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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 month

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Infernal Shadows 04.

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it, last part was a cliffhanger but here we are surviving :) Some background on Madame and I pray you guys get the reference with the name of the exorcist

A/N: I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!! I finally got this out and I added to it so this is a longer chapter than anticipated. I’m so horribly sorry for taking forever to get this out, I had like so many reports to do for my job and this was just calling to me. I hope you guys didn’t forget this and if you did I totally don’t blame you. Not to fret though, I have big plans coming soon, and I’m pushing for longer chapters to keep you people fed. I love you all so so so much! Happy reading and thank you for being so patient and for all the kind messages I got! As for the taglist, I’m afraid it’s closed as of right now, just because I physically cannot tag anymore people on these posts, so I’ll try to figure something out with that!

Tags: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @only-cherry-blossom @sockgoblin @nxrdamp @1-800-no-users-left @l0ca1ax010t1 @inutheangel @reader-of-worlds @writing-fanics @random-person07 @ghostdoodlen @elaemae @fantasy-angelo @tanjirosworld @patchesofdreams @sunnyslug @reineurynome @scoliobean @arrozyfrijoles23 @kimmikreates @lqmons @amarokofficial @mangobango69

Word count: 5694

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity writes (event)!! // Part three //

Charlie had almost jumped out of her seat upon seeing the excorsist by your side. The water spout collapsing quickly, water violently splashing all around. A crowd of ‘ooh’s and ah’s could be heard from the crowd as you finally revealed the exorcist to everyone, allowing the sinners around to get a better look at the pet with you. The exorcist next to you was a woman, who looked fairly young. Her wings were large, white feathers with a sheer hint of gold. Her skin was ghostly white, and her eyes were equally as pale, almost a ghost. she looked around quickly, turning in her spot on the ground next to you, where she was kneeling. Her wrists were bound by chains and she stood quickly, wings flaring out. Yet, amid the spectacle, Charlotte couldn't help but notice a flicker of sorrow in the exorcist's pale eyes.

You stood next to her calmly, playing the violin as she stood, flying off the ground and up the middle of the coliseum, flying as quickly as she good. Her long hair, white with golden streaks, flowing as she flew up. Before she could get out however, a long black chain appeared around her neck, pulling her backward quickly, choking her. Her eyes went wide, hand reaching out to the sky above, a silent reach for heaven, before her angelic body was pulled back into the floor of the coliseum, body hitting the hard ground with a loud thud, the floor cracking beneath her upon the impact. Black chains began to hold onto her legs, her chest and neck as she fought against it, the chains lifting her high enough in the air for the crowd to see, making a mockery out of her, out of the exorcists above.

Charlotte's eyes widened, mirroring the shock and disbelief etched across her face as she witnessed the angelic exorcist's dramatic entrance. Alastor, usually composed, betrayed a subtle flicker of concern, his stoic demeanor momentarily shaken.

As the exorcist's wings unfurled, the sheer beauty of her appearance contrasted sharply with the ominous chains that bound her. The crowd's collective gasp echoed, drowning out the earlier applause.

Alastor's grip on his opera glasses tightened, a silent acknowledgment of the unforeseen depth this performance had taken. The music continued, but now there was an undertone of tension, each note echoing the internal struggle of the exorcist. Just the way you had intended.

The audience's gasps turned into uneasy whispers. Charlotte glanced at Alastor, finding a mix of fascination and unease in his expression. His smile looked almost painful, like a touch to him would have him shatter on the spot. She was not used to seeing him this way. Something was oddly unsettling about having him next to her in this way.

“Should we be watching this?” Velvet leans over to ask Vox, sketch book long discarded. He says nothing, eyes blown wide as he takes in the sight before him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever seen an exorcist, but this sight was different in itself. You were basically manhandling an exorcist right in front of everyone. This was holy power you were messing with. Tauntingly, making a fool out of this poor innocent girl. Vox wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run away, tail between his legs, or sit and watch the way you had wanted. To obey or disobey, like a dog.

The song was finally at its peak, the angels wings spread to its full length as she fought to get away, thrashing about as she fought again the chains. Charlotte feels her own throat tighten, her heart feeling heavy.

“I can’t watch.” Charlotte said, standing and moving to take her leave, but a large shadow blocked her path.

“Madame requests that you stay here.” The shadow spoke. Charlotte was silent and though she wanted to argue, decided against it.

Amidst the tension, the atmosphere in the coliseum grew heavier, the ethereal music now echoing a dissonant melody. As the angelic exorcist continued her struggle, a figure emerged from the shadows – a mysterious character, their presence felt more than seen.

This enigmatic figure, shrouded in darkness, approached Charlotte with a whispered urgency. "You hold the key to her liberation," the voice murmured, barely audible over the haunting notes of the violin. "Will you break the chains or become a spectator to her demise?"

Charlotte, conflicted and sensing a greater responsibility, looked at the shadowy figure, determination flickering in her eyes. With a newfound resolve, she turned towards the restrained exorcist, seeking a way to intervene and unravel the unsettling performance that had taken a dark turn. The coliseum, once a mere stage for entertainment, now stood witness to a moral crossroads where choices weighed heavily on the hearts of those present, and it was definitely making Charlotte contemplate her whole reason for being here.

Alastor's sharp warning reverberates through the air, his stern tone emphasizing the gravity of the situation. "Interruption during Madame's performance is ill-advised, my dear. It is best not to meddle in affairs beyond your understanding." he cautions, a hint of a threat underlying his words.

Rosie, with a more nurturing but firm approach, guides Charlotte back to her seat. "It's not the time, hon. Madame's got her ways, and we don't want trouble. Just watch and let it play out," Rosie advises, her gaze mirroring a subtle concern for Charlotte's safety.

As Charlotte reluctantly takes her seat, the tension in the coliseum persists, the haunting music and the struggling exorcist creating an eerie symphony that held everyone in a state of suspense. The shadowy figure lingers, observing the unfolding drama with a watchful gaze, leaving an air of mystery and uncertainty in its wake.

The resounding crash echoes through the coliseum as the angelic exorcist succumbs to the relentless chains, her divine form colliding with the unforgiving ground. The spectators, now silent witnesses to the spectacle's unsettling conclusion, feel the vibrations of the impact reverberate through the arena.

The once-beautiful performance has transformed into a scene of somber defeat, the ethereal music now hauntingly melancholic. The shadows that enshrouded the coliseum seem to deepen, casting an eerie gloom over the aftermath.

The mysterious figure in the shadows maintains a watchful presence, its intentions still unclear as the audience processes the unsettling turn of events. The coliseum, leaving an indelible mark on the collective psyche of those who bore witness. As the ethereal music slowly fades to silence, the chains metamorphose into spectral figures, gracefully carrying the defeated angel away. The abrupt stillness in the coliseum feels eerie, the aftermath of the performance leaving the guests, including Charlotte, in a state of uneasy reflection.

The band, once vivid and lively, dissipates like wisps of smoke, leaving an empty stage behind. Madame, now standing alone in the center of the coliseum, is joined by the largest shadow, a looming presence beside her. The shadowy figure addresses the hushed audience, explaining that they will be escorted back to Madame's home for dinner. "Ladies and gentlemen, the next act awaits within the walls of Madame's mansion. Your journey through her realm has only just begun.”

The guests, still processing the unsettling performance, are ushered towards their tables with a sense of quiet trepidation. The coliseum, now devoid of the vibrant spectacle, transforms into a place of anticipation as the guests prepare for the next act in Madame's enigmatic domain. Charlotte, visibly shaken, moves among the disquieted crowd. Zestial stands out, his calm demeanor contrasting with the collective unease. His eyes reveal a depth of understanding, leaving Charlotte to wonder what he really thought of the performance. As they return to Madame's home, the charged atmosphere persists, leaving everyone to ponder what awaits them in the next act of this mysterious and haunting night.

The shadows lead those seated privately with Madame through a mysterious portal, transporting them to a large, black room. The windows, tinted black from floor to ceiling, create an otherworldly aura. Bowls of floating fire cast dancing shadows around the room, adding an element of mystique. In the center stands an impressive dining table, crafted from black wood with matching black chairs adorned with white cushions.

White plates with a gold lining are meticulously arranged, each bearing a name card. The order mirrors the sequence in which the guests were initially invited: Alastor, Vox, Charlie, Velvet, Zestial, Carmilla, and Rosie. Three empty seats capture attention, the most prominent being the grand and ornate chair at the head of the table – undoubtedly Madame's seat.

However, two other unoccupied chairs add a layer of intrigue. One is positioned across from Madame, and the other is to her right. Vox, leaning casually against the black dining table, raises an eyebrow as he scans the unoccupied chairs. "So, did Madame forget to send out a couple more invites, or did she just not bother finding anyone else worth inviting?" His tone, dripping with casual disdain, prompts an involuntary eye twitch from Alastor and a scoff from Carmilla. The room is momentarily tense as the guests settle into their seats, the air thick with unspoken tension and the promise of an unconventional dining.

The large shadow materializes behind Madame's chair the moment everyone takes their seats. It speaks with a commanding presence,

"Madame will be joining you shortly, ensuring the guests are properly situated in the main dining hall. For now, you may all start with the drink of your choice."

As the shadow's words linger, the room is filled with the appearance of various drinks, each guest's preference seemingly anticipated. The other shadows swiftly deliver the beverages before seamlessly vanishing from view. In their place, a small orchestra emerges from the darkest corners of the room, ready to weave a musical tapestry that will accompany the unfolding feast.

The atmosphere in the black room remains charged with a sense of anticipation, the guests left to wonder about the mysteries that await in Madame's unconventional and enigmatic domain.

The anticipation peaks as the celestial display unfolds outside the tinted windows. Stars twinkle in the vast darkness, and constellations take shape, transforming the black room into a cosmic spectacle. The guests, mesmerized by the celestial scene, exchange awed glances.

”Oh this is so beautiful.” Charlotte says, glancing around at the stars.

In the midst of this ethereal backdrop, Madame makes her grand entrance. A sweeping gust of shadow accompanies her, like a cloak billowing in an unseen breeze. She moves gracefully, her silhouette weaving through the darkness, and steps into the room with an air of an almost royal confidence.

Madame wears an elaborate gown that seems to absorb and reflect the celestial light. Its deep, dark hues shimmer with a glow, adorned with intricate patterns that evoke the mysteries of the night sky, certainly fitting her specticle. Her presence commands attention, and a hushed silence falls over the room as the guests turn their gaze towards her.

A soft, melodic hum emanates from Madame, resonating with the orchestral tunes. The shadows, now at her command, align to form a fleeting silhouette of wings that unfurl and then disappear into the darkness. She takes her seat at the grand table, her eyes gleaming with a haunting form of excitement.

As Madame takes her seat, the celestial display beyond the windows intensifies, casting a glow over the dining room. The shadows, now intricately woven into ethereal patterns, dance along the walls, adding to the surreal atmosphere. With a graceful gesture, Madame signals the waitstaff shadows to present the first course. Exquisite dishes are unveiled, each a culinary masterpiece designed to tantalize the senses. Alastor’s eyes light up as his favorite dish is revealed — Jambalaya. Rich and spicy, it perfectly captures his love for bold and vibrant flavors.

Vox, always one for extravagance, is presented with Sushi. Delicate sushi rolls arranged like musical notes create a visual and auditory delight, harmonizing with each flavorful bite. Meanwhile, Velvet savors the spicy noodles on her plate, a cosmic array of ingredients adorning handmade noodles, reflecting her love for adventurous flavors.

Charlotte’s palate is delighted with the Harmony of Garden Greens, a vibrant salad showcasing fresh and wholesome ingredients. Zestial’s preference for refined flavors is indulged with a nice tender steak. Carmilla indulges in an enchanting dark Chocolate Fondue, a decadent dessert that mirrors her taste for the luxurious. Rosie, captivated by sweetness and charm, enjoys a stellar Strawberry Shortcake, a heavenly creation adorned with edible flowers. Rosie was grateful Madame hadn’t served her limbs this evening, though the craving was very much there.

As the guests savor their feast, Vox, unable to resist his penchant for stirring conversation, attempts to broach the topic of the enigmatic exorcist from Madame's previous performance. "Madame, that exorcist bit was quite the show, don't you think? Who was she, and why the dramatics?" Vox inquires with his signature flair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Though Alastor would never admit it, he was silently appreciative Vox was the one to voice the question. He knew Madame would have his head if he dared to ask. A large grin is displayed as he awaits Madame’s response. Knowing she is intolerant of being questioned on her decisions.

Madame, however, responds with a stern and unwavering gaze. "Vox, some matters are not for idle chatter. Rest assured, when the time is right, I will provide the explanation that is due." Her tone, though firm, carries a sense of ancient wisdom that tempers Vox's usual audacity. Alastor just grins to himself, happy she did not disappoint.

Carmilla, sensitive to the undercurrents of unease, feels a shiver down her spine. The cryptic response leaves her uneasy, but she keeps her feelings to herself. Madame's words hang in the air, a subtle reminder that there are depths to this realm that remain veiled. She is in control.

The aura intensifies as the orchestra weaves a haunting melody, adding an ethereal backdrop to the exchange. The guests, now caught in the delicate dance of shadows, flavors, and unspoken mysteries, await the unfolding of Madame's narrative. However, to their dismay, she leaves them empty handed.

The small orchestra adapts it’s tunes, complementing the dining room with melodies that resonate with the mysteries of Madame. The music sways between haunting and enchanting, guiding the guests through an experience that transcends the ordinary.

"I hope the food is to everyone's enjoyment," Madame remarks, her plate being set in front of her last. The guests, captivated by the transcendent feast, eagerly dig into their respective dishes. As the flavors unfold on their palates, a chorus of satisfaction fills the room.

“These are quite excellent.” Carmilla comments as she enjoys her meal. Madame only nods in response. Compliments flow freely from the guests to Madame and the shadows, expressions of delight escaping between bites. Alastor, savoring his Jambalaya, commends the bold and vibrant flavors.

The room resonates with the sounds of enjoyment, and Rosie, with the Strawberry Shortcake, receives nods of approval for the delightful sweetness. Madame, her strong composure unwavering, listens to the compliments with a hint of satisfaction. Everyone enjoys being praised.

As the melodies of the cosmos continue to weave through the air, the dining room becomes a mix of flavor and enchantment. The guests, immersed in the extraordinary experience, savor each moment, aware that this transcendent feast is not just a meal but the start to something haunting.

Things could not be peaceful forever though. Madame pushed back a bit and stood, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“I would like to thank you all for being such pleasant guests tonight. I do believe a lot has happened since the last extermination. I am aware you overlords, or the ones that had the decency to show up, are aware that we must do something to protect our souls. Which begs the question.” Madame stops, taking her time to look at everyone. “What do you plan to do when the exorcists come down here to kill you all?” She asks bluntly. Carmilla inhales sharply not saying much, which Zestial just sips a cup of tea, his usual. Alastor and Rosie exchange a glance, but before anyone can say anything, Vox interjects.

“Well Madame I think you’ll be pleased to know Vox-tech has been working on protection for the people and-“

“Do you really think a piece of technology will stop this?” Madame asks. Her eyes narrow at him, and Vox silently sinks into his seat. Madame sighs, her shadow pulling her chair farther back so she can walk around the table, to the empty seat across from her. “Since you all clearly have no clue what to do, I presume I’ll share my idea.” Madame says, before she snaps her fingers. In an instant, a large shadow, almost in the shape of a sphere, forms next to her. It’s whispy and hyperactive, almost alive, before it sinks to the ground. Slowly it’s fades away. The guests stand, wanting to get a closer look, before the shadow turns to fog, and falls away. There in it’s place is the exorcist from the coliseum.

“Madame-!” Carmilla says, but is met with a stern look from Madame.

“Something wrong?” She asked. A chain formed around the exorcists neck, one that wrapped around Madame’s hand. She holds it tight, like she’s holding a wild animal back. Velvet wonders if this is because she’s afraid, or excited.

“Go on. Speak.” Madame says to the girl next to her. She looks down at the ground, a bit bruised but shining brightly nevertheless.

“I do not wish-to fight.” The girl says, and Madame just smiles.

“Let her go.” Charlotte says. The overlords look at Charlotte with a surprised expression. Madame says nothing, and instead tilts her head to look at Charlotte.

“Let her go?” Madame repeats, and Charlotte nods.

“Yes. Let her go.” Charlotte says, suddenly feeling nervous. Madame doesn’t appear to be upset, which only confuses and makes Charlotte even more anxious.

“Very well then. Have it your way.” Madame says, dropping the chained leash. Suddenly, the exorcist flies up and lunges at Zestial, attacking him. The overlords all disperse, watching as he throws her off of him.

“No! Wait stop!” Charlotte says, trying to get the situation under control. Alastor’s eyes widen, and he grins, tentacles appearing from the ground quickly, attempting to scare her by attacking her wings. The moment his tentacle touches the feathers on her back, it burns, and Alastor pulls back immediately, seemingly confused. The room erupts in screams and chaos, Rosie attempting to get the exorcist away from her as she tries to kill her.

“My dear, you do realize the mess you’ve made, yes?” Alastor asks as he summons himself next to Madame. She stands by the windows, the starts casting an almost colorful display over her, making her seem ethereal. Madame nods.

“Well then maybe you should get Lilith’s pet under control.” Madame inquires. Alastor just grins, nodding before lifting her hand to kiss the back of it.

“Of course Madame.” He says, before fading into his shadow. Carmilla stands next to a tired Zestial, while Velvet and Vox stand on the dining table, holding onto each other for dear life, while Rosie takes to poking fun at the exorcist, who seems to only want to harm Charlotte at this point.

“You filthy girl-!” The exorcist cries, before she chokes, a black chain wrapping around her neck quickly, and pulling her back.

“Enough Evangeline.” Madame says sharply. At this, the exorcist grows quiet almost immediately. Charlotte is in tears and on the floor, Alastor picking her up by her underarms, setting her straight.

“This is why you be quiet.” Alastor whispered to Charlotte.

“Oh~ that was fun! Let’s do this again.” Rosie says delightfully. Madame just nods to her, an unreadable expression adorning her features.

“Yes, let’s.” Madame says, tugging Evangeline’s chain sharply. Evangeline stands, now looking a bit shorter than Madame, while Madame’s shadows remove Vox and Velvet from the dining table. Quickly, everything is back in order, as Madame ushers the guests to take their seats. Now, Evangeline sits at the head of the table, across from Madame.

“Everyone, this is Evangeline, my sister.”

“Sister?” Vox asks, shying away from the exorcist.

“Didn’t you hear her?” Velvet asks, nudging him with her elbow. He just nods, but says nothing.

“Yes. Sister. I’ve obtained her for one reason and that reason only.” Madame said, before Zestial interjected.

“What reason doth that be?” Zestial asks. Madame just smiles, with a snap of her fingers, Evangeline is turned around, wings sprawled out.

“To send a message of course.” Madame says. Before a paper is presented to all the guests.

“During the extermination I had the pleasure of speaking to Adam.”

”Wait Adam like, first man Adam?” Velvet asked, and Madame nods.

“Yes, him. He believes he can wipe us out fairly quickly. He said he’d be back for me specifically.” Madame said, looking out to the windows, before continuing. “So, I decided it would be best if we sent him a lovely letter. Charlotte,” Madame said, “I know you spoke to him recently. If he wants to come to your hotel, I believe it’s only right we make other areas just as much of a target.” Madame said, before Carmilla frowned.

”Why should we? Won’t that make us all targets?” Carmilla asked. Madame nodded.

“Yes, but with too many locations they’ll spread themselves thin.” Madame said.

“Why are we talking about this in front of her?” Rosie asked, pointing to Evangeline. “Won’t she just tell them what we’re planning?” Rosie asked. Madame shrugged.

”Possibly. I never said she was going back alive.” Madame said. “But this topic can wait. I’m ready for dessert.” She said, and suddenly shadows were back with all kinds of desserts in the middle of the table. Evangeline was now facing the rest of the guests, all who stared at her with a predatory gaze.

Y/n L/n was born in the year 1885, with her sister, Evangeline, arriving in 1887, just two years apart. Y/n was the eldest among her siblings, having two younger sisters and a younger brother. Sadly, the youngest sister passed away at the tender age of twelve, a victim to scarlet fever. Despite this tragedy, Evangeline remained the darling of the town, known for her innocence and beloved by all. Meanwhile, their brother Arthur matured at a quicker pace than Evangeline.

The family's prosperity stemmed from being victims of the Salem witch trials back in the 1600s. This dark history actually served as a catalyst, enabling their ancestors to establish a business that had been passed down through generations, making Y/n the rightful heir. Initially, the business catered to workers and provided scrubs, but Y/n had grander visions.

Under Y/n's leadership, the business transformed from producing simple workwear to crafting exquisite dresses, corsets, feathered hats, and other fashionable garments. These creations were designed to empower young women and elevate their sense of self-esteem, departing from the mundane work attire of the past.

As word spread of the boutique's exceptional offerings, affluent families began flocking to Y/n's establishment, seeking custom dresses and elegant accessories. Evangeline, always cheerful and accommodating, played a pivotal role in welcoming and attending to the guests while Y/n conducted business.

Despite the initial success and harmony, ominous clouds loomed on the horizon, signaling that peace and tranquility might not last forever.

Evangeline's heart fluttered whenever she was around Alexander, a charming and charismatic gentleman who frequented the boutique who was also from a wealthy family. Their budding romance seemed like a fairy tale at first, but little did Evangeline know, Alexander harbored hidden agendas. But Y/n could see it from a mile away. But alas, she let her younger sister be. She did not feel threatened by Alexander. To her, he was simply another walking wallet right into her arms.

As their relationship deepened, Alexander subtly planted seeds of doubt about Y/n in Evangeline's mind. He would gently question Y/n's decisions, pointing out areas where he believed Evangeline could excel if given more freedom.

"My darling Evangeline," Alexander would whisper, his voice dripping with honeyed words, "you're a diamond in the rough, waiting to shine. But Y/n's cautious approach is holding you back. Imagine what you could achieve with your own vision."

Evangeline, enamored and impressionable, began to see Y/n's protective actions as barriers to her dreams rather than safeguards for their family's legacy. Alexander's persuasive arguments fueled Evangeline's desire for independence and recognition.

"You deserve more than being just Y/n's shadow," Alexander would say, his eyes filled with feigned concern. "Don't let fear of failure hold you back. Take risks, Evangeline. Follow your heart."

Unaware of Alexander's ulterior motives, Evangeline started to view Y/n's guidance and decisions with skepticism. She began to prioritize her relationship with Alexander over the family's business, inadvertently straining her bond with Y/n.

As Alexander's influence grew, Evangeline's perception of Y/n shifted, painting Y/n as overly controlling and unsupportive of her aspirations. The once-close sisters found themselves on opposite ends, with Alexander's manipulative tactics driving a wedge between them.

Behind the facade of love and affection, Alexander manipulated Evangeline's emotions and perceptions, using her vulnerability to further his own agenda. The tangled web of romance and manipulation threatened to unravel the familial harmony Y/n had worked so hard to maintain.

One evening, as Evangeline sat in her room at the family estate, Alexander approached her with a concerned expression. "Evangeline, my love," he began, "I've noticed something troubling about Y/n's management of the business. It seems she's keeping you in the dark about important decisions."

Evangeline furrowed her brow, surprised by Alexander's revelation. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Alexander leaned in, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "I've heard whispers among the staff," he confided, "about Y/n making decisions behind your back, as if she doesn't trust you with the business's future. You deserve to have a voice, Evangeline. You shouldn't be kept in the dark."

Doubt crept into Evangeline's mind as she pondered Alexander's words. She had always trusted Y/n implicitly, but Alexander's claims sowed seeds of suspicion and resentment. "But Y/n has always had our family's best interests at heart," Evangeline countered weakly.

"Of course, my dear," Alexander reassured her, his tone soothing. "But perhaps Y/n fears that your ideas and vision might outshine hers. You're more than capable, Evangeline. Don't let anyone keep you from realizing your full potential."

In the following days, Alexander's subtle manipulation and peer pressure intensified. He highlighted instances where Y/n had made decisions without consulting Evangeline, portraying Y/n as controlling and domineering. "You're the future of this business, Evangeline," he would say, planting seeds of ambition and discord.

Fueled by Alexander's influence, Evangeline confronted Y/n during a heated family meeting about the business's direction. "Why are you keeping me in the dark, Y/n?" Evangeline demanded, her voice trembling with emotion. "I deserve to be involved in every decision!"

Y/n, taken aback by Evangeline's sudden hostility, tried to explain. "Evangeline, I've always valued your input, but some decisions require swift action. I never intended to keep you in the dark." Y/n would say sternly, trying to keep her composure.

But Alexander's words echoed in Evangeline's mind, clouding her judgment and fueling her resolve to assert herself in the business. The once-unbreakable bond between the sisters fractured under the weight of manipulation and misunderstandings, orchestrated by Alexander's cunning tactics.

Evangline’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she and Alexander stood before Y/n, their announcement hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

“We’re engaged, Y/n,” Evangeline exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. “And we believe it’s time for me to take over the business. After all, I’ll be married soon and would want to pass it down to our children someday.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in disbelief as Evangeline and Alexander stood before her, their engagement bombshell hanging heavily in the air. The room fell silent as Y/n processed the news, her shock palpable.

“You’re getting engaged without even discussing it with me first?” Y/n’s voice cracked with incredulity, her tone carrying a mix of surprise and hurt.

Evangeline, caught off guard by Y/n’s reaction, tried to explain. “Y/n, we thought you would be happy for us,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

But Y/n’s shock quickly turned into frustration and anger. “Happy for you?” Y/n’s tone sharpened, her words laced with bitterness. “How can I be happy when you’re making decisions that affect our entire family without even consulting me?”

Evangeline’s expression faltered, her eyes filling with tears. “But Y/n, I love Alexander, and we want to build a future together,” she pleaded.

Y/n’s emotions boiled over, her hurt turning into harsh words aimed at Evangeline. “Love blinds you, Evangeline,” Y/n snapped, her voice rising. “You’re being manipulated, and you don’t even see it!”

Evangeline’s tears spilled over as Y/n’s words hit home. “I’m not being manipulated, Y/n,” she protested, her voice trembling.

But Y/n’s frustration didn’t stop there. Her gaze turned to Alexander, her tone dripping with disdain. “And you,” Y/n directed her anger at him, “using Evangeline to get to our family fortune, shamelessly preying on her innocence and trust.”

Alexander’s facade of charm faltered for a moment, his expression betraying a hint of unease. “I assure you, Y/n, my intentions are genuine,” he tried to placate her.

But Y/n wasn’t buying it. “Genuine? You’re nothing but a leech, Alexander,” Y/n’s words cut through the tension, her anger simmering beneath the surface. “I won’t let you manipulate our family for your selfish gain.”

As the tension escalates during the argument, Evangeline turns to Y/n, her eyes filled with confusion and hurt. “What do you mean, Y/n?” she asks, her voice trembling with emotion.

Y/n’s expression hardens, her resolve firm as she faces Evangeline. “The whole family can see it, Evangeline,” Y/n’s tone is resolute, her words cutting through the air. “Alexander is just after our money, and he’s using you to get to it.”

Evangeline’s eyes widen in shock, disbelief evident on her face. “No, that’s not true,” she protests, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Y/n doesn’t back down. “Open your eyes, Evangeline,” Y/n urges, her voice filled with urgency. “He drove Arthur away from you, manipulated him to keep you to himself. He’s tearing our family apart for his own selfish motives.”

The weight of Y/n’s words hangs heavily in the air, the truth of the situation sinking in for Evangeline amidst the chaos of emotions and accusations.

In response to Y/n’s accusations, Alexander turns to Evangeline with a dismissive smirk, his tone dripping with condescension. “Evangeline, Y/n is lying,” he asserts confidently. “She’s never been in love, so she wouldn’t even know what she’s talking about.”

Evangeline, torn between her trust in Alexander and the unsettling doubts planted by Y/n’s words, looks to him for reassurance. “But Alexander, I love you,” she insists, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

Alexander’s charm kicks into full gear as he takes Evangeline’s hand, his gaze filled with faux affection. “And I love you, my dear,” he replies smoothly. “Don’t let Y/n’s jealousy and lies cloud your judgment. We have a future together, away from all this drama.”

As the tension reaches its peak, Y/n’s resolve remains unyielding as she delivers a stark ultimatum to Evangeline. “If you choose to marry him, Evangeline, I will never speak to you again,” Y/n’s voice is firm, her words carrying the weight of finality. “You will be disowned from the family and removed from the business entirely.”

Evangeline’s eyes widen in shock and hurt, her voice barely above a whisper as she asks, “Why are you doing this to me, Y/n?”

Y/n’s expression softens for a moment, but her determination doesn’t waver. “I’m thinking of the family business, Evangeline,” Y/n’s tone is unwavering, her words laced with a mix of sadness and pragmatism. “I’m thinking of what will benefit us, not silly emotions like love that can be manipulated and used against us.”

The gravity of Y/n’s decision hangs heavily in the air, the rift between the sisters widening as Evangeline grapples with the harsh reality of Y/n’s ultimatum.

Evangeline's voice trembles with a mix of defiance and sorrow as she tells Y/n, "I'm going to marry Alexander anyway, Y/n." Her eyes reflect a sense of resignation, knowing the rift her decision will create between her and her sister.

Y/n receives the wedding invitation in the mail, her heart heavy as she reads Evangeline's words inviting them to the wedding. Despite the hurt in Evangeline's voice, Y/n remains steadfast in her decision not to attend, unwilling to condone a union she strongly opposes. This choice further deepens the rift between the sisters, leaving Evangeline feeling the pain of their absence on her special day.

“You don’t need her anyway.” Alexander says to Evangeline when she tells him how hurt she was her sibling did not show up.

In 1901, tragedy strikes as Evangeline dies during childbirth. The funeral is held, and Y/n, Arthur, and Evangeline’s only child, a son, attend. However, Alexander chooses not to attend and sends his son with the nanny instead. Y/n isn’t surprised, but she did debate going to their estate to tell Alexander how much of a horrible husband he was.

In 1915, Y/n tragically dies from poisoning due to alcohol. The family faces yet another loss, marking the end of an era filled with turmoil and strained relationships. Arthur is the last sibling left, the head of the business, and serves out his life fulfilling Y/n’s visions, making her the face of the family name forever.

“You always did only worry about yourself.” Evangeline thought to herself as she began her dessert.

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14thgalerie · 8 months

Text

path to you

• pairing: theodore nott x reader

• now playing: war of hearts by ruelle

• word count: 7.3k

• genre: angst, fluff every now and then

— not proofread, i wrote this on a whim the other night and only finished last night.

Theodore Nott stood amidst the crowd of returning students aboard the Hogwarts Express, his heart heavy with a blend of emotions. His eyes were ablaze, lit with determination in search of that one familiar figure with locks he spent nights running his fingers through. However, as the last call to board the train echoed through the station, his hope was diminished when there was still no sign of you.

In truth, he knew it was futile right from the moment the both of you had left Hogwarts. The incident— if that was what he would even call it for that— was the moment that Voldemort had truly begun making his appearance known to the students of Hogwarts.

He was no innocent bystander to this, the mark that burns on his right arm is a constant, painful reminder of that. His father had mercilessly subjected him through the initiation process, appointing him watch of Draco to ensure he would follow the Dark Lord’s order just as others had been compelled to do.

However, in the brief moment that he knew your eyes had latched on to an exposed skin of his sleeved arm, a fear struck him, unlike the familiar one that had long been instilled by his father. He decided that he would rather weather the searing pain that seemed to burn deeper for every day that Dumbledore roamed the grounds than prove he was no trustworthy person to you now. He would ignore the ache that pried into his very soul as you steer a conversation away as he picks you up from your friends.

Despite this, in the dark and dreary summer, he is left terribly alone with only thoughts of you entangled in his mind. The old days of sunshine only remain in memory, as he supposes is a communal thing for all of you as Voldemort continued to infiltrate and pollute the magical world with his influence.

Theodore had written you a myriad of letters over the many days, his heart engraved with every droplet of ink that marks the parchment.

I miss you.

I beg of you to tell me that I’m not as forgettable as your silence otherwise makes me feel.

But every owl that returned carried nothing but itself. No words from you. Not a single one even from your friends, a choice he made in desperation, regardless of the consequences if his father found out he had been in contact with one of you.

He knew that they knew where you were, even if it might not be the entirety of it. If there was one thing he truly regretted before, it would be his cowardice. His fear runs deep in the thick crimson inside of him that dictated his every move. Though he shares a strong companionship with Mattheo and the others, Theo remains in awe of the camaraderie that you have with your friends at this time.

Driven purely by the need to be a catalyst; to make an end of this war.

With the sudden void torn into his at your disappearance, Theo found his heart crystallising once again, trying to preserve what little warmth is left by you.

Praying to a god he doesn’t believe in, begging that there will never come a day that he won’t know your last words.

You exhale slowly.

The morning had barely started, and the sun was still but a ray in the dim sky. You tug the blanket over your face, blinking once, twice. The stream below the knife-like hill they had taken camp in, continued its hum.

It has been roughly three months since the start of the school year started, and four months since you have made the decision to accompany Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the hunt for Horcruxes. Four, lengthy months since you’ve last exchanged words with Theo, afraid that you would let this mission slip, Merlin knows he knows you better than you did.

If circumstances were different and he was not tied by that horrific mark, maybe he would be even with you. But reality is unforgiving and you are left in sorrow for the easy times you’ve taken advantage of.

There were times it felt ghastly to keep certain things to yourself, for so long it had been you and Theo, sharing the deepest truths. Then in a snap of a finger, it seemed most of what came out of you were lies, all in the name of protecting your friends. But it was paramount to be cautious nowadays, even if Theo was careful and dedicated to keeping crucial information, you couldn’t shake off the fear that Voldemort may attempt to pry on his mind.

Harry, with all his strength, is no exception to Voldemort’s manipulation of the mind. What more of Theo?

You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if everything came crumbling down the moment Voldemort sought Theo’s memories.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but feel the urge to apparate for even just a moment. Just a minute. You found it difficult to get rid of the nagging feeling that he now despised you for doing this, for running away and leaving him, despite the promise you made only a year ago. It was a constant tug-of-war of the heart and the mind, most days leaving you drained in addition to the physical exhaustion.

I miss you.

I hate this uncertain silence that does nothing but bring you forth.

“Y/N? Are you awake?” You hear a voice call out.

You snap yourself out of your thought

“What time is it?” You mumble. Hermione’s sharp ears are used to your morning voice by now. “It’s already 8 in the morning, Y/N. Get up.”

“Goddess!” You shot up, “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, my shift was supposed to be an hour ago.”

With one less person in your team, as Ron left in his fury, the rest of you had to take shorter rests now.

“It’s fine, I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Hermione reassures her. You stand and make your way down to the table where a cup of steaming tea is left for you. “Are you alright?” You ask.

She merely hums in question but makes no indication that she will answer. Instead, she walks out of the tent to sit on one of the rocks nearby.

“He will be fine, mione.” You say, following her. “Ron has been through so much in the past, I think by this time, he would be able to get by on his own.”

You pull her into a side embrace, holding her close without saying anything as she rests limply underneath your arm. She needed it. Sacrificing the risk of her parents forever forgetting that Hermione was their daughter had taken a heavy toll on your friend. Leaving them in the house she deemed her sanctuary from the destruction, the madness that reigned outside.

With Ron having left the three of you. Although you weren’t as close with the redhead, you knew he had been Hermione’s shoulder— ever since forever. You understood how she felt or even a spectre of it, for you, too, had left someone behind.

Someone that you could only beg the gods remains breathing and unsullied by the encroaching darkness that seemed to follow him.

“And what about you?” Hermione whispered softly, the tears that lined her cheeks dry now. “What do you mean?”

“Nott.” Hearing the name instantly formed a small, melancholic smile on your face.

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. You can stop pretending to be the shield for us now, Harry and I will be here for you. You can cry.”

