#Chapter. 4 of Getting Along: A Story In Four Parts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acid-ixx · 7 months ago

Text

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

5K notes · View notes

moonysbookshelves · 4 months ago

Text

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok Reel of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh. Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ‘Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

#fic: the cadence of part-time poets #motswolo #wolfstar #fanfic #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #regulus black #mybinds #bookbinding #tcoptp #coptp #the cadence of part time poets #marauders #moony #padfoot #my binds

1K notes · View notes

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 4 months ago

Text

"Waking Up in Vegas"

Prologue, Chapter one:, Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

ok guys! we're back and reader's hot girl summer has started! Sorry I was gonna put this chapter out earlier today but i've just been so busy today plus i'm cooking up a 3rd part for "older" I got my period AND i have a math test and english essay coming up. If some parts don't make sense, its on purpose. Reader is disoriented and drunk half the time, the days blur together for her. Lmk what yall think of readers hot girl summer and what you want/think will happen in the next chapter .Sorry for any mistakes! Comments, reblogs and ASKS make my dayyyy and encourage me.

Saint-Tropez wasn’t just a place, it was a playground, a haven for those who didn’t care about consequences or anyone else’s rules.

And you? Well, you were done with rules.

For the last two weeks, you’d been living like this, untouchable, free, and completely lying to your family.

You had told Bruce you were staying with Ariel and her father, which was true, for the first two days anyway.

Ariel's father is a busy man, he couldn't take 2 and a half months off work to babysit two 16 year olds who would do what they wanted anyway. As soon as he left, Ariel began calling your two other close friends, Claire and Rory. Together, all four of you were unstoppable at school though it was an unspoken rule that you and Ariel were the dynamic duo. All four of you stayed in Ariel's ocean front villa, relaxing, tanning, and just getting settled.

God, let's not even start on how drastically everything changed while you were at boarding school and the family found out Tiffany's true colors. They were all so.....protective now. You got calls everyday, from each of your 'siblings' separately, dozens of texts asking you what you ate, who you were with, and what you were doing. You didn't entertain them. The only person you replied to was Bruce, and that's only because you knew if he wanted to, he could call off this whole trip.

You didn't answer Tim's random, vague questions like, "Who's that on your story? Do you know them? Are you sure they're safe to be with?" He was asking about a simple sunset dinner picture you posted with Ariel, so you blocked him. He's way too nosy.

You didn't reply to the groupchat the girls, Barbra, Steph, and Cass added you in called "The girls!!"

What a creative name!

You left after you saw 'Tiffany was removed from this conversation'. Maybe you were being petty but they obviously had this chat before and didn't bother to add you to it before Tiffany was exposed. It was your turn to ignore them.

You definitely didn't reply to Damian's outright threatening messages that he sent almost every other day, they all sounded something along the lines of "You will regret this. You cannot simply leave and run away from your family. Come home or else."

He's such a strange little boy, he spoke and acted like an angry Victorian prince. He texted you like you were close before, like it wasn't him who pushed you away. You were coming back in two months and yet he acted like ran away and changed your name.

Jason, Bruce, and Dick were the most consistent and annoying, in that order exactly.

Jason texted you every morning at 8 and every night 11, like clockwork. His texts were daily updates what he was planning on doing that day, asking you the same, and reminding you that he's sorry and that he loves you. It tugged at your heart not to answer him, and sometimes, you gave in and you could feel the joy in his response when you replied. You and Jason's conversations went like this, on the odd occasion you replied,

"Good morning." - Jason

"How are you? No trouble in paradise I hope."- Jason

"My days gonna be pretty dull today, nothing much except patrol. Might go to that bookstore you used to like." - Jason

Your cold heart would melt when he said things like that and you would reply,

"awww! jason, thats so sweet." and follow with "I'm good!! how bout you??? staying out of trouble?"

Jason was your softest spot and he knew it.

Bruce texted you three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. His messages were dry and authorative, demanding answers. He wanted to know who you were with, what you were doing, if you left the house, and if you were okay. The fatherly care and authority isn't something your used to, it was strange. You weren't sure if you felt cared for or suffocated. You answered Bruce once a day, your tone straight to the point, answering only what he asked, nothing more.

Dick is by far the worst. He texted you constantly, as if trying to make up for 11 years of not texting you at all. He texted you when he woke up, when he slept, when he ate, what he ate, and sent you pictures of everything. Once he sent you a picture of a tiny bird saying it reminded him of you. You nearly blocked him after that, the only reason you didn't was because you liked how desperate he was. Not long ago, it was you spamming him like that. Plus he can be funny most of the time. You don't even want to think of the constant selfies he sent. You only ever replied once.

Dick sent a selfie of him hanging with some of the Titans, you forgot why or what he said along with it, but you do remember seeing Connor Kent shirtless in the background. You giggled and showed Ariel how hot he is. You replied to Dick almost instantly hearting the picture, screen shotting it, and drawing a heart around Connor saying something like, "WHO DAT IN THE BACK????" and "Tell superboy to hmu".

Dick was not happy about that, that was the last group selfie he ever sent. He got more frequent with his texts after that. He must've snitched to Jason because not even five minutes after you got a text from him.

"Remember what I said. No boys, i'll kick his ass." - Jason

You ignored him of course.

The sun beat down in the south of France, but you were far from concerned with the blistering heat. Not when there was a private yacht at your disposal, a poolside filled with strangers and familiar faces alike, and the soundtrack of Drake keeping your pulse racing. You felt the vibration of your phone against your palm for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Bruce. He was becoming more insistent you answer him the longer you were gone. It's only been two weeks! Another "where are you?" or "be careful." As if you were gonna listen. Or reply to him.

Bruce. The man who'd ignored you for the better part of your life, suddenly acting like a worried father because Tiffany, the perfect sister, had betrayed them all. Tiffany, the adopted daughter who had somehow replaced you in their world. Now, she was the enemy, the traitor, the spy, and she was gone. That meant you had all the freedom you could ever want.

The more you thought about Tiffany the angrier you got. She had everything. How many summers has she spent on yatchs partying? How many times has she blown thousands of Bruce's dollars? Why were you forgiving them so easily? Why were you even listening to him?

Just because he apologized and said he'd change?

Why should you forgive Jason so easily and respect his rules, he ignored you for years and replaced you with Tiffany. The more you drank, the more you thought and the angrier you got. Who do they think they are? You've always been too nice, too obedient, and they're still taking advantage of it. You'd show them, show them what its like to be ignored and forgotten and made fun of.

For the next two months, you were going to ignore them. Bruce and jason included. You've been too nice, too good these two weeks, your friends were begging to party but you didn't want to, you were scared of disappointing them.

You were so angry nothing changed in you that you finally caved and decided to do what Claire and Rory were doing, give your phone to a worker here and have them turn the location on and send updates to Bruce. You still used the same icloud so you could read their messages and make sure they weren't suspicous.

He'd think you were always at the villa or just going into town, they won't know what hit them.

You turn to Ariel and grin, "I'm free. What are we doing tonight?" You were done obeying their rules and living your life for them. Who knows when you'd be alone in Europe with your best friends again.

Ariel hopped off her chair and squealed, her dark skin glowing from the sun, she grabbed you and twirled you around, your giggles echoing through the yacht and drawing Claire and Rory's attention.

Ariel grinned and explained to Rory and Claire, "Little Miss good girl finally came to her senses and went M.I.A with her dad. Now we can finally party! Hot girl summer starts now."

All three girls start squealing and join Ariel in her celebration.

You rolled your eyes feeling guilty, "I told you, you could've gone without me!"

Ariel wrapped her arm around you, "Nonsense, it's not a party without you. Now, come on we gotta go shopping if we're going out tonight. It's lucky that we both have daddy's black cards. It's really lucky that they have Dior, Hermes, and YSL down the street."

You weren't sure how much you spent and the drinks kept you from feeling guilty. Bruce is like, a bajilionaire, what you spent won't make a dent.

Somehow, you ended up on an even bigger yacht filled with guys, in your brand new Dior bikini with a matching bag.

By the time night fell, the yacht was buzzing, the VIP lounge overrun by people who hadn’t even been invited. The bass was so loud you felt it in your bones. You didn’t care. You've never felt so alive.

Your new phone wasn't getting any messages except DMs, and the woman you hired confirming Bruce thought you were sound asleep in the villa.

You can practically taste the summer air as you step onto the deck of the boat, laughing with Ariel and your friends and the others you’ve met along the way. No one cares about where you’ve been, where you’re going, or who your family is.

As the DJ cranks up the volume, a cute guy with long blonde hair catches your eye. You wink at him and saunter over. This summer is all about freedom, and you’re ready for it. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you close, and suddenly you’re lost in the rhythm, spinning and laughing, his lips brushing against your ear.

The night wears on, you drink more, laugh louder, flirt harder. The yacht turns into a blur of lights, drinks, and music. As midnight rolls around, the party shows no signs of slowing. You could stay here forever, with no rules but your own.

But then it happens. You wake up in a completely different city.

London.

You’re sprawled on a plush couch in a ridiculously luxurious flat, a half-empty bottle of champagne next to you. The room smells like expensive perfume, and the decor is all sleek lines and minimalist chic. You sit up slowly, your head pounding from last night.

You sit up straighter, rubbing your eyes.You vaguely remember a private jet, but it’s all blurry. One moment, you were on the deck of the yacht, living it up, and the next, you're waking up in an entirely new country.

You look around the room in panic and spot Ariel sleeping on the couch and a random guy, butt naked on the floor next to her. You sigh in relief at Ariel being okay and the fact you weren't kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the room door, and when you answer, it's a random guy from last night, British accent, disheveled hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He grins at you sheepishly. “Hey, you good?”

You, Ariel, the naked boy named Christian, and the Brit named Thomas, have breakfast and exchange stories of what you remember from last night. It was fun, but you and Ariel flew back to St. Tropez where a jealous Claire and a worried Rory were waiting.

Last night was fun, but it couldn't happen again. It was dangerous and if anything happened Bruce wouldn't know.

Except it did happen again, and again, all summer long.

The next weeks were a blur, Venice, Monaco, and Madrid, with stops in Dubai and Los Angeles along the way. Each city more vibrant and intoxicating than the last. Every place you went, you had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. There was always a fresh crop of people, and you reveled in not having to answer to anyone. No father, no brothers, no sisters, just you and your friends against the world.

You and Ariel lived your lives like you were gonna die tomorrow. You were unstoppable, no family, no rules, no responsibility. Your abilities weren't acting up at all, everything was perfect. Bruce and the family were off your back, being made to think you were at the villa all day.

The “No Boys Rule” was completely disregarded, though. It seemed that whenever you let your guard down for just a moment, you’d end up surrounded by someone new. Whether it was a guy from a club in Monaco or a guy you met on a private yacht in Venice, you were always finding someone new

Despite all the parties, the alcohol, and the private Instagram posts, and funny Tik Toks, there was still a growing sense that you weren’t living this life for you, you were living it for the rebellion, to spite Bruce.

It wasn’t just about freedom anymore. It was about finally being seen, even if that meant drifting away from everyone you once called family.

You only had one month left of absolute freedom, and you were gonna make the most of it. With Ariel, Rory, and Claire by your side, you partied in just about every city.

The final month of your wild European escapade had arrived, and things were only getting wilder.

The clock had no meaning anymore. Days and nights blended into each other as you danced from one city to the next, your world a whirlwind of music, champagne, and endless laughter. Ariel, Rory, and Claire had become your partners in crime, literally when you got arrested, but thats not important.

Each morning you woke up in a new place, groggy and confused, only to remember the night before—flashing lights, pounding beats, and the promise of more. Cannes, Monte Carlo, Paris, or Dubai, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the freedom you’d found in them, and in yourself. You were more than the neglected, ignored girl from Gotham; now, you were the life of the party.

there was always someone waiting to whisk you away to the next nightclub, the next gala, the next beach party where the world’s richest men tried to get your attention.

First, it was Paris. You could feel the eyes on you as soon as you entered the hotel lobby. The air smelled of expensive perfume, freshly polished marble, and the faintest trace of guilt, because in some corner of your mind, you could still hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your ears. But it quickly faded as the first private yacht rolled up to the dock. The deck was crowded with Parisian socialites and half-drunk billionaires, but it wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the feeling of being wanted. Being worshipped.

It was in Paris that you really started feeling the distance between you and the life you’d left behind. The champagne flowed easily, the laughter came effortlessly, but there was an ache you hadn’t anticipated. A pang that struck at the edges of your satisfaction, the kind you couldn’t drink away.

You thought about Bruce. His pleading words, his desperation, and how, for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. You couldn’t let him win. Couldn’t let them see that you’d needed them. Because that would mean giving up everything you had now, the freedom, the endless nights, the city hopping, the boys who adored you.

You let it all sink in, just for a second, how much control you had over them now. How much they wanted you back, how much they needed you back. It felt good, knowing that you could walk away and have them chase after you, like you used to chase them.

Maybe it was the brief, fleeting moments when you thought about Gotham, about Bruce, about your family, and how none of it felt real anymore. They’d played their games, ignored you, and now it was your turn.

Meanwhile, your phone was a constant buzz of messages. Tim had sent at least five texts, each one more urgent than the last. Jason called twice, his voice sharp and filled with that annoying overprotectiveness he just developed. And Bruce… well, Bruce sent you one long, pleading message, something about understanding, about giving him another chance, and answering his calls. You didn’t even bother reading it all. You didn’t need to. You didn’t care enough to respond.

You had no intention of being tied down by anyone, but when a French prince with dark, tousled hair and eyes that burned through your soul offered you a glass of champagne and a seat next to him, you took it.

You didn’t even have to look for him, he found you. He was the one with the perfect jawline, the one who could be a model if he wasn’t already a prince. His eyes, blue locked onto yours the second you entered the VIP area. A raised brow, a subtle smirk, and you knew that for tonight, he was yours.

You didn’t speak much. He didn’t ask questions, and that was the kind of energy you craved. A few words, some flirting, fleeting touches, and then you were in his Lambo, the leather seats smooth under your skin as the city sped by. He went as fast as you wanted, loving the thrill and impressed look in your eyes.

The thrill was intoxicating, the feeling of being someone else, someone free. The kind of person who didn’t have to answer to anyone. A few hours later, you were standing on a balcony, watching the sunrise, your lips tingling from the kiss he’d stolen.

Your mind was a haze of laughter and the aftertaste of expensive whiskey. The view of the French Riviera was far too beautiful to appreciate right now, and your thoughts wandered back to Gotham, to the family you’d abandoned, the ones who had never cared for you.

But as the days wore on, it was harder to ignore the hollow feeling creeping in. The message from Dick, the one where he told you that he loved you, stayed in your mind longer than it should have. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You didn’t owe him anything. But you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, what it would have been like if things were different.

You turned away from those thoughts quickly. You couldn’t afford to get attached. Not now. Not when you were on the verge of something bigger. The freedom you had now was everything you wanted. No one could take that from you.

You couldn’t let them control you. You wouldn’t let them.

You and Ariel were inseparable now, pulling Claire and Rory into your whirlwind of recklessness. You all had your roles, Ariel was the carefree partier, Claire the quiet one who always managed to keep ya'll out of trouble, and Rory was the one always ready with a camera and a new Tik Tok idea. You were the star, the one they all gravitated toward.

Each day was a new city, a new set of challenges, a new set of eyes who wanted to be close to you. You knew the game, knew how to play it. You knew how to keep them guessing, how to make them want you more.

So, you danced. You partied. You lived in the moment and let your life spiral further from Gotham’s grasp.

From there, it was off to the next city.

Las Vegas; Sin City, there was no place like it. You couldn’t even remember how you got there, your mind fuzzy with a mix of adrenaline and whatever was in that last glass of tequila. The strip was lit up like daylight, people everywhere, the air thick with smoke and the sound of slot machines ringing through the night.

You woke up in a penthouse suite that could have been mistaken for an entire floor of the Bellagio, the morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there he was, a prince. The same French prince, draped in a robe embroidered with gold thread, a fresh glass of mimosas on the table beside him. He was smirking, lounging on the couch like this was all part of his daily routine. You couldn’t even remember how you got to the suite. What had happened between the bar and now? You didn’t care.

He didn’t seem to care either, his hand casually tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving you. You laughed, feeling the surrealness of it all wash over you, the weight of your last 48 hours in Ibiza and Monaco still fresh on your skin. One minute, you were dancing at a celebrity’s secret after-party in Monaco, and the next, you were here, on the other side of the world with some mysterious prince who had probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the night was spent taking private jet rides to exclusive clubs, partying with people whose names you couldn’t even pronounce, and waking up to the flashing lights of a casino floor. Vegas was the kind of place where everything felt fake, but that didn’t matter. You really are Brucie Wayne's daughter.

Next stop, Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s clubbing scene. Ariel and you slipped into the club, stepping past the velvet ropes like it was second nature. The security guard practically bowed as you walked by. The crowd parted for you, the clinking of champagne glasses and the hum of expensive conversations filling the air.

This was where you belonged. The heat of the island, the night that stretched into forever. You and Ariel danced on top of the table at Pacha, popping bottles like they were nothing, the music vibrating in your bones, the crowd chanting your name like you were the star of the show. It was your second night there, and you had already met a Spanish duke who was more interested in buying you a yacht than actually getting to know you. There was white powder everywhere, tempting you to try but you didn't give in. Who knows what could be in it. Your friends and most people at the club didn't share the same idea.

You just wanted to enjoy the view and keep the party going but you were worried, maybe this was too much.

“we’ve got to live for the moment,” Ariel grinned, taking a shot of something that made her eyes water. “Who cares if we’re in a foreign country surrounded by dangerous people? It’s the best kind of chaos. When else are we gonna do this?”

Somehow you ended up on a private yacht again, this time surrounded by Ibiza’s elite. You weren’t sure how many shots of tequila you’d had, but you knew that the man at your side had given you a diamond bracelet to match your dress. You accepted with a grin asking him to put it on for you, your hair wild, your makeup smudged from hours of dancing, but it didn’t matter. You were untouchable.

It was getting close to 3 AM, and the music hadn’t stopped. The drinks kept flowing, and the Duke’s yacht you somehow ended up on was finally leaving the dock. You couldn’t remember how you ended up on the boat, but you were there now, floating on a million-dollar boat with peopl you’d only seen on TV. One of the men from the night before was already making eye contact, his glass of sangria in hand.

It was hard to be shy in a setting like this. Rory, who’d never been afraid of attention, was deep in conversation with a couple of supermodels who were likely on their third or fourth drink. Claire was wrapped up in a flirtation with the duke who owned this yacht, and Arie was in her own world, laughing with a group of guys who were definitely not short on cash.

The next morning, you woke up on the yacht, the sun blazing over the Mediterranean. You stretched lazily, your body still buzzing from the night before, and found yourself face-to-face with the man from last night.

He smirked, “Care for another round?” he asked, his accent thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat providing an oddly peaceful background.

You laughed and agreed. It was all so easy, this life. This endless, carefree abandon. No rules, no family to answer to, no obligations. It was just you, your friends, and a bunch of gorgeous strangers who only saw you for the party girl you had become. And for now, that was enough.

Next, Monaco, the grandest of them all. You didn’t just go to Monaco, you ruled it. You, Ariel, Claire and Rory crashing the most exclusive gala in the world; rich industrialists, F1 drivers ,tech moguls, the faces that appeared on the front of every magazine. But to you, it was just another game to play. Every conversation was a carefully curated performance, everyone vying for your attention, for your approval.

The days blurred together. Each city more beautiful, each party more decadent than the last. Monaco was wild, filled with the world’s elite and their very bored children. The private yacht parties were nothing short of a movie set, jet skis, champagne, drugs, and the sun beating down relentlessly. The thrill of it all never left, and every night you found a new billionaire, actor, or race car driver to distract you. It wasn’t about them, not really, it was about keeping the power in your hands, it was about feeling good. Taking away the pain that came with your powers, fortunately, men were jumping into your bed.

You didn’t even have to try. One wink, one smile, and suddenly you were in a Bentley, whisked away to a private after-party in a hidden corner of Monaco’s coastline. The prince of some oil-rich kingdom was at your side, and the night was long, filled with laughter and stolen kisses under the stars. You didn’t care what his name was, where he came from, or who he was, he was just another prince who could buy you anything you wanted.

You met guy, almost as rich as Bruce, who you beat at poker, he was more than happy to throw a yacht party in your honor. The invitation was clear: “Come party with us. No rules. No limits.”

Ariel had already decided to make a game of seeing how many men she could flirt before sunset, while Rory was doing her usual thing, charming people with her wit. You, on the other hand, had become the center of attention, as if the whole event was designed around you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t involve someone trying to buy you a drink, or a private island.

As the weeks stretched on, you could barely keep track of all the cities you had visited. You spent one night in Berlin, dancing until dawn in one of the city’s most infamous clubs. The next, you were in Milan, draped in designer clothing and laughing with the most influential fashion people in the world. Every day felt like a new chapter, filled with new people, new parties, and a new sense of power.

It was intoxicating. Everyone loved you here, you were the life of every party. You had so many friends, you'd never be alone again.

There was something so exhilarating about being surrounded by people who knew your last name, who were used to rubbing elbows with people like Bruce Wayne, but didn’t realize you were his daughter.

You felt it in your bones now, the distance between you and Gotham was growing wider. The weight of the past, the guilt that had once threatened to crush you, was nothing more than a distant memory. Each city, each new face, each new party was a reminder that you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

But deep down, something shifted. Maybe it was the late-night conversations with Ariel on the balcony of a villa in Santorini, the wine flowing freely as you discussed the future, her dreams, your dreams, how you’d never go back to the way things were. Maybe it was the quiet moments alone on the edge of some private infinity pool, staring out at a horizon that seemed endless and just… empty.

You didn’t know when you started to feel it, but you knew one thing for sure: when you finally did come back to Gotham, you weren’t going to be the same person who had left.

The Final Stop, St. Tropez. You did a full circle. Your last hurrah before you returned home, or where your family assumed you were all this time. The private beach parties, the yachts that lined the harbor, the whispers of billionaires in their private jets. You danced in the sand, surrounded by flashes from cameras and jealous glares from women who had no idea who you were, but wanted to be you all the same.

A private villa awaited you, and there, amidst the most extravagant décor, you found yourself facing yet another prince, yet another man eager to claim you as his own.

You turned to find a prince—probably from denmark—standing next to you. You immediately recognized his face from magazines. He was the one who was always pictured at galas with his equally famous family. He was beautiful, dark-haired and dangerous, with a body like chiseled stone. But the only thing you could think about was how long it would take before you got bored of him, before you moved on to the next.

His thick accented voice cut through your thoughts, "Well, if it isn't the infamous party girl." He smirked eyeing you up and down.

"Oh, so you've heard of me" You said smiling. You had no idea how he knew you, all your socials were private and theres no way you had mutual friends. You froze for a second, just how far has your reputation proceeded you, did Bruce hear?

You brushed the thought away as soon as it came, Bruce didn't exist. Not tonight, your last actual night of freedom. Not when you were boarding the flight to gotham after tomorrow.

"Hard not to. You've been everywhere. Paris, London, Ibiza, Monaco, Dubai, Vegas. You're practically the princess of Europe." He grinned leaning closer.

After two months you were finally starting to feel the rush of it all catching up to you. But for now? Who cared? You were a 16-year-old filled with confidence, chaos, and fun. The world was yours, and there was no one who could stop you, least of all, your father, who were still clueless about your whereabouts and secretly obsessing over your every move. You were too busy living in the moment to care about that.

You were officially the European Party Girl, the one everyone wanted to be friends with, the one they all wanted to take selfies with.

Ariel once called you a prince magnet, she wasn't wrong. You woke up next to him the next morning, his strong arms around your waist.

When you went back to Gotham, you weren’t just going to show up. You were going to treat them like they treated you all these years, you were going to laugh in their faces, ignore them like they ignored you.

As you and Ariel spent your last night together packing, you couldn't help but smile. In these two months with her, you lived more than you had in your entire life.

When you boarded the plane back to Gotham, you were different. You were someone new, someone who had tasted freedom and wasn’t sure if she could ever go back. The Waynes had no idea what was coming for them, but you were ready. The game had shifted, and you were about to play it all the way to the end.

Taglist:

@strwberryglass @lilithquillete @delias-stuff @bellatrixmld @damainwayneisthebestrobin @kittzu @lilyalone @yokesmam @sanjisluvbot @facelessisnthere @dollwhite @superstarbucks

@angelunatic @littledollete @cutelittlesugarfairy @darbystrange @sxftiebee @zealous0mouse @trashlanternfish360 @galaxygirlsblog @euphoria-looney @1simpchunkygirl @a-lurking-fae @analuixxy @naturallyspontaneous @horror-lover-69 @pastel-mouse @ladyrosemone @frankie-moon3 @catley1011 @justannie18 @yandereaficionado @ithoughtthinks @asdfghjklgayblog @shadowyknightbeargoth @peche4et3chocolat @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @iamabeaner @rosesunderthegarden @nommingonfood @ninihrtss @type-ink @iamabeaner @astterrial @awawage @ironsaladwitch @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @rosesunderthegarden @raging-stars @sulleha @s1mppp

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere batfamily #platonic yandere batman #yandere duke thomas #yandere red hood #yandere red robin #yandere

1K notes · View notes

christina-tiara · 5 months ago

Text

Christina Tiara’s Sissy Favorites!

As you know, I’m a pretty big sissy 💕 so this year I wanted to show you my sissy favorites in hopes you find something new you like!

First up is some of my favorite sissy captions on Tumblr! In no order!

1. @sissymissyxo - Missy’s blog makes me want to fag out with every caption 🫦

2. @celebritytgcaptions Love the longer captioned stories and I’ve submitted to Sissy Confessions multiple times! 🥰

3. @workdatbussy When I’m riding my dildo these are the captions I read! 🥵

4. @megatremendouslysissycollection Has the best gif choice and some of the gayest caps on here! 😋

5. Last but not least all my sissy sisters in @queendestiny6912 Harem. @sissyloren @bambimandi @incognitoelizabeth @goodwitchkylie @andrearose96 @karlie-xox @xxsissycaitlynxx @cutieecassie

I enjoy other Sissy Media too! Here are my 5 favorite Sissy Comics I’ve read! Just keep in mind, my preferences revolve around feminization, degradation and really anything sissy! You can find these on paid sites like Lustomic, but if you google any of these + the word Forum, then you can probably find them for free.

1. Slutistas 1-4 - all four installments are pretty similar. 3 guys are force feminized over night and trained to be sex slaves. 2 are usually traditional hot girls, while the other member of the group has a more extreme feminization. The third transformation can be hit or miss but the other 2 are always great!

2. Sissy Show by Nite Q - Nite Q has a bunch of great comics, with less extreme feminization as something like Slutistas. They definitely nail down the sissy fetish though. ‘Sissy Show’ is the culmination of a bunch of stories and brings the sissies to compete for the title of “Miss Sissy”. I would kill to be in this competition!

3. Kitty Kat Lounge Part 1 & 2 - In part 1 a man is transformed into Brandi the newest Kitten working at the club! In part 2 her friend gets a similar treatment! Working at a club like this is definitely a huge fantasy of mine and this is a great way to experience it second hand!

4. Sissy Porn Star by Victor Serra - Currently this has 3 parts all super hot. Essentially a guy is forced to be a sissy porn star to help him and his wife pay the bills. Really hot art and every sissy wants to be Lollipop! Also would recommend Victor’s Dear Gabby series!

5. Queens by Bea - Bea has made some of my favorite comics from Franny to Sweet Dreams Sissy. Always a big focus on the feminization process which I love! Queens is fun because it shows two sissies, one being feminized by a sweet caring mistress, while the other is feminized by a sadistic mistress! Really hot read with 3 parts as well!

I could talk about comics for hours! But let me know what you recommend!

Next I’d love to talk about my favorite sissy stories or smut! I find most of it on Literotica but open to reading elsewhere!

1. Masculinity Lost by Cdslavejessie - Follows a college guy who is force feminized by his ex gf. Story moves fast and has 36 chapters. Currently ongoing but is very promising! You’ll love it if you like sissy stories focused not only on sex, but on emasculating the sissy!

2. Jack and Jill by Emory Ahlberg - Jack is kidnapped and brought to a secret island to be feminized. Really in depth on the feminization aspect and you really care for the characters. It’s ongoing and has 9 phases with like 15 chapters each. Personally a bigger fan of Nikki in the spin-off Half Sisters but you have to read this first! Technically could be a comic since it has art, but it’s long enough to call a story! Also isn’t on Literotica but Emory has a Patreon (that I sub to) or there’s forums who are a few Chapters behind.

3. College Chronicles by Smutwriter238 - this follows a college freshmen Sam who is transformed into Sami. Really hot sex scenes with one of the hottest guys I’ve ready about in these stories. This hits my feminization kink along with my degradation kink. 20 good length chapters so far!

4. Neighbourhood Terror to Sissy by Fibaro - essentially a guy gets transformed into a sissy by his neighbor. The way he goes about feminizing him is so methodical, it really gives me Trapped and Trained vibes, which is a sissy classic!

5. Big U Cheer Sissies - This is a selfish pick because I can’t find it anywhere anymore, but it was the best sissy story I’ve ever read. A group of freshmen get transformed into cheer sissies and are fucked and feminized beyond belief. If anyone has this story let me know, I miss reading it 😢

Now for the spiciest section! My favorite sissy porn videos! Again if you search the titles you’ll find them! If I link stuff Tumblr will take me down 😅

1. Ella Hollywood Gangbang Sissy - it’s on Spankbank. Ella fucks a ton of guys but what I love is their outfit and how she has condoms full of cum tied to it!

2. Sissy Crossdresser Mariah Love Gets Fucked Raw Uncut - Super hot video! She sucks his bbc so well. I’d give anything to switch places with her!

3. Obedient TS Maid Does What She is Told - Lily Demure is a submissive sissy maid who sucks on command and takes one of the hottest fuckings I’ve seen.

4. Ella Hollywood and Natalie Mars Feminized - love the dynamic of the new sissy being brought home by the mistresses and Natalie wants to proves she’s still the bigger slut.

5. Hailey Doll gets both her holes ruined by BBC - Hailey is supported by her mistress as she sucks and fucks and amazing BBC in the cutest pink outfit!

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading and I hope you can find something you like!! And thank you for all 7,000 of you who follow my blog! Next year I plan on being an even bigger sissy and I hope you come along for the ride!

And if you ever wanted to put a face to the blog this is me 💞 have a great 2025 Sissies!

#feminization kink #sissi femboi #feminization caption #sissi faggot #submisive sissy #sissifyme

1K notes · View notes

lovelettersfromluna · 5 months ago

Text

Under Your Spell

summary: what’s that old saying? Best way to get over someone is to get under…..yeah yeah, we all know where this going, don’t we?

an: Hi! Long time no see, huh? I hope you’ve all been doing well! I’ve missed it here a lot, more than you could ever know. The semester is over, and I’m finally free! (For a little bit). College is very hard, and it took a lot of me this year, but let’s not get into that right now. This chapter has been VERY long awaited, and I am so sorry that it’s taken this long to get to you all. This one is pretty short, but not only did I want to get it out to you all in time, but I also have lots planned for the next chapter! (Luna you’re putting four parts into one of your fics???) I know I know, shocker right? Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this past despite it being short! Love you 🤍🤍🤍

warnings: MDNI!, 18+ fic only, slight smut, lots of angst, mean!Ellie, idiot!Ellie??, Abby’s in this one hehe, making out, drinking, let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Sleeping in your bed had become extremely difficult.

It was like every time you laid your head against the soft pillows, your skin sliding against the soft material of your sheets, your brain would be filled with images of Ellie. The feeling of her lips on your throat, her hands on your hips, everything she’d given to you was permanently burned into your memory.

You couldn’t get away from her, no matter what you did.

You let out a soft sigh as you sat at your old desk, your cheek resting against your palm as your fingers traced along the smooth material of the wood. Things had gotten a lot trickier after your last night with Ellie, your mind clouded with confusion regarding the entire ordeal.

Ellie had….sought out for you. She definitely did the first time but there was something about her coming home from a night out, and slipping into your sheets that had your mind in shambles. It didn’t make any sense, you were sure that whatever happened between you and Ellie was a one off, something that was influenced mainly by alcohol and forced proximity. The played out story of the brother’s best friend ending up in a sticky situation with the younger sister. It was cliche, but it happened.

That didn’t change that it left your stomach in knots every time you heard the floorboards creak near Ellie’s room.

You’d done a pretty good job at avoiding her and the entire situation. It meant that you were in complete and total lockdown, even worse than before, however it saved any awkward tension, which you’d much rather trade for a few months of complete isolation.

But as all good things did, it was coming to an end.

Because you were given a choice, one that dangled your pride, and your social life in your face, forcing you to choose which you valued more.

Every summer, a huge party was thrown down at the beach. You and your brother joined as soon as you were old enough to drink, your parents went when they were younger, their parents went, and nearly everyone in your town experienced it at least once. It was like a tradition, one that every young person would look forward to.

It was one of your favorite parts about being home for the summer.

However, there wasn’t a party thrown in town that your brother and Ellie wouldn’t join.

And that’s where your choice came in.

You’d been going back and forth with yourself all week, weighing out the pros and the cons of it all. You knew that there were ways to get around her, to make sure that you wouldn’t see here while you were out there. To top it all off, you hated the idea of letting Ellie rip away one of your favorite things to do while you were home, giving her that much power didn’t make any sense to you.

But you still couldn’t push yourself to do it.

You swiveled your chair back and forth, staring up at your ceiling as you struggled to make a decision. However the clock was ticking, and the party was officially happening tonight. You didn’t have much time to go back and forth with yourself anymore.

It was either you swallow your pride, go out and enjoy yourself for the first time since everything happened with Ellie, ultimately standing up for yourself and sending her a big fuck you while doing so…

You let her win. You sacrifice your time there and you let Ellie steal your time. You let her make a fool out of you by being too hung up on the very weird attention she’d been giving you, and you stay in your room for yet another night while everyone else is having the time of their lives.

Thinking of it that way didn’t leave you much of an option, did it?

You practically rip your room apart looking for the perfect outfit to wear, which ends up being a pink halter top that flows down a bit at the ends, a pair of your favorite denim shorts and your sneakers. By the time you’re finishing up your hair and your makeup, you hear the faint sound of your brothers minions showing up, pairing that with the music that starts playing leaves you to figuring they’re probably pregaming before they leave.

That’s when it starts feeling real.

You let out a deep sigh as you stare in the mirror, fixing your top over your chest before fluffing out your hair and fixing your lip gloss, giving yourself a gentle affirming nod before you push your phone into your back pocket and head downstairs.

A blanket of silence falls between Derek and his friends when they notice you, multiple sets of eyes zeroing in on you as you slip between your brother and one of his friends silently to pour a shot before throwing it back with ease. Hazels the first to comment on it.

“Awe man, I didn’t think the first grader could hang….you joining us tonight sweetie?” She taunts, her perfect teeth pressing down into her plush bottom lip as she stares at you, a challenging look in her eye.

Derek is the next one to speak up, a surprised look on his face as he stares down at you. “Wait…really? You’re coming with us?” He quips hopefully. Had Hazel kept her fucking mouth shut, you probably would’ve found the sentiment sweet from him.

You inhale deeply to calm yourself, staring down into the empty shot glass before you finally raise your eyes to look at Hazel, only to find her standing across the island, her back pressed into Ellie’s chest as her tattooed hands toy with the exposed skin of Hazel’s waist.

You completely ignore Ellie’s eyes burning holes into you.

“Shut the fuck up Hazel” you bite back before pouring another shot.

Your words earns reactions from the group instantly, even your brother chuckling softly as he gives you a proud smile. Hazel however, is not amused in the slightest.

Her poker face drops for a moment, nostrils flaring as she stares you down like she wants to jump over the table and have you for herself, but she quickly picks it up, giving you an impressed smirk before she nods slowly.

“Ahh so she speaks…my apologies sweetheart” she practically grits out before she lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Let’s go then. I don’t wanna be late” she quickly seethes out, pushing herself out of Ellie’s arms so she can grab her purse that was sitting on the couch.

You trail behind the others after your brother reassures you things will be okay, giving him a soft smile as you all pile into his car, ultimately missing the way Ellie’s eyes trail you the entire times

The car ride there feels nostalgic. The summer breeze turns cooler the closer you get to the familiar beach, your brother blasting his music in the front as you rest your head against the edge of the window, letting the wind blow through your hair.

It makes you wish things were different. The warmth in your chest would’ve paired so well with a better crowd, one that didn’t see you as the annoying little sister that tagged along when she really shouldn’t be.

Your mind takes you to an alternate reality where things are different, one where you get along with your brother’s friends. You wonder if they’d like you if they gave you the chance, if they weren’t predisposed to not liking you simply because you’re younger than them…

You wonder if things had been different, if you and Ellie could’ve been something.

