#I have an urge to write the follow up chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nostalgebraist · 12 hours

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It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)

Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.

In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.

And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)

What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.

It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.

If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.

You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.

These contingent "other views" are

Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.

The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."

These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.

They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.

Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.

And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.

These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.

"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?

They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?

But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.

We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.

In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.

Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.

With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.

Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.

When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.

But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.

In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.

In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."

That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.

That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.

There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.

In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.

The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.

Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?

But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.

I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.

(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)

No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.

They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.

They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.

(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)

One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.

It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.

For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.

The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.

Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."

For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"

We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.

This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.

Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.

One might, indeed, say that.

Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?

Would the scholar think:

"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.

If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.

You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.

If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.

You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."

We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.

I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.

It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.

But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.

Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.

A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.

Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.

Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.

Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.

Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.

The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.

They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.

Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.

That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.

That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.

That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.

It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.

The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.

Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."

It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...

Which are so... what?

The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."

That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.

One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.

What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.

What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.

It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.

Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.

It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.

Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.

In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.

We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."

What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.

And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...

This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.

There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.

There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."

Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.

You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.

One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.

There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.

And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.

This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?

The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.

It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."

From some distribution, over some space, I guess.

You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.

In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.

That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.

There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.

What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"

Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.

There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.

Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.

We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.

The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.

As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.

It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.

But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."

To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.

As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."

Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.

"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."

Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.

It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.

This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.

(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."

It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)

The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?

"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.

For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.

Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.

Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."

When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)

Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)

The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.

One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."

For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.

And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.

Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.

If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.

But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.

Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?

Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.

Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.

Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.

Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.

It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.

A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.

There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.

It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!

The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.

Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.

There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'

I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.

There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.

The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.

I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.

There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.

How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."

It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...

...better?

The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.

And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.

Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...

...no, something has gone wrong.

We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.

We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.

Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.

It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.

The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.

There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.

I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.

What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.

As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.

I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.

But that was always true, and it was always good.

Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.

"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?

"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?

"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?

It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.

Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.

But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.

We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.

We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!

And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?

The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --

-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.

"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?

"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"

Yes, and?

What on earth did you expect?

That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?

That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?

"Well, yes."

Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.

Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.

Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.

Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.

#ai tag #long post

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peachy-panic · 7 months

Text

BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew.

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips.

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up.

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed.

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry.

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love.

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again.

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head.

“Rolling,” camera echoes back.

“And, action.”

#bbu #like bbu adjacent?#whump writing #whump #whumplr #Henry The Sad Little Starling #I've thought a lot about how BBU workers would potentially be used in the entertainment industry #because it is such a brutal and demanding work environment #and how they would have this exterior of glamor and stardom #but it would be a gilded cage as they say #and nothing would be as fun as it seems #I have an urge to write the follow up chapter #the follow up chapter being the red carpet (and the after party which is worse)#and i know what youre thinking:#hey peachy what about the 800 other stories you have started and neglected #and to that i say:

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daz4i · 8 months

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someone send me writing energy bc i haven't touched my wip in over a month and at this pace i will never finish it.........

#pls. someone needs to write this story. and now it seems that someone has to be me.#mostly bc other ppl don't like it when guys beat each other up consensually in fucked up ways. smh #honestly i'm p sleepy rn idk if it's the best time to try to write. but. idk :( i have an urge now and i'll be mad if i don't follow it #ig i'm stuck bc i don't like how i started this chapter but rewriting it is gonna be hard bc i gotta figure out a whole new vibe

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fangirl-dot-com · 23 days

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😾Really Nice Guy Who Hates Only You

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Celebrity!Reader Genre: Fluff/Miscommunication/Humor/SMAU Summary: Oscar was known to be the epitome of a polite cat. His reputation is that he is genuinely nice to everyone. Well, everyone except for you.

*once again, I have loved writing for this series and it seems like everyone loves these chapters (as they have the highest notes out of all of them). I'm really excited for what is to come! I have loved making all the special tweets and other additions to the posts!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Oscar had been in a bad mood. The garage could practically feel the cloud that surrounded the Aussie as he walked through the garage on Saturday morning for the sprint. The scrunch of the nose and the constant side eyes also gave it away.

Normally, Oscar tends to be more on the quiet side. But today, he was even quieter. Gone was the polite cat, and it was replaced by a very grumpy feline.

“Hey Oscar! Come meet our guests!”

Oscar let out a sigh as he turned around and put a very fake smile on his face. This is the moment he had been dreading ever since you stepped into the garage. He did, or couldn’t, understand why you were wearing his number on the back of the jersey you wore.

It disgusted him.

You were very pretty though, he had eyes. Your hair went very well with the papaya orang and your smile could pretty much kill a man in a 10-foot radius. Except that right now, Oscar wanted your perfect hair to catch on fire and he’d avoid the smile.

When he finally got closer, he stopped a few feet in front of you, not wanting to get too close. Two hands clapped him on the shoulders as Lando started to shake him.

“So Os-cah, this is Y/n L/n, 2-time Grammy Award winner and probably the prettiest guest we’ve ever had.”

All right, so Lando was a gonner.

Oscar fought the urge to roll his eyes right into the back of his head so he wouldn’t have to look at you anymore. But your smile was oh-so pretty. You looked at him with wide eyes as you held out your hand for a shake.

However, Oscar just looked at it, then looked at you.

“Welcome.”

Lando reeled back, confused at his younger teammate’s coldness. The two watched as your smile faltered just a bit. (If Oscar had any remorse, he didn’t show it.) You were quick to recover and spread another smile, even if this one wasn’t as real as the first.

You put your hand down as you greeted, “It’s such an honor to finally meet you! I’ve been a fan for what feels like forever.”

Oscar grunted. “Can’t say the same.”

You absolutely wanted to whimper. You had been waiting to be invited to a Formula 1 garage ever since you won your first Grammy. And well, you had other offers from Red Bull or Ferrari, but the McLaren garage is the one you wanted to be your first. So, you had declined and declined until you knew that you could meet the driver that you had been following for so long.

But now that you finally met him, you wondered why he was such an asshole.

You pushed down your feelings and continued. “That’s ok. My music isn’t for everyone. But I wanted to congratulate you on your rookie season last year!”

“Thanks.”

Ok, Lando knew something was up and he couldn’t take the hurt-puppy-eyes coming from you anymore. The Briton was about to say something, but Zak had decided to interrupt with another celebrity guest.

“Guys, this is Sabrina, she’s also joining Miss L/n in the garage today. Ladies, we have two headsets for you in the back when we’ll go over some last minute car things if you’d like to listen in!” Zak explained.

It only hurt when Oscar eyes lit up at your fellow musician, brushing past you to personally introduce himself. Lando was now left with a very sad Grammy winner on his hands. He gently put his arm around your waist to bring you to the side.

When a long sigh escaped your lips, Lando felt awful.

“Y/n, I swear he’s normally the nicest person on the planet. Oscar always seems to love everyone, no matter the guest.”

Your eyes flitted over to where Oscar was now animatedly talking to Sabrina about her new album. You let out a scoff.

“Yeah, everyone but me. Maybe I should have just taken the offer from Red Bull or Ferrari.”

Lando pouted. He knew that you had been a fan of Oscar’s way back to the start of his F2 season. And then you had purposefully put the word McLaren in many different songs. Hell, your newest album titled “Momentum” was basically a love letter to your beloved team. You even had plans to become an investor once you could make the first payment.

The Briton felt lost. “I was going to find Max and Charles if you’d like to join me?”

You took one more look at Oscar, not surprised to see him glare at you from the side. That action made up your mind and you agreed to go with Lando.

Taking with Max and Charles was like a breath of fresh air. The two were great conversationalists and pretty funny. The Monegasque even invited you into one of the media buildings to look at the behind the scenes, which put you in awe.

The two rivals, thought, couldn’t understand why you were attached to Lando when you had a giant 81 on the back of your jersey.

“Have you met Oscar yet?” Charles asked. When you tensed, he knew that he had asked a wrong question. Your expression quickly became sad.

“Yeah. But I don’t think he likes me very much,” you muttered.

Max scoffed. “That’s absurd. He’s quiet, but he’s nice to everyone.”

Lando winced. “But for some reason, he was being really rude and just standoff-ish.”

You looked so dejected. “At first I thought he might not be a fan of my music, but then he was super smiley with Sabrina and we co-wrote most of mine and her songs. So it’s not the genre.”

The Briton wanted to try to bring your spirits back up, but he noticed the time and said that you and him had to be back at the garage. You said your goodbyes to the Dutchman and Monegasque before you followed Lando back to the garage.

On your way in, Oscar sent you yet another glare as he got ready to be in the car.

Although he had been mean, you still said, “Good luck.”

Maybe he heard you or didn’t, but he never responded or acted like he took it to heart.

When Oscar was able to overtake multiple cars and finish the sprint in P2, you were ecstatic. His terrible attitude did not hinder your joy for the Aussie. You didn’t secretly call yourself the #1-Piastri fan for nothing. Sabrina laughed next to you as you hopped up and down, glad that your driver finished well in the points.

It was sad for Lando who didn’t make it past P5, but the Briton explained that qualifying for the actual race is when it truly counted.

You watched with stars in your eyes as Oscar walked up after Charles to be interviewed by Jensen Button.

The former driver asked the first question.

“Oscar, first congrats on the P2, you did a lot of overtaking. Was that in the strategy?”

The Aussie laughed, really showing that he indeed was polite to everyone.

“Well the strategy is always to win, but we were close with all the upgrades. It’s been good and I’m ready for the races to come.”

A few more questions were asked and exchanged before Jensen somehow brought you up.

“So we saw that Y/n L/n and Sabrina Carpenter were both in the McLaren garage. And we all know that Y/n is a massive McLaren fan as well as your fan. Have you listen to any of her songs?”

Many people definitely saw the change in facial expression when your name was brought up. The smiley Oscar was replaced with a bored one.

“Well, I don’t really listen to artists who bash or make fun of my driving.”

Jensen gave me a very curious look. “She actually praises you in most of her songs.”

The Aussie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like the one where she said she crashed her McLaren like Piastri.”

Your eyes widened, along with everyone else in the garage. Those were definitely not the lyrics to one of your songs. Lando also had wide eyes and he was looking right at you, who seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“I would never do that,” you said, looking into Lando’s hazel eyes. The Briton looked puzzled. He had specifically played or sung songs for the Aussie that mentioned McLaren or Oscar.

You kind of just sank into the background, trying to process what could have gone wrong. Lando on the other hand raced to catch Oscar as he was walking into the garage.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Oscar asked as Lando was directing him to one of the driver rooms. Lando slammed the door and turned to Oscar.

“What are the lyrics to Y/n’s song?”

There was another eye roll. “Lando you sung them to me like two weeks ago.”

Land shook his head. “But tell me.”

Oscar huffed, “Small talk, big love. Act like you don’t care but I disagree. When I crashed my McLaren like Piastri.”

“Stop!”

The Aussie cocked his head.

Lando continued, “Those aren’t the lyrics you muppet. It’s ‘When I crashed my McLaren like past me.’ A few years ago, Y/n used to wreck a lot of cars at a teen. She got better and decided to buy a McLaren when your seat was announced for 2023. And then she crashed it on accident after she got broken up with.”

A look of realization washed over Oscar’s face and then a look of dread. A giant sigh left his lips. Lando thought he was going to pass out or something but the second Papaya driver quickly ran out of the room. He stopped short of where you had sat in the back of the garage and quietly started to step closer.

Your head was in your hands but you looked up when you heard footsteps. You were shocked to be looking at Oscar, who had a guilty look on his face. You shot up out of your seat and began to ramble.

“Oscar, I swear, I would never back and diss you in any of my songs. You’re truly my favorite driver and I was so excited to meet you. I have put your name in my songs before, but it’s only been praise. I’m so sorry that you’ve been thinking that I’d make fun of your driving and-“

Oscar held out a hand to stop you.

