother you, just enough to remind you exactly who you’re close to right now.

You suddenly feel restless as well despite your heavy eyes and the late hour, the image of the way Joel was just looking at you burned into your mind. Your heart lurches a little and peek your eyes open, yearning to catch him again as you tilt your head up to find his eyes meet you again in the dark of the room.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” you mumble accusingly from his chest.

You feel Joel shrug a little bit around you. “Jus’ cant right this minute. Feelin’ like… I could lose you.”

“Lose me… wh-“ you stutter, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes a few more times. “No, you aren’t. You won’t."

“Did it once,” Joel says solemnly.

“You never really lost me, though.”

Joel remains silent, his brow furrowed slightly, and you can see the deep set lines on his forehead through the little slivers of moonlight streaming in through the curtains.

“You know that, right?” you ask, and Joel’s continued silence answers it for you before he gives a small shake of his head.

“I was always yours… I knew I’d never get over it, even if I had moved on, I couldn’t move on from what you left me with, if that makes sense.”

“Suppose it does,” Joel says quietly.

“You’ve had…” you swallow, trying to push back tears that seem hellbent on escaping from your eyes. “A profound effect on me, Joel.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Joel responds, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Never would have moved on, either. Never…” he stumbles on the last few works, his mouth trying to work in as many kisses as he can on your hairline.

“So we’re really doing this, right Joel? We’re… us again?” you ask, seeming like the answer is already sitting in this conversation you’d just had, but needing to hear it anyways.

“As long as it’s what you’re wantin’, sweetheart. I was all in last night… still am. Been all in since you let me into your life again. This ain’t just a one time lapse in judgment or somethin’, if that’s what you’re worried about. This is the whole damn thing for me.”

You swallow heavily, a knot stuck in your throat at Joel’s words. “You are, too,” you whisper hoarsely, burying your head into his chest again. “The whole damn thing.”

“God…” Joel whispers, his voice cracking underneath the hoarseness of it. “Thank you,” he adds on in a murmur, and you’re not sure who he’s even thanking at this point, but you can just feel the relief sink into his body as he relaxes, melting into you.

After a while of laying in a comfortable silence, you finally start to doze off again, but Joel’s hand moves up your back to the back of your head, jostling you awake slightly. He’s sending loving strokes along your hair, his touch the most tender you’ve ever felt it somehow. It’s no softer physically than other ways he’s touched you, but the intention behind it shines through, flowing out of his fingertips and warming your skin. You can sense the thickness in the air, the way he’s looking at you with the care of still unspoken words, and you finally get the courage to blink sleepily up at him.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes are too entranced, mind too busy with his thoughts of you to fully commit to it. You give him a bright, closed lip smile, feeling the corners of your eyes crinkle as you sigh into the way he’s still delicately sliding his hand along your hair.

He murmurs your name like a prayer on his lips and you know the next words out of his mouth, but you still buzz, the anticipation of watching his lips part in what feels like slow motion as you await the inevitable, world changing sounds that will fall from them.

“I love you.”

The words reach your ears in a kind of haze, as if they’re far away, quiet, and taking their sweet time to get to you. Your head suddenly spins, not realizing how deeply you’d needed to hear those words uttered from Joel’s tongue, and for how long. You’d known for months now you were madly, deeply, irrationally, infuriatingly in love with Joel Miller. It made you want to pull your own hair out some days, and others made you want to crawl as close as you could possibly get to him, to mold you into the same person, share the same skin. It was a sickening, panicked love - one you knew you could never live without unless you wanted a whole part of yourself to be missing. Rough but sweet, calloused but soft, all of the things that were you and Joel separately and you and Joel together. It hurt so badly that it started to feel good, to know you were loved by Joel.

“I -” you mumble, the surprising sting of tears behind your eyes instantly brimming and threatening to fall. You blink quickly and suck in your breath, an added pressure to a body that already feels close to bursting with the whirlwind of emotions you feel right now.

“I love you.”

Joel lets your return of his sentiment sink in for several quiet moments, simply him breathing heavily with his forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed.

“I-I’m not always good with sayin’ things how I need them to come out, so… c-can I show you?” Joel says, voice low as he shifts his body to turn so he’s completely facing you.

“Show me?” Your heart picks up at his movement, the change in his tone, the tense air that surrounds the two of you.

“How much… I love you.” He pulls you flush, your warmth mingling with his, your bodies close to practically becoming the same person.

“J-joel…” you gasp out, feeling your lungs constrict and heart ready to burst out of your chest. He’s hard and soft everywhere, his muscles holding you tightly but lovingly - you’re so safe here, so beloved. His cock aches against you already, nothing separating the two of you since you’d both fallen asleep naked, the length of him pressing against your thigh.

“Can I?” he asks again, not impatiently, but simply that he’s desperate to give this to you, for you to know what he’s feeling.

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding. “Show me.”

“So much… so much…” Joel’s words trail into a whisper as his lips meet yours, passionate but gentle, mouth immediately opening into yours. Long, sensual kisses as his tongue begs for entry and you permit it, nearly gasping at the way he feels right now - a tense control over himself, wanting to show you everything sweet he has in there, that his roughness can be loving, too. You can barely breathe, moaning into his mouth as your hips grind into nothing, seeking out more of him.

Your bodies meld together at once, his cock sliding between your legs as you both quickly solve the puzzle of the best way to interlock your bodies together, barely having to put any thought into it. It’s so natural with Joel, it always has been. Your hand slides under his neck and around to his back, leg thrown over his hip as he lays on his side, pulling you in closer.

He teases you only a few times, dragging his hard length through your slit with a few lazy thrusts of his hips to gather up your arousal. At your whimpering noises he pulls his mouth off of yours to gaze at you with a heady stare.

“Lemme look at you,” Joel says, his hand coming up cup your cheek, a sense of home right in his fingertips. You lean yourself into it, sighing as you look into the familiar sight of his eyes, pupils blown out with need, but there’s a delicacy there, a desire beyond his usual hunger. His fingers curl around the back of your head as they gently grasp your hair into his hand. His eyes search your face, bouncing around your features, and you’re unsure of what he’s looking for, what he’s thinking.

“Never looked more beautiful, baby,” he marvels, his voice a hoarse whisper as he slowly pulls his hips back and then pushes them forward, letting the head of his cock sit at your entrance for a moment before tentatively pushing in further. You gasp, clutching onto his back and digging your nails in at the slow, gorgeous stretch of him moving into you. You both breathe out shakily, a long sigh of relief at feeling the other’s body fitting so perfectly together.

Joel’s lips find yours again with slow, tender kisses as he starts to move his hips. Your entire body shudders at the unhurried movements of his cock dragging in and out of you, slow and messy. His lips lose some of their accuracy now too, catching the corners of your mouth, inching down to your jawline and neck as he buries himself in you. You’re both letting every sound you need leave your lips, little moans and whimpers filling the room accompanied by the noises your bodies are creating together as you get impossibly more wet, coating him, leaking around him and down onto both of your thighs.