Your gaze remains fixed on the sight before you. Atop the hill, the pale gold ball of sunlight emerges and bathes the cold stone in warmth. Reminiscent of the days before the Triwizard Cup, before Cedric died. It all seemed so far away now.

“I’ve exhausted all the tears from me already, Hermione. I miss him terribly. I may just crumble beneath his feet the very moment that I see him again.”

“It’s difficult what you had to do. I can’t even begin to decipher it. The both of you had consistently defied, and will likely continue to do so, every misconception that the others had of you back when you were still friends."

“I hate how there was not a scintilla of hesitation and doubt in me when I had to keep so many things from him when I had to lie to him.” You croak out, voice barely above a whisper.

“You did so because you knew that in the end, it wasn't just for the best of the wizarding world that you deliberately did all of that, it’s all for him. You did it because you wanted to keep him safe from that vile, bald head.”

You nod. It's true. Ever since you found out about the abuse that Theo’s father inflicted upon him, you knew that there would come a day when he would pay the price for it. Knowing that he couldn’t escape him before he turned 17, the only solace you can provide is your unwavering companion.

It only weighed on you heavily that Theo would have to endure it all alone again so that you could work to permanently sever the ties between him and his malevolent father..

“We’re kids.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, and you clenched your fists in frustration. At Voldemort, at Theo’s father, at your parents who left you all alone, at the lost innocence of your childhood.

“We’re supposed to be ripping our hair off for NEWTS, preparing for life after we leave Hogwarts, dancing and drinking our teenage years away. Why did we have to make all these choices? The storybooks on my shelf speak nothing of this.”

Then, her gaze unwavering firmly set on you as she sat up straight. “We’re doing this so that Voldemort, or any wizard that dares follow his steps, may never inflict the kind of pain on anyone else, the way he did to us and our parents.”

Heart heavy with foreboding and unease, Theodore stands among the students of Hogwarts in the dimly lit Great Hall. The room, devoid of its warm glow and chatter, was bathed in eerie silence where Snape, now the headmaster of Hogwarts, had summoned every student. From the tense shoulders of the man, Theo could only surmise that it was something important. It was rare to see Snape truly bothered.

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you here at this hour. It came to my attention that earlier this evening... Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.”

A murmured thrill fills the Hall. Theodore’s eyes widened, as he waited for a sign. If Harry Potter was nearby, it could only mean that you were too.

Snape continues, raising his voice a tad bit to quell the noise. “Should anyone — student or staff — attempt to aid Mr. Potter, that person will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Rest assured: So long as I am Headmaster at Hogwarts, Harry Potter will never again step foot in this castle.”

Theo only hears the latter of what he said, mind distracted by the idea that you could be in the castle. His feet itched to run out and find you himself. Not an ounce of care for what the man in front is saying.

“Now then. If anyone here has knowledge of Mr. Potter’s movements this evening... I invite them to step forward now.”

However, the sound of footsteps catches his attention in the dead silence, and the younger Slytherin students near him exchange glances with each other. Then a figure appears from the shadows at the back of the hall. Someone that brought forth a sigh of a blend of relief and disbelief from Theo. An action that the younger him would probably scoff at.

“I think I can help you out with that…” Harry exclaims, “It appears that, even with all your thorough defensive measures, you might have a security problem, Headmaster”

The students all stare in utter perplexity, each wondering when and how the bespectacled boy had entered the castle. A vacuous question really for Harry has proven countless times that he is, in several ways, a gifted person who is filled with more courage and resolve than anyone in this room. Even Theodore, who’s good friends with Draco, can admit that fact.

The sight of Harry struck a spark of hope in a place that had grown increasingly bleak since the death of Dumbledore— Diggory’s death if you will. But the spectacle wasn’t yet done there when the doors of the Great Hall swung open, revealing the members of the Order. Their arrival further sets a ripple among the unexpecting students, though from the looks of Harry’s friends, it seems that they were the ones to aid them.

His gaze shifts to watch as one by one, they line up in a defensive pose behind Harry. He Recognizing a few familiar faces like the Weasleys, Hermione, Lovegood, Professor Lupin, Fleaur from Beauxbatons, and even some members of the Ministry.

“How dare you stand where he stood.“ Harry shouts. “Tell them the truth of that night’”

Theodore’s breath catches in his throat. The air becomes suffocating at the reminder of those times, days that still hunt him and the others. He takes slow inhales and exhales to calm himself, knowing that now is not the right time and place.

Snape with his eyes like shards of ice, faced Harry Potter. Theodore watches as he moves as if to retrieve his wand, but before he can do so, McGonagall comes forward and sends a blast in Snape’s direction. Snape pivots and barely rebounds the spell in defence,

Chaos ensues as the rest of the staff leaps forward with their wands out. A short but intense exchange erupted in the middle of the room, making the students shuffle to the side to avoid being hit by the spells and curses that flashed through the air like crackling lightning.

Snape, ever the formidable wizard despite his attitude, held his ground with a stoic determination. But Theo couldn’t help but notice how his old professor merely deflected the curses thrown upon him and never cast his own. It piqued his curiosity knowing that he was a master of the dark arts, prominent in the way lectures were replaced by dark arts in his headship.

In the end, Snape yielded, a moment that sent shockwaves to many.

“A coward, that man.” Professor McGonagall proclaims, before turning to Harry. “Mr. Potter, do you mind telling me what you’re doing here, which, I trust you realise, is an act of complete lunacy?”

Harry replies by simply telling her that he is a Gryffindor which comes to no surprise to the woman. McGonagall then turns to the rest of the students, calling them to settle down after the whole debacle.

Just then, Harry suddenly winces, pressing his palms to his temple, before a rumble rings throughout the Hall. A dark cloud swarming in the Enchanted Ceiling, imminent that the beginning of the war will begin any time now. It is the screams and face of pain that confirms it.

A familiar voice to Theodore sounds off in a deathly whisper in his head. And by the looks of everyone, it was the same for them.

“I know that many of you want to fight. Some of you may even think this is wise. But this is folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.“

With that, the whispers recede followed by the dark clouds evaporating into thin air. For a moment, silence ensues. Pansy’s screechy voice scratches in his right ear from where she stands beside him.

“Harry’s right there! Somebody grab him!” Yet nobody gives her a second thought. Everyone’s attention shifts instead to Filch who loudly enters through the Hall, screaming that everyone’s out of bed. The man made Theo chuckle inwardly, making a tiny smirk form on his lips.

“They are supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!” McGonagall tells him off. “Oh right, sorry.”

“Now, as you’re already here, I’d like you to lead the rest of Slytherin House from the Hall to the dungeons.” She adds on before Filch can leave.

Theodore’s thoughts returned, as they always did in the past months, to the one question that haunts the very corners of his mind: Where are you? In this whole happening, his eyes had been moving back and forth towards the group that stood near the large double doors. Trying to catch a glimpse of you in between the still figures. But as you had tortured him, you were still nowhere to be seen and he began to question if you had truly disappeared and left him questions unanswered.

As they were being ushered out of the Hall, he, like many others, was vacillating between insisting upon fighting for Hogwarts or to keep their loyalty to their Slytherin roots. But really, the prevailing choice for him is neither of those. He desperately wants to run towards Hermione and just ask her of your whereabouts.

But before he could approach a decision, Hermione made it for him. He jolts when a hand grasps his forearm, taking him by surprise.

“Nott.” Hermione begins before he cuts her off. “Where is she?”

It must’ve come off louder than he intended to from the way she jumped and the stares from the clutter of students from all directions. But he couldn’t care less, and it seemed that the girl in front of him had just now remembered when he didn't offer an apology.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re not much different.” She sarcastically says. “Granger. Hermione. I frankly don’t have the time for this and I doubt that you do too, so I beg you to answer me now.”

Theodore’s impatience taking over him, he could not endure another moment without having you within his sight. It was a bit of an uncharacteristic burst of urgency for him and he knew it, but you were different. You, who holds all of his vulnerable entirety in your hands.

“She’s somewhere in the castle, searching for one of the remaining Horcruxes in the castle,” Hermione explains. “Y/N had suggested that we split and she began the search while we had to ward off Snape. We will be doing the same thing now, so if you have any idea of Ravenclaw’s lost diadem location, then that’s where you’ll find her.”

With a simple nod and a meek expression of gratitude, he runs off to a place where he begs must hold such a priceless object. It would be somewhere close by but nowhere that it can be easily found.

In the corner of his eyes, Theo caught a glimpse of Harry sprinting towards a distant hallway before rounding a corner. Knowing that by now he must have an idea of where it is, Theo makes a sprint for it. He cautiously peers around the hallway where he sees a door materialising in front of Harry.

Before he can approach Harry to accompany him inside the Room of Requirement, he sees the unmistakable form of his two friends, Draco and Blaise, along with Goyle, discreetly following Harry inside. He muttered frustrated curses under his breath, knowing that those three would make trouble.

He enters through the door, where he makes a dash along the stockpile of objects that seemingly never seems to lessen with every step he takes. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, but still a lingering tension persisted, as he saw Harry’s figure running.

“Potter!” He calls out to the boy, casting aside any lingering apprehension he once held for the boy. “Did you find it?”

Harry halts in his run, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding to Theo. In truth, he wasn’t surprised that Theo was here with him, but rather, more so that you weren’t the object of his first question to him.

“I think so, the sound keeps getting louder.” He answers.

“It should be somewhere near now.” He continues. “Let’s go then.”

Theo quietly takes his place beside Harry as they weave their way through the maze of ancient objects and furniture. They continue until Harry stops, causing Theo to freeze in his step.

There you stood, a presence that seemed to penetrate his very being. The only person who plagued his thoughts, you had woven yourself into every conscious moment and every corner of his mind.

Now that you were a mere five steps away from him, he couldn’t conjure the nerve to move forward, feeling himself paralyzed.

Was it the fear that held him back? The nagging thought that this might be just another dream of his? He couldn’t grapple at an answer, but by the length of your hair that now sits at your shoulders, he would like to believe that maybe this was indeed you. This was you, and before he realised it, he was all but standing still.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you nearly lose your footing, feeling a heavy weight press to your back. The sensation of those familiar long arms enveloping you in a tight embrace sent your heart racing, the shock of it sending a rush of emotions through you.

For a fleeting moment, it felt that your body had become one with the ground, immobilised by the torrent of emotions surging through you. But then when the realisation finally sinks into you, the tension that seemed to course through you suddenly dissolves and you willingly surrender yourself to the warmth of his embrace.

You turn, your hands tracing a graceful path across his back. It had been far too long, and you couldn’t imagine being apart from him for such an extended period ever again.

The background fades into obscurity. Harry was forgotten, a distant blur that moved with the others. Your eyes filled with relief and that soft, affectionate expression that he adored. All he could see was you, the person he had yearned for and feared losing in the world you both live in.

Theo’s defences crumbled, and he finally surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He couldn’t find a part of him that would care if others saw him right now. Tears flowed freely down his flushed cheeks, like a torrential downpour.

“I’m here. Theo, I’m back with you.” Your arms held him, gently rocking him as you tried to soothe his nerves.

“Never leave me alone again.” He choked on the words, his voice raw and rugged with pain. “I beg you.”

“I won’t be going anywhere, I promise. I’m sorry for having to leave so suddenly.” You whispered, your voice filled with genuine remorse. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of movement behind some cabinets— a flash of white.

“But we’ll have to talk later.” You continued, turning your focus back to Theo. “We need to get rid of this Horcrux.”

“Horcrux?” He asks, pulling back from the crook of your neck. “Hermione mentioned that when I asked about you.”

“It’s one of the many things that Voldemort has done to ensure his immortality.” You explained, your tone carrying a sense of urgency. “But if we get rid of it, we’re one step closer to finally banishing him for good.”

He opens his mouth to say something but before he can, he is interrupted by Draco, with Blaise and Goyle, stepping into view. “Well, well, what brings you here, Potter? And Theo, what are you doing with them?”

Your gaze shifts back at Harry who had only realised that you had some other company. “I could ask you the same.” You retort.

Theo, however, pays his friend no mind. Instead, he leans to your ear, his voice a hushed whisper. “We should get that thing while Draco is still preoccupied with Harry.”

You could make a run for it; it seemed that Draco didn’t care for your purpose inside the room. Rather busy demanding your friend for his wand back, the very one you had accidentally brought back with you from the Malfoy Manor.

“- its allegiance is to me now. If you want it, you’ll have to win it back. Perhaps even kill me…” You hear Harry proclaim. You silently curse your friend for his recklessness, tired of his cavalier attitude with his life simply because he’s braved the risk of death before. You kept your eyes trained on Draco, knowing that despite his hesitation before, he might act on it now.

His wand hand twitches.

Brow conflicted.

Uneasy eyes settling somewhere behind you. You look behind to see a silhouette of a girl with a wand pointed in your direction, before you can see who it is, a ball of scarlet light emerges and briefly lights up her face and hits Draco’s hand.

“Avada Kedavra!” You were pulled back by Theo, landing on the ground with his body catching the fall. You watch as the spell ricochets and sends the diadem, which was sitting peacefully in its encasement on the table, flying away.

You spring to your feet, a burst of adrenaline propelling you forward to catch the item before it vanishes on you in this labyrinth. Your hand barely grazed the edge of the jewelled headband and with a quick nod to Harry and Hermione a nod to escape this room. Meanwhile, you’re confused as to where Ron had disappeared off to.

The red-head gives you your answer when he comes running from somewhere followed by a twisting serpent made of scarlet flames. “Run! Goyle’s set the bloody place on fire!”

With your right hand clutching the crown, you secure a firm grip on Theo’s hand, which rests lightly on your waist. The five of you dash through the towering heaps of debris that would likely be a pile of smouldering ashes and soot. A quick glance behind you reveals flames that draw closer, mutating into different forms: serpents, dragons, and the like, each following you so closely that sweat beads form on the nape of your neck.

“Keep running!” Harry shouts when Hermione sees Draco scaling a mountain of furniture. You were still running for your life when suddenly Harry spots a stack of broomsticks. TO which you all took one and began to speed across the room.

The flames explode behind you, You and Theo, who decided to share, barely elude the snap of its jaw.

“Wait! What about Malfoy and Blaise!” Harry screams at the rest of you, your head turns to look back at the two who are barely hanging on as the flames continue to destroy the room. It was only a matter of time before it reached them and they would have nowhere to go.

“You grab them!” Theo replied, his voice scratchy and painful from the amount of smoke you’ve inhaled.

“Are you serious? He’s joking right?” Ron asks Hermione, to which you instead reply. “No, he’s not! Go get them!”

Harry and Ron sweeps down, swiftly reaching out to grasp Draco and Blaise’s outstretched hands. While you, Theo, and Hermione went ahead as a giant beam of light appeared in the distance, a radiating beacon. It’s Hermione, hovering on her broom with her wand raised.

Then, with Harry and Ron in tow, you all fly headlong towards Hermione’s beacon. And in an instant, your sight dissolved into a blinding whiteness.

Your eyes flutter open, your senses returning to you in a hazy rush. You felt someone shaking you furiously, and in your disoriented state, you instinctively pushed them away. But arms instead wrapped around you and pulled you into a warm chest.

“You’re fine!” The person evidently shakes in relief, before you feel a gentle bush of lips against your temple.

Blinking away the remnants of confusion, you look up to see Theo’s striking blue eyes already intently focused on you., striking a shiver across your spine “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily.” You joked weakly, a tiny smile on your face.

Theo’s expression softened, and he tightened his hold on you as if he was afraid that you might disappear again. “I thought I lost you there,” He tells you, voice barely above a whisper. “When I saw you just lying there, unmoving… I was utterly terrified.”

You reach up and gently cup his cheek, wiping away the dark ash that sullied it with your thumb. “Like I said, love, I’m not going anywhere,” Your voice filled with reassurance, and you sit properly to kiss him softly, sealing your promise in that tender moment.

But as with everything else, it was interrupted by an awkward cough behind you.

“You guys done there? We still have some things to do?” Ron retorts. To which Hermione slaps him in the chest.

You laugh and hum in tease. “Well, actually I think we could do with some more snogging here.” Ron merely groans. “No, please. I don’t wanna see that.”

The both of you stand from where you sit, your hands still entwined, hearts racing. “Where’s Draco and Blaise, by the way?” You ask Theo. “They ran off somewhere.”

As they all stepped out of the corridor, they caught you up on what happened while you were unconscious. Harry had stabbed the diadem with a basilisk fang which Ron and Hermione retrieved from the Chamber and threw it back towards the Room of Requirement where it blew up into flames.

You look at Harry who was staring into the distance, his face still bearing the trace of the agony he must’ve endured when he stabbed the diadem.

“It’s the snake. She’s the last one. The last Horcrux.” Harry speaks up.

“Where do you think he’ll take it?” Theo asks from beside you. “Somewhere safe. He’ll be keeping her close to him.”

“You should go ahead, Theo and I will stay here to help with the others.” You tell your friends, while Harry tries to locate Voldemort with his mind.

“I know where he is.” He finally comes back. “Let’s go.”

“The three of you keep safe alright?” You remind them as you all run towards the battlefield, where many of your friends stand fighting. They nod, promising you that they will and in return make you and Theo swear you’ll be careful.

In the courtyard, where students and staff trade spells with the Death Eaters that littered across the school grounds, you quickly join them, making sure that you are in sight of the other. The unspoken promise to do so served as a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos you were faced with.

From the upper balcony, your eyes scanned the battlefield, assessing the danger that lurked when you saw a Death Eater poised to send a curse to Luna from behind. Without a second thought, you unleashed a forceful flick of your wand, sending a powerful spell toward the Death Eater which sent him tumbling through the air and straight to the waters beyond the castle.

Luna, whose signature dream-like demeanour was replaced by an expression of gratitude, turns and locks eyes with you. She offered you one of her wide smiles, “Thanks! Y/n, glad to see you back here!”

Your heart swelled with warmth for your friend. “Don’t mention it, happy to see you also, Luna.” You quickly reply before returning to battle when you are hit by a deafening blast straight on the chest. You were raised to the air before you crashed into the floor below.

Theodore Nott fought valiantly in the courtyard, proving to the others that the dark mark that covered his right arm bore no significance to the man. His wand moved in a blur of motion in the onslaught of Death Eater. His thoughts were empty save for the ever-present worry that plagued him for your safety.

From his vantage point on the ground level, he does a quick scan of the courtyard, his heart pounding in his chest. The grisly sight of students and friends, along with the staff all stood their ground against the dark forces that dared penetrate their home. It filled him with a mixture of pride and fear.

And then, his eyes flicked onto a scene that made his heart skip a beat. From the upper balcony, he sees you with your wand in hand and your expression resolute as you defend Luna, a dear friend of yours. It filled him with a warm emotion at the sight of your strong determination to protect her.

But then in a blink of an eye, disaster struck. A blast struck you square in the chest, lifting you off your feet in shock and sending you crashing down. Theo’s heart which skipped a beat earlier had now wholly stopped, his blood turning to ice as he watched in horror.

With everything in him, he surges forward through the chaos to catch you before you fall down. But as he was still many steps away from you, you dropped full force into the stone ground. Panic fueled his every step as he ran towards your motionless form now with even more speed than he ever thought a human possibly could.

He feels his gut twinge at the bloody sight, a sickly feeling developing in the deep recesses of his body, the wand heavy in his hands then. His lips bore no sound as tried to call your name, his heart was twisted in his throat.

He knelt beside you, pulling you into his lap and checking you for your injuries. To his relief, your breathing was still steady for what had just happened to you and you didn’t seem to take any damage to the head, Still, he carried your disoriented body in his arms bridal style.

As he began to stand, his eyes went back to where you had previously been, searching for the source of the blast that struck you down. And then, with a shock that sent chills down his spine, he sees a familiar old face.

His father.

He sets you down somewhere safe inside the castle, without taking his sight away from his father. By the time he returns back to where you both were, his father is now advancing towards him with a sinister, triumphant grin on his face. It was a face that had been both a source of fear and disappointment throughout his life.

The face that caused his mother’s death.

“Father,” Theodore muttered, his voice laced with a blend of anger, disbelief, and a profound sense of betrayal. That despite all he’s done for him, his father still stood there with not an ounce of recognition that he was faced with his son. It was as if he had truly sunk to the depths of his loyalty to Voldemort and there was no other obligation for him except for his unwavering loyalty.

Their eyes were locked in a moment of tense, silent confrontation. He knew that this battle was only physical but also a battle of his loyalties. He had to protect you, he had to stand against his father, and he had to make a choice that would define the course of his life.

With the courtyard around them paying no specific attention to the father and son, it was only fair to say that everything else faded into the background for them too. Father and son. Standing on opposing sides, driven by their own convictions and beliefs, the younger no longer waited.

He was no, father, not in the true sense of the word. He was merely a shadow of a man, a heartless figure who stood there—grinning as if he had just claimed the grand prize in this twisted lottery.

In that moment, he had not only attacked the one person who held his son’s heart after he took away the other one but he had also torn away the last remaining fragments of the bond that tied the two of them.

His father had no time to react when Theodore raised his wand in a swift manner, hurling him violently to the cold, unforgiving wall across the castle. He rained down curses after cruses upon his father’s assailable body, each blow driven by a potent combination of anger and a fierce desire to defend.

“Stay” He seethed, punctuating his rage with a curse. “Away” Another spell. “From” The onslaught of his attack never ceased despite the dawn that slowly began to fade into view. “Her!” Each word carried the weight of an entire lifetime’s amount of hurt as Theo relentlessly battered his father until he was left into nothing but a fraction of what he used to be.

His eyes are glazed and unfocused as he continues this torture until he comes to a grip on reality when strong arms pull him away. It takes him a moment to realise that the battle has ceased.

The two people behind him dragged him away, from his father's still body. But still, his eyes remained locked onto him, unable to shift it away. The cold fire in him terrified the others that they had passed. They whispered that nothing could compare to the kind of fury and destruction that he was sure to rain upon his enemies.

“Wake up, Y/N. Please.” Theo’s voice quivered, his words trembling on the precipice of his emotions. His eyes, blurred by the veil of his tears, bore a weight drastically different than it did only hours ago.

Eyes that failed to veil the inner turmoil that plagued him. The entire battle against Voldemort had taken its toll on both of them, leaving them stranded from each other for nearly half a year, but seeing you this way…

He watched from a chair beside you as the healers worked diligently, silently begging them to look at you again, despite numerous assurances that you are now stable. His fingers unconsciously flexed at his sides, a manifestation of the anxiety that controls him.

The fear of losing you, the anger towards his father, the overwhelming relief that you are alive– it all left him in a state of disconcerting.

As he waits for you to wake, he couldn’t help but reminisce on all that the both of you had been through. The trials, the secrets, the moments of love and laughter everywhere and anywhere. You were not just some person he loved; you were his best friend, his reason.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he wiped them away hastily. He needs to be strong for both of you, just as you will in your state of unconsciousness. He knew that your love had emerged stronger than ever in this crucible of war. So he made a silent promise to himself that he would do whatever it takes to take you away from any danger that dares creep upon you.

Finally, as if an eternity had passed, your voice broke through the silence. He jumps up in shock at the sound. You had slowly begun to stir in your makeshift bed in the Great Hall, your eyelids fluttering as you emerged from the depths of unconsciousness. The world felt hazy at first. But as your senses gradually returned, you became aware of the hustle and bustle of the people around you and you tried to call attention.

Theo sees that you were trying to say something but from the scratchy tone that instead came out, you were in need of some water so he ran to the nearest jug he found and helped you sit up so you could properly drink.

Then, as your vision cleared, you saw Theo sitting by your bedside and that he was the one that quenched the dryness that lined your throat., his eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of relief and worry.

His face broke into a gentle smile as he saw you recognize him. “Y/N” He whispered, his voice cracking as he began to cry once more. “You’re awake, you’re back. Thank Merlin!”

You manage a weak smile in return, your throat still dry and your body aching from the attack on you. You tried to speak, but your voice came out raspy. “Theo.”

Theo reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from the side of your face, his touch gentle as ever. “You’re going to be okay.” He says, but it was more like he was also trying to convince himself. “You had me worried there for a while. I am this close to tying you up in a chair because you have caused me nothing but stress lately.”

As the both of you lay on the bed after you guilted him into laying beside you, your memories of the battle and the moments leading up to your injury slowly came back. You remembered Luna, the chaos, and the deafening blast that nearly took you away. But most of all, you remember the face of the person who did this to you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers entwined in a silent, unspoken connection. “You must have been like a hero back there, then?” You gently try to ask him.

“More like a monster.” He mutters, unable to bring his eyes to you. The truth is he felt horrible after he finally calmed down. He was disgusted with himself and how he acted. He let his rage take control and acted like a monster. “What do you mean?”

“I was just like him, leaving him unable to fight back like he did to Mom and I back then. I just fired curses and curses at him. It was like a veil had draped over me and all I wanted was to protect you and destroy anything and anyone that dared harm you. ”

You call his name. But he doesn’t respond and continues to stare off into the distance with a glazed-over expression. You reach out to cup his cheeks to pull his gaze towards you. “Theodore, look at me.”

He hums, now staring at you but still he can’t hide the tumultuous emotions that were a storm inside him. “You are not like your father, Theo.” You said softly. “Just from what you told me, you are a gazillion ways different from him. You didn’t cower behind the fear he caused you. Instead, you faced him head on, and defended not only me but also your mother from his cruelty.”

Theo looks at you, his eyes searching yours for affirmation. “How?” He meekly asks.

“You took away the power that he boasts to have over you. '' You replied. Tone unwavering. “You showed him that you will never, ever, become anything like he is."

Your words hung in the air, a testament to Theo’s strength. At that moment, he realised that he had broken free from the shadows of his father’s influence and that he had chosen a different path. A path that is defined by love, courage, and a refusal to be controlled by his fear.

“I’m here because of you. I strived each day so that I could go back to you.” You whispered, your gaze never leaving Theo’s. “And I'm not going anywhere.”

Theo’s eyes shimmered with tears as he leaned in to gently kiss your forehead. “I love you.” He murmured, “I am in love with you, physically, rhetorically, every -ly.”

You laugh at his cheekiness, “I love you too.” You close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to drown in the wave of his love that washed over you. Giving his hands a squeeze as you raise them to lay a kiss upon the back of his hand.

In that Great Hall, amidst the scars of battle and the uncertainty of the future, they had found something precious in the very same place where two 11-year-old kids once locked eyes and found a connection.

masterlist

#harry potter #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott angst #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #slytherin #theodore nott oneshot

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obsessedwithceleste · 27 days

Text

Good Things Fall Apart

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: based on this request🫶🏽 a series of flashbacks spanning the course of your shattered relationship with the infamous Theodore Nott.

word count: 2.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

The world around you blurs as you stumble hazily over to the circle of sofas surrounding the fireplace of the Slytherin common room. Music is blaring loudly, pumping through your veins as you search the table for another drink.

“Woah there, maybe it’s time we switch you over to water,” Blaise says, hastily grabbing onto your arm to steady you.

“Nuh uh, just saw Theodore’s tongue down some witches throat. Don’t wanna remember anything from tonight,” you slur, grabbing the neck of the first bottle you see and carelessly knocking it back.

The image of Theo leaning against the wall, arms caged around another witch who wasn’t you as he practically devoured her flashed through your mind as you inhaled the burning liquid.

With a heavy sigh, Blaise resigns himself to helping you onto the sofa, slowly lowering you down onto the plush haven and discreetly moving the still half full bottle away from you.

“You seen Daph?” You ask, still far too sober for your liking.

Blaise shakes his head. “She and Pans ran off together ages ago.” He replies, looking at you with pity.

You hated that. When people felt bad for you. Always giving you sorrowful looks and whispering amongst one another.

“What the hell happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you two were all in love or something,” he asks, sitting down lazily next to you as the familiar burn of alcohol scorches your throat once more.

Blaise had no idea where the new bottle had materialized from.

“I thought so too.”

It was a party like this one where you and Theodore had first met. Daphne had invited you to get ready with her and Pansy before hand which had resulted in the three of you being decently buzzed by the time the party was starting. She had giggled about how she was just dying to introduce you to some of the boys she and Pansy had grown up with.

The three of you spent the early stages of the night laughing, dancing, gossiping in the corner, but it wasn’t long before you found yourself alone in the crowd of students, dancing and swaying to the loud, hazy music. You didn’t mind. You loved the feeling of carefree ecstasy that came with blending in with a drunk crowd.

Only you didn’t blend in. At least not to him. His eyes followed you everywhere as you wandered through the throngs of people filling the common room. All the way up to the moment you backed into the tall, brunette, only for him to whisk you off your feet and into his arms where you stayed for the rest of the night.

“Woah, sorry!” You slurred, feeling the heat of another body behind you as you stumbled back out of the way of another couple making a beeline back to the dorms.

Looking up, your eyes met his in a mesmerizing stare as he smirked down at you.

“No worries principessa, I do believe you just fell for me.”

In your drunken state, the corny line was the funniest thing you’d ever heard, and the boy gazes down at you with adoration as you double over with laughter.

You spend the remainder of the party locked in the boys arms, lounging on the sofas overlooking the rest of the crowd.

When his lips aren’t whispering seductively in your ear as he sits wrapped around you, they’re pressed softly against your shoulder, your neck, your throat, and finally your lips.

You remember the addictive feeling of reveling in the boy’s eager attention. Relishing in every electrifying touch, every gentle breath against your skin.

And the hypnotizing way in which he lead you back to his dorm, closing the door swiftly behind you as his eyes darkened with hunger.

You remember feeling scared. Terrified. When you realized what you had done. You didn’t regret it. Of course not. But would he? Would you end up being just another conquest?

Your worries subside that morning however, when strong arms wrap around you once more, pulling you closer, enveloping you in warmth.

“Mine.” The boy murmurs quietly before you both doze off again, basking in each other’s presence.

“There you are! We’ve been searching for you everywhere!” Daphne announces, frolicking over to where you and Blaise had tucked yourselves away to, dragging a very drunk Pansy along behind her.

“Just saw Theo with his latest conquest. That bloody fucking wanker doesn’t know what he lost. I’m bout to whack some sense into that tosser,” Pansy slurs, stumbling over to you and wrapping her arms around you in what is probably supposed to be a comforting hug.

“Thanks Pans, but I think I’d rather not hear about him tonight. Pass me that bottle?” You ask as Pansy happily hands you yet another half full bottle of suspicious liquid.

“Oh that’s so not a healthy coping mechanism,” Daphne mutters, but she doesn’t stop you.

You give the girl a lazy shrug, tipping your drink back.

“Stops me from overthinking,” you reply, slamming the bottle down on the table in front of you.

“Well, we can help with that too. Come on. Sitting here in self pity isn’t any fun. You need to let loose,” Daph replies, dragging you up by one arm while Pansy grabs the other.

You send a desperate look back Blaise’s way, but he only smiles, waving the three of you off.

The pair drag you out into the middle of the packed center of the common room where sweaty bodies are moving in unison to the bass vibrating through the room. Between the deafening music, flashing lights and dark room, the whole place begins to feel surreal.

It doesn’t take long for the three of you to find yourselves lost in the music, belting out lyrics and trying to keep Pansy from falling over. You’re almost able to convince yourself that you’re having a good time when a flash of brown catches your eye.

You turn to see him there. It’s only a moment, but that little glimpse of his eyes burning into you was all you needed to be transported back.

You pull the blanket tighter against you to protect yourself from the cold as you lay with your head cradled comfortably in Theodore’s lap.

It was a cold night to be in the astronomy tower, but it was one of you and Theo’s favorite places, allowing you to stare out into the star filled black abyss.

You loved for moments like these. Quiet moments where you could close your eyes and when you opened them again, you knew Theodore’s eyes would be staring back as if you were the only thing in the world.

You let out a soft breath, watching as the small puff of air disappears into the cold air. It had been a long week.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of your mi amore?” Theo asks, gazing down at you.

“Everything. And nothing I suppose,” you reply.

The two of you had been seeing each other for months now. After the first night the two of you seemed inseparable, constantly seeking each other, you were practically attached at the hip.

Daphne of course was thrilled. She had grown up with Theo and was ecstatic that he was enamored with one of her closest friends. His friends welcomed you with open arms, and you formed a particularly close friendship with one Blaise Zabini. All in all, the two of you fit together with almost perfect ease, slotting into one another’s lives as if you’d been there the whole time.

But it was also the most serious relationship either of you had been in, and it was an especially long one for Theo. And the other girls made sure you knew it. How long would you be able to keep him around? You couldn't possibly be that special.

You had known initially that Theodore had a reputation for making his rounds through Hogwarts’ female population. And you had known that more than one of your classmates had vied for his attention. It hadn't really phased you at the time. You figured that people would move on to the next heart throb. They didn't.

It’s not that they were mean to you necessarily, but they didn’t hide their intentions towards Theodore from anyone either. You did your best to act like it didn't phase you, the blatant attempts to sweep Theo out from under your feet. The entitlement honestly astounded you. But it still stung.

Theo’s approach to it all was willful ignorance. He didn’t care, and he said that neither should you. You were the one he wanted. You tried to believe him. You really did. You wanted to believe him. But there was always a voice in the deep recesses of your mind, reminding you that you were never going to be enough.

Theo’s light hum brought you back to the present as he slowly stroked his fingers through your hair, lulling you back into a calm, serene state. It was a soft side of the boy that he didn’t show often. One that almost made you believe that he meant every word that left his lips when he promised he’d never leave.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, principessa,” he murmured as your eyes once again fluttered shut.

Blinking quickly you find yourself standing back in the middle of the crowded common room, Daphne and Pansy moving against you in their own little world, entangled in each other’s arms.

Your head was spinning, the effects of all the alcohol really kicking in as your mind raced to make sense of the blurring memories.

You needed to sit down. Or throw up. Or cry. Maybe all of the above.

“I’m going to go find Blaise,” you shout over the music, barely getting the girls’ attention.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Daphne calls back.

Nodding, you stumble your way through the crowd, pushing past foggy faces of students you couldn’t recognize for the life of you. You didn’t remember this many people ever attending a common room party before. But to be fair, in this state you didn’t remember much at all.

You feel the noise, and the lights, and the growing heat, and the burning scent of alcohol of your breath, and the throngs of people begin to overwhelm you as you scan the crowd wildly looking for where Blaise had wandered off to. He really was an elusive bastard when he wanted to be.

Mind buzzing and eyes flickering desperately around the room, it only takes a moment for a group of girls to rush past you and you feel yourself stumbling back. Then the warm body behind you. And then the strong arms holding you upright.

You look up with alarm and your eyes meet his once more.

You can feel yourself trembling as you stare down at the boy in front of you, sitting on his bed with a look of pure apathy on his face.

You were back in Theo’s dorm. A place that had once felt warm and welcoming now was icy cold as the two of you just stared at each other, locked in a stalemate. You could feel in the pit of your stomach that this wouldn’t end well.

“You really don’t see why I’m upset?” You ask finally, not able to stand the silence any longer.

“I understand perfectly why you’re upset. I just don’t think you should be.” Theo replies, leaning back carelessly.

“Theodore, she kissed you! Right in front of me!” You yell, looking at Theo as if he’d grown an extra head.

“And I walked away!” Theo retorts, rolling his eyes.

“You never stand up for me! Not once have you ever stood up for me in all these months. You just let it happen and expect me to be fine with it because what? You don’t care? Do you know how blatantly disrespectful it is to literally kiss someone else’s boyfriend right in front of them? And then you do nothing! What is wrong with you? Why?” You cry the pent up frustration finally getting to you.

How could he possibly not understand?

“I’m defending you by not engaging! None of them matter, just ignore them!”

“You’re doing nothing! Would it kill you to just tell them to stop? Just once?”

“It’s not like I’m encouraging it!”

“Well you’re certainly not stopping it!” You feel the tears well up in your eyes as they begin slowly pouring down your face.

What was truly so hard about this concept that he couldn’t grasp?