But now it was his turn to ramble, hands flying everywhere.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. I’ve been an utter asshole to you all day. That was horrible of me. Lando sung me the song a few weeks ago, but it was pretty mumbled because he couldn’t remember some of the words and I heard Piastri instead of past me and I just thought the worst and…”

Lando was having a field day watching you watch Oscar with stars in your eyes as he apologized over and over again.

The Briton pretended to dust his hands off as he watched Oscar pull out his phone and offer it to you.

“Another day, another matchmaking completed.”

y/n_l/n has posted

y/n_l/n thank you so much McLaren for the amazing day today! It was truly a dream come true to meet my all time favorite driver! little surprise for everyone else - Florida is yours (inspired by a special someone) 🧡

liked by mclaren, its_papaya, oscarpiastri, landoscar, and 3,205,195 others

queeny/n OH MY GOSH NEW SONG AFTER THE MIAMI RACE??

y/n&f1 wouldn't the song be written for Logan then?

y/nxoscar she said inspired - didn't mean that it's actually about him

oscah81 P2 SPRINT RACE AND POSSIBLE NEW WAG

landonorris I too would like a song pls

charles_leclerc we all know she wrote golden about me ♥️

maxverstappen1 I claim midnight rain then

landonorris ☹️

y/n_l/n it's ok lando - working on one now!

y/nsgrammy to think that Oscar thought she dissed him when she's like his biggest fan ever

oscargirlie y/n get's us with the second picture

oscarpiastri was the second picture necessary? and Florida? when did you have time to write that??

y/n_l/n 1. yes, it was very necessary, 2. I wrote it when you ignored me

oscarpiastri and you still wrote me a song?

y/n_l/n of course! most of my songs had you written in mind ☺️

oscarpiastri so. . . dress?

y/n_l/n 😳🤭

loscar-land your honor I love them

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months

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Golden Walkway

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader (Reader is a teacher in Jackson, has long hair.) Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: It’s your birthday, Joel takes you out to the Tipsy Bison, kisses (and does more to) you in the rain, and takes you home to give you a gift (it's sex, the gift is sex). Also, the thought of Joel spitting whiskey in someone's mouth happened and I had to write it out. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Warnings: smut, drinking, consent first, degradation second, followed by so much praise, hair pulling, spitting, Joel calls you a slut, fingering against a brick wall, F receiving oral, I watched that doggy style Narcos gif (for research) a lot, unprotected p in v, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), Joel’s canon age, Reader’s in her 30’s. Words: 4,300 A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first published fic. I'm currently working on a grander scale fic with these two, I hope to have the first chapter out within the next couple of weeks. I just really wanted to get this out there! Thanks for reading and a big thank you to @ohheypedrito for all of her help and also to our phones for not overheating when I send 40 texts at once with ideas for fics. Hope you enjoy, can't even blame the feralness of this on the full moon.

Edit: I posted the Masterlist for Elks, my work these two are included in.

***

“Was turning 21 as fun as they’d show in movies back then?” You’re cuddled in next to Joel on his couch sketching in your notebook while Joel reads a book about Native Americans that you found him. You always do this, a random question or thought to break the comfortable silence.

“Not for me, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and split it on my porch with Tommy. Sarah was only a toddler then and I had work in the morning. Didn’t have the money or the time to go to a bar. ‘Course I don’t think a lotta people did anything the way they’d show in the movies.”

“I always wanted to have my 21st birthday at a bar, ya’ know? Wait until the clock strikes midnight and order a weird named shot.”

“Well, I reckon we could do that at the Bison tomorrow night. Might not be your 21st but I’ll get you whatever you want to drink, and the best part is you can drink before midnight.” Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your forehead, “What do you say, let me take you out for your birthday sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” you sigh into his shoulder, “sounds amazing.”

“Wear that little blue dress I know you have hanging in your closet.”

The drinks flowing through you making you downright giddy, alcohol making you bolder, your body and your inhibitions becoming looser, your hands becoming addicted to touching Joel, first his leg, then his thigh, now his lower stomach, right at his waistband. You haven’t been this tipsy in a long time, your face feeling flushed and red more from your desire than any drink you’ve had tonight.

“You better knock that off before I take you outside in the rain and fuck you against the building, darling,” Joel huffs into your ear. His fiery warning massaging your neck causing your heart rate cooled by your inebriation to pick up.

“Sooo, keep going?” You slur back.

“If that’s what you really want,” Joel puts a forceful squeeze on your upper thigh, a layer of your dress laying between his skin and your skin. If you weren’t both sitting at the bar, and maybe in one of the more darker corners of the saloon you’d surely hike your skirt up and let him learn just how bad you want him.

It feels so good to let go with him, to giggle openly at his jokes, stare at his profile as he talks with a friend or two who stop by to say hello, or place your hand on his broad back just because you want to touch his soft blue denim shirt.

You watch as his tongue darts out and licks the leftover whiskey off his top lip, Joel’s movements becoming a little slower thanks to the amber liquid he’s been drinking all night. Some droplets glisten on his mustache, you fight every urge inside yourself to not lean over and lick them up.

“It’s what I want,” you respond as you move your hand back and forth across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about ready to throw you over my shoulder and run home,” Joel says as he takes your hand into his and pulls it away.

“Not so fast. You told me you’d fuck me in the rain, that’s what I want for my birthday,” you whisper into his ear with a breathy giggle.

“Can’t fuck you out here in public. Small town ‘n all, but I’ll make you feel good,” Joel takes a last swig of his drink, puts the glass down and knocks his fist on the bar to let the bartender know you two are leaving. He leans forward and drawls into your ear, “Now finish your drink if you want me to show you just how happy of a birthday I can give you.”

You nod and gulp your drink down. You’re so wet, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on before. Joel grabs your arm with the perfect amount of pressure, you’ve never been so happy to get outside into the pouring rain.

——

It’s absolutely storming outside, your footsteps sloshing in the puddles on the ground. The rain pelting your’s and Joel’s bodies as you walk through late night Jackson. It feels like you’re the only two people in the whole town as you make your way farther away from the bar. The bulbs of the string lights reflecting off the water gathering on the sidewalks making your path towards Joel’s house golden. You don’t rush, the two of you not scared away by the downpour, the drops cooling your burning skin. Joel turns down the street before his, pulling you behind one of the storage buildings, it’s darker back here, practically pitch black thanks to the rain clouds blocking the moon and the nearest light source being three buildings down. You’re pushed up against the brick, Joel’s hand gently cradling your head to block it from hitting the wall, he’s such a gentleman.

“Happy birthday baby, I need you to tell me you want this, ‘n you’re okay with this, I have plans for you and I need you to tell me you want it.” Joel instructs you, all you can see is his eyes and the faint lines of his facial hair, the rest of him camouflaged by the darkness surrounding the two of you.

“I want it, more than anything. Please,” your voice straining as you beg.

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Joel speaks into your slack mouth as he rubs his arched nose against yours.

“I want you to have your way with me,” you moan against his wet shirt, “so bad.”

“Good girl, now, m’not gonna fuck you here, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and I need to have you in my bed tonight.” Joel starts to move his hand down your body lifting the hem of your dress. “But, you are going to cum for me right here.” Joel captures your mouth with his. His hand starts to trace the outline of your panties, you mew out a cry as his fingers slip through and begin to pet you right where you ache the most. His hands are so big, his fingers so long and thick, always putting the right amount of pressure, moving the way you need him to move. Joel Miller is a capable man, everyone knows that, but nobody, except for you, knows just how capable he is.

Joel sticks a finger in you, though his finger is thick and feels so good, you need more to fill you.

“Another,” you instruct in between fevered kisses. Your pussy clenches as Joel pushes another finger in you. “Yessss,” you moan out against his lips.

“That’s my good girl, gotta get you stretched out f’me.” Joel begins to kiss his way down your chin and neck stopping at your chest, your hard nipples jutting through your wet dress. Joel takes one into his mouth, sucking the fabric and your tit deeper into his mouth. The sloppy wet sounds of Joel’s suctions making you want him more.

“Another finger,” you shudder out. “Three? You really want it tonight, don’t you?” Joel mumbles against your chest as he sticks a third finger in. It burns, it burns in the best way. You’re ready for him, it’s what you’ve been waiting for all night. You bite down on your lip as your legs begin to shake, Joel can tell you’re right on the edge and twists his fingers inside of you as he finger fucks you harder.

Your orgasm bursts forward your whole body going stiff as you try not to wail out into the night.

“That’s iiiiiit baby,” Joel pulls his fingers out of you and softly pets your pussy from hole to clit.

He removes his hand from between your legs bringing it up between the two of you resting his finger tips against your lips, you open your mouth and begin to lick. His tongue meeting yours as you both clean his thick digits covered in you. He takes his hand away leaving just your mouths to taste each other. His kiss turns tender, your kiss turns desperate.

Joel pulls away resting his forehead against yours. “My beautiful birthday girl. Let’s get you home, my gift’s not done.”

——

Your body practically chills with the promise of what is left to come. Joel grabs your hand and you take it depending on him to lead you to his home. Every step you take you feel your wet core heavy with lust, you’re soaked from the rain and from Joel, if you could drown like this, you would go down with the sinking ship. His house comes into view, your body tingling in anticipation at the site as the both of you speed your footsteps up in perfect agreement.

He throws open the gate, you’re following so close you almost trip on his heels making your way up the walkway and steps. He fumbles for his keys and unlocks the doors, you take the opportunity to run your hands all over his back and sides, rubbing the wet cloth of his shirt as it molds to his body. The door swings open and you both shuffle into his living room gasps escaping your mouths, both out of breath from your dash home and your mutual want for each other. You step out of your wet shoes and shake your hair out.

“Take your dress off, right now.” Joel huffs out as he tosses his keys on the console table and begins to kick his boots off.

You strip yourself of your baby blue frock as fast as you can. You’ve never had a reason to wear such a revealing piece of clothing. You don’t know why you held onto it, let alone grabbing it from the communal clothing rack, never thinking anything, or anyone, would be worthy enough for you to dress up for. Joel’s worthy, so worthy.

“Feel like I’m a little underdressed here…” your words grab Joel’s attention as he moves his hands up to his chest to begin to unbutton his denim shirt. He gets one button taken care of before he rips it open. Shame, it’s your favorite shirt, you'll have to fix it for him later. You watch as a button rolls underneath a table, before you can note where it lands, your attention turns back to Joel to find him stepping out of his jeans and underwear leaving him completely naked.

What a sight, what a fucking sight. There’s only a lamp on in the room, Joel’s body being cast in amber color and shadow, one side of him on full display glowing in the light, the other more difficult to discern. He moves forward stalking you. “Now I’m the underdressed one here. Take them off for me,” he says as he moves to pick up a bottle of whiskey from his shelf.

You follow his instructions shucking your underwear down your legs and leaving them pooled at your feet.

“Good girl,” Joel says as he begins to walk towards you unscrewing the lid off the bottle. He stands in front of you and takes a drink. “Open your mouth,” he orders as he grabs your hair and tips your head back. He takes another pull from the bottle, this time he raises his mouth over your mouth and begins to dribble drips of whiskey down from his mouth into yours. A moan raises from your throat, causing Joel to tighten his hold on your hair and arch your head back even more. He spits the rest of the whiskey straight into your mouth, you happily swallow his spit and liquor down. He unwinds his hands from your hair, takes another drink and kisses you, the whiskey and his tongue spilling into your mouth. Joel pulls back and takes his last swig before resting the bottle on the table. “Get upstairs.”

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life, tripping over your feet as you rush your way up, Joel’s naked form hunting you like prey up each step.

The sight of Joel’s bed brings a new wave of goosebumps to your skin.