“Jesus, Joel,” you whine, barely able to take just how heavenly it feels to be wholly his in this moment.

Your eyes flutter as your pussy clenches around him, the gentle thrusts making you absolutely wild. Joel was right - you can feel every morsel of his love like this - the way he’s pouring everything he has into you now.

“I’ll give y’everything, angel, make you so happy if you let me, oh f-fuck,” Joel stutters out, splaying his hand out on your lower back to help press you closer with each inward push he makes into your pussy. “Make you all mine, always, if y’let me, if y’want me to…” Joel sounds like he could nearly start to cry with the intensity of the moment, caught up in the way he’s expressing his emotions to you.

“Always, always… want you, Joel,” you whisper back as you pant with need, starting to feel a warm heat coiling in your core. “Forever,” you say without a care, not bothering to think about the heavy meaning of the word, knowing you mean it well past the heat of the moment you’re in right now. Knowing you’d say it to Joel again and again in the light of day, the heat of the night, and any time in between.

“Forever, angel.”

Joel’s thrusts gain speed, not much, but enough that both of you are edging closer to a climax by the second, the both of you panting promises to each other through all of the moans and whimpers. You’re both drenched in sweat, sloppy and wet all over, your bodies not offering an inch of space from the other as your lips clash over and over, barely even recognizing where any of your movements together begin and end. It’s pure perfection - beyond anything Joel has shown you before, reserved and only possible in a moment like this one.

Everywhere Joel presses inside of you starts to ignite, your entire body becoming desperately taut as you feel a warmth tingling throughout you, spreading from where Joel is hitting so perfectly.

“I’m gonna come, Joel, make me come, j-just like that,” you manage to say, your brain starting to go blank with thoughts of only Joel, only this pleasure.

“Oh, honey, so good, lemme feel you,” Joel encourages you, keeping the exact pace he was on to get you over the edge.

You cry out, long moans as everything snaps suddenly, and Joel’s arms wrap tightly around you, shielding you and pressing you into his chest as you shudder, your entire body overtaken by this pleasure.

“Good girl, good girl, good girl,” Joel chants, pressing himself as deep as he can repeatedly, helping you ride out your high. He watches your face intently, the way your eyes are screwed shut and mouth agape, gasping and moaning for him. His hand grips tightly around your face, dwarfing it underneath his long, thick fingers. “Love my good girl.”

His words send you whimpering in ecstasy as you feel seemingly never ending waves of your climax hitting you, your cunt fluttering and squeezing Joel’s cock over and over. Joel gasps and you can feel his body shaking against yours, urged on by the way yours is responding to him.

“Gonna come too… squeezin’ me so good like that…” Joel says, panting harder now. “Let me fill you up, get you full of me, baby.” Joel rambles on, his body purely concentrated on climaxing as he sloppily ruts his hips into you a few more times before burying himself to the hilt with a long grunt.

“Fill me up,” you whine as you feel him spilling into you, nearly wanting to come again at how good it feels to have him give himself to you like this. A final groan and then Joel collapses, his body rolling further into yours and you sigh out a sound of pure contentment, letting yourself press back into Joel. He kisses your face, peppering you with languid, lazy presses of his lips, and you can feel his mind is scrambled, elsewhere right now.

“D’you see? What you do to me?” he asks quietly in between kisses.

You nod into him. “Same as what you do to me.”

He gives an exhausted chuckle and you can feel the smile tug on his lips as they sit against your skin.

“I found your note,” you blurt out, unsure of where the thought even came from so suddenly. You feel Joel stiffen and then open your eyes to see the flash of recognition on Joel’s face and he softens even further.

“‘M glad you did,” he replies, his hand starting to stroke along your back. You feel goosebumps tickle you at his touch even with your skin still blazing and damp from the way he’d just fucked you. “Hate that y’read it at such a bad time, but I swear, meant every word of it.”

“I know you did. It… made me realize…” you say, trailing off into your own thoughts, remembering the mixed emotions of the day you’d read his words scrawled out for you, seeing on paper for the first time that he loves you.

“What, hm? Realize what?” he presses you, quiet and soft.

“It’ll always be you, Joel.”

He’d hardly let you out of his sight the entire week other than work, bringing you back home with him every night, and dropping you off to work in the morning. A man possessed, or re-possessed, you supposed, his hands finding you every chance they got - a commanding hand on your thigh the minute you got in his car, his grip tight around your waist the second the front door closed behind the two of you, lips finding any part of your skin he could see.

He was frenzied yet controlled, somehow always a paradox of some sort with Joel. His fear of experiencing the loss he’d felt when you two were apart was too much for him to bear, too painful to even consider possible again, so he kept pulling you close, “I love you”’s whispered in the most mundane of moments - you’d heard it countless times over the last week, always happy to return the words.

Now that you’d both said it, you were unstoppable. I love you I love you I love you. You think the words whenever you see him, a constant loop playing in the background of your mind. You speak the words when he catches your eye too long, falling like a mantra from your lips over and over, making sure he understands the truth of it all. You’re both desperately trying to make sure the other knows the depth of your obsession, your love, for each other.

You find yourself lost in your thoughts as you sit in the shade provided by the house’s shadow in the mid morning sun, feet tucked up under you on one of Joel’s cushy outdoor chairs. After practically keeping you at his house the entire week, today Joel insisted on mowing the lawn despite him complaining about his bad back the rest of the entire week. You’d done your best to keep him from overexerting himself, but if you’ve learned anything at all about Joel Miller, he’ll always be a stubborn man with a mind of his own.

You clutch the most recent book on your to-be-read list in your lap, your other hand on a warm mug of coffee. Joel’s made another pot of it, just because you yawned one too many times, insisting that you needed more caffeine if you were going to keep up with the plans he had for you later. You take a long sip, savoring the flavor, the coffee tasting better only because the man you love made it for you. You peer up from your book, the loud buzzing of the lawn mower breaking through your concentration again, and you’re met with a sight you’d gladly let steal your attention any day.

Joel’s white shirt is soaking through with sweat, an unseasonably warm autumn day that had prompted Joel to do yard work in the first place. He pauses mowing the lawn to lift his shirt up, wiping the gathering perspiration from his forehead quickly, and as he grips the lawn mower again, he catches you watching him. His face instantly lights up, a sweet little smile that he only shares with you, like a secret language you’re learning to read better each day. When his expression suddenly turns a bit more devious, he makes sure to wipe his face off once more for good measure, giving you a free show of his glistening torso. His eyes taunt you after, brows raised expectantly for a few moments, and you return the gesture with your own brows, letting Joel know exactly how you feel about what you’re seeing.