Because clearly there’s attraction there, there had to be. Were you so wrong for even letting your brain wander there? Wondering what life would be like if you and Ellie were cordial, let alone experimenting with a relationship in a normal way, and not the way you’d been going on for this past summer.

What would it be like if she treated you the way she treated Hazel while others were around? What would it be like if you were in Hazel’s position? Propped up in Ellie’s lap while the others sang songs and joked around with each other?

You’d never know, because you were in this reality, not a perfect one.

You don’t even realize when your brother pulls up to the beach. The gentle shake of the car as his friends practically run out is what rips you away from your thoughts. You clear your throat as you make your way out once everyone is gone, brushing down your outfit as you make your way down the familiar path to the beach. The beach is blossoming with the sound of life. Loud music quickly surrounds you, people dancing, swimming, drinking, it’s almost so perfect it feels cliche, and that alone reminds you that you’d made the right decision by deciding to come out.

You’re the moth, and the ocean is your flame.

It draws you in closer as you sip the drink from your solo cup, appreciating the pattern of the tide rolling in, wetting the sand beneath it, only to then pull back out shortly after. It’s what you’d missed most about the beach in your home town, its ability to calm you no matter what was almost remarkable, even with the crowd of people around you.

You have to stop yourself from walking too far down the beach, knowing deep down that Derek’s friends would take any chance to ditch you while we’re oblivious to what was going on. It’s how you end up out on one of the piers, your legs dangling over the edge as you stare up at the moon, watching as the waves roll in while you sip on your drink.

There’s heavy footsteps along the wooden pier, ones that you don’t quite catch between the heavy sound of the waves, and the music nearby. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings in your ear that you realize you’re not alone.

“You know I heard you were back in town….but I thought there’s no way you’d come back without texting me first” the words come from behind you, and your eyes widen once you catch the tall frame standing over you.

Abby Anderson

She was one of your closest friends back in elementary school. It wasn’t nice to admit, but you’d drifted apart once you both got to high school. It was in the most natural way possible, but she always managed to stick around in your mind from time to time.

Before all of that, you two were stuck at the hip. It was a similar friendship to Ellie and your brother, the two of you always running through your house, causing many headaches for both your parents and her parents whenever you were both together.

You hadn’t seen Abby in years since you left for college, it’d been so long that you didn’t even realize how long it had been.

Her physique was quite the sign that time had passed though.

You gasp softly when you realize it’s her, quickly pushing yourself up off the pier to push yourself into her already opened arms.

“I didn’t know you came back for the summer…god it’s been so long” you sigh out against her broad shoulders, the sweet smell of her perfume filling your nose as you let your eyes flutter shut, relishing in the feeling of her strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’d know if you thought to hit me up once in a while” she teases. You can hear the smirk in her voice as she keeps you close. It makes you giggle softly as you finally pull away from her, wanting to get a good look at the girl.

She’s just as pretty as you remember. Abby always had the prettiest blonde hair, and the most charming smile. Those were never things that you failed to notice about your friend, however she’s different now. She’s taller, her build a hell of a lot more stronger than when you were in elementary school, her hair longer and tucked into a thick braid…

You have to stop yourself from staring.

She peers down into your cup, noticing that you were getting empty. She nods her head towards the bonfire before speaking.

“Let’s top you up while you tell me alllll about your life in the big city, yeah?” She offers, to which you dumbly nod to as you follow next to her almost obediently.

After that, the two of you were glued to the hip the entire night. Between catching up on what life had brought the two of you within your adult years, and reminiscing over your time as kids, the world could be burning around the both of you and you two wouldn’t have noticed a thing. For the first time since you’d came home, you had finally found someone to spend time with.

And Ellie notices the entire thing.

Her eyes were on you the entire night. From the moment you came downstairs at the house, it was like she was under some fucked up spell that made it so she couldn’t function unless you were in her line of view. She couldn’t count on her hands how many annoyed sighs she received when her friends realized she wasn’t listening to what they were saying, instead busying herself with figuring out where the hell you were.

She tracked you like she was the predator, and you were her prey. She made sure you didn’t stray too far away from the group, made sure you didn’t do something stupid like strip naked to take a quick dip into the cold ocean. She was just being helpful! It wasn’t like she felt her mouth go dry every time it looked like someone was going to approach you….

And its like fate was on your side that night, because the moment Abby approached you at the dock, Hazel was settling herself into Ellie’s lap, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck and ultimately blocking you from her view completely.

The next time she does get a chance to see you again, you’re wrapped up in none other than Abby Anderson’s arms.

It’s just her luck, isn’t it? That out of every girl in your small beachside town, you choose that fucking idiot. You choose the girl that everyone knows to be Ellie’s sworn fucking enemy since forever. The only explanation is that you’re doing this on purpose. You know exactly what to do to get under Ellie’s skin. You did it when you were flirting with Jesse right in front of her, you did it when you kicked her out of your bedroom the last time you two were together, and you were doing it right fucking now by getting all cozy with Abby fucking Anderson.

So of course, she has to try and stop this.

But Ellie soon realizes that she spends way too much time mentally dwelling over this, and accusing you of something she knew deep down was very much out of character for you, because the second her eyes search for the two of you, she’s met with something she can only assume was pulled out of her worst nightmare.

You and Abby hand in hand as she helps you into her car.

Ellie is quick to push Hazel off her lap, her eyes now frantically searching for your brother. Once she spots him, she’s interrupting his conversation the moment she opens her mouth.

“Hey man…have you um….do know where your sisters going right now?” She asks almost out of breath, her eyes shifting quickly between Derek and Abby’s truck as she pulls out of her spot in the parking lot.

Your brother raises his eyebrows as he looks back to where you are in the girls car, nodding as he takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah, she just came and told me her friend is gonna take her home” he explains casually with a shrug before he tries to turn back to his conversation.

Ellie scoffs in disbelief at his casual tone, her hand reaching forward to grab his shoulder and turn him around to face her again.

“Friend? Did you even see who she was leaving with?” Her voice is laced with worry and distress as she complains to your brother, the man oblivious to Ellie’s frantic demeanor.

“Wasn’t it just Abby? They’ve been friends forever…I honestly don’t trust anyone other than that girl. Have you seen her fucking arms? I think my sister is in good hands with her” he chuckles softly as he gives Ellie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Between his words and his reaction to the entire thing, Ellie feels like she’s going to lose her fucking mind.

Her green eyes go wide as she stares at your brother before she gives a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s just Abby? As in Abby fucking Anderson? Are we talking about the same girl here? Or are you suffering from fucking brain damage?” She snaps back.

Her wild eyes and mean words take your brother back, his playful laughter dying down once he realizes that he friend is quite literally tweaking over the fact that you’ve left with the girl that he knew she had some beef with.

“Woah…calm down man. It’s just my sister, your beef with Anderson doesn’t really have anything to do with her…she’ll be fine” he tries to assure her once more, his tone softening to calm his friend.

This does nothing though. It makes Ellie pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance as she shakes her head. “Give me your keys” she demands with her palm out, pushed towards him.

Derek furrows his brows in confusion. “What? Are you seriously going to-“ he’s quickly cut off by Ellie, stopping him from finishing his question.

“Give me your fucking keys Derek. I’m not letting that asshole get it in with your sister” she finally admits, her words making your brothers eyes go wide with realization, finally seeing the situation for what it really was.

He inhales deeply before he reaches into his pocket and finally places his keys into his friends hand without another word, biting back the smirk that threatened to grace his lips.

He always thought Ellie’s animosity towards you was weird, but he never thought it would mean this all along.

She doesn’t even notice, the girl quickly taking the keys and mumbling a small ‘thanks’ as she jogs up the path to the parking lot to jump into your brothers car, and race home.

Meanwhile at your house, Abby was showing you quite the time.

It didn’t take long for you two to give into the tension that had settled the moment she picked you up from the dock. One moment you were toying with the little loose hairs falling from her braid and framing her face, and the next you were tugging her up to your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

Her hands were all over you, caressing your body as her knee began grinding into your core, her lips swallowing up your moans as you clung to her desperately, chasing your high as if your life depended on it.

The feeling of Abby against you cleared Ellie out of your head almost immediately. You weren’t worried about her or the mean things she’d said to you, or the nasty way she’d treated you after getting what she wanted from you. What once was a bed that you could barely sleep in without thinking of her was now filled with the feeling of Abby, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Ellie realizes she’s too late when she pulls into your driveway to see Abby’s truck is still there, and she has to stop herself from ripping your brothers car door off when she gets out and slams it closed. There’s still something in her that hopes this is all innocent, that you didn’t really do the unthinkable and take Abby Anderson home to spite her. She hopes that the sweet side of you has taken the moral high ground, that you’ve gone to bed like the good girl she knows you are and Abby just happened to walk home and leave her car in your driveway.

So when she’s jogging on the stairs after frantically searching for you downstairs, hoping that she’ll find you sound asleep in your bed, her blood practically runs cold when her hand wraps around your doorknob…

And she can make out the familiar sounds of your moans through your door, paired with Abby’s words of encouragement to go with it.

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou part 2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you

790 notes · View notes

sheisjoeschateau · 13 days ago

Text

"Oh, so we do love Steve..."

VOLUME II Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

VOLUME II / CHAPTER 1-4 (WARNINGS/NOTES): t.w.'s - severe traumatic diagnosis for one of the main characters, heavy topics, language, sensitive mental health matters.

[These chapters are meant to be read directly after Part X, in chronological order.]

Tbh if you are not comfortable reading about traumatic situations that lead to trauma induced mental states, then this is jot the story for you. That said, this story has a very beautiful, warm ending and the light at the end of the tunnel is eternally bright. So in my humble opinion? It's worth every bit of the damn journey, if you wanna hold my hand and get there together (we can follow behind Steve & Bauman, as they hold each other tight through it all). 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh we are so back. And now? We're doing a time jump skip before we travel back in time, to figure out what all led up to this moment. Not gonna say much this time, because I really wanna let these next few chapters & my writing speak for themselves.

But I will say... I *did* make sure to include the first 4 chapters since I've been away for so long... ;)

Huge immense thank you to everyone who has not only been following this story religiously, but as also had an absurd amount of patience with me in picking this back up. Life's been keeping me occupied, but I can't complain. This platform is my escape, and I've nurtured it (along with this story) so that it's never a platform that doesn't provide me joy, release and peace of f*cking mind. You all do that for me and ily all the more for it. :)

Xx, Misha

Bonus: If you listen to this song cover, wayyyylllp then you are in for a treat. It heavily inspired this series volume, and it will be back...

***

CHAPTER ONE Systems Processing

Two months later . . .

The bedroom was dim and still. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful. Just stale, heavy with breath not being taken deep enough and seconds that dragged instead of passed.

Outside, spring pushed up from the thawed ground like it had every year, resilient and blind to the war they’d all just finished losing pieces of themselves to. Inside, the Harrington house felt like a museum. Untouched plates on the dining table, old jackets on doorknobs, too many pairs of shoes by the door. Haunted by the living.

Steve didn’t move.

He lay on his side on top of the covers, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and sweatpants, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other hanging limp off the edge like it had forgotten it belonged to a body. He wasn’t asleep. Not really awake either. His eyes were open. Glazed over, red-rimmed, fixed somewhere past the wall, past reality, like he was watching something only he could see.

He hadn’t spoken in four days.

No one called it ‘catatonia’ out loud, not even Owens. Maybe because saying it would make it real. Maybe because nobody knew what the hell to do about it anyway. Even Robin, who normally refused to let anything rot in silence, had gone still around him now. Hopper kept pacing. Joyce kept cooking. Dustin cried exactly once in the garage and punched the wall when Steve didn’t flinch at the sound.

Everyone floated.

Steve sank.

Except when you were there.

The door creaked softly. No knock. Just you.

Just Bauman.

Just his.

You slipped into the room with the slow ease of someone who’d already been here a hundred times. Which, to be fair, you had. First when Steve was an ass. Then when he was a friend, even though that took a solid four years in the making. And then it’d been whenever things shifted again, into something more. And again and again, as it kept being more.

And then there was now.

Now, when he was… this.

You didn’t speak right away. Just eased the door shut behind you and made your way across the room with a quiet, practiced patience. You weren’t hurrying. You didn’t tiptoe either. You walked like it was any other Tuesday, like this was just another morning, like Steve wasn’t fractured behind his eyes and lost somewhere between what had happened and what he couldn’t stop reliving.

You climbed onto the bed.

Not over him, not around. Right in front. You lay on your side, facing him, tucking your forearm under your own head as you shifted until his vacant stare met your eyes. He was still looking right through you. You didn’t flinch.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, voice low, dry, but warm like always. “You look like a man who got hit by a bus and is now haunted by the ghosts of every single wheel.”

Steve didn’t blink. But his jaw twitched. Just a little.

“I mean that in the sexiest way possible,” you added, deadpan. “Total roadkill vibe. My type. I’m into it.”

The corner of your mouth curved. You watched him with that unreadable, Bauman-brand expression you always wore, somewhere between ‘I might kiss you’ and ‘I might blackmail you with a secret I haven’t even discovered yet.’

He didn’t smile. Not yet.

You reached up, gently brushed your thumb under his eye. “You didn’t sleep again.”

He hadn’t.

I couldn’t, he thinks.

The nights were always worse. They always got started behind his eyelids. A twisted slideshow began the second he let them shut, VHS clicking into place and no remote in sight to keep it from pressing play all on its own, inside his own head.

Inside his own mind, the tape rolled. The images, the smells. Blood. Burnt hair. Electricity. Boots on tile. Your scream. Hopper’s fear. Dustin’s hands shaking as he pressed them against Steve’s chest, clinging, no longer play-fighting and begging him to not blame himself, no matter what. Max’s cries, raw and unfiltered, telling him she’s scared, she’s scared, “I’m so scared, Steve, please don’t leave me in there, I can’t go back there, please Steve, please.” It’s all so unfamiliar, hearing them all sound so broken, they’re not supposed to be broken like that. He doesn’t understand it. It’s foreign.

Just as foreign as his own voice had been, sobbing for you, shoving Jonathan’s chest whenever he’d stopped pumping yours, demanding him to fix you, “fix her, we have to fix her, Byers, she’s not breathing, no one stopped helping you find Will, she’s not fucking breathing—”

Steve blinked once. Just once.

Slowly.

You leaned closer. Not to kiss him. Just to be there. In his line of sight. In the only patch of reality he seemed able to touch right now.

“I made coffee. It’s terrible. I thought about poisoning Hopper’s mug, just to keep the spark alive. But Joyce would probably revive him with a look and then shoot me in the foot.”

A breath huffed from Steve’s nose.

It wasn’t a laugh. But it was a reaction.

“Too soon?” you teased, voice of an angel, mind of the devil.

Your smile barely moved. But your eyes did. You looked at him, not through him, and didn’t treat him like glass. You never did.

“I know you’re in there,” you said gently. “Probably trapped in that stupid overachieving brain of yours, underneath that—” you inhaled, allowing yourself to sigh deeply, lackadaisical as the words finished your sentence and eyes shifted to his hair as you stroked it. “—stupid perfect head of hair that I swear has started styling itself. Because your brain just keeps overthinking that hard.” Your eyes soften slightly as you stroke his hair gently, your thumb against his temple. “Thinking about how you could’ve done it all better. How if you’d just gotten to us sooner, or stopped that Soviet with the gun faster, or stayed calmer, yelled louder, climbed faster, kicked harder…”

Steve’s lip quivered.

You saw it.

So you leaned in a little closer, voice softer now. Letting truth find its way into the conversation without force, the way Owens had told you to do. Unforced, but not kept in an untouched vault. That’s what he’d said. Don’t mask it. Give it room to breathe.

“But I was dead, Harrington.”

His breath hitched.

“I mean, technically. Legally,” you clarified with ease, voice light, head tilting just slightly in the most subtle mock tease of the specifics. “Pulse-free and crispy. And you brought me back anyway.” Your brows lifted slightly. “You. Your hands. Your voice. Five minutes.”

Steve’s stare flickered. A slight twitch of his eyebrow.

His throat moved as he swallowed, like it hurt. Burned.

The way that your lungs had when you…

“And before you start spiraling,” you added quickly, “Eddie kept time, so if you wanna blame anyone for the fact that my heart stopped for exactly five minutes and seven seconds, blame Munson. Pretty sure he got his CPR certification off the back of a Judas Priest album.”

Steve blinked. Once. Then again.

The silence pressed in again. He still didn’t speak. But his eyes weren’t glass anymore. They were there. Focused. Locked on you.

You held that gaze and didn’t move.

“It’s okay to rest now,” you said quietly. “As long as you want. You fought so hard, Steve. For everyone. For me. For Dustin.” Your eyes glittered, never leaving his face. His beautiful, sweet face. “You don’t have to carry it all anymore.”

His fingers moved. Just barely. A slight twitch against the edge of the comforter, like maybe they wanted to reach for yours but forgot how.

You noticed. Didn’t push it.

Instead, you let your fingers wiggle on top of the sheets. A little flutter, drumming the mattress, shifting just barely an inch towards his as you offered something lighter. “Also, I should let you know Dustin is trying to organize your VHS collection by genre and thematic arc. I told him you’d rise from the dead and end him if he even touched Die Hard, so now he’s avoiding eye contact with your bookshelf like it personally insulted him.”

Steve’s lips twitched. The faintest hint of a smile.

You grinned gently.

Then softly, barely a whisper…

“...s’fine,” he rasped.

You froze.

Your eyes widened just a bit. “What?”

Steve swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. He blinked slowly, then looked at you, actually looked, and tried again.

“S’fine,” he finally repeated, voice hoarse. “Let him… alphabetize it.”

You exhaled through your nose like someone had just cracked a window in a smoke-filled room. Then blinked hard, as if not to cry.

Steve saw that, his hazy brown eyes never leaving yours. And for the first time in days, he moved on his own. One hand, his fingers slow and unsure, reached out. Touched your wrist. Like an anchor.

A lighthouse in the vast sea, swelling in the storm.

You covered his hand with yours immediately.

Robin appeared in the doorway not long after. Dustin, too. Both of them froze when they saw you holding hands. Steve’s awake. Not smiling, but finally looking somewhat alive behind his eyes.

The sight of it makes Robin’s hand come up to her mouth. Dustin didn’t even hide the tears. He darted into the room and flung himself at the foot of the bed, landing belly-first on the mattress like a flying possum.

“DUDE,” he blurted. “You talked. That’s literally the hottest thing you’ve ever done. Well, second hottest. First is obviously the CPR thing, because you were like, ‘clear!’ and then—”

“Hey.” You extended your leg and lightly waved your foot at Dustin. “Hey. Volume.”

Steve’s eyes stayed on you. Watching your mouth move. Your eyes flicker, your smile fluttering upwards at the corner like you didn’t want it to, not wanting to risk overwhelming him, but couldn’t help it.

And the ghosts? They weren’t gone. But they were quieter. Just for a little while.

Because Steve didn’t see the bodies anymore. Dead and dying, bleeding and wilting. Gasping for air, pleading for help, croaking out one last breath before their eyes became lifeless…

He only saw you.

Dustin didn’t say anything. Not for a full minute. He just stayed right there, half-sprawled on the bed, arms curled under his chest, chin resting on the blanket like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. That ridiculous, familiar grin was stretched across his face. The one that used to hide the gap from the baby teeth he never lost on time. The one that now revealed a full row of permanent teeth, like time itself had forgotten how young they all still were.

He didn’t even try to stop smiling. Just beamed, at you and at Steve, even though Steve still hadn’t looked at him.

Steve’s gaze was fixed on you like it couldn’t be pried away without breaking something fragile. Like you were the only thing that could anchor him in a world that still felt too loud, too bright, too fast. His hand was still under yours, his fingers curled a little tighter now. Not gripping, just holding. Like it was something his body had finally caught up with and realized that he needed.

Robin hadn’t moved. She stood just inside the doorway, still braced against the frame like her knees had gone weak. Her hand was still over her mouth, covering the trembling edges of a sob that didn’t quite make it out. Her eyes were red. Brimming. Silent.

She hadn’t spoken since you went into the room.

You didn’t turn to look at either of them. Not yet. You kept your eyes on Steve, kept your breathing even. Your voice stayed low and calm, your expression steady, but not blank. There was feeling behind all of it. Deep feeling. But you kept it all tightly coiled behind your eyes, refusing to let it all spill out and drown the moment.

Refusing to let it drown him.

Because you knew better than to flood a fragile circuit. And Steve Harrington, for all his strength, was cracked glass right now.

“Okay,” you murmured, just loud enough for the three of you to hear. “That’s enough excitement for one minute.”

Steve’s lip twitched again, brows furrowing. Barely. But it was there.

You smiled gently and looked past him, for the first time, at Dustin. You didn’t need to speak, just extended your free hand slightly, palm out, a soft gesture of welcome.

It’s okay.

Dustin understood immediately. He always did, with you. Always listeners, and trusted. He nodded once, moving forward slowly. Carefully, like the air in the room might shatter if he walked too hard. He knelt beside the bed, right by where you and Steve’s hands met and held onto each other. He didn’t reach for Steve, though. Didn’t talk, or ask questions, or try to make him speak. He just sat there, patiently, close enough to be seen but not felt.

Letting Steve see him.

And Steve didn’t flinch. His eyes, still on you, subtly flicked toward the movement. Toward Dustin.

His brother.

Steve’s doe eyes softened. It was a microscopic shift, but it was beautiful all the same. He didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t.

Owens had told you it would be like this.

“He might echo things you say,” he’d warned you all quietly, three nights ago. “That’s the easiest form of communication for someone in a post-catatonic fugue. He’ll sound lucid, but it’s muscle memory. Like the mind is bouncing off the walls of someone else’s words until it finds its own again.”

And that’s exactly what it had been. Four days of silence. Then, the faintest whisper of your own words sent back at you. Like an echo from underwater.

Until now.

Until “it’s fine.”

Those were his own words.

The weight of it still hadn’t settled. Because it was easier to hear about symptoms than to live with them. Easier to nod while Owens spoke in that tired, professional way of his, full of disclaimers and caveats, than to sit here and watch someone you loved disappear inch by inch. To see them breathe and blink and not be in the room.

But now? Now, Steve was here. Not all the way. Not completely.

But here.

You exhaled quietly and glanced at Dustin. His eyes were still shiny, but he was beaming. God, he was so bright when he smiled like that. Like he didn’t even know the room was still full of ghosts.

“Hey,” you murmured.

Steve’s eyes came back to you immediately. Locked. Like gravity.

“Think maybe,” you said, soft but sure, “you should try some water. Or, you know, attempt the wild and crazy act of swallowing something that isn’t your own feelings.”

Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even nod. But the little flex in his jaw again, that little tick of muscle like his body remembered the shape of response, was enough.

You turned to Dustin. “Can you grab me that water glass from the dresser?”

Dustin scrambled with quiet eagerness. He brought the glass over, hand shaking just slightly. You winked at him as he handed it to you, not Steve, and backed off again. Still watching. Still smiling.

You took the glass and touched it to Steve’s lower lip gently. “Try,” you whispered.

He didn’t open his mouth right away. Didn’t pull away either.

You watched him patiently. Felt his fingers twitch again beneath yours.

Then, slow as thawing ice, he parted his lips.

You tilted the glass carefully as he lifted his head, which was progress. A little water slipped inside.

He swallowed. It wasn’t graceful. His throat bobbed like it hurt. But he didn’t choke. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact with you for a second.

“Good,” you said softly. Your thumb rubbed his knuckles once.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. And then something happened. Something subtle. Not movement. Not sound.

Shift.

The air changed. Or maybe he did. Something behind his eyes. Like the light finally touched a corner it hadn’t in days.

He still didn’t speak. But he blinked, and this time, the blink felt real. Felt like his, not like the mind stalling and resetting.

Robin made a soft noise behind her hand.

You turned your head finally, just enough to glance at her. Her eyes met yours, wide and wet.

You gave the smallest nod. It’s gonna be okay.

Robin’s shoulders sank like the air had gone out of her lungs. She nodded, and didn't try to speak. Just stayed there, hand still over her mouth, a silent sentinel by the door.

You turned back to Steve.

He was still looking at you.

“Hey,” you murmured. “Still with me, baby?”

Another blink. This one slower, all for you...

You smiled, soft and sure, and squeezed his hand. “Good.”

It’s been maybe three minutes since you said that. Four, at most. Steve still hasn’t looked away from you. Not really. His gaze has drifted, sure, over your shoulder, to the steady weight of Dustin leaned up against the window. Just in his line of sight past you, propped up on your elbow beside him, smiling gently. And right behind you, Dustin was grinning quietly, that toothy smile full of unspoken loyalty.

But every time that Steve’s glossy eyes flicker over to him, they come right back to yours.

You don’t say anything about it. You just keep holding his stare. Soft, calm, right there. Because you know better than to shatter this with too many words. You don’t want to break whatever delicate thread he’s holding onto.

And Steve? He’s holding onto you.

With everything he has left.

He keeps blinking slowly, like it helps keep the noise out. Like he’s sorting through the thoughts that aren’t plagued, trying to cling to the rare ones that aren’t rotten. The only ones that feel real anymore.

Like how beautiful your smile is. Even when it’s small. Even when it’s sad. Especially when it’s sad. And even now, when you’re not trying, it’s there. Still for him.

All for him.

He thinks about how it was the first real thing he could remember after they dragged you back into the light.

That fragile smile, cracked at the edges, tender around the eyes, pulled from something ancient and bottomless inside of you, had been the first thing on your face when breath found your lungs again. After you’d been sucked underneath the current. The electric current that zapped you over to the other side. Not the literal other side, as in the wall. No, the other-other side. Not upside down. Not right-side up. Past the veil. Somewhere that you weren’t supposed to reach at only 20 years old.

Somewhere that isn’t supposed to be reached into you’re old enough to become dust in the wind. Not jolted into it by a surge of shock that takes your life decades too soon.

And yet, here you are. His.

It makes his chest hurt. In a good way. In the only way that still feels good.

When he looks at Dustin, it’s different, but not by much. That same warmth, buried somewhere deep under all the sharp panic and muscle tension. The kind of love that doesn’t make a sound. The kind he never even got from blood family. The kind you only ever feel once, and if you’re lucky, you get to keep it.

His little brother. The one he didn’t get to protect. The one they took.

The image is still burned behind his eyes. The frantic, horrible shrieking of tires on the road above, the crash through the back fence, the screaming, the uniformed men, the guns, the gag.

But worse than all of it was watching them drag Dustin out of that basement.

Drag you.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes. One blink. One breath. Steve had been gagged by then. Arms restrained so tight they bruised deep into his joints. Robin had been crying. Hopper was shouting. Joyce had been holding him, her own wrists tied, still finding a way to be there for him and shout through the fear in her throat. Mike and Max and Lucas had been frozen, pressed together against the wall like kids in a goddamn earthquake drill. Jonathan and Nancy had been shrieking, restrained and petrified, while Eddie had blood on his nose, the heel of a soldier’s boot dug deep into his back, between the shoulder blades. And Steve? Was useless.

He’d screamed so hard into the cloth they stuffed in his mouth that he’d torn the back of his throat. Spit and blood soaked the gag until it stuck to his tongue like glue. And all he could see were your legs disappearing through the doorway. Your voice screaming his name, telling them not to hurt him, not to hurt your uncle. Or Susie, or Dustin.

Dustin trying to kick someone. His own wrists tearing against the tape they’d slapped onto him. Robin’s voice trying to scream for him. Trying to scream for you. And Steve.

“Steve, Steve, look at me—Steve, look at me!”

He can still hear Robin saying it. After they’d dragged you through the same door where Steve used to let you crash after movie nights, down the same hallway where Dustin always sneaks down for snacks in the middle of the night.

The man cave. His swanky, overcompensating bachelor pad turned game room turned war zone. And now it feels like a coffin. And yet somehow, you’re all still breathing in it.

“—gonna need at least three jars of peanut butter,” Dustin now mumbles beside you, voice low, conspiratorial, but bright. Like he’s trying not to wake Steve up from something.

You glance over your shoulder, raise an eyebrow. “Three? What’re you, eating it by the spoonful?”

“You know I do.”

Robin lets out a little puff of air through her fingers, still covering her mouth. A non-laugh. Her eyes are glassy. Twinkly. She hasn’t said a word since she sat down.

“You gonna back me up here?” Dustin asks, flicking his gaze to her as he steps up behind your back.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow. “She’s in mourning. The last of her protein bars got stolen by Murray.”

“I told her not to leave them in the glove compartment,” comes a voice from around the corner.

Your uncle.

Murray rounds it like a ghost. Barefoot, carrying a mug of black coffee and a clipboard, because of course he is. He doesn’t speak too loud. He doesn’t let the sarcasm spike above a dull rumble. It’s uncharacteristically softened, the way he only does it when he knows someone’s not okay and in genuine distress. He doesn’t comment on Steve’s distant, unblinking eyes.

You don’t either.

“I’m not saying the breakfast situation is dire,” Murray continues, perching on the edge of the low dresser without asking. He doesn’t need to. “But I am saying the last two eggs were questionably expired and Argyle made something that looked suspiciously like psychedelic oatmeal.”

You smirk. “He’s still on the kale kick?”

“Unfortunately. And he brought yogurt. Vegan. Unsweetened. Tastes like damp cement.”

“Ugh,” Robin croaks through her fingers.

You sniff a laugh. Even Dustin makes a face.

“I told him to pick up normal groceries with Hopper and Jonathan.” You flick your eyes back to Steve. He’s still watching you. Barely breathing. “Hopper’s definitely gonna ignore at least half of the list I made for it.”

He stares at you.

“Not if you guilt him hard enough,” Murray mutters. “You’re good at that.”

“She’s excellent at that,” Dustin adds.

You shoot both of them a look. “I use my powers responsibly.”

“Sure you do,” Murray says, sipping his coffee. “That’s why I’m out three Twinkies and half a carton of Pringles.”

You raise your hands. “That’s called preserving morale.”

Clutch.

There’s a flicker. A movement at the edge of your vision.

Steve’s hand.

It shoots out, sudden and sharp, and grabs you by the wrist. Not hard, but tight. Tight enough that it startles you. Tight enough that the others stop talking for a good solid handful of seconds, like the oxygen’s changed.

Steve’s eyes are wide now. Not as scared like they were before. Not as panicked. Just fierce. Pleading. The kind of look that says please don’t go without him ever making a sound.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not even close. But God, it still guts you.

“Hey…” Your voice is steady. “Hey. No one’s going anywhere. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t answer. You didn’t expect him to. So you squeeze his hand back. Gently. Letting him know you mean it. That you always will.

Then, very slowly, you bring his hand to your lips. Press a kiss to the base of his palm. Another one to the inside of his wrist. One more on his knuckles. All tender. All without words. Like muscle memory, like prayer.

Steve breathes a little better. A little more audibly. A bit shaky, jaw tightening and loosening… until finally, it settles.

You don’t stop smiling all the way through it.

“Okay,” you say, clearing your throat, and looking back at the group like you didn’t just feel your soul split in two. “We’re making a new list. Items Argyle and Jonathan are actually capable of acquiring.”

“Chips,” Dustin says immediately.

“Done.”

“Chocolate,” Robin murmurs.

“Double done.”

“Eggs,” Murray says. “Preferably not pre-rotted.”

You’re still holding Steve’s hand. Still smiling, still at ease.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel him shifting closer. Subtly. Timidly. He lets himself move inch by inch until his head is pressed against your chest plate, tucked in tight, safe underneath your chin. One strong arm stays curled close to his own ribs. His breathing is soft, still a little shaky, but it’s steady.

You rest your cheek against his hair, willing yourself not to say anything about the way his fingers clutch tighter into your shirt.

Dustin keeps adding items to the list. Murray keeps making dry remarks about produce. Robin chimes in once or twice with a cracked voice and grateful eyes.

And you, still holding Steve, you just keep guiding the conversation.

Because you’re the lighthouse.

Because Steve needs to hear the waves crashing on something steady. He needs to hear life continuing. He needs to feel love in the room without it asking anything from him in return. Just letting him exist in it.

Just letting him be.

And you’re not going anywhere.

Steve hasn’t moved from your chest, his breath still faintly damp against the soft fabric of your shirt. The black one he loves so much, the long sleeve that he says always makes him feel feral, ‘because you look like a badass that looks like she always wants to be told what to do but can hold her own in a fight.’ That’s how he’d described it once and it never left your brain. It lived up there, rent free.

Right now, his hand still clutches the hem of it, tucked in against his ribcage like it’s all that’s holding him together. You never stopped cradling him, never moved your cheek from the crown of his head, your arms circled around him like a ring of protection.

Murray sits back on the shallow bureau with a grumble, flipping through his clipboard notes, his pen still tucked behind his ear. “Alright, eggs, bread, three jars of peanut butter to appease the peanut gallery…”

“Rude,” Dustin mutters, no heat behind it.

“—those dinosaur nuggets that El’s now hooked on, that soup Steve likes… Jesus, what brand is it again?”

You answer quietly, not moving your cheek. “The one with the basil swirl in it. He always gets the tomato basil swirl. From that organic aisle.”

Murray clicks his tongue and scribbles. “Right. Pretentious soup aisle.”

“Hey, he likes it,” you murmur, just enough for Steve to hear, brushing your lips against his hairline before resting your cheek right back where it was. “That’s good enough for me.”

Your uncle hums, writing it down.

Dustin is seated cross-legged on the floor by the window now, nodding along as he tosses a grape from one hand to the other. “Mm, and those cinnamon rolls from that one place. The really soft ones he warms up with butter.”

“And peach Snapple,” Robin chimes in from the wall, next to the doorframe. She pushes herself off it now, moving closer. “He always picks the peach. Even when I tell him strawberry’s better.”

“He also buys it even when it’s not on sale,” you smile softly, letting your palm drift in slow circles across Steve’s back. “It’s like his small rebellion.”

Murray scoffs a laugh. Fond, no heat behind it. He sighs. “You people spend money like you’ve never been broke a day in your lives.”

He pauses, shaking his head, glancing up at you from his clipboard. He pursed his lips, lightly tapping his pen against the paper for a couple of beats while just taking in the side of you holding him in the morning light, tucked here safely in his bed with him, over the covers.

Murray finally sighs again. “So do you, by the way.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you hum, glancing over at him curiously. He just lifts an eyebrow, still writing down the grocery list.

“The Peach Snapple,” he clarifies easily, not looking up from his clipboard as he scribbles. “The one he always gets. So do you.”

That makes the little knit between your brows smooth over, and your cheeks begin to warm. It’s true, you think to yourself. You’d let that become a habit of yours, opting to start liking it since you’d always go to the store with him and he’d always grab one from the cooler before you both would even start shopping. Even whenever you guys would hit a 7-Eleven, or some really nice grocery market, he always looked for it. So now, you did the same thing. It grew on you.

Just like he did.

You smile to yourself. And then, muffled and still buried in your chest… you hear the words again. Echoed.

“…so do you.”

Steve.

Silence drops like a pin in church. Even your newly irregular heartbeat stutters in time against Steve’s forehead.

Murray’s head ticks up in surprise. Robin’s eyes go wide. Dustin stops chewing, mid-grape.

Your arms tighten just slightly around Steve, eyes flickering to your uncle. You’re stunned. Not just because Steve had spoken, but because it was that. A mirror of Murray’s own words, mouthed back with just the faintest hint of knowing. Not entirely his voice, but not not his either.

Oh my god, you think.

Oh my god, oh my god.

Murray blinks, and then, with the smooth recovery only he’s capable of, scratches his beard. “Well. At least someone’s paying attention.”

You grin, watery and full of love, kissing Steve’s hair again. “Yeah. He always does.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.

The conversation moves on, gentle and easy. Robin makes another comment about almond milk, Dustin tries to convince your uncle to get one of those pre-marinated chickens. Murray pretends not to be listening, even though he is as he lists every single thing that they ask, like the secret softie that he is.

And all the while, Steve stays right there, clinging, hidden, breathing shallow but steady.

Eventually, Murray rises from his perch, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He claps them once, casually. “Alright, you guys ready?”

It’s meant for Robin and Dustin. A polite cue. A quiet way of giving you and Steve the room.

But Steve hears it, and before you can even blink, he makes a small, high sound. Barely a noise.

A soft hitch in his throat, more breath than voice. Squeaked.

Steve’s whole body jerks slightly, muscles snapping taut. His grip tightens on your shirt like a vice. And then he’s pressing harder into your chest, panic blooming in every stiff line of his frame. He starts shaking his head a bit. As if to say no.

Murray looks over sharply, brows pulling tight.

You freeze, but only for a second. Then you’re wrapping him tighter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, no—Steve. Baby, no. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re safe. It’s just Jonathan and Hop going with Argyle, that’s all.”