“Bend over on the bed darlin,” Joel turns on a lamp in the corner and pulls it closer. “Need to lick and fuck you with my tongue.”

You move over to Joel’s side of the bed and bend forward, your ass sitting high in the air and your face in the sheets, you inhale the smell of Joel on his sheets. You swing your hips in giddy anticipation of what’s about to happen.

You feel his body lean over yours, his erection laying over your lumbar. “Okay baby, once again, need you to tell me you’re good with me having my way with your body,” he tempts into your ear.

“Fuck, y—yes, fuck, of course I am good. So good.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s heavy body lifting off of yours as he kneels between your legs. You feel his hot breaths on you where you’re aching for him the most, you widen your stance egging him on to touch you. “Look at you,” Joel licks your thigh, “so fuckin’ wet you’ve spilled out into your thighs.”

You scream a pleasured yell as Joel’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your thigh and sucks your skin into his mouth. The pain is perfect. He loosens his bite, kissing and licking the spot, the sensation making your body quiver.

“Okay baby?”

“Y-y-yessss,” you answer.

“Whaddo you need sweetheart?”

“Lick me,” you beg out, “please.”

“‘Course. Where do you want me to lick you?” Joel questions as he nuzzles his head against your ass cheek, giving it a small bite.

“My pussy. Pleeeaaase,” you’d say you sound pathetic but you couldn’t care less, your lust overshadowing any type of pride.

“Mm, you sound so needy baby, you sound like you really need my tongue on you, huh?” His teasing drawl drives you crazy, your body won’t stop moving, absolutely radiating tensity from your want.

“Please,” you implore, sobbing out.

“Alright baby,” his hands grab your cheeks and spreads them, widening his view of you. “Prettiest thing I ever seen, love your pussy.”

This act feels so depraved, everything on display for him, legs and cheeks spread wide, your pussy exhibited for him like it’s an art piece.

You literally scream into the bed, biting down on Joel’s comforter as his tongue finally meets your core. This, thiiiiiiis is what you’ve been wanting all night. Joel moans against you, not being able to hold himself back as he tastes you, his fevered licks exploring your cunt, his large tongue mapping every inch of you. He’s absolutely conquering you, the noises of his lips and tongue smacking against your wetness soundtracking his journey.

He can feel you getting close your hips beginning to cant as your orgasm begins to crest. You knew it wouldn’t take long, between the alcohol buzz and Joel’s tongue lapping up your wetness and cum from earlier, you knew you’d be a goner.

“Mmf, cum for me,” Joel speaks against you, his mouth full of you, too busy to pull away to clearly speak. You don’t think he can get any closer to you, his tongue working your orgasm up in intensity with each swirl and dash against your clit. You feel it, it’s here. Your legs instantly collapse, thankful that the rest of your body is resting on the bed. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut and then begin to rapidly blink as your orgasm shatters through you. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit as it pulses. You’re too turned on to make a noise, Joel stepping in for you and groaning as your juices seep out of you.

“Did so good baby,” Joel says leaving one last kiss on your clit before standing up behind you. You want to flip over to look at him, you haven’t seen his face since you laid down on the bed. You have no energy, you’re just a shell of a woman, the only sensations you can feel is the pool of wetness in between your legs and your light inebriation.

Your attention gets pulled to the sound of Joel spitting in his hand, followed by a hiss coming out of his mouth. When you realize exactly what he’s doing, you summon the strength needed to turn over. You flip over, your back thudding on the mattress your legs still spread wide, feet resting on the floor. And there…. there…. THERE he is, standing in the middle of his room, one large hand wrapped around his hard cock softly stroking as he watches you with hooded eyes. You know you just came, but the sight makes your pussy clench with desire.

Joel jerks himself off as his eyes roam your exhausted form. “Been thinking ‘bout this all day. You all laid out in front of me heaving for air after cummin’ all over my tongue,” slow strokes matching his lazing words. “Just about canceled our night out when you opened your door in that little blue dress, looked like you were wearing the sky, baby.”

You bite your lip as all of your senses are so overtly overwhelmed by lust. The sight of Joel’s handsome face watching you, the hazel flecks in his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lamp. The smell of the rain on your skin mixed with the heady scent of your arousal and Joel’s sheets. The taste of Joel’s whiskey tongue still in your mouth. The sound of Joel’s fist pumping along his hard cock. The feel of the aftershocks of your orgasm still quaking your body. It’s so fucking much, you need Joel inside you. The thought of feeling him stretch you causes a whimper.

“Yeah baby? Havin’ a hard time over there?” Joel stops stroking his hard length, his hand pauses on his shaft. “You want me to fuck you now?”

“Pleeeease,” you keen out.

“Alright sweetheart.” Joel confidently strides over to you, dick still in hand. He stops right at the edge of your feet. “Turn back around ’n get on all fours in the middle of the bed f’me.”

You follow his instructions eager to please. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can feel Joel enter you.

“Good girl,” he praises as the mattress dips lower with his weight behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loud, your whole body thrumming, you gulp down a breath of air trying to calm your need. You feel Joel’s cock brush against your ass cheek, he’s so close to fucking you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you real good and hard now. Happy birthday baby.”

And just like that, Joel buries his cock inside of you, you’re absolutely stretched around him. Your clit already worked over by Joel’s tongue, now your hole deliciously stinging while it flutters around his cock. He begins thrusting, tender and slow full strokes. Entering and exiting, swirling the head of his cock right at the entrance before plunging back in because he knows you love the feeling. Joel’s groans and your cries join in song as he begins to pound faster, the sound of your bodies slapping together match the rhythm.

“Feel so fucking good, always so perfect for me. S’a good girl, always take it so good,” Joel grits out.

He grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist as he pounds into you. “No one knows how fucking slutty you get for me behind these walls. They think you’re one of those innocent little teachers.” Joel pulls your hair harder causing a scream of ecstasy from you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You do. It’s so rough, so different from how gentle he always is with you. It feels like a luxury to be treated this way by him.

“Y-y-y-yes, God I love it,” you whimper.

“That’s right. That’s what I like to hear. So pretty so smart. So much smarter than me, now I’m makin’ you stupid with my cock, right baby?”

Everybody knows Joel Miller as the strong, silent type, a man of few words, somebody who doesn’t do chit chat. But with you in his bed naked and wailing as he slams into you, Joel Miller won’t shut up.

“Doin’ so good for me. So pretty, so perfect f’me. So wet for me.”

“You made me so wet earlier, I was afraid I was going to leave a mark on the barstool.” Your words coming out as tortured weeps, so lost in your ecstasy you struggle with every word spoken.

“Fuuuuuck.” That got him good. He pounds you even harder, the bed frame shaking violently against his wall, your body and cunt acting as if it’s the only barrier between Joel knocking a hole in the plaster. “Had I fuckin’ known I would have made you stick your face on that chair and made you lick yourself up as I fuck you against it.”

That’s it, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Joel’s deep timbered accent grunting those deviant words as he grabs you and begins to roll his hips into your cunt. Your body is strung so tight and rigid in all places besides your hips and core, pumping and rolling along with Joel’s as he fucks you. You’re close again, your panting breaths letting Joel know.

“Baby, if you gotta cum, cum,” his grip on your hips pressure into you.

“Going … going.. going to,” the only words you can say as your third orgasm radiates out of your body, your pussy is the epicenter, tingles firing through your veins, your hands fisting the blankets at your detonation. Slack jawed and fucked senseless you rally the strength to not disintegrate and fall into Joel’s bed. Your world has been shattered by Joel, but your body survives for him, your legs and arms shaking under gravity and your weight as they deal with the fallout.

“C’mere baby, lemme help you.” Of course he can tell you’re struggling. He reaches his hands around, clutching your stomach and pulling you up against him. Your back up against his chest, his hand seeking out your breast, the other wrapping around your torso and clutching you to him. He holds you as he fucks into you, his nose brushing against your ear as he puffs and grunts against your neck. “Fucking. Love. You. So. Much.” Each word matching a thrust into you. Your hands find his and grip them, you’ve never felt more loved and protected. Joel Miller has got you.

You feel the familiar shudder in Joel’s movements as he edges close to his climax. His labored breaths getting louder and more fevered against your neck. You’re absolutely wrecked, but the angle of Joel’s cock inside of you mixed with the feeling of the shudder in his movements as he edges himself brings forth another orgasm. Words are gone, just sounds, whatever your throat can muster up and out of your mouth.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” Joel repeats. His hands squeezing yours so tightly, his chest heaving against your back, his strong thighs straddling yours, his nose pressing into your ear. You feel his body tense as he pulls out. His release coating your pussy as his whole body surrounds you. Hot breaths huffing against the side of your face in between featherlight kisses. “Love you,” a whisper in your ear so delicate and sweet as he lets go of your hands. Your body falling forward without his support, your arms catching you before crashing down on the bed. Joel gets up with a groan as you lay yourself down on your stomach, taking the opportunity to stretch your legs out before rolling over on your side to watch Joel. He stands arms akimbo in the middle of the room. He’d look like a Greek statue if his shoulders weren’t rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous and he looks just as wrecked as you feel.

“Probably shouldn’t have gotten up as quick as I did,” he chuckles. “Damn well feel like I’m standing in the middle of a earthquake.” You love the casual banter he puts forth seconds after being deep inside you, his cum still covering your core. This is love.

You smile at him, your cheek resting on your hand as a makeshift pillow. You’re exhausted… the whole night and your four orgasms catching up with you. Eyes feeling heavy, matching your limbs you begin to drift off.

A wet sensation in between your legs jerks you awake. “Sorry baby, just want to clean you up,” a whisper just as light as Joel’s tender attention as he washes you lulls you back to sleep.

——

“Baby,” Joel’s low voice gently wakes you up along with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You groan as you stretch your sore muscles under the sheet, opening your eyes to find Joel gazing down lovingly at you. He’s backlit by the filtered morning sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows. What a way to wake up. “Happy birthday sweetheart, I’d let you sleep all day but I need to give you my present.” His face is so bright and cheerful, a boost in your confidence provided by just how happy he looks when he’s with you.

“Thought you gave me your present already last night,” you yawn.

“Sweet girl, that was a present for both of us. Now come on, get up.” You grab his offered hand and reluctantly get out of bed. Joel wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, his hands splayed across your back as you nuzzle your face in his warm chest. “Happy birthday.”

A/N: THANK YOU for reading my first ever fic. My inbox is always open. :)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal

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bunnywritesjunk · 11 months

Text

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You are settling in to living in a new country. Your Alpha wants to show you how important you are to him.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 3.4k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Oh my GOD. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I can't believe the amount of love this fic is getting. I just had to write another chapter for you guys asap. I have a taglist so comment if you'd like to join it.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Two:

You sigh as you take in the barren state of your room. All that was left was boxes and your suitcases. Your mom is going to send the rest of your belongings after you arrive in Amsterdam. You were sad to leave your childhood home and your parents but, excited to see what the future holds. Especially now that you have a very sweet Alpha taking care of you. As much as you hate to admit it, your inner Omega has longed for this day. You still couldn't shake the nerves of moving to a completely different country. The AOMO assisted you with your visa which was easy to get approved for. Countries were more lenient with citizenship when it came to obtaining a mate. You haven't seen König in about a week. He went back to Amsterdam to prepare for your arrival. A knock sounded at your door before it opened.

“You ready?” Your Dad asked, moving to grab your suitcases for you.

“Yeah.” You followed him out of the room.

Your Mother was standing near the door, her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. You went over and hugged her.

“My baby girl, moving out. I'm gonna miss you.”

“I'll come visit, don't worry.”

“You better.” Your dad called an Uber to get to the airport.