Something about the whole scene feels familiar, that odd sense of déjà vu creeping up on you and making the hairs on your neck stand up a little bit despite the heat in the air. You try to put your finger on it, and it’s not until your roaming gaze lingers across the fence, catching on the large oak tree in your parents back yard that it strikes you.

The way you used to lay right there and watch Joel do the exact thing you are right now, and relishing in the sight all the same. Trying to be inconspicuous, thinking he’d never notice the neighbor girl trying to catch a glimpse as he sweat and glistened under the hot sun. You’d let your mind wander as you watched him, questioning what things would be like if you’d ever get the courage to speak to him, if he’d ever even give you the time of day. Oh, how wrong you’d been, how completely wrong to think Joel couldn’t look at you that way.

You can’t help but marvel a bit at the memories, seeing where you are now, across that fence and having Joel go so far as to want you to watch him so blatantly now. Some things never change, but you realize that you surely have. You hardly recognize the girl you were back in June - so unsure of herself, wondering what she could be worth to anyone, let alone a man like Joel. But you now realized that while you’re certainly intent on keeping Joel around for… well, the rest of your life, at the least he’s left you with so much to carry on inside of yourself.

Joel catches your daydream-like expression as he finishes his mowing and approaches you. You now get a closer look at just how god damned handsome he is, and you feel lucky all over again, tears coming to your eyes unexpectedly. It nearly feels like a dream - the way the sun lights him up from behind, his broad form and muscles shining so delightfully, so pleasing to the eye. The way his face, every feature loved by you in its own special way, has already gone softer at seeing the tears in your eyes as he walks towards you.

Everything about this little moment in time feels indescribable to you, nostalgia and tender heartedness and love overflowing inside of you. You grasp onto your current reality and hold on tight, wanting to live inside this day over and over if you can, wanting this one truth to stay feeling perfectly clear to you - you’re simply… happy.

taglist: @paleidiot@mumma-moonchild@soph55 @chicville03@joelsversion@feliciab1990@fellinfromthetop@gossipgirl-03@sarap-77@blueseastorm @akah565@pattwtf @scarletthefierce

i'm so sorry if ur tag doesn't work, i really don't understand why tumblr does this ><

#i'll miss them so much #my emotional support couple for sure #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader

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nolita-fairytale · 8 months

Text

don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | epilogue: november

summary: sugar has her baby marking the beginning of a new chapter for the berzatto family.

warnings: husband!carmy who comes with a warning label of his own, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns, the end

wc: 1300

listen to: 'lean on me' -- bill withers & 'chinatown' -- bleachers (because it's so make my heart surrender au coded) on the official don't want to walk alone playlist

a/n: well, folks! this gets us from here to the carmy as your baby daddy au. BUT i think it's time for me to let these two ride off into the sunset and go on their merry way. i have loved this story, these characters, this world since it filled my brain with a story that begged to be told, and forced me to write it because i couldn't stop thinking about it. i wrote something quite sappy in the a/n a few chapters ago, so i'll spare us an encore performance of it and just say this: thank you for reading. thank you for being a part of this story. thank you for being a part of their journey. i will pop into this world and perhaps maybe write oneshots from time to time, but... it's time, my loves. :) would anyone be interested in a behind the scenes look at this world like i did with 'burn your life down?' let me know!

part five | masterlist

November

After sixteen long hours, Sugar’s baby comes: a perfect, rosy-cheeked, healthy baby boy that sends you and Carmy rushing to the hospital. Sugar hadn’t wanted you to come till she was ready to push, and by the time you got the text from Pete, you’d sped to the restaurant, ready to drag Carmy out of there, regardless of how busy it had been.

Besides, everyone knew what was going on – on the edges of their seats, phones at the ready to hear any and all news about the new member of the family, and more than happy to support so that you and Carmy could show up for Sugar.

“Carm?” Sugar asks for her brother, as you and Pete hug it out in the waiting room. You can’t even tell that the man’s been up all night; the excitement and joy in his eyes overshadowing any and all fatigue.

Carmy excuses himself from you and Pete’s congratulatory embrace, making his way into the hospital room where his sister lays, propped up on her bed, baby in arms.

So much has changed for the both of them: his sister, now a mother, and he, an uncle. Carmy takes cautious steps forward, the reality of it all beginning to hit him.

“Hi,” she smiles, in complete awe of her new baby.

“Woah,” Carmy says, though completely incapable of hiding the smile that begins to form over his face. “You made that.”

“I made that,” she chuckles with an eye roll, glancing from the baby, to her brother, then back to her son. “And he’s the most perfect thing in the world. Baby boy, I want you to meet someone. I want you to meet your uncle.”

Carmy carefully sits in the chair right next to the bed, turning his attention to the baby.

“Can you say hi to your Uncle Carmy?” Nat coos, shifting so that she can properly introduce her son and Carmy.

“Oh my goodness… look at you,” Carmy says, his eyes full of wonder as the sleeping baby shifts in Sugar’s arms.

He’s not sure what to say, the words caught in his throat. He can feel it – that this is something momentous – but it’s as if he doesn’t know where to begin, lost in the magnitude of what’s happening right now.

“Hey, little guy,” Carmy finally manages to get out, his voice stuck in his throat.

Sugar chuckles again, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“How ya doin?” Carmy asks, looking over at his sister this time.

“Great. Just great,” she replies dryly, earning a laugh from Carmy, because it really has been one hell of a night.

When she opens her mouth to answer this time, her words come out much more genuine and soft as she adds, “I am though. Really. I’m great.”

Carmy nods in understanding, his eyes searching his sister’s face for any more of a reaction. But he knows that this is a dream come true for her -- that being a mother had always been the plan. Carmy chooses to focus this time on the sleeping baby, who’s tucked his head into her chest, seeking out warmth and comfort in this strange, new world.

“Bear?” Nat asks, as Carmy lifts his head to look at her once more.

There’s something urgent in her voice that grabs his attention and he’s not sure what she’s going to say next.

“Yeah?” he asks back, his eyes wide.

“So I want to talk to you about something,” Sugar says, his voice softening even more as she looks down at her baby boy. Carmy nods once, letting her know that he’s ready as Nat continues. “I uh… well, Pete and I have been thinking a lot about this. And… I wanted to talk to you about it before we move forward with it.”

Carmy swallows, leaning in this time.

“After we found out we were having a boy, Carm, we talked a lot… about what we would name him and… with his due date being in November… I don’t know. And look at him now, meeting him... it just feels right,” she begins, emotions welling in her voice. “We-, well, we want to name him Michael. If that’s okay… with you.”

Carmy has to stop for a moment, frozen in time as he hears the name. It’s not like he gets emotional about these kinds of things very often, but then again, this is all new to him – new to the little families they’re building; a new generation of Berzattos.