Murray watches somberly, lips pressed into a hard line. Robin covers her mouth again, eyes widened with grief. Dustin looks like he wants to say something but he just swallows it, knowing better.

Your uncle waves them both down carefully, silently. As if to say don’t speak, let him do it.

You lock eyes with your uncle over Steve’s shoulder, and what passes between you in that look guts you. Because he’s never looked at anyone like this before. So carefully, so seriously, so heartbroken. Not even you, not even as a kid.

You know what that means.

He’s scared, too.

Steve’s breathing stutters through his nose a couple of times so Murray crosses the room slowly, movements deliberate. He crouches beside you both and keeps his voice low, gentle, like you didn’t know he could be.

“Kid, we’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re stuck with us. Me and her and Dustin. Robin, too. This house is on lockdown now. We’re practically self-quarantining just to annoy the government that no longer has us underneath their thumbs.”

No reaction from Steve. But no flinch either.

That’s the win. That’s the progress.

Once he’s sure Steve can hear him, Murray reaches forward and firmly rubs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. Long strokes. Solid pressure. He doesn’t speak anymore. Just lets the silence hold.

Steve doesn’t flinch. Instead… he relaxes. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to notice the tension start to bleed from his spine.

You look back at Murray again, lips parted. He meets your eyes. And this time, the worry is quieter. Still there. But with something steadier. The same thing you’re both clinging to.

Hope.

Murray finally nods once and gets up. “C’mon,” he mouths to Robin and Dustin after he’s already reached the doorway.

Robin leaves first, fast. She has to. You can see the tears building on her lashes. Dustin follows, biting his lip, head ducked.

Then it’s just you and Steve.

And still, he hasn’t said another word. Just breathing now. His face turned in, almost buried against your chest. Still clutching your shirt. Still so very quiet.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing over the back of his ear. Your voice is barely audible.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I swear to God. You’re not alone.”

He doesn’t respond. But he breathes. So you keep going.

“You don’t have to talk yet, okay? Not if it hurts. But I’m here. And when you’re ready to talk to me? I’ll still be here.”

A long pause. Long enough for your own throat to tighten. You bite back the ache. You can’t cry. Not right now. He doesn’t need that. He needs you to be steady. Needs you soft, needs you strong, needs you period.

So you whisper it again, lips brushing his temple.

“I’m right here.”

More silence. And then, so quiet it’s almost like breath itself…

“So do you.”

The same words again. The ones Murray said. The ones Steve had echoed.

But this time?

This time it feels like Steve.

This time it’s his.

You pull back just a little, enough to see him. His eyes are open. Glazed and distant and tired… but looking at you. Really looking at you.

And you smile. Through the tears now freely falling down your cheeks, you smile. Press your forehead to his.

“Murray will make sure they get it,” you whisper, nodding. “The soup, the Snapple. The rolls. He’ll get all of it.”

You kiss the tip of his nose.

Peck. Peck. Once, twice.

Then the space between his eyebrows. Each of his closed eyelids. His cheekbones. Peck, peck, peck.

“I promise.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, nor does he need to. His eyes flutter. His body softens just slightly more against you. And his hand stays right where it is, curled in the fabric of your shirt, like an anchor.

And you hold him.

You just hold him.

***

CHAPTER TWO "Steve 'The Hair' Harrington"

Steve’s wristwatch sits discarded on the bathroom sink, the clock face reading 10:03 AM.

The familiar tile is warm beneath your feet, steam still ghosting along the mirrors behind the shower curtain, thick and slow. You’ve gotten used to this space, his full private bathroom, sharing it more than you’ve ever spent inside of it alone.

You can’t hear much over the steady patter of the water, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not listening for anything.

You already know what you’ll hear.

Nothing.

Not from him, at least.

Steve stands in front of you in the shower tub, his tall frame bowed just slightly at the shoulders, like he’s holding invisible weight. His limbs are more relaxed now, despite the stiff posture, his forearms loosely crossed one over the other in front of his toned, scarred abs.

His pretty brown-eyed gaze, hazier than the steamy air, is locked on the drain. The water is gentler today, not the full pressure he usually likes. Because when it’s loud, it startles him. And right now, Steve doesn’t need another reason to flinch.

You’ve gotten used to this. Showering with him. It wasn’t always like this, of course. You used to avoid being in the same house with him if you could help it. You used to flinch when you passed each other inside the Byers’ hall whenever you all would meet there, or whenever you’d exchange dry barbs sharp enough to draw blood. Four years ago, you would’ve rather set yourself on fire than bathe beside Steve Harrington. And he would’ve helped light the match in a fucking heartbeat. Hell, he would’ve sponsored the matchbox with his daddy’s credit card and been all too pleased about it.

Because back when he was seventeen and dating Nancy Wheeler. And back when you, stupidly, maybe, had encouraged her and Jonathan to snap out of it, when you drove the two of them that night inside your uncle’s living to get over themselves, stop lying to themselves. Ever since Steve caught wind of that, he’d looked at you as if you’d ruined him. Talked to you cruelly, discarded you with pride, just like King Steve would’ve done. Treated you like you were the monster in the woods.

And you were the monster, for a while. In his eyes, anyway.

But that was years ago. And since then, the two of you have clawed your way through with grudging tolerance, reluctant teamwork, long silences, longer conversations, slow trust, soft nights, warm laughter, and then…

Well. And then you kissed.

Or really, he’d kissed you.

Out of nowhere. That night in this house. His house. The one you all ended up retreating to after everything blew sideways again, whenever Vecna vanished into thin air and Max slipped into a damn end 6-month long coma. After that night you’d all gotten a little drunk on Smirnoff (thanks to Murray), a little loud, laughing way too hard at things that shouldn’t have been funny. Hopper had been there. With Joyce. And Nancy and Jonathan. Robin. Eddie. You. Steve.

Just the adults and the younger adults, all breathing in that rare quiet, like maybe for once the world was going to give you a damn break.

Then the next morning, he’d let you read Max’s letter. The failsafes. The one she wrote to him in case she didn’t make it.

In case she didn’t wake up.

He’d gone quiet whenever he handed it to you. Or let you pick it up. He pretends not to remember, anytime you two bring that up, just knowing that it bugs you. Because you remember everything. Every little detail.

You remember he definitely didn’t read it himself, nor did he want to. He couldn’t.

So you did. And you didn’t let yourself cry until later, whenever you were alone.

Neither did he.

Then later that night, while you were in your room after brushing your teeth and coming through your wet hair, ready to try and get some sleep, he’d knocked on the door. Steve didn’t say a word when you opened it. He’d just looked at you for a moment. Just looked at you like you were the question he couldn’t answer.

And then kissed you like his life depended on it.

Next thing you know, the two of you were pulling each other close, hands desperate and shaking, mouths open and aching, both sets of limbs tangled in one of his extra beds with the extra set of sheets. All tongue and teeth, and quiet gasps, naked and exploring. Hungrily seeking warmth, seeking answers, seeking common ground. Somewhere in the bend of your knee, or the cut of his v-line, a back and forth of moans and groans sighed and hummed into each other's lips and throats.

One night became two. Then a week. Then two months.

Two whole months.

And now it was this. This silence, this ache. This boy, beautiful and battered and not gone, but not here, either.

You’re careful as you rub the shampoo into your palms, lifting your hands to his head. You don’t speak right away. Not until your fingers are combing through his hair.

“You know how many of these we’ve taken?” you murmur softly, massaging near his temples.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink, or lift his gaze.

“At least two dozen. Maybe more,” you continue, gently. You ponder over them as you let the body wash turn to suds beneath your hands, reflecting. Remembering. “Romantic ones… steamy ones…” You carefully washed over his scars along his torso, silver and healed. Marking a mere chapter of his nightmares. “That one when we were washing bat guts off each other, which was… sexy in a very specific trauma-bond way.”

Still nothing.

You glance at him and smile anyway. “But this one’s new. You’re not bossing me around about conditioner ratios. Not telling me that my rinsing technique is flawed,” you tease gently, mock-serious.

Still quiet. Until…

“Flawed.”

Your fingers stutter in his hair for a moment.

It’s almost imperceptible, the way it’s spoken from him.

You blink. And then you grin. “Exactly. Terrible technique. You should probably report me. Hair crimes, maximum sentence.”

You catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Not yet.

But you’ll take it.

So you keep going, running the suds through your own hair while the water sheets down both of you. He’s so warm beside you. Not holding you, not quite touching. But not pulling away, either. And when your elbow bumps his side, he doesn’t shift.

That alone is worth more than gold.

You take turns on both of your behalf, just like that. Soaping your arms, then his. Your neck, then his. And whenever he looks like he might be trying to make sense of things, like he should probably be doing something, you don’t let him. You’re already on it. Steve’s always on it, so now it’s your turn to be. You don’t rush. And you also don’t stop kissing his shoulder every now and then. Or brushing the curve of his jaw with your mouth. Or pressing your lips to the soft, damp place just beneath his ear.

He never leans in. But he never leans out.

And sometimes, he echoes something. Not a response. Just a mirror. A parroted echo, your uncle had once referred to it as. A faint repeat of your words, like maybe they mean something if he says them too. Which is why you treat it just like regular conversation. Like nothing’s wrong. Like this is your usual morning routine.

You talk about Dustin’s hair gel, how it still smells like pineapple and about how he needs to chill on it before his hair becomes uncooked ramen. About Robin’s meltdown over almond milk yesterday and how you’re pretty sure she’s going to end up getting arrested for smuggling raw milk by the time she’s thirty. About how Murray keeps writing oregano on the grocery list, even though there’s literally 5 bottles of it in the damn spice cabinet. About how Joyce and Hopper need to just get hitched already, how Jonathan and Nancy aren doing better. How they’re talking again. You even go on about how Mike and Lucas and Max have all actually started learning how to play instruments with Eddie, which is helping shape him out to be a great dad one day. Or maybe just the crazy uncle that he was born to be for those kids.

Steve listens, even when he’s not looking at you. He hums sometimes, looks at you sometimes like he wants to speak but can’t. He watches the bloodless water make sweet scented bubbles at his feet, where your toes kiss the top of his.

And finally, when it’s time to rinse, you ease him under the spray, guiding his head down so you can tilt it back. You’re on your toes a little, reaching, palms steady on either side of his head. You chuckle softly, deep in your chest. The sound of it bubbles out before you can stop it.

“God, you really are happiest when someone’s doing your hair,” you whisper, smiling as the conditioner starts to rinse. “I swear, if I ever wanted to propose to you, I’d probably have to do it while rinsing your bangs.”

That’s when it happens. So fast and soft you almost miss it.

A smile.

Steve Harrington smiles.

Not big. Not ultra wide. But it’s there, it’s right there and it looks just like him. Like one of those signature smiles of his, all charming and cocky and proud of himself. The one that you used to wanna smack right off his face with a bitch slap, only to end up chasing after it with your lips every goddamn day.

His lips just now had curved up into a flicker of that. Just barely. But enough to wreck you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “There he is. The King of Hair. The Crown Prince of Conditioner. My one and only shampoo deity.” You nuzzle your nose to his gently, teasingly, all featherlight and fond. Your hands keep working through the strands, rinsing the last of it out. “I should be charging for this. This is high-value spa work.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you nuzzle him with hooded eyes that swim with love and don’t look completely lost as you do...

And that? That feels like a miracle.

After carefully flipping the water off, you go to reach for the towel hanging on the rack, one hand still in his, fingers loose. It’s right behind him, where he stands underneath the nozzle where the waterfall has ceased. It’s right within arms reach where you can still see him, still hold onto you as you do it.

But right before you move, Steve catches you.

Not fast. Not suddenly, not with a desperate grip on your wrist like he’d done this morning. Just a slow, deliberate lean forward.

…and then his nose presses into yours.

Just once. Gingerly, sweetly.

Just Steve’s turn, to nuzzle your nose right back, albeit delayed. Just a few steps behind you.

You stop breathing. But only for a second. Then you smile again, steady and warm and careful not to show how badly you want to fucking cry.

Because he nuzzled back.

You nod like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it’s just another Sunday morning, another moment in the life you’ve built together. Even though it’s not. Even though it’s everything.

Because Steve might not be talking. But right now, at just past 10AM, in the quiet hush of a half-steamed shower, with conditioner still dripping from your fingers, and hot water is clinging to both your skin instead of blood and grime…

Steve Harrington is saying something.

And you’re here to listen to every single word of it.

***

CHAPTER THREE "Girlfriend"

It’s not long after the shower. Maybe twenty minutes, tops. The sun has risen higher in the sky now—barely peeking through the heavy curtains of Steve’s room, just enough to cast warm little streaks of light across the bedspread and rug. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, the one you use on both of you now. Cedarwood and citrus, clean and bright.

Steve is sitting at the edge of his bed, dressed in the off-white Henley you love most on him. The sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, loose and rumpled just enough, and he’s wearing those goddamn black joggers that cling perfectly to his hips, hanging just right off his thighs. The Henley and joggers combo? Criminal. It should be illegal how good he looks like this—towel-dried hair falling soft and boyish across his forehead, skin warm and pink from the shower, eyes somewhere far away but still… somehow home.

He looks like a dream. Your dream. Even hollowed out and lost inside himself, he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

And he’s letting you choose what he wears now.

That part, morbidly, makes you a little happy. You’re the one dressing him lately—picking out what’ll make him feel safest, softest, most like himself again. And selfishly, you get to choose all your favorite things on him. Because now you can. Because he lets you. Because you’re his. And he’s yours.

You’re still in your towel. Haven’t even gotten around to dressing yourself yet. You’re standing at his dresser, rifling through the drawers like you live here. Like you belong here. Because you do.

“Okay,” you mutter aloud, holding up one of his old Hawkins gym t-shirts and smirking to yourself, “I’m not even gonna pretend I’m not stealing all of these. I’m just—these are mine now. Sorry. That’s just the girlfriend tax.” You glance back over your shoulder. “You understand.”

He’s looking at you. Not in that faraway, glassy kind of way. Not completely. There’s something behind it now. A flicker. Something dancing in the honey-brown of his eyes like maybe he’s listening. Maybe not all of him, but enough. Enough to know you’re talking. Enough to be caught staring.

You flash him that grin of yours. The one he used to hate. That cocky, sunbeam grin he once swore made him want to walk into traffic. Back when you were seventeen and he’d still been with Nancy. Back before everything changed. Before the two of you grew up and broke down and clawed your way to this strange, undisturbed place.

That’s the precise grin you wear for him right now, the only thing you’re wearing right now except one of the plushy towels that hangs around your frame. You tilt your head.

“Girlfriend,” you say again, real sing-song and light. “You like that word, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but you see it. The way his shoulders shift, the way his mouth twitches. The way his eyes trail you as you take one slow step closer.

You say it again, quieter this time, eyes dancing. “Girlfriend.”

Another step.

And again. “Girlfriend.”

You’re barely a foot away from him now, towel still wrapped around you, your hair still dripping a little. Little beads of hot water are still clinging to your bare skin. You’re warm and damp and buzzing all over. And you’ve got this graceful saunter in your step. It’s lithe and teasing and slow, like a lioness, like something delicate and dangerous all at once. You watch him drink you in, even if he doesn’t mean to. Even if he doesn’t realize it.

You don’t reach out right away. You just kneel in front of him, slow and smooth, until you’re eye-level with where he’s sitting on the edge of bed. You’re smiling like you’re the happiest woman on the planet.

Because you are.

Because Steve makes you that.

You reach up, gently, and cradle his face in your hands.

He leans into it.

Oh, God, he leans into it.

Your thumbs press into the hollow of his cheeks, and you feel his skin… It’s still warm from the shower, still baby-soft and damp in the way that only Steve Harrington ever gets. His pretty eyelashes flutter for a second, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look at you. But he does. He keeps looking. And it hits you all over again, just how much you love him.

How much you love him in the way that makes you ache and burn and swear to yourself you’ll never let anyone hurt him again. That nobody, nobody, is going to take you from him. Or take him from you. Not after everything. Not after what he’s survived.

And then, barely above a whisper…

“…girlfriend,” Steve says.

Just that. Mild. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the sound of it.

You nod through the rush of heat in your throat, through the sting in your eyes. You smile wide and wicked, all fondness and joy, and you tease him like it’s no big deal, like yeah, you knew he liked it. Of course he likes it. You’re his fucking girlfriend.

Then Steve reaches up. Slowly, a larghetto movement. His fingers wrap around your wrists, right where your delicate hands still cradle his face. His touch is feather-light, but it’s real. He’s grounding himself. Holding on.

He says it again.

“Girlfriend.”

This time it’s stronger. Not loud, but his. It sounds like the way he says your name whenever he’s teasing you. The way that he says it when he’s kissing you and shutting you up. Like he’s not just saying the word, he’s claiming it.

Your chest tightens. Your hands tighten just a little around his jaw, and your eyes glisten even as your smile spreads wider. You lean in, just a fraction, and your nose brushes his.

“Yeah,” you breathe, so quietly. “Yours.”

His sad eyes twinkle, piercing into yours despite the trauma that hazes over them and tries to kill the light inside of them.

"All yours," you breathe against him with a gentle smile, eskimo kissing him the way that the two of you always do.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, Steve’s eyes don’t look lost. They look like they’re finding their way back.

One patient, soft second at a time.

***

CHAPTER FOUR "Frozen Exstinction"

It was exactly 12:31 PM when the front door burst open like someone had just returned from war. Not the type of war that this crew was used to dealing with, though.

Instead? They’d conquered a war waged in the fluorescent battlefield of supermarket aisles.

“Operation: Grocery Heist complete,” Argyle declared grandly, arms overloaded with a precariously teetering stack of brown paper bags. “We bring you tribute, o mighty household.”

Jonathan followed right behind him, far less theatrical, sunglasses still pushed up on his head and a bag of apples hooked onto his wrist like a purse. “He means we spent an embarrassing amount of money on exactly what everyone demanded, down to the five separate coffee listings.”

Hopper was already at the kitchen counter and halfway through pouring himself what had to be his third or fourth mug of coffee. He grunted like he had every intention of making it to five. “Six. That list said coffee six times.”

Murray didn’t even look up from the bag he was already rifling through. “That’s because we knew you’d think four was too low and five was some kind of trap. Six is your psychological sweet spot. You’re welcome.”

“You people are insane,” Joyce muttered, already reaching to help you unload the loot, her voice thick with amusement. “Who needs six kinds of coffee in one day?”

“You, apparently,” Murray quipped without missing a beat. “You’ve got Hopper’s taste in men, why not his taste in caffeine dependency?”

“Ouch,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh as you moved alongside Jonathan, digging through the mountain of groceries now overtaking Steve’s kitchen. “I felt that one from across the room.”

“I liked that one,” Jonathan grinned, elbowing you lightly. “We should start writing these down. Volume One: The Strangest Things That Piss Off Hopper and Murray: A Sibling Guide to Survival.”

“We are not siblings,” Murray snapped, already tossing a rogue orange back into the fruit bowl like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah,” you smirked beside him, “you wish you were in this bloodline.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Jonathan as you and your uncle high-fived.

“See? Dangerous combo,” he warned the room, nudging Hopper’s shoulder in passing as he walked past. “You let two people like us exist in the same kitchen? Mistake.”

“I’ve made worse,” Hopper muttered into his coffee. “I’ve married worse.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, laughing. “Oh, please, spare me your sob st—”

“Ayyyye,” you and Murray both said in harmonic unison, your Cheshire-grinned faces both alight with wide eyes.

You both snapped your fingers at Joyce, who buried her head in her hands, immediately catching onto what she’d just done. Hopper gaped at her.

“It’s sticking,” Murray sing-songs.

“Exhibit A, Hop,” Jonathan gestured to his mother while looking at him. He gestured wildly between all three of you now. “Exhibit fuckin’ A.”

“Language,” Joyce feebly attempted, muffled into her hands.

In the middle of the chaos, Steve just sat there. Perched on one of the kitchen island stools, still wearing that off-white Henley and those loose black joggers you’d laid out for him earlier, his hair still slightly damp and towel-dried, like he hadn’t moved since you’d pulled it back from his face with your fingers and whispered how stupid hot he looked. Because he did. Even like this. Despite being this quiet, depleted, soft-edged and shell-like, Steve Harrington looked like a goddamn dream.

He wasn’t talking. Not contributing to the mayhem unfolding around him. But he was watching. You could tell, just from the way his eyes flicked from person to person. He tracked the lackadaisical way Argyle dumped a bunch of boxes labeled ‘snack cakes’ onto the counter with a proud “for morale” falling out of his mouth, to the way that you giggled beside Jonathan while Murray muttered “morale’s a scam.”

Steve didn’t smile. Not yet. But he was watching.

That was new. First time he’d actively done it like this in a group setting, for the last four days.

It was progress. And it mattered.

You kept sliding things out of bags, laughing with your uncle as you discovered the outrageous number of hot sauce bottles he’d sneakily requested, when Jonathan suddenly dropped a cold six-pack of peach Snapple right in front of you on the counter with a light thud.

“For the Harrington,” he said with a casual sort of grandiose, handing off another pack to Argyle to put in the fridge.

You blinked, then looked at the label, and instantly smiled.

Without missing a beat in the flow of conversation, you plucked one cold bottle from the pack and wiggled your eyebrows at Steve, flashing him a tiny grin. Then, you set it down gently in front of him. He blinked at it, then looked up at you, eyes soft and slow and warm in a way that told you yes, he sees you.

And the truth is, he always did, even when his catatonic state was at a level 2.

He watches as you pick up a second bottle, thinking that the first one had been for him, but then he watches as you silently pop the seal off this one. Not loud, not startling. And then, you place it down in front of him — exchanging it with the first. And all the while, you kept talking to Murray and Jonathan about who was going to organize the pantry this time.

“Not it,” you said. “Not it,” Jonathan echoed, barely squeezing it in. “Absolutely not,” said Argyle like he had ten minutes to spare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve finally reaching for the bottle. His fingers curled around it like it was made of porcelain.

His blank expression flickers with glimpses of thoughts. Oh.

You’d let the first one, kept sealed, register with him…

…and then you actually opened a second one for him, and let him drink it…

…since he wouldn’t open his own.

Steve warily brought the opened peach Snapple into his lap, looking at it for a moment. And then slowly, so gently, he leaned sideways, his shoulder brushing against yours, the full weight of him subtle and seeking.

You didn’t stop talking. Didn’t react like it was precious, didn’t patronize or praise him. You just kept socializing and let him press into you, gradually and wordlessly, as you reached across the island for a box of granola bars and launched right back into teasing Hopper for having labeled beef jerky as “emergency rations.”

Steve just kept sipping.

Just kept sitting there, watching and absorbing.

Letting himself be included.

And then, right on cue, like a sitcom entrance with stage lights behind him: Eddie Munson rounded the corner, freshly showered, black hair wild and damp, sporting jeans and a band tee that somehow made him look like he’d just wandered off a stage in 1987.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and traumatized royalty,” he sang, making a grand sweep of his arms as he entered the kitchen. “I bring peace, hydration, and the lingering smell of herbal shampoo.”

“Good god,” Joyce muttered with a fond smile.

Murray didn’t look up. “You’re worse than Argyle.”

Argyle gave him a thumbs up. “I taught him.”

Eddie leaned dramatically against the fridge, letting it hold him up like he was the star of his own soap opera. “So what’s for lunch, huh? What do you feed a recovering hero with a six-pack and the sad eyes of a wounded golden retriever?”

There was a pause as you hummed, pretending to consider that. Murray actually sniffed out a laugh, head still down, while Jonathan drummed the table and squinted as if he actually was searching for a witty answer.

Joyce pursed her lips from the bread basket, starting to answer as she stocked it. “Well…”

But then a tiny sound escaped and entered into the mix.

…from where Steve sat quietly nestled beside you, still leaning.

Not a word. Not a sentence.

Just a soft, breathy puff of tinkered laughter.

Like surprise had pushed the air out of him without asking.

Every head turned.

Eddie was frozen mid-lean, eyebrows raised high.

Joyce looked like someone had just handed her a puppy. Hopper went still, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth, mouth hung open behind the rim, while Murray flicked his eyes up towards the sound.

Jonathan’s fingers drumming the counter ceased immediately. And you? Your heart just cracked open like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. You turned to look down at him, your eyes wide, seeing now that Steve’s expression had shifted just the smallest amount. It had the wholesome, innocent appearance of someone who had just caught onto the joke.

His mouth was tilted in a quiet, barely-there, subtly open-mouthed smile. And his eyes were on Eddie, having just processed the lighthearted joke that he’d tossed into the ring a good five or so seconds before he’d reacted. Delayed, larghetto, and wholesome.

It felt like watching a flower patiently turn toward the sun.

You moved before you even realized it, circling behind him and wrapping your arms around him from behind, arms looped around his chest with your hands dangling against his sternum. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then again, before moving to kiss his temple. Balmy, light presses of your lips like promises.

“Oh you heard that, huh,” you murmured against him fondly. Kiss kiss, promise promise. “Of course you liked that.”

“You sly dog,” Hopper murmured, shaking his head and finally sipped his coffee while grinning at Steve from behind it. Joyce was right beside him, eyes round and hazed over with emotion, watching Steve with motherly hope.

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Jonathan mumbled, but he was smiling so warmly, looking right at you and Steve.

You couldn’t even help the twittery, breathy laugh that caught in your throat but managed to escape anyway. “Oh yeah, you’re okay,” you murmured, quiet and gentle and just for him. “You’re so okay. And I love you so much.”

Steve still didn’t speak. But he did lean into you. And then, with one hand still holding onto that peach Snapple in his lap, the other reached up.

Found your wrists.

Held them there.

And when you murmured, “You’re safe,” against his ear, barely audible…

He echoed it back.

“Safe.”

Soft, faint.

But there.

Joyce closed her eyes like she’d been praying for that exact moment.

And Eddie just stood there, jaw slack, blinking slowly as his eyes misted. “Holy shit,” he whispered to her. “Steve Harrington just laughed at my joke. I’ve peaked.”

Hopper spun it into something witty and roast-worthy towards him, to help “deflate his ego” but also keep the conversation flowing so that Steve wouldn’t retreat again. And also to keep from letting whatever thickness was crawling up his throat and made him have to keep clearing it every ten damn seconds.

They all resumed chattering. But you didn’t look at anyone else except Steve right now as you leaned closer, pressing your nose against his hair while he leaned against your chest, silent and sipping peach Snapple, surrounded by found-family absurdity, love, warmth, dry wit and everyone who mattered to him.

Safe.

And alive.

Jonathan has also learned how to immediately clock the hesitation in Steve’s eyes before it ever even forms in his body. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate, just like you and Murray, before drawing the reins of the conversation back into his own hands like it’s second nature.

“So what I’m hearing is,” he says, plopping a stool over for himself and resting on it with his hip, a half-empty bag of dried mangoes in one hand. “None of you trust me and Argyle to buy groceries unsupervised.”

“That’s what you’re hearing?” Hopper asks dryly as he settles into the bench near Joyce, arms crossed, legs kicked out. “Because I’m pretty dog-gone sure what I said was: ‘next time, I’m writing the list in crayon and attaching it to Eleven’s bike handles.’”

“Oh come on, man,” Argyle chimes dreamily from the fridge, holding a Tupperware of watermelon like it’s sacred. “You said you needed snacks, we got snacks.”

Hopper chews his doughnut hole very slowly.

Jonathan gestures at the kitchen like it's the Wheel of Fortune board. “We hath delivered!”

“Touched by an angel,” Hopper deadpans, mouthful of sugary dough.

“Um,” Murray lifts his head without even looking away from the receipt he’s been silently combing through for the last two minutes. “Did you or did you not purchase a novelty bottle of glow-in-the-dark pancake syrup?”

Jonathan doesn’t even flinch. “It was on sale.”

“You bought two.”

“Two-for-one.”

“I rest my case.”

“No one asked you to be the attorney general of the snack aisle,” you mutter, biting down on a smirk, one hand still draped gently across Steve’s chest as he stays leaned back into you, Snapple halfway to his lips.

He hasn’t said another word yet, nor has he engaged or reacted, but he hasn’t checked out either. He’s looking at Jonathan. Then at Murray. Then back again. Following. Listening. His lips are slack but not grim. His eyes…they’re a little less glossed over now. A little brighter. They keep shifting from one speaker to the next, not unlike a lazy volley at a ping-pong table.

Joyce is already nodding toward the pile of grocery bags. “Please tell me you didn’t get the edible glitter sprinkles again.”

“No comment,” Jonathan mumbles.

“Jesus Christ,” Murray sighs, while Argyle tosses a grape into his own mouth without even blinking.

“Know what, I say let ‘em buy what they want,” you say breezily, leaning in to rest your chin a little more comfortably on top of Steve’s head, your voice like silk just for him. “Let them spend their money on stuff they’re clearly emotionally attached to.”

“Oh, like the inflatable margarita pool float,” Murray fires.

Jonathan lifts a finger. “That? Is for crowd surfing.”

“You live in Indiana.”

“And it was five dollars.”

Eddie whirls on him, grinning. “Whose five dollars?”

Hopper’s shoulders had started to shake, quietly at first. But then his chest joins in as you all keep jabbering, and the gruff, growling sound of him trying not to laugh just makes everything worse. You and Jonathan exchange a glance that only adds gasoline to the fire.

“I mean, let’s be real,” you grin at your uncle. “You’re just pressed you didn’t get the pool float first.”

“Oh please,” Murray snaps. “Sp—”

“Spaaaaare meeee,” Joyce says it for him, cupping her hands over her lips for emphasis, and not helping Hopper’s failed attempt at keeping his laughter in check.

Murray glares. “I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that avocado-shaped monstrosity. It has sunglasses.”

“And a cup holder,” Argyle points out like he’s reading the back of the damn box.

You gasp lightly at that and tilt your head towards him, all while looking at Murray with the most robotic doll-like smile. As if you’re on a Truman show infomercial. “For your good ole buddy Smirnoff.”

“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Hopper groans, covering his face with both hands now.

“Smirnoff doesn’t help me float,” Murray your uncle quipped at you. “It helps me sink.”

“Poetic and emo,” you murmur into your Snapple.

“Don’t knock it till ya’ve floated in it,” Eddie sings, pleading your case.

Hopper wheezes miserably, like a dying animal behind his hands while Murray keeps failing miserably at holding his own and Jonathan bobs his head along with literally no music playing. Steve just stares at them, and you just snicker warmly next to his ear and let yourself sway with him a little bit. He honestly looks adorable right now, despite the fact that his expression is pretty blank. But the poor baby looks so focused right now, it makes your heart swell.

But it’s too late. The floodgates are open.

Eddie’s now cracking up from the freezer, tossing something into it without looking. “Hey Hopper, who’s responsible for this?”

“Responsible for what?” Hopper says on an exhale, not even looking up yet. Already dreading it.

“Three boxes of frozen dinosaur nuggets.” Eddie turns, holding one aloft in triumph. “Three. That’s a cry for help.”

Hopper drops his hands and just stares at Jonathan and Argyle. “Why.”

“They were on the list,” Jonathan says automatically.

“They were not on the list,” Murray deflects.

“Oh but they were,” you counter, already snickering.

“Well I didn’t jot it down,” he scoffs.

You clicked your tongue. “Marie Antoinette, why you lyin’ like dat?”

Eddie snorts hard, looking up from the box of frozen extinction. “Did you just call him—?”

“Really?” Your uncle literally gapes at you.

You lift your eyebrows once, grinning like Satan’s spawn as a little sksksksk escapes from Jonathan.

Hopper, meanwhile, sighs so deeply it could trigger a weather system.

“Let me guess,” he says in full-blown dad mode. “Ten plus one?”

Everyone knows exactly who they’re for, and that’s Eleven. No one says it, but the fat grin on Joyce’s face and the way Argyle nods solemnly confirms it before anyone has to verbalize it.

“Jesus, she’s obsessed.” Hopper huffs. “First it was Eggos, now it’s fucking prehistoric poultry.”

“She’s your kid,” Jonathan says.

“Your future sister,” you chime in, sipping your Snapple.

“Your daughter,” Joyce echoes, pointing a wooden spoon at him like a gavel, then at herself. “My future daughter.”

Hopper points at them both, then you, then them again. “Enablers.”

“Welp,” Eddie chirps. He’s now crouched like he’s proposing to the freezer. “I’ll eat the evidence if it helps.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hopper mutters, but he’s grinning now, and not just with his mouth. His eyes are soft. There’s no question who El is to him anymore. Not in the way he talks about her, not in the way he sighs, not in the way he pretends to be exasperated while looking at three goddamn boxes of chicken-shaped love.

Jonathan is all sksksksk again, when you absolutely deadpan at Hopper. “C’mon, Jimothy, let our six little nuggets enjoy their Jurassic Park nuggets in peace, like goddamn.”

It’s the timing.

It’s the phrasing.

It’s the fact that you say it so completely straight-faced, while Eddie starts wheezing and Joyce just shakes her head like she regrets every life choice that led to this moment.

Hopper barks a laugh. It escapes him loud and fast, bouncing out like it was ripped from his chest before he could stop it. And then he schools his face immediately, glaring at you with narrowed eyes like that didn’t just happen.

Jonathan nearly collapses behind the counter trying not to fall over. Eddie is now bracing himself on the freezer door, head ducked into the ice box. And you’re grinning like you know you just won.

Hopper points at you as he walks by, heading toward the remaining bags. “You’re on thin ice.”

You just blink at him. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Send you back to college.”

“It’s trade school.”

“I’ll send you back to trade school.”

“I’m on break.”

“Then I’ll revoke it.”

Argyle hands him a cantaloupe slice without breaking rhythm. “Eat something, Hopper.”

“Yes,” Murray says with a sarcastically wry smile, looking like a fucked up informercial. “Please. Eat. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

And somehow through it all, the back-and-forth, the rhythm, the pacing, the hum of warmth and memory and familiarity… you feel Steve move again.

Not flinching.

Just leaning.

Tilting his head back, so that he’s looking up at you now. His pupils are steady, glassy in a way that’s soft, not quite so distant. There’s something underneath that stare, something warmer than before, something quiet but whole.

“Oh hi,” you whisper, blinking down at him, cracking a smile.

He doesn’t smile back, at least not with his mouth. But his eyes… They dance. Right there in the middle of the chaos, they dance as they look up at you.

And then, barely above a breath, he murmurs, “six little nuggets.”

Your heart stops. Then flutters. Then folds in on itself, slow and radiant.

Because it’s not a joke, not to him.

It’s the dream he once told you Nancy about, but now shares with you. The one where you’ll both hit the road one day in a busted-up Winnebago, long after the world came crashing down again. Where the two of you will pull over wherever you want, whenever you want. Six kids. Loud. Happy. Messy. Yours. His.

Both of your shared six little nuggets.

You lean down to him without hesitation, brushing the tip of your nose to his, nuzzling his tenderly.

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling into him. “Our little nuggets.”

And this time, when he nuzzles back, it’s slower. Not quite in sync with you. Not as easy as it used to be. But also not as delayed as it was this morning. But it’s real. It’s movement, it’s progress...

It’s Steve.

Your Steve.

You stay right there, cheek to his temple, arms still around his middle.

And none of the others see it, except Murray. He watches from across the kitchen, arms crossed now, leaning against the fridge with a soft, unreadable smile.

Then he clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Harrington?”

Steve turns his head almost immediately, his reaction so instinctive it’s almost childlike. Like he thinks he’s in trouble. But when he looks up, all he sees is Murray wagging that little tub of butter in the air, smug as hell.

“They found this hiding in the dairy,” Murray says, all too proud. “You’re welcome.”

Steve’s eyes catch the label. His go-to butter. The bougie kind. You all talked about it this morning, with him curled up in bed facing you, Dustin pressed against the wall, Robin leaning on the doorframe, Murray perched like a crow on the dresser.

His eyes flicker. There’s something shy and sad and grateful that curls its way into his eyes, piercing through his blank expression.

“Psssshhh,” Eddie puffs out a laugh through his lips. “Knew you were a bougie butter bitch.”

Everyone laughs.

“My bougie butter bitch,” you purr affectionately, rubbing your hand up and down one of his arms with your free hand. The one that he’s not still holding onto with one of his hands.

Murray winks at Steve, while Hopper walks by and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. And the conversation starts right back up again, full throttle, ridiculous and warm. But Steve puts the Snapple down. And instead, he wraps both of your wrists tighter against his chest, like holding onto you is the only liferaft keeping him from floating straight up into the ceiling. His face folds in a little, not enough for tears, but enough for you to feel that sting behind his silence.

You just kiss the crown of his head and keep joking about nonsense with the rest of your friends.

You don’t need him to say anything else.

He’s here. You’re here. He’s yours, and you’re his.

And that’s enough.