The drive was silent besides the quiet radio in the background. The airport was busy. This was your first time flying by yourself, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. You gave your mother and father one last hug before to went to check your bags. Your mother shed a tear and adjusted your protection collar again, urging you to be safe. You bid them goodbye and headed to check your bags and go through security. Once you made it to your gate your phone vibrated. You didn't recognize the number.

'Hello liebe, It is König. Kara has given me your number.'

'I am not used to texting, I text no one. Are you at the plane?'

Your heart jumped with excitement hearing from him.

'Hi König, I am at my gate. It boards in about an hour I think.'

'Wonderful, I will be waiting for you when you arrive.'

'See you then.'

You suppressed a squeal as you put your phone away. Your inner Omega was getting a little out of hand with her feelings about him. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush. You distracted yourself by using the bathroom and buying some expensive airport snacks to tide you over on the ride. It was a seven-hour overnight flight set to arrive at eleven am Netherlands time. Once you boarded the plane you got comfortable for the long flight. You brought a blanket from home and a neck pillow. Kara set you up with a window seat. As you took off you silently said goodbye to the big city and hello to your new future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke as the lights of the plane cabin turned on. The flight attendants told everyone to prepare for landing. You gathered your things and gazed out your window. The city was lush, the leaves were turning slightly as fall rolled in. Your heart pounded against your chest with excitement, your Omega desperately wanted to see König. You still had to go through customs and baggage claim.

König wasn't much better. Throughout the week he had distracted himself by cleaning and buying things for your arrival, but that did little to quell the Alpha in him. He brought new bedding for your nest. He didn't know what kind you'd like so he got a little bit of everything. Fluffy faux fur blankets, cooling quilts, silk sheets, you name it. He also started putting aside t-shirts he has worn in case you wanted them for your nest. His apartment had two bedrooms, one of which he never used. It had a bed and that was about it. Although he desperately wanted you to sleep in his bed, he knew Omegas needed their space to nest and feel at home. He furnished the room with a desk, nightstand, dresser, and TV. He would leave the decorating up to you as that has never been his strong suit. He waited outside of baggage claim tapping his foot anxiously. He had arrived entirely too early but couldn't stand to sit in his apartment any longer.

Customs went by smoothly. You scanned the conveyor belts for your luggage. The longer the wait was the more your heart pounded. You were starting to sweat making your scent waft to the people around you. You moved to a corner with fewer people to avoid the annoyed looks people would give you. Your luggage finally made its round in the rotunda and you snatched it as fast as you could. You walked outside to the pickup area the sun blinding you for a moment as you looked around. You inhaled deeply trying to pinpoint König's scent. The faint smell of bread and cinnamon entered your nose through the breeze. You looked to the left seeing a familiar mop of hair behind a black SUV. He was too tall not to be the Alpha you were looking for. You walked up to him his back turned to you.

“König.” You said happily.

He turned to you surprised. “You're here.”

König was trying to contain his excitement. His inner alpha pressured him to pick you up, to hold you. As if reading his mind, you hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you, dwarfing you. He bent down resting his nose in your hair, savoring your scent. You looked up at him keeping your arms around his waist. He had his black surgical mask on.

“I'm so happy to see you.”

“I spent every day thinking of you liebe.”

He reluctantly released the embrace and opened the passenger side door for you. You sat in the car and watched him load your luggage into the trunk. He slid into the driver's seat glancing at you before pulling off onto the road. His scent sweetened the longer he was in your presence.

“How was the flight?” He asked.

“It was easy, I just slept.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

König reached behind your seat to the back and grabbed a white paper bag. He handed it to you all without taking his eyes off the road. Inside was a croissant and a peach Danish.

“Oh thank you König. You really know the way to woo me.” You chuckled taking a bite of the Danish.

He responded with 'hmm' and a content smile. The ride was about thirty minutes. You gazed out the window taking in the sights of your new city. Many people rode bikes and there were endless cafes. König parallel parked onto a quiet residential block. You got out of the car taking in your surroundings. The houses were all unique in color and style. Only one person was walking down the street. König unloaded your bags and put them on the sidewalk. You went to grab them but he shooed your hands away. He locked the car and started walking. The house he led you to was a brick home with a few steps leading to the foyer. He opened the door and let you walk inside first before carrying your bags in with ease. You walked up the two flights of stairs.

“The door is open.” König said from behind you.

The second door came into view and you opened the door for him. He sets your bags down and closes the door behind him. The apartment was furnished but bland. Not much decor or color. It was obvious he doesn't spend much time here as it did not look lived in.

“Come.” He said leading you down the small hallway.

He opened the first door, it was the bathroom. Quite large for an apartment bathroom, you were excited to use the tub. He then lead you to the second door it was a nice furnished bedroom there were a lot of shopping bags near the bed.

“This is your room. I brought nesting material for you but, I was not sure what you liked.”

You walked in. The natural light of the morning flooded into the room through the large windows. The building was high enough that you had a decent view of the neighborhood.

“König, you didn't have to buy all these for me.”

“Nonsense.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.”

König's heart thumped against his chest. He didn't expect you to use his title so soon, but he was over the moon.

“You're welcome Omega.” He purred.

Your Omega preened at the title. Although the situation was new, you felt safe and cared for. You started opening some of the bedding to assess them for your new nest. There was a large dark blue comforter with matching silk sheets. You knew you should focus on unpacking but the temptation to build your nest was too high. König watched you from the door with adoration. He was proud of himself for making his Omega feel happy and safe. He brought your luggage into your room to unpack whenever you were ready.

You were completely engrossed in your nest you didn't realize König was watching you. You took off your shoes and jacket and started arranging the sheets first to have a silky base. Then you used the quilts as a border before you could arrange it properly your phone started ringing, taking you out of the daze you were in. You reached for your phone in your jacket pocket. It was your mom.

“Mom it's so early there you didn't have to call now.”

“I know sweetie I just was paranoid. Did you arrive safe?”

“I did, I'm at König's now.”

“Oh, great ok that's all I was worried about. I'm gonna head back to sleep. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too Mom”

You hung up the phone and looked around at the mess of packaging on the floor. You were debating whether you should continue making your nest or clean your mess up. Sensing your internal struggle König spoke.

“Let's unpack Schatz.”

“Oh, right.”

You unzipped your suitcases and started sorting things into the dresser and closet. You instructed König to put your toiletries in the bathroom and put your clothes in certain drawers. He was happy to help, spending time with his Omega was the most important thing to him. König was given a little over three months' leave to settle with his Omega. After Christmas, he had to go back on missions. The thought made his heart ache. He shook off the negative feelings before she could pick up on anything, not wanting her to worry. König picked up the packaging placing it in one of the shopping bags. He went to the kitchen to throw it away.

Now that he was here he did not know what to do. Does he give her space? Should he take her out? König wants to spend as much time as possible with her, but he did not want to be overbearing. Before he could overthink, he heard you calling him. Walking into your room he saw you kneeling on the bed.

“Take off your shoes and come I want to test something.” You said.

He obliged, taking his shoes off. You waved him over to your unfinished nest. He stepped up to you hesitantly not wanting to cross any boundaries with your nest. You grabbed his hand and made him lie down. König stiffened not wanting to ruin anything. He has never been invited into an Omega's nest before. You started arranging your nesting materials around him. Once you got a good sense of how many blankets you needed for both of you to be comfy, you released him. He sat up carefully trying not to disturb anything that you arranged. He was honored that you'd feel comfortable just being in the room while you created your space.

While making your nest you noticed how barren the room was. You wanted it to be warm and cozy. You looked up at König.

“Let's go shopping, Alpha. Can we?”

“Sure, liebe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König was surprised you had so much energy after your night of travel. You took in the scenery of the local shops. You slipped your hand into Konigs and led him into a home decor shop. König let himself be dragged around as you browsed. Every shop they went into you picked up small things. A wall mirror, a pretty tapestry, a cute frog statue, you had to have it. One of the shops you walked into sold Omega protection collars. You sighed.

“I wouldn't mind wearing mine as much if it looked better.”

The shop made custom-fit metal collars. There was a beautiful gold metal collar with a dangle charm in the center. It came down to a point near the clavicle. Contrary to your basic black leather one.

“Would you like this one?” König asked.

“Oh, no it's expensive.”

You moved to walk out of the shop but you felt a hand on your waist stop you. König pulled you back to him gently and waved over the sales associate.

“Can she try this one on?” The worker nodded and took the collar out of the case.

You removed your collar with the key you kept in your wallet and let the worker place the gold one on you. You looked in the mirror and smiled. It complimented you in the best way, simple yet elegant. The worker explained that they do custom fittings that take a few days to make but it's worth it. You removed the collar and handed it back.

“She would like to get fitted.” König said suddenly.

“What? No König really it's too much.”

“Just in case.”

“In case what?”

He didn't answer. The worker did a few measurements around your neck and the size and placement of your scent glands, writing them down on a form. After they were done they bid the both of you goodbye and looked forward to your order.

“I don't think I'm gonna get it.” You told König.

“It's too much...” You added

“That's ok.” He said.

He placed his arm around your waist as you walked, holding your shopping bags in the other hand. You had a feeling he was planning something but you let it go for the time being.

By the time you got home, it was getting dark. König placed your shopping bags into your room. You yawned.

“You should sleep liebe, you've had a busy day.” König said.

“Yeah, I'll head to bed early so I can finish my nest.” You stretched your back and walked to your room. König followed behind you heading to his room. He grabbed your wrist spinning you back toward him. His other hand caressed your cheek while leaning down to your level. He pulled down his mask revealing his plump lips.

“Goodnight Omega.” He kissed your cheek.

König felt it was only right to return the kiss you gave him before. He let the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling away. Heat crept from your neck to your cheeks. König walked to his room smiling to himself. You leaned against your door, heart racing. You opened the door, your inner Omega was reeling from your Alpha's attention. Your alpha? You were completely smitten by the giant Apex. You closed the door, changed into pajamas, and jumped into your nest. You sighed into the pillows, fantasizing about your Alpha. You began adjusting your nest to your liking. It ended up taking you an hour to make it perfect, keeping in mind the space for König. You'd never made a nest with someone else in mind but it was nice. You got cozy and let sleep take over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light entered your room slowly waking you. You looked at your phone, it was 6:04 am. You sat up and stretched, happy that you beat the jetlag. Wondering if König was awake, you quietly stepped out of your room and down the hallway to his room. You knocked gently. König was a light sleeper. He heard your small footsteps before you knocked and went to open the door. He looked down at your face still flushed with sleep.

“Good morning.” You said, absentmindedly rubbing your eyes.

König purred deeply. You looked so cute in your PJs he wanted to pull you into his bed., for more than just cuddling. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Morning Schatz.” He guided you down the hallway to the kitchen.

“I can make us pancakes for breakfast.” You suggested.

“Sounds wonderful.”

König watched you flit around the kitchen. The kitchen was barely used because of his job, so it was nice seeing it get used. Your head snapped to the alpha when you realized he was watching you.

“Go sit, I'll bring it to you.”

König nodded and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV as he waited and listened to the kitchen utensils clanging in the background. A few minutes later you emerged with a plate for him topped with syrup. He took the plate and looked at the food quizzically.

“What's wrong?” you asked.

“These...are pancakes?” He analyzed the fluffy discs.

“Yeah, are pancakes different here?” He nodded.

“I'll try them.” He carved out a bite with his fork. You watched him intensely.

“How is it?”

“...Sweet, but good.” He said.

You smiled and went to get yourself a plate. You plopped down next to him on the couch and you took a bite. You watched the random movie he put on as you ate, feeling perfectly content with your Alpha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, you were on the couch typing away on your laptop working on your next chapter. König was struggling to find something to do with himself. He wanted to give you space to write, but desperately wanted to spend time with you. He understood that your job was time sensitive. He was lucky to have you here at all. You heard König pacing behind you causing you to lose your concentration. You got up and went to your room. You rummaged through your suitcase, finding a copy of your fantasy novel. You walked up to König and handed him the book before returning to your spot on the couch. He appeared next to you on the couch glancing over the blurb.