“Uh,” Carmy croaks out, his voice stuck in his throat as he realizes he’s much more moved than he expected to be. “Uh yeah, Sug. I… it’s okay with me.”

“Are you sure? Because I didn’t know if you wanted to use the name or-,” Sugar begins to explain.

“No, it’s-, it’s okay,” Carmy is quick to interject. “If it feels right. I mean we haven’t even-, you know, we’re not talking about… yet….”

Sugar nods in understanding, because she knows that you and Carmy have only been married for two months now. Hell, she's your best friend; she'd know if either of you were talking about having kids.

“So,” Carmy says, his eyes suddenly feeling watery. “Guess there’s a new Michael Berzatto then?”

He takes another look at his baby nephew, joy and grief both trapped inside his chest. Carmy's overwhelmed by it all: hearing his name, what this means for the Berzattos, this new beginning. He thinks back to what you said to Sugar on your wedding day -- that this could be the start of a new chapter for all of you -- the reality of your words reflected back to him now, all in one tiny package of new life.

"Welcome to the world, buddy," Carmy manages to say, his voice soft and full.

And it's as if every single thing that's led to this moment, and every single possibility that the future may hold rush before his eyes.

“Welcome to the world, baby boy,” Sugar whispers, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions.

Wanting to give Carmy and Nat time alone together, you spend the first part of your hospital visit with Pete in the waiting room, as the teary-eyed man recounts the intensity of the last eight hours. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he speaks, that this is a dream come true for him – becoming a father.

Soon enough, Pete is ushering you into the hospital room, more than eager to introduce you to your new nephew. By the time you and Pete join her and Carmy, the new Berzatto is fast asleep on her chest, while Carmy sits quietly next to her. There’s an energy between the siblings, something you notice right away, and you can only imagine that this is emotional for the both of them on so many levels.

“Hi,” you grin, looking from Sugar to Carmy, as you join him by her bedside.

“Hi, sweetie,” Sugar greets you. Carmy smiles at you, as your hand comes up to rub comforting patterns over his shoulder and back.

“Pete,” Nat begins again. “Carmy and I were just talking… about his name.”

“Oh yeah?” Pete asks, smiling hopefully as he exchanges a look with his wife.

She nods, a full conversation happening between the new parents with just one look. Pete lets out a heavy exhale, smiling at his wife as Nat answers with:

“Yeah."

Carmy clears his throat, his arm closest to you squeezing you closer to him, gently leaning his head against your side in search of comfort.

“What’d you decide on?” you ask curiously, the air seemingly tense with feeling.

“Michael,” Sugar answers, exchanging a look with her brother this time. Carmy squeezes your hip, and as you search his face for a reaction, you can tell he's holding back tears.

“His name is Michael.”

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #natalie 'sugar' berzatto #pete the bear #sugar the bear

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daisynik7 · 10 months

Text

Give You Blue

Chapter 8: How It Begins

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

cw: switching POVs (reader is 2nd person, Eren is third) angst, fluff, language

Word Count: ~3.5k

Previous Chapter | Epilogue

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: The conclusion of the series Give You Blue. Author’s Note: Seriously, I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with this through the end. I wanted to write a story that was realistic, relatable, and romantic, and I hope that in the end, I accomplished that. I wasn’t sure anyone would want to read a story like this, so I’m so grateful to all of you who have. I appreciate every single one of you so so much. I’ll definitely miss this series, but I’m also relieved to be give our main characters some rest LOL. Stay tuned for the Epilogue, coming out in the next week or so!

Eren fingers are entwined with yours, hands resting on the center console of his car, windows rolled down halfway to let the passing breeze sweep through his hair. Every so often, he’ll glance at you, smiling, sunglasses covering his eyes as he drives the familiar route towards the bridge between Paradis and Marley. The radio plays songs you’ve listened with him before, during all those little hangouts inside his room. Choruses and verses he’s demonstrated for you on his guitar, impressing you with his skills. He hums each tune happily, thumb tapping against your skin in tandem with the rhythm.

Nearly three months ago, you were in the passenger seat, that time in Reiner’s car, driving the same road, but in the opposite direction, observing the ocean blue with tears in your eyes and a broken heart. Wondering what would happen next after losing what seemed like everything to you. Because Reiner was everything to you. Was.

Now, you see your future in a clearer light. Instead of storms or perpetual rain, you envision sunshine and bright skies, filling you with warmth that has since slipped from you since your breakup. You’re no longer lost; rather, you’re wandering to something new, something different. Something wonderful. And you can’t help imagining Eren on the other side of that, welcoming you with open arms. Still, the journey isn’t over. In fact, it’s just beginning. And before you reach your destination, there’s obstacles you need to face to make it there in one piece.

Halfway into the drive, you realize where he’s taking you. It’s his little paradise he told you about before, the special beach he goes to for an escape. It’s my super-secret spot. You have to be really special to know about it. I’ll show you this one day. You’ll love it. Even then, several weeks ago, Eren invited you into his world, deeming you special enough to share it. He trusts you, is giving his all to you. And you wish your heart wasn’t so damaged still, so that you could give him the same. The love that he deserves.

He pulls into a spot right off the shore, letting go of your hand to put the car in park. “We’re here,” he announces, grinning. At the trunk, he pulls out two blankets, handing you one to carry. He leads you down weathered stairs towards an alcove hidden away from the main beach. The sand is soft against your feet, sinking in with each step. The distinct melody of waves crashing on the shore is soothing to your ears. It really is paradise, especially with Eren guiding the way, turning back occasionally to flash that winning smile at you. Eventually, he settles for a spot far enough from the shore to where the water doesn’t reach, laying the blanket flat. He sits cross-legged, focused on the view in front of him. He’s at ease, the tension from his shoulders relaxing, his sunglasses reflecting the glare of the golden hour. You take your place beside him, indulging in this sight. Their last moment together in the sun before you return to reality.

The scene is amazing, streaks of orange and pink mirrored in the shimmering blue sea. It’s too majestic to stare at directly, so you watch it rippling on the ocean surface. With the sun gradually sinking into the horizon, Eren scoots closer, nudging you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You rest your head on his shoulder, nodding. “It is. Thank you for taking me here.”

“I know it’s not exactly the runaway you wanted, but it’s the best I could give you,” he mentions, leaning into you.

“This is exactly what I want. To be here with you.”

The two of you sit in silence, admiring the sunset until it disappears, and the night sky takes over, like a curtain falling after the final act. You’re holding hands now, squeezing each other tight, desperate not to let go. Maybe he senses it too, the end of this tiny getaway together.

“Eren,” you start, voice trembling.

Before you can continue, he turns to kiss you on the forehead gently. “It’s okay. You can be honest with me. I can take it.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, his thumbs brushing them away as he cradles your face between his palms. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I’m so sorry, Eren. I wish I could give you what you want, like what you’ve given to me. But I can’t. Not right now. I need time.”