***************************************************************

TAGLIST

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst bookkeeperlove notlilyyyy @xblueriddlex madaboutjoe ucannotcompare @goosy-goose nevillescomslut

#Spotify #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers trope #mishas masterlists #steve harrington smut #joe keery djo #joe keery #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things reader insert #stranger things au

104 notes · View notes

kjhbsies · 1 year ago

Text

Playing for Keeps

navigation | main masterlist | rules

HELP PALESTINE • daily click • donation links • ways to help • why you should not buy/support TLOU2 remaster

Football Player!Ellie x Classy fem!reader

synopsis: As you and Ellie started to get to know each other, deeper connections started forming. And before you knew it, you were falling deep with the university's football team captain in ways that you couldn't even imagine, opening up your heart with the possibility of love at an unexpected time. But just as you began to put down your defenses, your world was shattered by the devastating revelation. Knowing that the kiss that sparked romance between you and Ellie was nothing more but a cruel bet orchestrated by her teammates.

wordcount: 4, 147 PART I: PART II : PART IV author's note: hello, guys! sorry for taking this long to update another chapter. I've decided to make this in four parts since it'll take much longer to publish if I fit everything in here. I just want to express my gratitude for your support of my stories. Lately, I've been struggling to find the inspiration and energy to write, and I couldn't finish everything in just one sitting. To add, I've been very busy with schoolwork and everything, hence why it took so long to upload the third chapter. thank you so much for understanding, and happy reading!!

masterlist

After the game was done, Ellie, along with her teammates, was bombarded by different school journalists to ask about the game. Everyone was encircling her, watching her speak passionately about the different strategies and plans that her team came up with while they were playing. She made sure to express gratitude to her supporters, along with Joel, Dina, Jesse, and you, of course.

Everyone watched Ellie in awe as she walked away as if entranced by her whole being. She has this magnetic aura that no one can resist. Even you.

The whole locker room was buzzed, as everyone was singing their university’s hymn after winning, tapping and praising everyone for their cooperation and relentless training.

“And of course, for our best captain, Ellie Williams, we couldn’t forget about the little speech you’ve said earlier. It was… heartwarming.” Alex looked at Ellie with a pout while hugging herself. Everyone roared in laughter, making Ellie smirk and shake her head.

“Well, I’m about to make my second win for the day, fellas!” Ellie exclaimed.

“Are you sure?” Alex wiggled her eyebrows. “I already have the 50 dollars in my pockets; I’m just waiting for you to fulfill the challenge.”

“Transfer that to my account tonight because the party won’t be over until I kiss Y/n.” Ellie laughed loudly before dabbing her teammate beside her. Everyone expressed their excitement for tonight’s party, not noticing the presence of the three players from the Golden Lions, who had heard their conversation from the start.

The laughs and cheers in the locker room stopped as Ellie spotted the opposing team’s captain, Natalie, along with her two teammates standing at both sides. They didn’t even bother changing their uniforms, and Ellie could tell how pissed they are. And so she put on her cocky smirk, as she strides to them.

“There’s a sign that it’s only for the Rising Phoenixes’ locker room. You three don’t belong here. You know why?” Ellie leaned at Natalie, “Because you all are losers.” She smiled before standing straight.

Natalie scoffed. “You should really enjoy your victory today, Williams, because it won’t be too long.”

“Oh yeah?” Ellie’s tip of her tongue traced the insides of her cheek, watching them with an amused face,

“Maybe we can’t beat you in football-”

“Yeah, that’s a fact. You’ve tried everything today, and props for that because I could see how you all struggled to take me down. But failed, embarrassingly.”

“But I know something that could ruin you.” Natalie continued before smiling. “You should take care. I’ll see you soon… tonight.” She took one look at all of them before walking away swiftly.

Ellie’s eyes trailed their steps until they were gone from her sight. She scoffed, finding the interaction ridiculous. Paying no mind to it, she just shrugged and laughed without giving a single fuck about her rival’s speech.

Besides, no one could ruin her.

…Right?

Ellie has been fidgety the whole time. She couldn’t tell if it was her nerves fucking with her because she was about to do something that half of her mind has been telling her not to, or that her veins had been pumped with so much energy and confidence to do it.

She’s asking you out. Finally. And she’s going to take you inside the stupid, crowded club that her coach rented for the night so that they could celebrate with whoever they like, as long as they wanted to. He’s got the drinks all settled and even rented the best DJ in the town. But Ellie somewhat cursed herself for inviting you to such a shitty place because that is not an ideal first date.

“I told you, it’s fine.” You smiled at her before touching her leather jacket-clad arm.

“It’s not well thought off. I mean, I never really considered that taking a girl out to an after-party would be great. We could go somewhere else if you want to, tonight. Like a— like a dinner in some private hotel, maybe?” She blabbered.

“No, no, I’m good.” You shook your head. “I want to meet your friends, too, okay?”

Ellie scoffed, faking her sudden nervousness with a quivering smile. The thought of you meeting her friends who knew about the bet involving you makes her head suddenly spin. She never really paid much attention to what would happen tonight, and it suddenly made her want to back out. She’s been cocky the whole day, bragging to everyone that she could just do it without batting an eye just like what they did to any other girls she’s been with before. Besides, that’s what everyone knew Ellie for.

But not this time; it’s different.

Something is looming behind Ellie’s back like a storm waiting to pour and wash her away, maybe even leaving her devastated. Maybe they were right — the field was her kingdom, but despite owning different battles, there was something Ellie couldn’t have — you.

“This is my first time going out with a girl. Yes, I don’t usually go to clubs, but, something bad is not going to happen there, right?” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for her answer. Ellie swore she could feel a mini heart attack.

She answered with a shaky chuckle, “Yeah, yeah. It’s all safe.”

You beamed, “Great! It’s a date, then?”

“Yeah. It surely is.” Ellie offered a warm smile before walking to you. She touched your arm, down to your delicate hands, holding it gently, slowly intertwining her fingers to yours. Her heartbeat tripled as she stared at it, a warm feeling gushing through her veins. For a minute, she completely forgot her sole motive.

Seeing how every inch of you fits perfectly onto hers made her want to just throw everything at the window and just be with you.

Everything was going well until Ellie decided to just think of the many possibilities to ruin it all.

You never really hate going to clubs, but if you’re going to pick between going into one or listening to Abby explaining astrobiology and neuroscience for hours, you’d pick the latter.

You are welcomed by the loud beating of sounds in the speakers, as well as the buzz of noises between the people dancing and drinking, of which 99% of the population you don’t know. Being with Ellie made you two the center of attention as you walked inside, and suddenly, you were conscious of every single thing in yourself.

Maybe your choice of dress wasn’t appropriate for this, or maybe they could sense how weird it was for Ellie to be hanging out with you, which is why they were staring.

Ellie must’ve noticed how your fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, and that’s when she took your hands into hers. She squeezed it as she looked at you with a smile.

“Hey, don’t be tense.”

“I know, it’s just… everyone is staring.” You gave a glance at those girls who looked like they would rip your heart from your chest if they had a chance.

“They’re staring because they wish you were them.”

You looked at her and smiled. Ellie slowly put her right hand on your waist, carefully guiding you as you two walked slowly. Your heart leaped at her action, and you swore you could feel your hands sweating.

Ellie’s eyes caught her teammates drinking in a corner, and staring back at her was Alex, with her cocky grin and playful eyes. Ellie’s heart thrummed as she smirked, holding the glass of alcohol to greet her. But Ellie wouldn’t let her see right through her. So she gave her best to show a cocky smile as if her head wasn’t full of so many thoughts about this messed up game.

“Oh, hey!” Dina greeted the two of you. Beside her was Jesse, who was eating a slice of pizza messily. “Congratulations, bitch!” Dina hugged Ellie tightly, squeezing her.

“That’s alright.” Ellie pushed her friend off of her.

“Congrats, man. That was good.” Jesse went on to raise his fist, and Ellie went on to bump it.

Ellie scoffed. “Didn’t even have to break a limb for me to win.” She said in a mischievous tone, which made the three of you roll your eyes.

Dina shook her head before turning her attention to yours. “Hi, Y/n. How are you?”

You smiled at her, “I’m fine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you two.” You took a peek at Jesse, who nodded at you. “Hi, Jesse.”

“Hey.” He answered with a mouthful of food.

Dina turned at her with a glare. “What did I tell you about not talking while your mouth is full?” She hissed.

Jesse was about to open his mouth, but Dina immediately smacked him. He then went to raise both of his hands in defeat and slowly walked away.

“I’m just gonna go get our drinks. Will you be fine with her?” Ellie touched your arm.

“Yes, yes, no problem.” You nodded, and Ellie did too, before slowly walking to where Alex was.

“Oh my god, it’s great to see you again.” Dina grabbed your wrist, and you two sat in a lounge.

“I know, I’ve been really busy these past few months. I’ve just been wondering why I never see you in uni.”

“Tell me about it. My schedule is fully packed.” She rolled her eyes. “By the way, you and Ellie, huh?” Dina nudged you lightly, making you smile.

“Yeah… I guess. I mean, is it always hard tagging along with her? Ever since I’ve walked inside, everyone’s been eyeing me, and that is not a good thing.” You glanced at those group of girls who were staring at you while whispering at each other.

“You’ll get used to it. I mean, it’s Ellie.”

“Right.” You nodded.

“You know what’s crazy?” She asked, and you raised both of your brows, waiting for her to continue. “Ellie thought you were straight.”

Your eyes and mouth widened in disbelief. “What? No way!”

“Yes, way.” She nods repeatedly.

“I’m not!” You laughed. “I like both genders.”

“Figured it out when you can’t stop staring at Ms. Nina.”

“Ms. Nina.” You two say in sync before laughing loudly. “She’s hot, though.”

“I know.” Dina smiled.

You sighed, looking at Ellie. And Dina seemed to follow the line of your gaze.

“Do you like her?” Dina asked you, making your head turn to glance at her.

“I…” You opened your mouth, trying to form a single sentence to answer her question. But you couldn’t.

Dina’s eyes softened. You two shared a meaningful stare at each other.

And both of you knew that you were in so deep with Ellie.

Ellie reluctantly walked beside Alex while she was pouring drinks into the glass.

“It’s just one click away, and then it’ll be transferred to your account.” Alex showed her phone.

“Please shut the fuck up and don’t ruin this for me,” Ellie said sternly.

“I’m not, cap.” Alex scoffed. “I would like for you to succeed, even though it’ll cost some money for me.” She shrugged.

“Then go away and let me do it in peace. Don’t stare at me like a creep.” Ellie glared while picking up the drinks.

“How do I know if you did kiss her? I mean, it’ll be too much if we all watched, right?”

“I’ll kill you. Really.” Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’ll ask her to go out later. You can send the money if you can’t see us for an hour already.”

“Right.” Alex laughed.

Ellie took one last glare at her before going over to where you and Dina at.

“Well, be careful, okay?” She overheard Dina.

“Why?”

“I-”

“Hey, I’m back.” Ellie sat beside you. She gave you and Dina a glass. “It’s tequila, I think.”

“You think?” You smiled before taking a sip.

“What were you two talking about?” She smiled before looking over at Dina, who was staring at her with dead eyes. Ellie’s jaw clenched as she stared back, the two of them fighting with no words being exchanged.

“Nothing.” You answered. “Just stuff back then at the camp.” You gave a tight-lipped smile.

Ellie nodded, falling silently. Quietness fills the air for a minute, and you can sense the thick tension forming in the air. Your heart thrummed, feeling like you’d be sick. You took a huge sip from the glass, wanting to drown the thoughts of you liking Ellie away. Hell, you don’t even know if she’d reciprocate your feelings. She’s Ellie. The mighty Ellie Williams that everyone thought was out of your reach.

She’s far up high, and you’re… just there.

“I’m gonna go find Jesse,” Dina said, standing abruptly. “Take care.” She says silently, her eyes lingering on you for a hot minute that Ellie notices.

You two were sitting side by side, watching Dina until she went to the sea of people, finding her boyfriend. You can sense Ellie getting tense, and you can’t fully comprehend why.

“If she says anything stupid, don’t believe her,” Ellie says, looking at you.

“What kind of stupid thing will she say about you?” You chuckled, finding her ridiculous. “Have you done something?”

Ellie swore she could feel her heart jumping in her chest for a second. Her breath hitched at your question, and she thanked the universe that you couldn’t see how her reaction mildly changed because of the dim lights. “No, nothing.”

“Good.” You took a sip once again, shoulders slacking down in relief.

“How are you feeling so far?” Ellie leaned toward you as the music got louder, and everyone just started dancing.

“Still doing great. I like watching people do wild things.”

Ellie snickered, “Well, that’s clubbing for you.”

You laughed.

“Wanna dance?” Ellie stood up, offering her tattooed hand at yours.

“Why yes, darling.” You smiled, and the two of you squeezed each other on the dance floor.

The music switched up to your liking as ABBA started playing. You took a huge sip of one of the drinks that the waiter offered to you, and Ellie watched in amusement. After finishing your glass, Ellie dragged you to the middle.

She sways her hips playfully, making you laugh hard. You took her hand and spun her around, almost making her trip. Ellie has never laughed genuinely like this but is glad to experience it with you. After minutes of tossing around, swaying each other, and singing your hearts out, you two decided to stop breathlessly.

“That was so good. I never expected you to dance!” You nudged her playfully.

“Me either. This is so fun.” Ellie plopped down on the chair, resting her head on it. She felt you sitting beside her, mimicking her position.

The two of you didn’t speak for a second, eyes only trained at the ceiling while still catching your breaths. Ellie took a glance at your flushed face and could swear that you were glowing. For a minute, she debated asking you the one thing she wanted to do ever since.

“Do you wanna go out?”

You craned your neck to look back at her, meeting her green eyes. “To do what?”

Ellie shrugged, effortlessly lying her way through it. “Unwind.”

“Okay.” You stood up, and so did she. And the two of you slowly walked through the door.

Ellie glanced back, meeting two pairs of eyes staring right at her.

It was Dina and Alex, with opposite reactions painted on their faces.

You and Ellie sat on a bench, feeling the wind blowing through your hair, making you slightly shiver.

“Did you have a good time?” Ellie asked, looking at you.

“Yes. More than I ever expected.” You smiled, staring right back at her. “But I do have a question and it’s been bugging me after Dina and I talked.”

“What is it?” Ellie immediately sat straight, the sick feeling starting to rise in her throat again.

“Why did you think I’m straight?”

Ellie stared at you for a second before loudly bursting out in laughter. So hard that she started to clench her hands at her stomach, as she could feel it hurting.

“What’s so funny?” You asked frustratingly.

Ellie stopped, wiping the tears from her eyes before looking at you again who was now pouting. “Well, for starters, you look like one.”

“Oh fuck,” You squeezed your eyes shut while chuckling. “I’m not, though. Just to clear things up. I’m a girl kisser but I never kissed one.”

“Then you’re not a certified one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup, you still have to kiss a girl to prove it.” Ellie nods repeatedly.

“Then who’d you suggest, hm?” You looked around, trying to spot someone. “That girl?” You pointed out the one who was arguing with her friend outside the house.

Ellie grimaced. “Nah. Think about someone close to you.”

“Abby?”

“No, Y/n.”

“Oh! Nora!”

“No,” Ellie whined. “Like- like me!” She exclaimed, pointing her fingers at her chest.

Both of your brows rose, shocked at what your friend had said. “Like you, huh?” A small smirk started forming at the corners of your mouth.

Ellie’s freckled cheeks blushed hard, something that she had never experienced for years. She quickly looked away, unable to speak for a minute. “Would you kiss me?” She asked, her voice getting smaller.

Your head whipped to her side, looking at her. She’s still staring at the road in front of you two, refusing to gaze back at you. You lightly bit your lips before answering, “Yeah. I would.”

Caught off guard by your answer, both of your hearts raced at what you’ve said. Ellie felt a subtle change in the atmosphere between the two of you. Your eyes showed a mixture of curiosity and amusement that Ellie could not decipher.

The idea of kissing Ellie has never once crossed your mind. Sure, sometimes you’d think of her before you go to bed or admire her while she’s not looking, but that’s completely normal, right? Right?

Still, at the back of your head, you couldn’t stop thinking what her lips would taste like. Does she kiss gently or roughly? Will she hold your cheeks or your hand? And why does the thought of it make you feel something?

As the two of you sit quietly, Ellie wrestles with a feeling of conflict. She’s supposed to do it – just simply kiss you, walk away like she always does, and then she’ll get the money. She’ll get to prove to everyone that she can get whoever she wants.

And then what will she do after?

Ellie’s heart suddenly turned cold. She could imagine you resent her if you knew that everything was just a mere bet. That your kiss equals to her pride, nothing more. With each passing second, the weight on Ellie’s chest grew heavier, and her breath was rigid as she tried to weigh her decisions before taking action.

Ruin her image, or ruin your friendship?

As Ellie’s mind races with doubts and fears, she feels a hand gently touching her cheek. Ellie’s eyes met yours, and with a fleeting moment, before she could even register what was happening, you kissed her.

Ellie suddenly stood still, eyes widening for a bit before realizing that you were the one who initiated the kiss. At that moment, Ellie felt a surge of warmth roaming around her veins, and before she knew it, she was returning the kiss with so much passion and longing, something that she never knew she could feel with someone.

Your lips were soft, and they seemed to fit Ellie’s perfectly. Her hands were slowly raising your face, cupping both of your cheeks to deepen the kiss.

This was your first time kissing someone, not to mention that it was Ellie — the girl who was in everyone’s wet dreams. And to your surprise, it did shock you that your lips had found a rhythm that perfectly matched with hers.

You slowly broke the kiss, trying to grasp air as it left you breathless. You looked at Ellie, whose expression you could not decipher. You started to panic, thinking that you had overstepped her boundaries.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know why I did that.” You said, shaking your head repeatedly while looking at her.

“No, it’s fine,” Ellie said, holding both of your hands as she sensed how her reaction may have looked from your perspective. But before the two of you can say anything, the loud roaring of a car has caught both of your attention. You two realized that it was coming in front of you as the blinding lights of it were getting nearer.

You held your hands up to your eyes as you were squinting to take a look at the car before it stopped.

“What the fuck?” Ellie cursed under her breath as she saw a familiar figure.

It was Natalie, with a smug smile painted across her face.

“Williams!” She said with a glee expression.

Ellie stood abruptly, irritated by her unwanted presence. You looked up at the two girls before walking beside Ellie, holding her arm with both of your hands. This made the blonde girl, the Golden Lions’ team captain, Natalie, catch her attention.

“Ah, I see. Did you finally do it?” Natalie asked, flashing her teeth.

“Did what?” Ellie asked in a stoic tone, not grasping what she was talking about.

“The bet!” She exclaimed happily, gesturing both of her hands in the air.

Ellie felt herself drowning with a bucket full of ice. Her eyes immediately widened, and her palms grew clammy, while a cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Ellie felt the grip of your hands that were clinging onto her arm were slowly getting lost. She took a glance at your face, a wave of a creeping sense of dread clawing up her throat, making it difficult to swallow as she found you staring at her with a mixture of deep curiosity and anger slowly seeping into your veins.

“What bet?” You asked in a hushed voice.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” Natalie scratched her head. “I didn’t know that she hadn’t told you about it.”

“Fuck you, man!” Ellie lunged forward, fisting Ellie’s shirt with her strong grip that the girl almost lost her balance. Ellie’s jaw was clenched, her other hand was shaking with so much anger, and her vision was almost turning red as she struggled to contain her madness.

But Natalie did not waver, instead, she still looked at Ellie with a challenging stare. “Why don’t you tell her?”

Your heart clenched, and a sense of doubt was gnawing at her mind, slowly fully consuming her brain. “Tell me what?”

Ellie did not speak, instead, she kept her eyes trained on Natalie for a minute.

“Ellie, what was she saying? What bet is it?” You walked beside her, pulling her shoulder to make her look at you. This made Ellie drop Natalie.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you searched for Ellie’s eyes, but she wasn’t– or couldn’t look at you. A deep sense of shame washed over Ellie’s mind, feeling like her conscience was slowly eating her out fully. Ellie wouldn’t look at you as she was afraid to see your face. She couldn’t bear facing what she had done. She’s afraid that it might hurt her much more than it does to you.

“Ah, since she can’t tell you, I will.” Natalie interrupted, making your head whip at her. “Ellie and her teammates were betting that she could get to kiss you for fifty dollars.” She smirked before looking at you from head to toe. “It must be insulting that you only cost fifty fucking dollars when you look like that.” Natalie walked to Ellie, whispering in her ear. “I want you to remember this day, Williams. You might beat everyone in football, but no one is going to stay with you because you are a heartless fucker.” She said before walking away.

You looked at Ellie, a sense of loss filling your heart, leaving you with nothing. Small tears started streaming down your face, making you somewhat unable to see. You felt as though a sharp dagger had plunged into your chest, leaving you gutted and raw.

“Was that true?” You asked, almost in a whisper.

Ellie bit her lips, her chest feeling tight as if a weight was pressed down on her heart, making her unable to breathe. “I…”

A small sound of notification sound from her phone stopped her from talking. It was a notification from her online bank account. The screen displayed the amount of “50 dollars” with a note:

“Take her to bed, and I’ll double it. ;)))) -A”

You looked at Ellie with bitterness and resentment.

“Listen-”

You shook your head, stepping away from her.

“You are not the person I believed you to be.”

©kjhbsies

taglist: @liasxeatt @darkerstarsstuff @amberputh @bready101 @teawithnosugar @elliesaturnsoftdrink @elliewilliamgfooc@machetegirl109 @lazcylies @kawaiibreadbouquet-blog@anyscz @missladyhope @stvrs13 @vqxen @mikellie @villainousbear @daribakugo @elliessweetheart @chxrryvalxntine @lulith05 @anyscz @elliessluutt @lively-blues @gasliightt @tphmnv @sofiaaasblog @shiimer @nobodyykxox @disguisedfangirl @sukolover

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader

499 notes · View notes

solar4seekstron · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 4: Especially when he was unconscious!

Transformers One x reader: Awakening Chapter Four

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Five, Chapter Six

Transformers One x Cybertronian!GN!reader

Introduction Movie Masterlist

Tw/Tags: non?? D trust reader a bit more, it was hard to add Elita and B scenes I’m trying. That should be all

(Chapter 4 is here! I had a little more fun for this episode I knew what I wanted to have happen between D and Y/N and yes he’s my favorite (Besides OP and B shut up) and i wanted to show the bit of change we witness in D before his fight with Starscream,. Figured it’ll be right to add it where I did.. I will go back to writing more for Elita but it’s hard to write without it taking out of the story much since honestly Elita feels a little too less developed then the other three. I’m trying guys. I did add that small moment with Shockwave and Soundwave with thee reader just to add something there with the two. Hopefully in the second movie that I’m sure we’ll get eventually will follow the]m and starscream a bit more so fingers crossed. Anyway that should be all I hope you all enjoy this long chapter.)

“They found us!”

The five looked around scared.

“Oh yes, time to fight back!”

”D wait we must-

“No! You must return to Iacon City and alert everyone! Embedded in this are the records I have shown you. Use it to reveal the truth.”

“We will.”

“This tunnel leads to the mountains. Cybertrons future is in your hands.”

“We’re out of time. We gotta move!”

The three of them start running. Orion would follow but then stop to look back at Trion

“Wait! Wait! We can’t just leave you here!”

”Come with us!”

“Your fight will come my friends. Primus has a purpose for us all. But this fight. This fight is mine. Now go!”

The five would then continue their run as Trion stands and waits for the fight. His back to them. Soon parts of the cave collapses and soldiers of sentinel appear with guns. Soon causing smoke then pointing their guns at Trion

“Stand down. Old timer.”

“Ah. Old you say?”

Trion would then use his powers. Transforming and attacking th the guards giving Orion and the others time to escape

“Not too old for you.”

But when he looks up he is then attacked by Airachnid who pins him down

“We need to hurry!”

“I still think we have better odds fighting than out running them.”

“Wait! We have cogs! We can transform now.”

“That’s right! Everyone ready?”

“I was born ready!”

“On three! One-“

From there they fall. The gang then struggling with parts of their bodies transforming. As the others struggled Y/Ns blades started spinning which caused them to trip and spin side ways because of the blades down the hill. Going up and down in short and hard bumps. Their body spinning along.

“Hey I got- woah! Help HELP!!!!”

“How do we use these things?!”

“I don't know! Just try!”

“It’s working haha! It’s work- My head. My head! Help! Help!”

“This is not faster!”

“Come On!”

“Aaaand- Transform!! Wheels! I need Wheels!”

Once in the forest deeper three guards would stop in front of them shooting. The five then keep running then once in mid air they all transform hitting the guards. Bee would then hit a rock breaking his stop being in vehicle mode still

“Oh yeah we’re alive!”

The four would then talk to each other super excited. Not noticing the guard behind Orion pointing their blaster until the guard is then shot and flown back. D coming in and landing on the guard as he laughs

“Yes!”

“Hey woah buddy. You ok?”

“I’m great! Are you kidding me? We can transform! We. Trans. Form!”

“Wait I-I- I know. I know.”

“We’re wasting time. We have to get back to Iacon.”

“Looks like the fastest way back to Iacon i-“

“Here I got it!”

“Woah hey what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah but our proof is inside and you’re spilling it everywhere.”

D would then turn to face Orion and in a low voice speaks as he stares Orion down and stares closer. Elita and B watching in shock as well.

“I. Got. It.”

“Ok.”

D would look at Orion for a moment more. Looking at the map and then the others. D and Y/N making eye contact. Y/N was unsure as they then look down and a bit of fear in their eyes. Then looking back at Orion. Satisfied with Orions answer before heading forth

“Follow me.”

Orion and the others would start follwoing him after a second

———————————————————————————

As they continue to walk as the sun starts to set. Orions face shows that he’s worried about his friend. Elita and B can tell as well. Y/N then gets the idea walking past Orion and stood next to D who was a lot further ahead then the others.

”Hey D look when we get back we will take down sentinel.”

”I don’t want to kill sentinel i want to-“

”I know what you want to do. I know how you’re feeling because I am feeling it too!” This catches D off guard bit as the two keep walking. Y/N would then sigh

“I want sentinel to suffer just as much as you do. But we must also think smart. If he has been in power for this long then surely we’re just walking into a trap. A web.” The two wold stand and face eachother. D grumbling and sighing as he looked to the side. The three stoppping and just watching staying at the same distance.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to stay stronger. With th help of the people I know I can only trust.” D would put his hand on their arm as he stepped a bit closer with a smile that isn’t as in concept as it use to be. Y/N looked at him still unsure and looked down for a moment

”D strength isn’t always-“

”I can trust you to be there….right?” His hand squeezing their arm a bit and pulling them a bit closer

”….Always.” They say finally looking at him. His smile still there and he pats their back and starts walking forward again. Leaving them there as the others start walking to them

”You tried…Thank you.” Orion stand next to them. They would pt their hand on his shoulder and just nods. Orion, Elita and B start walking as Y/N Stoof there for a second. Their expression changing from sort of sad to angry then to unsure

*Back at Sentinels Tower———————

“Alpha trion! You are still alive? Won’t you look at that! You look horrible.”

“Traitor. You are a disgrace. Primus will surely-“

“Uh-huh yes shut up. I seized an opportunity to take control of my future. Anything to get out of working for you and that boring council of elders. Seriously I would watch you primes spend half the day losing a war and the other half sitting around waxing poetic loyalty and honor. But now look at you.”

“Hear my words! You will fall and a new prime will rise-“

“There you go again. I don't want to listen to any more speeches. There was others in the cave with you. Who are they?”

“They are to be your undoing you’ve lost Sentinel. Nothing can-“

From Trion would kill Trion

“Ugh didn’t I just say no speeches. You heard me right? This is what I’m talking about. Unbelievable. All of them were like that. So disrespectful. Given that friend of the miners Y/N didn’t visit. My money is it has something to do with them and whomever else with them. A real shame really.” He would then sigh then look over at Airachnid

“Ok hunt down the others.”

“With pleasure.”

———————————————————————————

*Back to the others-

The group are walking after transforming. Y/N having sitting on the end of Orions truck. Their helicopter would make too much noise. Once they transform Y/N made sure to get off to let Orion to transform as well.

“Hey buddy!”

“Yo.”

“Hey…You've been a little quiet. Are you alright?”

Orion walks next to D as the other two stay behind

“All I can think about is Sentinels' smirking face. He must pay for what he’s done. Someone has to do something.”

“We are! With Alpha Trions proof inside that device we will show everyone the truth.”

“You honestly believe it’ll be that easy? Iacon doesn’t want to hear the truth. They worship sentinel. There’s got to be a better way to bring him down.”

“We just have to trust that everyone will believe what we show them-“

The two would stop for a moment

“I trusted sentinel! With everything! I will never trust a so-called leader ever again. There’s only one bot I know I can-“

The five are then attacked and knocked out cold by a device

“All right. Wake them up!”

Orion and the others would then wake up. Orion closer in the front as D was beind him on the right. And D and Elita on his left a bit further. Y/N was in front of the two but a bit further from Orions left

“Now. Are you spys? Or just incompetent lackeys?!”

“We’re not spys.”

“But he is incompetent.”

”Elita.”

“Scanning electrical impulses. He’s telling the truth.”

“That just means he believes himself! Like any spy would.”

B would try to speak

“Uh why is he gagged?”

“He wouldn’t stop talking!”

“Even when he was unconscious?”

“Especially when he was unconscious!”

“Enough! Two options for you! One. We slowly dismantle each of you one bolt and screw at a time. And really make sure you feel it. Or two. An exchange for a quick death you give us and tell on the energon trains. Access to mines. Or anything else that could hurt your boss' sentinel prime!”

“Who exactly are you guys?”

“The Cybertronian high guard!”

“I told you it wasn’t tight enough!”

“Prestigious defenders of Iacon!”

“Prestigious?”

“Wait, he's right. I read all about you in the archives! You were the most legendary warriors of all of Cybertron.”

“Look! Look! Look! There’s Starscream and you’re Shockwave and Soundwave! Guys raise your hand if there’s a wave is in your name there’s a lot of waves.”

“Silence! The yellow annoying one is correct.”

“WOAH!”

“We were once the high guard. We witnessed sentinels betrayed. Saw the primes fall. Since that day we’ve been fighting from the shadows. Doing whatever we can to sabotage sentinel.”

“That’s great! We’re-Oh ok ok! We’re good! Everyone relax. I’m just saying we’re allies. We were on our way back to Iacon and now with your help. We can unify Cybertron against sentinel prime.”

“The idea of a unified Cybertron is a myth. All that counts is the strength of one bot over another!”

“Ok so these- these guys are a little intense.”

“Yeah. Just a little.”

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“I'll tell you what I’m not doing. I’m not cowering inside some busted ship playing king of the throne. I’m not pretending like I’m making a difference by throwing in one punch and then running away to hide! I found out that sentinel is rotten today and I’m going to make him pay for it. Today!”

“You think you can insult me and just walk away? No one leaves here unless I say so.”

“Is that right? Well how can you say so. With my head in your teeth?”

“D!”

“D would hit Starscream with his head. Causing Starscream to get irritated and fly in the air to kick D. Only for him to block it. Starscream would then fly and grab D. Flying him to the ceiling and punching him only for D to transform his leg and kick him. Starscream would fall back D landing on his feet over him and starts throwing punches at Starscream face

“Hit me! Do it! Come on! Hit more!”

Shockwave would then be seen taking a step to walk to them but Soundwave would stop him. The two looked at each other before looking back at the two. D would then notice the other bots cheers causing D to look around surprised, confused, but now given with pride

“You want to see the strength of one bot over another?!”

“Is that all you got, tough guy? Lets go! Come on! “

D would then gain a canon. He stops to look at it for a moment before looking back at startscream. Orion and Y/Ns face shocked

“Please! I beg you!”

“Stop! D! He’s not the enemy!”

“Bare witness! This is the last time I show mercy. Decide right now! You can stay here in hiding. Bowing before your pathetic leader or follow me as we march on Iacon and I take down sentinel once and for all!!!”

From there D shoots up as the other bots cheer and walk to D. Shockwave and Soundwave doing the same as the bots walk around Elita, B, and Orion as D is soon surrounded. Orion would then look at D as everything seems to slow down. D would look back but his eyes only passing Orion as he looked at the other bots around him having an angry look. D would then make eye contact with Y/N you looked at him with worry and sad eyes. The stare going only for a second as Y/N grows scared but more so worried. From there, there’s a huge explosion causing many to fly back. The hidden base now attacked my sentinels guards

“B! Come on!”

B and Orion fight together shooting at the soldiers. Y/N and Elita join together and start fighting showing off their fighting skills.

“Engage all hostiles. I got the bridge.”

The fight would commence and after a minute the fight was over. B and D were taken as Elita and Orion are left behind. During the fight, Y/N would be cornered. They would then look at the blades of their alt mode and sigh.

”Well better then nothing.” Choosing to use them as swords until they realize most of the blade was a cover up for their swords. They then start fighting at their swords were like sabers and they start slicing up the guards. The fighting continueing

”Elita get down!”

Y/N was thrown by an explosion to the side behind the ship. From there they would grab a gun and wait to ambush one of the soilders. Only to hear one of them com Airachnid that Orion and Elita were gone. With everything Y/N starts to panick saying quiet. Then hearing they got B and D-16. They would then wait until the soilders to leave then once they’re far enough. They are successfully able to get away transforming into their helicopter not noticing the remaining guard. Y/N was so fueled with anger and sadness. That all they can think about is to just save their remaining friends being D-16 and B-127.

———————————————————————————

*Later that morning-

“I feel like someone dropped a cliff on me. Where are the others?”

“Sentinel troops took as many prisoners as they could carry. They got D-16 and B….there’s a chance they could’ve taken Y/N but when asking one of the captured guards he said they didn’t tale Y/N and their body. Isn’t anywhere….”

“Oh no.”

“And half of those high guard nut jobs.”

“Our proof. It’s gone.”

“So what do we do now?”

“D was right.”

“About what?”

“Everything! Look at it. Look around. This is a disaster. It’s all my fault I should’ve stayed on protocol.”

“Listen to me, I really want you to hear this. Are you listening? I’m better than you.”

“Yeah ok. I’m hearing you.”

“I’m better than you in every way except you have hope. You always have. You went into the mine to rescue Jazz. You snuck up into the surface to find the Matrix of Leadership.”

“Yeah, and how did that work out?”

”My point is that your instincts tell you to break protocol for a reason. This blind optimism that you have is why you make such bold and courageous choices. That are extremely stupid.”

“First time giving a pep talk?”

“You’re inspiring. You can envision a better future that no one else can see. And if we ever wanna see B and D-16 and possibly Y/N again. That. That is the Orion Pax that we need right now. Listen to me, we can do this.”

“Those energon trains will be heading back to Iacon. If we intercepted one-“

“Hell yes. I can reroute it. What else do we need?”

“Well my bold instincts tells me we have to recruit some nut jobs.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Uhh Shockwave, Soundwave. You in the back. In order to save our captured friends we have to act now.”

“How about I blast you back to Iacon- Ugggh she punched me in my eye!”

“Everyone shut up! All of you! Listen to him!”

“Most likely our friends are being held captive at the top of sentinels tower. A surprise attack will give us a chance to rescue them.”

“Impossible. We do not have enough soldiers or a way inside.”

“Elita will get us in. And I will get more troops.”

‘Why should we follow you?”

Elita threatens him again with the show of her fists

“We will follow you.”

“Attention High Guard. Prepare for battle. What is our first move?”

“We roll out.”

“What?”

“Louder.”

“Transform and Roll Out!”

I couldn’t really find a right place to add anything for the high guard with the reader. But that’s what my other series Before and So Forth is for lol. Hope y’all enjoyed this chapter

#transformers one #transformers one x reader #orion pax x reader #d 16 x reader #elita 1 x reader #b 127 x reader #x reader

111 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 1 year ago

Text

Paper Hearts Part 6

The sequel is coming along great I just have one more part to do and it'll be done. Sweet Home Indiana is nearing its end too.

Heads up! I will be going on vacation on Tuesday and won't be back until next week. So no WIP Wednesday this week as that is the day of my niece's graduation and I will be away from laptop all day.

I will still be uploading chapters and should be able to do WIP Wednesday next week. But if not I'll let you know.

In this we have the Corroded Coffin boys being silly and a wild Dustin appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Eddie rolled up to band practice fashionably late as always. The other three boys were doing a sound check and making sure everything was in order.

Gareth looked up first. “Did you bring the hearts?” he asked excitedly.

Eddie held up his bag and the other boys cheered.

“So how are we going to do this?” Eddie asked flopping on the sofa after gently setting his sweetheart to the side. “Do we want to do the hearts first or practice first?”

They all look around at each for a moment.

“Let’s get the heart thing out of the way,” Jeff suggested, “get it out of the way so we can focus on practicing.”

“Sounds good to me, man,” Gareth said. “In case practice runs over or some shit.”