“I thought I had to buy a copy?” He said.

“Well, you need something to do.” You chuckled.

You two fell into a comfortable silence with König's mind now occupied. After a while, you glanced at the Alpha. He was engrossed in the pages well into the starting plot.

“How is it so far?”

“So good Schatz. I have not read a novel in a long time, I like it.”

“I'm glad.”

König bent the corner of the page he was on and closed the book. You nearly felt your heart jumped out of your chest.

“Ah! König!!!” You grabbed the book and attempted to straighten the corner out.

“This is a book sin!” You exclaimed.

“Oh? But I have no bookmark.” He gave you an amused look.

“Ok just ask for one I have many!” You pouted.

“The book isn't hurt.”

“How do you know?”

König laughed. It was so genuine and hearty that you almost forgot what you were upset about. You turned away and set the book page-side down. König's laughter died down and he looked at you.

“You're adorable, Schatz.”

“Hmph.” You said.

König reached around cupping your cheek. You turned to him. It was surprising to see his face a couple of inches away from yours. His eyes were soft as they gazed into yours, he looked down at your lips before capturing yours in a chaste kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the kiss. Your bottom lip slotted in between his in the most delicious way. He pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again. One of his hands slithered around your waist pulling you flush against his torso. The other hand firmly gripped the side of your jaw.

Your heart pounded so loud you swear he could hear it.

König smiled against your lips. He finally had his Omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#konig fluff #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig x reader #alpha konig #tw a/b/o #a/b/o fic #alpha/beta/omega au #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse #omega reader #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig x y/n #könig #könig fluff #könig mw2 #könig mwii

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celtic-crossbow · 1 month

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 25

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut; Pregnancy symptoms; Pregnancy exams; Mild angst

A/N: I hope others laugh at this as hard as I did while writing it. Even if you don't, it's okay. I was greatly amused and I'm not ashamed.

Another cold night, but at least the house was on a hill and surrounded by trees on most sides; a large structure with a gated driveway. The fire was roaring and everyone was bedding down for the night in the same room since the last few times of sleeping in different rooms or on different levels had proven problematic when quick escape was needed. Carol chose to lay closer to the fireplace so you and Daryl could have the bedroll to yourselves—when you actually chose to go to bed.

“Has anyone seen Daryl or Y/N?” Lori asked after laying an extra blanket on your bedroll.

“She probably had to pee again.” Carl giggled from his sleeping bag.

“Do you need something, Lori?” Carol sat up, hugging herself from the cool air when her blanket fell a little. Carol knew exactly where the two of you were and she would make sure you were left alone there.

You had gone from touch me not straight into don’t stop touching me. While Daryl felt pride in the fact that you only had eyes for him, he may or may not have been beginning to wonder if you could possibly break his dick. It had been nearly three straight days of a constant desire for him. That day alone, you had begged him to take you straight into the upstairs bathroom of the huge house and stuff you with three fingers, fucking two orgasms from you within moments. The two of you had filed back in with everyone else before your absence was even noticed.

Everything had barely been brought from the vehicles before you were saying you needed to pee, tapping one finger against the middle of Daryl’s palm as you took his hand. A clear signal. Five minutes later, you were bouncing on his cock (with a little help) while he was sprawled out by a tree.

And now, Daryl was panting harshly, not even bothering to tuck himself away before or after he slid down the wall and landed on his ass. You were still bent over the sink, thighs a sticky mess, his spend leaking from your deliciously abused cunt. Grabbing your panties, leggings, and sweats to drag them up over your hips was almost impossible. Almost. You dared not ask your poor partner.

You had been insatiable for him, needing his hands on you constantly. You seemed to be in a perpetual state of arousal, and god did he feel good. He had not complained a single time, even when it was clear he was tired or worried about something else. He took care of you first and foremost. And well, he was getting laid, so it wasn’t like he got nothing out of the deal. But as you turned to face him in that very moment, he just looked wrecked. Like if he tried to satisfy your urges one more time, he might literally die. With a fond smile, you stepped toward his outstretched legs and tapped the sole of his boot with the toe of your own.

“Get up.” The look he gave you from beneath his lashes wasn’t angry. Far from it. It was reluctant and exhausted but he began to lever himself upright without a word, one corner of his mouth drawing upward for a brief moment when he was standing before you, seemingly awaiting your command. God, you had to admit that it was causing some seriously hard to ignore feelings in an area that had many times already been thoroughly fucked. You kept your eyes on his even as his pretty blues followed your hands toward his cock. He made no move to pull away or complain but you could have sworn you saw his entire body melt when you began to gingerly tuck him away. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.” You planted a kiss on his cheek. After everything he’d done for and to you that day, it was the gratitude that made him blush. You couldn’t have stopped the giggle if you tried. “Let’s go get some sleep, okay?”

“Ya good, then?” His hand came to rest on your hip, eyes questioning.

“I’m better than good, Daryl. You,on the other hand, are about to fall asleep standing.” The archer didn’t argue. He must have known he was swaying on his feet. Driving and lugging around supplies and taking care of you, he had to be bone-weary. Regardless of your discomfort, the ache already returning in full force, you wanted him to rest. He was trying so hard to take better care of himself at your request—eating full meals, sleeping a little more, wearing more clothing when hunting so he stayed warm—that you didn’t want to be the cause of fucking up all you had worked so hard to instill in him. “Come on, sleep time for you.”

He simply nodded and let himself be led from the room with quite the yawn. It was all eyes on you the moment the two of you stepped foot inside the large den, the warmth of the fire overwhelming any anxiety the stares could have even remotely caused. Arousal was quickly dampened by the lure of impending sleep and warmth. Dary was not taking watch, set to hunt the next morning, so you’d have him to yourself all night.

He let you under the blankets first, assisting you down until you were situated on your side. When he climbed in after you, he took his usual position and angled himself so that your belly could rest on his stomach and hip while you could curl right into his chest. As wound up as you had been only moments before, your body was now succumbing to the siren call of sleep. You just needed to take care of one more thing.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?” Even that simple acknowledgement was somehow slurred. You had really worn him out.

“Sleep late and then go hunting, okay?” You wondered how hard you’d need to fight him. He gave in on a great many things as the pregnancy progressed and you became more and more uncomfortable, but hunting was his time to recharge. You didn’t want to take that away from him, but you were also afraid of him spiraling back into bad habits.

“Okay.” He breathed, sounding more than half asleep. You blinked against his chest. So, you just needed to fuck him senseless to get him to agree to important things. Noted.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.”

He was already softly snoring, his warm breath disturbing your hair.

When you awoke, the sun’s warmth could not compare to the heat of the flames from the night before, but it was still welcome. It meant you had survived into another day. The fact that you were still firmly pressed against Daryl was an absolute bonus. It was well into the morning and he was still absolutely sound asleep. You weren’t worried that he was sick, even if the others most likely had their concerns. They were all accustomed to greeting him when they stepped outside to start the day or finding him completely absent on a hunt. You knew exactly why he slept late.

You felt him inhale deeply and begin to stir, grumbling something you didn’t understand. Pulling away to stretch, you felt a tug on your skin, drawing your attention to your chest, where your shirt had pulled from your flesh but was still stuck to Daryl’s button-up. “What the fuck?” The mortified look on the archer’s face said that he was thinking the same thing you were. You didn’t remember cum getting on your shirt or his, but you weren’t exactly thinking straight either. “Where’s your bag?”

Daryl jerked his chin toward the area just behind you. The man may have opened up around you and Carol but if anyone else saw this, even if they didn’t choose to laugh or tease—which was unlikely—you feared that Daryl would shut down and pull away from you.

“And mine?” You asked, biting your lip.

He cleared his throat, the sound stuttering. “S’there too.” His back was to everyone but he’d know who was there. He had a way of identifying people through breath and footfall that was truly impressive. You, on the other hand, had to crane your neck to scope out the area. Carol was putting away some leftovers the best way she could. Lori was sitting with Carl, a math book on the kid’s lap. Glenn was laughing with Maggie in the doorway. Too many people. Daryl would likely run away, never to be seen again.

“Okay, first thing’s first.” You pried the articles of clothing apart, wincing at the nearly imperceptible sound that was likely heard by no one but sounded like a chainsaw to your ears. “I’m gonna go under the blankets so you can reach my bag for a different sweater. May as well grab your shirt while you’re there.”

“Gonna think you’re suckin’ my—”

“Well, you have two choices.” You whispered. “We can get up, grab our clothes to go change, and hope for the best. But we will have to walk past Glenn.” You peered around Daryl’s head to find Glenn and Maggie exactly where they had been, only T-Dog had joined them. “Or we can try and change under these blankets. I’ll giggle and mention Thumper, and they won’t think anything of it.”

“Right.” Dary didn’t seem convinced but kept the blankets high over both of you while he reached across your head, snagging both of your bags by the small strap at the top. He dragged them over and riffled through them, swallowing convulsively while pulling out shirts for each of you. “Got ‘em.”

“Okay, this might be a little tricky, but it’s doable.”

It was indeed tricky, but it was also indeed doable. The blankets were over your heads as you changed, with your originally planned giggles easily shifting into real ones. Thumper had joined the party and seemed to be aiming for their dad’s crotch each time your bodies touched. You could have sworn you heard a huff of a laugh from Daryl a couple of times as well. With a chuckle of hold still, you made sure the buttons of your partner’s shirt were even and patted his chest.

“All jizz free.” You whispered with a nod, feeling his fingers brush your skin while he pulled your pale blue, long sleeved t-shirt down to cover your belly.

“Gross.”

“You say that like it’s been in your mouth before.” The look on his face had you laughing out loud and Daryl throwing back the blankets before the others could assume anything more was happening. The archer clambered off the bedroll and stretched, then held out a hand to you. You swatted it away. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit. My back hurts.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “M’goin’ huntin’. Ya stay close to ev’ryone else, ya hear?”

“I will. I promise.” When you met his eyes, they were full of such softness that you could almost feel it on your skin. He was taking each promise you made to heart and trusting you to keep them. And you would, even if staying inside made your skin crawl sometimes. Hell, being outside made your skin crawl. With the hormones taking over, you were fighting a losing battle, so you might as well choose the side that kept you and Thumper safe.

“Alright then. Be back ‘fore dark.” Daryl grabbed his crossbow from against the nearest wall, brushing a hand over the top of your head before it latched onto the top of his bag to hoist it off the floor, his gaze still meeting yours. “Promise.”

So this was a thing now. Promises between you. It both terrified you and filled your heart to the point of nearly bursting. You gave him a nod whilst fighting back the tears you knew would come the moment he was out of sight. He didn’t need to worry that he’d done something wrong. And he would because Daryl was still learning how to process anything that didn’t hurt. He was definitely still working on his social skills if his bark of what’re ya lookin’ at toward Glenn was anything to go by. Both he and Maggie looked at you with wide eyes but you just waved it off.

“Ignore him. He doesn’t know how to people. You know that.”

“Well, he sure knows how to Y/N.” Maggie chided, smiling as she sat down next to you. You chuckled nervously, struggling to sit up so you could shove the dirty clothing into your bag.

“Shush. We just get each other and it was a long road to get to this point. Plus, I think he likes Thumper just a little.” The baby was active, already missing Daryl’s presence which would never cease to amaze you. “Who’s doing laundry today? I’d like to help.”

Maggie was already shaking her head before you could finish speaking. “Daddy needs to check you out. You’re almost 36 weeks, Y/N. You could go into labor anytime. Ask him what you can do and what you can’t and then we’ll worry about laundry.” You made a whining noise in the back of your throat and almost plopped back down on the bedroll but thought better of it at the last minute. It took so much effort to sit back up.