“Then I’ll wait for you,” he urges, placing delicate kisses along the corners of your eyes, collecting your tears on his lips. “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You shake your head, refusing. “I won’t let you do that. There’s a whole world out there, people without baggage, without a broken heart. They’re so much better for you than I am. It’ll be so much easier than dealing with a mess like me.”

“I don’t want easier. I want you.”

“Why? Why me?”

He smiles softly. “Because you make me happy.”

You continue to cry, asking, “How can it be that simple? What if you get sick of me? What if I can’t make you happy anymore?” It’s what happened with Reiner. He decided one day that he was no longer in love with you, and in an instant, the life you built together disintegrated into a pile of dust. Remnants of precious memories wasted away into nothing. That’s what it felt like. What if the same happens with Eren? What if you weren’t meant to be loved at all?

He keeps holding your firmly in his grasp, a look of determination in his face. “There’s so many what if scenarios you can give me. I won’t pretend to know exactly what the future has in store for us. But all I know is that I’m the happiest when I’m with you. I’m not going to let something like this go just because I’m worried it might not work out in the end. If I’m going to take a leap of faith, it’s going to be for you.” He nuzzles his nose to yours, grinning. “And who’s to say that you won’t get sick of me?”

“I would never,” you reply, gazing at him through weepy eyes. “But I’m scared of becoming a failure again.”

“Having your past relationship end doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Love isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about learning and growing. Realizing how capable you are to love somebody and allowing them to love you. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?”

You watch him, awed by his wisdom. As much as you wish it could, it’s still not enough to take the fear away from your fragile heart. After a moment of silence, listening to the gentle waves splash on the shore, Eren says, “Can I tell you something?” It’s dark now, the chill from the night air prickling your bare skin. He unfolds the second blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. You nod, huddling closer, relishing the warmth he always surrounds you in.

“I emailed my advisor. I have a meeting with him Monday morning. I’m officially going to change my major,” he announces proudly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. No more running away. I’m not scared anymore. That’s because of you.” He faces you, eyes shining like emeralds in the pitch black of evening. “You’ve given me the strength to do this. To take control of my life and make decisions for me, and not for anyone else. With you by my side, I can do anything.”

“Eren,” you whisper, chest heavy with adoration.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I wish I could take away the pain. Take whatever hurts you and make it disappear. You have no idea how special you are to me. So, I’ll wait for you, whenever you’re ready to share your heart with me. Until then, I’ll stay by your side, as your friend, as your RA, as a person who cares deeply about you. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You swallow hard, tears trickling down your cheeks as you kiss him, unable to express how much he means to you, letting your lips do the talking instead. It isn’t fair to love him with a broken heart; he deserves to be loved fully by someone who isn’t afraid of it. Someone who’s healed instead of damaged, steady without stumbling at every little crack in the pavement they come across. With time, you’re determined to become that somebody for him.

Eventually, you find the will to speak. “I won’t make you wait long. I promise.”

He laughs, snuggling closer to you under the blanket. “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” You hook your finger around his, swaying it between you.

Eren drives back to campus with your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your skin affectionately. You part ways outside his room, kissing each other once more before stepping down the hallway to your own room. You scroll through your phone to find Reiner’s contact, determined more than ever to settle this once and for all. No more running away.

Without hesitation, you type out your message.