Eddie pulled his backpack closer and began digging through it. He pulled out the hearts that he’d put in a plastic baggie so they wouldn’t get bent in the maw that was his bag.

He tossed the bag onto the table in front of them and then dug around for his notebook. He pulled it out with a bunch of pens.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, “but I’d recommend changing up your handwriting a couple of times so he doesn’t realize they’re from the same four people.”

“We were doing anonymous and initials, right?” Brian asked, picking up the bag and opening it up.

Eddie lit up, a huge smile on his face. “I actually had an idea about that. I was thinking of famous groups with four dudes in it and I thought it would be hilarious if we mixed it up a bit with some of those to avoid the whole repetition thing.”

Jeff licked his top lip. “Show us what you’ve got,” he said jutting out his chin.

He opened up his notebook and flipped to the right page. “Alright, so I was thinking the Three Musketeers plus D’Artagnan.”

“Who would be who?” Gareth asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Gareth is absolutely D’Artagnan,” Brian said without hesitation. “No question.”

Jeff straightened up and looked over at him in confusion. “Why’s that?”

“Because my dearest Jeffy,” Eddie said with a grin, “because he’s the youngest and not an original member. Therefore D’Artagnan.”

Gareth and Brian glanced at each. Brian shrugged and Gareth blinked a moment or two before he shrugged, too.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“I’ll take Aramis,” Eddie said with a grin. “The smooth talker with religious trauma.”

The other boys just cackled.

“I’ll be Porthos,” Brian said. “The compulsive liar with a flare for the dramatic.”

“Why am I left with the dude with serious romantic wo–” Jeff stopped. “Right, scratch that. I’m Athos.”

They cackled again. Eddie had had some wild crushes, but it was nothing on Jeff. He even had a slightly tragic love story. He’d actually dated Vicki Carmichael before she became a popular kid and hanging out with Steve’s crowd. They had both loved metal music, but Jeff was pretty sure she stopped listening to it once she joined the cool kids.

“And I have a list of other ones too,” Eddie said breaking into the resulting silence. “The four winds from Greek mythology. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...um...let’s see...” he looked at the notebook again. “The members of Metallica. The four horsemen of the apocalypse–”

Jeff winced. “Probably not that one, man. It’s for Valentine’s day and that kinda screams the opposite.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment and then scratched out that idea. “Fair enough.”

“The four hobbits from Lord of the Rings?” Gareth suggested.

“Yes!” Brian cried. “I get to be Samwise!”

Jeff cackled. “Gareth and Eddie are sooo Merry and Pippin!”

“Oh god! Yes! Which one is which, though?” Brian said joining in the laughter.

“I’m Merry, of course,” Eddie said proudly. “I’m the instigator and Gareth goes where I lead.”

Gareth grumped in the corner, crossing his arms and glaring at all of them. “But that makes Jeff Frodo though.”

Jeff straightened up, smug. “I could handle that.”

Eddie shook his head at his friends. “All right, also on my list are the Ghostbusters and The A-Team.”

The other boys shook their heads at either suggestion but they had a pretty good list anyway. Plus their D&D names sprinkled in here and there and they’ve got in the bag.

They spent the next half hour coming up with nice things about Steve. Eddie did have nix a couple of their ideas because they came off as stalker-esque. Which was not the look they were going for.

****

To say that Eddie got a kick out of seeing Steve light up every time he opened his locker and more pink hearts fluttered out of it was an understatement.

The goofy smile the former jock got on his face was worth every second of the time they’d spent on the project.

And it was working, too. That was the really impressive part.

Even Tommy H. was baffled.

“How the hell are you getting so many pink hearts, Harrington?” he said on Friday, just four days into Eddie’s plan.

Steve shrugged in that dorky way that made Eddie’s heart stop. “I guess people are deciding to hell with social constructs and stupid cliques and are telling me even if they don’t dare to be open about that they still like me.”

Tommy’s mouth open and closed like a goldfish then he turned around and stormed off.

Eddie lean against the lock above Steve. “Back to being king again, huh, Stevie?”

“Not really,” he said, closing his locker and standing up. “Most of them are anonymous or fake names. But there are a few that real names.”

“You think someone is stuffing the ballot box as it were?” Eddie asked, worried the jig was up.

Steve shook his head. “At least I don’t think so. But it’s sad that they think they have to hide who they are to tell me that they still think I’m a cool dude or whatever.”

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie said, pushing off from the locker, “I think you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Steve blushed and mumbled his thanks.

God, did Eddie just want to bite those flushed cheeks. They were just too cute.

“It’s worth a lot, actually,” Steve whispered. He stood up and shouldered his backpack. “Catch you later, Eds.”

Shit that little nickname had Eddie’s heart doing overtime.

****

Steve was outside the middle school waiting for Dustin to come out. His mom had asked Steve to pick him because she had to stay after hours at work for a meeting.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed to the music in his head. He could have turned on the radio but Dustin hated his music didn’t like him blaring it for the whole school to hear.

His eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror to see his backpack on the backseat. He wanted to go over the ones he got today. There had been some really good ones. Ones that melted his insides and turned them to goo.

He bit his lip and checked the mirror again. He looked at his watch and he still had a couple minutes until the bell rang.

Steve whirled around and grabbed the bag. He ripped it open and pulled out his trapper keeper. Tucked in the front pocket were the hearts. He ran his fingers over the outline the hearts made on the plastic pocket.

He pulled out the hearts and read over each one. Tracing the names of the givers, thinking about each name and wondering where they were from.

There was a thump on his window startling him. He looked up to see Dustin making faces at him through the glass.

Steve shook his head and unlocked the passenger door to let the twerp in.

“Looking at pink hearts, Steve?” Dustin asked with the shake of his head. “So pathetic.”

Steve rolled his eyes and tried to put the hearts back in the folder, but Dustin snatched them from him and wouldn’t let him take them back.

“Come on, man!” Steve whined. “They’re none of your business.”

“I want to see which girls are giving the Steve Harrington Valentine’s hearts,” Dustin said, wagging his eyebrows.

“Dude, give it up,” he growled. “The pink hearts are friendship hearts, the red ones are the romantic ones. So give it back.”

The younger teen cocked his head to the side and said, “No.”

Steve folded his arms and glared at him.

“Aren’t you going to take me home?” Dustin asked after they sat in silence for a minute or two.

“Not until you give them back.”

Dustin just shrugged. “It’s your funeral if we get home after my mom does.”

Steve threw his arms in the air, but turned the engine and started the car toward the Hendersons.

“These are actually really sweet, Steve,” Dustin said after a couple of minutes. “I like the idea of friendship hearts. That way you don’t accidentally send the wrong message.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You do know that some of these are fake names, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes and dared to look over at him. “Yes, of course I do. I am familiar with D’Artagnan after you named a fucking demodog after him, thanks.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side and then shrugged. “That’s fair. What you probably don’t know is that Aramis, Porthos, and Athos are the names of the Three Musketeers.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s cool.” They hit a stop sign and Steve looked over and pulled out one. “What about this one? Tommy H. thinks it’s short for Kassie, but none of the girls at our school spell it like that.”

Dustin took the heart and looked at it. “Kas. Kas. Yeah, okay. That does sound familiar. Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Sure thing, bud.”

Steve pulled up to curb to let Dustin out. “You got your key? If you don’t, you can hang out with me until your mom gets home.”

Dustin began rummaging around in his bag and Steve snatched the hearts away before he could bend them.

The kid pulled out his keys with a triumphant, “Eureka!”

Steve shook his head. “You are such a dweeb. Go on, get.”

“Bye, Steve!”

“Next time say thank you, asshole!” Steve called out the window.

Dustin turned around and gave him the double middle finger.

Steve shook his head and drove off. Why he loved that kid, he had no idea.

When he got home he pulled out the little notebook and placed the pink hearts in with the rest. All but the one from Kas. Those he kept in his wallet. He really couldn’t place why. There was just something about what they said that made him feel warm and not in the fuzzy friendship way that the others did.

There was the first one:

-Stevie I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you. Kas

Which Steve loved but the others were just as sweet.

-Stevie You have a great laugh, you don’t have to hide it. Kas

-Stevie That shirt today really brings out the color in your eyes. Kas

And Steve’s personal favorite:

-Stevie Each day is brighter because you’re in it. Kas

There was one for each day he got hearts in his locker so he assumed it was all the same person.

He slid it next to the other three hearts in the billfold portion of his wallet and put the wallet next to his keys on his desk. Then he put the little notebook back, careful to make sure it was well hidden.

He wasn’t sure what his dad would do about the mementos but Steve really didn’t want to find out.

He was really going to miss getting the hearts over the weekend. They really had become the highlight of his day.

He sighed and buckled down to work on his homework. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do with his time. He wasn’t invited to any parties, he didn’t have friends to hang out with, and the people who would hang with him were fourteen year olds and they all had bedtimes.

He briefly thought about calling Eddie, but the guy had friends, unlike Steve and was probably doing something with them. Probably that nerd game that Eddie had a club for.

He buried his head in his hands.

Steve sighed. Fuck his life was depressing as shit.

With another sigh, he resigned himself to another lonely weekend.

****

Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi

@val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy

@irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee

@awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76

@scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @fullpoetrybread

@disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13 @skyewaytohell

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #post season 2 #valentine's fic

212 notes · View notes

dbnightingale24 · 12 days ago

Text

React

A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5,

Okay, I know it took me forever to upload this, but it's actually not my damn fault for once. Patreon is being weird about this story, and I'm trying to keep all of my accounts on the same page. It's not working though, lol. I wanted to wait, but it's Cillian's birthday, and I have the next four chapters ready for you guys. So, I'm sorry it took for-fucking-ever, but here's chapter 6....finally.

Word Count: 5,994

Warning(s): Swearing, Heartbreak, Emotional Cheating, Fluff, Drinking, Depression, Forbidden Love, Family Drama, Crying, Angst, Sneaking Around, Stepcest, Step-Daughter/Step-Father Relationship, Jim Being A Sweetheart and Salvaging Christmas....I think that's all of it?

Summary: Now that Christmas has been ruined and your Mother has drunkenly told you what she thinks of you, you have to make a choice: do you give your relationship with Jim a real shot? Or do you walk away from everything and everyone for good?

I do not give permission /consent for my works/stories to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of relationship, this is clearly for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter 6

“Angel?” you faintly hear Jim’s voice call as he approaches you on the swing.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been at the park and, thanks to the whiskey, you can’t tell how cold you actually are.

A small silver lining on the shittiest day you’ve in a while.

“Go away,” you squeak out with a sniffle, using the back of your hand to wipe your nose.

“Angel-”

“Don’t Jim. Don’t comfort me-”

“She was wrong. Ciara almost lunged across the table after you left, and your Mother and I got into a huge yelling match in the bedroom. She knows that both she and Rose were out of line.”

“I just wanna leave,” you sob with a slight slur.

“Angel,” he sighs, crouching down in front of you and cupping your face in his hands, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I didn’t even wanna come!”

“I know, Angel. I know. Lets just go back-”

“No, I never want to see her again. I know what we did was fucked up, but she doesn’t even know about that! That’s just how she feels about me! How she’ll always feel about me! That’s just how she fuckin’ feels, and I...I have no choice but to accept that.”

“She’s drunk-”

“She’s always drunk, always angry with me, always blaming me, and I’m fucking tired of it. I’m tired of her!”

“You can’t stay out here all night, it’s too damn cold-”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Where do ya want to go?” he sighs, getting up and sitting on the swing next to you, taking the bottle from you and taking a drink from it.

“You have to get back-”

“Danielle took the kids with her, along with the gifts ya got ‘em. Ciara and Darragh took Nora home, because Ciara was too furious to think straight. I told your Mother I wasn’t coming back tonight during our argument-”

“Jim-”

“Rose is gonna stay with her, Angel. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do.”

“I just want to be with you, Jim. We don’t have to do anything, I just want to be with you-ya clothes!”

“It’s fine, Angel. I know everywhere is booked, but I know I’ll be able to find us somethin’.”

“What about-”

“Just let me take care of ya, Angel.”

He always makes it all seem so easy. He always seems to have a plan and he’s so damn calm. No matter what happens, he’s always so calm, and maybe that’s part of the reason you’re so tethered to him.

After a few more swigs from the bottle, and a couple of phone calls, Jim is able to find you both a room for the next few nights.

“Don’t you have to go back-”

“No,” he answers confidently as he stands up and holds out his hand. “Lets get your clothes from Ciara.”

“What about your-”

“I can get em tomorrow. C’mon, Angel.”

“Jim-”

“I promise to get em tomorrow. Now, lets go,” he smiles softly towards you.

You take his hand and as you stand up, you realize just how stiff you are.

“How much was the room?” you as you two slowly make your way to his car.

“It’s a gift.”

“Jim-”

“I’m not tellin’ ya, so drop it,” he chuckles softly, opening the door for you.

“I feel bad-”

“Stop feelin’ bad for the mistakes she makes. You didn’t even want to come and, truth be told, I was gonna bring the kids to see ya at school,” he smirks before closing the door.

WHAT?!

“Jim, what do ya mean-”

“They’ve missed you,” he shrugs as he gets into the car, closing the door and starting the engine. “I almost suggested that we take them to see you a few times, but I knew it’d make you unhappy.”

“Jim-”

“I keep tellin’ you I want this, Angel. Yes, the sex is phenomenal,” he laughs softly as you giggle, “but there’s so much more to us than that. I’m not confused or angry, or any of that shite. I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you. You’re the first thought I have in the morning, and the last one I have at night. I’ve missed watching movies with you, eating dinner with you, cuddling up and talking about nothing...this isn’t just physical for me, Angel. I have a lot to consider with us perusing this, and I don’t think you understand that. I have to deal with the possibility of my children hating me, your Mother berating me, Rose being...Rose, and I can only imagine what Danielle will do and I can’t blame her. Still, with knowing all of that, I still came after you tonight. I’ve been trying to get you to see that since we started this.”

“I just don’t see why ya’d want me,” you mumble before taking a drink from your bottle.

Yes, you know you shouldn’t be drinking in the car while he’s driving, but you’ve had a nightmare of a day.

“None of the things your Mother says about ya are true. How can I not love ya? Not want ya? Angel, I’m amazed that you want anythin’ to do with me,” he scoffs as he pulls up to Ciara’s place. “I love you for all the reasons I’ve already told ya, and a million more that I’m just not ready to tell ya,” he promises as he kills the engine and looks over at you. “Lets get ya things.”

The second Ciara opens the door, she engulfs you in a hug and is apologizing profusely.

“You were just tryin’ to protect me,” you sigh as you and Jim make your way inside, “and I love ya.”

“Ya drunk,” she sighs, once she notices you stumbling a little.

“Only a little, besides, I’m not stayin’ here tonight-”

“You know you’re always welcome to-”

“I know, I know,” you quickly clarify, “but I don’t want Nora seeing me like this, and Jim got us a room for a few nights, so I’ll be there. I’ll come by before I go back,” you smile weakly.

“I’m so sorry, I really-”

“Ci, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was a dumb idea to begin with,” you sigh as you wipe away a lone tear falling down her face with your thumb. “Let me get my stuff.”

It’s not like you brought a lot to begin with, but you still pack your things with a heavy heart. It’s not like you’d expected the trip be amazing by any means, but you’d hoped for more than...this. You’d expected your Mother to be shit faced, but you really had done your best to keep her happy. You stayed out of the way, avoided Jim, made dinner, kept the children happy and entertained, and even played nice with Jim’s ex-wife even when she showed her claws. All of that work, and for what? You to end up alone in a park, drunk, and your...situationship to rescue you.

Happy fuckin’ Christmas.

“I don’t have my charger,” you sigh once you’re back downstairs with your one duffle bag packed.

You really hadn’t packed much.

“Do ya need it tonight, Angel?” Jim asks, taking your bag from you.

“She’s gonna-”

“Fuckin’ let her call and call!” Ciara snaps. “She deserves to feel like shit.” “Ci-”

“No Y/N. Do not try and protect her. She should feel horrible. Besides, you know that Rose is only over there encouraging her bad behavior. Your Mother never defends you, so why should you defend her?”

She has a valid point.

“I’ll let you know when we’re at the place,” you promise, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Y/N, do not try and-”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The both of you exchange gifts before you and Jim finally leave, and you somehow feel more defeated than you did before.

“What are you thinkin’, Angel?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Just tryin’ to figure out when she really started to hate me,” you chuckle humorlessly. “When did I really start to ruin her life?”

“Angel-”

“Cause it wasn’t always this bad. Sure, she’s never shown up all that much, but we could at least have fun together. We could skate, watch movies, have dance parties...we had some sort of a relationship, but now? Now, it’s all gone to Hell.”

“Angel, we’ll focus on that tomorrow. Lets just try and salvage the rest of this Christmas.”

“I ruined it for-”

“She ruined it,” he sighs, parking the car.

“Where are we?”

“A friend of mine manages this place. He was able to give us a discounted price on a room for a few nights.”

“Does he know about...us?”

“Yes.”

You groan as you put your head in your hands, “Jim!”

“Ciara knows!”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

“She’s known my Mum for as long as she’s known me. She knows how terrible she is, how terrible she’s always been, and is very understanding of this whole...us. Your friend doesn’t know me from a can of fuckin’ paint,” you mutter, hating how much you feel like a child.

“You’re right, he doesn’t know you, but he knows about the situation between your Mother and I. It’s fine, Angel.” “Jim-”

“I’d never bring ya somewhere where ya not safe. Lets get inside,” he smiles softly.

You slowly get out while Jim grabs your bag out of the backseat. As your eyes trail over the building, you can’t help but wonder-

“No, this is not where Yvonne and I would go when we had our affair,” he sighs heavily, walking ahead of you, and you slowly follow after.

Now you feel like an even bigger asshole.

“Hey, can we speak with Charlie, please?” he kindly asks the man behind the desk.

“I’ll get ‘im for ya,” the young man smiles before disappearing behind the door.

“Jim, I’m-”

“It’s fine, Angel. We’ll talk in the room, okay?”

“I can stay with Ciara-”

“Angel, please just let me take care of you. I love you, I want to be here with you, and I want to do this. It’s all going to be fine, so please don’t worry.”

“I love you too, Jim,” you mumble, looking down at your feet.

Today is making you feel so incredibly small and you hate it.

“Thought you’d be here much earlier,” a man you’re assuming is Charlie laughs as he greets Jim.

“Had to get a few things together, but we’re here now.”

“One bag?”

“I’ll pick up some of my things tomorrow.”

“Really goin’ through with it this time, eh?”

“After tonight? Yeah, long overdue,” Jim scoffs, shaking his head as the man hands him a room key.

“I’ll get ya when ya leave.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve got enough to think on, just leave it. Is this the little lady?” Charlie asks, smiling at you.

“She’s a little somethin’,” Jim laughs and you roll your eyes. “Y/N, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Y/N.”

“It’s nice to know ya,” you offer with a small smile shaking his hand.

“Well, I’ve got food and a few bottles waitin’ up there for ya. Try to enjoy the rest of your night. We’ll talk in the mornin,” he nods towards Jim, who just nods in response, taking the key and heading towards the elevator.

God knows what that means.

“Angel, just be here for now,” he encourages as you two take the ride up.

“You’re doin’ all of this and I’m just-”

“Y/N, please stop. I love ya. I love ya so much, and I’m happy.”

“Jim-”

“I’m so happy to be here with you, and it’s not like I pictured it at all, but I’m still with you.”

“Jim...today has been such a mess and, if we stay together, they’re gonna be a lot more days like this before they get better.”

“I know that. This isn’t like before for me. I know what’s waiting for me when we go through with this. I’m goin’ to be looked at as the dirty old man who seduced you, and ruined your relationship with ya Mum. I know Danielle is goin’ to be disgusted with me, and she’s gonna have an issue with the kids stayin’ with me. Rose is gonna raise hell and convince your Mother to do the same...I know what’s waiting for me,” he sighs as he opens the door to the room.

“Jim...” you gasp as you marvel at it.

“I didn’t tell him to do this much,” he laughs, walking in behind you and closing the door, “I just told him I want somethin’ nice for ya.”

“This is...oh Jim,” you smile at him as your eyes start to water.

Jim honestly could have gotten the two of you a rat hole, and you would’ve thanked him endlessly, but this? The room was gorgeous. Beautiful shades, a spacious bed, bottles of your favorite wine and champagne, food (which you’re more than thankful for because you’re ravenous), a gorgeous bathroom, and a small living area.

“Let me help you pay-”

“No,” he laughs, tossing your bag down. “Let me do this.”

“Jim-”

“I love you,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“I love you.”

“So lets enjoy this, yeah?”

“Bathe with me.”

“Angel-”

“No tricks, no sex. I just wanna be with you a bit,” you promise, slowly breaking out of his hold and taking your shirt off. “I’ll get the water ready,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the half finished bottle of whiskey, an unopened bottle of wine, and two glasses along with a wine opener, before making your way into the bathroom.

No, you shouldn’t mix alcohol, or be drinking anymore for that matter, but you’ve earned this.

You’re quick to shed the rest of your clothes, grabbing your phone from the pocket of your jeans and scoffing when you see that your Mother has called 40 times and has sent 20 texts, then finally start the water. You’re well aware that between the two of you, you like your water hotter than Jim does. However, thinking back on how the whole day went, you know you both can use a bit a warmth to shield you from the cold of life awaiting you.

“I expected you to find you texting your Mother back,” Jim laughs, making his way into the bathroom in just his boxer briefs.

“I am tempted to, but I just want us to enjoy whats left of the day. There’s not much left anyway,” you shrug, turning to face him as he steps out of his boxer briefs. “You get in first, I wanna lay against ya.’

“How bad am I about to get burned?”

“I’m playing nice tonight,” you giggle, pouring the both of you a drink.

He’s slow to stand in it, but the second hes completely seated, he lets out a sigh of content, and looks up at you with the most loving look in his eyes. You hand him his drink before carefully stepping in. Once you’re settled comfortably between his legs, you lean against him and close your eyes as he wraps his arms around you tight.

You’re home.

You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before asking, “Jim?”

“Yeah, Angel?”

“I love you.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and strokes your arm softly, “I love ya too.”

“What did you mean earlier?”

“Hmm? When?”

“When you said they’re a million reasons you love me, but you’re not ready to tell me.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before taking a sip of his drink, “ya keep runnin’ from me, Angel.”

You didn’t think it was possible for you to feel any worse, but you stand corrected.

“And I understand,” Jim quickly adds, trying to lessen the pain from the blow he just landed on you. “I’d be a fool if I didn’t, but I’m not gonna lie to ya.”

“Jim...it’s just hard-”

“You have your reservations and rightfully so. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt, but I know how this looks from your point of view. I cheated before, married your Mum, and now I’m cheating on her with you. Her daughter. I know how much of a scum bag I look like right now.”

“Ya told me about the cheatin, though,” you sigh, grabbing your own glass off the floor, and taking a drink from it.

“I can understand why it doesn’t mean anythin’ to you.”

“I don’t want to hurt ya, Jim-”

“I know you don’t, Angel. That’s why I don’t get angry or frustrated. This is a lot and I know it’s nothing either of us ever imagined. All of this is complicated, and it’s worse for you. If you really decide you don’t want this, then I’ll walk away. Either way, I’ll be divorcing your Mother and you’ll never hear from or see me again.”

“I don’t want that.”

“But I can understand if that’s what ya decide.”

“How are ya so sure, Jim? Why are you so confident?”

“When I cheated on Danielle...that was me being stupid. Yes, a large part of me had feelings for Yvonne, I thought she was pretty, but it wasn’t love. It was so exciting at the time, that I told myself it was love and made excuses for my actions, but I knew better. That’s why it was so easy for me to turn the idea of trying again with her down when she brought it up. After everything settled and I could think clearly again, I knew it was just a moment. It wouldn’t have lasted. That’s probably why I rushed to be with Orla. God, what a fuckin’ nightmare that was,” he mutters, before taking another sip of drink.

You start making little circles on his chest with your index finger, “what went wrong there?”

“You’re gonna think so much less of me,” he groans and you giggle softly. “I could never.”

“The first time I met Orla, she was a mess. Swearin’ in front of my kids, short tempered, combative, and I later found out that she drinks a bit much, which is a lot comin’ from me. That’s why I fell in love with your Mother, or, at least thought I fell in love with your Mother. At the time, she was the exact opposite. No, I didn’t feel as strongly for her as I do for you, and maybe all it was, was a sense of relief. She didn’t drink as much, she wasn’t so short with me, she didn’t assume that I was always out cheating...it felt like it used to with Yvonne. Then...”

“Then I came home,” you scoff.

“You came home.”

“What do you feel for me now that makes all of those times different?”

“None of it is gonna make any sense,” he chuckles, pulling you closer to him. “I just felt it when I first saw you in person. I had seen pictures of you and thought you were beautiful, but seeing you in person...I really wish I knew how to explain it. I just felt this...”

“Connection?”

“You felt it too?”

You hang your head and sigh in defeat, “yeah, I did.”

“Angel, I need you to understand that I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. I honestly did my best to try and stop this, but you...you are everything. This isn’t about the chase, this isn’t for my fuckin’ ego, and I won’t be someone else to hurt and let ya down.”

“Jim...it’s gonna be so bad.”

“I’ll face all of it with you, Angel.”

You turn a little in his hold and look up at him. You can tell that he means every words, but that he’s just as terrified as you are. Not that he’ll fuck it up, but that you’ll go running for the hills again. You reach up and cup the right side of his face into your hand and closes his eyes and leans into it.

You’re both so tired of fighting and running from what you both truly want.

“I love you, Jim.”

He dips down and kisses you passionately, “I love you so much, Angel,” he breathes once you two break apart.

“Can we stay in here just a bit longer?” you question with a small smile as tears come to your eyes.

“We can do whatever ya want, Angel.”

You resume the position you were in before and lay your head on his chest, as he plays with the ends of your hair that are in the water. Why can’t it always be this easy?

“Have you always had Charlie’s support about us?”

“Fuck no,” he laughs softly and you giggle a little. “He asked me if I was out of my fuckin’ mind, and told me that I can’t be with you.”

“You told him-”

“After the first night I met you. I met up with him at that pub round the way and told him that I fucked up.”

“Were you and my Mother having issues before I came back?”

“Honestly? No, not really. We had little arguments here and there, but nothin’ to make me think there was a completely different side to her. After the first night, he convinced me that I was just angry and I’d get over it, and I tried to get myself to believe he was right.”

“What changed his mind?”

“At first, it was that every damn thing that came out of my mouth was about you,” he chuckles sheepishly, moving some of your hair off of your shoulder and kissing it. “No matter what we were talkin’ about, I always found a way to bring it back to you. Then, when I’d come ‘round with ya Mum, he could see the difference in the way I looked at her. The way I touched her. He saw me at her birthday party, and saw that I was constantly lookin’ around for ya. The way I smiled when my eyes finally found you...he could see it was much more than physical. He saw your Mum gettin’ worse, and the way you were always there, even when ya weren’t. When I told him that we...he wasn’t the least bit surprised. I guess anyone who knew what was goin’ on with us wasn’t. I could tell that he wanted to be angry with me, but he understood. He hated that he did, but he did nonetheless.”

“What does he know about me?”

“What doesn’t he know about ya? He knows that you’re in ya final year, he knows what you’re studyin’, he knows your favorite food, your favorite movies, he knows what my favorite things about you are, he knows that you’re scared...I tell him everything,” he shrugs, placing another soft kiss on your shoulder.

“When did you meet him?”

“His ex is best friends with Orla. We both broke up with them around the same time, and we just started hanging out. He’s a good one.”

“Can I ask-”

“I never cheated on Orla,” he sighs and it breaks your heart.

“Don’t get mad-”

“I’m not, Angel. I expect the questions. I just feel horrible that you feel like you need to ask.”

“I just-”

“I know.”

“I do believe ya, Jim. I believe that you love me and want this just as much as I do. I just...” “You’re scared, and you’d be a fool if ya weren’t. This isn’t gunna make things perfect overnight just because we want them to. I know I have to show you, and I know it’s gonna take time, and that’s fine with me.”

“I just know-”

“Angel-”

“Just let me get this out, please,” you sniffle softly. “I know ‘ve said some things that weren’t the nicest in an attempt to keep ya away. I want you to know that I’ve always loved ya, I was just tryin’ to do what was best. What I thought was best. I just want you to be happy, and I know you want the same for me. I know it’s gonna take some time and it’ll be tough, but I truly do want this. I’m all in,” you promise softly.

This time, he’s the one cupping your face and forcing your attention to him.

“Angel, don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“You know me well enough to know better. ‘m not gonna say somethin’ to make you feel better. If I’m sayin’ it, I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m all in.”

“I need to hear it one more time, Angel. Only say it if you’re sure.”

You take a deep breath as you turn in his hold and face him on your hands and knees.

“I’m all in.”

You laugh as he kisses you, pushing you back a little as water splashes around, and you kiss him back just as enthusiastically as you finally feel peace for the first time in a long time.

“I want to give you one of your gifts tonight,” he breathes once you two break apart.

“One? Jim-”

“One tonight, one tomorrow, and one when you’re back in school.”

“Jim-”

“I’ve already bought them, so you may as well let me do it,” he laughs as you shake your head.

“Jim?” you call softly once his laughter subsides.

“Yeah, Angel?”

“Say it for me, please?”

He smiles as his thumb caresses your cheek, “I love you.”

Yes, his smile is reaching his eyes, but you still see a bit of trepidation in them.

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

“Nothin’, lets just-”

“We’re not startin’ off like this. What’s wrong?”

“It’s dumb and it doesn’t-”

“Jim, it’s not dumb to me and it matters to me. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and leans back a little, “it really doesn’t matter.”

“Jim.”

“Remember when you rang your Mum...two months ago? She was askin’ about school and boys?”

You already know where this is headed.

You sit back down as you mutter, “yeah.”

“Did ya really-”

“It was only two dates and it didn’t go any farther than makin’ out. I felt so guilty the entire time, but I was tryin’ to get over you. It was wrong and, while ya still married to my Mum, it’s still wrong.”

“I’m changing that once you’re back at school. You don’t need to be here for that.”

“Jim, tell me that ya aren’t mad.”

“I’m not, Angel. I promise. I know why and I understand, it just...”

“It just...?”

“It irritates me because I don’t want you with anyone else but me. It scares me because maybe you’ll realize you don’t actually want this.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s not lost on either of us that I’m the older one. Maybe you’ll realize you actually do want someone younger-”

“Jim, no. That’s not...no. I love you. I’m in love with you. Those dates only happened because I was tryin’ to get over ya, and....maybe get a reaction out of you.”

“A reaction?” he scoffs, sitting up and taking a sip of his drink.

“I know I kept tellin’ ya to stay away, and maybe it was just because I wanted to feel like I was a good daughter after everything that happened over the Summer. I think it’s clear that, that’s not what I wanted at all, and in the back of my mind...I was jealous. She had you and I didn’t. Yes, that was my doing, but it didn’t change the fact that I hated that she had you and I didn’t. I wanted to see if you’d react. How you’d react. I wanted you to show up and tell me that I’m yours or...somethin’,” you scoff sheepishly. “It was childish and dumb, but it’s the truth.”

“You really are somethin’ else,” he laughs, shaking his head and you smile sheepishly. “Lets get out of here.”

You lean forward and pull him close, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him passionately. It’s not sexual and it’s not teasing. You just want him to feel that you truly do love him as much as he loves you, and you’re in this for the long haul.

You want him to feel and know that you’ll never need or want anything or anyone else ever again.

When you two break apart, he’s smiling wide and you giggle softly. Once you’re both out, you drain the tub and Jim wraps you in a towel, holding your waist tight.

“I promise, it’s all going to be okay, Angel,” he whispers in your ear before kissing the shell of it.

It’s so hard to be afraid of anything when you’re with him.

“C’mon, I’ anxious to give ya your gift,” you giggle before squealing as he kisses your sweet spot.

Soon enough, he’s back in his boxer briefs and you’re in a pair of panties and an old Bangles t-shirt.

“Alright,” you start, reaching into your bag. “Don’t scold me.”

“What did ya do?”

“You need it.”

“Angel-”

“It’s fine,” you promise, handing him a neatly wrapped box and a card.

“You need to focus on yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you laugh. “Open them!”

“I’m openin’ the card first,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes as you finish off your drink, pouring yourself another glass. “Jim, I’m hoping you’re reading this after everyone’s gone to sleep. Also, burn this letter after reading,” he laughs, giving you a quick wink. “I know that this...relationship (I guess) between us hasn’t been anywhere close to ideal, but I want you to know...I want you to know that I truly do love you,” he reads a bit softer, clearing his throat. “It’s never goin’ to be ideal for us, and I’ve accepted that, but I don’t want you to think I hate or resent you, or any of the time we’ve spent together, because being with you is the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t regret a second of it and my heart is always with you. No matter what happens...my heart will always be with you and it will always be yours. I love you, Jim. I am so in love with you, and I hope you never forget that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy your gift. Before you try and argue with me, the one you have now is a piece of shite and you’re too stubborn to buy yourself a new one. Happy Christmas and I love you. Yours, always; Angel,” he finishes with a sniffle. “You are so fuckin’ precious, ya know that?” he laughs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I love you, Angel, and I’m not gonna burn this letter,” he laughs as he reaches for the box.

You sit back, crossing your legs as he rips up the paper like a child.

“Angel...”

“You need it!”

“You have so much to save for-”

“Stop it, Jim. I’m happy to do it for you.”

“I’ll pay ya-”

“That’s not how gifts work,” you laugh.

“Angel-”

“I saved up for it. Just take it.”

“I love it, thank you,” he smiles and you laugh as he tackles you with a hug.

You hadn’t initially meant to buy him a Mac Book Pro, it just kind of happened. The first few nights you were at your Mother’s, you’d heard him silently gripping about it. A few days after that, you just decided you’d start saving for the damn laptop. You honestly hadn’t meant to, it just happened. You liked him, you could tell he’d never buy it for himself, and you knew your Mother hadn’t even thought to. The more you got to know him, the more you liked him. By the time you two started fooling around, the money was more than half way saved.

You told yourself that this would be the last thing you ever gave him, and that seems to have been a complete lie.

“How are even making money?” he laughs, looking over the box.

“I write papers for other students, I write little stories here and there, dog sit-”

“You should be spendin’ that money on yourself.”

“Jim, I was happy to do it and I love you. Enjoy ya gift,” you smile.

He cups your face again, capturing you in a soul stealing kiss, before grabbing a small box and handing it to you, “I love you.”

“Jim-”

“If you’re allowed to give me this, I’m allowed to give this.”

“Jim...”

“Just open it, Angel.”

You timidly take the box, but you’re quick to rip off the wrapping paper.

“Jim...”

“It’s not gonna bite ya,” he laughs, eyeing you with small hints of amusement in his eyes.

“Did ya spend too much?” “Nothin’ is too much for you. Now, no more questions, open it.”

“Jim-”

“Open,” he laughs.

Slowly, you open the small velvet box, and gasp at what’s inside. Two bracelets that have your favorite charms on them. You’d been eyeing them a few months ago, but decided against getting them because you wanted to make sure you had enough for everyone’s gifts.

“Jim!”

“Read the inside.”

You cocked an eyebrow holding them up and reading the inscription.

‘Mar sin, más rud é, a stór, is cosúil go mbeidh uaireanta Sean droichid ag briseadh idir tú féin agus mise’ the first one reads.

‘Ná eagla. B’fhéidir go ligfimid na scafaill ag titim muiníneach go bhfuil ár balla tógtha againn’ finishes the second.

“You are so...I love them so much,” you sniffle, tackling him with the biggest hug.

“Top marks if you can guess the poet,” he chuckles, pulling you into his lap before hugging you back just as tight.

“Seamus Heaney,” you giggle as you try and reign in your emotions. “The poem is ‘Scaffolding’.”

“Looks like school is paying off,” he teases.

“I love you so much, Jim.”

“I love you too, Angel. No matter what.”

“I really want this to work, Jim. I don’t want this to end. I don’t was us to end.”

“We won’t. It’s not gonna be easy, but we can do this.”

“Promise me.”

He presses a soft kiss to your head as his hold on you tightens, “I promise.”

You two stay like that for a while, and you honestly can’t remember the last time you felt this safe and happy. You can’t remember the last time you felt this loved.

This is probably the best Christmas you’ve ever had. Setbacks and all.

“What are my other gifts?” you joke with a sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“I told you when you’ll get them.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because you need to learn patience,” he teases. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“I don’t care what we do, as long as you’re here,” you mumble, putting on your bracelets and settling under the sheets.

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Love.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve had water, a few bites of potatoes, and too much whiskey. You need food,” he reaffirms as he makes you a small plate of food.

“Jim-”

“Eat,” he tells you as he hands you a plate of many different things.

All of which are your favorite. “You take such good care of me,” you tease, taking the plate from him.

“I plan on doin’ it forever.”