“Why are you being so fucking dramatic?”

“Why are you acting like you hate me?”

“Because I hate the fact that you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion!”

“Well what did you want me to do? Not say anything? Just carry on like my feelings don’t mean anything?” You ask, the hot stream of tears refusing to stop as you continue to stare at the boy.

Theo lets out an agitated sigh, his head falling back in frustration.

“Obviously your feelings matter,” he groans, obviously over the conversation. But you weren’t.

“Obviously not to you.” You snap done with the entire situation. Done with feeling like nothing you did was enough. Done with pretending you didn’t see the other girls fawning over your boyfriend. Done with your boyfriend ignoring how you felt. Just done.

The tears finally roll to a stop and with one last shake of your head, you turn and begin walking towards the door.

“Don’t-“ you hear Theo call.

Slowly, you turn to face the boy.

“Don’t what?” You ask, waiting for the boy to ask you to stay. To not leave. Anything.

You’re met with silence.

Without another word, you turn once more, the door thudding closed behind you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling yourself from Theo’s arms as he continues to stare down at you, arms falling lifelessly to his side.

“Careful, or someone might think you fell for me,” he murmurs, his voice sending chills down your spine.

“Yeah? Well it’s a good thing I didn’t,” you reply, pushing past him. You feel his eyes follow you as you continue stumbling your way back to the dorms. Only when the door is securely shut and you’re wrapped tightly in blankets do you allow the tears to start flowing once more.

Sometimes good things really did have to fall apart.

They asked for angst y'all

On a totally separate note- I found this song on a playlist called "Frat songs that could resurrect me"- I don't know what business this song has doing on that playlist, but it hits

#Spotify #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #theo nott x reader #blaise zabini #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott x yn #harry potter #slytherin #hogwarts

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silverstonesainz-archive · 11 months

Text

one night only

─── only three floors up, marks the end of a night he could only ever dream of

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader warnings: nsfw!!! minors dni!!! (includes f receiving fingering, m receiving oral, & p in v, unprotected) foul language, and mentions of cheating.

His mouth is watering. As ridiculous as it sounds, his mouth is watering. He stands at the other end of the red carpet, waiting for his cue to take his walk when he sees you walk by in a sleek black, floor length dress. The neckline is high, tying around your neck, but the back hangs dangerously low. He admires the soft skin of your back, the way he can see the dimples sitting at the bottom of your spine.

He’s never craved anything more in his life.

“Alright Charles, you’re all good to go.” The sweet lady smiles up at him, stepping back to give him room to walk across the carpet.

Charles mutters a thanks, nodding graciously before stepping out onto the carpet. After years of having phones and cameras shoved in his face, you would think he’d be used to the flashing and screams of him to look this way! He does his best, a tight lipped smile gracing his features as he tries to look at multiple cameras before walking further down the carpet. He tries to catch sight of you again, but instead he’s met with his first interviewer. The lady beams widely, introducing herself but Charles doesn’t hear her. He’s beginning to feel overwhelmed, the constant screaming and shouting for whoever else is walking down the carpet behind him. He tries to get through the interview, pulling out gracious answers about his team’s disaster season and his rise to and then unfortunate drop from the top.

“Max! Max! Over here!”

Charles is slightly distracted, turning his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his friend and rival. But he has to do a double take when his green eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar sleek black dress. The reporter asks him another question, one he completely misses as he stares at you in awe. But what really gets to him is the way Max’s hand rests on the skin of your back, holding you flush against him.

“Charles?”

The lady next to him taps his shoulder, forcing Charles to tear his eyes off your figure. He can feel his face heat up, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Scusate! Potrebbe ripetere, per favore?” Sorry! Could you repeat that please?

He does his best to get through the rest of his walk, taking more photos and answering more questions until he finally gets to the entrance of the gala. He finds his table, sitting down and immediately going on his phone. It isn’t long until the event begins and introductions are made. Most of the event is a blur, Charles drowning his sorrows in flutes of champagne and overcooked steak.

He barely registers his name being announced, a proud call to his achievement of Vice Champion. The Monegasque smiles curtly at his peers, mouths thanks to those who clap for him. And as he steps up on the stage to accept his trophy, his eyes scan the crowd. He knows exactly what– or rather, who– he is looking for. And in the sea of wide eyes, he was looking for one pair in particular. And then he spots you. Charles shouldn’t be surprised that you were looking at him, everyone is looking at him. He should be used to hundreds of eyes on him, hell he should be used to millions. But your eyes are the only pair that light his every nerve ending ablaze. You’re leaning forward, elbows on the table as your cheek rests in your right hand. Your eyes are wide, stuck to him under the bright lights that illuminate the stage. His suit suddenly feels too tight, the spotlight overheating him. He might pass out.

But he doesn’t let it show. The media training from years of being in front of the camera takes over, ready made responses roll off his tongue. He says his thanks to his team, to the people in the factory, to Mattia, to his family and to all the people who helped him along the way. He wonders if you know he meant you. From the way you shift in your seat, he would guess yes. He wants to smile at you, to acknowledge you in some way if not with words, but then he sees Max lean in and whisper something in your ear. His stomach turns at how quickly you look away from him, how you lean into the man’s touch. He forces himself to look away, to avert his gaze towards his brother who just smiles up at him, unknowing of the younger Leclerc’s turmoil.

The applause grows in volumes, cueing him to wave and walk back to his seat. As he lowers himself into his chair, his hand loosens the tie around his neck. Several people at the table congratulate him personally with kind smiles and gentle pats. He thanks them all before reaching for the glass of water and drinking all that’s left in it.

“Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay?

Charles nods at his older brother, setting the glass. “Oui. Juste au chaud..." Yes, just warm…

The night drags along for Charles. More awards, more applause, more champagne. By the end of the night, he was a little more intoxicated than he should be at a work function. He clutches onto the trophy, his trophy, as he exits the ballroom, listening to the people directing him to his next photo-op. The champagne is swirling in his head, making the floor beneath him tilt left to right ever so slightly. For a man whose career depends on accuracy and balance, he was lacking some in that very moment. Charles is greeted by even more people, more champions and winners alike, all with their own trophies cradled in their arms.

“Charles, if we could have you stand next to Max please.” A man rests his hand on Charles’s shoulder, his other arm extended to point to the spot next to his fellow driver.

Charles makes eye contact with Max, and both drivers exchange awkward, closed mouth smiles. The Monegasque driver walks over, planting himself close enough to his friend for their shoulders to be touching. His grip on his trophy tightens, worried he may make a fool of himself and drop it. His knees lock, and he stumbles a bit in his place, effectively bumping into Max. The Dutch boy chuckles softly, eyes crinkling as he watches Charles regain his balance.

“Too much champagne, no?”

Charles’s cheeks tinge red as he nods, “Way too much mate.”

The two drivers laugh, and the press has a field day. Shutters and flashes go off, trying to capture the moment of camaraderie between the rivals. The not-so-rare moments of laughter and conversation between the two of them are a must see shot, and Charles is sure they’d be plastered on every newspaper, blog, and instagram by the time he wakes the next morning.

They take a couple more pictures, more posed than the last, and a couple of shots where both men hold their trophy high and proud. Then they walk off, as if the moment never happened. Max bids him adieu, a happy holiday season, and Charles does the same before being led to the next photo-op or interview, whichever was left on his agenda for the night.

But then he spots you again, waiting patiently behind all the cameras for Max. He can’t help the jealousy bubbling in him at the way you smile at his rival, how soft your eyes are for him. He watches the way your hand finds Max’s arm, the way it slips down the black sleeve of his jacket, fingers finding refuge between his. His dinner begins to climb up his throat, and he forces it back down with a thick swallow. And for the briefest of moments, he sees your eyes flicker from Max to him. Charles watches for your reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead you return your gaze to the man in front of you, a small smile and subtle nod like you’ve been listening to him the entire time.

The night ends much later than Charles would have preferred. He was finally allowed to leave after the third photo-op with his Vice Champion Trophy. He’s sick of the flashes, of the shutters, of all the congratulations and hopeful stares. He didn’t want to spend another moment in that room, with the constant reminder that he was second best at something he poured his heart and soul into. He couldn’t handle it.

Lorenzo drops his younger brother home, but not without another round of congratulations. "Félicitations Charles. Nous sommes si fiers, papa est si fier.” Congratulations Charles. We are so proud, papa is so proud.

Charles walks up to his front door with his head hanging low, remnants of his one too many glasses of champagne weighing him down. He fumbles with his keys, forcing it into the knob as he quickly unlocks his door and shoves it open. With a huff, he drops all his belongings on the side table in the foyer, the silver trophy included. He’d deal with it in the morning.

He undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, and shrugs off his Ferrari jacket. It isn’t long until he’s left in his briefs, falling onto his plush couch and flicking on the TV to fill his empty Monaco apartment. The pad of his thumb presses the plus on the remote, moving through Monaco’s late night TV. He lands on a dubbed version of Friends, lowering the volume level until he can barely hear Joey and Chandler’s voices. He lays back against a throw pillow, letting the hum of the television lull him to sleep.

Dreams don’t happen very often for Charles. Between jet lag, the limited hours of sleep, and his mind filled with the car, the care and nothing but the car, there wasn’t much left in him to dream of anything else. Tonight would be the first time in a long time, with the help of Brut, does he finally dream of something worth remembering. But it comes in flashes, flickering so fast he can barely keep up with the changing scenes. It’s bright eyes that stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him.

The knock on his front door pulls him from his dream. Charles groans softly, shifting on the plush couch as he chases a flicker of his imagination. He hoped that the knocking would go away, that he’d return to a fantasy that only lives in his mind. But the knocking returns, louder against the hardwood of his front door. It’s still dark out. He couldn’t have been asleep for longer than an hour. When Charles looks at his phone, it reads 1:03 AM, and he groans. His dick is painfully hard, aching over the dream he just had. Charles pries his eyes open, looking down at his black briefs, the bulge of his hard cock more prominent than he expected.

The person on the other side of his door knocks a third time, this time louder and much more desperate. He mutters tired, French nonsense as he drags himself to the front door in his underwear and socks. He doesn’t even bother to check who’s even knocking, his hazy mind assuming it’s his younger brother in drunken stupor, or better yet a fellow driver in need of something. He makes half an effort to adjust himself, not in the mood to give whoever was at his front door a free show– or an explanation as to why he was hard at one in the morning, all by his lonesome.

The last thing he expects to see is you, still in the same sleek black gown and mascara smudged on your waterline and pink cheeks. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. He’s awake now, wide awake.

“Can I come in?”

How could he deny you? So of course, he steps aside and allows you to step into his home. He shuts the door behind him, leaning against the hardwood as he watches you move about his space. With your back to him, he adjusts himself again, suddenly very self conscious about his state. But you don’t seem to notice, setting your purse down next to his pile of belongings on the entryway table. You don’t even acknowledge the obnoxious silver trophy sitting right there, walking right past it to fall onto the couch.

Charles grabs a worn jumper and puma athletic shorts that rests on a chair, slipping it over his body. When he looks over at you, your head is in your hands and your shoulders shaking up and down. He frowns, listening to your quiet cries, unsure of what he can do to make everything better. He figures he could start with a glass of water. You hear him move behind you, the clinking of dishes and gentle thuds of cabinets closing. You hear the water running, and then the soft pit pat of Charles’s feet as he makes his way over to you.

He kneels in front of you, glass of water in hand. You finally look up from your hands, and Charles offers you a reassuring smile. He offers you the glass, and you take it from his grasp. Charles moves to sit next to you, leaving a couple of inches between the two of you. He watches you as you gulp down the water, watching it move down your throat like it was the first time you had drunken water in days. You set the glass down on the coffee table, eyes flickering up to the TV.

“You were watching Friends?”

Charles’s gaze shifts to the TV, watching as Rachel talks with Ross. The volume isn’t loud enough for him to understand what they’re talking about, but he’s seen this episode before. “Mmm, yeah. Needed some background noise so it wouldn’t be so quiet.”

You nod, looking at the expanse of his home. It’s messy, with clothes strewn everywhere and miscellaneous items placed in places they don’t belong. The biggest shock is that there aren’t any dirty dishes lying around, but you could chuck that up to the fact he probably doesn’t eat at home very often.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks you.

You shake your head, “I just want to go to sleep Charles, and forget that tonight ever happened.”

He doesn’t push any further, even if he is curious over your current state. He wants to know what made you cry, why your first instinct is to come to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, that you knew you could find refuge with him. Maybe it was for an ego boost, or yet again another thing for him to use to justify why he keeps letting you into his life.

He leads you into his room. His room is probably the tidiest place in the whole apartment, it almost looks untouched. You watch as he pulls out drawers and cabinet doors, handing you a shirt of his and a pair of boxers. When you retreat to the bathroom, Charles pulls back the covers, spraying a bit of the room spray his mom got him to get rid of the mothy smell. He hadn’t slept in his own bed in months, it almost felt wrong to be standing in his room at that moment. He’d spent the better part of the year on the road, and even while on breaks he found it hard to sleep in the quiet of his own apartment.

You come out of the bathroom not too long later, rubbing your eyes as you make your way over to bed and climbing in. Charles stands awkwardly, watching as you pull the covers over your body. He watches as you fluff the pillows, shifting them around to create more space.

“Are you going to join me?”

Charles can’t help the knowing smile that graces his lips, shaking his head subtly. “I really shouldn’t…”

“Please? It’s not like we haven’t before…”

A point was made. But there weren’t any boundaries before. Nothing was holding him back before, but now… now there's far too much. He should’ve shook his head, said good night, and returned to his place on the couch, letting Friends put him back to sleep.

But you sit in his bed, wearing his clothes, staring at him with a stare he can’t ever say no too. So with a sigh, he moves to the space you’ve left for him in the bed, laying under the covers as you cozy up to his side like you’ve done in the past. Your fingers lay on his sweater clad chest, pressing the fuzzy lining against his burning skin. Your face is nuzzled into his neck, warm body so dangerously close to him. It’s sickening, how right it all feels.

“Why are you so stiff?”

Was he? He didn’t notice. Charles puffs out a breath through pursed lips, a dry chuckle rumbling from his throat. You pull your head from the crook of his neck to look up at him. He feels your gaze, but he refuses to give into the urge to turn and look right back at you. But he sees your wide eyes, the questioning in your gaze as you patiently wait for an explanation.

“I dunno.” He finally says. “I didn’t even realize.”

You lift your head, perching it in the palm of your hand with your elbow digging into the pillow next to him. Now he can see you, see the way your brows are furrowed almost playfully, as if you aren’t convinced of his answer. Charles turns his head slightly, just enough that you could see all of him under the blue light of the moon peeking through his windows. He offers you a small smile, a soft whisper of hello, one you return with the same soft hi.

“I’ve missed you,” You confess.

It should’ve made him angry. The revelation should’ve reminded him of the reality of you and him. It should’ve been a swift slap to the face, a reminder of why you miss him when he’s been available to you all this time. You chose to stray far, to find happiness elsewhere. But instead it clouds his vision. Pulls him further and further to a reality that was only meant to live in his head– in the daydreams he kept in idle time. He reaches up towards you. He shouldn’t have. His fingers brush the hair back behind your ear– it burns him. Charles feels himself lean into you as your other hand comes up to comb themselves through his hair, pushing it back while your nails gently scratch his scalp. Your hand comes down from the top of his head, sliding effortlessly along his skin, cupping his cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hums softly, another sweet smile on his lips as he lets his head fall into your hold.

“You miss me?”

“You know I do.”

You lay like that for what feels like eternity. A blissful eternity.

Charles’s index finger traces from the top of your temple, along the outline of your face. It’s slow, soft, damn right sensual the way he traces every dip and curve. You feel his calloused skin along your jaw, down the length of your throat. You gulp. He smirks.

“I like when you do that.” You whisper.

He hums softly, index finger tracing back up your throat. His name tumbles from your lips, breathy and nervous. He chuckles. You almost hate him for it.

Charles drops his hand after he traces your shoulder. You let out a breath and he laughs softly. “You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

You fully sit up now, relieving your arm from carrying the weight of your head. Charles doesn’t move, he just watches as you fiddle in your spot until you decide you’re comfortable. He turns his head to the table by his bed, bright red numbers reading 1:56 AM. When he returns his gaze on you, he catches you tying up your hair, arms stretched over your head as you pull the length of your locks through the white scrunchie. His shirt rides up your body slightly, just enough to catch the black lace of your panties hugging the flesh of your hips.

His mind is hazy as flickers of his dream begin to replay in his mind. His cock twitches in his briefs, he shifts uncomfortable under the covers. You don’t notice, instead laying back down by him in the same position you once were: head in the crook of his neck and hand splayed over his chest. He wonders if you feel the rapid thump of his heart, the way it shakes his ribcage.

You do. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

He has no response. And with the lack of one, your fingers leave his chest and find themselves under his sweatshirt. Charles gasps at the cool pad of your fingers dancing along the muscles over his abdomen and up to the skin of his left peck. If his heart wasn’t ready to jump out of his chest into your hands then, it surely is now. For the second time tonight, you lift your head to look down at him. He turns his head this time, tips of your noses brushing when he does so. Charles rests his hand over yours, the soft material of the jumper the only barrier between his skin and yours.

He answers the question you ask with your eyes, the why clearly expressed in them. “This is what you do to me.” You bite down on your bottom lip, breath hitched in the back of your throat. His heart doesn’t cease, it doesn’t find its normal rhythm the longer you hold it. It beats excitedly for you. “Whenever you look at me, touch me, god you could simply enter a room and my heart is in a frenzy.”

“Charles…” You are breathless again. Nothing else follows his name, not when he slowly sits up and you are forced to back up and fall onto your back. His hand is back on your face, the joint of his index finger trailing down the side of your face. The tip of your nose tickles his, a taunt at just how close his lips are to yours.

His head inches forward, but backs up in the same beat. What is he doing? You are no longer his to ruin, no longer his to make you tremble the way he is now. He feels how your body goes rigid in anticipation, waiting to see how he will touch you and how you will melt into him. He watches the way your eyes scan his face, micromovements from left to right as you count the seconds until he moves. You are a vision, laid out before him, a perfectly painted picture that he thought he’d only ever see in his dreams.

Charles is a selfish man, he finds out. Selfish when it comes to you, selfish when it comes to consuming you. And maybe it’s his rival, your boyfriend, just three floors up probably wondering where you’d gone that gets him off. The way you don’t push him off when his nose bumps yours, or the breath that shakes your chest when he inches his head forward again. It’s the way you welcome him dangerously close, that convinces him that what is bound to happen, is okay. He smirks, the corner of his lip curled upwards at the thought. Max might’ve won the championship, but you’re here in his bed, waiting for him to make a move.

“Pourquoi es-tu ici, belle?” Why are you here, beautiful? He whispers, the ghost of his lips on yours, “Hm?” He pulls away again, fingers coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear again. “pourquoi es-tu dans mon lit?” why are you in my bed?

Words have yet to leave you, to tumble past your lips to tell him to stop. Your hands had ample time to push him off, to say goodnight and find your rest from the long night behind you. But the scent of Charles at two in the morning, the smell of minty mouthwash while he speaks to you, the pads of your fingers touching you so tenderly is all but a ruse to convince you not to stop what is surely about to unravel. You feel the torch being lit in your gut, the way your cunt aches for him.

And you are no better than to deny yourself of getting your fill of Charles.

You meet him halfway, much to the Monegasque’s surprise. Your lips mold into his, and Charles is quick to reciprocate the movements, his hand coming up to the back of your head to pull you even closer to him. The kiss is sloppy, a mess of teeth and spit as you pull onto each other in desperation. Charles shifts his body over yours, cock growing hard at the way your legs fall open and make room for his body.

No time is wasted as he grounds his hips against yours, hard member rubbing against your clothed center. You sigh into his mouth, fingers clawing and gripping at his brown locks in your tightly wound fists. He rocks you back and forth as he pressed himself against you. Soft grunts and groans bubble from Charles, vibrating against your lips before he pulls away and leaves wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck. You release his hair, fingers gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over his head. Charles kneels between your legs, finishing the job for you as he slides the sleeves off his arms and the neckline over his head before tossing it on the floor somewhere in the room.

His chest heaves as he stares down at you, links pink and plump, wet with you. You blush, fingertips reaching up to lay flat against his toned abdomen, sliding your hand down towards the hem of his shorts. Charles doesn’t move a muscle, allowing you to pull on the waistband of the team provided shorts, snapping against his skin. He scowls playfully, right hand dipping under his shirt on your body, laying flat against the top of your underwear.

“Je peux jouer aussi, amour.” I can play too, love.

You try to buck your hips up, encourage the boy above you to touch you where you’ve dreamt of him touching you. But he presses down on you firmly, restricting you from moving all too much. You whine softly, and he smiles. Charles leans down to find your lips with his, kissing you so hard you feel your head spin. Both your hands come up to cup his cheeks, to keep him from leaving you again.

The joys of a Formula One driver, you realize, is how great they are at multitasking. They’re quick on their feet, able to focus their mind on one thing while their body acts on a different task. Charles is the greatest testament to this, with how quickly he pulls off his shorts while his lips remain attached to yours. His fingers tug on your underwear, pulling it down your legs to give his middle finger the room to slide against you. He feels your body relax under him, how you melt into his hold, lips lazily keeping up with him as he kisses you. His middle finger moves up and down, up and down, collecting your arousal before pushing it into you. You moan his name at the feeling of his finger stretching you out ever so slightly, the way he curls it to tickle your g-spot before pulling it out.

Charles pulls away from the kiss, eyes casted downwards as he watches the way his middle and now ring finger dance along your pussy. Up and down, clit snug between the pad of his fingers as he presses down lightly. You shudder, a soft grunt coming from you when he does so. He smiles, sliding his fingers down towards your entrance, eyes back on yours as he pushes his digits into you. A fire is lit in his stomach at the way your brows furrowed, the soft whines the push past your lips. You don’t see the way he smiles, not with your eyes squeezed shut as he fucks his fingers into you.

You aren’t sure how long you’d last with the way he pumps his fingers in and out, over and over. The fuse has been lit, you feel yourself inching closer to the edge. But you know Charles just as much as he knows you. You predict the exact second he’d pull his fingers out of you, the sigh that leaves your lips when he does, and your orgasm deflating inside you. What you count on is his husky voice commanding you to open your mouth. To that your eyes fly open, staring up at him curiously, only to be met with dark eyes and his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Open your mouth, belle.” He says again.

You do so, with much hesitation. Pink lips part, and Charles can’t help but picture the way they’d look wrapped around his cock. The way he’d fit perfectly in your throat like he does in your pussy. He aches. Your lips are parted, tongue partially out, and he rests the fingers the were once inside you on it.

“Sucer.”

Your pupils are blown, no more second guessing as your lips clamp around his digits and you begin to suck off your own arousal. You stare up at him with lust-glazed eyes, bobbing your head up and down on his fingers.

“You like the taste of yourself, belle?” He taunts, “The taste of what I’ve done to you.” You moan softly, nodding on his fingers. “I wanna feel that mouth elsewhere.”

He pries his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to push him off and onto his back. It is your turn to find your place between his legs, fingers quick to grasp onto the waistband of his black briefs and pulling them down his legs. His cock springs up, smacking against his belly, veiny and angry, already leaking with precum. Charles rests himself on the headboard, hands behind his head as he awaits your mouth.

You were never as teasing as Charles is, never one to play games in the heat of the moment. You played on your desperation, played on your cock-starved self as you pumped your right hand on the hardened shaft of his dick, pursed lips pressing a kiss to its head. You kiss your way down his length, and it’s when you’re at the base of his dick do you finally lay your soft tongue flat against him and lick upwards. He groans softly, watching as you lick up and taking him into your mouth all in one swift, fluid movement. The sight proves to be better than what any dream could ever make up. Your eyes are brighter than he’d ever imagine, filled with lust as they stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him.

He savors the feeling of the warmth of your mouth around his length, the way your head bobs up and down, and the soft gagging each time he hits the back of your throat. You stroke his ego with the sloppy sounds, the way you try to suck him off all while simultaneously trying to swallow the excess spit the drips from your mouth. Charles’s left hand comes to hold your hair in his fist, his right cupping your jaw as his thumb begins to rub circles on the hinge of your jaw.

“You’re so pretty like this baby, choking on my cock,” He hums, tilting his head to get a better view of your tear stained cheeks. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum around him, throat relaxed as you take as much of him as you can. Charles throws his head back in ecstasy, the head of his dick squeezed tightly at the top of your throat. He could’ve came right there, spurting his seed for you to swallow. But he stops himself, yanking the ponytail in his fist. You gasp for air, looking up at him with wide eyes and drool sliding down your chin. Charles’s cock twitches. If he could’ve taken a picture, he would’ve.

Instead, he guides your head up to him, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip to swipe away the excess spit from the blowjob you had just given him. Then he presses a kiss on your lips swiftly, hands moving to grab your hips and pull your core over him. You allow yourself to sit on him, slick cunt sliding along the length of Charles’s dick. He hisses against your mouth, lips forced from yours as he looks down at the way you rock your hips against him.

Your hands cup either side of his jaw, forcing his gaze to return to you. And when his green eyes bore into yours, your hips stop moving. Charles’s grip on your hips loosen, but they still hold you with such force, warmth from his palms penetrating your skin. Both your chests are heaving, gasping for air as you try to come down from the intense moments shared not too long ago. His eyes study your face, pick at every mole and every scar, every little detail he committed to memory because who knows when he’d ever see you this way again.

You pull his shirt off your body, completely bare before him.

“I want you.” Your voice is soft, a whisper, as if you’re afraid the man three floors above this one would hear your confession.

“I’m yours.”

Neither of you take the words for its surface level meaning, nevermind the deeper connotation that it held. He’d never know just how much you meant the words I want you, if you meant them the way he meant I’m yours. But he’s okay with that. He’s learned to be okay with never knowing. For him, those two words held so much truth, it held his heart together. Two words allowed the moments to follow it to be okay, to be something you would both carry with the other til your six feet beneath shit soil at a cemetery on a hill.

The way Charles kisses you is an outpour of everything he feels for you, every ounce of love for you that sits in his chest. It’s every word unspoken, every touch not shared, every memory he wished he could’ve made with you. It’s filled with everything he has left to give you, and he lets you take every last drop. His mind is hazy, unable to decipher the way you kiss him back, just accepting the languid motions of your lips moving with his. His hands guide your hips upwards, while yours grip his cock to line it up to your entrance. Slowly, then all at once, you sink down onto him. A mix of muffled moans fill the room, the sweet rush of relief as Charles fills you up with every inch of him. Your breath is hot against his face as you struggle to breathe. He feels you clench around him, hugging him so beautifully he wished you could stay like this forever.

He let you set the pace, watching the rise and fall of your hips as you bounce on his dick. It’s slow, deliberate, sure to take all of him with each stroke. He savors your warmth and wet, savors the way your cunt is made for him. His eyes fall shut, senses heightened with the loss of one. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest as you pick up the pace, desperate for your own release. Charles lets you use him to get off, to chase the orgasm you so desperately crave. He forces his eyes open to watch as you slowly fall apart above him, the mess of moans, the whines and call of his name as you tremble around him. He feels your pussy pulsate around him, your cum dripping all over him.

You lean your head onto his chest, pressing a chaste kiss above his right nipple.

“Do you have one more in you baby?” He asks, lifting your off of him and flipping you over so that he is hovering above you. You nod lazily, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “That’s my girl.”

Charles does the work, pumping his shaft that’s wet with your slick. He rubs the head of his dick along your slit before plunging into you once more. You cry out in pleasure, arms tightening around him as you pull him closer. His hips roll into yours, pushing in and out of you. It’s almost perfect, the way he fucks you while your heels dig into his tailbone to pull him in closer. The way he kisses you so tenderly while fucking you into his mattress. Your hands release him, clambering above you to grip onto the pillow. Charles is so close, and he knows you are right behind him. He licks his index and middle finger before placing them onto your sensitive clit, rubbing circles over and over until you come undone once more. It’s your orgasm, the way your cunt holds him, the way you chant his name over and over like a disciple to their messiah, the way your chest puffs up into him, that pushes him over the edge into his own euphoria. He fills you up with his cum, your name leaving his lips in breathless sigh.

I’m yours, he thinks to himself, not just for tonight. For always.

He looks up at you, heart filled with warmth as you smile at him. Not a sliver of regret, just pure ecstasy. Charles pulls out of your reluctantly, only leaning in to press a quick kiss onto your lips over running into the bathroom for a wash cloth. He cleans you up, and then himself, before rolling back into his place in bed. And for the third time that night, you find yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck and your hand resting on his chest.

Panic sets in when you let your exhaustion take you. Not an ounce of regret, no. He’d never regret the opportunity to fuck you, to slip inside you and feel your warmth around him. No, never. The Monegasque panics for you, for his moments of selfishness turning you into a liar. He panics because just three floors above him is your boyfriend in bed, in bed where you are meant to be. He wonders how you manage to fall asleep so easily, how you melt into him like it’s all you’ve ever known. He’s now too afraid to hold you properly, too afraid to let his hand find refuge on your skin. How does he let you go now? How does he let you walk out of his home after tonight?

He doesn’t know that. But he does know that when the sun rises in a couple of hours, he would have to.

While you fall asleep, the Monegasque stares at the ceiling. Nothing, not even the sound of your mellow breathing eases his quick beating heart, eases the anxieties building in his chest. He stays awake until the sky shifts from black to blue and the sun begins to peek through the curtains, teasing a new day.

Your phone rings, pulling you from your dreamless sleep. You remove yourself from Charles’s hold, rolling over to grab your phone on the nightstand to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, where are you? I’ve been calling you all night.”

Charles watches as you shoot up from your place in bed, hand still resting on his chest. He sees it now, the panic, the sliver of regret he was searching for just hours prior. He watches as you offer an excuse easily, almost naturally, while moving about Charles’s room to pick up your belongings. You crashed at a friend’s place, is the excuse you give Max on the other end of the line. Charles hears the soft tenor of the Dutchman’s voice as he pleads for you to return home, a plethora of apologies tumbling out of the receiver.

You bid adieu to the man on the other end of the phone, hanging up immediately after. You try not to look at Charles, not as you pick up your discarded underwear and the dress from the night before. Charles gets up behind you, not saying a word as he walks out of his room, only returning with a glass of water. You give him a quiet thank you, gulping it down before finally looking up at him.

Neither of you want to address the mess made in bed nor the words with secret meanings. There is an unspoken agreement that neither of you would ever mention it, that last night would fizzle out and be left as a secret between him, you, and the moon. So Charles takes the empty glass from your grasp instead, setting it on his night stand.

“That was Max?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Max."

He hates the way he has to tiptoe around you now, forced to forget the way you were just wrapped around him hours ago. Now he has to stand there, offer you a smile like a friend would. Like a friend should.

"Our little secret, yeah?" You whisper, brows furrowed but eyes filled with pleas that he'd agree.

He's a selfish man when it comes to you. Charles can't lie to himself about the twisted imagination of how he'd let it slip, let it be known to the champion that he had his way with the greatest prize of all.

But for you, he would never be selfish. Whatever you asked, he followed. So he nods, a pained smile painted on his pink lips.

"Our little secret."

"Listen…” You pause, eyes moving to trace the tired features of the boy before you. “Thank you for letting me in, and for letting me spend the night.”

Charles nods, doing his best to mask his pain and perturbation behind a smile. But you see right through his up-curved lips, behind the faint squint of his eyes and the light indentation of his dimples.

“Of course, anything for you.”

Guilt warps your features. He’s glad it does. He wished you would’ve just walked out, said goodbye and went on your way. But instead you open your arms and wrap them around his neck. And he lets you. Charles returns the gesture with very little hesitation. His arms wrap around your middle, face burying itself in your neck as he holds you close to him. He holds you like his life depends on it, like it’s the last time he would ever hold you.

The sentiment is shared.

This was the hard part, the “letting you go” even though you were never really his to keep anyways. This is the part he dreads the most. You were his, but for a night. One night only.

He walks you to the door, leaning against the frame as he watches you go down the hallway of his apartment complex.

“Goodbye Charles.”

He sends you off with a tired smile, and resentment in his chest. He waves as you turn back and make your way further and further from him. Sends you off with the last of him, watching as your hair sways and your head lifted high. He watches as you make your way to go three floors up, where a harsh and cold reality sits waiting for you. Three floors up, to a man who has taken everything from him. Three floors up, where you belong.

note: do i hate the ending of this? a little. but i hope you like this. as always, feedback is so greatly appreciated. smooches.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader

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pedgito · 3 months

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MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Forbidden Fruit

Chapter Summary: Mr. Miller receives your assignment in it's full detailed exposé and despite his reaction, doesn't seem as pleased as you anticipated. It leads to a tense interaction that lands you in his office with more questions and confusion. [4k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, masturbation (m), confrontations, joel manhandling reader (kinda roughly), panty ripping, one (1) forbidden kiss

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Joel takes the plunge into the assignments the following night—it was a small class so he knew it wouldn’t take a large chunk of time, a couple hours at the end of his day and he’d have it out of the way and grades posted before the following morning. It was always easier to do things this way, hidden away in his office to force his focus and block out the rest of what was going on.

He flies through the assignments with a detailed precision, giving proper and full notes on things he thinks the students could work on or tweak, give some personal thoughts on creativity, and allow some encouragement where it was needed.

But, your name sits in the bottom of his inbox, bold lettered and unread—he saved it for last.

He could lie and say he didn’t do it on purpose, but he’s come to thoroughly enjoy your writing, so he pushes it off until it’s the final thing he has to grade that night. He knows Tess should be arriving home soon, so despite his want to give you his full, undivided attention—he intends to give it a quick skim.

Joel knows there’s no real notes he can give you. You always had a clear idea on your work, so meticulously planned out that it reminded him of himself in a way.

He takes a sip of the quickly dissipating bourbon in the cup sitting on his desk, ice clinking against the glass as he clicks on your essay and watches it expand onto the screen.

He likes to jot down his thoughts on paper as he goes, making it easier to format and type as he replies—he grips the pencil tight, reading the title of your essay.

ill-suited innocence

In a crowd she finds herself searching, looking for him. Days and days of tense glances and inappropriate thoughts—he must share them too? While she can’t be bothered by the fantasy of mythical creatures and things that only made sense in fiction, she did believe in the fantasy of wanting what she couldn’t have. Him.

Much older, wiser—grim around the eyes and a deep sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest and made home. He couldn’t fix himself, but she could. At least, she thinks she could.

Joel straightened his back, leaning into the screen to assure himself he wasn’t misreading. It was…an interesting take on the assignment he gave you, but he’ll bite. He’s used to your stuff being a little more unorthodox.

Something along the lines of forbidden fantasy? A tale of love? It wasn’t his particular choice of fiction but he wasn’t opposed to it. He squints, reading more.

He drops the pencil for a moment

Their lives mundane and unassuming, they traverse through life with little enjoyment. Two sides of the same coin and he was too oblivious to realize. He offered smiles and kind words, guidance that seemed from a good place but only allowed her to feel more misdirection. He was an enigma, difficult to decipher and she craved him.

And though he tries to fight whatever attraction he may feel, she can see it in his tense gaze. The lingering touches he leaves on her body. Secret meetings, talks that allowed themselves to be more deep than should be allowed. He was allowing her in little by little but she needed more.

She just had to ask, so she did.

Joel feels a tightening deep in his gut that wasn’t there before, reading between the lines of text and allowing faint glimpses of memories with you to match themselves with the words—his brow furrowing under the guise of…anger? No, frustration. He shouldn’t be equating his perfectly…appropriate relationship with you to this. In fact, it shouldn’t cross his mind. But, it does.

All of this from a dream? He could lie and say he wasn't intrigued, but that wasn't the case.

Joel doesn’t expect the full 180 turn as he glances down at the chunk of text that follows.

“You’re my student,” He whispers to her, “I can’t allow this.”