Reiner. I’m ready to talk.

~~~

Sunday afternoon, you and Reiner agree to meet at a café on-campus, one that the two of you frequented freshman year when you were a couple. Upon your arrival, you notice that he’s already sat at a table, waiting for you, two drinks set in front of him. You sit across from him, back straight and neck tall, twiddling your thumbs at your lap where he can’t see.

“I already ordered,” he comments, pushing the coffee cup towards you, reciting the drink name and all the specifics of how you typically like it. Proving that he hasn’t forgotten.

You take it into your hand, tipping it into your mouth. “Thank you,” you say after swallowing your sip.

There are a few beats of awkward silence before he starts speaking. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.”

You nod in acknowledgement, fixated on the lid of your drink cup, nervous to meet his gaze.

“I meant it, though,” he adds. “I still want to get back together.”

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Why all of a sudden?”

He shrugs, circling the rim of his cup with his finger. “I realized how much it sucks to be alone.”

“So, by default, I’m supposed to bail you out? It doesn’t work like that, Reiner. You can’t love me only when it’s convenient for you. That’s not love. That’s selfish.” This time, you do look at him, finding the confidence in your voice.

He doesn’t speak, facing the window, averting his eyes from yours. When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “It’s hard for anyone to be alone. Imagine how I felt when you broke up with me.”

Finally, he replies, “And you’re right. I was an idiot to do that. We should have never broken up. I didn’t know it was going to be so fucked up.” He trails off at his last statement, as if he’s just realizing it himself.

“You weren’t in love with me anymore. It wouldn’t have been fair for either of us to stay in a relationship like that. And you were right: we relied on each other too much. So much that it hurt the most when we couldn’t anymore.”

Suddenly, he holds your hand, grasping it firmly. “Then let’s go back. It’ll be better this time. I’ll be better.” He’s desperate now; it shows in his pleading eyes and quivering speech. The tightness in his grip as he clings to you, frantic.

You don’t pull away from him, squeezing him in return. “I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward. I can’t keep relying only on other people. I need to rely on myself, first and foremost. Stand tall and make choices because it’s what I want to do. That’s what growing up is all about, right?”

“And you’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified. But we shouldn’t let fear prevent us from moving on and being happy. I don’t know if you and I can make each other happy anymore. I was so careful with you, to a point where I was lying to myself about being fine with the decisions you made. I guess I always felt the need to protect you. It’s been that way since we were kids. As much as we don’t want to admit it, we’re different now. Everything is different. It’ll never be like it was, no matter how hard we try to recreate it.”

He revels at your words, a glimmer of defeat in his expression, understanding that there’s nothing else he can do to change your mind. After a minute of contemplation, he ponders, “You think that it could have worked out if I didn’t break up with you?”

You don’t answer right away, delicately formulating your reply. “Somehow, we stopped communicating. I went along with whatever you said, even when I didn’t agree. And you didn’t talk to me about the fears you were having before you broke up with me. I think we were so focused on protecting each other’s feelings that we stopped being honest to one another. I think eventually, we would realize that and break up anyways.” You take another sip of your drink before asking, “Do you think it would have worked out?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Eventually, he replies, “I guess when you put it like that, then no.”

You keep your hand in his, because this time, it’s really the last. And it doesn’t feel dirty or wrong to do it; it feels right. Like there’s finally that understanding that you’ve been racking your brain for the last three months.

“Maybe we were better off staying friends,” he muses.

“Maybe. But I don’t ever regret loving you, Reiner.” You used to think the same thing, convinced that crossing the line from friends to lovers was the vital mistake that doomed your relationship. With Eren’s words replaying in your head, you can’t say you believe that sentiment anymore. After all, Reiner has and will always be your first love. The person who taught you how to love and to receive love in the first place. Despite it not working out for the better, nothing will replace that.

He returns your smile, still holding you. “Me neither. I’m sorry. For everything.”

Silence falls between you two once again, a comfortable one this time, full of acceptance that this is truly the end for you and Reiner. Attempting to lighten the mood, you ask, “So, are you and Christa official yet?”

He looks at you confused, then realization washes over him. “Oh, Christa! Yeah, no. Turns out her and her big in Delta Delta are super close, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, relaxing in his seat. “I never stood a chance.”

You let go of him, leaning back into your chair. “Bummer. I genuinely do think she is nice.”

“Yeah. But I’d be annoyed too if my ex was pushing us to be friends.” He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about that Eren guy?”

You raise a brow at him. “Really? You want to talk about him?”

“Not my finest moment, I know. But I’m still curious. Is he your boyfriend now or what?”

You shake your head. “No. I told him I need time.”

Surprised, he repeats, “Time? For what?”

“To figure myself out.”

“To figure yourself out?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to give him my shattered, fucked up heart. It’s not right.”

He continues to study you, confused. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to give him a chance?”

“He said he’ll wait for me,” you respond, belly fluttering as you recall last night on the beach.

Reiner leans forward on the table, invested. “He’s totally in love with you. If he’s willing to wait for you, he’s in it for the long haul. He’s already fallen for every piece of you, I guarantee that.”

“It’s not fair to him, though.”

“It’s not fair to yourself. He’s not asking you for a healed heart. He wants you just the way you are. Why deprive yourself from someone who’s already willing to love you like this?”

“Because I don’t want to make the same mistakes again!”

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the surface impatiently. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m completely cool with it. But for the first time in a long time, I’m trying not to be selfish again. Don’t let our past influence your future. You told me you want to rely more on yourself, right? Then start with this. Trust your heart. Don’t run away. Go for it.”

“I can’t believe my ex is actually giving me dating advice,” you chuckle, seriously contemplating his encouragement.

“Consider this my parting gift to you. As your ex and as your former best friend. I want you to be happy. And if this guy makes you happy, why wait? If it means anything to you, just know I’ll be rooting for you, whatever you decide.”

You grin. “It does mean something. Thank you, Reiner.” You no longer see him as an obstacle standing in your way. Instead, he’s on the sidelines, supporting you. Rooting for you. It took three months of suffocating to surface. And now, you’re free. “Anyways, I should go. I have a lot to think about.”

He nods, remaining seated. “Yeah.”

You’re ready to walk to the exit when he calls out to you. “Coco?”

You turn to face him, heart thumping at the familiar nickname. The youthful twinkle in his eyes returns in an instant and all your childhood memories flash before you in hyperdrive, glimpses of your past life together. Laughing so hard that you’re clutching your bellies until you’re doubled over on his bed. Hidden under homemade forts built out of pillows and cushions, shining flashlights underneath your chins, creating hand puppets with shadows on the walls. Late night drives with the windows rolled all the way down, blasting music and singing at the top of your lungs as he speeds through the highway. Splitting milkshakes at the diner, blowing out candles on birthday cakes. Endless nights spent in each other’s arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. First kisses, first times, last summer and goodbyes. Three months ago, you would have done anything to go back. Now, you’re ready to move on. The final hit of nostalgia before you go.

He smiles at you knowingly, as if he’s watching the same scenes of your lives play out in his head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say that one last time.”

~~~

Eren is in his room, sitting on the floor, strumming the strings on his guitar randomly, not playing any particular tune. He recalls the events of last night, laying it all out on the table, confessing his feelings, revealing his vulnerabilities. He won’t pressure her to rush into this, knowing she’s still processing and healing from her trauma. Her thinking about him is enough. Until the day comes when they can both love each other fully, he’ll wait patiently.

There’s a knock on his door. He isn’t suspecting company, so he assumes it’s one of his residents here to report a problem. When he opens it, he’s shocked to see her in front of him, staring at him nervously.

“I told you I wouldn’t make you wait long,” she says, stepping towards him.

His chest is heavy, fluttering incessantly, and all he can do is laugh, closing the distance between them by wrapping his arms around her. “It’s been the longest day ever, actually. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

She snuggles her face into his chest. “Me too. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, though.”

He kisses the top of her head, smiling. “Tell me.”

“I can get very insecure and very anxious, so you’ll have to deal with that.”

“Okay. I can handle that,” he answers, inhaling her scent through his nostrils, filling his lungs with as much of her essence as possible.

“I want to talk about everything with you. I want us to be completely honest with each other all the time.”

Nodding, he responds, “I want that too. I want that too, sweetie.” He hugs her tighter, never wanting to let go.

“Also, sometimes I hog the blanket. But I don’t do it on purpose, I swear. I can’t control what my body does while I sleep.” She clings to him, peering up at him with the sweetest expression.

He nuzzles her nose to hers, joking, “Ah, well, I don’t think this is going to work out then.”

She glares at him playfully, pouting her lips. “That’s your dealbreaker?”

“Well, I guess I can make an exception. For you,” he teases, kissing her.

It began with an ending, and it ends with a new beginning. One journey closes, and another begins. It may not be easy, but what wonderful, magical adventure ever is? It’s the detours and bumps along the way that make it memorable, make it worthwhile. And with her by his side, and him by hers, Eren’s confident that they’ll get through anything. Together.

@batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman

#eren x reader #eren jaeger #eren x f!reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren fluff #eren aot #aot fluff #reiner x reader #reiner x f!reader #reiner braun #give you blue series #give you blue #eren smut

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multifunctionalnitroglycerin · 5 months

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The Locked Tomb Series- Alecto Theory

Brace yourselves this is 3000 words of me connecting dots that aren't even there.

First things first, this post is an amalgam of various brilliant theories I have seen posted on Tumblr, so if anything feels familiar, that will be the main reason. I am just going to present my own take on this, and hopefully add something new to what we already have.

The subjects of today’s conspiracy theory are Alecto and Anastasia -and Cassiopeia in part, the vow to Anastasia’s bloodline and what could very possible be, Dios Apate MAJOR.

So let’s start with what we have from the books, and feel free to correct me or add sth I might have forgotten.

Anastasia and Samael are the only ones of the original Lyctor batch, that didn’t complete the Lyctorhood process, thanks to - in no small part – John, and/or possibly Alecto. (“I am sorry about Samael”). Which could mean that Alecto was somehow involved in the whole process going wrong, and thus she feels responsible for Samael’s death, or that she was close enough with Anastasia and Samael, that she herself felt Samael’s loss, or she felt for Anastasia’s grief. (I like to believe that they did have a tentative friendship even before the vow thing happened.)