“Fine. Can he come now?” You sighed.

Maggie gave you a comforting smile and squeezed your shoulder. “Sure. Let me go get him.”

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile. She was absolutely right. Thumper’s arrival was growing closer and closer by the day; the hour even. And you were scared. What if something went wrong? You’d seen in the movies that the baby could get stuck. The cord could be wrapped around their little neck. Your pelvic structure could prohibit a natural birth and you would need a cesarean section. Were there even supplies for that? What about sedation or local anesthetic? What if Daryl decided then that it was all too much and ran? You couldn’t do any of it without him, you knew that now.

“Easy, young lady.” Hershel soothed, already having knelt beside you at some point. “You’re white as a sheet and hyperventilating.”

“S–sorry. I’m okay.” You stammered, leaning back on your hands so he would have access to your belly. “Just— I’m scared shitless, Hershel.” As per usual, his steady hands hovered until you nodded your permission for him to roll up your shirt. The moment the cool air hit your skin, there was movement below it, a hand or foot pushing up hard enough that you could actually see it.

“Well, they’re definitely active.” The old man chuckled. “Let’s see if we can check the heartbeat around all that wiggling.” You laughed but it was real, muffled by the fear welling up in your chest. “Well, the heartbeat is great. I need to do an examination, both external and internal. I will explain everything before proceeding. Would you be alright with that? We can go in the downstairs bedroom with Maggie or Beth if you would be more comfortable.”

Maggie was already leaning in the doorway with Glenn, giving you a nod that she was fine with being present. “Yeah, okay.” You started trying to get up on your own but that proved to be futile. Before you could even ask, Glenn was holding out both hands. “Thank you.” You whispered. This was all so personal and it felt like you shouldn’t be going through any of it alone. “Has—did Daryl leave already?”

“He may still be outside. Rick grabbed him for something. I’ll go check.” The words came out so fast that you barely caught them before Glenn was gone and Maggie was helping you lie down.

“I mean, can this wait if he isn't here? I don’t—” The tears came before you had any means of stopping them. You couldn’t sit back up without assistance so you just pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes and sobbed, chest heaving and body trembling. You wanted Daryl, after trying so hard to prove you could handle things without him. You needed him.

“The hell’d ya do to ‘er?!”

You had never been so relieved to hear that irritated tone. Gasping for air, you reached blindly for him, his hands wrapping around your forearms to pull you up and against his chest.

“Nothing, son. We were going to do an exam to check the baby.” You opened your eyes to see Hershel standing several feet back with his hands up, palms out. Maggie wasn’t glaring but she looked serious, ready to defend her father. “It would be invasive and she was frightened. We wouldn’t have done anything without her permission.”

“I just—wanted you—I wanted you here.” You hiccupped, gripping his shirt tighter. There was a jerk of his body and then the sound of the door closing. You were alone with him.

“M’here.” He didn’t move other than to pull you in tighter, the hold would have been uncomfortable any other time but it was exactly what you needed at that moment. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“He—he needed to do something inside. It wasn’t that—I didn't think he was gonna hurt me and Maggie was here, but it just felt like something you should be here for too. Like a huge event in all this.” You sniffled, wiggling a hand free after a bit of struggle so that you could wipe your face on your sleeve. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to hunt.”

“Nuh uh. Wanna be here more. The fuck he need to go inside for?” Now he sounded more than irritated, as if Hershel was trying to take advantage of you in some way.

“There’s gonna be a lot of that, I think. I mean, if everything goes well, the baby’s coming out of my vagina, so I guess he needs to be all up in there to make sure it’s ready or something? Doesn’t it mention this in one of your books?” You pushed against his chest, but he hesitated in letting go. Finally, he dropped his arms but kept a hand on the top of your stomach. Thumper’s movements slowed to flutters.

“Ain’t had much time for readin’, Sunshine.”

You were in the middle of rubbing your eyes when you slid them to the side, your nose scrunching and mouth tilting into a smile. “Sunshine?”

“S’that or ‘pain in my ass’. I ain’t picky.” He huffed, picking at a thread on his tattered button-up.

“I’ll take Sunshine, thanks. You’re adorable, Daryl Dixon.”

“Ugh, don’t get sappy.” He curled his lip, pulling away when you reached for his face.

“You already took it way past sappy, sir.” When he kept that small distance, you grabbed his collar and tugged him forward to press a kiss to his mouth. He reciprocated without hesitance, a small reassurance you reveled in when it came to your relationship. “Thank you for not running.”

“Ain’t a pussy. Told ya from the get-go that we’d handle it.” His forehead was against yours, the tip of his nose nuzzling your own. “Called ya Sunshine back then too.”

“That, you did.” You recalled the memory fondly. God, he was such an asshole back then. Still was in some ways but he was yours. You distantly wondered if he always had been. “Just needed a little help bringing out the inner romantic.”

“Don’t push it. Don’t got a romantic bone in my body.”

You hummed, done with teasing him for the moment. “I guess we should let Hershel do what he needs to and get it over with.” You bit your lip, sliding it back and forth between your teeth. “Will you stay?”

“Course.” His knuckles gently grazed your jaw and then he was up and opening the door, jerking his head toward you to invite them back inside. “Don’t make ‘er cry again.” He warned, taking his spot beside you and helping you lie back.

Hershel only smiled. “I’ll try my best, son.” Maggie wasn’t there but came in, carrying a bowl of water and a cloth, before the old man could do anything. “There’s a couple of things I need to examine. First, I’ll do an external examination. I’m going to palpate your abdomen, feel the position of the baby. At this stage in the pregnancy, we want to ensure the baby is turning into a head down position. They should come out head first, not feet. Is it alright for me to continue?”

You nodded quickly. With Daryl there, the anxiety was held at bay. The man formed a physical wall between you and the fear that wanted to suffocate you, whether he knew it or not. He was watching intensely as your shirt was lifted, the veterinarian’s hands moving with a knowledge you were surprised to find he possessed given he had only dealt with animals. He was likely reading just as Daryl had, probably more.

You winced when it seemed he was squeezing around the baby’s form, though the touch was gentle, feeling Daryl tense beside you. Your hand found his immediately and he settled.

“Ev’rything good, doc?” The archer’s voice was just shy of a snap. He muttered an apology when you squeezed his fingers.

“It seems the baby has mostly turned to the correct position. Have you felt any increase in pelvic pressure or need to urinate?”

“She’s been pissin’ like a racehorse for weeks.” Daryl huffed, earning an elbow to the ribs.

“No more than usual.” You clarified. Hershel nodded.

“It’s unlikely that the baby has dropped then. I have limited experience with human patients but I have had wives that gave me children. When they dropped, it was described to me as a sudden weight deeper in the pelvis. They could breathe easier and felt hungrier, as there was more room in the upper abdomen. The need to urinate increased even more than it already had throughout the pregnancy.” You were nodding, Daryl was squinting, soaking it all in and filing it away. “Just let me know when you feel those changes, okay?”

“Okay.” You answered quietly, this time feeling Daryl squeezing your fingers.

“This next part will be invasive, and I’m sorry for that. I need to check your cervix, see if it’s softening or dilating.” When Daryl didn’t comment, you were sure those were terms he had read. You vaguely knew what they meant from the movies you had seen. “I can have Maggie remove your—”

“I got it.” Daryl interjected, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles before releasing your hand. You watched him move, biting your lip when he pressed one knee between your feet and reached to grab the waistband of your layers, bringing all three down in motion. You had to think of anything else to keep Hershel from seeing what Daryl had the ability to do to you. Placing your clothes by your feet, the bowman cleared his throat. “Make it quick.”

Hershel smiled and shook his head while washing his hands with the soap and water Maggie had brought but he said nothing about Daryl’s protectiveness. Perhaps he understood how fragile the archer’s ability to handle his emotions truly was, and with that knowledge, he saw no reason to put further strain on the young man.

“I’m going to begin the pelvic exam now. It might be a little uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes with a smile when Daryl’s arm wiggled beneath you to wrap around your shoulders. Hershel was right, it truly was uncomfortable. It wasn’t at all like what you had imagined, which to be quite honest, you thought it would be more like being fingered by Daryl. This was in no way pleasurable. First of all, it was Hershel. Secondly, there was pushing down just below the baby while at the same time, moving two fingers. It wasn't just uncomfortable. It was really uncomfortable. At one point, you whimpered ow and had to grab Daryl’s forearm to keep him from lashing out.

Finally, it was over. Hershel was washing his hands again. “The cervix is softening, which is exactly what we want at this stage according to my reading. You’re not dilated, which is also what we’d like right now. That could begin to change in a few days, and that would be okay. There’s no way of really knowing exactly how far along you are but based on what I know of you, and keeping up with the calendar the best I could, you are right at 36 weeks.” You nodded, smiling softly as Daryl reached forward to push your knee down, urging you to close your legs even while he never looked away from the old man.

“That’s good, right?” You asked, struggling to sit up until Daryl looped an arm behind you again and easily got you there.

“That’s wonderful. It’s my opinion, which isn’t the best mind you, that you could safely have this baby anytime now.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, watching all the color drain from Daryl’s face beside you. “Daryl?”

“You alright, son?” Hershel’s expression showed concern but his eyes were laughing. He knew the look on Daryl’s face and he knew it well. “It’s okay to be nervous. You’re a first time father. It will be—”

“G’on, old man. M’fine.”

You chuckled. “Thank you, Hershel. I feel a lot—” Moving to sit up straighter, you looked down when you felt cold against your skin. Two quarter-sized wet patches were clear on your pale blue shirt, just over your nipples. “What the hell?” Even Maggie’s eyebrows were raised. Daryl just looked as puzzled as you did.

“That’s colostrum.” The old vet answered as if you knew what the fuck that meant. “It’s the first thing your breasts produce to feed the baby when it’s born, before the actual milk comes in. This is a good sign that your body is getting ready.”

“Like—soon?” You gulped.

“It doesn’t have an effect on the timeline, one way or another. It just means your body knows what it’s doing. You may want to ask for some breast pads on the next run or just fold some cloth for your bra.”

“Wait—so that wasn’t cum?” It was out of your mouth before you had processed a single word of it. Hershel’s brow furrowed, Maggie doubled over laughing, and poor Daryl was three seconds from jumping out the window. “I’m just—oh god, just leave us to die in here, thanks.” You could still hear Maggie laughing after the door closed but luckily she had nodded in reaction to your pleading look to keep it to herself. When you looked at him, Daryl's elbows were on his knees and his face was in his hands. You could see the red flush traveling all the way to his ears. “It wasn’t jizz. Yay?”

“Just—stop talkin’.”

“I love you.”

“So ya keep sayin’.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n

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auteurdelabre · 2 months

Text

So Much to Lose PART SEVEN dark!Joel x f!Reader

story summary: Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.

rating: 18+

tags: Oral sex (m receiving), allusions to female masturbation, brief description of animal violence, angst, praise, dirty talk, nickname: Good Girl, mentions of postpartum, mentions of trauma, dom/sub dynamics.

a/n: Alright y'all I got some amazing comments from a hilarious person on A03 and it put me in such a good mood that I'm releasing this chapter ASAP. The comments really do make me write faster, as do reblogs and comments here... {hint hint}

I love y'all for following me and since I have almost 850 followers (when did that happen?) I'm planning something special for (if) I hit 1,000 followers here, somethin' real good.

Without further ado, here's the chapter and we find out a bit more about our MC's past and she and Joel finally talk about what's going on between them. . . sorta.

Chapter 6 here

___________________________

Chapter 7: Spoiled

You thought that the fear on patrols had abated. Not only were you on horseback, but you were paired with Joel, arguably one of the best shots in Jackson City.