She bites at her lip, noticing the subtle click of his heels as they hit the floor, back them against his desk as she takes a seat, plastic cup full of pencils falling to the floor but neither of their eyes leaving each other.

“You can,” She encourages, “I’m hardly a student anymore. I’m a friend. We’re friends, right?”

And given his ability to let her in so easily, he also considered her a friend. Naively. He’s gotten himself into this position and he can’t find a reason to not give her what she wants—what he wants.

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, much less polite than a friend would, her fingers quickly undoing his belt—

Joel feels his cock hardening under the confines of his slacks, clearing his throat slightly. He should stop reading—he knows he should. The glaringly obvious lines being crossed are blurred for a moment. He shouldn’t have led you on like this, allowed you to cook up some depraved illusion of what you thought things could be.

Because they couldn’t. That wasn’t what this was. Joel had told himself over and over—he was helping. He didn’t think you’d take advantage of the scenario like this. Still, he finds himself loosening the buckle of his belt as well, unzipping his pants enough that he can stuff his hand into the tight space between his bare cock and briefs, palming himself impatiently.

And he skims—words sticking and fading in his mind. It starts of with a slow, sensual make out and a messily described handjob that has his cocking throbbing with every tight stroke he pulls at his shaft, eventually tired of fighting the tight space he’s allowed with his slacks making it impossible to move, he leans back and pulls his cock out far enough that he has free, unrestrained range. The bourbon glass leaves a sweat ring on the oak of his desk but Joel can’t be bothered, he scrolls down further, taking in the last few scenes that allowed him a full idea of just what exactly you thought was going on between the both of you. Or, what you wanted to happen.

He allows himself a moment to slip out of his headspace and imagine, selfishly.

Bent over the desk, items scattered to the floor he pulled at her skirt, something she wore necessarily—easy access, she whispered against his lips before he bent her fully over the desk, chest pressed against the solid wood.

Joel imagines it vividly, his breath quickening as he tugs at his cock in rough, fast strokes and pictures it—you, bent over his desk and your ass presented to him like a prize and how good it would feel to squeeze the flesh between his hands. He knows your sounds would be sweet, divine, and it drives him wild.

He’s thought about you before like this, hand wrapped around his cock, but never in full detail as you’d written out.

And then he slips his cock inside of her, a small gasp of, “Just like that, professor.” falling from her lips and it only spurs Joel deeper into his despair, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, a churning in his gut that feels too good to quit and he reads out the last few lines, as he comes deep inside of, recklessly and without much decision making.

He thought you were smarter than this. Expected more out of you.

There’s a creak of a floorboard down the hall that sends his world crashing down on him, dampening his orgasm almost immediately as he scrambles to shove himself back inside of his slacks, buttoning and buckling his belt hastily as he clicks out of his browsers and feigns exhaustion, Tess’s fingers curling around the doorknob as she peeks her head in, watching as Joel’s fingers circled the glass of liquor.

God, he hates her.

Not you. Tess.

He figured his reasoning was valid, but truthfully—he just couldn’t stand her any longer. He's been battling the decision to go through with his divorce, but this seemed like as big a sign as ever. It's the unbridled rage he was tired of harboring around her, trying to act like things were fine.

Nothing was fine and his life was imploding.

He was lusting after a student and worse, he know you were after him—actively, clear in the boldness you showed through your assignment.

He thinks back briefly on the video call that he shouldn’t have allowed, your question that seemed…vague but unassuming. Had you planned this the entire time?

Was he just that stupid to not see it?

“Coming to bed tonight?” Tess asks hesitantly.

Joel offers a clear and concise, “No.”

He wasn’t sure if he could even sleep, contemplating over how to handle this…situation.

He couldn’t allow it to stray further.

It would damage his career and ruin his life.

But truthfully, he felt like he’d already reached that point, so what did he have to lose?

You wake up on Monday with a deep pit in your chest, knowing that grades were posted that morning. You knew it was a risk, being so open with him—but he couldn’t fail you. You followed the parameters of the assignment and made sure to clear the few questions you had with him.

Part of you is expecting another email from his private account, wondering his thoughts beyond what he would address appropriately. But, the moment your eyes drag along the screen, still blurry from sleep, you feel your heart stop.

0/100. A complete failure.

No comment besides—Rewrite and resend immediately. No extension. Due by the end of the day.

Your jaw clenches in frustration.

Oh, you were not being ignored that easily.

You storm into his room later that day during your free hour for lunch, knowing he’d be saddled up at his desk eating his own lunch.

You couldn’t even think about eating, full of anger and annoyance that kept you full and ready to strike. He can hear your footsteps before you approach and is wiping at his mouth with a napkin when you stop at his desk.

He holds a hand up, face steely and emotionless.

For a moment, you think he might break. Crack a smile and say it was an excuse to get you here.

Instead, he has your essay printed out and ready to shove at you, your fingers curling around the stack and crinkling the edges.

“You can’t fail me,” You start tensely, “I did your stupid assignment and I followed the steps you asked for.”

“I expect a new one by the end of the day. Appropriate to the topic. End of discussion.”

You scoff, not daring to look at the glaring zero he drew out on the paper just to prove a point. It lands in the trash as you throw it down, “No.”

Joel’s chair squeaks as he rises and it startles you slightly, and suddenly he’s invading your space, the muscles in his neck tightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at the trashed papers.

“In what situation did you think any of that was appropriate to write and send to your professor?” Joel asks, noting the way you blink quickly, backing away slightly.

He almost…feels bad? No. He quickly wipes the thought away as more anger crosses your face, eyes dilating in rage.

You lean in slightly, thankful that the halls were quiet around this time of day and that you had closed the door behind you.

“You started this,” You argue, “You crossed that line when you messaged me on a private email. Telling me that you liked the time we spent together. I’m your student—maybe you should’ve taken that into account first.”

His fist clenched at his side, almost to restrain himself, knowing he’d rather shove that finger into your chest and blame you. But, you were both to blame. And he even more so. Still, he doubles down.

“Rewrite it or I’ll fail you for the entire semester.”

Your mouth gapes open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That’s…completely unfair.” You settle, voice softer as you drop the act. “I just—”

“Rewrite it.” Joel responds firmly.

“Mr. Miller—” You begin, trying to find a feasible way to get him to listen.

“Or I fail you.” He says with finality. “You’re lucky I don’t take this to the board.”

Which, he never would. He’s just as much at fault. But, he’s taking his frustration out on you. An easy target, slim pickings.

You weren’t playing into that though, not now.

“You won’t,” You challenge him, “because if you do—I can assure you, you won’t appreciate the results.”

It was a threat. Cold and plain.

“Rewrite it,” He reiterates again, his voice softer now. “I have to submit these assignments at the end of the semester and if—that cannot be in there. I need a real essay. Real. Not some fucking delusion.”

It’s the first time he’s talked so…out of term. It feels like him, the real Mr. Miller.

Fine—you’ll write the goddamn essay as he intended. You roll your eyes and Joel relaxes slightly, seeing your defeat as you settle your shoulders back.

“I want it on my desk by the end of day.”

Sure, you could manage that.

If anything, it gave you more of an excuse to drag out his torture a little longer.

You spend the entirety of his class working out a new essay, bullshitting your way through an hour of class and typing up something feasible enough to get you a decent grade, knowing that his views of you were already tainted. But, that didn’t matter.

You had plans.

When evening rolls around and classes are finally done for the day, you make the long trek across campus to his class, finding it empty but spotting the light in his private office is still on, a low and muted orange that shined through the window. You approach slowly and knock on the door, hearing his muffled greeting on the other side.

You peek inside, noting his position as he rests with his fist pressed against the side of his face, seemingly nursing a headache as he rubs the fingers of his free hand over his forehead and sighs, closing his laptop as you hold out the small stack of papers for him to grab. He does, skimming through it briefly. You toss your bag off your shoulder and rest it in a nearby chair, standing quietly.

“Something bothering you?” You ask politely, hands crossed over your front as fiddled idly with your fingers, “Mr. Miller?”

He looks up tensely, eyes darkened and foreboding.

“What did you mean earlier?” He asks suddenly, reading your essay with a careful eye. Scribbling something down before he pushes it away, fingers clasped together under his chin as he gives you his full attention. “That I wouldn’t…appreciate the results?”

“Oh, that was—”

A threat. He knows it. You know it.

And he voices it.

“It was a threat, wasn’t it?” He asks coarsely, his voice sounding rough.

He seemed worse for wear, with good reason.

The dignified squeak of his chair is like deja-vu but you don’t back away this time, turning to him as he rounds his desk—his tie is gone, starch pressed shirt unbuttoned to a dangerous degree and his belt is missing, your eyes tracking it in a nearby corner where it’s slung over an empty chair.

He allowed you in here, the small glimpse of his relaxed state. He wasn’t shutting you out necessarily, which was good. But, you still felt unwanted. It was almost like he was dangling a myriad of fruit in front of you, ripe for the taking, but riddled with poison. Forbidden.

“No—”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, tight and gasp-inducing as he pulls it up until it’s level between you both, right at chest level and you’re waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t.

“Tell. The. Truth.” He says pointedly, a small jerk of your arm with every syllable as he pulls you undoubtedly closer, “I want to hear it.”

Instead of admitting that you did openly threaten him, you switch gears.

“What? That I want you to fuck me?” You ask innocently, pulling your wrist away harshly. “Joel, come on—don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

His name is like a gut-punch, a reminder that he gave you that information under the idea that you would keep it safe, but now you were using it against him.

“Don’t—” He warns and your hands press into his crisp button-up, scrunching the fabric in an effort to wrinkle it, feeling the solid press of muscle under your hands that makes your mouth water, eyes widening slightly at the touch and for a split second, he allows it.

He had to escape the situation before he acted on something he would regret.

“Get out.” Joel responds through gritted teeth, shoving your hands away harshly and in turn, forcing you back a few steps with the urgency of it. “Now.”

Still, you step closer, chest against chest as you can feel the distinct bulge in his slacks against your front, tongue clicking in your mouth as you cocked your head to the side mockingly, a finger tracing along the buttons of his shirt until you can curl the tip of it around the hem of his pants.

“You can do it, you know,” You offer, “You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t tell a soul, not even your wife—or…ex-wife? I’m not sure since you never wear your ring.”

Fuck this and her smart ass mouth, Joel thinks.

Joel’s nostrils flare and he snaps, backing you into the wall by his hand pressed against your chest, the bookshelf beside you shaking with the force. His hands creep up your neck, pressing rigid against the skin and he keeps you there, trapped.

“I can feel it,” You tease through strained vocal cords, his finger squeezing against your neck–not quite cutting off air flow, but the pressure is there and you feel it. It makes your head swim, squirming against his hold as he shifts closer, body pressed against your own firmly, “is that why you asked me to turn the paper in by the end of the day? You wanted me here, didn’t you? I guess my essay did strike a nerve after all.”

The laugh that follows is sickening, a grin appearing under his sneer. His fingers move up a few inches to grip your face. Hard. Squeezing until he feels the solid press of your cheekbones under his thumb and he speaks, so quietly into the space you can barely hear him, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes drift to his, his head tilting up slightly away from your ear that he had whispered into and there’s glint in your eye. It’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to burrow yourself under his skin so he couldn't get rid of you.

He feels your fingers continue to trace along the seam of his shirt, tracing over the bumps of the material until you meet his slacks, pressing your palm flat over his cock, hardened under the material and straining–and he can’t help the way his breath intakes sharply, the full body restraint it takes to not rut into your hand. He knows he has the upper hand here, but with the small amount of effort it takes to break his revere for himself, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I would,” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his grip with your admittance and in turn, you squeeze him just a little harder. He hisses and leans in, letting go of your face to return to your neck–he isn’t squeezing this time, but his hand is a solid presence. You move, he moves. And if he doesn’t like how you move, you would end up exactly where he wants you to, “Come on, Joel. You read all about it. I can do so much more than whatever your wife is doing—isn’t that why you reached out to me?”

“Don’t—stop saying my name.” He warns, trying to keep what little line of professionalism he had between you there, unblurred. “I reached out to help. As your mentor.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a few things you could teach me.” You say sweetly, the deft sound of his zipper being undone by your hand, popping the button on his pants, “Joel, please.”

He stops your hand in it’s decent, fingers tracing along the hem of his underwear before he’s gripping your arm and turning you with little resistance on your end, front pressed harshly against the stucco wall, a sharp gasp emitting from your throat as he crowds you in again, whispering harshly into your ear, “Mr. Miller. Not Joel. You don’t get that privilege. And stop talking about my fucking wife.”

You moan brokenly at the feeling of his cock pressed against your ass, skirt riding up your thighs and you were sure—positive that Joel could see the fabric of your underwear clinging to your hips from how high up and mused your skirt was now, but he can’t take his eyes of your face, anger emitting from his own and suffocating you like a blanket.

You were pressing his buttons just right and he hated it.

“So, no marital troubles then?” You pester him and he shuts you up immediately, palm covering your mouth tightly as his free hand grips at the hem of your underwear at your hip and tugs—yep, he saw them. Some soft color, all lacy, meant to be attention-grabbing. And if Joel couldn’t have you the way he truly desires, he’d make you wish you could have it even worse than he wanted it. “You—huh, you can’t even wear your wedding ring, Mr. Miller—don’t lie to me.”

He pulls at the material of your panties until they’re riding up your ass slightly, pulled tighter against your cunt and the drag of the material against your clit is almost unexpected. He’s pointedly avoiding touching you so intimately, teetering on the edge of not enough and too much.

“You thought it would be that easy?” Joel asks testingly, jerking your head slightly when you don’t answer. You figured it was redundant but clearly not. You mumble against his hand, overwhelmed by his touch that all you can do is nod, forehead pressed against the wall as he breathes down your neck. “You’re mistaken.”

There’s a distinct rip of fabric as he removes his hand from your mouth quickly using his hands to grip your panties in tight fists, tearing it apart as it falls from your body and you think he might just do it—shove his slacks just far enough down his thighs and slip inside of you, bring an end to all of your suffering.

And his own.

Instead his fingers tighten around your forearm, spinning you in his hold and shoving the ripped fabric into your hand, leaving you bare under your skirt and exposed and Joel doesn’t mistake the wetness on the material. His fingers linger over your palm and you scoff, adjusting your skirt and slightly skewed shirt.

“Keep them,” You challenge, shoving the material into his chest before he allows them to drop to the floor, eyes trailing your departing figure as you reach for your discarded bag, “a gift for your wife—you know, the one who you avoided to spend time with me. Right?”

You want the words to linger and sting, bag slung lazily around your shoulder as you depart for the door, ignoring the quickly approaching footsteps. Joel, unbeknownst to you, had already pocketed your panties, torn to shreds in the pocket of his slacks. But, the words cut deep and he can’t leave things like this and allow you the final word.

Joel yanks the strap of your bag and backs you against the office door, the wood rattling against your conjoined weight as his lips press against yours in haste, messy and uncoordinated but your brain quickly assess what’s happening and joins, your lips parting to allow his eager tongue into your mouth. His kiss is biting and furious, mean and full of nothing but tense emotion. It’s months of suffocated lust pouring into you, out of him, and you swallow it down eagerly. His hand holds your chin forcefully, sloppy exchanges of spit and forceful bites, a battle for dominance that Joel quickly won out on.

And you think that maybe that comment was the final straw, that he might just give you what you want, but your delicate moan that slips into his mouth as chase him, his head pulling back slightly at the noise—it had him falling back to reality, right on his ass.

There wasn’t any line left to cross anymore. He’d obliterated it.

“Don’t threaten me again,” He warns, “ever.”

There’s one solid shove against the door as your head hits the surface gently, his touch quickly dissipating and his disheveled appearance a tell-tale sign in your mind. He was fighting his own battle and losing terribly.

“Of course,” You agree sardonically, “Mr. Miller.”

The silent click of the door is deafening and Joel retreats to his desk, punching a fist into the solid wood, the papers of your assignment flying to the floor. He can't be bothered to pick them up or even allow them the proper glance they deserve.

Because you—in his mind, don't deserve it.

And he's not going to give you that satisfaction.

It's unprofessional, but he'll allow it this once. It only takes a few quick clicks and he's adjusting the assignment out for your new one.

Poof. Gone. Like it never existed.

But, the grade is unchanging and he knows that will make things tremendously worse, but he can't be bothered to care anymore.

You'd be back and that's exactly what he wants.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #professor!joel miller #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal characters

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mrs-weasley-reid · 14 days

Text

and this love came back to me

Aaron Hotchner x (former) bau!reader

Summary: A friend's death brings you back to the loving arms of the BAU family. And like a high tide, it also brought back old feelings that Aaron finds difficult to control.

Warning: fluff! cursing, mentions of death, divorce, miscarriage (tell me if I forgot something)

A/N: this can be read as a stand alone but is a part 2 for you're too sweet for me. it's loosely inspired by This Love (Taylor's Version)

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

The sight of you is like a dream.

Aaron thinks it might've been the haze of loss and woe that was making him see things, but it isn't. His breath hitched audibly. The sound causes David and Spencer to turn to Aaron, following his line of sight to where you stand at the front door.

As your eyes roam in the crowd of people clad in black, Aaron is the first you see. Your eyes are rimming with red heat and overflowing with tears. Your feet race to Aaron, snatching him into a tight hug like the calvary was out to get you, and he is your only lifeline. "Hotch..." Your voice cracks upon his name as you bury your face on his chest, soaking the fabric of his dress shirt like it hadn't been more than a decade since you saw him last.

Shock fills Aaron's chest, but his hands still remember your frame in his arms so well they wrap themselves around your waist like second nature. Lavender and chamomile. You smell just as he remembers. A mixture of solace and gaiety. Your sniffles sound the same. So distinct that his ears itch.

His mind questions whether seventeen years of his life were all a dream and he'd just woken up. Your embrace feels like a day has never gone by, and you two are young and stupid again. Okay, maybe not stupid. You were never stupid. Not a day in your life were you ever stupid. Aaron insists on the thought.

Right then, Aaron decides that you are real because no one else in his life has ever grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug the way you do. Arms wrapped around his neck like vines. Toes pointed at the earth so you could reach his insane height. He can only think of one other person who'd do that: Jack. But the boy could barely wrap his arms around Aaron's legs at the moment, so it was definitely you.

He closes his eyes, and tears quickly trickle down his face like he's been holding it in. He was. He is under the impression that with all the tearful sobs his team has wept, he should at least swallow his. As usual, he wanted to be a strong foundation for the others. A shoulder they can cry on. So, Aaron forbade himself to cry. At least not in front of everyone.

But then your hold is so tight the heartache finally explodes. You roll in with the reminder that he is permitted to cry, too. To feel the sorrow. To crumble like everyone else in the room.

"I came as soon as I heard," You muffle in his shirt, pulling away to wipe your bottomless tears with the back of your hand.

It takes all of Aaron not to hold you back when your body leaves his cold and empty. Your peripheral had caught David's familiar figure, prompting an automatic brain response to capture him into a hug.

Aaron watches as you exit out of David's embrace, forty-five seconds shorter than his. He doesn't let himself think too hard of it. Afraid that he is to get his hopes up for nothing.

David pats your back, "Glad to see you, kid."

There it is.

Your smile.

A smile so bright it blurs out your chapped lips and runny makeup, "I missed you."

Aaron swears he would've fainted if you'd said that to the Aaron Hotchner from seventeen years ago. The one who can't even pluck up the courage to tell you his feelings. As if he's got the prowess to do it now. As if he hasn't been feeling like a schoolgirl, giddy with any kind of affection you offer him in the past three minutes.

For a moment, Aaron let himself indulge in the delusion that you came for him and only him. His bubble burst into a sharp pop in an instant, though. Because then your eyes shift away from him, "I missed everyone." You reiterate with much clearer keywords.

A tug aches Aaron's chest. How can he forget? You are kind to everyone. You are a safe space for everyone. A light for everyone. So, as special as your embrace was for him, it was a normal thing for you.

Then the realization hits him. He was at a funeral, for Pete's sake. He beats himself up mentally. For letting his unrequited feelings for you go rogue like wild animals, hysterical.

Focus, Aaron. He scolds himself.

Your effect on him is still as rabid as ever. He hates it a bit. Blames your perfection in his eyes. Blames himself for still harboring feelings that should've withered years ago. How the love glowed in the darkest depths of his chest as soon as you'd said his name. How a glimpse of you revived every piece of shattered heart. How the high tide of your arrival brought in waves and waves of his feelings back. He claims you are being unfair. Considering the fact that you are oblivious and at no fault.

A cough cuts the reunion short.

Aaron's thoughts dissipate like a fog blown by a violent wind. He mentally thanks the person for bringing him back to reality.

The three of you turn to Derek Morgan. You don't know the man, but you offer him a soft smile—one with your lips closed but curvy enough to be friendly or display an apology—in hopes that he doesn't form the wrong impression of you.

Other faces come into view. Now you wonder who they might be and what special place they hold in Jason Gideon's loving memory. Was he a mentor, a boss, a friend, or a family? Because your senses have never let you down, feeling the capacity of their mourning through their sullen faces and glossy eyes.

Then again, it has been years since you stepped foot on American soil. You aren't sure how many people Jason Gideon made acquaintance with. Maybe you were smiling too widely that it offended people. It's his funeral after all.

Aaron doesn't let your thoughts wander too far, clearing his throat. As if he sensed your insecurities rattle in the pit of your stomach. If you were flushed by it, your puffy face hid it well. He stands between you and the group of people who watched him in detail.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet an important vessel of the behavioral analysis unit..." Aaron introduces you with great renown. He says your first name with an undertone the team picks up but doesn't mention. "We worked on many cases together when the unit was too small to focus on one case at a time." He turns his entire body to face you. A hand makes its way to the lower of your back as if to tell you that the strangers are safe enough to be in close proximity with. "These are agents Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Kate Callahan, Dr. Spencer Reid, and tech analyst Penelope Garcia. The A team." He beams with pride like he'd just shown you his golden medals.

Your jaw drops, hands landing over your chest as a soft gasp escapes you. You look between Aaron and David to confirm, earning two series of nods. "This is the team? Like a team, team?" You can't help but tear up from the utter joy that rushed through your veins.

The said team found you overdramatic. They exchange looks between them. A silent conversation, judging whether they should let their eccentric impression of you stick or give you another chance to redeem yourself. They guessed that the death of a friend may have contributed to your screwy image.

Still, a woman with a kind smile and breathtaking beauty doesn't hesitate to approach you. "You can call me JJ," She starts and offers her hand. You shake it firmly like she's about to interview you for a job. "I used to work with Gideon as a liaison. I never imagined that I'd be one of the profilers who'd solve his case." An awkward smile laces atop her lips, also shock with the randomness of her last words.

Wonderment masked your face. The fact you were supposedly at a funeral was forgotten momentarily. You glance at David with twinkling eyes. "A liaison?" You squeal in a whisper.

"Wait until Penelope Garcia shakes your hand," David whispers back as he leans close to you.

You follow his subtle gaze at the other blonde woman across. Technical Analyst. You remind yourself. An amused scoff bounces off your throat.

Aaron chuckles and hands you a square cloth, "A lot has changed since you left. We have a floor to ourselves now." He is unaware of the team's watchful eyes, taking notes of his every motion next to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You take his handkerchief and blot your weepy face. "I must look crazy." A bright giggle roars out of you. "It's just... There were only four of us as a unit, and we had to share our workspace with other units. Cases took a lot more time to solve back in the day."

"How long?" Penelope curiously asks, as if it is the most important detail she has yet to hear. She is a sunshine. It takes one to know one. You swear she's glowing despite the dry mascara stain on her face from all the tears early on the day.

"Too long," You shake your head, trailing off as your face flashes a dreadful expression. "I'm just glad all of you were there to solve Jason's case. I really wanted to help, but I had important matters to take care of." You vaguely share. Your mind quickly shoves the thoughts that you deem irrelevant to the moment.

"You knew Gideon?" The tall boy with unruly hair asks with sorrowful eyes. Dr. Spencer Reid. He had a frown on his face.

"You're not the first genius Jason picked up," David quips, causing a chuckle to most except the young doctor.

Spencer throws his gaze somewhere else. He has been impacted by Jason's death more than anyone else on the team. The tear stains on his face had yet to fade. So, joking about Jason still made his heart ache.

You glance at Aaron, asking him all the questions in your head without letting it slip out of your mouth. Your connection never broke. He could hear your questions loud and clear just by meeting your eyes, and it felt euphoric. Still, he concentrates on your airy curiosity, nodding once.

Just like that, your attention drew to Spencer, "He used to beat me in chess." You state at random, making the group quiet.

Spencer offers you a tight-lipped, wistful smile, "Me too."

You walk closer to him with a soft smile and a "has he ever given you tickets?" The two of you took off to another part of the room, chatting, cheering him up just a bit.

Somehow, the small interaction between you and Spencer made Aaron explode in happiness. He doesn't know why exactly, but it felt fatherly. He wasn't too far older than Spencer, but he'd watched him grow into a great profiler. He knew Spencer like the back of his hand, even if bits of Spencer's life were swept under his palm. So, he knew that it wasn't easy for Spencer to be generously welcoming, especially when someone important to his life just died. And when you knew exactly what to say, understood what Aaron's nod meant, it made his heart swollen. You bonded with Spencer in mere seconds as if you were the one to give him life. Aaron adored it. He couldn't explain the reason, but he hoped that Spencer could find refuge with you.

The day wheels into the night. Fewer and fewer people scatter around Stephen Gideon's residence. You find yourself standing by the terrace with David and Aaron, reminiscing the old days, coddling a glass of whiskey.

Aaron is stunned by your choice of alcohol. He remembers you preferring a much sweeter drink.

"I've always liked whiskey," You correct him gently. A laugh forced its way out against the neat liquid sliding down your throat.

"That sounds wrong," Aaron chuckles, "I swear you even hated it with a passion."

You give him a weird look with a subtle grin, "You must be thinking of someone else because Jason and I like the same exact brand of whiskey. You're getting old, Hotchner." You tease, hiding the butterflies in your stomach.

Aaron's eyes widen as he points an accusatory finger at you, "Jason introduced me to whiskey! You're definitely lying!"

"Well, duh!" You roll your eyes, "It's Jason. He's practically our father." You state, straightening your back as you lean against the railing. The wind whips across your face.

"So, what? I was just a fly on the wall? I'm starting to regret calling you back home." David interjects, spreading his arms as he furrows his brows. He caters to his own glass in the comfort of a chair.

"You're mother bird. Everybody knows that," You grin. The urge to cry has finally stopped. Though, you suspect it was the jet lag and hunger from the ghastly flight.

The three of you fell into fits of laughter. Well, just you. Aaron and David only had wide grins on their faces. After all these years, they still refused to laugh loudly. You didn't mind it, though. Because you felt at home.

Aaron nudges your shoulder, "How'd you get here so fast? If I'm not mistaken, the flight from Paris to Virginia is at least nine hours long." He tries to sound casual, like he hadn't looked up the distance long ago and that, for some reason, he kept the knowledge tucked in one of the wrinkles in his brain.

A smug grin made its way to your face, "Does the BAU have a jet?" You brag, sipping your glass empty as you raise your chin with pride.

"You'd be surprised," David takes the liberty to respond, shaking his head while his brows raise in disbelief. A ring brings his attention to his phone on the table but continues to finish his thoughts out loud. "The team's filled with young people now, and suddenly, I'm ancient history. Hold on, you two. I need to take this." And he slips back inside the house to find a quieter space.

You and Aaron exchange looks.

A smile slowly lifted the ends of his lips. It was a handsome sight.

It felt like time had stopped.

You break from his gaze, "So? How's everything? How long has it been? Like, thirteen—"

"Seventeen," Aaron cuts you off, nonchalantly drowning his throat with liquor.

You blink, "That long?" He nods at the air. "Damn, Hotch. You're making me feel old." You nudge his side, though you barely caused any impact. Your brows are drawn as if you aren't certain whether to take it lightly or feel slightly offended.

He rolls his eyes. Had his team know how much of his expressive side had the habit of showing every time he was with you, they'd start a riot.

"You didn't age a day. You still look young." You still look beautiful.

"Flattery won't get you access to the French database, Hotch. You know that." You kid, playing with the ice cubes in your glass. The clinking sound makes you smile. You convince yourself it was the reason, at least.

"You caught me," Aaron says in a sarcastic tone. He lets the silence sink in for a moment, spoiling himself with your presence for a brief moment. Just for a second, he wants to keep the moment to himself. Just the two of you. Just you and him.

And when he felt satisfied enough, he brought his life into the mix, "I got married." He almost jumps from his spot at the sudden snap of your neck. You beam with excitement, encouraging him to say more. "Haley... she was a great woman, person. We have a son, Jack. He's nine years old."

You looked like a child listening to a fairytale. You pat his shoulder, "Hotch, that's so amazing! Are they here? Did you bring them with you?" You glance inside the sliding glass door, scanning the crowd.

He should've continued talking. "W-we... We got divorced, and... she died," Aaron's voice got lower with each syllable, completely soundless by the end of his sentence. He doesn't know why he feels shame. It has been years, and even if it still makes him sad sometimes, Aaron takes pride in the fact that Haley sacrificed her life.

"What?" The excitement plummets off your chest.

Aaron takes a big gulp. You'd missed so much it became difficult to tell you more. "She died. Five years ago." He clears his throat, "But I'm okay now. Jack and I are doing well on our own."

Your expression softens, and a hand unconsciously sits atop his hand, "I'm so sorry, Hotch." You squeeze his hand. Part of you felt guilty for feeling excited, for getting ahead of yourself like usual. You fear that your enthusiasm may have caused Aaron triple the heartache he is already feeling.

"It's a long time ago. I'm really fine. Jack's growing up like a spitting image of her. He's an amazing kid." He doesn't want to bring the mood down. He's honest when he says that he feels fine. "Enough about me. How about you? Do you have anyone waiting in France? Any kids?" If he can recall, you always told him how badly you wanted to have a family.

You lick your lower lip into a thin purse. You gaze at the evening view of the backyard with a heavy sigh, loosening your shoulders, "I was going to..." Aaron's brows scrunched at the way you phrased your response, but he didn't say anything. "Before I became the chief, I was part of the undercover agents. Days before my new assignment, I found out that I was pregnant. Louis wanted me to take a break from work, but I insisted that I work. The day I learned I was going to have a boy, I got caught in a crossfire. I tried to fight for him, but it was either me or him." You release a heavy sigh, "The doctors chose me. They chose wrong... Louis blamed me for losing our baby. I still do, too. We had a hard time bouncing back up after that. We just finalized our divorce yesterday." You smile weakly at Aaron, masking the hurt that pierced every inch of your heart. You quickly swipe the single drop of tear that managed to trail down your cheek.

Aaron glances at your intertwined hands. He feels guilty for liking it despite the dense atmosphere of your conversation. So, he lets go of it to snake an arm around your shoulders, giving you a tight side hug. "Don't say that, sweetheart..." The endearment rolls off his tongue like butter. He doesn't dwell on it, eager to lessen your pain. "I'm certain that he's glad you lived. He wouldn't have liked the world if he never got the chance to be raised by you." He starts to imagine how awful Louis looks and how much Aaron would make him look worse. He's barely known the guy, but he despises how horrible he's treated you at the time you needed a loving husband the most.

The next thirty minutes became quiet, and Aaron thought that maybe catching up wasn't such a great idea. He should've known that your lives weren't exactly on the greener side.

Then he wonders what life would've been if you hadn't left. He shakes his head. Despite the unrequited love he had for you, he still loved Haley with all his heart and would never change anything if it meant Jack being born. He assumes you'd think the same.

"I sometimes wish I came back here, you know." You blurt out as if you are reading straight from his mind like a book, breaking the silence. "I missed out on so much. Your wedding. You becoming a father. David's other weddings... Jason. I wish I was here for everything." You lean your head against him, letting his warmth spread on your skin. "I don't regret going to France or anything that happened in my life, but I wish I could've been in both places at the same time."

Aaron nods, "Yeah, it would've been nice to have you here." He thinks otherwise because he wishes you stayed. He hoped that despite his cowardness, he'd got you around the block and not a continent away.

He takes it up to himself to change the topic into a lighter tone.

He starts talking about Jack and the satisfying struggles of fatherhood. He shows you videos and photos from his phone. You are engaged in a heartbeat, laughing at the littlest humor he'd throw in. You adored his son. That made Aaron beam with pride. Granted, a lot of people have told him the same thing, but coming from you, it was like he'd received an accolade.

Somewhere in the evening, Stephen steals you from Aaron's company. You're easily filled with joy at the sight of an old friend, ignoring the fact that Jason's son used to have a childish crush on you. Other old acquaintances got a hold of you, too.

Aaron never got to see you again for the rest of the evening.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

It has been eleven months since Aaron last saw you when his peripheral caught your figure as soon as he stepped inside David's home.

"She's with the team," David announces casually.

Aaron's brows knit together as he brings his gaze back to David, "What's that?"

"I said she's with the team," David repeats, glancing down the hallway. "You better catch her before she leaves. I got lucky when I called her. She's about to take her flight back to France. This is why I set an arrival time—" Before he could finish his last sentence, Aaron was already halfway down.

Jack Hotchner watches as his father speedwalks inside David's house, "Is Dad okay?" He looks up at David with worried eyes.

"He's alright," David pats Jack's head. "See, kiddo. Your dad used to have a crush on someone before he married your mom."

"Is she pretty? Is she nice?" Jack queries.

David smiles, "How about you decide yourself?" He guides the young Hotchner toward the center of the celebration.

Meanwhile, you are in the middle of wishing Dr. Tara Lewis good luck for her new place in the BAU when Aaron calls your name. You pivot on your heels. A smile instantly brightens your face at the sight of Aaron, "Hotch!" You exclaim, engulfing him in a hug.

"You should've told me you were in the area." Aaron's grin is brighter than yours.

Unbeknownst to him, a couple of watchful profilers keep their eyes peeled at you and Aaron.

"Are they?" Tara trails off next to Penelope.

"They worked on many cases together," Penelope replies suggestively, wiggling her brows as she sips from her swirly straws.

JJ grins at the conversation, "He's like an entirely different person with her. Think of Spencer." She hides a grin behind her glass of wine.

Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at JJ. "Should I be offended?" He clutches the mug of eggnog close to his chest.

"No," JJ shakes her head defensively, elongating the last letter. The others erupt into silent chuckles.

Derek nudges Penelope while he's got an arm wrapped around Savannah, nodding towards you and Aaron's direction, "Look. Hotch is about to introduce Jack to her. How much are you betting he's trying to get Jack's approval? Will Jack even like her? She looked crazy at first—Ow!" He rubs the side Savannah just elbowed, wincing.

Jack shyly stands in front of his father as he looks up at you. You had no doubt he looked a lot like his mother now that you'd meet him in person. You don't forget about Aaron, though, because they had matching eyebrows that narrow every time they attempt to read someone intently.

You squat down to Jack's height, "Nice to meet you, Jack. Your dad has told me a lot of great things about you!" You rummage into your bag, fishing out a huge peppermint lollipop disk. "I didn't expect to meet you today, so I wasn't prepared to bring a gift you'd like, but you can have this if you want it."

Jack glances at his dad from behind him and then back to you. A wide smile spreads across his face as he takes the sweet from you, "I like this one, too! Thank you!" You almost stumble down when he launches to hug you.

"You're welcome!" Your giggle echoes in the entire house. You hadn't expected him to attack you with a hug, let alone a stranger you'd identify yourself as.

Aaron couldn't help but feel overjoyed. He doesn't know how to keep his heart from beating faster as you glance at him with a tooth-rottenly sweet smile while hugging his son.

You really were unfair to him.

He's hopeless. A lost cause. He should've known from years ago. Should've known that you'd leave a permanent mark on him.

"Dad," Jack gestures for Aaron to get down. He leans close as soon as his father oblige to his command, covering his mouth.