Anastasia is also the only one of the Lyctors we know, so far, to have had children. Which is an important bit on its own, (Can full Lyctors, have children? If so, are they different from other children, necromantic or not? Is there a reason that in spite of biological capability- if it exists-the other Lyctors have chosen not to have children? Even with Augustine’s and Mercymorn’s plan we see that in the end Gideon is conceived with Wake’s material – John is a whole different story as far as Lyctorhood goes so he doesn’t count.)

Back to our discussion though, Anastasia’s bloodline was so important to the Ninth House that it has been preserved for 10.000 years. We do not really get a clear picture on whether the Reverend Family knows why the continuation of the bloodline is important, Harrow certainly doesn’t, but it was so deeply ingrained to them that Anastasia’s bloodline must remain intact, that they effectively committed genocide, dooming the House’s future, in order to produce one more direct descendant of the Saint that wasn’t.

We do get a hint, a rather big one, on why the preservation of Anastasia’s blood is so important, in Nona’s Epilogue. Alecto states that Harrow is “the blood of the tombkeeper” after kissing her and drawing blood. What did she taste on Harrow’s blood I wonder? And how did she recognize the taste, as the taste of Anastasia’s line? Did the vow she initially made to Anastasia herself involve them drawing blood? Did it bind them to one another, so deeply that they ingrained themselves into each other on a molecular level?

To add to this, young Harrow, young desolate Harrow, who had had enough with her life and was prepared to die, young Harrow who opened the Tomb for that express purpose, loves Alecto from sight. And decides to keep living for her. And there is something exceedingly weird to just how much Harrow loves Alecto. Alecto is probably the most attractive person Harow lay her eyes upon to that day, true, but this instant infatuation, and its persistence throughout the years has something more to it, don’t you think? As Gideon points out, both to herself and to Ianthe, Harrow’s heart belongs to the dead cold body in the Tomb. And said cold dead body in the Tomb, recognizes Harrow from sight when she wakes “Alecto recalled her, for it was a face once dreamed in Alecto’s dream.”

And this line begs the question. Could Alecto dream, in the tomb? If so, how? And what did she dream of? Did she dream of Harrow? Why did she dream of Harrow if that is the case? Or did she dream of Anastasia, and the resemblance is that great? On the other hand, if this refers to Harrow first opening the Tomb, and looking at Alecto, does that mean that she was in some form conscious throughout that stasis? Does this mean that she could have heard and felt Anastasia while they were both locked in the Tomb, for however long the other woman lived?

(The scene where Nona describes the feeling of Anastasia's hands in the water and feeling safe. I am going to cry.)

I do have an interesting theory about Alecto’s “dreams” but we’ll get there in a bit.

Something else that is fishy, is that the Ninth, is the House of the Sewn Tongue. It sounds a bit like too much flesh magic for a bone magic house to specialize in, right? The cure to the Sewn Tongue on the other hand? Removing the mandible and all that? That sounds like a Bone Magic solution to a flesh magic problem. And I wonder if the fact that the Ninth House’s emblem is the Jawless skull, insinuates that the Ninth is not so much a house where many secrets are kept – though this is undoubtedly true, as the Ninth is known as the House of secrets by the other houses – as much that in the Ninth, all secrets are revealed. Where the sewn tongue is healed, and the truth comes to light. And I’d like to point out that it sounds a bit like foreshadowing, and a promise. Anastasia has been betrayed by John and sworn to secrecy, and then locked in the Tomb to die and take his secrets with her. I feel like the jawless skull acts as a constant reminder, that even with the sewn tongue, all curses can be broken, and all secrets will eventually come to light. And it feels like a promise to John, that her House, the house of secrets and unspoken truths, will be the one to rid of the sewn tongue and bring the truth he so fears forward. And this aligns a tad too well with the Sixth’s mantra, Six for the truth, over solace in lies.

And you know what else fits here, in this concordance of the Sixth and Ninth Houses? Cassiopeia and Anastasia’s friendship. Their alliance if you will. We know they both worked closely together trying to figure out the perfect Lyctorhood process, and it is possible that Anastasia made her attempt a bit before Cassiopeia. The exact same attempt, that performed in perfect conditions ended in failure, with John ultimately killing Samael.

We also know that Cassiopeia left contingency plans in place, should the emperor become a hindrance to the empire. And from what we have seen of Cassiopeia in the books, it is safe to assume that she is driven, determined, exceedingly intelligent, perceptive, logical, and excellent at planning. She is also the one to point out John’s less than favorable qualities pre-Resurrection such as his interest in taking vengeance on those that wronged him being bigger in his interest to save lives.

So, we have, Cassiopeia and her logic driven, truth seeking brilliance, and Anastasia, the thorough, overly methodical researcher. We have them both working on perfect Lyctorhood, and we have them both, in one way or another, being betrayed by John. Chances are, that they were the first post Resurrection to notice John’s flaws, the first to concoct a plan against him. But contrary to Cytherea, Mercy and Augustine, they are more subtle than those cannonball attempts. No, I believe they planned. And they planned long term, and together. Cassiopeia left her House a note, left them instructions, she was preparing them for when John would become a liability. And then an aforementioned amount of time later, Anastasia is asked to design the tomb.

We do not really know anything about Alecto’s relationships with the other lyctors apart from the fact that most found her revolting, a “monster” in Mercy’s words. So here is a thought, perhaps Anastasia, the one of the original Eight to never ascend, perhaps the one whose failure Alecto was involved in – “I am sorry about Samael” – finds kinship in John’s unnerving pet, his undead “cavalier”, the one he betrayed first, the soul of earth. Perhaps they even became friends. Perhaps she and Cassiopeia realize the extend of what John has done and realize that Alecto is the key to undoing it. When John refuses to kill Alecto to appease the others, the plan fully forms.

So, they construct the tomb. And Cassiopeia is well-known for building mechanisms within houses, so maybe her and Anastasia create secret passages, and mechanisms with extra access to the tomb that would be independent of John sneaking in, or whatever he planned to do with that blood-ward. And hear me out, we know that Cassiopeia stayed 7 minutes in the river before being torn apart by the resurrection beast – at Mercymorn’s account at least, not sure how reliable of a narrator she is. But what happened during those seven minutes? Paul says he thinks he knows how to get to the Locked Tomb via the River. So, the river and the Tomb are connected. What did Cassiopeia do, I wonder? (Here I’d like to say that my other theory is that she did eventually die, or rather was consumed by Varun the eater, much like Judith Deuteros was. The RB burned through her in what, a couple months? How long would a Lyctor last? Perhaps that was the reason that Varun didn’t resurface until 100 years after Cassiopeia’s presumed death. She could have been alive and slowly wasting away, while still making failsafe within failsafe until she lost her sense of self and eventually wasted away)

To recap until now, the first part of my theory is that Anastasia and Cassiopeia dissatisfied with the world John had made and the truth he had served them, probably worked together to find the truth. And they worked together from the shadows, to create a plan, a long-term plan, with which they could bring John down if the need ever arose, and undo what he had done. And Anastasia’s bloodline and their secrets are really bloody important to that plan. (Also, some nice symbolism about the Ninth being about secrets revealed, rather than secrets kept, and that functioning as a bit of foreshadowing.)