So when he leads you to a path you aren’t familiar with, the first icy tendrils of fear slipping through you. When he orders you to stop your horse alongside his at the mouth of a forest you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit.

“Where are we?”

You speak so softly he doesn’t hear you, he stops just outside the dense forest, sliding off Midnight and tying him off to a nearby tree. He glances over his shoulder to see you still sitting atop Chestnut, your gun on your back and your eyes scanning the perimeter.

“What’re you waitin’ for?”

“What are we doing here?”

"We need to check the forest for traps," Joel explains to you. "The other patrol group sets ‘em up for large game. We check ‘em every couple of weeks."

"Why can't we take the horses?"

"Too dangerous for ‘em inside," Joel explains. "We take ‘em in just enough to hide them but the roots and terrain are too much for ‘em. Too easy to twist their ankles."

"Why can't the other patrols check?"

"They do," Joel says gruffly. "We take turns every week. This is our week. Now stop complainin' and let's go."

You slide off of Chestnut at his order, but you make no move to go towards the forest. Too much is happening, too many noises and sounds and fears.

"J-Joel, I can stay with the horses." You don’t even hide the panic that’s crept into your voice.

"I said let's go," Joel huffs, gripping you by the upper arm and dragging you into the forest with him. He keeps his grip on you the entire way to the traps, almost knowing that the second he releases you, you’ll go rushing from the horrible dense of the forest.

Your feet drag but his grip is so strong that it doesn’t matter. Eventually you fall in line, marching alongside him. He doesn’t see that your eyes are closed, that he’s guiding you blindly through the forest. You simply lean into his grip, letting him lead as you follow.

When you reach the traps a short while later he finally releases your upper arm. You find you immediately miss the safety of that grip and you are sure to stand close to him as he looks over the metallic traps.

“Why do you put them here?”

“S’where we find most of the game,” he explains distractedly as he surveys them. “Bait hasn’t been touched though, so nothin’s come by recently.”

He makes a circle around the perimeter and you can’t help but follow like a lost puppy. All of a sudden Joel stills. You can see the way his back goes rigid, his body coming to a full stop so abruptly you almost walk into him.

You hear it, the gentle popping noise and you feel your body go numb with shock.

Clickers.

This is it. You're done for. You can’t even reach for your weapon, can’t even move a fraction. You’ve gone rigid, your eyes blown wide.

Joel raises his gun and you wait for the creature to come charging out of the woods. You're confused when it goes off and a large bird falls to the ground away from you, thudding to the ground.

You’re still frozen in spot, watching as Joel walks over to it, nudging it with his foot. Satisfied he takes it by the beak, carrying it back to where you still stand looking terrified. His brows quirk.

“S’wrong with you?”

"I thought it w-was one of them,” you whisper. “A clicker."

"Clickers sound different," Joel tells your blanched face. "More of a wet sound. But these birds sorta sound like em. S'why I kill em when I can."

Joel looks to see your gun still strapped to your back, not even produced and you see irritation cross his face.

"What would you do if you saw a clicker heading your way?" Joel asks you as the two of you walk through the forest back to the horses. "If you had no weapon and I wasn't here?"

Joel isn't one for casual conversation so you're immediately on guard. This is a test. But one you don't know how to pass. You glance around at your surroundings, noting the rocks and fallen branches from the trees.

"Fire maybe?"

"You're gonna hunker down and build a fire while an infected is racin' towards you?" Joel scoffs.

"Oh right," you mumble, feeling shame paint your cheeks. Your eyes scan around you again. "Get a sharp stick? Stab it?"

"You get close enough to stab one you're already dead."

"A rock-"

Joel's deadened stare thrown over his shoulder at you stops you from guessing further and humiliating yourself. The two of you continue walking in silence before he finally breaks it.

"If you see something coming towards you and you don't have a weapon, you gotta think smart," Joel explains. "You climb a tree, a good sturdy, tall one with thick branches. Infected can't climb trees."

"I've seen ‘em climb ladders," you argue. "And cars."

"Barely," Joel says patting the large tree trunk to his right. "And they'll only try to climb if they hear you up there. Once you're in the trees you stay still and quiet. Same goes for Raiders. You hide yourself in the tree and don't move. It's your only hope."

"Okay."

"Repeat it."

"If I am unarmed and in danger I need to climb up a tree," you reply flatly. "I need to remain quiet and out of sight."

“Good.”

You shakily make it back to the horses and continue on with your usual patrols. When you get inside the old building and finish your log notes you pause to look at your dual signatures. How his wide printing almost looks like its shielding your tiny script.

He’s not as sullen as usual and you know it’s because of what’s going to happen. You share your lunch in an easy silence before you’re on your knees between he and the wall, your eyes covered by the red scarf, your hands bracing your thighs. His cock fills your mouth deliciously and you feel warmth blooming behind your ribs.

“Swirl your tongue,” he orders breathlessly and you acquiesce. You love that he tells you exactly what he wants. You love how good it feels to do this right, to have the rest of the world fade away, where all you can hear and smell and taste is Joel. To feel his heavy hand on the crown of your head, holding you gently in place.

He barely talks, just let's you bob your mouth along until you feel that familiar stutter of his hips that tells you he's close. He comes quickly today, his voice gruff.

"Swallow it down."

When you pull off him minutes later he doesn't unwind the scarf right away. You hear him breathing above you as he tucks himself away. Moments pass and you sit patiently, head cocked in curiosity. You feel as if he's staring at you, and you can't understand why.

Finally he comes to unwind the scarf from around your eyes. You expect him to wordlessly walk from you, but instead he’s panting softly, his cheeks stained with red. He looks at your mouth, his tongue trailing over his lower lip.

"Show me your tongue," he demands in a low voice.

Even though this request seems unlike him you tilt your head back, opening your mouth widely and sticking out your tongue to show your clean tongue.

You feel strangely vulnerable pierced by the quiet gaze of Joel Miller. You've done much filthier things than stick out your tongue but you're never been looking at him while you do it, able to see the haunted eyes that stare back at you.

"Good girl," he rasps.

You watch him zipping and buttoning his jeans before he casts one last look at you. He blinks slowly and then strides from the room, his face back in its customary scowl.

You listen for the front door downstairs to open and shut. You can’t even make it to the bathroom before your hands are sliding under your jeans and you’re whimpering as you bring yourself off to the rumbling chorus of good girl that echoes in your mind.

///

Later that week you artfully arrange the paper flowers in an amber wine bottle you got from the Tipsy Bison. You rest it on your kitchen table smiling at the colorful arrangement. After making Maria's second bouquet you found yourself eager to make one of your own to brighten the space. You like looking at it, enjoy seeing the bright colors in your unadorned home.

You take the secondary bouquet of colorful flowers and wrap them in a strip of old cloth. The weather is drizzling and you don't want them to be ruined. You hide them in a small linen bag you use for groceries and then pull on your coat.

The walk towards the dining hall is pleasant despite the drizzle and you're surprised at how many of the children laugh and run through the falling droplets. When you were a child there were always video games and television shows to occupy your space indoors on gloomy days. These children have none of those luxuries but you can’t help but observe that they look more joyful than you ever did.

No wasting life.

Breakfast with Jennifer is a quick affair. She’s with that group of friends you met a while ago. The only one who stands out to you is tall Luke with the easy smile and soft countenance. He makes you feel at ease when you’re around him.

“Have you been practicing your shooting?” Jessica asks, looking effortlessly beautiful in her oversized sweater. Luke glances up from his breakfast, intrigued at the conversation. You pretend not to notice.

“Uh, not really. I don’t have a working gun of my own.”

Jessica is wide-eyed. “How could you not tell me? I have one that I don’t even use anymore! Come by tomorrow and I’ll show you how to use it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Jennifer insists with a smile that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

You’re incredibly grateful for the kindness Jennifer has shown you, and despite how popular and well liked she is, she’s taken you under her wing. She has nothing to gain from it – except perhaps intel on Joel which you never seem to have. But you’ve noticed she asks about him less, she’s more interested in you.

It’s like she might be your friend. The first real friend you’ve had in a long time.

The walk over to Maria’s place is a quick one. The raindrops have stopped thankfully, but you worry that the swollen grey clouds above you might open up at any second.

The door opens on your first rap as if Tommy was waiting for you to arrive. He gives you a warm greeting, opening the door further and the aroma of fresh coffee floats out to greet you.

"Hi. Is Maria around?"

"Yeah she is, we actually have some folks over now-"

"That's fantastic," you say to him quickly before producing the flowers from inside the makeshift wrapping. "I tried some new designs out. Thought Maria would like 'em. Have a good morning."

He takes the bundle from you before you prepare to take off. You're so happy to hear that Maria is doing better; it makes your heart feel full.

"Wait, I wasn't sayin' that so you'd go," Tommy chuckles, long fingers touching your shoulder to stop you from leaving. "Come inside. We're havin' coffee. Maria’d love to see you."

You pause before you think of what awaits you at home: nothing really. An empty house, no family, no books you haven't already read over and over. What could it hurt especially when it seems like his desire to have you come in might be sincere?

"Okay."

You’re about to toe off your shoes when you notice the scuffed boots and mud splattered sneakers sat next to the door and you feel your stomach flip. You recognize those boots.

Tommy doesn’t notice your sudden reluctance, he simply ushers you into the living room where everyone sits chatting quietly before the fire. Maria and Ellie are deep in conversation next to each other on the couch. Joel sits in one of the armchairs, his ankles folded. He looks so at ease, his eyes on Ellie and a paternal look of love in his eyes.

The second you enter the room however and his dark eyes move to take you in, you see the gentle curl of his mouth disappear.

Good girl.

You feel a flutter of nerves go through you and you force your attention to the back of Maria’s head.

“Look who dropped by with more flowers,” Tommy announces before looking at you. “You want a coffee or somethin’?”

“No, I’m fine thanks.”

Maria looks up from where she sits next to Ellie on the couch and smiles at you. Joel gives you a lazy once over before turning his attention to the gently roaring fire. You don’t miss the tic in his jaw and for a moment you actually feel guilty that you’ve broken up this peaceful morning for him.

“I’m so glad you came back,” Maria enthuses, her dark eyes shining with delight. “Please come take a seat.”

You settle into the empty chair by the fireplace opposite Joel as Tommy hands the flowers to Maria. You haven't seen Ellie much since she got irritated with you about the whole Jennifer thing. You give her a tentative smile from across the room, grateful when she returns it.

"That's so cool," Ellie marvels, touching the paper petals gently.

"I wish I knew how to make these," Maria sighs happily as she gazes at them. "Seeing the other ones every day makes the place feel so cheerful. I'm gonna put these ones in the baby's room."

"I could teach you how to make them if you wanted," you offer gently. "It's not too complicated."

You hope you don’t sound pathetic and needy. There’s something about Maria’s vulnerability that calls to you. It makes you want to protect her in some way. You realize belatedly that it’s not just your Aunt she reminds you of, but your sister.

"I don't think I'd have the patience," Maria says with a gentle wave of her hand. "I just like looking at them."

"I wanna learn," Ellie pipes up, making you suppress a pleased grin. "I like flowers."

"Since when?" Joel murmurs with a smirk. You sneak a glance at him before looking back to Ellie who frowns at her father-figure.

"I've always liked flowers."

"Thought you were dead set on learnin' to bake," Tommy muses over his coffee mug. “I

"Maybe I wanna learn both," Ellie snarks back at him. "Is that a fuckin' crime?"

"Language," Joel mutters in her direction.

"I'm happy to teach you both," you say with a little laugh to yourself. "Thought I can't say I'm an expert on either."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course," you say before your eyes sail over to the unmoving authority figure by the fireplace. "If that's okay with you?"