Aaron's eyes subtly widen. His ears burn into a beet-red blush. He clears his throat, "How about you say hi to the others? Play with Henry and Reid, okay?" He dismisses, ignoring the innocent words that rang in his ears. He gently pushes Jack toward the team's direction.

"He's such a sweetheart," You say as you get back on your feet. You glance at Aaron, "You're doing amazing. He's lucky to have you." You turn to the team. Laughters passed between one another. "They're all lucky to have you." You add, crossing your arms on your chest.

"She's good," Savannah nods in amazement. She's only heard of you from Derek but can finally see the difference in Aaron's demeanor the moment he caught a glimpse of you.

"Who randomly has a giant lollipop in their bag?" Derek states in disbelief, the total opposite of how Savannah reacted. He hands JJ a ten-dollar bill, though.

Spencer shrugs, "I would've been way nicer to her if she offered me one last time." He pouts at the sight of Jack waving the lollipop like a taunt.

JJ and Tara laugh.

"Oh, shoot!" You exclaim, twisting your wrist to glimpse at the time. "I still have to pass by somewhere before my flight. Say bye to Dave for me, yeah?" The rush makes you quite frantic, pulling Aaron in. You leave a peck on his cheek, patting his shoulders like it's tradition. "Merry Christmas, Aaron." You bid farewell with a smile and began to walk.

"Wait—" Aaron grabs your wrist. It's so small in his hand. He makes sure he held you tight in a gentle grip. The last thing he wants is to break your wrist.

Your body recoils a few steps back to him as a product of his pull. "Yes?" Anticipation sparks in your eyes as you wait for his response. You must've drank wine too fast because electricity surged through veins, all coming from his firm hold.

A huge lump forms in his throat. "I—" Suddenly, Aaron is tongue-tied.

I want you to stay.

He fights hard to swallow the rock that kept him from talking and clearing his throat. "I'll walk with you," He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. But he suspects that even the devil himself is too embarrassed for him to let him in.

"Oh..." You don't know why you felt disappointed. What were you even expecting in the first place? You flash a smile, though. "Sure."

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron stays at David's for two more hours before he decides that Jack needs to catch up on some sleep before they leave for Jessica's place in the morning. So, he drives through the light traffic, listening to Jack sing along the radio.

Jingle Bell Rock had just ended, and the DJ interjects for an update about the evening traffic during the transition to the next song when Jack asks a question. "Where did your crush go, Dad?" He inquires all too nonchalantly.

"What did you say?" It takes everything in Aaron to will his eyes to stay on the road and his hands to keep complete control of the wheel. He glances at Jack from the rearview mirror.

"The pretty, nice lady who gave me this," Jack hoists the lollipop in his hand like a wand. He takes a taste of it and adds, "You think she likes Christmas movies? Can we invite her?"

Aaron blinks fast. He couldn't believe how much Jack had grown fond of you in only minutes of interacting with him. He ponders whether you're some kind of a witch. He clears his throat in an obvious fake cough, "I'm sure she'd love to, buddy."

"Can you call her to come back? We can invite her for hot cocoa!"

"Sorry, buddy," Aaron feels bad. He doesn't even know your phone number, even if he could get it within seconds from Penelope. "She had to go and do some work. Maybe n-next time." He isn't sure why he was stuttering in front of his child.

"You didn't ask her to stay?"

It felt like a freezing wave of water filled with ice washed over Aaron. Then, for a moment, he feels proud to know that Jack's innocence has given him the bravery Aaron couldn't even muster.

"No, bud... I didn't." He admits more melancholy to a nine-year-old than he intended to.

Jack sighs, "Aww. Yeah, maybe next time, Dad. I'm sure she'll like to hang out with you if you give her a lollipop. She'll think you're nice. It worked for me. I think she's really nice." He stares at the molded sugar in his hand.

Aaron couldn't believe his son was talking some sense into him. Where did the time go? Jack sounds more mature than Aaron has ever felt for months since he's seen you after years. He tightens his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw from the sudden torrent of courage that blazes his chest.

"Jack, would you mind passing by somewhere before we go home?"

The boy shakes his head, "It's okay as long as you're okay with me staying past my bed time." Jack giggles.

Aaron chuckles, "I'll let it slide this time," He jests, then turns the wheel and heads to the airport.

You come back from the restroom, looking for a place to sit and wait, when a small figure wraps his arms around your torso, "Jack? What are you doing here? Are you by yourself? Are you okay?" You quickly scan him from head to toe. You could barely move from the way he held you.

He's okay. You tell yourself. Had he been hurt you weren't sure how to face his father.

"I found her, Dad!" Jack shouts, earning looks from exhausted patrons. He leans backwards but still tangled around your legs like his life depended on it.

You panic for a second. Unsure what to make out of his statement. You look around first to mutter an apology on behalf of the boy, but somewhere along the lines you felt like you were a mother denying her child.

"Great job, Jack." You hear a voice so familiar you needn't have to look up to confirm your guess. Aaron walks closer to the two of you out of breath. He tries to play it out but the rise and drop of his shoulders didn't pass your gaze.

You lift your vision up and meet with Aaron's heaving self. "Hotch? What's going on? Is everything okay?" You coax like you aren't sure if he's going to tell you the truth.

Aaron tucks a portion of his lower lip. Fuck. He ran out of courage. His throat is tight. His brain is frozen. His body is stiff.

Jack takes his father's hand and pulls him closer to where you stood. He looks up at you, "Dad has a crush on you. I also think you're nice. Can you watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa with us, please?" He says intelligently like he's tired of his father freezing on the spot whenever he faces you.

Your brows knit together, but a huge grin raises the ends of your lips. "He what?" You meet Aaron's blushing gaze. You've never seen his neck, face, and ears glow in rosy red except that one time during an undercover case.

Aaron melts into a chuckle, lowering his head. "I, uh..." He scoffs a laugh, "I can't believe you heard it from Jack first." He meets your eye once more, "Would you mind staying for a bit?" It's clear he has no idea what he was doing. He thinks he's about looking idiotic in front of many people and, most importantly, his son.

You hear your name from below, looking down at Jack as he gestures for you to go down. You do as he says, leaning close when he moves next to your ear, "Dad is very shy, but he really likes you. He smiles when he talks to you. I think he would be happy if you hang out with us." Jack whispers so well Aaron is left to wonder.

"You really think so?" You ask audibly for the sake of Aaron's sanity. You ruffle Jack's hair as he nods eagerly. "I don't mind at all," You smile at Aaron so sweet he feels euphoric.

All three of you leave the airport. The traffic then has grown more difficult to maneuver into, and by the time Aaron parks his car in the driveway, Jack is already ten minutes in his sleep.

You chuckle as you both turn to the backseat, "I stand corrected," You smirk, "I think you're lucky to have him."

"Yeah," Aaron titters, "He's a lot braver than me." He adds gently, reaching out to fix Jack's hair.

A comfortable silence basks the two of you. Jack's soft breathing faintly rings in the background as if both of you had to make sure he's there.

Aaron looks at you, though. He relishes the way the dim light from outside casts a shadow on your face. He loves the way your soft features are still visible despite the dark. "Stay," He blurts out.

"Sure, I'll stay 'til I find another flight—"

"No, I meant..." He struggles to swallow the saliva in his mouth. "I want you to stay. Here... with me." Aaron shifts his eyes down on the gearstick. "I'm not saying that I never loved Haley, but I never stopped loving you." He's sure that no normal person would declare their love the way he just did. He hoped that some foreign spaceship would open the roof of his car and take him away. "I don't know if I make sense. I'm certain that I'm ruining my chances the more I speak, but I want you to stay. I should've asked you to stay a long time ago."

Your gaze sinks into Aaron's eyes. You tuck your lips. Then, you smile. "I agree," You acknowledge, moving your eyes on his lips for a milisecond.

Aaron straightens his back, "I know it's been years," He babbles a laugh, moving his hands as he speaks. "It's okay if you don't— wait—" He blinks once or twice. "Did you just agree? To what exactly?" Only you can make him stumble on his own thoughts.

"I'll stay," You declare, biting the inside of your lower lip. You scoff a silent laugh, "I should've done this a long time ago."

"Done what?" Aaron narrows his brows.

Your gaze jumps between his eyes and his lips, "This," You cup his face with both your hands, clashing your lips like he's in need of saving from a true love's kiss.

Aaron melts into your hold. Not long does he track his hands up your shoulders. Then, to your back, pulling you closer. His hands travel all over you, exploring every inch.

All his life he's seen you as some idea of sweet poison. But as his lips dance with yours, he couldn't ignore the lingering bitter taste of whiskey. He laughs into the kiss. He's been ignorant, wrapped in a saccharine image of you. Was he so wrong for that.

He claims you're still too sweet for him, but was he so glad you came back to him.

Jack moves in his sleep. You both freeze on the spot, lightly pushing Aaron to create space between you.

A soft giggle echoes from your lips, leaning your forehead against his shoulder, "We should bring him upstairs."

"I think that's a good idea," Aaron quips. He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, but before he gets out, he steals another peck on your lips.

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #criminalminds #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader

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callsign-venus · 1 month

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For the Love of Love | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader | Part I

Summary: You are dreading your grandparents' 60th anniversary. While you love them, along with the rest of your family, you're tired of being "the single one." So when your friend Bradley Bradshaw offers to accompany you to your grandparents' Tahoe cabin for the long weekend, your tipsy self agrees. The problem? Only that you're hopelessly in love with him.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: alcohol consumption, pining, fake dating, reader is supposed to be young, so age gap?

a/n: this is my first series, yay! Let me know if you'd like to join the taglist! I hope y'all enjoy x

The night before you were expected – along with the rest of your family – at your grandparents’ Tahoe cabin, you called up your childhood best friend to help you drown your sorrows at the Hard Deck. The air in the bar was dense with a steady throb of ‘80s music and the slur of dozens of drunken conversations. There were so many people that, even though you immediately shed your jacket, a bead of sweat rolled down your back before you even reached the bar. Still, the Hard Deck was like a second home to you, and its chaos enveloped you with all the warmth of a hug from a friend who was a little more drunk than they’d admit.

Nat was already at the bar. She had a beer in one hand, another waiting for you in front of the empty barstool next to her. You smiled. She must have put up quite a fight to keep that seat for you on such a busy night.

You hopped up on the barstool and snagged your beer, relishing in its coolness more than its taste. How long until Nat gave up on trying to get you to like IPAs? At least this one was potable, unlike the last one she tried to get you to drink.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Sorry, I was packing.” You had to yell over the clash of noise between you. “Do you know how hard it is to pack winter clothes? I have, like, three suitcases. Full.”

Nat laughed. “Excited much?”

You slammed your bottle of beer down on the counter like an inebriated judge making a ruling. “I’m actually not going to go.”

“To your grandparents’ 60th anniversary?” Nat arched her brows.

“Yes. Think about it.” You sat up straighter. “I’m alone with my family in the mountains. I’m the only grandchild not in a relationship. We’re all there to celebrate love. My grandma tells me fourteen times that she had two kids by my age. Auntie Marnie will get wine drunk and ask why I’m not dating anyone when I’m such a catch. All the cousins will bring their partners and they’ll hold hands and make googly eyes at each other and kiss each other in the kitchen. Everyone will be so in love, and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And I can’t even bring you with me because you’re working. Ugh, this is going to suck.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Nat took a swig of her beer.

“Didn’t I tell you about Sabrine’s wedding?” You knew you had. Your cousin’s wedding was sweet and intimate, and of course you were happy for her and Matt. But there were moments that sent you teetering toward something akin to an existential crisis. And the constant comments from your aunts, the snide remarks from your brother, and the oppressive sense of love in the air definitely did not help. Slightly buzzed in your aunt’s backyard the night before the ceremony, watching everyone declare their love in a thousand small ways (an easy brush of the hands, a fork of pasta held up like an offering, a future planned by spoken word), you couldn’t help but draw up your feet and stare at the stars like they had an answer for you.

Nat shrugged this off. “Then bring a date. There’s plenty of eligible bachelors in this bar right now.”

As if her words were a spell, a seaman tapped on her shoulder. Nat was in civilian clothes, so her high rank wasn’t visible to ward him off like on most other nights. She snapped around. Her teeth must have been barred because she sent him skittering into the crowd in record time.

“Oh yeah,” you sipped your drink, “plenty of eligible bachelors.”

“Shut up. I’m not the one leaving on a flight tomorrow morning, desperately lonely, heading for a fate as terrible as celebrating love.”

“Who’s celebrating love?” Jake appeared like a demon summoned straight from hell.

When Nat first introduced you to the Daggers, they had all been intimidating. But only Hangman had you on edge. You’d softened up to the guy in the years since, but you didn’t need him knowing about how “desperately lonely” you were. In fact, there was only one man in the world who you wanted to see less than Jake in that moment. And if Jake was there, it was only a matter of time before he was, too.

Nat tipped her beer toward you. “She doesn’t want to be the only single person at her grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary this weekend.”

God. There he was. Popped up right as you expected – and dreaded. His loud Hawaiin shirt poorly concealed his heavily muscled arms. His aviators hung off his undershirt, and they rattled against his chest as he laughed at your predicament. You couldn’t even look at his face.

“I just know my family’s going to give me a hard time,” you said in panicked defense. “Even if they don’t mean to.”

Bradley draped an arm over your shoulder. He’d done it so countless times in knowing you, like it never fazed him. It probably didn’t. He did it to Hangman and Phoenix and Bob, too. However, you had never gotten used to the feel of his skin against your own. Your face got hot, and you hoped he couldn’t feel the sweat spreading under your shirt

He brought his mouth close to your ear to ensure you heard him over the ruckus of the bar. “Whatever your family says about you, just know that they’re right.”

You wriggled out from under his arm, and he doubled over laughing. So did Hangman and Phoenix.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Nat said after collecting herself.

You rolled your eyes. He was already under your skin. Had been from the moment you first laid eyes on him. Spread like an itch that was always there, but one you could never scratch.

“C’mon, let’s play some pool.” Jake vanished into the crowd, knowing the three of you would follow.

You had never been so thankful to be around the pool table, even though some nights you dreaded it. Every one of the Daggers could outplay you in pool; you always felt bad for whoever was unlucky enough to be your partner. And normally, you felt a little awkward when the conversation turned to work. Fighter jets and naval bureaucracy were not things you were well versed in, but that night, you were grateful for the work conversation to overshadow the conversation about your lack of a love life.

Unfortunately, when you and Nat were down three-nothing, somehow your love life took center stage again.

Jake sank the cue ball – such a rare occurrence the four of you stood still against the wave of bar patrons for a solid five seconds before you and Nat cheered.

“Nice going, Seresin.” Nat patted you on the shoulder. “Set her up real nice.”

Jake scoffed.

Bradley winked at you as you set the cue ball on the table. He mouthed good luck, and you – along with your chances of winning – were a goner.

You had a perfect opportunity to sink the ruby red 7 ball. You lined up your shot, pulled back on your cue stick, took a shallow breath – that did not calm your nerves – and completely missed. The cue ball jumped around the table, smacking into solids and stripes alike. Everyone leaned in as it collided with the 8 ball, sending it hurtling toward the corner. By some small miracle, it missed the pocket by a breath. Both the 8 and cue balls rolled to an unceremonious stop.

“Well, that could have been worse.” Nat sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.

“Jesus,” Jake said. “No need to worry about your boy troubles if this is how you play pool after two years of practice with the best.”

Your cheeks warmed. Usually, you could at least hold your own. Your partner would have to do a lot of heavy lifting, but they could count on you to sink a few balls. At the very least, they could count on you not to do whatever the hell that just was. You could feel everyone staring, Jake’s mishap long forgotten. You could especially feel Bradley’s gaze on you. It was hotter in the bar than when you first arrived. You crossed your arms over your chest, rubbing a thumb against the sticky skin of your upper arm.

“Don’t you think she should just bring a date to the anniversary?” Nat asked the two other aviators as Bradley lined up his shot. “That would keep her family off her back.”

You dug your nails into your skin to keep from lunging at her over the pool table.

Hangman grinned, his teeth flashing against the neon lights. “Sure. Any luck with those dating apps?”

“Ha ha,” you said. “It’s no use. Besides the fact that they suck ass, my plane leaves at 8:30 tomorrow morning.”

Bradley sank two stripes in one shot. Before taking another, he gestured around the bar. “And these fine men don’t meet your standards? They are members of the American Armed Forces, after all.”

“I’m not taking a stranger on my grandparent’s 60th anniversary trip, thank you.”

Bradley shrugged. He missed the 15 ball.

Nat leaned over to take her shot. She looked up at the boys, flashed a smile at you, then said, “What if she took one of the Dagger boys?”

Your hands flew to the edge of the pool table for support, otherwise, you might have gone down.

“What, should she take Bob?” Jake’s voice was laced with alcohol and utter delight in your misery. “He’d have a heart attack trying to keep up a ruse like that.”

Jake and Bradley shared a good laugh, only to be quieted when Nat went on a run and sank four solids before finally missing.

She straightened and used her cue stick to point at them. “Y’know, I was kind thinking about one of you two.”

Your blood just about froze solid in your veins. What the hell was Nat thinking? You’d rather die than spend a long weekend at Jake’s side – you just couldn’t bear a constant barrage of snarky comments and showboating. And you’d actually rather die than have Bradley at your side, touching you in his casual way, his shit-eating grin dawning under his mustache, and god forbid his winking.

Jake smirked. “Surely there are easier ways to ask us out.”

“Yeah, we don’t bite.” Bradley laughed. “Before I consider the offer, how nice is this cabin?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m dying to go out with the both of you. How could you see right through me?”

You prayed that no one could see right through you. Especially as your heart rate quickened when Bradley’s gaze settled on you, clouded with thought.

“Assholes,” Nat grumbled as Jake sank the rest of the stripes and the 8 ball in three easy shots. You two were down four-nothing.

Your night of drinking with Nat was ruined. You half-hoped Bob would pop up, offer to be your date, and whisk you away for a respectful and very platonic weekend. Your heart sank like the 8 ball when you remembered he was deployed for three months somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Reality settled in and you figured you might as well get a good night’s sleep before braving the cold mountains and your family.

“I think I’m gonna head home.” You hugged Nat. “Sorry for being a shitty pool partner.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less of you.” She dropped her voice and whispered in your ear. “Sorry for pimping you out like that.”

You shook your head. As much as you had wanted the ground to swallow you, you appreciated her efforts to make your weekend less miserable. Even if she was a little out of line.

You said goodbye to the boys, gathered your purse and your jacket, and left. The noise of the bar melted into the cool, quiet night. You pulled out your phone and ordered yourself an Uber. A slight breeze chased away the sheen of sweat on your skin, and you allowed yourself a moment’s respite under the moonlight.

“Hey.”

You spun around. Bradley was standing there, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.” Your voice was a little too loud. You’d been yelling all night over the noise of the bar, after all. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I just wanted to say sorry.” He smiled. “For teasing you about the whole no date thing.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Goosebumps raised on your arms.

“Y’know, I’ve never been to Tahoe.”

“Oh really?” You started to struggle on your jacket to fight the chill. Bradley held a hand out, and you gave him your purse so you could slip your jacket on easier. “Thanks. You’ve never been to Tahoe?”

“Nope.” He handed your purse back.

“Thanks,” you said again. “That’s a bummer. It’s beautiful, especially at this time of the year. A late snowstorm just rolled through, it should be a winter wonderland up there.”

“Well,” he took a step closer to you. “I was thinking. I’ve never been to Tahoe, you still need a date, I enjoy your company…”

You swallowed hard. Were you dreaming? “Bradley, my flight leaves early tomorrow.”

“So? I’ve got leave. I’m used to early mornings.” His smile was nearly blinding in the full moonlight.

“Did Nat put you up to this?” You tried to catch a glance of her through the large windows, but the Hard Deck was just too packed.

“A little. But to be honest, I didn’t need a lot of convincing. I think it could be fun.”

You fiddled with a button of your jacket, unable to look at him. Before you could think of an excuse to reject his offer, you blurted, “Pick me up from my place?”

“Of course. That’s what a good boyfriend does.” He pulled you in for a quick hug. A completely platonic, pat-on the back, ends-quick-as-it-started type hug. So why did your heart almost stop?

“I’ll book your ticket,” you said over the jackhammering beat of your heart. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just be at my apartment at 6:00.”

Your Uber pulled up to the curb.

“I’ve gotta go.” You edged toward the car. “But, just – thank you so much. I know this is weird, but I really appreciate it.”

He winked. “Anytime.”

As you settled in the back of the Toyota Camry, you took a deep breath. What the hell did you just get yourself into?

Read Part II here!

#top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #fake dating

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mumms-the-word · 1 month

Text

guys

GUYS

you’ll never believe what nonsense I came across while I was brainrot doomscrolling through all the books and notes on the BG3 wiki trying to find stuff I might have missed in act 2

druid self-insert romantic fanfiction about the first battle against Moonrise and Ketheric

fanfic that Halsin read and criticized!!

Okay if you played early access you shouldn’t be surprised because these books existed in EA. I’ve tried to find them in my game post patch 6 but all I can find is volume 3, which is disappointing because I was hoping to find volume 4

But as a treat, if you’re like me and completely didn’t know about this, buckle up and please enjoy the self-insert adventures of a certain “Roa” who totally isn’t Roan Featherway, a druid of Silvanus and colleague(??) of Halsin himself

———

Book Draft - Volume I

The name on the inside of this faded journal suggests it belonged to a 'Roan Featherway', a druid of Silvanus.

[Neatly written chapters fill this journal. A list of what appears to be book publishers in Baldur's Gate are on the first page. The cover has a multitude of titles, all crossed out: 'The Unforeseen Alliance, volume 1', 'Druids and Harpers, a fight for good!', 'The Shadowed Evil: who dares to stand against it?'] Our hero, the [brave? mighty?] druid Roa arrives in the grove. When he received the summons from the Emerald Enclave, he knew something was afoot. Filled with druids and rangers alike, members of the Enclave are scattered across the realm. They fight to preserve the natural order, keep the elemental forces of the world in check, and do battle with those who would upset this delicate balance. They are fierce warriors, though none as fierce as Roa. Built like [an ox? A bear?], he stands head and shoulders above the crowd. The grove is buzzing with activity. Roa spots a beautiful woman with ebony hair flowing past her shoulders, her eyes as blue as a [summer's day? bluebird?]. His smile turns to a frown as he notices the crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. By Silvanus, what was a Harper doing here?

———

Book Draft - Volume II

Formed from several journals, paper scraps and, in one case, the back of an envelope, this book has been carefully glued together to form the second in a series of romance novels.

[This seems to be the second volume in a series written by an amateur novelist. The title on the cover, 'Love in Shadowed Lands', is crossed out.] The ebony-haired woman notices Roa's gaze and crosses the grove, [winking? smiling?] as she stands by the druid's side. 'I don't usually wear it out in the open,' she says, tapping the brooch on her cloak, a crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. 'Except for special occasions.' 'What's a Harper doing in a grove of Silvanus?' Roa asks. 'Not just one.' She gestures to a group by the sacred pool. 'We're generally more cloak and dagger,' she continues, 'thwarting tyrants and [guarding? protecting?] the realm is best done in secret. But you lot have a fight on your hands. We're here to help.' 'Since when do the Emerald Enclave need a bunch of Harpers?' Roa says. 'You haven't heard?' She laughs, her laugh tinkling like a bell. 'Strap in, sweetie. We're about to take on Dark Justiciars, their demented leader Ketheric Thorm and, if we're very lucky, Shar herself.'

———

Book Draft - Volume III

The third book in a series of romance novels, this once beautifully bound book has had pages ripped out, glued back in and even tied to the book's spine using a piece of twine.

['Volume Three' is written in bold on the front. The title 'The Cost of Sorrow' is followed by a number of question marks.] 'But why?' Roa screams, the beast within barely contained. 'Why follow Shar? Why destroy Moonhaven?' Ketheric stares down [haughtily? cruelly?] at Roa as he steps over the bodies of Harpers and druids alike. 'Shar knows all.' He smiles [maliciously?]. 'She gave me a holy mission. I'm merely fulfilling it.' 'The people of Moonhaven trusted you!' Roa cries, his anger rising. 'How could you turn your Dark Justiciars on them?' Ketheric smiles, 'They needed the target practice. Can't have Shar's elite getting rusty, now can we? As for you...' a crescent blade appears in his [cruel?] hands. 'You are but one lone druid, Roa. Who are you to stand against me?' Roa forces himself to his feet, Silvanus' fury coursing through him. 'I'm your downfall. Today you die, Ketheric!'

———

And for the pièce de résistance 😮‍💨🤌

Book Draft - Volume IV

The fourth volume and final novel, this book has had almost every single page ripped out, except for the last twenty or so pages.

['Shadow's Kiss' is written in bold on the front. Pages of crossed out lines have notes in the margin reading 'finale!', 'more exciting!'. The final entry reads:] 'Get out of here.' Roa whispers, clutching his side. Blood pours from his fingers, a final gift from Ketheric's blade. 'I'm not leaving you,' Selene sobs, blue eyes filling with tears. Roa cups her face. 'I won't make it out in time. But you can.' Selene presses her forehead against his. Her ebony hair falls forward, forming a curtain that envelops them both. Roa closes his eyes, a smile lifting his lips as her scent, wild roses, washes over him. 'That grappling hook. You still have it?' He asks. 'Of course. Why do you -' With the last of his strength, Roa pushes her from the balcony. He watches her fall, watches her pull the hook from her pack and expertly throw it, swinging gracefully to the ground. A mighty crack splits the floor beneath him as the tower crumbles. He smiles contentedly. Selene was safe. That's all that mattered. Epilogue: 'Selfish bastard.' Selene says, kicking the base of the grave. Balsin places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'He was the greatest of us all,' Balsin says, a towering behemoth of a druid, although not as tall as Roa. 'We will forever honour him, for he single-handedly broke Shar's hold on the land, and helped -' [A different hand appears beneath the final entry.] Roan, you had one job. This is not a historical record of what occurred, it is poorly written romance with no basis in fact. And if I ever see the name 'Balsin' again, I will personally feed you to Ormn.

Halsin you’re such a critic

we were robbed

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 discourse #bg3 screenshots #bg3 lore #bg3 fanfic #I mean that last tag is technically true #also I’m sure Halsin was very upset with roan but like #still funny #halsin #halsin silverbough

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suugarbabe · 4 months

Text

[Chapter 9]

word count: ~4.6k

warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of torture, mentions of traumatic wounds, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v

Mattheo picked up a vase from the table next to him, throwing it against the wall and smashing it into a million tiny pieces. Pansy’s whole body jumped in her place on the couch, Draco squeezing her hand in comfort. “You’re scaring her, Cousin, she said she was sorry and she didn’t know what happened.” Mattheo was seething with anger, his words spitting out of his mouth like venom, “I don’t give a bloody fuck what she says she does or doesn’t remember or how fucking sorry she is. My girl is gone and she’s the only one who can tell us who possibly took her.” Mattheo turned his back to the pair now, dragging his fingers through his hair and tugging at his curls in frustration.

“Well, there is a way for you to see, Matt,” Theo spoke up, giving Pansy a sorrowful look. Mattheo turned back around, Pansy nodding her head, “He’s right. Do it Matty. I can’t remember but it’s gotta be there.” Without hesitation Mattheo took out his wand, pointing it in the middle of Pansy’s forehead, “Legimens.” In a swirl of images Mattheo was thrust back into the club, the edges of his vision slightly hazy. He saw you in front of him, swaying to the beat with your eyes closed. You wore a cheshire grin and he could tell it was when you were talking to him. In front of you was Pansy, body moving similarly to the music. You laughed to yourself as Pansy did another twirl. Just as Pansy’s back turned, Mattheo saw a flash of red, it was like your body was falling in slow motion before a pair of arms wrapped around you, dragging you out through the crowd.

Mattheo pulled back, stumbling back into the sitting room where the rest of the family was watching him intently. Everyone could see Mattheo’s expression darken, worry fitted on all of their faces, “What is it, Mattheo, what did you see?” Enzo was trying his best to stay calm but he was just as angry as Mattheo. Enzo didn’t have any siblings growing up and thus his relationships within the family were of max importance. Mattheo closed his eyes, speaking through gritted teeth, “Someone cast a spell at her. I’m nearly positive it was stupify because-”

“Because she stopped speaking to you mid-sentence,” Theo finished the sentence for him. Mattheo’s jaw clenched as he nodded. Pansy’s eyes started filling with tears once more, the guilt she felt intensifying with each passing moment that you were gone. She opened her mouth to speak once more when she suddenly heard your voice ring in her head, and by the looks of the others she wasn’t the only one. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. Immediately Mattheo’s eyes met his cousins, Draco nodding in silent agreement, “Blaise and I will stay here with Pansy, you three go.” The next sound a simple crack as Theo, Enzo and Mattheo disappeared from the room.

The space the three men apparated to was dark, emergency lights the only source of illumination around them. “Find her.” Two words were all the direction Mattheo gave as the three men started looking through the entire warehouse. Closets, old boxes, under machines were all scoured until Enzo walked into the the back room, breath catching in his throat, “H-here, oh bloody fucking Salazar, SHE'S IN HERE!” The sound of rushed shoes on pavement could be heard as Theo and Mattheo ran to where they heard Enzo’s voice, the latter boy already rushing to your body curled in on itself, wrist still chained against the back wall. Enzo got to you first, grabbing hold of your neck. His first two fingers immediately finding your pulse point, “She’s alive. Pulse is there, it’s strong.” He pointed his wand at the wall, the chain attached to you disintegrating.

Mattheo fell to his knees next to you, hoisting you up to a sitting position and pulling you into his arms. Your head was rolling, Mattheo holding your head in one of his large hands. “Princess,” he tapped your cheek lightly, voice strained, “Princess, can you look at me, please?” Your eyelids felt heavy, but they fluttered open, blurrily catching a glimpse of Mattheo as he held onto you. “T-teo?” Your voice came out horse, scratchy. “It’s me, Princess, don’t worry.” He looked at Theo and Enzo, both wearing looks of worry across their faces. Mattheo stood, holding your body close to his chest as he did so, “Theo take us back. Now.” Theo placed a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder, then Enzo’s. In a whirl the four of you were back at the manor, back in the sitting room where Blaise, Draco and Pansy were waiting.

Pansy’s mouth was agape, tears starting to flow again at the sight of what had become of you in your absence. Mattheo started toward the foyer, you still in his arms, “Come, cousin, she needs your help.” At his words Draco moved immediately, the rest of the family following suit. At the bottom of the stairs Mattheo stopped, turning towards the group, “Just cousin. No one else.” Theo and Blaise let out a huff while Enzo mumbled a “like fucking hell” but Mattheo doubled down, “It’s not a negotiation. Just Draco. That’s it. The rest of you need to start planning.” Through her tears Pansy managed to finally speak up, “Plan for what?” Enzo gripped Pansy’s arm lightly as they watched Mattheo and Draco take you into the room, “Revenge.”

In the room Mattheo quickly laid you down on the large bed, pulling Draco up to the side, “Check her. Do it now, cousin. Just like Aunt Cissy taught you.” Draco glanced over his shoulder nervously, clenching and unclenching his fists before giving a nod. He turned back to you, taking in the sight before him. Your breathing was shallow, but steady. He noted the dry blood on your chin and the edge of your mouth like you had been slapped or punched in the face. The dried blood that seemed to have dripped down your legs worried him as well. A large purple bruise was forming on your shoulder that looked like the heel of a boot. Draco closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before nervous hands hovered over your body. He started at the top, near your head, just as his mother taught him. He concentrated his thoughts, slowly moving his hands over your body, “Cut lip,” he moved lower, “left collarbone broken,” he grimaced as he kept going, “ribs seven and eight on her right side cracked, right kidney bruised,” he moved down towards your legs, “seems just a few cuts and bruises, cuts are what the blood down here’s from.” Mattheo nodded solemnly, “So he didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t,” your voice was shaky, but you knew what Mattheo was implying, “Just…heal what you can Dray, please.” A tear ran down your cheek as your bottom lip wobbled. Draco leaned down as he wiped the tear with his thumb, a sad frown on his face, “S’gonna hurt a little, darling.” You nodded meekly, “I know, just…get it over with.” Draco nodded, standing back up fully and slipping his wand from his sleeve. He worked backwards this time, knowing your collarbone was going to hurt the worst to heal. Slowly the cuts started to close and heal, the bruises fading to small dark marks that would disappear in a day or two. He healed your ribs with one swift motion, the cracks healing with little pain much like a cramp. He healed the cuts from your lips and mouth next before pausing. “You ready for this last one, darling?” You nodded, closing your eyes in anticipation. Draco’s wand hovered over your collarbone, “Episkey.” The bone snapping back into place was loud, nearly drowning out your own whimper as you bit your lip to conceal how painful it really was. Silent tears slipped from your eyes, Mattheo quickly by your side to wipe them away.

Draco chewed his lip nervously as Mattheo consoled you, “There’s one more thing, cousin.” Mattheo turned towards the blonde as you turned on your side, back facing them as your curled in on yourself once more into the covers, “What is it?” Draco peered over at you, grey eyes swirling with sorrow, “They…they used the cruciatus on her, like...a lot, Matty. From what I could feel I think more than one person used it on her at a time.” Mattheo closed his eyes at the information, not wanting to imagine you in that situation, how it must have felt for you. Draco continued, “There’s no healing I can do to take that away from her. You know better than any of us-” Mattheo cut him off, “I know.” Draco nodded, walking over to you once again. Draco leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your head, “I’m so sorry this happened to you, darling.” You turned to face him, grabbing hold of his wrist with a weak smile, “Thank you for healing me.” Draco huffed a laugh, “Not as good as you by any means, love.” But you shook your head, “Might give me a run for my money.” Draco smiled at you lightly, nodding to Mattheo as he left the room to leave you two alone.

Mattheo rounded the bed on the opposite side of you. It was obvious he wanted to grab hold of you but wanted to respect however you were feeling, “What do you need, Princess? Do you want to be alone? Do you want me to go?” You slumped further into the bed, not making eye contact with him as you shook your head, “Don’t go. Will you…” You looked up at him almost shyly, “Will you hold me…please?” Your bottom lip trembled once more. Mattheo gently crawled into the large bed, shuffling under the covers to pull you close. You grabbed hold of him, grasping to whatever you could get your hands on like you couldn’t get close enough to him as the tears started to flow. Mattheo’s heart was shattering, squeezing you so close to his body he feared he might crush you but you relished in the pressure. Lips pressed to your forehead, he mumbled into your skin, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, Princess. I swear it.” With his reassurance, your body finally relaxed. Mattheo could tell when you finally fell asleep as your grip on his arm and around his neck went slack, however he still held you close.

As you woke up hours later, you were still wrapped up in Mattheo. His scent enveloped you like the most delicious intrusion to your senses. You started to release your grip on him, needing to attempt to stretch away the soreness from everything that happened the night before. Mattheo was apparently already awake, hand sliding down your side as his eyes quickly gave you a once over. As his hand reached your hip you caught his wrist, breath catching in your throat at the memory of what now lay carved in your skin there. “Sorry,” his words came out sheepish but you only shook your head, “No, s’okay. M’just, sore.” Mattheo nodded, anger bubbling back inside his chest, “I get it.” He sat up then, giving himself a proper stretch before turning towards you. “Coming down for food with me?” You shook your head, pulling to covers back up to your chin, “Think I’m gonna stay here for a little longer…if that’s okay.” Mattheo nodded, leaning down and kissing your lips softly, “Course it is, sweetheart.” He stood from the bed, leaning down with his hands on the mattress as you turned to him, “The boys and I are gonna be in and out of the manor for a little while, but you know how to call me if you need me.”

You met his eyes, tone flat as you asked, “You’re going out looking for him aren’t you. For…Damiano.” Mattheo closed his eyes at the name, but nodded. You leaned up, capturing him in a soft kiss once more. Mattheo grabbed hold of the side of your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as he separated your lips. You laid back down as Mattheo made his way towards the door. He turned back once more before exiting, chest tightening as he saw you curl in on yourself again before closing the door behind him.