“That’s awfully long time.”

“Not long enough if you ask me, Angel,” he smiles towards you softly. “I love ya.”

“I love you too, Jim. Always will.”

As you both settle in and find a movie to watch, Jim pulls you close and you feel as if you’re finally home. Yes, the road ahead is going to be scary and bumpy, but you know that as long as you have Jim, it’s all going to be okay. However, you don’t want to think about any of that right now. Hell is headed both your ways, and you just want a little calm before the storm.

You just wanna live in this moment you’ve been dreaming of.

38 notes · View notes

drowned-captain · 5 months ago

Text

The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch. 4

A/N: RAAH THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE LAST CHAPTER IT MEANS A LOT TO ME :)) I LITERALLY WENT TO BED SMILING BECAUSE OF Y'ALL AAAH Y’ALL HAVE NO IDEA asdjkfadslfjnaei I also did a crap ton of research and watched a lot of videos on writing fight scenes, so I hope the next one is better! Also, I made this chapter a little longer because we are almost at half a dozen cupcakes in the tag list :) Enjoy!

MDNI (18+ only).

TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts, toxic codependency

Word Count: ~ 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the wonderful time you had at the bar last night, you had a restless night. You swore that you wouldn’t think about your ex when you got home. You told yourself that you would just head straight to bed. You even walked through your apartment with your eyes closed! All you wanted to do was hold on to the glee of winning some cogs and the time you spent with Vi. All you wanted was to savor the sweet, savory bliss of forgetting everything wrong with your life.

But it all just slips through the cracks between your fingers like sand. You had a wonderful time, but no one to talk about it with. Your acquaintanceship with Vi ended up reminding you of your lack of companionship in general. When you were with them, their friends became your friends. Sure you never hung out with those people without your lover, but they were still your friends, right? But the minute you cut ties with that liar, it was radio silence from all of them. None of them even bothered to check up on you.

They all forgot you as fast as you shut the door on your relationship for the final time.

‘Geez, my so-called ‘friends’ broke up with me.’ you thought. It was hard to find friends in this city in general. You could always put that jinxer fit on and pretend to care about public figures like more than half of Zaun is. You could find some people to call friends through that. You could. The issue is pretending–you’re so damn tired of pretending. You almost can’t help it; three years of a horrible relationship made you an expert at the art of it, and it was getting so damn exhausting.

You remembered your conversation with Vi about cycles and loops and whatnot. So as much as you wanted to rot in bed until it was time to get ready to place another bet, you decided to get out of bed earlier. You probably got a total of four hours of on and off sleep, but whatever.

When you looked at your messy bed, you had forgotten that you were using some of your ex’s shirts as pillowcases. You strip one of the pillows of a shirt and hold it in your hands. Your thumbs brush its semi-worn out fabric, and you slowly bring it to your nose. Their scent still lingers on it. There were faint shimmer stains on it (their own line of shimmer stained clothes pretty badly). You walked up to your window, pushed the curtains aside, and opened the pane. You look down onto the street and watch the tops of people’s heads moving along below. You weren’t too high up– maybe about three stories. You hold your hand out the window, clenching the shirt. You slowly uncurl each finger until you let it go, and it floats down to the ground.

A couple of people were quick to notice it. One person grabs it only to be shoved by the other person. There is a yelling match of “I saw it first!” between them. You shut the window and let their yelling fade into the background. A part of you regretted tossing that shirt. You almost wanted to pounce on those people from your window and demand that they give it back. Instead, you fought your own tears as you went about a half-assed morning routine.

When preparing food from your half-stolen bag of semi stale fish meat, you instinctively made servings for two. Your eyes kept glancing at the extra serving on the stove as you slowly ate your (possibly radioactive) meal. At least you won’t have to cook later, right?

You get dressed into one of your favorite outfits. You might as well get some air this afternoon so you don’t have to run all the way to the arena like you did last night. You take half of your cogs with you and stuff them into a trusty bag before slinging it over your shoulder and taking off.

You walked along the bustling streets of Zaun and looked around for something to do. You stop along a bridge, walking up to the rickety railing and overlooking part of the city. It’s been a while since you were able to stop and appreciate the beauty of this place that only Zaunites like yourself can understand. Even though Piltover quite literally casts a big shadow over Zaun, it cannot snuff out the popping colors that glow even in daylight hours. You have never personally been to Piltover (not like you want to, especially because of the current political issues and all the rising problems with enforcers), but even in the distance it was very ‘sterile’ looking. In other words, not so fun.

You suddenly feel a heavy hand on your shoulder. You nearly jump out of your skin, clutching the strap of your bag as you bounce backwards, smacking the hand that touched you. Your face was twisted in aggression, glaring at whoever thought it was a good idea to sneak up on you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” a bearded man spoke. Your face relaxed a bit, recognizing him as Vi’s handler. Still, you didn’t appreciate getting spooked. Plus, you don’t know anything about this guy other than he saved you from possibly needing a cast or three. But he could be dangerous! If only you could take someone as broad as he is down like Vi can with her opponents.

“The name’s Loris,” he holds out his hand for you to shake, “I think I saw you at that one bar a few days back. I’m one of Vi’s friends.”

You hesitate slightly before shaking his hand, “(Y/n).” You can smell alcohol on him, but he doesn’t seem wasted. He can tell that you’re still standoffish, so he turns away and leans his elbows on the rail of the bridge.

“Mind if I stand here with you for a moment? I gotta clear my head for a second before I go about my day.” He itches his beard, staring off into the distance. You stand there in silence, still suspicious. Most people who strike up a conversation in this city out of the blue probably want something, and you will not give him anything.

“I don’t own this bridge, so do what you must. I guess.” You state after a few moments of thinking.

He chuckles a bit at your tense tone before he takes another look at you, “You look like you’ve been through the grinder. It’s tough out here, isn’t it?”

You look down at yourself and frown a bit, “Gee, thanks.” So much for wearing your favorite fit.

“I meant your demeanor,” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “You look like you’ve been dodging some of life’s punches. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Ain’t no bruises on that mug of yours. No offense, just an observation.”

“What’s it to you?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms. You’re still not sure what to make of him.

Loris shrugged, leaning more heavily on the railing. “Nothing, really. Just... I’ve been there. Lost a lot before I got to where I am now. Figured I’d say something in case you needed to hear it.”

“Not to be rude or anything, Loris, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for unsolicited advice, or…whatever you’re trying to do here.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his eyebrows raising at you skeptically, "Fair enough," he says, straightening up from the railing. "Didn’t mean to step on your toes." He stretches his arms behind his head, giving a small grin. "Just figured I’d try to be neighborly, but I’ll back off."

You’re a little taken aback by how easily he relents, expecting some pushback. Instead, he fishes a cog from his pocket, idly rolling it between his fingers as he looks back out over the city. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Vi.”

You tilt your head. “She told you about me? Wait. I haven’t even done anything for her. I’ve only spoken to her, like, twice. And the first time didn’t even go so well. I don’t even know her all that much.”

“No, she has not spoken about you. But you’re the one who had her go home both times with a cup of water, right?”

“That’s… yeah. Everybody should drink water with their booze. No biggie.”

Loris pockets his cog and pushes away from the rail, the metal making a creaky noise. "Well, don’t let me keep you. Gotta grab Vi for some pregaming soon—busy night ahead."

Before he walked away, he looked at you again, his expression softer. “Take care of yourself, (Y/n). And... try not to let whatever’s chasing you catch up.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to wonder how someone you barely knew could read you like that.

Vi was tossing out her empty bottles outside of her apartment. She dusted her hands off and let out a somewhat satisfied sigh. She was up earlier than usual, which kind of felt nice for a change. There was another part of her, however, that gnawed at the back of her mind. Being awake and sober meant that her brain was free to juggle memories of Caitlyn around while reminding her of all the love that she lost in her life. It felt like there was a hole in her chest. How can a heart feel so heavy when there was an entire chunk missing from it?

She clenches her fists and shakes her head as if all the haunting memories and thoughts will fly off of her. If only it worked that way. It didn’t help that she dreamt of her last night. She dreamt of the life that she envisioned with Caitlyn; Waking up to her. Their hands combing through each other's hair. Seeing that adorable gap-toothed smile. Feeling her soft, perfect skin. Breathing in her scent. Walking the streets of Piltover together and basking in the sunlight.

She spun around and punched the wall behind her with an angry snarl.

“Well that was a close one.” Loris spoke, staring directly at Vi’s arm. If he were just a few inches closer, she would have probably punched him right in the chest.

Vi lets out a heavy sigh, shaking her hand off, “Hey, Loris. Sorry, I didn’t know you were right there.”

“Water under the bridge,” he hums, turning on his heel to rest against the alley’s wall, “You’re up early.”

“Maybe I just wanted to pregame longer.” Vi straightens her jacket out, the black leather squeaking with her movement.

Loris’s eyes look past Vi, seeing a large bag with the necks of glass bottles sticking out of it. He doesn’t say anything about it.

“Shall we get started with it, then?” he asks, pushing himself off the wall.

Vi leads the way. After a few moments she speaks up, “Make sure you tell me when you’re behind me. I could’ve accidentally hurt you.”

“Eh, s’alright. That would be the second time I’ve snuck up on someone today.”

Vi shakes her head disapprovingly. “You have to stop that. Not everybody takes kindly to that shit.”

Loris chuckles lightly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. But sometimes, it’s the only way to catch someone in their natural state, you know?" He thought about the way you looked out towards the city. The way your eyebrows were furrowed in thought. He almost laughed at how high you jumped when he spooked you even though a part of him felt kind of bad for it.

Vi side-eyes him, her mouth pulling into a line. "That’s one way to earn a black eye."

"Noted," Loris says with a smirk, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Though, between you and me, I think most people are too distracted to notice me sneaking around. The current state of Zaun has everyone clouded nowadays.”

Vi snorts softly, her hands in her jacket pockets. "You’re not wrong about that." She glances down at the cracked pavement beneath her boots. "Guess you’ve been busy keeping tabs on everyone, huh?"

"Only the important ones," Loris replies, his tone more serious now. "Speaking of, you alright, Vi? You seem… tenser than usual."

Vi slows her pace, her jaw tightening. "Just didn’t get much sleep, that’s all," she mutters, deflecting.

Loris doesn’t push, but the knowing look in his eyes says he doesn’t buy it. Instead, he switches gears. "Fair enough. Maybe the fight tonight’ll help clear your head. Nothing like knocking someone out to shake off the cobwebs, right? And if that’s not enough, there’s always a celebratory drink afterwards.”

Vi’s face softens. Her heartbeat quickens just a bit in anticipation. The image of you sitting at the bar blurred out Vi’s looping memories of Caitlyn. This time she wasn’t too fucked up to remember the conversation that she had with you the other night. She really, really hopes that you’ll be there to talk some more.

Loris catches a brief glimpse of Vi smiling. It makes him smile.

The day gets late enough for you to head to the arena. It was nice not having to rush for once, so you follow the crowd without a worry. Maybe you could get a front row seat this time!

However, something catches your attention. Your ears picked up on some gossip ahead of you.

“I heard Vi is guaranteed to lose tonight,” says one voice.

“Many people were saying that yesterday, but they were wrong. Did you see that guy? There was no way she was supposed to beat him, but she did. She always wins,” responds the other.

“I’m serious! Today she will lose. The Pit’s losing money because the majority are betting on Vi. I heard that tonight the opponent will be . . .”

You struggle to hear the conversation as more people follow the crowd, drowning that gossip with other voices. You think about it for a second. Should you not bet on Vi tonight? But that one guy says that she always manages to win. That one opponent seemed to have the biggest advantage being quick, big, and sturdy. Vi did take him down. You nod to yourself.

‘Yeah, gossip is just gossip. Vi never loses, right? That’s what everyone says.’

You get to the arena early enough to place a bet. You give up all the cogs you took with you and receive your ticket. When you were picking a seat, you decided to sit somewhere near the front. Hopefully you wouldn’t get queasy from seeing blood fly off of the fighters up close.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, so you look behind you. Upon seeing Loris, your face lit up in surprise.

“Oh! Loris, right? I guess you’d be here. Being Vi’s friend and all.”

He takes a step down, sitting next to you. You tense up a bit, not expecting him to move seats.

“Eeyup. Always here to support her.” He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looks at you. “So you are a fan of hers, huh?”

You grip your ticket tightly. "This is my second time here, so it might be too soon for me to put a label like that on myself. I will admit, though, she’s something else in the ring."

"That she is," he says, his voice tinged with pride. "Vi’s got more fight in her than anyone I’ve ever met. But," he pauses, his tone lowering slightly, "it’s not just about the wins for her."

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Loris straightens up, offering a small shrug. "Just saying, it’s not always about the glory. Sometimes, it’s about proving something to yourself. You know what I mean?"

‘Prove what exactly?’ you think, ‘If she’s going through her own grief, then is there more to punching someone’s lights out as a coping mechanism?’

You shift in your seat, recalling the gossip you overheard earlier, "Do you think she’ll win tonight?"

Loris looks at you for a moment before responding, his gaze steady, "She’s got the fire in herself to win. But I suppose anything can happen."

You nod slowly, the weight of his words settling in. As the crowd grows louder and the arena begins to fill, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Tonight's fight feels different somehow, and you wonder if Loris senses it too.

The stadium lights shut off, then the arena spotlights beam onto the pit. The crowd howls with excitement. You and Loris stay seated and quiet. Your leg bounces as you sit, feeling your clothing become a bit warm from the nerves. When the referee called out Vi’s name, you and Loris clapped.

Then you see her. She steps into the ring, arm raised into the air as nearly the entire audience cheers for her. Her steps are just a bit unstable– perhaps she’s been drinking beforehand. You slow your clapping upon seeing the opponent enter the ring. Then another opponent.

“Tonight is going to be a little bit different,” the referee says through the speakers, “Frontrunner Vi here has been tearing shit up for the past few months.”

The crowd hollers in agreement.

“Now, Vi is no stranger to fighting two people at once,” he laughs into the mic, “Does everyone think our champion has what it takes?”

The crowd screams louder. You want to cover your ears even though you agree with them all. However, you can feel your palms dampen at the thought of Vi having to fight two people. But if everyone seemed confident in her, and if she’s done it before, then she should be fine.

The bell rings, and the two opponents waste no time closing in on Vi. One is a tall and lean woman, with quick movements that scream agility, while the other is a hulking brute, slower but with arms as thick as Loris’ neck. Vi, her posture loose but ready, cracks her knuckles as a determined look crosses her face.

The agile one darts in first, aiming a sharp jab at her ribs. Vi sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing her arm and twisting it, using the momentum to slam her into the brute. The crowd roars as the two stumble apart, clearly thrown off by her opening move.

The brute growls, charging at her like a bear. Vi plants her feet, waiting until the last second before pivoting out of his path. She drives her elbow into his side as he barrels past, a sickening thud echoing through the arena. The brute grunts in pain but doesn’t go down, swinging a massive fist toward her head.

Vi barely manages to dodge it, feeling the end of his knuckle brush against her ear. The movement leaves her exposed to the agile one, who’s already recovered. She lands a quick kick to Vi’s thigh, causing her to fall. Vi quickly rolls out of the way when the brute slams his fists onto the ground. She springs to her feet, but is kicked down again by the slimmer one. The brute takes the opportunity to grab Vi, lifting her and squeezing the air out of her.

Vi swings her head back, making contact with his nose. He loosens his grip, and she drops to the ground, spinning to deliver a knee to his gut. Vi clutches her stomach, attempting to catch her breath. The agile one circles Vi as the brute covers his nose, staggering backwards. He shakes blood off of his hand, snarling in anger.

Vi’s eyes flick between them, calculating. When the agile one lunges, she ducks under his swing, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. Using her momentum, Vi launches her into the brute, the two of them crashing to the ground in a heap.

Vi, victorious, raises her fists high as the crowd chants her name.

In the crowd, you excitedly cheer for her. You look at Loris, whose face drops in horror. You quickly look back into the ring.

The two opponents are standing back up, throwing empty glass vials at the walls of the pit as they wipe their mouths. From where you were sitting, you can see a familiar substance dripping from their lips. Shimmer.

Vi looks back at her opponents, quickly putting her fists into a fighting position. You can see her face from where you sit. Her body language says ‘come at me’, but her eyes are laced with fear. Like she’s remembering something. Like she has seen something like this before.

The look of Vi’s opponents was enough to scare sobriety back into her. She feels like she’s fifteen again. She’s seeing flashbacks. Tears well up in her eyes.

As Vi is frozen in her stance the brute rushes in again, landing a right hook before slamming a heavy blow into her ribs. She gasps, doubling over, and the agile one takes the opportunity to sweep her legs out from under her.

Vi hits the ground hard, the breath knocked out of her once more. The crowd falls into a stunned silence as she struggles to get up, her arms trembling under her weight.

“Get up, Vi!” someone shouts from the audience, their voice nearly drowned out by the growing murmur of uncertainty. You look to whoever shouted; their voice was close enough to you. You caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure from yesterday. You turn back to the fight quickly.

The brute grabs her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. She swings wildly, desperation in her eyes, but he blocks her punch easily. The agile fighter moves in, landing a brutal uppercut that snaps her head back. Blood gushes from Vi’s nose as she struggles to find her footing.

The brute’s fist comes crashing down, and this time, she doesn’t get up.

The bell dings, signaling the end of the fight. The crowd erupts, but not in cheers—there’s a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief. If there was any cheering, they were concealed by angry yelling.

You sit frozen in your seat, your heart sinking as Vi lies on the ground. Loris stands abruptly, his face a mask of worry. “I need to check on her,” he mutters, darting toward the ring. You stand up from your seat, peering over the pit. Vi’s eyes are barely open, her breathing heavy.

You watch helplessly, gripping your ticket so tightly it crumples in your hand. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Vi was supposed to win. She always won.

But tonight, the champion had fallen.

The ringing in Vi’s ears was almost enough to drive her insane, but she was too out of it to express her discomfort. Her vision was blurry and coming in and out. She could barely hear any talking, if there was anyone speaking. She felt her body moving, some pressure on her sore belly as the ground beneath her got further away from her vision.

Her eyes fluttered open, trying to process what was happening. She is lowered to the ground, propped against a wall.

“Vander?” she mumbled out, her eyes trying to focus on her rescuer. Her head lols to the side, eyes shutting. Loris gently pats the side of her face, making her open her eyes again.

“You with me, Vi?” he asks. Vi grumbles, then winces as she puts a hand to her face.

“That’s it, come on. You’re okay,” Loris sighs.

Vi groans in pain, holding her sides now, “What the fuck happened?” she squeaks out, “Where are we?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, “Just breathe. We’re near the locker rooms, but don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you here.”

“Those fuckers. They cheated, didn’t they?” she hisses, picking dried blood off of her upper lip.

“Don’t worry about it.” Loris repeats himself. Vi angrily tries to stand up, but Loris forces her to sit back down, “Damn it, Vi. Won’t you stay put?”

“I want a rematch. I was too tipsy, my head wasn’t in the game,” she demands.

“You can ask for a rematch later. You have to rest right now, Vi.”

You curse to yourself, now owing The Pit money. At least you didn’t bet all your cogs; there were still some at your apartment. You wish you bet half of the half that you brought with you. The people around you were reasonably upset. In fact, you would be upset too if you had zero connection with Vi.

Despite barely knowing a thing about her, maybe it’s the fact that you had a full-on conversation with her yesterday that made your worry for her quickly eclipse your disappointment about the bet. Maybe it’s the fact that both of you have established a connection over having suffered the same kind of emotional pain. Maybe it’s the fact that she looked so hopeful to see you again. Maybe it’s the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in becoming your friend. Maybe it’s the fact that you want to be her friend.

You fan your face with your hands, anxiety creeping up on you. You search the crowd for Loris, but can’t find him anywhere. You choose a random direction to walk in and stick to it. After a few moments of walking, you find yourself at the entrance of the ring. Hoping that Vi and Loris were around there somewhere, you cautiously enter the dark hall.

“Loris?” you whisper-shout. “Vi?” But there is no response.

You can see the ring ahead. You linger at the arch, looking around to the best of your ability to make sure that no one is around. You step into the light, looking up at all the empty seats in the arena. You don’t understand how Vi can do something so scary like this. A bunch of people screaming at you and having the weight of the title of ‘champion’ on your shoulders was enough to make you lightheaded.

You look at the floor, seeing old bloodstains on the concrete. You wonder how much of Vi’s blood is forever merged with the floor beneath you. You wonder how many peoples’ blood are also a part of this pit. Your shoe crunches on some glass, stopping your thoughts.

You crouch down a bit, seeing some dried purple shimmer stains among the pieces of glass. There was one vial up ahead that wasn’t completely shattered, so you reach over to it and pick it up. Your fingers trace over the intact part of the vial, turning it in your hand. But then you squint your eyes when you feel an embossment on the glass. You bring it close to your face, then immediately drop it. You stand up and back away from the scene, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up because you recognized the embossment as your ex’s signature.

You run out of the arena. You wouldn’t put it past The Pit to use shady tactics for monetary gain, but out of all shimmer dealers it HAD to be theirs. You duck into an alleyway, looking at your fingers. There were tiny glowing droplets of shimmer on them, and you frantically wiped your hands off on the wall.

As you steady your breathing, you sink to the floor and hug your knees to your chest. Your mind wanders to all the times your ex would come home with heaps of cogs from selling their special formula. They would use their own supply sometimes just for the heck of it, and it would scare you. Luckily they never forced you to try it, but they would offer it to you constantly. You would never touch that stuff. Once, they got mad at you for refusing to help them sell it. Having an involvement in ruining people’s lives messed with your moral compass. You exclaim in frustration and bury your face in your hands, getting upset at yourself for even considering selling shimmer before you placed your first bet.

You pick your head back up, wondering if Vi was okay. Where could Loris have taken her?

Standing up, you walk around cautiously. There weren’t many people around. Most of them were hanging out in corners. Your nose burns with the smell of smoke and shimmer as gravel crunches beneath your shoes. Some people held out their hands for a spare cog, but you ignored them. Not like you had any on yourself at this time.

Eventually, you see the back of a familiar figure up ahead. You quicken your pace, “Loris!”

He turns around and slows his pace, letting you catch up. When you reach his side, he has Vi in his arms. Her face is wrinkled into a grimace.

“Vi!” You gasp out, putting a hand to your mouth upon seeing all the blood and bruises on her body. Her eyes slowly open, finding you.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she croaks out, trying to find it in herself to laugh. “You saw my ass get handed to me. Now I’m being carried like a fucking baby.”

“Stop it,” you say almost in a scolding tone, “How do you feel? Are you alright? Could I get you something?” You bombard her with questions.

Your concern makes her scoff, a smile creeping onto her face. “I could really use a drink right now, (Y/n). That would make me feel a whole lot better.”

“I’ll get you one, just… hold on, okay?” You dig through your bag, struggling to see anything from how dark it is.

“Sweet as a cupcake,” Vi mumbles, closing her eyes, “Sweet things are hard to come by in Zaun, ya know.”

You give her a quizzical look, not like she can see your confusion.

“She’s concussed.” Loris explains. That explains it, you guess.

You find some spare napkins at the bottom of your bag, clutching them in your hands. You look around as you walk, spotting a shortcut to the bar strip through an alleyway.

“I’m sorry, cupcake,” Vi whines, her face scrunching up in a mixture of grief and pain, “I could’ve been better.”

Now you were very confused, but she was probably talking about her performance in the ring.

“It’s a straight walk to Vi’s apartment. Go get her a drink. I won’t be too far when you’re done.” Loris motions to that alleyway with his head. You nod at him, taking a light jog to the shortcut.

The strip was not nearly as lively as it was. The people who were standing around were moping about losing their bets, therefore having to reason to celebrate. You were let into the bar without a problem, and it sure as hell was a lot emptier than usual. You have never seen such unenthusiastic dancing in your life.

No one was really talking at the bar either.

You rush over towards the bartender.

“Ah, the water girl.” He greets as he polishes some glasses.

“Just one water please,” you drum your fingers on the counter in anticipation. It only takes him a few moments to grab you a plastic cup with stale water in it.

“I heard Vi lost tonight’s fight. I guess I won’t be making much today.” He sighs as he hands it over to you.

“None of us made anything today, so welcome to the club…” mutters a random customer.

You hightail it out of there, not caring enough about engaging in conversation with the bartender or other customers. You walk quickly, trying not to slosh the water around too much and spill any.

You quickly find Loris and Vi again. You dampen the napkins from your bag in the water and lightly dab Vi’s nose to clean her up. She hisses in pain, nearly swatting your hand away.

“Let me get the blood off of you.” You say firmly. Vi’s eyes open, and she tries to pick her head up. You lightly press her forehead down so she is fully resting on Loris’ forearm. “Down.”

“Let me walk. I want to walk,” she grumbles, wiggling out of her lying position. Loris gently sets her on her feet. Vi stumbles as her feet hit the ground, her legs barely holding her up. “See? I’m fine,” she mumbles, though her knees wobble dangerously. Loris steadies her with one arm, but you’re already stepping closer, the cup of water trembling slightly in your hands.

“You’re not fine, Vi. Just let me—” you start, but her sharp glare cuts you off.

“Don’t baby me,” she snaps, though her voice cracks halfway through. “I’ve had worse nights.” She leans heavily on Loris, her bravado faltering as her breaths come shallow and uneven.

The street feels suffocating now, the smell of smoke and sweat clinging to the damp air. Somewhere in the distance, a bottle shatters, followed by muffled shouting. You glance nervously over your shoulder, half-expecting to see shadows closing in.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you say softly, trying to meet Vi’s gaze. “No one’s judging you for losing.”

She laughs bitterly, rasping like sandpaper, “You think they’re not judging? This city eats the weak alive. If you lose, you’re nothing.”

You try not to take her sudden snappiness to heart, but her icy glare was enough to make you look away in submission. Her ego was probably more bruised than her body was. Nonetheless, her words hit harder than they should, dredging up memories you’ve tried to bury.

“They cheated, Vi. It shouldn’t—” Loris was also cut off.

“I don’t fucking care, Loris!” she snaps.

“Vi,” you say, your voice gentle, “you’re not nothing.”

She looks at you then, her eyes glassy but piercing. For a moment, it’s as if she sees right through you, past your carefully constructed walls. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she murmurs, her voice softer now but no less sharp.

You step back, stung, but Loris steps in. “Enough, Vi,” he says firmly, “You’re concussed, confused, and bleeding. Save the tough act for later.”

You walk with them, trailing slightly behind. Eventually, the three of you climb up a small flight of stairs up to a shady-looking building. There is a rickety staircase attached to the right of it, so you and Loris carefully bring Vi over to it. She shrugs both of you off, putting a foot on one of the stairs and supporting herself with the railing.

“Did you get me a drink?” she asks, looking back at you. You quietly hand her the water cup. You brace yourself, expecting her to throw it at you. Instead, she takes it upstairs with her.

You relax, watching her leave. You exchange a glance with Loris, who rubs the back of his neck, looking equally drained. The faint creak of the rickety staircase echoes above, each step sounding like it might give way beneath her.

"Don’t take it to heart, (Y/n). There’s plenty of venom in her words, but she means no harm. She’s not in the right state of mind either," Loris mutters, breaking the silence.

“Has she ever been in the right state of mind?” Your voice is laced with bitterness.

“You know,” Loris surmised, “She really did look forward to seeing you tonight.” He ignored your question.

“Did she tell you that?” you scoff, skepticism in your tone.

“Not exactly, but last night she was probably the happiest I’ve ever seen. She kept looking to the sky today like she was waiting for time to pass,” he looks down at you, a smile on his face, “You seem like you’d be a great friend for her. Like I said, I appreciate what you’ve done for Vi. And I am thanking you for what you’ve done for her today.”

You exhale through your nose, unsure if Loris was just telling you that to make you feel better.

For a moment, the two of you stand there, listening to the sounds of the city creep back into focus. The buzz of lights, the low hum of voices muffled by brick walls. It’s almost peaceful if you ignore the sour stench of garbage and the flickering street lights overhead.

“You gonna hang around?” Loris asks, his tone neutral.

You hesitate, glancing back at the staircase Vi just climbed. There’s a part of you that wants to follow her, to make sure she doesn’t collapse in that dingy apartment. But another part of you—the part that remembers the weight of Vi’s concussed words—deems it inappropriate for you to intrude in her personal space. You were reminded that the two of you were far from that level.

“Nah, I think she wants space.”

“Alright then. Don’t worry too much about her, (Y/n), I’ll see how Vi’s holding up tomorrow.”

You nod at him, “Take care, Loris.”

As you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that Vi’s words will stick with you long after tonight. ‘You don’t know a damn thing about me.’ She was right—but the question gnaws at you: Do you want to? And if you do, will you end up losing yourself in the process? Did yesterday's conversation mean nothing to her? Because for a moment, it meant a lot to you.

The thoughts linger, heavy and suffocating, as you walk away into the neon haze of the city night.

End of Ch. 4

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch.3 Ch. 5

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

Taglist Cupcakes: @ren-ren23 @captain-crabbo @baylegend6 @winchestergirlspn @charcoal-heart

#arcane #arcane x reader #pit fighter vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane vi x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane vi x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #the rebound

56 notes · View notes

pxnsneverland · 20 days ago

Text

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

(gif source: yellenabelova)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 5871

warnings/notes: I'm so glad so many people like this new story :) Don't be afraid to keep sending me things in my inbox, I love it!

Chapter 2: A Collision of Worlds

At 6:42 AM, Austin leaned against his motorcycle outside Devil's Mark garage, watching the sunrise paint the abandoned quarry in shades of amber and gold. The club's headquarters—a converted warehouse with reinforced steel doors and windows covered in chicken wire—stood as a fortress against the encroaching daylight. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke curling upward in the still morning air. He hadn't slept. After dropping the princess off at her castle, he'd ridden for hours, pushing his bike to dangerous speeds along empty country roads, trying to outrun the image of green eyes and disheveled auburn hair that seemed burned into his retinas.

"You look like shit," Ray commented, emerging from the clubhouse with two steaming mugs of coffee. He handed one to Austin. "Late night?"

Austin accepted the coffee with a nod. "Something like that."

"The girl?" Ray asked, his voice carefully neutral. In their world, showing too much interest in anything was a weakness others could exploit.

"Just a ride home," Austin replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Nothing worth talking about."

Ray snorted. "Right. That's why you've been brooding out here since five."

Austin shot him a warning look. Ray raised his hands in surrender, but his knowing smirk remained firmly in place.

The rumble of approaching motorcycles saved Austin from having to respond. Three bikes rolled into the lot, bearing his father and two lieutenants returning from whatever business had kept them out all night. Austin straightened, automatically adjusting his posture.

Frank Butler killed his engine and dismounted with the fluid grace of a man who'd spent more time on a motorcycle than off it. Despite being in his fifties, he moved with predatory confidence, his weathered face betraying nothing of the night's activities. The patch on his leather jacket—a grinning devil with a crown of thorns—gleamed dully in the morning light.

"Son," Frank acknowledged, his eyes scanning Austin's face. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Austin replied, keeping his voice level. "Thought I'd get a head start on the Hernandez bike."

Frank studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good. We need that cash flow. But first, come inside. We've got business to discuss."

Austin crushed his cigarette under his boot and followed his father into the clubhouse.

***

Sophie stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing the girl who looked back at her. Her usually perfect hair was wild from the motorcycle helmet and wind, her carefully applied makeup smudged beneath eyes that seemed wider, more alive than they had been just hours ago. The clock on her nightstand read 7:15 AM. She'd managed barely four hours of sleep after climbing back up the trellis and collapsing onto her bed, heart still racing from the night's adventures.

"Sophie Ann! Breakfast in ten minutes!" Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, cheerful and oblivious.

Sophie ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to tame it into something resembling her usual style. Each tug brought back flashes of the night before—Jimmy's unwanted advances, Austin's unexpected rescue, the exhilarating freedom of speeding through darkness with her arms wrapped around a stranger. A stranger who had seen through her perfect-daughter facade with unsettling ease.

"Real," he had called her. The word echoed in her mind as she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, careful to choose the modest pink her mother approved of rather than the bold red she suddenly found herself craving.

Her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it—college brochures neatly stacked, unfinished essay waiting on her desk, clothes arranged by color in her closet. Yet something fundamental had shifted. The room felt like a costume she'd outgrown, a character she'd been playing for so long she'd forgotten it wasn't really her.

"Sophie! Your eggs are getting cold!" Her mother called again, impatience creeping into her tone.

"Coming!" Sophie replied, smoothing her hands down the front of her freshly pressed skirt. No trace remained of the girl who had clung to a leather-jacketed stranger on the back of a devil-painted motorcycle. At least, not on the outside.

Downstairs, her parents had already begun their morning ritual. Her father sat behind his newspaper, occasionally reaching for his coffee without looking. Her mother bustled around the kitchen, the perfect picture of domestic efficiency in her floral apron and sensible pumps.

"There you are," her mother said, glancing up from the stove. "You look tired, dear. Did you stay up late studying again?"

Sophie slid into her usual chair, avoiding her mother's scrutiny. "Just finishing that English essay."

"Well, don't push yourself too hard," her father said from behind his newspaper. "Though Harvard will certainly appreciate your dedication."

"Radcliffe, dear," her mother corrected automatically. "Women attend Radcliffe."

"Same difference," her father replied, turning a page. "It's all Harvard in the end."

Sophie pushed her eggs around her plate, her appetite nonexistent. Had Austin ever sat at a breakfast table discussing Ivy League aspirations? Did his parents map out his future with the same meticulous planning as hers? Somehow, she doubted it. The thought of Austin's life—so different from her own—made Sophie suddenly aware of how narrow her world had become. The familiar routine of breakfast, the predictable conversation, the expectations hanging heavy in the air—it all felt suffocating in a way it never had before.

"Sophie? Did you hear me?" Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what?" Sophie looked up, realizing she'd been staring at her untouched eggs.

"I asked if you were ready for your debate team practice this afternoon. Mrs. Peterson called yesterday to remind us about the regional competition next week."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Sophie took a small bite of toast, trying to appear normal. "We're preparing rebuttals for the affirmative position on federal education funding."

Her father lowered his newspaper, nodding approvingly. "That's my girl. Always prepared."

The praise that would have warmed her just yesterday now felt hollow. What would her father say if he knew she'd spent the night clinging to a boy from the wrong side of town?

"Sophie, you're certainly distracted this morning," her mother observed, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Just tired," Sophie replied, forcing a smile. "I should get going. I promised to meet Maggie before first period to review our calculus homework."

Her mother's expression softened. "Always so responsible. Don't forget your lunch."

Sophie collected her books and the neatly packed lunch, kissing her mother's cheek automatically before heading out the door. The familiar weight of expectations settled on her shoulders as she walked down the driveway, past the spot where Austin's motorcycle had idled just hours earlier.

***

The clubhouse's back room smelled of cigarette smoke and old leather. Frank Butler sat at the head of the scarred wooden table, his lieutenants flanking him like battle-hardened sentries. Maps and documents were spread across the surface, weighted down by empty beer bottles and a loaded revolver.

"The Southside territory is getting complicated," Frank began without preamble. "Hernandez is pushing his people further north, testing our boundaries."

Austin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You want me to send a message?"

A dangerous smile crossed Frank's face. "Not yet. First, we need leverage. Something to make him think twice before crossing us."

"What kind of leverage?" Austin asked, though he already suspected the answer. It was always the same in their world—find the weakness, exploit it, control the outcome.

"His nephew started at Millfield High last month. Football scholarship." Frank's eyes gleamed with predatory calculation. "I want you to get close to him. Find out what he knows about his uncle's operations."

Austin kept his expression neutral despite the unease settling in his gut. "You want me back in high school? I graduated two years ago."

"Not as a student," Frank clarified.

"As a mentor. The school's starting some program for 'at-risk youth.' The principal owes me a favor." Frank's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You'll be assigned to work with Hernandez's nephew. Three afternoons a week."

Austin pushed off the wall, tension radiating through his shoulders. "A school mentor program? That's not exactly my specialty."

"It is now," Frank replied, his tone brooking no argument. "We need eyes inside Millfield. The school's neutral territory - perfect for gathering intel without raising suspicions."

The other men around the table nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of approval and amusement at Austin's obvious discomfort.

"Besides," Frank continued, "you've always had a way with people. They trust you." He tapped his temple. "That's a gift, son. One you inherited from me."

Austin knew better than to refuse a direct order, especially in front of his father's lieutenants. Any sign of hesitation would be interpreted as weakness, and weakness wasn't tolerated in the Devil's Mark.

"When do I start?" he asked, resignation settling in his chest.

"Tomorrow. Three o'clock." Frank slid a folder across the table. "Everything you need to know about Miguel Hernandez Junior is in there. Study it. Become his best friend."