Now into the second part of my theory. Anastasia’s bloodline is so important because she has bound her bloodline to Alecto. And I think this happened in the premise of the Vow Alecto has made to her, or they have made to each other. This might be part of the initial vow, of which we know nothing about, apart from the fact that Alecto pledged herself to Anastasia, and that it is important enough that she pledges herself to Harrow, or a failsafe within it. A failsafe to ensure that should Alecto wake after Anastasia has passed, she will not be fooled by any imposters, or anything else John might have planned. Or perhaps, a failsafe to ensure that even if John changes his mind and finds a way to rid of the body within the tomb, to “kill” Alecto, she will not be completely gone, she will keep existing within Anastasia’s line, thus ensuring that the plan for John’s demise can still be enacted and that the soul of the earth will not be dead.

That plays really hard in the Alecto is within Harrow from the beginning theory. And I will explain. I believe I saw something that looked like this in Twitter by lesbian_mothman, but I do not really remember so I apologize if all this has been said before.

In all the dream chapters with John, we relive memories from just before and after the resurrection, and John talks to Harrow as if she is Alecto “You always say that Harrowhark” as a response to “I still love you.” Or when Varun recognizes the Earth’s soul “green thing” within Nona in the car chase scene, or when Judith regaining consciousness asks “Harrowhark?” and Nona replies, “No, and I never was.” So that begs the question of how much of Harrow is Harrow, how much is Alecto and how much are the 200 souls within her? (And there was a crowd of dead children there. They were striving loudly against living children on the far-off shore of the tomb. CHILLS)

In Nona we learn that Palamedes and Camila on the one hand and Pyrrha on the other have two different theories about who Nona is. The Sixth believe that she is an amalgam of Gideon and Harrow, and Pyrrha believes she is Alecto, golden eyes and all. And I am more inclined to believe that it is indeed Alecto, or at least a part of her, that resides within Harrow, and took the wheel when both Harrow and Gideon were gone. Think abt it. Gideon is back in her body, and we have no idea what the hell happened to Harrow, only that she doesn’t have the wheel, and Nona acts nothing like Harrow or Gideon did. It’s like she is learning how to be human for the first time. She learns how to love and be loved for the first time. So with no soul to govern the body, the part of Alecto within Harrow takes the wheel.

And then there is the candle metaphor in NtN. Alecto’s soul is the candle passed from one necromantic heir of the Ninth to the other.

So long story short, part of the vow, if not all of it, is that part of Alecto will always live within Anastasia’s descendants, so long as they are necromancers. And here comes the part of Alecto’s dreams. Because if indeed she lives within the souls of Anastasia’s necromantic descendants, does she see through their eyes? Does she feel through their hearts? Does she dream of their lives, while locked in the Tomb, while a part of her lives in them? Is she conscious within them? Or does the whole thing act like a cavalier- lyctor sort of connection, where she cannot take the wheel unless the other soul in the body Is gone?

Part of her soul is bound to Anastasia’s line, and they are bound to her, and over the course of 10.000 years do they spill over? Alecto to Anastasia’s descendants and they to Alecto. Was this part of the plan to have a failsafe within Anastasia’s line in case something happened to the body in the Tomb? Was it a promise Anastasia made to Alecto, to give her a chance to live, to be human, through the lives of her own descendants?

All in all, I guess I could some it up in a few concise points.

Cassiopeia and Anastasia worked closely together, they were friends and allies and saw in John, the unfulfilled promises he made, and all the faults he tried to cover with rewriting his own version of history.

They decide to make a plan, a long term one, a detailed one, for when John is more a liability than it is worth. And thus, Cassiopeia creates the mechanisms in the Sixth and leaves the protocols for the rest to find. Truth over solace in lies.

Meanwhile Anastasia attempts to ascend, and John kills Samael. Alecto might be consciously or unconsciously involved and harbors guilt over Samael’s death.

Anastasia probably befriends Alecto or finds kinship with this strange being that is the soul of a planet that no longer is.

The planning continues and John after being asked to kill Alecto decides to lock her in the Tomb instead and has Anastasia design it. He later asks her to stay in the tomb and guard Alecto. (Antigone style)

Anastasia designs the tomb, probably with Cassiopeia’s help, probably with a few hidden mechanisms of its own and or a secret pathway through the river, an extra way out.

At some point, Anastasia sires a line, and she makes her vow with Alecto.

The vow probably is in regards of bounding Alecto to Anastasia’s line so long as there are necromantic heirs. A part of Alecto is constantly alive within each descendant of Anastasia’s.

It might work a bit like the lyctoral process, because Alecto only takes the wheel when there is no Harrow and no Gideon in Nona’s body, aka when there doesn’t seem to be another soul guiding it.

Alecto dreams. Whether she dreams of herself within the tomb and that’s how she recognizes Harrow on sight – from the memory of Harrow first unlocking the Tomb – or her dreams are glimpses of the lives Anastasia’s descendants lead I don’t know.

Alecto is thus bound to Anastasia’s line by blood. She recognizes Harrow by her blood, tasting either Anastasia, or the part of herself residing within it, when she kisses her. It also ensures that the line is intact the vow is intact and it’s not a pretender trying to fool her.

Anastasia and Cassiopeia planned to bring John down by opening the tomb when the time was right and leaving her to Alecto’s (and the RB’S???) mercy. There is still a lot left to be explored.

The tomb is to remain closed until the time has come God has to die. We can all see how that can be misinterpreted to > if the tomb opens God will die. And instead of a promise to be fulfilled it becomes a terrible terrible thing, that will spell everyone’s doom.

The freaking skull of the ninth is a threat, a foreshadow and a promise. The Ninth was a house that should have died with Anastasia in the tomb. But it didn’t. It continued existing its bloodline unbroken for 10.000 years. Nine for the tomb and all that was lost. The Ninth is predominantly I feel a house of mourning – the whole nuns, all black, and skull makeup thing. But it is also a house of secrets. It is a house represented by the cure to even the tightest secret held. So the Ninth, the house that should never have been the house that should have died with its secrets in the tomb of its inception, is the one that will break the sewn tongue, and reveal all the secrets, bringing the truth to light.

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