The days that followed all blended for you. This was due to the fact that you hadn’t left Mattheo’s bed since that first night, the most to use the bathroom. But with how little you were eating, you barely had to do that either. Mattheo and the other boys were gone more than they were home. You knew when they were home because the door would creak open. You knew it was Mattheo, but every time you heard the door open the mark on your leg seemed to pulse and shame washed over you. Pansy came to comfort you often when the boys were gone, laying in bed beside you, rubbing your back as you sobbed. She never asked what happened, never asked for details. The first time she cried with you, apologizing and saying how it was all her fault. You held each other that night, cried together until you convinced her that if he had to, Damniano would’ve taken both of you that night, just to prove a point.

Gimball would bring you meals, smiling sadly as he took the untouched plate from the previous when dropping off the next. After a few days he started changing what he brought you, making you special meals he thought you might be able to stomach versus what he was making for the rest of the family. “Please, Miss, just a few bites. Gimball make special, you don’t have to eat it all to help.” You started to comply slowly, if only for the fact that Gimball had also started begging for you to eat something and that made you feel slightly pathetic for pitying yourself so harshly. Gimball noticed you’d eat more when you thought the others were away or sleeping, therefore bringing you heartier meals at those times.

“Master Mattheo is very worried about Miss Birdie. Asks Gimball every day how she is,” Gimball rocked back and forth on his feet as you slowly ate the sandwich he had brought for you. “And what do you tell him?” you were curious how they were all perceiving you, how sad and helpless they thought you were. “Gimball tells Master she is strong at heart, but hurting in mind. Gimball tells Master that Miss Birdie just needs time.” You smiled at the elf, finishing the last bit of the sandwich and handing over the plate. Gimball bowed, giving you a small smile before disappearing with a crack. You laid back down against the pillows, trying to ease your mind now that your stomach was full. Trying to close your eyes without seeing his face the moment you tried to drift off to sleep. You were nearly there when you heard the shouting.

The voices sounded panicked, shouting at volumes so high you heard it through the doors. You rushed to get up, knotting the silk robe tight around your waist before heading for the top of the stairs. Below the shouts became clearer. “The table, the fucking bloody table, get him up there!” Your pulse quickened, feet rapidly descending down the stairs before you even knew what they were doing. “For Salazar’s sake, Malfoy, hurry, there’s no way he’s going to last this long, you’ve gotta move faster, mate!” Your feet hit the foyer floor, nearly sprinting towards the voices now. Before you could get a look at who was on the table a pair of arms enwrapped you, pulling you back towards the stairs.

“No, Princess. You can’t, not yet,” Mattheo’s voice was stern but you heard the concern laced within his tone. “Who is it? Who’s hurt?” you tried to push him off you but he just held you tighter. “We found him but I think he was expecting it, he had more people with him than we planned. He got away after he attacked us, ran away like a fucking coward.” You knew he meant Damiano. That they were close to catching him and doing what they wanted so badly to do to him. “Let me go, Mattheo. If he’s the one that did this let me help, I’m the one who could do it best.” Mattheo held on tighter, “S’too much, Birdie, you’ve been through enough already, Draco can handle it.”

You shook your head, “Tell me who it is, I can tell Draco needs my help. Tell me who it is. Right now, Mattheo, is it Enzo again?” You peered around his arm, stretching your neck to catch any glimpse of those surrounding the table. You saw Pansy’s black hair, Blaise holding the table by someone’s feet. Draco’s platinum hair flashed in your vision as he moved from one side of the table to the other. As he maneuvered around whoever was hurt there was a brief moment where carmel eyes locked with yours and then you knew. You knew who was hurt, who lay dying on the table as Draco struggled to help heal him.

You looked up, eyes locking with Mattheo’s, “Teddy? It’s Teddy?” Mattheo didn’t respond, giving you all the confirmation you needed. You started thrashing in his grasp, desperately begging him to let you help. You knew he was just trying to protect you, just worried after what Damiano had put you through, but what Mattheo failed to realize was that not helping was doing more damage. With a final push Mattheo let go, your body rushing towards Theo’s where it lay bloodied on the table. You took in the scene before you, Draco frantically trying to work on the large, deep gashes on Theo’s torso and legs, but constantly having to stop as Theo’s mouth, and presumably his lungs, kept filling with blood from Merlin knows what spell was cast on him.

Theo was in bad shape. You ran your hands along his neck, checking his pulse, your fingers slipping on the blood covering his skin any time you applied pressure. His left arm was clearly broken and whatever spell or spells that hit him left baseball size gashes all over his body, your hands ran along his skin, noting no dark magic attached to him. Turning off all emotion you started giving out orders, “Draco focus on his legs, one wound at a time, the same spells you used on me, okay?” He nodded, stepping aside and quickly getting to work. The sound of Theo beginning to gag again caught your attention, quickly waving your hand over his mouth to make the blood disappear. Enzo looked at you in shock. “Enzo if it happens again, take out your wand, wave it quickly and horizontally, sicco. You got it?” Enzo nodded, hand gripping his wand tightly in preparation.

You turned forward now, hands hovering over Theo’s torso. Just as you instructed Draco, you hovered over each gash, one by one starting at Theo’s chest. You moved down his torso, healing the wounds on his side and stomach just as Draco was finishing up his legs. You could tell Theo’s breathing was starting to even out again, finally able to take full breaths. “Hold his shoulders Enzo, this parts gonna hurt him.” Enzo did as instructed, watching as your hands hovered over Theo’s arm. With a flick of your wrists everyone heard the crack as his bones snapped back into place. “Fanculo tutti, Uccellina! A cosa diavola serviva!” Theo groaned out, pulling his arm to his chest and rolling to his side. You pointed a finger at him, “Don’t you take that bloody tone with me, Theodore or I’ll break your arm all over again!” Theo merely groaned, lying back on the table with his arm covering his eyes. Your breaths were heavy, pushing Theo's hair from his eyes and placing a kiss on his forehead, "Amo tuo fratello."

Walking away, Mattheo was quick to follow you. “Where are you going?” He was hot on your heels as you ascended the stairs. You stopped at the door, not to his room, but to yours. Turning towards him your face was blank as you spoke, “I’m going to wash my brother’s blood off my skin.” Speechless, Mattheo watched you walk into the room. He followed close behind, watching you walk into the bathroom. He stood by the door, observing as you undid your robe. That’s when he saw it, what you had been so ashamed of for the last week and a half, what you didn’t want him to see but was currently too lost in thought due to what just happened. The sun etched on your skin, just below your hip where you wouldn’t let him touch before.

Mattheo waited on your bed for you. You had expected him to leave, to walk out when you had been so cold to him, but there he was, waiting at the edge of your bed. You walked towards him, towel tied around your body and hair wet. He didn’t speak until you were stood between his knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your head tilted in confusion, only for your mind to be cleared when you felt Mattheo’s hand quickly slide under your towel to grip your hip, thumb pressing into the mark. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “I’ll ask again, Princess. Why did you not tell me he did this to you?” You closed your eyes, tears threatening to spill. His grip on your face tightened, asking for your answer. “I was ashamed. I thought…I figured you wouldn’t want me once you knew.” Mattheo tsked his tongue, “Oh, Princess, we’ve been over this haven’t we? You think something like that would change things?”

A tear threatened to fall as he spoke again, “Tell me what you know to be true, Princess. Say it for me so I know you understand.” Your eyes met his, speaking on a shaky breath, “I’m yours.” Mattheo grinned slightly, “Again, like you believe it.” You spoke firmer now, “I’m yours.” Mattheo nodded, eyes flicking to your lips briefly, “One more time.” You watched as his tongue darted over his lips, your pulse quickening under his touch, “I’m yours, Mattheo.” You watched his mouth upturn into a smirk before you smashed your lips to his, taking him slightly by surprise. His hand grips the back of your neck as you climb onto his lap, deepening the kiss, turning it heated and passionate. As the kiss breaks you stare at one another, catching your breath. “I need you, Teo, please.” He was hesitant, not wanting to push your limits after all you'd been through, "You sure, Princess?" You nodded. Mattheo cupped your cheek, "I need words, pretty girl." You took a deep breath, "Yes, Mattheo, I'm sure."

At your words he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing, flipping you both around so you’re now lying down on the bed. He peppers kisses down your neck, the air in the room cool on your skin in his wake. His hands gently caress every inch of your skin, leaving a trail of fire in it’s wake. “Mattheo,” you moan, need evident in your voice. He chuckles, the sound sending shivers up your spine. His lips trail lower, making his way down your body until they reach your core. In one swift motion he flattens his tongue, giving a long, slow lick. Your back arches off the bed, body seeking more of him in such desperation, you can nearly feel him smirk between your thighs.

Mattheo takes his time, worshiping your body with his tongue like you were his salvation, his lips singing your praises against your skin. “Please, Teo,” you beg, desperate for more of him. A whimper leaves your throat as he gives you what you crave, two fingers thrusting into you as he sets a pace that has your thighs trembling. Your fingers tangle in his curls, gripping tight and pulling him impossibly closer. He moans against you, the vibrations taking you to a new height of pleasure, each thrust of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. Then his fingers slow, his mouth on your neck now before connecting your lips once more. His fingers hit that spot deep inside causing a mewl to leave your lips.

You bury your face into his neck and make another noise. “S’okay,” Mattheo comforts, “ ‘ve got you, Princess. Al’right? M’right here, yeah? I’ve got you.” His thumb circles your bundle of nerves, figure eights causing your hips to buck as he whispers in your ear, “This all for me, Princess. Mine to play with. Mine to taste.” You whine, head nodding, “Yes, fuck, yes, Teo, all yours. Always yours. Forever.” Mattheo slowly pulled out his fingers, you whining at the feeling of loss inside you as you watched him suck his fingers clean before undoing his belt and freeing himself. He pushed your knees down, spreading you open and pinning your legs to the bed so you had nowhere else to go. Slowly he guided his cock to your cunt, watching as he eased into you, your walls swallowing him to the hilt.

“Bloody fucking hell, look at that, Princess, feels good doesn’t it?” He grinned devilishly at your slacked jaw, breath catching in your throat as he began rocking into you. Your nails dug into his ribs, scratching down his skin. He hissed at the pain, hips snapping into you harder. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, using them as leverage as he rammed his hips against yours. “Fuck, Teo, yes, please don’t stop,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you grabbed onto him for dear life. “Uh, uh, Princess, eyes open, look at me,” he tutted, grabbing your jaw roughly, kissing you deeply and grinding his hips against yours, stimulating your clit perfectly. You gasped as you fell over the edge into your orgasm. Your walls fluttering around him had Mattheo following soon after. His lips trailed your neck lightly as he slowly pulled out, lying down on his back beside you.

He slid an arm under your waist, pulling you into him. Your head settled on his chest comfortably, Mattheo’s fingertips trailing up and down your back lightly. You laid like this for a moment, enveloped in all that was him and all that you two were together. Mattheo was surprised when you broke the silence, not by the sound of your voice but by your words. “When you find him, don't kill him right away.” He made a noise of confusion, causing you to lift your head, chin settling on his chest to look up at him. “When you find him, because I know you will, don’t kill him right away. I want you to call me, have Theo or Enzo get me and bring me there.” Mattheo’s brows furrowed, a mix of anger and confusion written on his features, “Why the bloody fuck would I do that?” You pressed your lips to Mattheo’s skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your lips before looking at him once more.

“Because I want to watch him die.”

#protego series #mafia!slytherin boys #mafia!theo nott #mafia!pansy parkinson #mafia!draco malfoy #mafia!enzo berkshire #mafia!matheo riddle #mafia!blaise zabini #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut

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the-white-void · 3 months

Text

Oh! You've Heard This Story?

Summary: Once again, your end has begun, and the story starts anew. Yet, she remembers this story; one told over and over again.

Warning: This contains mentions of violence and repetitive deaths which may be uncomfortable to some readers.

One || two || three

Taglist: @kthehoeforfictionalmen @pix-stuff @kthehoeforfictionalmen @time-shardz @scarletttcroww @mysteriaqueen @atsukawolfcat @junkoslette @mef0rg0r @altheq0 @obliviousariies2007

Blood of gold stained the podium as the blade of the Archon of Inazuma sliced your neck. Leaving the crowds that once cheered for your end turned to fear and shallow worries of regret.

You've seen this before. As your head descended from your body, your consciousness still lingered, even for only a moment. The screams of agony laced with regret and sorrow; the cries of the archons as they saw the precious blood that was wasted on the floor.

That is how it always ended.

Your mind now eases as your death finally comes, then onto the next show.

You open your eyes once more to the lush green grass tickled your ears, and the trees swayed its leaves on your rags; the warm rays that lay on your skin. A scene all too familiar.

You have given up on trying to survive on this game of cat and mouse; simply letting it all roll like a ball, because out of all the countless times you tried to escape before were all futile, even giving up showed the same ending.

There is no end to this scripted play.

Fate is like a chord. No matter how you pull to change it, it will always return to its original form.

You pick yourself up, dust off a few leaves stuck on your rags and walked up to a nearby tree bearing some apples. You reach out for one close yet ripe.

"Maybe Amber noticed me already and might shoot my arm." You blurted out as the apple twisted and fell on your face. "Ah! It's already loose." you mumbled with your brow raised before picking up the apple from the ground; you dusted off the dirt then took a bite. "Doesn't matter, you missed." You uttered as you look to the side where the brunette wearing red hid from afar; her bow lowered from when it first had you a target.

Her face painted with worry and confusion, she focuses her bow to you once more, ready for your retaliation. Yet, you walk back to the spot where you first woke up; legs crossed with your bum on the ground as you continued to eat the apple.

"What?" The brunette mumbles with her brows furrowed, confused why you just say down defenceless while chewing on your apple till you ate it all and the core was left. "Could it be a trick? Are they just luring me in?" Thoughts flooded her head thinking about what you could be planning if you already know where she was.

After laying the core of the apple you just ate on the ground, you look back at where the brunette was hiding. "Even if you are here to catch the imposter, there is still etiquette for how knights capture fiends." You spoke with a sigh and a small smile, waiting for her to shoot her bow, or throw Baron Bunny to your face.

An arrow of fire flew past you and hit the tree right behind you, barely grazing your hair. Amber then emerges from the bushes while her bow was still pointed at you "You have the right to remain silent. Your actions of impersonating the divine deity..." She continues to mouth out paragraphs you've heard countless times before, still smiling without a care in the world.

In a nation distant to the airy breezes of Mondstat, in the land hidden in the forests where rain comes and goes, the land where knowledge is weighed more than mora, Sumeru.

Lying inside the Sanctuary of Surasthana where the Archon resides, she sprung up with a cold sweat, as if she just had a nightmare. Her gasps were heavy and her hands shaking; her dream was as vivid as if it were real, like the times she would occasionally possess the receptionist of the Adventurers Guild, however, unlike those dreams, it was not coveted by the mind of a human nor god. The scene was too real to be revered as a dream.

"Oh... Very well,I'll see you all. Soon."

Were the last words of the imposter before their head departed from their body. "What did they mean? Will it happen again? I saw their memories; it happened to them over and over again. Like a samsara, after reaching an end it'll go back to the beginning. How long have they been doing this? Do they have a goal?" Questions drowned out all their senses before a loud arrogant voice broke her focus.

A short man wearing blue accents and a large hat was snapping his fingers in front of the archon's face with an annoyed look. "Hey! I've been calling you for ages; you said you wanted me to do something." His tone filled with salt and bitterness as he pulled his arms back together crossed.

Lesser Lord Kusanali, the dendro Archon, one who was calm and collected was in a cold sweat, unable to comprehend what reality she had just seen. If it were to happen in this world as well, would it too crumble and wither away.

"H- hat guy..." The dendro Archon's voice trembled when she muttered her words. Looking towards Hat Guy with her eyes widened and trembling "What happened these past few days? There was the imposter a- and..." Her voice trails off as she tries to word out what happened, but her tongue falters to convey what was on her mind.

"The imposter? That news just landed in the Akademia an hour ago. I guess that's what you can expect of a god who can read minds." He mumbles while the Archon gathers her thoughts.

"What? But the imposter was just about to be executed. Everyone was there and... the imposter was... calm... they- they said something then… then…” her eyes wonder off around the room remembering the words of the imposter.

“... Hat guy. Take me to Mondstat; I need to talk to the imposter.” Her eyes were then set on the short man; eyes painted with determination and fear, set on speaking with the one branded as an imposter, yet whose last is shrouded in a thick fog of uncertainty.

The man that looked at the Dendro god puzzled and perplexed. “What?! Are you- just when you hear about an imposter; you wanna go meet them?!! Don't you know how dangerous that thing could be?” His aloof and sour tone shifted to a raised and concerned voice after hearing the Archon's desire to met with the imposter.

Kusanali sighs with her eyes faltering, wondering if it just a ruse after all. She ponders for some time, recollecting and organising the memories she had of the imposter. “The execution just happened with the Electro Archon beheading the the imposter, but before that, the imposter allowed me to look through their memories, then…” her memory was then blank.

“Can they dream?” Hat Guy's voice cut her focus. “If you really wanna talk to them, you can go in their dream and just talk to them there.”

The idea lit up the Lesser Lord's face “Yes. Their dreams. They looked young, they probably still have dreams, like escaping… or… wait… can they dream?” Her voice questioned the mentality and consciousness of the imposter.

#astronetwrk #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin impact #sagau idea #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin fic ideas #genshin fanfic #sagau isekai #genshin nahida #nahida #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #hat guy #amber genshin impact #genshin amber

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love-and-monsters · 5 months

Text

The Fallen Angel

GN human X nonbinary angel (uses they/its pronouns), 15,020 words.

(Apologies for how long I've been away, a lot has been happening. But here is the story at long last! At very long last. I have written, unfortunately, a fucking novella. Please let me know what you think, I put my heart into this bitch.)

There is an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You are determined to free it.

There was an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You could hear it singing when you cleaned the great brass candles and the stained glass windows. It sang during the services, too, but the song just reverberated behind the choir or the preaching, too subtle to be truly noticed. It was only in the afternoons, when the sunlight sent a colored glow across the floor and your body sweated and shook with fatigue, that the song grew strong enough for you to really hear what it was.

Angel song is not like birdsong, nor it is it like the song of a person. It is almost like the sound of a choir, if the choir was like a pipe organ or the wind passing through a cave. The noise settled in your bones and lungs. Sometimes, you felt yourself humming along, like just the presence of the sound was forcing the notes from your body.

You cleaned the church every three days, more or less- you didn’t clean at all on Sundays, but you did attend. So did the rest of the town. Had it gotten more crowded since the song started? Maybe- the church’s attendance was already high, and the faith strong. The angel would not have come otherwise.

You knew that the angel was trapped. You weren’t a fool- the basement door was chained and sealed, and the singing was louder the closer you get. No free angel would suffer being locked away like this. And then there was its singing. Usually, it just made your bone tremble and compelled you to sing along with it. On Sundays, its song amplified the worship, making your brain tingle with the divine. But sometimes, more frequently these days, the song struck you with such profound sadness, that you found yourself on your knees, face wet with tears.

It was over a month of the singing and the knowledge that something divine rested beneath your feet before you considered doing something about it.

In fairness: you were not qualified to interact with an angel, much less rescue one. You were not a priest, not a spiritual practitioner. A priest was technically your boss, though you cleaned more buildings in town than the church. If he had trapped the angel, there must be a reason.

But the angel’s song grew more sorrowed and more desperate, until you woke at night, nowhere near the angel’s song, with a hum vibrating in your chest and tears on your cheeks. And you came to the conclusion that, no matter what reason the priest has, the angel did not deserve this.

So you called a spiritual practitioner. As much as you may have wanted to help, you had no idea how. Better to leave such things to professionals.

You had hoped the practitioner would arrive at the church, sense the angel immediately, and free them. But there wass no fuss from the church, and no angel emerged. The practitioner left town before the sun set that day.

Three more practitioners and a priest entered the town over the next two weeks. None of them freed the angel. Your bewilderment grew with each failure. Were they not noticing it? Were they being turned away? Bribed?

The sixth person, a priest, was the one you followed. You tailed him to the church, and continued following him twenty minutes later, when he emerged. Once he had made it past the edges of the town, you ambushed him.

It wasn’t much of an ambush, really. You just stepped out onto the path in front of him and demanded he tell you what was going on. He was clearly weirded out, but once you said that you were the person who called him, he was a bit more willing to talk.

You asked him why he didn’t do anything to free the angel. He stareed at you, eyes wide. Then he spoke, quiet and almost frightened. “What that thing is should not be freed. It is best for everyone if it stays down there.”

Once he told you that, he dismissed himself, and hurried away. You stared after him. Then you returned home.

The creature in the basement could not be anything but an angel. It could have been one of the infernal, but the infernal don’t sing. Scream and howl and beg, but they do not sing. And no infernal creature would sit through the services that come every Sunday. People would avoid the church, rather than flocking to it in droves. And yet, if the priest had seen an angel, you found it hard to believe he wouldn’t have tried to release it. He certainly wouldn’t have told you it was a thing.

The next time you went to the church, the singing was low and tremulous. It reminded you of someone trying to sing through tears. Again and again, you found yourself at the basement door. When you placed your hand on it, the dark metal was warm, like it had been resting under a sunbeam.

You could not bring yourself to leave, even an hour after your work was done. The sadness of the song radiated around you and ever since you spoke to the priest, you were terribly curious. Perhaps that was a cruel thing, to be just as compelled by curiosity as compassion. But you were. If it had been just compassion, maybe you could have stood aside and let someone else do it. But it was curiosity as well, and you needed to do it yourself because you needed to know.

While you had access to most of the keys in your line of work, you didn’t have access to the ones that unlocked the chains and the door. Even after some snooping, you couldn’t find them, so you resorted to attempting to pick the locks. It was something you learned in your youth, mostly since you could never keep track of your house keys. The padlock was easy enough to undo. The door took more time, but still under five minutes.

The door itself was more of a barrier than the locks were. It was heavy enough that you wondered if it was even designed for only one person to open. But with enough effort, you managed to open it enough for you to squeeze through.

It wasn’t dark. Or, rather, it was dark, but it wasn’t as dark as it should have been. There were no windows in the basement and you had no light, so you shouldn’t have been able to see anything. Certainly not the gentle glow of what looked like sunlight at the bottom of the cool stone steps in front of you.

It wasn’t cold, either, you reflected as you headed down the steps. It should have been, if not dank, at least a little chilly. But the light was as warm as a sunbeam. You headed toward it, keeping your steps as light as possible. Surely whatever was down here had heard the door open and knew someone was approaching, but you tried to keep as quiet as possible regardless. It made you feel better.

The stairs ended at a doorway that opened into a room. It was clearly intended for storage of some kind, as most basements are. And it was still storing something. Because most of the room was occupied by a-

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? What was that? Your first instinct was person, but people are not usually so large that, even on their knees, they cannot straighten their back without hitting their head on the ceiling. Their body filled most of the room. You could sit in their hand. And, of course, they were the source of the light. You couldn’t look at their center, since it was so bright as to be blinding, but even their extremities glowed like lamps. You had to tilt you head back to look into their face and you saw… nothing. Their head was human-shaped, but they had no hair, no face. It was almost frightening, the blankness there, but your attention was drawn to something else only a moment later.

Angels have halos. This one was no exception. A golden ring, elaborate in design, hovered behind their head. But it was not a simple, clean circle. It was broken. The metal was (or something that looked like metal) twisted and splintered and dented. The entire thing was rent apart, golden liquid spilling from the broken bits. It looked like something grabbed it and twisted until the halo split.

The song radiated through you then. And, for the first time, it occurred to you that this was not song. It just sounded like it. The angel was crying.

Everyone heard tales of fallen angels. Cast out for crimes or sin, sent to Earth. Crying to return. They were creatures to fear. An angel is dangerous. An angel that has been sent away and maddened with grief and loss is only more so.

You moved toward them, trying to see where they were chained to the wall. Your body moved almost on its own, and you wondered if the song was somehow compelling you to do so. It didn’t matter, though. You’d be doing this anyway.

There weren’t chains holding it in place. That was actually a relief. They would have been huge and you weren’t sure how to handle chains you couldn’t move. Instead, the angel seemed to be held in place by writings across the ground, walls, and ceiling. From a distance, they looked like just worn stone, but up close, you could see the writing. It took you some time to figure out what they were. Bible verses, in Latin and English. They seemed completely random. You assumed they were holding the angel here, since you couldn’t find anything else that seemed to be doing so. But this wass all over your head. Presumably there was a way to undo this, but you didn’t know what. It would be weeks of work to destroy all the writing here.

After taking some time to despair and scream in frustration, you went over to a wall and, by the light of the angel, started to read. It was a bit difficult, since there was no way to read without the angel being behind you, and your shadow appearing on the wall, but if you angled your head, you could make out the words.

Some of the verses were familiar to you. A few of them were about angels. Some of them were about God’s power or smiting the unjust. Some of them seemed completely unrelated. Maybe there was a reason that you just weren’t getting. But as you continued, you noted a pattern. They repeated.

It was a hard repeat to catch- there wasn’t a set pattern where it was the same order every repeat. But after going back and forth and squinting in the low light for long enough that you developed quite the headache, you found that the phrases were repeating. Every verse was repeated once per repeated section. A vague idea came to your head. It wasn’t a plan you were sure would work, but it was the only idea you had.

You slipped back upstairs and rummaged in the tool closet. Normally, you only bothered with the cleaning supplies, but there were hammers and nails there, for general repairs. You took a hammer and a screwdriver and brought them back down to the basement.

At the beginning of each repeat, you took the screwdriver and, using it as almost a makeshift chisel, hammered it into the wall until the rock chipped away. The words weren’t carved very deeply, so it wasn’t terribly hard to flake them off. Well, it wasn’t hard relatively speaking. It was still hard work to chisel anything at all, and your arms were trembling and aching in short order.

It was slow going. Fortunately, the repeats were long, so you didn’t need to chisel all that often, but it was hard to find the proper start, and there was a lot of small writing. Your back ached from stooping to get the stuff on the floor.

You had the inclination that you were doing something right, though. The angel had nearly ignored you before, as you’d walked around its cage. But now, as you chiseled at the walks, it turned its head toward you, face still blank, though you could tell it was watching. Maybe it was just curious, but you thought maybe it could sense something changing.

About midway through your second wall, the air started to take on a different… feel. Like it was getting thicker, almost humid, with a smell like before a storm. You took more breaks, almost dropping your hammer and chisel a few times. Your fingers weakened. You started smashing randomly with the hammer, though it didn’t seem to have a great effect. The angel watched, or did something similar, with its massive, blank face.

By the third wall, the feeling was suffocating. Whether it was from the unbinding of the angel itself, or the bindings themselves trying to fight back, it was impossible to say. You just staggered from one repeat to the next, barely able to stand. How were you going to get the writing on the ceiling? You couldn’t risk stopping and returning, in case someone discovered your work the next day, but you also could not risk getting up on a ladder- not when it felt like the floor was shifting and bucking under your feet.

Please, you thought as you brought your hammer down onto your makeshift chisel. Please be enough. Please be the last. You weren’t sure who you were begging to, pleading to, but as you brought your hammer down one last time-

Light. There was light and then there was nothing. You were on your back on the ground, though it didn’t hurt. Which was strange. If you’d fallen over, you expected your head to hurt where it had hit the ground. You blinked a couple times. The room was less bright than it had been. There were a few scraps of light that seemed to be drifting about like floating candle flames, but they were fading and taking the light with them.

You rolled over and looked toward the angel. It was no longer there. Or, to be more specific, the enormous, glowing, faceless creature was gone. Sitting in the center of the room, blinking in apparent confusion was… a person.

No, the person was the angel. You were sure of it, since the person had wings. Large, powerful-looking wings with scruffy brown feathers. Little wings of a lighter color were set where their ears should be. But they also did not look like the images of angels you’d seen in books or in stained glass. Those angels were always inhuman looking, with perfect, sculpted bodies and porcelain skin. This angel was a little pudgy, with little pockmarks and imperfections in its skin. Its feathers were ruffled and sticking out, and its long hair was ruffled. It blinked at you with drooping, tired-looking eyes.

“Ah…” Looking at the angel, you realized you hadn’t paused to come up with an exit plan for once the angel was free. You’d been more focused on just breaking the cage. There had been some vague idea in the back of your head, of the angel realizing it was free and busting its way out of the church through the ceiling. Though perhaps it was good that hadn’t ended up happening, since that would probably leave you crushed by rubble. You certainly hadn’t expected the angel to suddenly poof down into a nearly human form.

They seemed confused. They swayed in place, staring around the room like they’d never seen it before. Or, never seen it from that angle before, at least. They shifted their wings a couple times, stretching them out only the tiniest amount before trying to get to their feet. Despite looking rather unsteady, they stood with only a little stumbling and stayed on their feet. They glanced around the room one more time, then looked back at you.

They were tall. Bigger than most people you’d seen. And their wings only added to their bulk. They would have cut an intimidating figure, if it wasn’t for the out-of-it look on their face.

This was a new problem. You’d figured the angel would be out of your hair once you freed it. But this angel looked rather helpless. You got the impression that, if you left it there, it would stand there until the priests came back in the morning and locked it away again. Or killed it. It looked more killable in this form.

Leaving it was considered and discarded. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave them here if they could remember your face and maybe reveal your identity if asked. And even if they couldn’t, you’d already put so much effort into freeing them. It seemed like a waste to ditch them at the last moment.

Not to mention, the idea of leaving them standing there, shivering slightly in the chill of the basement and blinking at you with confused, doe-like eyes made your chest ache.

You approached the angel. It locked its eyes on you, watching as you came closer. Not necessarily cautious- more like curious as to what you were going to do next. You reached out a cautious hand and took the angel’s.

They jolted, sucking in a breath the second your fingers came in contact. You froze. All of their feathers bristled and they seemed to shudder. For a moment, you thought you could faintly hear their song, but it faded so quickly that it may have been your imagination.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, the same tone you used to coax the church cats out of hiding places. “We need to go, though.” You tugged on their arm. Despite their size, they moved easily. You lead them up the stairs and into the church proper.

They followed you to the back door of the church. It was late, and the place was deserted, which was a relief. The angel was both winged and very naked, which would be hard to explain to anyone.

Getting them to your house was tense. The angel was conspicuous, so you had to avoid areas with people. Fortunately, it was late, so the cover of night and the lack of people on the street was enormously helpful. The angel was also quite easy to tug along, despite their size. You made it to the backdoor of your home with no real struggle, though you came very close to shoving the angel into a bush when a person stumbled across your path in your neighborhood. To your relief, they were very drunk and they seemed to barely notice your presence.

The moment you were within your house, you collapsed. The angel shuffled next to you, flexing their wings and glancing around. They didn’t seem anything more than mildly interested in their surroundings. After a moment, they sat down next to you.

You could have stayed on the ground all night, but after thirty minutes, you decided that it probably wasn’t good to your guest to let them stay on the ground all night. It was late and you could decide what to do with them in the morning, but now, you were both going to get some rest.

“Come on,” you grumbled, tugging at their arm. The angel allowed itself to be led into your small bedroom, where you encountered your first problem. The bed was not sized for an angel. Again, it was a normal bed. Not an unusually small one. But the angel was, at minimum, six and a half feet tall and carrying a set of bulky wings. Perhaps, if you shuffled some furniture around, you could have made it work, but it was very late and you were very tired. So you tugged all the bedsheets you had into the room and dumped them on the floor. The angel watched you the entire time, completely impassive.

Once you were done, you had to drag the angel over and push them into the makeshift bed. They blinked up at you from the pile. “Lie down,” you said, pushing on their shoulders. They allowed it, bowing under your touch with as much compliance as ever. “Go to sleep.”

You didn’t wait to see if they followed that order. Instead, you stumbled to your own bed, tugged the blanket you had over yourself, and closed your eyes.

Morning came entirely too early. Even when you were bone tired, your body clock woke you up at the same time every day. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours of sleep, and probably less. You blinked tiredly for like thirty seconds before rolling over and catching sight of the angel.

It was still laying down in the pile of blankets. Its eyes were on you, blinking heavily every so often. You stared back at it. “I suppose you’re going to be here for a while,” you said. The angel just stared.

With little else to do, you got out of bed and headed into the kitchen. Your head ached, probably from lack of sleep, and also stress. It had been easy to not think about the consequences when you were freeing the angel, but now, well. The priest was going to want to know where his angel went, and you had a winged person in your house, as well as being the last person in the church that night. It wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together.

You got into the kitchen and became aware of a second set of footsteps trailing after yours. You stopped and the footsteps behind you stopped as well. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it- the angel was following you. They gazed back at you as you stared at them. They were swaying a little on their feet, wings twitching like that helped them stay upright.

“I suppose you want breakfast,” you said. The angel blinked. It was the only acknowledgement they gave you. “Well, I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t feed you, I guess.”

At your instruction (physical instruction- it was easier to move the angel around than it was to try and give them verbal commands) the angel sat down at your tiny table. There wasn’t much room for more than one person, but you could make it work. Breakfast was never a particularly impressive affair for you, but if you had an angel over, you decided to go through the effort of actually heating up some biscuits and cooking some eggs and even a couple thin strips of bacon.

You set the plate in front of the angel. They stared down at the meal. Their gaze wasn’t necessarily dismissive. It just also reminded you of a dog examining a new object. Not a person getting a good meal.

“Do you know how to eat?” you asked after a few moments. If it had just become a mortal, than perhaps it wasn’t sure precisely how eating worked? You demonstrated a few times, slicing a sliver off your egg and placing it in your mouth before chewing with exaggerated deliberateness. The angel took it in, but still made no moves on its own breakfast. “Do you need help?” you asked, a bit irritated. You sawed off a piece of biscuit, dipped it in the egg and speared a little bit of bacon before holding it to the angel’s mouth. It recoiled when the fork nearly touched its lips.

A few more attempts at convincing it to eat were unsuccessful and you backed off, confused. Perhaps the angel didn’t need to eat after all, or wasn’t able. You had no idea what angels needed.

Now that you had eaten, you were starting to feel more ready to tackle the current issues. You had work. Not at the church, thankfully, but you still needed to leave. And as reluctant as you were to leave the angel alone in your house, you couldn’t think of anything else to do. Staying home would be incredibly suspicious. You needed to make it look like everything was normal.

As exhausted as you were, you dragged your clothes on and gathered your supplies. The angel watched you. They were still completely naked, though you were getting used to it at this point. “Are you going to put some clothes on?” you asked. The angel stared. “Never mind.” It wasn’t like it was going to fit in any of your clothes. It was too tall. “I’m going to be leaving for a while. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right? Stay here. Don’t go outside.” You felt a little bad, telling the angel that had spent the past however long trapped in a single room that it couldn’t go outside, but that was a bad idea. Maybe later, you could bring them outside.

“Stay here,” you said, feeling a little like you were talking to a dog. The angel just stared at you. “I’m trusting you.” You left your home and took a few paces down the street, glancing over your shoulder all the while. The door didn’t open again, and you kept looking until your house had vanished around a corner, and even a little after that.

To your immense relief, the angel never followed. That didn’t stop you from being jumpy as you cleaned, though. Every time a person approached you, there was a moment of panic, either that someone had found a strange, winged person wandering the street or that the priests at the church were going to drag you in for questioning. But neither ever happened. You managed to finish up early (by cutting a few corners) and hurried home.

The angel was… exactly where you left them. Literally. Exact same spot. Had it even moved all day? It did look a little worse for wear- a little weaker, maybe, with dark patches coming in under its eyes and a definite sway when it tried to sit up straight. As soon as it saw you, it makes an attempt to surge to its feet- and fumbled, nearly landing straight on its face.