Austin took the folder, his mind already calculating the complications. Being back at Millfield High meant potentially crossing paths with the auburn-haired princess from last night. An unexpected variable in an already precarious equation.

"One more thing," Frank added, his voice hardening. "No distractions. This is business, not pleasure."

Austin met his father's gaze steadily. "Understood."

***

The halls of Millfield High bustled with activity as Sophie made her way to her locker. The familiar cacophony of slamming metal doors, squeaking sneakers, and overlapping conversations washed over her, but for the first time, she felt like an observer rather than a participant in the daily ritual.

"There you are!" Maggie appeared beside her, eyes bright with excitement. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Can you believe what happened last night?"

Sophie glanced around nervously. "Shh! Someone might hear you."

"Oh please, everyone's too wrapped up in their own drama to care about ours." Maggie leaned closer, lowering her voice nonetheless. "But seriously, Sophie. Austin Butler. The Austin Butler gave you a ride home on his motorcycle!"

"It wasn't a big deal," Sophie insisted, though the flutter in her stomach suggested otherwise. "He was just being... decent."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up. "Decent? The guy who allegedly beat Tommy Wilson so badly last year he had to transfer schools? The heir to the Devil's Mark throne? That's not the word most people would use."

Sophie frowned as she organized her textbooks. "I don't know what to tell you, Maggie. Maybe he's not what everyone says." Sophie hesitated, remembering the intensity in his blue eyes when he'd called her real. "Besides, it was one ride. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again."

"Never say never," Maggie sing-songed, nudging Sophie's shoulder. "Anyway, have you talked to Jimmy yet? He's been glaring at you from across the hall for the last five minutes."

Sophie glanced over her shoulder to find Jimmy leaning against his locker, surrounded by his usual group of friends. When their eyes met, his expression hardened, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval.

"Great," Sophie muttered. "Just what I need."

"What exactly happened between you two? One minute he's all 'Sophie this, Sophie that,' and the next he's peeling out of Mel's like his car was on fire."

Sophie closed her locker with more force than necessary. "He got handsy. I said no. He didn't listen. Austin intervened."

"Handsy?" Maggie's eyes widened. "Jimmy Carson? But he's always so..."

"Poetic? Sensitive? Turns out that was all an act." Sophie adjusted her books in her arms. "Just like everything else in this town."

The first bell rang, sending students scurrying toward classrooms. Sophie started toward AP English, Maggie hurrying alongside her.

"Well, this is certainly a new Sophie," Maggie observed. "One motorcycle ride and suddenly you're seeing in different colors."

"I just—" Sophie paused, searching for the right words. "I feel like I've been sleepwalking through my life, you know? Following this perfect path without ever questioning where it leads."

Maggie's expression softened. "And now you're what?"

"I don't know what I am," Sophie admitted. "But I don’t know if I can pretend anymore.”

As they approached the classroom, Principal Winters emerged from his office, intercepting them with a raised hand. His perpetually worried expression seemed especially pronounced this morning.

"Ah, Miss Sutton, just who I was looking for." He straightened his tie nervously. "May I have a word? In private?"

Sophie's heart plummeted. Had someone seen her last night? Was her perfect record about to be tarnished by one impulsive decision?

"Of course, Mr. Winters." She handed her books to Maggie. "Tell Mrs. Peabody I'll be right there."

Maggie squeezed her arm supportively before disappearing into the classroom. Sophie followed Principal Winters into his office, mentally rehearsing explanations and apologies.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. He settled into his own seat with a sigh that suggested the weight of administrative burdens. "Miss Sutton, I have a proposition for you," he began, adjusting his glasses. "As you may know, the school board has approved our new mentorship program for at-risk students."

Sophie nodded cautiously, relief washing over her. This wasn't about last night after all.

"We're pairing our highest-achieving seniors with students who need additional guidance," he continued. "Given your exemplary record and leadership skills, I'd like you to be one of our inaugural mentors."

"I'd be happy to help," Sophie replied automatically, the perfect-student response ready on her lips.

"Excellent." Principal Winters beamed. "I knew I could count on you. The program begins tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock in the library." He shuffled through some papers on his desk. "You'll be mentoring Miguel Hernandez. He's new here—transfer student on a football scholarship. Bright boy, but he's having trouble adjusting to Millfield's academic standards."

Sophie's mind raced through her schedule—debate team practice, student council meetings, college application essays—but the familiar weight of obligation settled on her shoulders. "I'll make it work," she promised.

"There's one more thing," Principal Winters added, his expression growing slightly uncomfortable. "We've arranged for some... community members to assist with the program as well. Young adults who can provide a different perspective."

Something in his tone made Sophie pause. "What kind of community members?"

"Well, various backgrounds. People who might connect with these students in ways we educators cannot." He cleared his throat. "The school board believes in second chances, Miss Sutton. Remember that."

Before Sophie could press for details, the second bell rang.

"You should get to class," Principal Winters said, rising from his chair. "And thank you for your participation. I'm sure it will be a valuable experience for everyone involved."

***

By lunchtime, Sophie's encounter with Principal Winters had been pushed to the back of her mind. The cafeteria hummed with its usual midday chaos as she navigated toward the table where Maggie had saved her a seat.

"So?" Maggie demanded as soon as Sophie sat down. "What did Winters want? Are you expelled? Stripped of your class presidency? Forced to wear a scarlet M for motorcycle?"

Sophie laughed despite herself. "Nothing that dramatic. He wants me to mentor some new student as part of a program for at-risk kids."

"Boring," Maggie declared, stabbing at her mystery meat. "I was hoping for something juicier after your night of rebellion."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sophie replied, opening her perfectly packed lunch.

"Speaking of juicy," Maggie lowered her voice, "Jimmy's been telling everyone you threw yourself at him last night and he nobly declined."

Sophie nearly choked on her sandwich. "He what?"

"Don't worry, nobody with half a brain believes him. But..." Maggie hesitated. "...he's also claiming Austin threatened him at knifepoint." Maggie leaned closer. "The story gets more elaborate every time he tells it."

Sophie set down her sandwich, appetite vanishing. "That's ridiculous. There was no knife." She lowered her voice. "Austin just told him to back off."

"Well, apparently in Jimmy's version, Austin's entire gang surrounded him, and he barely escaped with his life." Maggie rolled her eyes.

Sophie glanced across the cafeteria where Jimmy sat holding court, his audience hanging on every word. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, a chill running down her spine. "It doesn't matter," Sophie said, trying to convince herself. "By next week, everyone will be talking about something else."

"Maybe," Maggie agreed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Just be careful around Jimmy. Wounded pride can make people do stupid things."

The warning lingered in Sophie's mind as she pushed her lunch around.

***

Austin flipped through Miguel Hernandez's file for the third time that afternoon, memorizing details that might prove useful. Sixteen years old. Transfer student. Star running back with college potential. Mother deceased, father absent. Living with his uncle—Ricardo Hernandez, the Devil's Mark's primary rival in the regional drug trade. The irony wasn't lost on Austin. Here he was, preparing to mentor a kid while simultaneously planning to use him against his family. Just another day upholding the Butler family legacy.

"You actually going through with this school shit?" Ray asked, entering the garage where Austin was working on the Hernandez bike.

Austin closed the file. "Not like I have a choice."

"Your old man's playing a dangerous game," Ray said, leaning against the workbench. "School's neutral ground. Has been for generations."

"Tell me something I don't know." Austin tightened a bolt with more force than necessary. "But orders are orders."

Ray studied him for a moment. "This have anything to do with that girl from last night? The one with the trellis?"

Austin's hand slipped, knuckles scraping against metal. "What about her?"

"Just wondering if you know what school she goes to." Ray's tone was deliberately casual. "Millfield's a small town."

"Drop it, Ray," Austin warned, wiping grease from his hands. "She's not part of this."

"If you say so." Ray pushed off the workbench. "Just remember—your father sees everything. And what he doesn't see, he finds out."

After Ray left, Austin stared at the motorcycle he was repairing, mind drifting to auburn hair and green eyes that had looked at him without fear. Most people in Millfield crossed the street when they saw him coming. Sophie had wrapped her arms around him, held on tight as they cut through the darkness together. The memory stirred something dangerous in his chest—something that had no place in the life his father had mapped out for him. Austin wiped his hands on a shop rag and closed the Hernandez file. Tomorrow he'd walk back into Millfield High, a place he'd been all too happy to leave behind. Only this time, he wouldn't be the troubled kid everyone avoided. He'd be there on official business, sanctioned by the same administration that had once threatened to expel him on a weekly basis.

Life had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

***

Sophie's Wednesday passed in a blur of classes and extracurricular obligations. By the time the final bell rang, she was already mentally rehearsing her approach for the mentorship meeting. Miguel Hernandez would need structure, encouragement, and clear academic goals—all things Sophie excelled at providing.

"Don't forget student council at four-thirty," Caroline Peters reminded her as they packed up their calculus materials.

"I won't," Sophie promised, though her mind was already on the library and her new mentee.

The halls emptied quickly as Sophie made her way toward the library, her sensible loafers clicking against the polished floor. Through the windows, she could see the football team assembling on the field for practice, their burgundy and gold uniforms bright against the green grass. One player stood slightly apart from the others, his stance suggesting reluctance rather than team spirit. Miguel Hernandez, she presumed. Sophie pushed open the heavy library doors, the familiar smell of books and floor polish greeting her. Principal Winters stood near the circulation desk, speaking quietly with a middle-aged woman Sophie didn't recognize. Several students were already seated at tables—mostly underclassmen with varying degrees of discomfort on their faces.

"Ah, Miss Sutton," Principal Winters waved her over. "Perfect timing. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Ramirez from the community outreach program. She'll be overseeing our mentor partnerships."

Mrs. Ramirez smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Sophie, it's wonderful to meet you. Principal Winters speaks very highly of your leadership abilities."

"Thank you," Sophie replied automatically. "I'm looking forward to helping Miguel adjust to Millfield's academic standards."

"Yes, well—" Principal Winters began, but was interrupted by the library doors swinging open again.

Sophie turned, expecting to see her assigned mentee. Instead, her heart stuttered to a halt as Austin walked in, leather jacket exchanged for a simple white t-shirt that did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. Their eyes locked across the room, and for a moment, Sophie was back on that motorcycle, arms wrapped around his waist, wind whipping through her hair.

"Mr. Butler," Principal Winters greeted, his voice slightly strained. "Thank you for joining us."

Austin nodded, his expression betraying nothing as he approached the group. "Wouldn't miss it," Austin replied, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that had silenced Jimmy at Mel's Diner. His eyes flicked to Sophie again, a brief spark of recognition before his expression returned to careful neutrality.

Sophie felt rooted to the spot, her carefully prepared mentor introduction forgotten. Austin was here. In her school. In her carefully constructed world of academic achievement and extracurricular perfection.

Mrs. Ramirez seemed oblivious to the tension crackling between them. "Wonderful! Now that most of our mentors are here, let me explain how this will work." She gestured toward the tables. "We've created mentor teams—one student and one community member paired with each mentee. This provides our at-risk students with both peer support and real-world perspective."

Sophie's stomach dropped. Surely they wouldn't...

"Miss Sutton, you and Mr. Butler will be co-mentoring Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters announced, confirming her worst fear. "Miguel should be joining us shortly—Coach Evans is releasing him from the first part of practice."

Austin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Co-mentoring?"

"Yes," Mrs. Ramirez beamed. "We find the dual approach quite effective. Students relate to their peers, while our community mentors provide valuable life experience."

Sophie finally found her voice. "Mr. Winters, I thought I would be working with Miguel individually."

"Plans evolved after our morning conversation," the principal explained, adjusting his glasses nervously. "The school board felt the team approach would be more... comprehensive."

Austin's eyes narrowed slightly at the principal's discomfort, but he said nothing.

"Why don't you two get acquainted while we wait for Miguel?" Mrs. Ramirez suggested, already turning her attention to other arriving mentors.

Left alone, Sophie and Austin stood in awkward silence, the library's hushed atmosphere suddenly oppressive.

"Princess," Austin finally acknowledged, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Don't call me that," Sophie whispered back automatically.

A hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "Would you prefer Miss Student Council?"

"Sophie is fine," she replied, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture. "What are you doing here?"

Austin leaned against a nearby bookshelf, the casual posture at odds with the institutional setting. "Community service. Turns out I'm a valuable resource for wayward youth."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." His eyes traveled over her—neat blouse, pressed skirt, sensible shoes—taking in every detail of her. "You look different in daylight.”

"Different how?" Sophie asked, immediately regretting the question. She didn't need to give him any more ammunition.

"More..." Austin tilted his head, studying her. "Uptight."

The word hung between them, uncomfortably accurate. Sophie crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure. "Well, we should establish some ground rules for this mentorship. I assume you have no actual experience with academic tutoring?"

A slow smile spread across Austin's face. "You'd be surprised what I know, Princess."

"I told you not to call me that," Sophie hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. The last thing she needed was for people to start associating her with Austin Butler and whatever nickname he decided to bestow upon her.

"But I like it," he replied. "So, what's the plan here? You handle the books, I handle the street smarts?"

"I'll handle everything," Sophie countered. "You can just... observe."

Austin's laugh was low and rich. "That's not how partnerships work."

"This isn't a partnership," Sophie insisted. "It's a school program I'm participating in for my college applications, and you're here for... whatever reason you're here."

Something flashed in Austin's eyes—a momentary hardness that reminded Sophie exactly who she was dealing with. Not just the boy who'd rescued her at Mel's, but someone with a reputation that made teachers nervous and students cross the hallway. Before Austin could respond, the library doors swung open again. A tall, broad-shouldered boy in a football jersey entered, looking as uncomfortable as Sophie felt. His dark eyes scanned the room warily before Principal Winters waved him over.

"Miguel," Winters called. "Come meet your mentors."

Miguel approached with the cautious grace of an athlete, his posture suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else. Up close, Sophie could see the tension in his jaw, the wariness in his expression.

"Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters began the introductions, "this is Sophie Sutton, our student council president and one of our top academic achievers. And this is Austin Butler, a... community volunteer."

Miguel's eyes widened slightly at Austin's name, a flicker of recognition—and something else—crossing his face.

"Butler?" Miguel repeated, his voice carefully neutral. "As in—"

"Just Austin is fine," Austin cut in smoothly, extending his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Miguel shook it, their grip lasting a beat longer than necessary.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing unease. There was something happening beneath the surface—some current of understanding passing between the two young men that excluded her completely.

"Well!" Mrs. Ramirez clapped her hands together. "I'll leave you three to get acquainted. Remember, this first session is about establishing goals and building rapport. Your mentorship folders have suggested activities."

As Mrs. Ramirez walked away, an uncomfortable silence settled over their table. Sophie reached for the mentorship folder, grateful for something to focus on besides Austin's unsettling presence. "So, Miguel," she began, adopting her most professional tone, "Principal Winters mentioned you're having some difficulty adjusting to Millfield's academic standards. I've prepared a study schedule that should help you balance football with your coursework."

Miguel glanced between Sophie and Austin, his expression guarded. "No offense, but I don't need a 'study schedule.' Coach already has me on academic probation. I just need to pass American History."

"History? That's one of my best subjects," Sophie brightened, ignoring Austin's barely concealed smirk. "We can start with your current unit. What period are you studying?"

"Civil War," Miguel answered flatly. "But like I said—"

"The Civil War is fascinating," Sophie continued, pulling out a notebook. "I created excellent timelines for that unit last year. We could—"

"I think Miguel was about to say he doesn't need color-coded flashcards," Austin interrupted, leaning forward. "Right, Miguel?"

Miguel's posture relaxed slightly. "Something like that."

Sophie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I'm just trying to help."

Austin turned to Miguel, ignoring her discomfort. "So, football scholarship. You must be good."

"Good enough to get out of my neighborhood," Miguel replied, something hard flashing in his eyes.

"And which neighborhood is that?" Austin asked casually.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing suspicion. Austin's question seemed innocuous, but there was an intensity to his attention that didn't match simple mentor small talk.

"Southside," Miguel answered after a slight hesitation. "Near Riverfront."

Austin nodded as though this confirmed something. "Tough area."

"You would know," Miguel said, the words carrying a weight Sophie couldn't quite decipher.

The tension between them was palpable, charged with unspoken recognition. Sophie cleared her throat, determined to regain control of the session. "Perhaps we should focus on establishing a study plan," she suggested, pulling out the activity sheets from the folder. "The program guidelines suggest we each share our strengths and how they might help Miguel."

Austin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Ladies first."

Sophie straightened, falling into her familiar role of academic achiever. "Well, I maintain a 4.0 GPA, I'm president of four clubs, and I've already been accepted to Radcliffe early decision. I can help with any subject, especially history, literature, and mathematics."

She turned to Austin expectantly, a challenge in her eyes. Let's see you top that.

Austin's smile was slow and knowing. "I speak Spanish fluently, know more about local history than any textbook you'll find in this library, and I've never lost a fight.”

Miguel's eyebrows shot up, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Never lost a fight? Not even once?"

"Not when it mattered," Austin replied, his eyes briefly meeting Sophie's before returning to Miguel.

Sophie felt her carefully constructed mentoring plan crumbling. This wasn't how academic guidance was supposed to work. "Fighting skills aren't exactly relevant to passing American History," she pointed out, struggling to keep the irritation from her voice.

"No?" Austin leaned forward. "The entire Civil War was about knowing when to fight and when to negotiate. Knowing your enemy's weakness. Controlling territory." He turned to Miguel. "What's your grade in the class right now?"

"D minus," Miguel admitted. "Mr. Peterson doesn't like my 'perspective on historical events.'"

Austin nodded knowingly. "Peterson's still teaching? Man still thinks the Confederacy was just misunderstood."

"You had him?" Sophie asked, momentarily forgetting her annoyance.

"Unfortunately." Austin's mouth twisted. "Got sent to the principal's office for questioning his version of Reconstruction."

Miguel looked at Austin with new interest. "That's exactly what happened to me last week. I said the Black Codes were just slavery by another name, and he got all red in the face."

"Because you're right," Austin said. "And Peterson can't handle being challenged, especially by students he thinks should be 'grateful' to be at Millfield."

The way Austin said it—with such casual certainty about the teacher's prejudice—made Sophie uncomfortable. She'd always found Mr. Peterson strict but fair. Had she missed something obvious?

"Look," Austin continued, "Peterson gives extra credit for primary source analysis. Find accounts from former slaves about life after the Civil War. He can't argue with firsthand testimony, even if it contradicts his sanitized version."

Sophie stared at Austin, genuinely surprised by his insight. "That's... actually good advice."

"Don't sound so shocked, Princess," Austin replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Some of us learn outside classrooms."

Miguel glanced between them, curiosity replacing his initial wariness. "You two know each other or something?"

"No," Sophie said quickly.

"Yes," Austin said simultaneously.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

Sophie shot Austin a warning look. "We're acquainted. Briefly."

"Very briefly," Austin agreed, his tone suggesting exactly the opposite. "Just long enough for a midnight ride."

Miguel's eyes widened. "For real?"

"It wasn't like that," Sophie hissed, her cheeks burning. "It was—I was—" She stopped, realizing any explanation would only make things worse.

Austin took pity on her. "Relax. I'm just messing with you." He turned back to Miguel. "So, American History. Peterson's a problem, but not an insurmountable one. What else?"

"English," Miguel admitted. "We're reading The Great Gatsby, and it's putting me to sleep."

Sophie seized the opportunity to regain her footing. "Gatsby is actually fascinating when you understand the social context. It's about the American Dream and how it's ultimately—"

"Bullshit," Austin finished for her. "It's about a guy who reinvents himself to impress a girl who's never going to love him back because she's too caught up in her own world."

Sophie blinked, momentarily speechless. The analysis wasn't wrong, just... unrefined.

"That's what I said in class," Miguel nodded. "Mrs. Bennett said I was 'missing the nuance.'"

"Bennett wouldn't recognize nuance if it tattooed itself on her forehead," Austin muttered. "She's still teaching that green light crap?"

Despite herself, Sophie laughed. "The green light is a legitimate symbol."

"Of what? Gatsby's permission to proceed?" Austin shook his head. "It's just a light, Princess. People see what they want to see."

There was something in the way he said it – a hint of bitterness beneath the casual dismissal – that made Sophie wonder what Austin saw when he looked at her. A spoiled rich girl? A challenge? Or something else entirely?

Miguel was watching their exchange with growing interest. "So how'd you two meet? For real?"

Before Sophie could formulate a suitable lie, the library doors burst open. Jimmy Carson strode in, his eyes scanning the room until they locked on their table. His face darkened as he spotted Austin.

"Great," Austin muttered. "Poetry boy."

Sophie tensed as Jimmy approached, his usual languid stride replaced by something more purposeful. He stopped at their table, ignoring both Miguel and Austin to focus entirely on Sophie.

"Student council emergency meeting," Jimmy announced, his voice tight. "Caroline sent me to find you."

Sophie frowned. "There's nothing on the schedule."

"Last minute. Budget issue." Jimmy's eyes flicked to Austin. "Unless you're too busy with your... community service project."

The way he said it made it sound dirty, dangerous. Sophie felt her face flush with anger.

"Actually, we're in the middle of something important," she replied, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice.

Jimmy's expression hardened. "More important than your responsibilities as president? That's not the Sophie Sutton I know."

"Maybe you don't know her as well as you think," Austin commented, his tone light but his eyes cold.

Jimmy's hands clenched into fists. "Nobody asked you, Butler."

"Yet here I am, answering anyway." Austin leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, though Sophie noticed the subtle shift in his posture.

Miguel watched the exchange with the wariness of someone who recognized the prelude to violence.

"Jimmy," Sophie intervened, standing up to place herself between the two young men. "If there's really an emergency, I'll be there in a few minutes. But I need to finish this session first."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you put anything before student council?"

"Since I made a commitment to this program," Sophie replied, her voice steady despite the tension thrumming through her body. "I'll be there as soon as we're done."

For a moment, Jimmy looked like he might argue further, but something in Sophie's expression made him reconsider. "Fine. Don't be too long." His gaze shifted to Austin. "And watch yourself, Butler. School property is neutral ground, but that doesn't mean you belong here."

Austin's smile was razor-sharp. "Thanks for the civics lesson, Carson. I'll be sure to take notes."

Jimmy stalked away, the set of his shoulders radiating frustration. Sophie sank back into her chair, suddenly exhausted.

"Well," Miguel said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "that was intense."

"That was nothing," Austin replied, though his eyes followed Jimmy until the library doors closed behind him. "Your ex?" he asked Sophie.

"No," she said firmly. "Just someone who thought he was entitled to more than I wanted to give."

A look of understanding passed between them—brief but electric—before Sophie turned her attention back to Miguel.

"Let's get back to Gatsby," she said, determined to salvage what remained of their session.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

31 notes · View notes

atinymekanie · 3 months ago

Text

The Night We Met - Chapter 8: Entwined Light

|| Premise: What if Dawnbreaker's wish for one day and one night with the woman who lives only in his dreams... came true? ||

The stairs up to the café ascended in a spiral around the elevator’s column, which was situated at the heart of the botanical garden. The staircase opened out to a deck that covered a back section of the garden, with the glass dome above giving way to an open-air balcony jutting out from the rear of the structure. Huge glass windows were installed between the staircase and elevator landing and the balcony, with more floral-patterned glass doors leading to the café outside.

Zayne followed the woman up the stairs and through the glass doors, still trying to wrap his brain around what she had said previously, down in the garden. To make room for the trees inside the dome, the café and balcony were actually about four stories above the ground. Perhaps taking the elevator would have been a better idea. However, all of his thoughts were torn away by the view before him once they came to a stop outside.

Laid out like a banquet spread, Linkon City shone in the afternoon sun, tall buildings rising toward the blue sky covered in mirrored windows casting prisms over the patchwork of life beneath them. Off to the west, Whitesand Bay sparkled like diamonds scattered amongst a crescent of sapphires, catching the light and reflecting it back. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes coursed like rivers along the roads and highways, and multiple high-speed railways crisscrossed the city, one of them leading out towards the bay.

Moving as if in a trance, Zayne started walking towards the railing, his eyes scanning the horizon, the woman beside him following close behind. He stopped at the railing, his hands coming to rest gently on it. Turning slowly, his gaze followed the railway that led out towards the coast, taking in the sight of Whitesand Bay in the distance. The sight of such a huge body of water brought a sort of forlorn awe over him, one he couldn’t fully explain.

“What….is that?” His voice was hushed, one hand raising to point out toward the bay. “Is it a lake?” Zayne glanced at the woman for a moment before his eyes lifted to the skyline again, trying to take in everything he was seeing, his hand dropping back to his side.

“That’s Whitesand Bay,” she answered. “It’s not a lake, though - it’s part of the ocean.” The woman paused, watching Zayne as he looked out towards the bay, a strange look on his face. “Have you never seen the sea?” She tilted her head as she spoke, angling to get a better look at his face as she did so.

Zayne shook his head mutely, not knowing how to explain that there was no ocean, no sea, no bay, where he was from. Nothing like that survived. Most of the natural water sources in his time had been used up and recycled, again and again and again, to fuel and cool all sorts of technology and other industrial monstrosities.

He managed to tear his gaze away from the view, his eyes meeting hers as he did so. She held his gaze, trying to read what he was thinking from the look in his eyes. A kind of sadness was held there, a sense of longing for something just out of reach. She had noticed this look often throughout the morning, but it seemed amplified now. Instinctively, she laid a hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him. To ease the sadness, if only for a little while. She smiled gently up at him, hoping her next words would help in that endeavor.

“We can go there, if you want.” She nodded her head towards the railway leading to the bay, her other hand raising to trace through the air along the line of it. “We can take that train out to the beach. Would you like that?” The woman looked back at him, hoping he would agree.

Zayne nodded hesitantly, his eyes following the rail line through the city and out towards the bay once more. “It’s not too far?” He knew that she was already going way above and beyond anything he had expected of her. She had already endured his presence for the entire morning and seemed to have taken it upon herself to make sure he wasn’t alone during this bizarre adventure he had stumbled upon. Zayne was terrified that if he asked for anything more, she might come to resent him. Even more than she might already. He prayed that wasn’t the case, but he wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Not at all. The trip only takes about thirty minutes or so,” she replied. Tugging gently at his sleeve, she turned toward the counter of the small café. “Let’s grab something to eat first, then we can sit down on that side, facing the bay.” She stepped towards the counter, eyeing the menu, and Zayne followed. His heart leapt at the ease with which the woman responded, at how simple she made the idea sound. As if being around him wasn’t a chore. As if it might even be… enjoyable? The thought made his heart skip a beat.

________________________________________

After ordering some sandwiches and smoothies, the two sat down at a shaded table on the west side of the balcony so as to have a clearer view of the bay. The woman sat back in her chair while they waited on their food to be brought over, regarding the tall man across the table from her.

As the man looked out over the railing, she let her mind drift over the past few hours she had spent with him. He looked like Zayne. Even acted like Zayne. Most of the time. There were certain things he did where she never would have known he wasn’t her Zayne had she not discovered it early that morning. And then there were other things he did that set him apart from her Zayne, such as his wide smile at the sight of the garden – it was rare to see such an expression from the normally reserved man. It was endearing, his sense of wonder at everything, and she couldn’t help but want to show him more. Especially if it brought back that smile.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their food, causing her to nod politely and thank the café attendant who brought it over. She sat up and began taking her food off the tray while Zayne tentatively picked up the sandwich and smoothie he had chosen from the menu. She watched as he took a bite and then sipped from his smoothie, noting the blissful look that crossed his face at the taste of the sweet blueberry flavor. What kind of world must he have endured, that such simple things brought such immense pleasure? Seeing again the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as they closed, savoring the flavor, brought a smile to her lips unbidden.

“Can I ask you a question?” The words were out of her mouth before she thought about them; her interest in his origins piqued the longer she spent time with him. She watched as his eyes opened at the sound of her voice, his pupils dilating as he met her gaze. Zayne set down the smoothie, reaching for a napkin as he responded.

“If you’d like to… Of course you may,” Zayne replied, his voice hesitant but open. He was somewhat taken aback at the request, as she had mostly spent her time talking about everything here, in her city. She wanted to know more about him? The least interesting thing here? But then again, he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been able to stop his own curiosity. Had he not already known many of the things she showed him, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to contain his own questions. Everything about her and her world intrigued him. Her voice startled him out of his thoughts.

“Where you’re from… is the food really that different? From here, I mean?” She paused, trying to figure out how to word her question. “I know you mentioned that lattes are difficult to come by, but…” Her brow furrowed for an instant before she broke into a soft laugh. “It’s just that you seem to enjoy everything so much. Don’t get me wrong! I’m truly happy that you’re enjoying it, I just… wondered.” She glanced out toward the bay, hoping she hadn’t said anything that might offend him.

Zayne took a bite of his sandwich as she spoke, the mouthful of food thankfully giving him a chance to think. How much should he tell her? That many people couldn’t afford the luxuries of a smoothie and a sandwich? How the foods he was used to eating tasted like ash and dust compared to the richness of their versions here? Like the macarons. How much was too much? Would she be horrified? To know what likely awaited her beautiful city who-knows-how-long in the future? He washed down the bite with another sip from the smoothie before answering, his tastebuds practically vibrating at the intensity of the flavor.

Inhaling deeply, Zayne replied, “Well… yes. To put it simply, it is very different.” He exhaled slowly, knowing that such a short answer wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her curiosity. His mind reeled as it searched for a suitable way to describe the food in his time. “You know when you look at a picture of food? Like a macaron, for instance?” Pausing again, he waited for her to nod before continuing. “The food where I’m from… tastes like that. Like the taste you imagine when you see a picture of it.” Zayne watched her carefully as he spoke, trying to gauge her reaction to his words. “Like it’s not really there, even though you’re eating it. Compared to the food here, anyway.”

“Like… there’s no substance to it?” A crease appeared between her eyebrows as she spoke, her mind trying to wrap itself around the idea. A pit formed in her stomach as she processed the thought. The idea that nothing tasted real, that even something as fundamental as food seemed to have been stripped of life, was disturbing. She glanced down at the sandwich she held in her hands, gratitude seeping into her. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like. Does all of it taste like that?” She tried to make her tone as gentle as she could.

“Most of it. Some things have more substance than others. But that’s one of the reasons I mostly buy only nutrient drinks. At least with them, you don’t really taste anything. Less disappointing that way.” Zayne shrugged, taking another bite from his sandwich. The combination of flavors was divine – savory and smoky and spicy and tangy. He didn’t even know what half the items on the sandwich were. But damn, did they taste good together. Without even realizing it, he had already finished almost all of it.

“Nutrient drinks? Is that like a health smoothie or something?” asked the woman. Zayne shook his head, not sure how to describe them.

“Not really. They have hardly any flavor, but they provide the required nutrition for a human to function,” he answered. “I don’t like them very much, but they’re better than starving.” Zayne glanced down at what was left of the delicious sandwich in his hands, his heart sinking again at the idea of having to drink those bland things again. The same thought had come to him at breakfast as well, and the more food he tried here, the more he realized just how hard it would be. But at least he had gotten to try real food. Right? At least he knew how good food could be. Wasn’t that more important? He suppressed a sigh and continued eating, determined to enjoy every last morsel while he could.

The woman’s mouth fell open slightly as Zayne glanced down, his nonchalant tone at odds with the gravity of his words. Better than starving? No wonder he ate the way he did, savoring every bite like he might not have another one. She quickly took a bite of her own sandwich, trying to hide her concern.

Before the woman could think of something to say in response, her Hunter’s watch chimed, an alert sounding. Zayne was drinking his smoothie when the alarm went off, his face paling as he set the beverage down. Dread washed over him, the image of the monitor in his room flashing before his eyes, the buzzing sound of its alarm echoing in his ears like a phantom. Not now. Not here. His whole body tensed, the cold of his Evol swirling to life inside him. Zayne knew she was a Hunter; he had even had a dream of fighting alongside her against a Wanderer once. He was aware of what the alarm meant, and the thought of one of those monsters appearing now caused his blood to run cold.

Glancing at her watch, she set down her sandwich and tapped the screen, the alarm stopping almost as suddenly as it had begun. She took a moment to read the text on the screen, then nodded and swiped away the notification. As she picked up her sandwich to continue eating, she noticed the look on Zayne’s face and paused.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her tone held a trace of amusement at first, but that faded when she looked at his face. His eyes looked almost haunted as they stared at the watch on her wrist, his lips drawn tightly together. She continued, her voice dropping into a comforting tone. “It’s nothing, really – there was a Metaflux fluctuation about six blocks away, but two of the on-duty Hunters are taking care of it.”

Lifting his gaze from her watch to her face, Zayne tried to register what she was saying. Somehow, he had managed to forget about Wanderers, about monsters in the dark, if only for a few hours. That had never happened before. Yet the idea of such things seemed so at odds with the light and life here in this time, they didn’t belong alongside the woman sitting across from him. Zayne worked to push away the images that swarmed behind his eyes – the snaking tendrils, the staggering victims, the looming monstrosities grown from said victims. The icy feeling of his Evol swelled in his chest, even as he shoved the memories back into his subconscious.

“Zayne? Can you hear me?” The woman’s voice had changed in pitch, concern etching itself in every word when he didn’t answer. Her eyes roamed across his face, noting the somewhat blank stare that had come over his features, his normally lively emerald eyes now a muted shade of agate. Reaching out, she laid her hand on his forearm where it rested on the table. Zayne had rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt before they ascended the stairs, and his bare skin was frigid beneath her fingertips.

The sound of his name on her lips broke him free of his trance, but it did nothing to quell the freezing sensation coursing through his veins. Zayne startled slightly as she spoke, managing to nod his head in response to her question. Concentrating, he tried to slow the bone-chilling cold that had begun to spread from his chest throughout the rest of his torso. His brow furrowed, his left hand coming up to grip the edge of the table as the glacier forming in his lungs stole his breath.

Zayne opened his mouth to speak but paused as pain shot through him, the tingling spikes of cold so intense that they almost felt hot, moving from his chest up to his throat. He could feel the woman’s hand on his arm, her fingertips as warm as sunlight in comparison to the winter inside him. Again, he tried to speak, to force out something, anything, to reassure her, but words failed him as the mind-numbing cold encircled his throat.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Zayne focused everything he had on his Evol, trying to reign it in, to bring it back under his control. Panic grew in his mind, his anxious thoughts trying to run away with him. This had never happened before. What was going on? Why wasn’t it stopping? What would happen if it didn’t stop? The knuckles of his left hand turned white due to his grip on the table as terror welled up inside him, both for himself and for her. But mainly for her. What would happen to her if it didn’t stop? If he couldn’t stop it?

His other scarred hand dropped from his drink to the table, lithe fingers curling about the edge, his fingernails curving from the pressure of his grip. Zayne leaned forward slightly, his chest heaving, and managed to suck in a breath, his eyes still closed tightly. Even the air itself pricked the inside of his throat like a thousand ice picks, his whole world narrowing to a pinpoint of frozen fear.

_________________________________________

The woman had seen him nod, but it did nothing to assuage her concern. Instead, her worry had only grown as Zayne had gripped the table tightly and screwed his eyes shut, discomfort plain on his face. Everything seemed to have changed in an instant. One moment he had been fine, and the next, his other hand beneath hers was twisting to grab at the table, the discomfort on his face giving way to pain and fear. Her eyes had widened at the sight, her worry morphing into a kind of dread that sat heavy in her chest.

“Zayne?!” She leaned forward over the table as she spoke, hissing his name as loudly as she dared in the quiet atmosphere of the café. The woman watched in horror as crystalline structures of ice webbed their way across Zayne’s collarbone and up his throat, forming on the skin shown by the open collar of his shirt. Why was this happening now?! She knew that Zayne sometimes had difficulty controlling his Evol, but she hadn’t expected that quirk to extend to this version of him. Perhaps the two were more alike than she had suspected.

“Zayne! Please answer me!” Her voice grew more frantic the longer he went without responding, her fingers tightening on his forearm, cracking apart the ice crystals that had formed beneath them. She didn’t care about the cold radiating off of him; all she cared about was making sure he was all right. When he drew in a breath, her heart started to breathe a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived – his exhalation sent a plume of wintry white swirling into the air between them. No. This couldn’t continue. The dread in her chest had reached its breaking point, her mind made up as she reached for her own Evol.

The golden glow started at her fingertips, threads of warm light twining around Zayne’s scarred forearm and winding up his arm. The ice retreated from the light as she resonated with his Evol, the familiar coolness of it now an arctic breeze against her thoughts. Narrowing her eyes, the woman concentrated, tendrils of her Evol encompassing Zayne’s chest and curling about his throat, chasing away the ice.