“Woah, hey there,” you said as the angel flailed on the ground, wings flapping like a startled duck. “You, uh. You doing all right?” The angel managed to push itself upright and blinked blearily at you. The swaying was still there, giving the alarming impression that they were a moment from falling again and only just barely preventing themself from doing so.

Perfect. You not only had an angel bunking with you, you had an angel bunking with you and there was something wrong with them. That could only end badly. “Okay, I’m going to need you to work with me here,” you said. The angel was, again, rather compliant as you tugged them into the kitchen and got them to sit at the table. They seemed to be shivering, so… fire in the stove? You grabbed a few blankets and placed them around the angel’s shoulders as well, until the angel was sufficiently covered. The angel’s shivering slowed and it seemed almost perplexed by that development.

“That’s better,” you said. “Are you feeling okay now?” The angel wobbled a little bit and they blinked at you. They didn’t seem to nod or shake their head at all, or communicate in any way other than staring. Which meant it was hard to figure out what they wanted. Or if they wanted anything at all.

After staring at the angel for a little while longer, just to convince yourself that they weren’t about to keel over, you went to the stove and heated up your dinner. It was just some bread and a very simple chunk of salted meat with a couple of vegetables. The angel watched you, though they still swayed like they were on a ship instead of steady ground.

You returned to the table, carrying your plate, and the angel’s eyes remained locked on you. No, not you, you realized as you got closer. Their gaze was locked on your plate. As you wanted, the angel’s mouth opened, ever so slightly, and a bead of drool actually welled up on their lips. As you set the plate on the table, the angel made a strange noise. You hadn’t been expecting it at all, so it took you a moment to realize it was the angel’s stomach growling.

“Are you hungry?” you asked. The angel stared back at you. After a moment, you pushed the plate of food toward the angel. Their eyes remained on it, but they didn’t make any move to eat. Not even when you took a fork and offered them a bite.

There was a bewildered moment, where you weren’t sure what was going on. Then it clicked in your head: the angel was hungry. They also had no idea what to do with it.

The angel was mortal now. Whatever had happened, when you broke its cage, it had become mortal. But it had never been mortal before. How was it supposed to know anything? How would someone know the pain in your stomach meant hunger if they’d never felt it before? How would they know the heaviness their limbs and strange inability to keep their eyes open would be cured by sleep, or their shivering meant they needed to sit near a fire with blankets?

The angel was a mortal, but it was a very new mortal, and it needed to learn all the other things mortals understood just by being alive.

You scooted closer to the angel and picked up the fork again. This time, you took a bite, making sure the angel watched the food travel into your mouth and you chewing and swallowing. Then, you moved the fork right up to the angel’s lips. “You’re hungry. This will help. You need to eat,” you said, not totally sure if the angel was understanding you. The angel blinked once, twice, then tentatively opened its mouth and allowed you to place the food inside.

The angel, with a sort of bewildered slowness, closed their mouth and chewed. It looked like clumsy chewing, but they picked up on it pretty quickly, their brow furrowed with focus. Then they tried to swallow and instantly choked.

You had a real, legitimate panic about having an angel choke to death at your table for nearly a full twenty seconds before the angel got their breathing under control again. You made them drink water, which went much smoother- maybe you should have started there- and cleaned up. The angel had recovered enough to watch you as you did so, drinking in every motion you made. Maybe it would have been a little creepy, if the angel hadn’t felt so genuinely curious about what you were doing.

When you returned the food to it, the angel ate more carefully, if still with enthusiasm. You’d realized, by that point, that the angel didn’t understand the concept of being too full, so while that would eventually need to be a learning experience, you just took the food away after you’d determined what the angel probably needed. It didn’t protest at all, but let you remove the plate and watched as you collected the scraps that could be composted.

It didn’t protest when you led the angel to bed, either. This time, you just tugged all the bedsheets you had onto the floor and directed the angel’s attention onto you. “We’re going to sleep. You need to sleep. Every night. You sleep like this.” You lay down on the floor, tugged the blankets over yourself, and went still, slowing your breathing. The angel watched until you sat up again. “Now you do it.”

With some very gentle persuasion, you got the angel lying on its side, eyes closed. You watched it until its breathing deepened and its body relaxed. Then you went to sleep yourself.

The angel was still fast asleep when you woke, and you were careful not to disturb it as you made your way to the kitchen. You had a feeling it would turn up and, sure enough, when the smells of cooking made their way down the hall, the angel appeared, a blanket wrapped around it like a cloak.

They ate breakfast, this time not even choking once, and even brought their plate over to the washbasin. “Okay,” you told them once you were done cleaning up. They looked at you, gaze attentive. “We’re going to need to get you some clothes.”

You did not have any clothes in their size, and since you were smaller than they were, you couldn’t just take some of your clothes in. The wings were also a complicating factor. In the end, you didn’t have the time or skills to really make anything elaborate for the angel. With one of your old blankets, you simply created rough arm and neck holes and added darts in the sides to hold the entire thing together. There was no way to create holes for the wings. They were large enough that you just left massive slits down the back to create space. It wasn’t perfect, since the slits left the back rather open, but it was better than nothing. The angel was remarkably still for the whole measuring and pinning and sewing. It took a few hours for the entire process to be over, and you were sore by the end, but the angel had clothes.

It was not long after you’d fully clothed them, when you were lying on your bed to enjoy a rest, that someone knocked on your door.

You jolted, nearly throwing yourself out of bed. The angel startled as well, though they seemed to be more upset by your reaction than the knocking. Cautiously, you crept through the door, grateful that your window allowed you to see the people at your door without needing to open it.

The angel came, warm against your back as they stared out the window after you. The Head Priest stood, dressed in his usual gold-flecked robes and with two guards stationed at either shoulder. You felt the angel shift and bristle behind you turned to look at them.

The angel was staring, unblinking, at the priest and his entourage. Its wings had extended a little, puffed up like the pigeons that littered the town did when they were threatened. But its face… it was the first time you’d ever seen the angel make a real expression of emotion. And it was afraid.

That, more than anything, made your stomach sink.

The knocking came again, louder, harder. The angel slunk back a little. One of its hands was latched onto your wrist and it seemed determined to drag you with it. It actually managed to haul you along for a few steps before you dug your feet in. “I have to answer the door. Go hide.” The angel released your wrist, but it hesitated, wings twitching. “Go. Hide. I will be fine.” The angel flexed its wings once, then turned and headed back to your room. You breathed in and out, then headed toward the door.

As soon as you opened the door, the priest moved into your house. He didn’t shove past you, since he didn’t touch you, but he did force his way in. The guards just roughly shoved you aside, barely recognizing your presence.

“Can I help you, your grace?” you said. It was difficult to keep your voice even. The priest wasn’t a withered old man, but he wasn’t young, and his gaze was as sharp as a shard of glass. He glared around the room, nose twitching. You resisted the irrational thought that he was smelling for something. You licked your lips. “Was my church cleaning not up to your satisfaction?”

The priest’s gaze focused on you. “The cleaning has been fine. However, two days ago, an object of some great importance went missing from the church.”

It was him saying ‘an object’ that saved you. Because you didn’t take an item, you had, technically, stolen a person. But your brain didn’t quite register that he couldn’t just say you’d stolen a person, so when he said ‘an object,’ you took him at face value and your surprise was genuine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything.” The priest’s eyes locked onto yours, and you stared back with stupid, genuine bewilderment. There was a flicker across his face, like surprise- maybe he didn’t expect you to look so guileless.

“You won’t mind if we have a look around, then?” the priest said, voice lightly curious. Not even accusing. Genial.

It was a trap. Obviously. Say yes, the priest can poke wherever he wants and look for anything he determined to be incriminating. Say no, that was instantly suspicious, even if you were only doing it for the sake of your privacy. But if you said yes… there was no way he wasn’t going to find the angel in your bedroom.

“Actually, I do mind. Are you accusing me of something?” Acting outraged was your best defense. Not a good defense, just the best one you had. “I don’t appreciate having people rifle through my things just because I happened to be near the church when something was stolen.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. The guards stiffened. “No accusation, of course. We’re merely… cautious. Surely you can understand why we would want to check out every possible lead. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, no?”

“I have nothing to fear, but that hardly means I want people meandering into my house at all hours, demanding proof for crimes there is no evidence I committed. Tell me, if I came into your home tomorrow, demanding to look for something you may have stolen while you were in my house, would you be perfectly happy to have me poking through your underwear drawer?” The priest’s face went a strange shade of pink-red, but you barreled on with no pause for his response. “And, to add to that, you haven’t even told me what was stolen! For all I know, you could simply claim any of my items to be the thing I stole and slap me in chains for it!”

The priest was still deadly calm, but there was a clear rage to his voice when he spoke again. “Do you truly think a man of god would do such a thing?” You lifted your chin in a gesture of audacity. “You call yourself that. But people can call themselves any number of things. And would a true man of god barge into someone’s house and demand to search their things with no evidence of their involvement in any crime?”

The priest’s face was heading toward a shade of puce, but, with effort, his jaw unclenched. “Very well. But I’m certain you’ll understand of we are, as of now, reluctant to have you in the church.”

“Yes, sir.” Losing your job was, really, one of the less-terrible outcomes, and the one you’d expected the most. You had other jobs, though losing the church would be something of a financial loss. Though you also had to consider that you were feeding another mouth, now… That could be a problem.

The priest seemed to take your thoughtful silence as some kind of shameful penitence, because he puffed himself up and nodded. “Take care. We will… see what we can find about the thievery.”

You guided him back to the door. It wasn’t until the door closed and you’d watched him head down the street a good ways before you left out a breath. You made it a few steps down the hall before your entire body demanded that you sit down and tremble for a while.

The priest was gone, for now, but who knew how long until he was back? He didn’t have enough evidence now, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t find some. Or make some up- all he needed was enough to make the local governor force a search of your house, and there was no way you could hide the angel from that. You covered your face with your hands, trying to breathe slowly. If they found you, they could kill you.

Someone slumped down next to you. The angel. It pressed up close to your side, petting at your shoulder like it had heard about being comforting, but it hadn’t ever experienced it. One of its wings draped over you.

There was quiet for a while. The angel touched its head to yours, eyes closed. It was warm, tucked beneath its wing. Calming. You took deep breaths and thought hard.

The only evidence that you’d taken the angel at all was that the angel was there with you. Maybe there was some other evidence at the scene, but the angel was the big problem. The solution was, obviously, to get rid of the angel.

Well, not get rid of it. More like… set it free. They were still an angel, after all. They’d needed some basic training in how to be a person, but certainly they could survive on their own. And, well, it would ease some of the pressure on you, financial and legal.

The angel shifted next to you. You glanced at them. They gave you a once-over, then stood and headed off to your room. A few seconds later, they reemerged, dragging a fair amount of blankets with them. Before you could ask what they were doing, they had already knelt next to you and were shoving the blankets all around you. They bundled you up and carefully lay you on the ground. For your part, you allowed it to happen. The angel seemed to have something they wanted to do.

Once you were wrapped in blankets and lying down, the angel settled next to you. There was a rather proud look on its face and you realized, with a burst of amusement, that it was trying to get you to sleep, as this was more or less what you’d done with the angel to get it to sleep! Did it think you were tired?

The angel shuffled closer, so there was little space between your bodies, and spread a wing over you. The feathers shrouded you in darkness, though there was enough light to just make out the angel’s face. They were as inexpressive as ever, but they seemed to be studying you. When you stared back, with no indication of closing your eyes, they shifted, clearly uncertain what happened next.

“I’m not tired,” you told them. “Though I appreciate the effort.”

They stared at you for a long moment before, with now warning, hopping to their feet and all but running into the kitchen. You took a moment of peace, wrapped in blankets are you were, before following them.

The angel was rummaging through your breadbox. “Are you hungry? What are you doing?” you asked as you approached. The angel thrust a slice of bread at you. “Er. Thank… you?” The angel waited, watching you. It seemed to be expecting you to eat. Just to appease it, you did so. As soon as you started eating, the angel went back to rummaging through your food supplies. It offered you several pieces of dried fruit next, then a couple of strips of jerky. You took them all, though you stopped eating after the first couple of pieces. Once the angel noticed you weren’t eating, they paused and stared.

“Thank you,” you said, a bit bewildered by what was happening. “Are you okay? I don’t really need anything. Is there a reason you’re giving it to me?”

The angel stared at you. Their brows creased ever so slightly- maybe they were upset. You patted their arm, careful not to drop anything that had given you. “Don’t look so worried. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

The angel looked back at you. Hard to tell what they were thinking, as it always was, but you thought they looked content. They took the food back and placed it away again. “Okay,” you told them. “We’ve got some things we’re going to work on.”

First step of getting the angel to live on its own: teach the angel how to be a person. The eating and sleeping bits were taken care of, and the angel had picked up on clothing and even sewing with surprising speed. Regardless of how little information it had known previously, it seemed all you had to do was give it the information once, and it would retain it. That didn’t make teaching it how to bathe any less difficult. And teaching it how to go to the bathroom- well, the less said of that, the better.

And so the week went. You went to work, leaving the angel to hide in your house, then returned home and taught it what you could. It picked up reading so fast you felt like you were reminding it of something rather than teaching it, and teaching it math and money went the same way. The angel even attempted to cook for you, though it hadn’t picked up that you were seasoning the food initially, so the meal was bland. You merely had to explain that to it, though, and the next meal was much improved.

Your next day off approached, not quickly or slowly, just approached. The angel seemed almost agitated, though, as time passed. More distressed when you left, tenser and quieter when you were around. You hadn’t told them about your plan to send them away- to free them, to free them- but perhaps they’d picked up on it on their own. They were still as silent and expressionless as ever, but they stayed near you, their head lowered as they presented you something they’d cooked, or showed you something they’d cleaned or sewed, waiting for your praise or correction.

When your next day off arrived, the angel’s agitation seemed to peak. It hovered near you, wings tucked close to its back. Even when upset, it didn’t show much expression or even move all that much. It just stood, like a stone statue, unhappiness radiating from it. Still, when you told it you were going for a walk, it didn’t protest. Just looked at you and nodded.

Its compliance made you feel guilty, somehow. Even thought you weren’t doing anything wrong. This was the best path. If they angel stayed, they would just be killed or recaptured. Along with you.

The hike to the woods wasn’t usually long, but you had to go the extended route to keep away from people. The angel hid their wings under a bulky robe. It wasn’t a very good disguise, but from a distance and the right angle, they would hopefully be mistaken as a hunchback.

You led the angel deep into the woods, deeper than you would usually venture. The angel flexed their wings, shifting the cloak. Their distress flowed around them, their eyes burning into your lower back. I’m sorry, you thought, even though you weren’t sure why. This was for the best, so why did it hurt?

It took hours of walking, legs sore, before you stopped in a clearing. It was a large clearing, and more oblong than circular, but it was good enough for your purposes. And those purposes were giving the angel somewhere big enough to take off from.

Admittedly, you weren’t certain it could fly, but the wings seemed large and healthy and it had no trouble with walking or any other physical functions after some initial wobbles. It stood to reason that flight would be no different. The angel looked up at the sky, staring. Its wings spread, extending out and out to their full length. It seemed to be giving them a good stretch- there hadn’t been room in your house to do so. After a moment, it gave a couple experimental flaps. Cool wind buffeted you.

The flaps gained in intensity and, for a moment, you thought it would take off right there. But its wings stilled and slipped shut and it looked at you.

“I got you this.” You thrust a basket at them. It wasn’t a lot, but it was what you could spare (technically probably more than you could spare, but a couple days of broth wouldn’t kill you) and the basket had a fabric strap long enough that the angel could wrap it around their body and hold it while flying.

The angel took the basket and peered at the food and water and clothes and single book you’d stockpiled inside. It looked them over for a moment, then glanced back up at you.

It was the second time you’d seen the angel really emote anything and it was sorrow.

The angel’s eyes watered and its apparent confusion at that development seemed to pale in the face of its clear upset. It practically threw the basket back at you, wings spreading and sending a powerful gust across the clearing. Then it opened its mouth and did something you’d never seen it do before.

It wailed. A keening sound of despair. You’d never heard it make any kind of noise before. In fact, it seemed startled by the fact that it had made any kind of noise, though, like the crying, that didn’t seem to stop it. Instead, the angel crumpled to the ground, wings striking the dirt, and wailed.

That wasn’t quite the reaction you’d been expecting. Maybe some protest, but not the clear despair it was displaying. “H-hey, don’t- you’re okay.” You approached the angel cautiously. Its wings kept flexing and slapping against the ground and there was an impressive amount of force behind them. Still, it didn’t direct any of the hits toward you, so it felt reasonably safe to approach.

As soon as you were within a few feet of it, the angel scrambled forward. You almost bolted, but the angel didn’t attack like you though it might. It pressed its forehead to the dirt an inch from your boots and spread its wings, every feather on end and quivering. When you tried to take a step back, the angel shuffled forward, pressing its head even more firmly to the ground. It seemed to be trembling.

Your heart ached. What were you doing?

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it would be safer if you weren’t… But I didn’t mean to upset you.” You knelt next to the angel and placed your hand on its head. The angel went still. For a moment, the stillness was like a frightened dog, expecting a strike, then it melted into a gentle contentedness.

It took a couple moments before the angel was quiet completely again. They lifted their head, face sticky from tears and a bit of dirt smudged along their cheeks. The entire scene was a little pathetic. “Here.” You pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed at their face. After a moment of letting you do so, they took it and cleaned their own face off.

Once its face was clear and it had calmed down a little, the angel looked at you balefully. It seemed to be waiting. Almost resigned. But still frightened. Like it was waiting for a scolding or punishment.

“Are you okay now?” you asked. The angel looked balefully at you. One of its hands lifted, like it was reaching out for you, but it paused before it could make contact. Its head drooped. Its wings drooped too, proud feathers dragging in the dirt. “I’m sorry,” you said again. The angel curled in on itself further. Its eyes were on the ground. “I’m not trying to send you away, all right?”

One of the feathered ear-things on the side of its head twitched. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I thought… I thought you’d be safer if you left, though.”

The angel looked up at that. They didn’t change their expression much, but they were staring intently. You reached out, slowly enough that they could move away if they wanted to. They didn’t, and you were able to rest your hand on the side of their head. Your fingers brushed against the soft, downy little feathers of their ear-wings and the somewhat-tangled mess of their hair. The angel closed their eyes and leaned into your touch. Their entire body shuddered in a sigh. “The people who captured you are still here,” you continued. “If they find you, they’re going to hurt both of us. Maybe kill us.”

The angel leaned away from your touch and lifted its gaze to yours. They were focused on you, intently so. “It’s best if you leave,” you told them. “They won’t be able to find you if you fly away, and they won’t be able to tie anything to me, either. We’ll both be safer.”

It was quiet for several moments. The angel stared at you, their wings twitching with aborted motions. They looked between you and the sky, over and over. Their brows wrinkled. Then, in a flash, they reached out and enveloped you.

Technically, it was just a hug, but the angel’s sheer size and the addition of their wings made it so much more. They surrounded you, tucking you into their chest and holding you close. You could feel their heartbeat, jackrabbiting under their ribs, and their heavy breathing. They were soft and warm around you. One of their hands moved to cradle the back of your head.

You cried. It wasn’t a lot of crying. Mostly it was some particularly wet breathing and a few tears. But the angel held you closer, rocking you against its soft chest and you felt warm and shielded. It presses its cheek to the top of your head and you felt one of its ear-wings flapping, like it was stretching out to touch you.

It was a nice moment, but it couldn’t last. You stopped crying and slipped your way back out of the angel’s arms. They let you, tucking their wings back against their back again and their arms falling back against their sides. Looking into their face, you felt… guilty? That didn’t seem fair. You were doing this for their own good. Right?

The longer you looked at them, the less you could convince yourself of that. Your shoulders drooped and a fresh wave of tears came to your eyes. The angel didn’t want to leave. You wanted them to leave, because them staying there would be a problem for you. A genuine problem, yes, a problem that could get you killed. But it wasn’t fair to pretend that this was good for the angel, nor was it fair to ignore how the angel was feeling. It didn’t want to leave. It was terrified when it realized you were going to try to make it leave.

You hung your head. “I’m sorry.” The angel watched you. “I… I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I don’t want you to leave, but we’re both going to be in trouble if you stay. We need a way to keep you safe, but I don’t know how to do that, and I can’t think clearly about it when I’m going to be in trouble if you get found out too-” Your voice choked off, breath heaving in panic. You scrubbed the heel of your hand against your eyes until it hurt, until the pain grounded you.

Fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging it away from your eyes. The angel was holding onto you, both hands wrapping around your wrist. Their strength was more than you’d anticipated. Perhaps it was their general softness or their seeming clumsiness or cluelessness, but you’d never seen them as particularly tough.

The hand that held your wrist, however, was not weak. It was firm and unyielding. When you pulled away, it let you go without a hint of resistance, but you had no doubt that if it had wanted to keep hold of you, you wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said. “I wasn’t sure if you would understand.”

The angel brushed its hand gently along the side of your face, cupping your cheek. Its face wasn’t terribly expressive, but there was something calmer, almost serene in its expression. It got to its feet, shaking out its wings, and extended its hand for you. There was a stunned moment before you took the hand and the angel pulled you to your feet. They kept your hand around theirs as they gathered up the basket you’d initially made for them and started to leave the clearing.

You let them lead you along until you realized they were leading you straight back to the village, and even when you got quite close to the buildings, they were not slowing down. “Wait,” you said. “What are you doing?” The angel gave your hand a squeeze, but they didn’t slow down. Anxiety prickled over your skin as you entered the town and headed toward the center.

People barely noticed you at first, but within a few minutes of marching through the town, people had started to point and stare. And then the staring turned into whispers and awe. Some people scrambled away. Some people gathered and followed from a distance, watching in something like awe.

You gave up on trying to stop them and instead walked alongside them to whisper furiously. “Hey. What are you doing? Do you have some kind of plan? I can’t tell what’s going through your head right now. I’m kind of just assuming you know what you’re doing, but it’d be nice to have some kind of confirmation.” The angel squeezed your hand again. Their thumb traced over your knuckles. Their expression was serene, calm, like they’d just realized something that comforted them. It was reassuring to you, so you allowed them to drag you wherever they wanted to take you.

Until you realized they were dragging you toward the church.

“Wait.” You didn’t try to pull away again, but you did trip over yourself in your realization, making the angel slow down. “You can’t be serious- we can’t go there! That’s the exact place we’re supposed to be avoiding.”

The angel stared at you for a moment, then released your hand. It nodded to you before turning and heading toward the church again.

“Wha- wait!” The angel paused, allowing you to catch up. “You’re still going, huh?”

The angel stared at you. You sighed. “Okay. I guess we’re going, then.

The angel held out a hand. You took it once more. Together, you walked toward the church.

As soon as you stepped through the doorway, the angel drew itself up, wings fluffing. The entire thing was quite intimidating to watch, given its already tall stature. It glanced around, as if assessing the space. Warm, honey-gold sunlight filtered through the tall, stained glass windows and illuminating the wood of the benches. When the sunlight hit the angel, it seemed to surround them, glimmering off their body in a way that wasn’t quite natural. Almost like a halo around its entire body.

You waited, mostly trying to see what the angel was going to do next. As it turned out, you didn’t have to wait very long, because a pissed-looking priest stormed into the sanctuary.

“The beast returns to holy ground,” he snarled. You stepped in front of the angel, arms spread.

“They’re not a beast. You’re the one who captured them and chained them in your basement. They haven’t done anything!”

“They have been cast out of the divine host. Their fall and subsequent capture are what is deserved for those who would defy our Lord.” The priest didn’t sound enraged or even particularly vicious. His tone was cool and cold. He approached, steps clunking heavily against the cool wooden floor of the church. You resisted the urge to step back and steeled your resolve as the priest approached. The angel didn’t seem to be doing much, though you could feel their presence at your back. “Your assistance with their disobedience is a serious strike against you, but the Lord God will welcome all stray members back to his flock, provided you are willing to repent and return the beast to its confinement.” The priest was leaning into your face, so close you could feel his breath touching your skin. The angel was still unmoving, but there was more tension to their body now. Like a big cat getting into a crouch.

Your breath was trembling, but you managed a clear enough whisper. “Fuck off.”

The priest leaned back. “Hm. Very well. May God have mercy on your soul.” The gestured toward a couple of men standing toward the back of the church. They started to approach, brandishing their short swords. “I would suggest surrender,” the priest said. “Unless you are eager to find out how the Lord God punishes those who disobey his-”

The angel lunged. Its wing brushed against your shoulder as it darted around you and slammed into the priest. He fell, the angel on top of him. Their wings shielded you from seeing what they were doing, but the choked gurgle from the priest let you know enough about what was happening.

The guards, who had been standing on either side of the aisle, near the pulpit, charged. One of them nearly caught the angel with their sword, but the angel managed to recoil just in time, leaving the priest gasping for air on the ground. The guards moved up, pushing the angel back as they blocked the priest from it. Together, they pushed the angel back a few more steps, advancing threateningly, until the angel glanced back and saw you. It stopped, digging its feet in, and turned back to the guards.

The angel spread their wings, blockading the entire aisle. It was difficult to see what happened next, but there was a scrambling noise of footsteps and the angel tucked their wings in and lunged.

Thanks to the armor the guards were wearing, this struggle was more prolonged. The angel’s wings flapped, coming down on the guard they were fighting with blows stronger than a fist could hope to achieve. One of the angel’s hands clutched at the guard’s wrist, driving the sword away from the angel’s belly. They wrestled the guard slowly to the ground, clawing at them with nails that seemed too long and sharp and stomping hard enough that the guard’s armor dented under their feet.

Chills wracked your body as you watched. The angel was a mortal, yes, but you’d clearly forgotten: mortal was not the same thing as human. And the strength with which the angel was tearing into the guard was not human.

And then a cold metal line settled against your throat. Sharp and cruel. A hand locked around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides. Icy terror settled into your brain and every vein in your body. Right. The angel was taking care of one of the guards. But there had been two.

“Call off the fucking bird,” the guard said, “before I slit your throat.”

The sheer terror in his voice should have made the threat less effective, but realizing that he was scared enough to kill you without thought was nearly enough to make you start begging for your life immediately. The angel whipped around as the first terrified whimper escaped your mouth.

It was the third time you’d seen the angel truly express emotion. And they were angry.

They bared their teeth and stretched their wings out, flexing them to nearly their full span. It was an impressive display, and a terrifying one. The knife dug a little more into your throat. Panic clawed your belly to shreds.

“Fucking stupid worthless shit,” the guard cursed behind you. The knife kept trembling at your throat, threatening to nick a little too deep. The angel watched, brows deeply knitted. It twitched its wings a few times, freezing when the blade drew blood at your throat. “You fucking take one step closer and your little pet human bleeds out like a pig,” the guard said. It wasn’t even a vicious or snarling threat. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. But the knife was just as sharp and the trembling was making it slip against your skin in a dangerous fashion.

The angel paused. It straightened up out of its attack crouch, wings tucking against its back. The knife eased at your throat a little. The angel took in a slow, deep breath, eyes on you. Its expression relaxed into something gentler as it met your eyes. It seemed to take a deep breath. Its wings relaxed. It closed its eyes. And it began to sing.

It wasn’t singing with its mouth or vocal cords. It was the same singing you’d heard in the beginning, the singing that had drawn you to the church’s basement. Less like the vocalization of a human, but more like an emotion made into pure sound. It vibrated through your limbs and settled in your chest, a heavy weight of sadness and fear.

The song pulsed, rose and fell, over and over again, thrumming and pulsing and changing as it went. It started as a terrible projection of fear and pain, injury and despair. Then the pain was threaded with hope, then a joy and relief so palpable it was its own kind of pain. Peace and comfort followed that, almost like being settled in a warm bed after a nice meal. Then an abrupt sharpening of terror and sadness before turning to determination, then blind, horrible rage. The anger pressed in around you, bearing down like a sharpened spear. But the rage wasn’t quite aimed at you. It was aimed at the man holding you. And being the target of an angel’s pure rage, even when nothing physical is being done with it, is a daunting prospect. The guard’s knees went weak and the knife at your throat wavered.

The song intensified. Your own legs were trembling under the weight of it. Anger and hope and fear and happiness and even love, pressing down on you, emotion given a deep, physical property. You sobbed, barely feeling the knife at your throat. Had it fallen away? Could you just not feel it anymore? What was real? All that was real was the song and the love that was building in the song, growing more intense around you. It was insulating, like the angel was trying to wrap you in the song until you were surrounded by care, until there was nothing else in the world.

You blinked your eyes. They hadn’t been closed, but you hadn’t been seeing anything. It had been more like the world had shifted slightly out of focus and you were just getting it back to center.

You were lying down across a lap. The shifting of wings above you let you know whose lap you were lying across. The angel was holding you, cradling your head against its body. There was still the faintest traces of song humming from it, though it wasn’t the great, overbearing crescendo it had once been. You made an attempt to sit up and the angel shifted around you, letting you move while still offering support.

“What happened?” you asked. You felt woozy, a bit out-of-body. The angel, obviously, didn’t say anything, but it did stretch one of its wings toward the crumpled shape of the other guard. He was lying on the ground, unmoving. “Is he-” you started, then stopped when you realized his chest was rising and falling. He seemed stunned, like you’d been a few moments ago.

You twisted your head around to get a better look at the rest of the room and winced. Stinging pain radiated from your neck. The angel nudged your hand away and ran its fingers over the lines cut into your skin. Right, the knife. They didn’t seem to be actively bleeding anymore, so they must not have been deep, but the angel still seems distressed by their very presence.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tilting your head back to look up into their face. The angel stares back at you, their ear-wings folded calmly against either side of their head. They seemed physically unhurt, or they weren’t in so much pain that they were showing it. “Good.” You sorted through your muddled thoughts. The song had hit you so hard, it was almost like your own body had gone through all those emotions it had conveyed at a rapid pace. No wonder the guard was stunned. Your head was swimming. But then your brain finally catches on a thought and you startle. “The priest!”

The angel caught you as you attempted to scramble upright and assisted you to your feet. The priest was close to the pulpit, but he was as collapsed as the guard. He seemed to be recovering faster, though that primarily consisted of him flopping his limbs in all directions. You approached, the angel close behind you.

The priest stared up at you as you got within speaking range. His face was completely under his control, unlike the rest of him, and a sneer contorted his expression. “You cannot win against His holy will. God will ensure that His holy justice will-”

“Uh huh,” you said. “He doesn’t really seem to be doing too much smiting right now, though.” The priest groaned on the ground, grinding his teeth.

“Are you going to kill me?” he said, a semi-hysterical laugh bubbling from his lips. “It’s no matter. I will return to His Holiness and my eternal home in heaven. And you- do you think you’ll be able to stay here with blood on your hands and that beast stalking your footsteps?”

“They’re not a beast,” you snapped before forcibly calming yourself. “I’m not going to kill you.” The angel shifted, clearly irritated, but you held up your hand to them. “I don’t have anything to kill you for. You haven’t done anything to me. Not really.” You turned to the angel. “It’s their decision. If they want you dead- that’s up to them. Not me.”

The angel watched you as you spoke, then it turned its gaze to the priest. You placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder. Well, close to its shoulder. The angel was very tall. There was a moment of silence. The angel’s wings twitched. Maybe it was hesitant to try and kill now that it wasn’t the heat of the moment. Maybe it was weighing the pros and cons. The priest rolled onto his stomach and groaned.

The angel turned and pressed a kiss to your head. It happened so fast, you didn’t register it until the angel was turning and grabbing the man on the ground. They hefted him up by his lapels and started hauling him out of the church. You hurried along behind them.

It took only a few moments for the angel to make it to the enormous front doors of the church. They shoved them open with only one hand, sending more light across the sanctuary and revealing the large crowd of people milling around. At least half the town was gathered outside the church, presumably drawn by the commotion and the sight of an angel. The angel looked around them with what seemed to be satisfaction, then hefted the priest again, holding the man out in front of them. Then the angel extended their wings to their full length, drew the priest in close again, so their faces were mere inches apart, and began another song.

The previous song, the one inside the church, had been intense like holding your hand over an open flame, but this was intense like having a spear driven slowly into your brain. This was focused, purposeful. A spire of anger and pain. The world flickered behind your eyes, an image pressed against your brain- the memory of being thrown away, then lost, then trapped. The rage and grief and panic of being trapped. The priest’s face loomed down at you, sneering, cold, and the terror that welled inside of you twisted not just your stomach but your entire being. You were cast out and alone and the only thing you could do was scream as someone else caged you.

At some point, the angel had dropped the priest. They stepped closer to you, tucking their wings about you as the song ended, trembling and weak. They seemed tired, their wings drooping along with their posture. Their body slumped. They weren’t leaning against you, but they were swaying toward you. You reached up to take their face in your hands.

“You okay?” you asked. The angel blinked at you. A few more notes trembled out of it. You could feel them pass from the angel into you. And with them, something like an image: you, scoring out lines of text on a wall with a makeshift chisel, gently dimming the blinding brightness of the room to the comfortable darkness. The angel gave a long, shuddering sigh, then slumped forward until its body weight was slowly but surely crushing you.

The angel was asleep before either of you hit the ground. The priest didn’t seem to be doing much better. He was curled on the ground, occasionally twitching. Maybe he was crying, you weren’t sure. A couple of people walked over toward him, but no one seemed particularly worried. Had everyone else heard the song and made the connection too? Perhaps the angel had just been trying to tell its story. Maybe that was its revenge- making the entire town turn against him.

By the point you’d processed that information, you’d been smushed to the ground. The angel was big enough that you really couldn’t lift them at your best, and you were exhausted by the day. After only a couple seconds to shoving, you resigned yourself to being on the ground.

Footsteps shuffled closer and you looked up to see a few of your neighbors around you. “Need help?” an older man, one you recognized as someone who taught at the local university. You curled one arm protectively over the angel, cautious. “We’re not gonna hurt ‘em. Just trying to help get you home.”

You considered. Then nodded. The angel stirred as a few people worked together to lift it off of you, but it settled when you patted its arm. Slowly, you and the angel returned to your home.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting after you got to your house. For that moment, you didn’t expect anything at all, except for a long nap because you were exhausted. And you did get that, lying in the blanket pile on your floor with the angel. They practically crawled on top of you several times, and your subsequent crawling away so you weren’t crushed to death ended with the blanket pile being almost dragged to the other side of the room. The angel was, of course, never deterred, and it was on top of you by morning.

What you hadn’t anticipated happening at all was the gifts that kept appearing at your house. Clearly, your neighbors were dropping them off. Notes were often attached, sometimes independent of any gifts- wishing you well, giving you messages of support, and expressions of general kindness. There was food in the pile, from vegetables to fresh cheese and bread, as well as some cloth and even a quilt. That one, in particular, made tears come to your eyes. It had clearly been in a closet for a while, given the musty smell, but it was handmade and the kindness of the gesture was unmistakable.

It took you some time to remember what most of these gifts were for- not until you read the last note on the pile. It was from the town’s doctor, a simple gift of a few herbs used for healing, though they were in bundles too small to be useful. The note was simply ‘For health, luck, and peace.’”

The gifts, the note and herbs. You knew what they were for. You’d participated in the tradition before, though your gifts had been pretty paltry. They were traditional gifts given to a newcomer, sometimes when there was a baby born, but also sometimes when a person in the town married someone from outside the town. Gifts of welcome and acceptance.

You returned to the angel, arms laden with the gifts, and offered them to it. The angel seemed vaguely overwhelmed by them, but accepted them nonetheless. It still seemed tired, and so you spent the day at home, quiet and undisturbed. You bathed the angel, scrubbing bits of blood off it and trying to get the feathers of its wings clean. The angel, after some insistence, ended up bathing you, as well, and it fussed over the few bruises you’d gained in the fight. Another night was spent curled in the same nest-bed. This time, you just let the angel flatten you with its body. It was sort of cozy.

The next day, you returned to the church. The town was still a little quiet- there weren’t as many people out as there would usually be- but the people you did see nodded politely to you. Their nods were a little longer, a little lower, than they usually would be. Almost like slight bows. Though you weren’t entirely sure why they would be bowing at you. Perhaps they were bowing to the angel at your back.

The church seemed strangely abandoned, despite it having only been a bit over a day since everything had happened. The guard’s body was still crumpled on the floor, some blood splattered around him and dried to the floor. You approached it. The angel followed, though their wings fluffed up with agitation.

There wasn’t much else you could do with the body. You lifted it, with the angel’s help, and placed it on a pew. You cleaned the blood and viscera on the floor. Then, finally, you took the body downstairs, stripped it, and wrapped it in the white funeral cloth. The angel helped, with an expression on its face that seemed mournful, though it was hard to be sure.

Perhaps you could have left it like that, left the man wrapped in cloth and walked home. But it felt weird to do so. The angel helped you carry the man up into the graveyard. Then you dug out a pit and placed the body in it before burying them.

The angel knelt next to the grave, resting a hand on the dirt. “Sorry,” you told the grave. You weren’t sure where the other two were- the other guard and the priest, but you hadn’t seen them. Perhaps they’d been driven out. The townspeople certainly seemed to have taken your side. The man in the grave wasn’t entirely innocent- he had certainly seemed willing to kill or hurt the both of you. But you felt weird. The other two had lived. He hadn’t. Luck of the draw.

The angel leaned against you, just enough to feel the warmth of their presence. You sighed. They were safe, at the very least, and they were accepted by the town.

You looked at the angel. “What do you want to do now?”

The angel looked back at you. They blinked, once, slowly. Then they took your hand and pulled you into the church.

You knew where you were going before you got there. The heavy doors were solidly sealed, though no longer chained. The angel opened them, letting go of your hand as they did so. They stepped through the doorway, then looked back at you. You stepped forward and took their hand. And so, they led you back down to the basement.

The room was pitch black. You stretched out your hand and felt the rough walls. As you continued, you could feel the words carved into the stone, and some of the scratches and gouges where you’d carved the words away.

The angel moved toward the center of the room, away from the walls, and you followed them. They moved to the spot they’d been chained in. One of their hands was still around yours. The darkness of the room pressed in on you, so black there was no difference between your eyes being open or closed. The angel’s hand remained, the only point of contact in the room. Their thumb brushed over your knuckles, their fingers intertwining with yours. You could hear their breathing. You breathed, too. Together, in the small, dark room where you’d first met. There was nothing else. There was only the room.

The angel tugged on your hand, and you moved with them until you were flush against their chest. They hugged you, briefly, then sighed. It shuddered through all their bones on the way out, and seemed to take something with it. Like something they had been holding onto was released.

Then they pulled on your hand again and led you back out of the basement.

When you emerged into an area that was light enough to see, you caught sight of the angel’s face. It was the fourth time you had seen the angel really emote. And it was happy. There was a certain level of sadness or mournfulness to it as well. But the angel was smiling. Its gaze turned to you and it smiled wider still.

You cleaned the church for a while. It felt more like habit than anything else. Although there was something quite satisfying about going through the priest’s office and dumping everything onto the street. There should have been other officials in the church, but there weren’t any. Perhaps they’d fled when the priest was deposed, perhaps they’d just not wanted to stick around now that the angel they’d trapped was free. Who could say. You weren’t overly fussed at the loss.

When you emerged into the sanctuary, sore and a bit grimy, there were people there.

It was just a couple, a man and a woman. Then you saw the bundle they were clutching between them. A baby, presumably one born not too long ago. It squirmed a little in the blankets, but it didn’t cry. Its breathing seemed… maybe a little labored? You weren’t sure- you weren’t expert in babies.

The angel seemed to perk up when it noticed this, eyes intent, though it made no move to get closer to the couple. “Hello,” the woman ventured. You wracked your brain for their names. Tabitha, maybe? And the man was… Gerald? “We- we, ah.” Her voice quavered and she held the baby a little tighter.

“We came here for a blessing,” Gerald said. “We weren’t sure…”

Oh. Their baby was ill. “You might want to go to the town doctor,” you suggested.

“We were there,” Tabitha insisted. “They gave us medicine. But just in case we…” She glanced around the church, clearly anxious.

Right. They would want a blessing for their baby. One that would maybe grant good health, or at least a peaceful passing and a safe journey after, if not. You chewed the inside of your lip, unwilling to turn them away. But it wasn’t like you knew how to perform a blessing, or hand any authority to do so-

The angel caught your wrist and started tugging you along toward them. The couple huddled closer together at the sight of the angel, but both of them remained there. There was something in their expressions… perhaps awe? Perhaps even a flicker of hope. The angel stopped in front of them. Its hand shifted on your wrist until it was properly holding hands with you. Then it extended its other hand toward the couple.

They barely hesitated before holding their child out.

The angel didn’t quite touch the child, but their hand hovered over them. The air hummed with the faintest vibrations of a song. The baby squirmed. Your hand, the one the angel was holding, felt warm.

And then it was over. The angel dropped their hand. Their ear-wings fluttered a few times. They dipped their head to the parents in a slight bow.

“Thank you,” Tabitha whispered. She clutched the baby to her chest and it kicked its little legs a few times. “Thank you.”

The baby lived. Maybe it was the blessing, or maybe it was the medicine, it wasn’t clear. But clearly work had gotten around, because people came to you for blessings at least once a day. The angel always obliged, though they refused to work if you weren’t around, and they nearly always looked to you for something like permission before they performed the blessing. The only time they didn’t was when they were performing one for young kids or babies.

Perhaps the blessings was why you set up station in the church. It was easier for people to get to than your house, and the angel didn’t seem particularly bothered by being there. Sometimes, the people who came for blessings wanted to talk, too, and you were better suited for it than the angel. They listened, certainly, but people who were emotionally worn down didn’t tend to react well to an angel staring them down with a blank expression. You gave all the advice you could, which wasn’t much. They seemed to be happy after talking with you, though, so you kept at it.

The days settled into a steady routine. You would head to the church and take care of problems that any people had, be it by distributing blessings or by just talking to them. Then you’d gather the donations that had been left overnight and sort through them. The angel was a good help whenever you had to clean- their wings allowed them to get to areas in the high, sloping ceiling that you could never manage.

When they weren’t cleaning or blessing, they tended to hover around you. Not in an oppressive way- they just were usually nearby. Sometimes, if your mood turned, they would come closer, settling next to you, and either stretching their wings out toward you or draping their torso against you. The touch was comforting, and you found yourself responding similarly to their mood. You could almost sense when they were anxious, and they seemed pleased when you were nearby.

You’d just finished administering advice to a small crowd of worried people about a spate of rapid deaths and had settled down to look through the few offerings that had been left when it hit you. “Ah, fuck,” you said. The angel glanced over at you, ear wings twitching. “I’m a priest now, aren’t I?”

The angel headed over and flumped down next to you. Their wings wrapped around you in a comforting manner. “I give blessings and advice, I maintain the church, people leave offerings. Isn’t that a priest?”

The angel squeezed you with its wings. It nuzzled its head against yours. “I mean, I’m not a priest of God,” you mused out loud. “I don’t think I care much about Him.” You looked down at the angel, who stilled under your gaze and tilted its head until it was looking into your eyes. “I guess if I am a priest, I would be one for you, right? That makes me your priest.”

The angel shuddered. The motion trembled through its wings, making every feather stand on end. Its eyes went wide. Then it surged forward to mash its lips with yours.

It was so startling that you simply fell backward, unable to stand up against the angel’s enthusiasm. “Woah, woah, hey!” you said as the angel fumbled on top of you. One of your hands found the back of their head and tangled in their hair. The angle went still. “You okay?”

The angel closed its eyes and sang a few notes. An image rose into your mind- an image of you, leaning over the angel, your arms outstretched and a smile on your face. The emotion the angel felt surged so powerfully you could feel it in your fingertips. Vague other images swam through your mind- images of a couple kissing and a sense of both curiosity and jealousy, images of you and a deep sense of affection, and images of the town with a sense of protectiveness. The final image was one of you and the angel, wrapped together in each others’ arms, and the sense of want that came from that image made your breath catch.

When you came back to yourself, the song fading, the angel was blinking down at you. Their eyes were wet. You reached up and they leaned into your touch as soon as it met their cheek.

“Okay,” you said. “We can try this too. Let me show you.” Your other hand went back into their hair and you pulled them down for a kiss.

It was enthusiastic, if unskilled. When you broke away for air, the angel kissed furiously at every bit of skin they could reach. Scattered bits of song slipped from their lungs, tingling along your skin and mind in dizzying fashion.

Eventually, the angel backed off, apparently exhausted by the outburst of emotion. They slumped on the ground next to you, though there was an apparent reluctance to break contact. They kept a hand on your stomach, feeling you breathe. For your part, the connection sent wild sparks running through your body.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said after a few moments. The angel tugged you closer, pressing its face to the top of your head and heaving a contented sigh. Even without the song, all you could sense in the slow, steady breath was love, love, love.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #fallen angel #angel partner #fallen angel story #the angel #idk man this took too long and i don't even know if I like the ending but it's HERE NOW

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neosexuals · 7 months

Text

glasses! ]]> l.dh NCT

The idea !!

A/n: meow meow meow meow meow meow (I am clearly feral for this man)

Warnings/pairings :: haechan with glasses , gn!reader , oral (m), nerd !haechan, marking, VERY vocal haechan, nicknames (cutie) , haechan is taller than the reader

You weren't all popular to be fair you were just there, average grades , average social status but still got invited to parties and shit.

Jaemin—one of the popular kids— invited everyone , and he mean everyone , for his new years party. Nothing wrong with it but it wasnt the best party it was boring , a typical frat boy party but with a simple 1 2 3 HAPPY NEW YEARS

Thrown around at the end , like boozed punch , coke snorted in the corner , floaties for some reason being thrown around and ofcourse beer pong. You don't enjoy these parties too much cause there's not too much to do other than watch the random guy make out with one of your friends.

Evidently troubled by the view you grab a tad too many drinks and get a bit tipsy and decided to dance a bit , love talk playing on the speakers drowned out by the sound of moans and "whoos"

After a while of shaking your hips every 2 seconds you feel something grinding behind you , ofcourse two or three boys came around and grinded on you before you uncomfortably shoved them away , this one didnt feel intentional tho you turned you head behind to see haechan being pushed around and against you.

You take a moment before trying to move out of the slightly crowded area before he grabs your shoulders and presses against you. You start to feel something against your ass before realising he was hard , although his eyes trying to convey it wasn't intentional you grabbed hi arm and pulled him out of the crowd.

As he tried to explain himself you couldn't look or think about anything else other than the fact that he had a boner and he looks hot , his hair messy , his glasses a bit crooked and his lips just pretty. You didn't even listen about the shit he was spewing other than the first sight he let out and a sorry.

You just stared into his sorrowful eyes till you grab his neck and pull him down to kiss you before pulling away "oh my god I'm so so sorry" he take a second to recollect his thoughts , staring at you for a second before kissing you again , locking his lips with yours, his hands cupping your face.

Pulling away once again you drag him to the surprisingly empty bedroom , sitting him down on his bed. Kissing him once again pushing him down before he pulls away "are you sober enough to know what your doing?" He asks sincerely

"sober enough to want to do this , and atleast I know your name cutie" cutting him off before he could even speak by a kiss once again pecking down his neck sucking and licking leaving faint marks, before dragging your body down to inbetween his legs at the edge of the bed.

He sits up and ruffles your hair a bit "god ____"sounding out what sounded like a whimper as you unzipped his pants pulling them down to his ankles "so you know my name too?" You smirk at his cocky smile before he shifts his body weight to his hands behind him.

You palm his dick earning a groan from him, his face practically begging you to do more while he fixed his glasses. You slowly slip down his boxers revealing his quite long dick , springing up to slap his stomach causing him to sigh in relief. You looked up at him maintaining eye contact as you slowly pumped his cock , rolling his eyes back as your hand ran down his shaft.

"___ please just- fuck" his moans enticing you , your head looking down at his leaking cock spreading his pre cum around it , spitting around it before taking his slender length in your mouth hearing more groans and moans come out of his sweet mouth. He grabs your hand

"Oh god, you're so fucking " haechan moaned, his hips bucking forward involuntarily as you bobbed up and down on his dick. "So fucking pretty on my cock" his hand grabbing your hair to fuck your throat, you weren't sure you knew this haechan , the one who sat at the front in english and occasionally asked homework from haechan. He's now fucking your throat moaning for your mouth.

"fuck ___ I'm gonna cum..." His voice dragged out from the moans "can I cum in your mouth?" He asked as he looked down at you , your eyes meeting as you hum as a nod , till he cums down your throat, your hand tightly gripping on his before you pull away , his hand leaves your hair.

"cute" you mumble swallowing his cum seeing his fucked out expression before he pulls you up for a kiss his taste lingering on your tongue.

"your amazing..." He breaths out.

"I could tell , had to swallow a fuck load" you respond playfully.

Tags : @hyuckiegirlfriend @fay-ebrahim @drkn3ss-blog

#kpop smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #haechan smut #nct drabbles #nct 127

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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

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Housewife

Part - 15

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang, word "suicide" is used

Part 1

They said you'd be okay, that everything would be fine. The bubble you so happily lived in for a week burst within seconds of stepping into that building. You drove to the school telling Billy to take his car driving separately with Stu. No one could know about your relationship with the boys. It made you all seem suspicious. Billy and Stu just lost their girlfriends in a brutal attack they wouldn't be holding hands with you. Stu didn't like the fact he couldn't be himself around you. To him, nothing changed. There would be a lack of banter during lunch but that was about it to him.

Billy agreed with you. It wouldn't seem right with all of you laughing and carrying on especially if it's your first day back. You'd be a celebrity to the drama-hungry teenagers. As much as Billy hated that fact there was nothing he could do about it. After a couple of weeks, things would die down and you all could move on. Logistically it made sense. Guy loses his girlfriend and confides in one of the few people who truly understood what he went through. It was trauma bonding he thought.

You picked at your dress sitting in the plastic chair you were assigned. Everyone stared. You didn't look traumatized to them. No, Betty Crocker looked completely fine. Best dressed as always. You heard the whispers, the rumors. The most popular one is that you and Stu were running around behind Tatum. Tatum saw you two at the party going at it and there was a fight. How a cheating scandal got her caught in a doggy door was not explained. In high school, rumors didn't need facts or details. The kids ran with whatever hurt someone the most. Surprisingly Billy Loomis was being made out as a hero. Once again the world thought he could do no wrong.

Keeping your head down and your hopes up you tried to get through the day. The first period blew by without a single thing learned and so the did the second and third. With books in hand, you walked the hallways making your way to fourth period. That's when you saw him. The group of girls some of them cheerleaders crowded around your boyfriend. Stu with a smile answered their questions trying to keep up this sorrowful widowed boyfriend act. Something about the scene made your blood boil. It wasn't cheating, you had told both him and Billy to keep their distance from you. To play their part. It didn't stop you from being upset at him for eating up the attention though.

Stu saw you storm off to your next class. He frowned wondering what asshole made you so upset. Your books hit the desk with a thud making the boy next to your desk jump. "Rough day?" He asked as you threw yourself down in the seat. You wanted to snap at him but hadn't done anything wrong yet. "It hasn't been great." You huffed as the teacher started talking. "What happened?" He whispered. Was he living under a rock for the past three weeks? Every state at this point heard about the gruesome Woodsboro massacre. Your name was in every newspaper in town. If by some chance he didn't know, you didn't want to bring it up. You wrote a note on the inside of your notebook holding it up so he could read. "High school." He read aloud making you close your eyes with a sigh. "Sorry." He whispered still talking.

He stuck out his hand waiting for you to shake it. "My name's Chase." You looked at the teacher with his back turned before you shook his hand. "Y/n." Chase pulled his hand back with a smile. He went to speak before he ripped a piece of paper out of his binder. He passed you a note that read "Nice to meet you." You smiled slipping the note into your pocket as the teacher turned around. The class was much more manageable having someone to talk to. The lunch bell rang as everyone stood up. "Are you grabbing lunch?" Chase asked walking out of the classroom next to you. "I bring my own." The blonde boy followed you to your locker watching you put away your books switching them for your lunch box. "I had one of those in elementary school!"

He looked at your Looney Toons lunchbox with wonder. You laughed remembering how the men you lived with made fun of the bright red box that morning. "My dad got it for me years ago." You headed outside as your conversation with Chase continued. Billy and Stu sat on the water fountain arguing over TV shows. "Fuck off no one watched Home Improvement for the plot. Name one other character besides Pamela Anderson." Stu blanked for a moment making Billy clap his hands together. "Thank you." Billy said having his point proven. That painfully red lunchbox caught his eye and a smile appeared on his face. Immediately disappearing seeing the blonde boy standing next to you.

"Are you sitting with anyone? You could have lunch with me and my girlfriend." He pointed over to a tree on the lawn. "Thank you but I'm eating with some friends of mine." He nodded. "Cool. I'll see you tomorrow then." Chase headed over to the tree seeing his girlfriend waiting for him. You watched the two hug each other getting a little jealous of people you didn't even know. It must be nice to be able to just be normal teenagers. You wouldn't trade what you had with the guys but you did wonder sometimes how much different things would be if all this hadn't happened.

"Hey, Betty!" Stu smiled at you as you sat down next to Billy. "My day could not have been any worse." You groaned opening up your lunch. "You seemed to be having fun with your new friend." Billy sat with his fingers interlocked and his elbows on his knees. It didn't take much to let everyone around him know he was pissed.

"Who Chase? I just met him in 4th period. You don't have to worry he's got a girlfriend." You picked up your sandwich taking a bite. Stu didn't mind you making friends as long as he and Billy were top priority. "That didn't stop you with me." Stu's eyes widened at his partner's words. You sat your food down thinking about what he just said. The sudden hostility wasn't a surprise. "You're saying this was my fault?" The air around you was calm and collected. You couldn't afford to make a scene. "I'm saying a guy having a girlfriend didn't stop you before." Stu nudged Billy's shoulder trying to get him to stop. "Come on man." Stu's neck tensed as he looked around. "There we go. You're blaming someone else for your fuck up. Billy, babe you've got to come up with something more original." You closed your lunch box losing your appetite.

To Billy, your behavior was only trying to piss him off further. It was Stu who saw your hands start to shake. You were strong, both men knew that but only Stu knew how easily you covered up your emotions. "My fuck up?" Billy sat up straight looking at you with bemusement. "You knew I was taken but that didn't keep you from flaunting your shit around in those dresses and writing your number on my hand, did it? You even helped murder my girlfriend just so you wouldn't be left alone. You're the same girl you were in middle school. Just a Stepford wife who will do anything just to have someone care about her." Billy smiled thinking he won the argument.

Your hand collided with Billy's face. The smack made everyone around you three stare at the pathetic spectacle. Stu covered his mouth in shock. Tears threated to fall as you stood up. Billy held his cheek as you walked back into the building. All his words came crashing back down on him. He realized too late that he seriously fucked up. "I didn't mean to say that." Billy said but Stu for the first time wasn't feeding into his bullshit. "You need help man." Stu shook his head as he followed you into the school.

You ran to the nearest bathroom locking yourself in a stall. Your hand shook as it covered your lipstick-stained lips. Small gasps echoed off the bathroom walls as you fought to breathe. How could something go so wrong so fast? Your head spun as Billy's words played over and over. Did he think that poorly of you? The bathroom door opened causing you to pull your legs up. "It's me," Stu spoke making sure no one else was in the bathroom. You struggled to breathe quietly. He could faintly hear the sad whimpers coming from the last stall. "Honey..." He started to talk but the name made you lose all composure you had. Your cries turned into sobs as your lungs fought for air.

"Unlock the door, please. I'll crawl under if I have to but I just bought these pants." He fake whined making a laugh break the chain of tears. He smiled to himself at the noise. You reached up opening the door for him. The girl he'd fallen in love with was curled up shaking like a leaf on a tree. It was a heart-wrenching scene.

Stu held out his arms letting you cry into his chest. "I didn't mean- I- I swear," You sobbed in between words not being about to finish the sentence. "Shhh, it's going to be okay." He repeated rubbing circles on your back. "I didn't mean to hit him." The words were incoherent but Stu understood. He was amused that you were concerned about Billy. He knew the man deserved a lot more than a slap to the face. Hell they both did. After everything he said to you, you were worried about the pain you might've caused. The bathroom door opened once again letting the student walk in. She saw Stu hold your frail body as you continued to cry. Stu opened his eyes wide shaking his head towards the door. "Um, I'll just hold it." The girl said awkwardly as she backed out of the room.

While Stu comforted you Billy sat outside cursing himself for what he'd done. "What happened?" Billy looked up ready to choke out the guy who decided to butt in. "Deputy Riley?" Dewey didn't have time to entertain the kid. "I saw you get hit, what happened?" Billy smiled awkwardly not knowing what to say. "It was just a misunderstanding. I'm not bent out of shape about it." The cop sighed. He knew something wasn't right. Dewey had seen you and the two men leave your house Friday and he saw them again when all of you left for school. He couldn't protect Tatum and that's something he'd hate himself for, for the rest of his life. He still had a chance to protect you.

"I wasn't asking about you. What did you say to her?" Billy was taken aback by the man's tone. "I'm sorry?" Everyone in Woodsboro found it hard to take Dewey seriously. They had met several times when Tatum ran around with the group of friends. Billy never saw him as intimating. He was the kinda guy who if you flicked the cap off his head he'd run to go catch it. Especially now with the cane he was dependent on. If he didn't respect him then he definitely didn't respect him now that he was limping around. Billy still didn't understand how he lived through it all.

"Forget it," Dewey said realizing Billy would be no help. He made his way to the office asking them to call you up. "Dewey you have to be in relation to the student." He frowned hearing that nickname. "It's deputy Riley and this is a police matter." He pointed to his badge and the secretary rolled her eyes. "Y/n L/N to the office."

You heard the call through the loudspeakers. Stu wiped the rest of your tears kissing the tip of your nose. "Don't let him get to you. He says stupid shit all the time. Billy doesn't think sometimes." Stu tried to comfort you but he also had to help out his friend and lover. You sniffled nodding your head. "Is my makeup okay?" The question made Stu laugh. "You look beautiful as always Mrs. Crocker." You half-heartedly smiled not believing the boy. Before you left the restroom you tried your best to fix your appearance in the mirror. "Why do you need to go to the office?" Stu asked hugging you from the back. His head rested on your shoulder looking at your reflection.

"I don't know. Can you put this in my locker for me?" He took the lunch box from you agreeing to put it away. "Thanks." With one more kiss, you ran off to the front of the school. You could see Dewey sitting near the vice principal's office. Cops were never good, especially with everything you've done. "Y/n!" Dewey exclaimed standing up. The secretary looked at him with suspicion as he cleared his throat. "Y/n I need to speak with you for a moment." With a silent nod, you both entered the vice principal's empty office. His arms wrapped around you pulling you into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay." He said thinking of the girl he couldn't save. At the funeral, he had cried on your shoulder. Thanking you for being such a good friend to his daughter. You hadn't even known her a week but that meant the world to Dewey.

The night you came over to stay he couldn't get any sleep because you and Tatum loudly talked about Tom Cruise and sang some songs on the radio. You were probably the last person to see her alive and knowing that meant something to Dewey. "You finally got out of the wheelchair!" You congratulated and he posed. "Physical therapy. They say If I keep it up I might go right back to normal." You smiled happy that things were working out for him. His eyes looked at your side remembering how bad your wound was. "How are you? Did everything heal okay?"

"I'm as good as new. The stitches fell out on their own and it doesn't hurt anymore." You poked the closed wound showing him you were fine. Dewey was glad you were doing alright. "Why did you want to see me?" You wanted to know since you saw him sitting in the office. The man gestured to the chair as he sat down across from you. "I saw what happened outside."

That was just your luck. The one time you publicly assault someone there's a cop nearby. "I feel awful about. I didn't mean to hit him." Dewey held up his hand making your mouth close. "You're not in trouble." He laughed. You could've broken Billy's nose for all he cared.

"Why'd you slap him? I'm not trying to sound creepy but I saw the three of you leave your house this morning when I was getting ready for work." You were great at talking. Your father always said you could "sell a submarine to a seahorse." Years of hearing "you should be a lawyer" definitely changes a person. Lying was second nature but you didn't want to lie to Dewey. Those pitiful puppy dog eyes killed you like a knife to the gut. You knew you didn't have much of a choice. "He said some really hateful shit- oh I'm sorry." You held your hand over your mouth not meaning to curse. He shook his head motioning for you to continue.

"Today has been horrible. Rumors have been going around and I can't go anywhere without someone pointing at me. I keep hearing about that night and it feels like I'm back there again." Your eyes started to water again. Dewey looked around finding a tissue box to give to you. "Thanks." The man smiled. "You're welcome, anyways what were you saying?" The tissues came in use as your continued your story.

"That week after everything I couldn't eat, sleep, or get out of bed. My dad didn't want me getting hurt and it was torture. I had no friends and no one to talk to. Stu called me every night to see how I was doing." You smiled fondly remembering your conversations. "He lost everyone he cared about in one night. Me and Billy were the only people Stu could talk to that wasn't a shrink." The way you talked started to make Dewey feel bad for Stu. "He loved Tatum." You watched as Dewey flinched hearing her name. He grabbed one of the tissues knowing he'd need it at some point.

"I begged my dad to let Stu stay at my house. My dad's a truck driver so he's gone a lot." Dewey looked confused. "Your dad let Stu come over while he was gone?" As long as Dewey was around, Stu and Tatum never got a moment alone. "It may be hard to believe but I am an adult. I can handle myself."

The deputy looked at the desk trying to hold back tears. If he'd had a dollar for every time his little sister said she was old enough to take care of herself he'd be a rich man. You were both stubborn and headstrong. He huffed out a laugh at the irony. "It's a little hard to believe but I'll try my best." Dewey joked making you smile. "Stu spent time at my house while my dad was home. He had to make sure he trusted Stu." Now that made more sense to Dewey.

"His parents were more worried about the damages to their house than their own son." Just saying the words upset you and the deputy could tell. Just from what you've told him so far he could tell you cared about the boy.

"When he showed up at my house that night he hadn't cleaned or even put a bandaid over his stabs. My dad had to teach him how to take care of himself like he was 6 years old." You scoffed looking up at the styrofoam ceiling tiles. "I knew Billy by hanging around the friend group. He's not the easiest to talk to. He took Sydney's death hard. Even Stu couldn't get him to talk." It was utter bullshit but he believed every word of it. Dewey knew about Billy's father's drinking problem. He had pulled him over for DUI once before. The whole town knew his mother left him a year ago. The kid had a tough run. "My dad had left for work and Billy showed up at my door one day. He said he tried to call Stu but he wasn't home so Stu's mom told him he was at my house."

Dewey listened carefully trying to hold off on giving you his brotherly opinion. "Billy had no one. He can be a prick but he's got issues. Billy told me and Stu that he couldn't go home and that school was a nightmare after what happened. I know I should've called my dad but I didn't. I let Billy stay with Stu in the guest room."

You hated the way Dewey looked at you like some dumb little girl. He was probably right but you despised it. "They aren't bad people Dewey." He smoothed his hair down as he leaned back in his chair. "If they're so nice why'd you smack Billy?" You rubbed your face feeling distraught. "I told you what he said was rude. We're all on edge. You don't know how hard it is to go to school and see the seat next to you is empty..." Dewey's gaze dropped as you heard what you said. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean that."

Dewey sniffled trying to compose himself. "I know. I know this is hard for you and it's hard on them too but they don't need to be living with you. They're upset and confused. All of you are looking for something to cling to. It's not healthy." He was sympathetic towards the boys but he didn't trust their intentions with you. You didn't want to hear it. The idea that you were some love-sick girl in need of attention was infuriating. "Is that all?" You asked ready to get up and leave. Dewey didn't want to upset you he wanted to keep you from harm.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked like a child. Once again those eyes made you feel like the bad guy. "No." You groaned. "I'm just upset about everything." Dewey nodded. "I'm not saying you have to stop being friends with them. You need friends, especially at a time like this but they don't need to be at your house." You thought about what he said. Your first day was horrible but you never once stopped to think about how Billy or Stu felt coming back to school. Your whole argument might have just been a build up of emotions.

"Okay. I'll talk to them tonight." Dewey was beyond happy the conversation went the way it did. He used the cane to help himself up. You hugged him again before you opened the door. "Have a good day Dewey." You waved leaving him alone in the office. The deputy truly believed he was doing the right thing.

You knew it was going to be hard to avoid Billy when he sat right next to you in 7th period. You weren't as upset as you were earlier. Just because you had a new perspective on his behavior didn't excuse it. It took you a few seconds to make sure this badass persona you made stayed on while you sat through class. Billy sat in his seat biting his nails waiting for your arrival. You walked in keeping your eyes forward as you took your seat. He waited for you to say something or even look at him but you didn't.

"I'm sorry." He said getting no attention from you. Stu had already jumped Billy's ass for speaking that way to you. He had gotten used to the way Billy had arguments. The moment the boy felt threatened or accused in any way he'd say the thing he knew would hurt his accusor the most. Billy thought if he hurt them first they couldn't hurt him. It usually worked in his favor but today his words hurt him more than they hurt you.

"I didn't mean what I said to you. It was out of line." He whispered still getting no response. "Would it kill you to answer me?" At this, you turned seeing the still prominent red handprint on his face. You almost reached out to touch him. He saw your hand twitch itching to cup his face like you'd done all weekend. That was one thing that really made you feel horrible. After being used all weekend long Billy decided you treat you like this. You cook, you clean, and you moan their names when they ask but it wasn't enough.

"How's your face?" You turned back around and looked at the chalkboard. Billy smiled. You answered him but you had no intention of playing his game. He thought it was attractive. Like he said before you called him out on his bullshit and this was no exception. Although you felt bad for slapping him you hoped he'd remember that pain because it wasn't nearly as bad as the pain he caused you. Billy would find a way to fix his mistake and apologize for what he did. He felt horrible for his actions. He was changing for the better it was just taking a little longer than expected.

"I'm sorry." The note read with a small frowny face next to the words. You sent the note back without giving him a reaction. Billy scribbled something else on the piece of paper before handing it back to you. "I'm an idiot." You nodded to yourself reading his words. "I know." You wrote back as a small smile appeared on your lips. You glanced over at Billy seeing that stupid grin on his face. Both you and the boy struggled not to laugh at each other. How you ended up finding any of this funny was a mystery. Stu's inability to be serious was apparently rubbing off on you.

The class bell rang making everyone run for the doors. "Don't think I'm not still pissed cause I am." Billy pursed his lips in thought. "I can work with that." He shrugged as you both left the classroom. "You know we're like Bonnie and Clyde? When Clyde realizes that he can't go on without Bonnie because she's smarter and a little crazier than he is. He couldn't have done it without her. There's a reason everyone says "Bonnie and Clyde" not the other way around." He raised his eyebrows up at you thinking that was a good response to the current situation. You took his analogy as a compliment and even an apology.

"Didn't Bonnie and Clyde both get shot to pieces?" Billy scratched the back of his neck not thinking that far into the movie. You tried to hide your smile at his embarrassed state. "They did but it was kind of romantic in a way." He tried to spin it so you wouldn't take it as an insult. You both walked outside heading towards your locker. "So you think I'm a Stepford wife huh?" Billy definitely saw some similarities but it'd be relationship suicide if he pointed those out. "No, I just said that shit back there to upset you. I'm an ungrateful psychotic asshole." Once you put away your belongings you slammed your locker making Billy jump. "Ungrateful asshole? Absolutely, but you're not psychotic." You started walking as Billy ran up to you.

"You don't think I'm psychotic?" Billy Loomis was a lot of things in your book but you didn't consider him psychotic. "No. You've got mommy issues, daddy issues, and childhood trauma. Join the club. You and Stu just did something insanely fucking dumb." You made your way to the parking lot dreading the conversation you'd have to have with the boys when you got home. "You think what we did was dumb?" Billy considered the whole plan a work of art. It was something the two boys had spent a whole year planning.

"Incredibly. Now let's not talk about this here." He grabbed your arm pulling you away from everyone else. "Why do you think it's dumb?" He was a little insulted by your criticism. You looked around making sure no one could hear you. "Because you're 18." You thought back to what Dewey had said. "We're just kids. None of us have a job. I don't even know how to do taxes!" You whisper yelled. "If I didn't make a guest appearance you wouldn't have lived let alone gotten away with it all." Billy didn't want to believe it but that night Gale could've easily shot and killed both him and Stu. You saved their asses.

"Thank you." He said catching you off guard. All you heard was I'm sorry but never thank you. "For what?" You asked not knowing what he was getting at. "Thank you for helping us that night. Thank you for taking care of Stu. You took better care of him that night than I ever have." Your eyes looked at his lips as he spoke. The day had thrown way too many emotions at you. You couldn't exactly define what new emotion you were feeling now looking at the man.

"Nope." You said walking away from him before you made a mistake. Billy stood confused. How did that manage to upset you? Quickly you made it to your car seeing none other than Stu leaning on the hood. "What part of stay away from me do you two not get?" Stu watched Billy chase after you. "Did you two kiss and make up?" He asked happy everything was okay again. "Not exactly." You got in your car starting up the engine with a roar. "What did I say wrong?" Billy asked as he tried to catch his breath. Stu jumped off the hood trying to figure out what happened between the last time he saw you and now.

"I'll just talk to you when I get home." You pulled out of the parking space leaving the two men behind. "What the hell did you do now?" Stu held his arms out dramatically. "I apologized." Billy's eyebrows were furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly happened. "I can't deal with another clusterfuck, I really can't." Billy said shaking his head. Stu skipped behind his friend heading towards his car. "Sure ya can buddy. With that mouth you're sure to cause more problems." Stu smiled earning a hit from Billy. Stu groaned in pain holding his arm. "Yeah okay, I deserved that."

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you)

Part 16

Taglist (closed): @katie-tibo @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607 @pumpk1n-writes @lovekeeho @zeysartzone @life-of-music3 @flyestvenustrap @littleblondesoprano @loomiscorpse @nicciekawegosblog @reneemunson @miss-puregotti @ksgsfsgaj @zoleea-exultant @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @mistydreamscape @l4venderia @nex-crowley @ashreblogsnow @brynaa223 @your-desire666 @billyloomiswhore4 @holyladyofsorrows @megluv1 @ellieswifeiya @yoluvrz @forallthstarsinthesky @madsothree @youcantbesirius @lubunnii @captainhowdysseptum @geekygremlin @madneedshelp

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003-

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance.

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away.

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing.

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks.

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week.

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own.

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice.

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction.

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask.

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking.

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-”

“Please!” Sarah exclaims.

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading.

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say.

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.”

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time.

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely.

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage.

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up.

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little.

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah.

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in.

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in.

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine.

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…”

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.”

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel.

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing.

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy.

“Yep,” you nod.

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks.

“Not everyone has them.”

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.”

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?”

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy.

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots.

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene.

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks – what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth.

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing.

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor.

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both.

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong, but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now.

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy.

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own.

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?”

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company.

And you’re great company.

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable.

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like.

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it.

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close.

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not.

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love.

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.”

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough.

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes.

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working.

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003-

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas.

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to.

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same.

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey!”

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room.

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner.

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door.

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo.

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had.

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist.

“Here,” you say, and he turns.

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions.

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised.

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.”

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win.

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis.

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him.

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head.

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap.

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you.

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light.

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say.

“What do you miss the most?”

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that.

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods.

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little.

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?”

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.”

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.”

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.”

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.”

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with.

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect.

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods.

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic.

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden.

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows.

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.”

“You play?” He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch.

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head.

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall.

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him.

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune.

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer.

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet.

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep.

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color.

“So are you,” he shifts closer.

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

part iv

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