___________________________________________

Zayne had lost the battle against the winter inside him, his Evol and his anxiety drowning him in subzero water so dark he couldn’t begin to know which way was up. Terror consumed him, his thoughts jumbled like ice cubes in a glass. The only conscious thought that remained was dedicated to keeping the freezing liquid inside him, containing it and keeping it from flowing out. From flowing towards her. Anything but that. The idea of causing her harm made Zayne shudder, his expression twisting in horror at the thought. He wanted to yank his arm away from where her hand tightened around it, scared to death that even that small amount of contact might bring her pain. His body betrayed him, his muscles contracting tightly, freezing him in place.

Before Zayne could force his body to obey, a light blossomed in the frigid depths of his existence. Golden rays of light shot through the darkness in his mind, bringing with them an intense heat that suffused his entire being. The sensation was akin to bursting free of a freezing lake into the brightness of the noonday sun. The glow ran up his arm and danced across his chest, its warmth arcing through him and melting the ice before it in giant swathes. The intensity of the light continued to grow, burning away the terror clutching at Zayne’s heart and wrapping him in a golden cocoon. The relentless cold gave way before the light, dissipating almost as swiftly as it had come.

Opening his eyes slowly, Zayne almost expected to be blinded, but all that met his gaze was a gentle glow emanating from golden trails of light that swirled around him. The light was real? He lifted his head, drawing in a few deep breaths to steady himself, his gaze lifting to the woman who sat across from him. The light was emanating from her. Zayne’s mouth fell open even further, his eyes darting between her hand on his arm and her face, watching as the tawny glow between them began to fade. Of course. Her Evol.

The worry and anxiety on her face had not faded, however, her brow creased, her lips moving quickly, forming words Zayne only now began to hear. She was calling his name. How long had that been happening? Wetting his lips, he gathered as much of himself together as he could to answer.

“I… I’m sorry... I don’t… know what… happened…” Every few words was punctuated by a shuddering breath, Zayne’s lungs still adjusting to the absence of the icy feeling that had drowned them just seconds ago. “I didn’t….” He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as he spoke. “Didn’t hurt you… Did I?” Zayne’s stomach churned at the thought as he pulled his arm away from her instinctively.

The woman’s arm shot out, catching his hand in hers and tugging it back towards her even as he tried to pull away. Her voice was warm and earnest, relief pouring through it. “No, Zayne, you didn’t hurt me.” Closing her eyes for a moment, she squeezed his fingers in hers, a wry laugh huffing out of her. She opened her eyes and then reached across the table with her other hand, her fingertips brushing against his cheek, the gesture warm and caring. “You did scare me half to death, though.”

Zayne blinked, his heartbeat thudding in his ears as she spoke, emotions flooding through him. He would never have forgiven himself if he had hurt her. Knowing that he had at least managed to prevent that from happening sent a wave of relief washing over him. Close on its heels came another wave, this time one of consternation and confusion. Whatever had happened to him had…scared her? Even though he wasn’t the doctor? Dammit. Scaring her was the second-to-last thing he wanted. Zayne sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, praying he could find a way to rectify the situation.

“I didn’t mean to… to scare you. I’m sorry.” Zayne met her gaze, genuinely apologizing as he lifted a hand to capture hers when it brushed along his cheek. His heart twisted in his chest, especially at the sight of her leaning towards him, her eyes filled with care and concern. For him. Or was it? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t deny how the idea of her caring for him made his heart swell in his chest. Either way, she had used her Evol to help him, resonating with him to banish the ice that had encroached upon him. Warmth blossomed in Zayne’s chest and radiated outward, heating his cheeks at the memory of the way her light had entwined itself around him.

“Please forgive me. And… thank you.” Zayne’s words were quiet, barely audible as he struggled to keep his voice from betraying the emotions that filled him. His throat tightened, cutting off any further words, his gaze dropping from her face in an attempt to hide what he was feeling. As if compelled by something outside of him, Zayne watched as he lifted her hand back toward his face. He felt his lips brushing gently over the back of her knuckles in a soft kiss and closed his eyes, etching the feeling of her skin against his lips into his memory.

“Of course, I…” She trailed off, her lips parting in surprise at the gesture, but she didn’t draw her hand back immediately. How gentlemanly. After a second or two, her hand was released, and she shook her head gently, a soft smile turning up her lips and coloring her cheeks. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” Glancing down at the table, she realized that they were mostly done with their meal and stood. “I’ll take care of this stuff, and then we can get out of here.”

She gathered up the trash and placed it on the tray, leaving their smoothies in their portable cups on the table for them to take with them. As she walked to the trash can, the woman scanned the small café, thankful that it didn’t seem to be a busy day. If any of the few customers had noticed what had happened with their Evols at their table, no one was giving any indication of it.

Zayne had watched her walk away as if in a trance, his mind still reeling from the fact that she hadn’t pulled her hand away from him, despite the intimacy of his gesture a moment ago. He closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from replaying the scene on a loop. Best not to dwell on it. That would be a slippery slope indeed. Sighing, he opened his eyes and gathered up his coat and the smoothies.

Breathing a small sigh of relief that the little hiccup to their day had gone unnoticed, the woman made her way back to the table to see Zayne standing, jacket over one arm and holding both smoothies. Taking her smoothie as it was held out to her, she then took a sip and tilted her head, looking up at him before speaking. “I’ve got an idea of where to go next. As long as you like animals, that is.” She paused for a second to take another sip, waiting for him to respond.

“Yes, but they don’t like me much.” Zayne smiled ruefully and looked down at his hand where it held his smoothie. For some reason, the cold drink didn’t seem terribly appealing anymore. He glanced around for a trash can to toss it into before continuing. “The few stray cats I’ve tried to befriend won’t let me near them.”

A mischievous smile curled up the corners of the woman’s lips at his words. “Ahhh. Well, these little cats love everyone, guaranteed.” She slid her hand into the crook of Zayne’s elbow and started toward the doors leading back to the garden. “Let’s grab our plushies from the locker at the entrance, and then I can show you Meow’s Café! If you like cats and card games, you’re bound to love it.”

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

Requested (and Unrequested, lol) Tags: @callme-naomi @altair718 @seris-the-amious @schnittled @punk-cat

#love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #dawnbreaker fic #dawnbreaker #zayne #fanfiction #lads #li shen #the night we met #lnds zayne #zayne li

31 notes · View notes

lovehotelreservation · 6 months ago

Text

chapter five: guess i'm a mess and play the role summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/soap previous chapter | next chapter

i've been haunted by neil ellice talking about how he doesn't need a loofah when showering because of how rough his hands already are from working out so much HESUKRISTO

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

Purpose.

A reason to live, to exist, to breathe.

While Johnny was by no means the only person to ever question his life’s purpose, he had been thinking about it often as of late–specifically in the time since 141 formally disbanded with the 4 retiring and eventually taking up the mantle as your bodyguards.

From thinking that he could one day represent Scotland at the World Cup as a goalkeeper to be reckoned with to dirtying his hands with blood to keep the world safe, from recovering a call far too close with Makarov to now standing watch by the dressing room for one of the biggest pop stars in the world, he wondered what this new chapter in his life would bring, hoping each turned page was as indulgently slow as possible.

After all, his adoration of you as an artist was no secret.

His knowledge of you was inherited thanks to his younger sisters–twin girls by the name of Jessy and Jenny, both of whom shared his shade of blue eyes and the MacTavish temper. As they were wrapping up with secondary school and preparing to enter college, that was around the time he was suddenly tasked with some life or death missions:

“johnny help us get 4EVA tix or ELSE”

Such texts would come in at the worst times, once being when he was literally about to board a helicopter for some recon on enemy territory.

Never could he have imagined the viciousness of the online ticket presale battlegrounds.

But as long as it brought smiles to his sisters’ faces, he would help queue in as he could to extremely varying degrees of success and even sit in for their powerpoint presentations on the group to convince either him or their parents to spare additional funding for VIP tickets.

That was when he came across you for the first time.

Your stage name was Dollface and your government name was lovely.

Of all the girls in your group of 4, you stood out to him the most. Your beauty in photoshoots, your charisma in interviews, your aura in performances–he couldn’t put his finger on one thing, rather opting to greedily scoop up everything you had to present with both hands.

He could remember his jaw dropping when Ghost recalled having personally rescued you from your Glastonbury trailer. A barrage of questions and words followed:

“Was she hurt at all ?! Scared?!”

“ Please tell me ya' didn’t scare the fuck outta her with that damn mask of yers!”

“...I’m gonna be real with ya’ on this one Lt:..........what did she smell like?”

And though Price chewed him out all the same for asking these questions during a debrief with Laswell, it was still his reliable ol’ Captain who asked him to come join your security personnel along with Simon and Kyle.

Now, instead of waiting for your tickets to drop, he was waiting for you to emerge from your dressing room. Today, you were scheduled to stop by Oxford University–they were hosting a week of special artist showcases in celebration of the fine arts and you were invited to take part in one of their Q&A panels. Though this was supposed to be reserved for students only, there was still a frenzy of fans hovering by the campus theater where your talk was to take place.

This was definitely the perfect opportunity to bring along Jessy and Jenny, but as per the weighty NDA he had to sign with the team, he was to keep his work with you under wraps up from the moment his pen hit the dotted line up until you finished up your world tour. Though unfortunate, it was understandable–he did make a note to ask if there was anything he could get signed for them at least.

In the meantime, he quickly snuck a glance down at his watch.

10 minutes until he was to escort you to the panel stage.

Hair and make-up was done, Pearl was off to receive some industry clients who had come to observe your Q&A, leaving you alone in your dressing room.

As it was his first day handling you, Johnny thought that it wouldn’t hurt to be a step above punctual–a demonstration of his eye for detail, professionalism, and reliability. Still facing forward out to the hallway, he gave the door behind him a light knock as he called out to you. “Doll, showtime’s in 10!”

“Th-Thank you…!”

Stuttered, gasped words from within had him freeze in place, his eyebrow quirking up.

With a swift scan of the hallway to ensure there was no one around, he then turned to the side to then gingerly press his ear against the door.

He soon froze, eyes growing wide.

Was that sniffle he just heard?

Now, while he didn’t have a snake cam on hand, he had plenty of experience doing recon. This door was some cheap flimsy board from IKEA as opposed to trying to listen in on shady underdealings within an abandoned military bunker.

Closing his eyes, he leaned further against the door.

Another sniffle, a muffled sob.

His expression hardened with concern, instincts calling on him to spring to immediate action. Thus, he knocked on the door once more as he remarked, “Doll, I’m coming in, yeah?”

With a turn of the knob, he entered the room before you could respond, making sure to close and lock the door behind him as he entered.

As quick as it was, you couldn’t hide the hurried swipe at your eyes, your face pointed towards the floor as you threw out the stuttered mumble about an eyelash in your eye.

With just a glance at your withdrawn body language alone, he knew this to be a lie.

However, this situation by no means called for outright confrontation.

Instead, his expression softened as he approached you slowly, his tone soft as he asked, “Ya alright, Doll?”

You lifted your head.

Glassy eyes, reddened nose, quivering lip, shaking shoulders.

Your expression spoke of a conflict on whether to be upfront or cower back.

A fine line cracked along his heart.

While his steps brought him closer to where you sat by one of the vanities, he grabbed a tissue box from the edge of the table and held it towards you.

“Only speak if yer comfortable, okay?”

Your eyes settled on the tissue box before glancing up to see only warmth in Johnny’s ocean blue irises.

Rather than attempt to hide, you then allowed a whimper to freely leave your lips as you reached for a tissue. “Thank you….”

The air, once tense with the bottled storm of emotions that had since spilled forth the moment you were left alone, began to ease with the quiet that soon settled in, broken up by your attempts to steady your breath.

Johnny patiently stood by, continuing to hold out tissues for you to take.

A moment later, you finally opened your lips to speak, your eyes cast to the ground once again. “I’m sorry. It’s just– when I saw all my fans together in a crowd as we arrived, I started thinking about when that threat came in and–” Your eyes started welling with tears once again, shudders crawling along your body as the tissue in your hand crumpled further.

Yet rather than be left to remain alone in your haunted recollection, you soon found yourself gently drawn into the strong, protective warmth of Johnny’s embrace.

“Aww Dollie…” He hummed, bringing a hand to the back of your head as he held you close.

First full day on the job and he was already breaking one of the enforced guidelines from Price’s “How to Not Get Fired from This Damn Job” guidelines: do not touch the talent needlessly.

But surely this situation absolutely called for a bit of physical contact: he’d go to war for your tears.

The same ones that you now were letting run freely as you cried into his chest. It made him wonder just how much you’ve been bottling up these feelings. Did you have no one else to turn to? No support from Pearl, your label or other loved ones?

While the image of you abandoned by your circle of those who were supposed to have your best interests in mind only drew forth a simmering bloodied anger within the depths of his veins, your present vulnerability took priority of his attention as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

To hold such a delicate treasure–did Simon experience the same rapturous feeling that he did?

The hand on the back of your head moved to the small of your back in comforting strokes–though, the catch of the zipper at the back of your dress would be a sensation he’d be chasing in his dreams. “Shh, shh, that’s in the past.”

His body drawing back away from you slightly, he then closed the distance between your face and his as he affirmed, “No one was hurt. You weren’t hurt. Now, they’re here–”

He pointed his index finger towards your cheek.

“–yer here…”

He jabbed his thumb right at his chest as he grinned with a firm nod.

“–and I’m here.”

That same thumb was then brought to your wet cheek, battle-roughened skin swiping over warm silk.

Your eyes found his once again.

And then he saw it.

The lift of the corners of your lips.

That stellar smile.

“Thank you, Johnny.”

He could’ve flown from sheer joy.

However, maintaining his composure, his grin only widened as he replied with a hearty cheer, “Aye it’s nothin’! Ya bring so much happiness to yer fans and to the world, lass! But ya gotta take care of yerself too, yeah?”

“Johnny…” Though you smiled, your eyes were lined with shining tears once again before you reached over to cling onto him with an embrace of your own. “–you don’t know how much it means to me to hear that.”

He had to bite back a gasp. While it was sheer madness how perfectly your body slotted right up against his, your words had him once again wonder just how lonely you must have felt to have only just allowed these feelings to spill forth now.

But that would be a conversation for later–hopefully the start of many more heart-to-hearts.

More than anything, while he continued to hold you protectively in his arms, he resolved in that very moment to swear to do whatever it took to keep that smile on your face.

As though ordained by God himself, for Johnny, this was his purpose.

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

leading up to this week i saw this clip of sana from twice and her female bodyguard and i've been Lost in Thoughts All Alone™

😭😭

the guys WISH they could get to that level of closeness (for now at least owo)

with that being said!!! an important update for this series!!!

as we approach the holidays, i'm excited to announce that i'll be sharing/posting the next 5 chapters of "bodyguard" across the next couple weeks!!! 🥳🥳 this will also be joined by new works/updates for other series i write for like ff16, twst, metaphor refantazio, etc. so pls keep an eye out whether you follow me on tumblr or ao3 (it's lovehotelreservation either way) !!!

consider it some holiday cheer i wish to share with you all 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ thank you as always for continuing to support this piece!!!

that said, here's a little teaser for what's to come next chapter owo:

chapter title: dial 999 it's a good time

chapter focus: gaz

thanks again and i'll catch you in the next update in a few days !!! 🥰🥰

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 x you #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #reader insert #bodyguard by lovehotelreservation #Fic

43 notes · View notes

merrybloomwrites · 1 year ago

Text

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 4)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: After battling the symptoms of touch deprivation for weeks, Y/N sees Harry again in Chicago and he helps her deal with the worst of it.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3

Word Count: 4.9k

Y/N POV

“You haven’t had a nightmare in 4 days?” Rachel asks.

“Nope!” You reply happily, taking a sip of your iced caramel latte. You and Rachel both have a free afternoon and decided to meet at a local cafe. You feel so much better than you had for the last few weeks that you felt confident to order a different drink. No tea that reminds you of Sarah, no hot chocolate that makes you think of Harry.

“And you’re not using those coping mechanisms you mentioned?”

“Haven’t needed them in days.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what they were?” You blush at this question, embarrassed by the truth.

“No, that secret may come with me to the grave,” you joke.

Rachel looks at you, slightly worried and says, “It was safe right? You weren’t like, drugging yourself to sleep were you?”

“Oh God no!” You reply with a laugh. “Nothing like that, I swear.” Though you think to yourself that Harry’s scent in its direct form would probably be so delicious that it would act like a drug to you.

“Okay, I trust you,” Rachel says. “So, have you heard from Harry?”

You sigh, slightly disappointed by the answer you have to give. “Not since the night of the concert. I’m sure he’s been busy.”

“Maybe you should text him first.”

“And maybe you are out of your mind. No way. And before you say anything, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the girl or he’s the alpha or any of that sexist bullshit. It has everything to do with the fact that he’s Harry Styles.” You whisper the last part, aware that you’re in public and anyone around could hear the conversation.

“So what if he’s Harry Styles?”

“What would I even text him?”

“You could start with ‘Hi, how are you?’”

“Very funny. I mean, I guess I could. Maybe. I’ll give it a couple more days.”

“Waiting for him to leave the area?”

“Something like that,” you reply.

“Speaking of procrastinating things,” Rachel says teasingly, “have you called your doctor yet? To find out why that alpha knew you’re an omega even though you’re on suppressants and scent blockers?”

“Okay, that I did not procrastinate on. I called her but I can’t get an appointment until November.”

“Seriously?”

“Yea. I mean there aren’t a lot of doctors who specialize in omegas, so they’re always booked. Anyway, she said that my body has probably just developed a resistance to the pills. She’ll try to change my regimen after the appointment and told me to use the spray on neutralizers until then.”

“That sucks.”

“It does. I am so not looking forward to changing meds. It takes awhile to find the right combo and then there’ll be all new side effects. But it’ll be worth it.”

“I wish omegas didn’t have to hide who they are.”

“Me too. But that’s just how it is now.”

From there the conversation turns to lighter topics until you part ways to continue your day.

Another week passes and you still haven’t heard from Harry. On top of that the bad dreams come back, along with the restlessness, and chills. You’ve started using the old coping mechanisms again, which barely work this time around.

The morning after his final show in New York City, your social media is flooded with videos of him receiving his banner at Madison Square Garden. If there was any time to reach out to him, now was it. He said he wanted to be friends, right? A friend would absolutely congratulate him on this achievement.

It still takes you forever to type out the message, and ever longer to find the courage to press send. It’s nearly noon by the time you text Harry, “Congrats on the banner!”

It’s a simple sentence, just four words, and you still find a way to overthink everything for the two hours it takes Harry to reply. You’re taking a walk, grateful once again that you work on your own schedule and can take a break when you need one. And right now, you need one. Because you texted a celebrity and he still hasn’t answered and you for sure made a complete fool of yourself.

You stop dead in your tracks when your phone buzzes and Harry’s name appears on your screen.

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Can’t believe I got such an honor. How are you? What are you up to?

There’s a bench nearby and you sit to reread his message five times before replying.

To Harry Styles: You deserve it! I’m good, just out for a walk. How about you?

The next message comes in much faster.

From Harry Styles: I’ve been doing well. Took it easy this morning, currently enroute to Texas for the next shows.

You can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s no longer just a city away. You know it’s silly, but it was nice that he was so close by.

To Harry Styles: Enjoy Texas!

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Have you ever been?

To Harry Styles: Once, in college. Went to San Antonio with some friends.

From Harry Styles: That’s a great city, love the river walk there!

And so, you and Harry Styes became friends who text each other about random things. You talk throughout his flight to Texas, and sporadically over the next couple of weeks. It never gets very deep, all surface level conversations, but it’s nice. You feel like you’re getting to know the real him, and he’s getting to know who you are as well.

The texts from Harry are the high points. The low points are, unfortunately, very low. The hot chocolate, and roses, and forest smelling candles are no longer helping you. Bad dreams happen almost every night, you’re constantly cold, and there’s an itch under your skin that just won’t go away. The voice in the back of your brain is telling you it’s touch deprivation, but you refuse to admit that to yourself. You’ve never needed an alpha, and you refuse to depend on one now. So no, you do NOT have touch deprivation.

You’re checking your email, and you see that there are still spots open for a job training opportunity in Chicago. You rarely go to these, but it’s been a while, and you think maybe it would be good to go. There are always new types of data software, and you found the last two training courses you attended to be pretty informative.

Looking at the dates you notice the course is the following Thursday and Friday. In Chicago. You also notice that Harry will be doing shows there at the same time. You don’t admit that’s what seals the deal for you, but it totally is.

After registering and setting up your flight and hotel reservation you send a text to Harry. You casually mention that you’ll be in Chicago the following weekend. You’re surprised when your phone starts to ring, and Harry’s name is on the screen.

You answer the phone and he’s first to speak, saying, “You’re gonna be in Chicago?”

“I am!” you reply, matching his excitement.

“Can you come to my shows?”

“Which days are they again?” You ask this to try and seem like less of a stalker.

“I’ve got one Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You’re welcome to come to as many of those as you want,” he answers.

“I think Thursday is an all-day thing, so I won’t be able to come to that one. The training ends with dinner on Friday evening so I think I could make it just in time for the concert.”

“Ok great, and Saturday?”

“I am free all-day Saturday. My flight back home is Sunday afternoon.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have tickets for you for those two shows. That is, if you want to come of course.”

“Harry, I absolutely want to come.”

“Then the tickets are yours. All the details will come from Jada. I’d be a mess without that girl.”

“You paying her well?” you ask jokingly.

“She’s compensated handsomely, I promise,” he replies with a laugh.

“Happy to hear it.”

“I uhm- it sounds like you won’t be able to come before the show Friday, correct?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ll probably get there right before you go on.”

“Forgive me if this sounds forward, but would you want to hang out after? It would have to be at the hotel, I can’t really be out in the city after a concert.”

“Totally understand that. And yea, I’d love to hang out after.”

“Great! I’m staying at the Nobu Hotel.”

You quickly look it up and see that your hotel is close by.

“No way!” you reply. “I’m at the Crowne Plaza like, two blocks away.”

“Well, that’s convenient. I’ll make sure there’s a car to take you to Nobu after the show Friday if that works for you?”

“Yea that would be great. I’d love to hang out!” You cringe, hoping that didn’t come off too strong.

“I’d love to hang out as well. Listen I have to go to sound check for tonight’s show. I’ll text you soon. And look out for the email from Jada, it’ll have all the info you need.”

***

Harry POV

“You’re extra happy today,” Elin says as Harry bounces around the venue smiling so big that both dimples are showing.

“I am!” He replies. “Thanks for noticing!”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sarah asks. “Because it’s definitely not how this sound check is going.” She has a point there. No less than a dozen things have gone wrong since they started, leading them to take a break while the sound techs work out a few problems.

“Just talked to a friend who will be in town next week.”

“Oh I see,” Mitch says. “So Y/N will be here?”

“Yes, and she’ll be coming to the shows Friday and Saturday. I can’t wait to see her!”

“Aw, someone’s got a crush,” Pauli says.

Harry ignores the teasing from his band members and says, “Honestly I’ve been a bit worried about her. I’ve just had this feeling that keeps getting worse.”

“Why do you think it has to do with Y/N?” NyOh asks.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure. But we’ve talked on the phone a couple times, and she always sounds exhausted.”

“I’m sure she’s alright,” Sarah says reassuringly.

“I know, I just can’t help it.”

“I completely get that,” Sarah replies softly, looking towards her mate.

“Fixed it!” One of the sound techs calls out, effectively cutting off the conversation as Harry and the band get back to work.

***

Y/N POV

The next week passes in what feels like slow motion. Every hour drags on. Your apartment building hasn’t switched from air conditioning to heat yet, so you’re constantly wearing layers of warm clothes and burrowing under blankets. The itch under your skin only gets worse, spreading to new areas each day until there’s a maddening tingle throughout your whole body.

Amelia drops you off at the airport Wednesday afternoon. You know she can tell that something is wrong, but you don’t offer an explanation, so she doesn’t pry for details.

You put on your mask before walking into the terminal. It’s a habit leftover from the pandemic, and also a great way to block out the potential strange scents. Alphas and omegas might be rare, but there’s always a chance a few will be around in such a crowded place. You’re extra sensitive to smells at the moment due to the touch deprivation that you’ve finally admitted you have. But it’s mild. Totally manageable. Not a problem.

The plane ride and subsequent train trip and walk to the hotel is exhausting. You stop and grab some food on the way. After checking in you immediately eat your quick meal, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.

You’re almost asleep when your phone digs with an incoming text. You’ve already texted your family and friends letting them know you’re at the hotel, so you’re annoyed that someone is interrupting your sleep.

That is, until you see who the message is from. Harry’s name pops up with a text asking if you made it safely to Chicago. You practically melt at how sweet it is that he’s checking in on you. You send a quick reply before immediately falling asleep.

The first day of the training session is typical- informative, but boring. Harry’s show is still going when you get back to the hotel, so you watch on a livestream. You’re still exhausted and fall asleep before it’s over.

Waking up the next morning is difficult. Your body feels heavy, like your bones are filled with lead. The chills seem worse than ever and you’re grateful you packed yourself a heavy sweater to wear that day. Not only is it warm, but it covers up the marks from where you’ve been scratching at the skin on your arms due to the incessant itching.

You have trouble concentrating on the training throughout the day. There was one alpha there, and he was somehow in every single session you attended. He didn’t have a bad scent per se, but his presence alone became overwhelming.

By the time the sessions are over, you feel exhausted. You debate skipping dinner altogether but know you at least need some food before you can start your walk to the United Center. The alpha, whose name you’ve learned is Andy, sits next to you at dinner. He seems nice enough, you don’t feel threatened by him, but you still want to finish dinner and get away from him as quickly as possible.

Once dessert is over you grab your bag, ready to escape. Andy stops you before you go, asking for your number. Without thinking you quickly say, “I have a boyfriend,” and hastily leave the restaurant.

You’re not far from the venue, only a few blocks away, and you’re so out of it that you barely notice where your legs are taking you. It only takes fifteen minutes to get there, but you’re on edge the whole time. Glancing at your watch you see that it’s just before 8PM, meaning Harry should still be backstage.

You’re tired, and dizzy, and a little fuzzy, but knowing you’re so close to seeing Harry again has you moving faster than you thought possible. You’ve even built up a slight sweat, and you feel warm for the first time in weeks causing you to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

As you approach the building you hear your name being called. You turn to see Jada running up to you.

“I didn’t think you’d be here so early! Glad I was talking to one of the security guards, you walked right past the entrance,” she says.

You smile as she hands you your VIP badge and leads you inside.

“Harry has a few minutes before he needs to finish getting ready. He’ll be glad you made it before he goes on, I know he’s been dying to see you,” Jada says, causing you to blush.

“Well, I can’t wait to see him either,” you reply.

She knocks on a door which opens a second later. The first person you see is Mitch, who gives you a hug as he says, “Hey kid, good to see you again.”

“You too!” you answer, somewhat surprised by the warm greeting.

Sarah’s there too, pulling you in to a hug next. The moment her arms wrap around your shoulders, you’re overcome with a wave of dizziness. Black spots flash in your vision and you blink rapidly to try and clear them.

“You okay, love?” she asks as she lets go and takes a step back.

After a couple deep breaths you answer, “I’m good. Practically ran here from dinner, still catching my breath I guess.”

Harry, who’s been quietly watching you quickly walks to the fridge and grabs a water bottle. You reach out your hand so he can pass it to you, and see his eyes focus on your arm. There’s no way he missed the angry red scratch marks there, but you immediately pull your sleeves back down to hide them anyway.

“Can we have a moment?” Harry asks, causing Mitch, Sarah, and Jada to promptly exit and close the door behind them. He motions to the couch, and you’re reminded of the last time the two of you were in his dressing room together.

Like the last time, you sit next to each other, but he seems to be giving you more space. This confuses you. If he’s so excited to see you, why didn’t he greet you with a hug like everyone else? And why is he so far away now? And why does he seem so serious instead of happy?

“Y/N, I have a question, and it’s kind of personal, but I’d like you to answer honestly,” he starts.

“Okay,” you reply, taken aback by this turn of events.

He’s quiet for a moment, seeming to think of exactly what he wants to ask. Finally, he settles on, “Where did those scratches come from?”

“My arms were itchy,” you reply. Not a lie, though probably not the full truth he’s looking for.

“And the dizziness? Cause I don’t think it was from your walk. You seemed fine until Sarah touched you. Until an alpha touched you.”

You know what he’s getting at. He’s no dummy. Just minutes after seeing you he’s figured out what you’ve been hiding for weeks. Hiding from everyone, including yourself.

He watches you, and you know he’s waiting for an answer. But you can’t think of one to give him. So, he continues, “Y/N, I think you have touch deprivation. Is that fair to say?”

You let out a shuddery breath and nod. “Yea, that’s fair to say.”

“It seems pretty severe.”

You finally decide to open up, saying, “It’s been getting worse the past couple weeks. I don’t think my meds are working anymore, and the soonest doctors appointment I could get still isn’t for a couple weeks.”

“I’m worried you’re close to a drop. Like, any minute now. Or that you’ll go under if I touch you. You realize that you were close with Sarah, right? That if you’d stayed in contact with her, or if she’d released any pheromones you’d be in a full drop right now?”

Part of you wants to snark back, yell at him for going full alpha male and acting like he knows your body better than you. But the problem is, he’s right. It’s been so long since the last time you dropped that you forgot what it’s like. You forgot what the signs are.

But now that he’s pointed out the obvious, you really start to feel it. He sees as you deflate, starting to fold in on yourself. His hand reaches out, wanting to comfort you in some way, but he can’t. He can’t risk sending you into a drop, not when he has a show to do in just twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “I didn’t realize it. I thought I was handling it, that I could make it to my doctor’s visit and get new soothers and I’d be okay. I just don’t know what to do if I don’t have meds that work.”

“I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

You finally meet his eyes and see that he’s completely serious.

After a moment you nod and reply, “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll let me help?”

“Yes. I don’t know what else to do. And uhm, I trust you. You’re a good person, Harry. A good alpha.”

He smiles at your words before glancing at the clock and saying, “I have to finish getting ready in a minute. I’d still like to hang out after the concert. I think it might be healthy for you to do a drop with me there, if you’re comfortable with that?”

“I mean, I don’t like dropping. It’s only happened to me twice before and I was alone each time, so they weren’t good experiences. But maybe it will be different if you’re there?”

“I can help you through it, if you’ll let me.”

“What would you do to help? Like, how do alphas help omegas through that?”

“It depends on what you consent to but ah, I would hold you, help you get the touch your omega needs. Most alphas will scent the omega. It lets them know that they’re not alone, that someone is there protecting them, keeping them safe while they can’t do so themselves. I’d also release calming pheromones to keep your omega relaxed.”

“Okay. I’m okay with all of that. I’d like that,” you answer. Truthfully you’re a bit nervous. Harry Styles has just offered to hold you, to scent you for goodness sakes. That’s incredibly intimate. But you’ve felt so awful for weeks, and there are still weeks to go before you can get new soothers. And this is kind of a dream come true.

“Do you want to stay here for the concert? You can hang in here or go to the VIP box. Or you can head to the hotel now and take it easy if you’d like,” he says.

“I’ll stay in here if that’s alright,” you reply.

“It’s more than alright,” he answers. “And if at any point you want to get out of here just text Jada. She can arrange a ride back to my hotel and I’ll meet you there after the show. Or if you change your mind she can get you a ride back to your hotel too.”

“Thank you, Harry. For everything.”

“Of course. I know I don’t know you all that well, but I care about you. Anyway, I uhm, need to get dressed so I’m just gonna step into the bathroom for a moment.”

“I can go in the hall for a minute, get out of your way-”

“Nonsense. You’re not in the way. I’ll be right back.”

Harry finishes getting ready, and you make yourself comfortable on the couch. A couple of people come in, touching up his hair and make-up and before you know it he’s heading to the stage.

You watch on the screen in the room for the first few songs. After a while Jada joins you and you ask if you can watch from the VIP section for a bit. It goes well until Harry and the band take a break. You’d been so focused on the music that you were distracted from everything else around you.

But now all you can hear are all the other people, and it’s overwhelming. It becomes difficult to breathe, and you start to see dark spots once again.

You turn to Jada, and she immediately leads you back to the dressing room.

“Do you want to wait for Harry, or do you want to leave now?” she asks.

“I think I should go,” you reply.

“To your hotel, or his?”

“Harry’s, please.”

“Okay, wait here, I’ll get the car and come back for you in a minute.”

You sit back on the couch, seeking out Harry’s scent to calm you, but it’s barely noticeable.

Jada comes back and you follow her to the car. It’s a quiet ride to the hotel, and once there, she goes with you to the suite.

His room is on the top floor. It’s big, basically a full apartment, and you stay in what seems to be the living room. Jada sits on the couch with you, and you say, “I feel like you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

She laughs and says, “It’s not babysitting. I like hanging out with you. And you’re a priority to Harry. Which makes you a priority to me.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a while until Jada’s phone buzzes. “Shows over,” she says. “Harry’s just getting changed and then he’ll be here soon. He said you can borrow some of his clothes if you want to get comfy.”

You hesitate and she adds, “I have no problem going through his stuff. I can grab you some clothes if you want.” You laugh at that and nod.

A short while later you’ve changed into a pair of Harry’s sweatpants, as well as a t-shirt and hoodie. They smell like him, and you shamelessly inhale the scent you’ve been craving for weeks. The suite door opens, and Harry walks in, looking incredibly cozy in his own pair of sweats.

“Thank you, Jada,” he says. “Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

“Night guys,” she says as she leaves the room.

You’re left alone with Harry. It feels different, here in his hotel room, surrounded by his belongings, while you’re wearing his clothes.

“You left early,” he says.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“Don’t be. I’m just worried as to why you left.”

“I was just overwhelmed. Needed some quiet.”

“I understand. Y/N, are you ready for this? You still seem on the edge of a drop.”

“I’m ready.”

“And have you changed your mind about anything? Or is it okay if I hold and scent you through this?”

You pause for a moment, scared at how vulnerable you’re about to be. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to do that. I trust you.”

He takes a step towards you. “Thank you, for trusting me. We’ll probably be more comfortable in the bed.”

“Lead the way,” you say.

It’s awkward at first, the two of you sitting next to each other in his bed, backs resting against the headboard.

He turns to you and says, “Can I hold you now?”

You nod, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you until you’re tucked under his chin and resting against his chest.

Everything starts to get fuzzy, and you feel yourself losing consciousness. It’s an unsettling feeling, but you know that Harry is there to help you through this.

The last thing you hear before it all goes black is Harry calmly saying, “I’ve got you. Let go. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Harry can’t describe the helplessness he feels as you go limp in his arms. He doesn’t allow himself to stress, or panic, knowing that his emotions will impact you. Instead, he takes some calming breaths and thinks through everything he knows he needs to do in this situation.

He hears you whimper quietly as you start to shiver, and he doesn’t hesitate to soothe you. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you’re both laying down in the bed. He tucks his nose into your neck and begins to scent you, releasing calming pheromones until you relax.

It continues this way for the next couple of hours. Harry holds you, and scents you, his nose rubbing against the gland in your neck. During one moment when you seem particularly distressed he can’t help but place kisses there to soothe you faster.

Finally, you start to stir. It takes longer than Harry had anticipated, so he’s relieved when your eyes meet his after hours of being closed.

“Hey there,” he says with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you answer groggily. “How long?”

“Couple hours. Your inner omega needed the rest. Now you need some too. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

It’s the same words he said before you dropped. You wish you could hear that all the time. No one has cared for you before, not like this. It feels good, but you remind yourself not to get used to it. Still, you curl into his embrace, enjoying every moment of contact with Harry that you can get.

The next thing you know, it’s late morning. You’re still cuddling against Harry, and his deep breaths indicate he’s still sleeping.

You feel amazing. You’re nice and warm, your mind is clear, and the constant itch and restlessness are nonexistent. You’re extremely grateful, but at the same time, you’re annoyed that you need to depend on another person just to feel normal. But you don’t dwell on that. Because Harry is starting to stir next to you.

“Hey,” he says when your eyes meet his. “How do you feel? Sleep okay?” God, you could melt at the gravelly sound of his morning voice.

“I’m good. Feel better than I have in a long time. And according to that clock, I slept wonderfully.” The two of you laugh, seeing that it’s nearly noon.

“I was hoping to treat you to a nice breakfast, but I guess I missed the window on that,” Harry says, continuing to laugh with you. “I do still have plenty of time before I need to be at the arena. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me exploring Chicago?”

“I’d love to,” you reply. His face breaks out in a huge smile before he leans down, once again running his nose along your scent gland. You go limp at the feeling, happily submitting to him.

You don’t think about the fact that this is temporary. That you leave to fly home tomorrow afternoon. That you’ll be without his alpha scent once again.

Instead, you think about the hours you have ahead of you, hours to spend with Harry. Nothing could be more perfect.

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

AN: Thank you so much for reading! This was one of the scenes I imagined when I first thought of the story and I'm so happy that it's finally shared with you all!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #wolfrry

190 notes · View notes