"Only if she's done with her chores," Joel finally supplies with a sigh, gripping his coffee mug a little tighter. "And if you don't break the damn oven."

Of course his assumption would be that you'd break something. You try to hold in the grimace that threatens to spill over your features.

Ellie makes a little hiss of victory before giggling at you. You feel the frost from your Jennifer misstep is behind you now. The sound of Douglas’ cries break into the room and both Maria and Tommy quickly move into the bedroom to console him. You look back at Ellie.

"How's school?"

"Boring," she answers honestly. "Can't wait until I'm done with it."

"I miss it," you tell her honestly as you shift in your chair. "I really loved being in class, sharing ideas, learning."

"You're weird."

"Ellie," Joel warns.

"S'fine," you say with a soft chuckle. "I am weird."

Before Joel can reply Maria and Tommy have re-entered the room with Tommy holding a drowsy Douglas in his arms with Maria trailing after the two of them.

"He heard your voice and wanted to say thank you for the flowers," she says kindly.

You smile as Douglas is placed gently into your arms by Tommy while the glossy eyed Maria looks on. You smile down at the sweet angelic face, your voice a soft murmur.

"Well, you're very welcome, Douglas."

The baby blinks, grunting a moment and wiggling. He's warm in your arms, but not heavy. You slowly rock him in your embrace inhaling the sweet scent of milk and that intoxicating baby smell.

"Hello," you coo softly at him as he stretches. Maria joins Tommy on the couch next to Ellie, curling her legs under her.

The rest of the group has begun talking about the movie playing this weekend. Trying to decide between a western and some Disney thing someone found on patrols. You're distracted by Douglas' long eyelashes over caramel skin. The pout of his pink mouth and the way he gurgles a toothless smile up in your direction.

"Adorable," you murmur, grazing his cheek with the pad of your thumb. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing, little Miller?"

You grin widely down at him, wanting to press a kiss to his downy forehead but holding back. He's not your family after all. Instead you take his tiny hand in yours, marveling at the perfection of his small fingers dwarfed by your own.

"He's so perfect," you mutter more to yourself than anyone else.

"Gets his good looks from his mama," Tommy says throwing his arm over Maria's shoulders. He presses a kiss to her cheek as she grins.

"Ain't that the truth," Joel murmurs, drawing a good natured chuckle from Tommy.

"You want kids?" Ellie asks you bluntly, forcing the attention of the room your way. You take a moment to consider the question.

"I dunno," you finally answer honestly. "Never really thought about it."

"I sure don't," she replies easily. "They're noisy, they stink, and they’re just too much work."

"Same could be said for teenagers," Joel murmurs behind his coffee cup, drawing chuckles from everyone but Ellie who gives him a playful shove.

You suppress a smirk before your finger traces down the soft cheek of Douglas''. He blinks up at you, gurgling again.

"Motherhood looks natural on you," Maria says in a voice laced with sorrow. You know what she's thinking. Tommy is glancing at her with concern in his features.

"Not as natural as on you, Maria," you assure her kindly. "I promise."

Maria nods but it's clear she doesn't believe you. You don't know that you believe you either. But she needs to hear it, needs to know that she possesses it even if it doesn't feel like it right now.

Tommy shoots you a grateful smile that you return. You can only imagine how hard it is to love someone so much and not be able to fix them. To have so few options to help now in this new world.

"So you’re interested in the kitchen still, Ellie?" Tommy teases her. "Gonna whip us up somethin’ good? Be a real Martha Stewart?"

Ellie wrinkles her nose. "A who?"

Ellie starts talking about the kitchen but you're distracted by the bundle in your arms. Douglas has fallen asleep again and his tiny snores makes your mouth curl into a bemused smirk.

You feel eyes on you and when you glance up you're surprised to see Joel's steady gaze on you holding the baby. When he catches you looking his way, his eyes snap over to his brother who is explaining all about Martha Stewart.

"We've got stuff to do," Joel says pushing himself up from the chair. "C'mon Ellie."

"I wanna stay."

"You've got chores," Joel tells her firmly. "And you've put ‘em off all week. Let's go."

His tone is stern but his face is pure patience as Ellie sighs dramatically. She comes to a stand sighing again and about to leave when she seems to remember something and steps towards you, her face suddenly animated.

"How about Sunday for baking? You can come to ours."

Go to Joel’s house? The thought has you in a panic, your eyes darting from her to Joel. "Uh, if it's okay with-."

"Joel is that okay?" Ellie claps her hands in front of her dramatically and she turns to face him. "Pleeeeeease?"

Joel moves his tongue to the corner of his cheek, looking thoughtfully at Ellie’s desperate face before sighing wearily.

"Just tell me what I need to get," Joel says to the space beside your head. "Eggs ‘n stuff like that."

"Sure. I'll give you a list on Thursday."

Joel nods, still not making eye contact with you but that's okay. You don't really want him to. Just the mention of Thursday has you slick between your legs. You may not like Joel Miller but the thought of what the two of you get up to on patrols makes it easy to get through uncomfortable interactions with him.

The door creaks shut behind them as they leave and you take a few moments to rock the baby in your arms until Maria gives a soft yawn and you worry you’ve overstayed your welcome.

"I should probably go too.”

"Don't go," Maria insists almost desperately, her eyes wide. "He looks so happy with you holding him."

You see the tears gathering in her eyes and you adjust the baby in your arms before sliding off your chair. Tommy seems to sense that you need privacy because he gathers the empty mugs and walks into the kitchen to wash them.

You stand, coming to sit next to Maria on the warm couch. She looks at Douglas warily, as if he's a stranger's child.

"Hold him, Maria."

"I can't."

"You can," you insist softly. "He's your son."

"I know he is," Maria says, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. "I look at him and I'm so confused. I carried him; I fed him with my own body. Why don't I feel that connection like other mom's do?"

"You're not the only one," you tell her, hand on her shoulder. "My aunt went through the same thing. Gave birth to my cousin and felt nothing. She wasn't herself for months. You’re not alone, Maria. You’re not a bad mom; you’re not a bad person. This isn’t something you’re doing on purpose. It’s your brain.”

Maria shakes her head, as if the words don’t mean anything. You know she hears them, but she can’t accept them.

“You have a husband and friends to support you. I promise you that you'll get to the other side. I promise."

You know that it's a heavy gamble. But she needs to know that there's hope. She needs to know that this illness has plagued women across centuries. She looks at Douglas’ sleeping frame and after a moment of hesitation she allows you to place him in her arms. You watch as her eyes get soft, her breathing slowly decreasing.

"Some days I really feel like he's mine," Maria murmurs as she drags a gentle finger down the slope of his tiny nose. "Some days my heart feels like its overflowing. And sometimes that's worse than not caring."

You're silent, just listening to her speak.

"Love makes you weak and afraid. I've never been afraid of anything," Maria tells you, rocking Douglas gently in her arms. "But now that's all I am. Like one exposed nerve.”

Fat tears are sliding down her cheeks. You can’t help but run a soothing hand down her spine, rubbing up and down gently. She accepts your touch, even melts back into it.

"We shouldn't have done it," Maria hiccups a sob. "We were fucking idiots to have a baby in this world."

“You aren’t an idiot,” you insist. “You and Tommy loved each other so much you wanted to create life together. How is that stupid? That’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Maria sniffles, tears dropping onto the blanket holding Douglas.

“All I can think about is what I'd do if Raiders broke in. Or what if Douglas got bit? Or what would happen if Tommy and I got killed on patrols? I'm terrified to leave him alone. Terrified that something is gonna happen to him if me or Tommy aren't around."

You can hear the clattering of mugs being washed in the kitchen. You wonder if Tommy is listening and you hope that he is, because you worry he might be having the same fears.

“Douglas is going to grow up, just like all the other kids in Jackson City. Happy and safe and loved. He’s going to grow up to be a good person just like his parents. He’s going to be smart and kind and who knows, maybe he’ll be part of finding a cure.”

Maria blinks over at you as if just realizing this possibility.

"Maria I never had kids," you tell her, hand rubbing over her own. "But I had a younger sister and she felt like my kid sometimes. Especially when my parents got separated when we were fleeing the city.

Maria stares at you, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

"When the pandemic started my mom was visiting her Aunt in Wyoming," you explain. "My sister and my dad and I, we escaped to the nearest QZ."

“I never saw my Mom again,” you explain and you’re shocked at how deadened your voice sounds. It’s no longer a hurtful memory, more just a patchwork on the quilt of your trauma. Its life, you’ve accepted it. “The first day I got here I was sure I’d find her here. Sure that she survived somehow.”

“But she wasn’t here,” Maria finishes for you. “I would have recognized the last name.”

You shake your head slowly. “She wasn’t here.”

You think Maria might want to ask more about your history but you hear Tommy's voice filter in from the kitchen.

"Joel, what're you still doin' here?"

Your head snaps to look over your shoulder. Joel is here? Had he heard anything? The thought curdles your insides. It was hard enough sharing this much with Maria. Knowing that Joel might have overheard is much worse.

"Saw Jason out by the gates and he said that the lumber’s coming in Saturday,” Joel mutters. You can't see him in the next room but you hear the scrape of his boots on the wood flooring. "Thought you’d wanna know so you could get a group together.”

The two men mumble back and forth to each other and you hear the telltale sound of the door opening and closing behind Joel. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, suddenly anxious at the thought that Joel knows about your life.

Tommy enters back into the room, his eyes on Maria. He sees her holding Douglas and you can see the sun break into his previously cloudy eyes.

"I should get going." You stand, looking down at Maria’s tear-stained face. "Sorry for showing up unannounced."

"You're welcome anytime," Tommy assures you warmly before coming to sit next to his wife. He slings his arm around her shoulders, looking down at his son in her arms.

"Yeah," Maria agrees with a watery smile. "Please stop by again soon. I mean it."

“Okay, I will.”

///

Joel seems strange on patrols today.

It started with handing him the list of supplies you’d need for baking. Instead of a smart remark he just nodded, taking it from you and shoving it into the back of his jeans pocket. The ride to Teton Village had been in its usual silence, you noticed that the snow from last week had turned into a slushy mess which meant the horses moved a little slower.

By the time you reached the old building with its log book you were more than a little eager. You’d woken up that morning particularly slick between the legs, a Pavlovian response to patrol days.

Joel is still near silent, not even looking at you when he brings out his bag for lunch. He pushes your sandwich and thermos to you, watching you carefully as you eat. Normally Joel stares anywhere but your face during patrols, unless he’s getting angry with you. Today however he seems a bit tense, his gaze a bit heavier than usual.

It makes you uncomfortable. It makes you wonder what he’s thinking.

“I feel like Chestnut was walking a little weird the last mile or so,” you observe to break the silence. “Do you think you could take a look at his horseshoe before we go?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

The quiet stretches on,

“So what was the lumber for?”

“Huh?”

“You mentioned lumber back at Tommy’s,” you say, feeling like the peanut butter is sticking to the roof of your mouth. “I was wondering what it was for.”

“S’for repairs on the window upstairs,” he tells you gruffly, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

“Oh right.”

You decide not to press things; he doesn’t seem to be in the chatting mood. Lunch passes slowly, despite your anticipation for what comes next. Your heart is actually thrumming when Joel wipes his hands on his jeans and tilts his head for you to follow him.

You go into the room with the fireplace and couch and watch him shift into a comfortable seated position. The old frame creaks under his bulk and he stares at you standing, waiting and watching him. He undoes his belt buckle, the clinking noise causing your thighs to press together tightly.

You walk towards him, eyes on his large hands.

"On your knees."

You acquiesce without thought, your jeans biting into the cold floorboards below. Joel watches you from under hooded eyes. The sight of him seated there disheveled, belt unbuckled and legs spread does something to you.

When he doesn't make a move for your scarf or anything else you feel a prickle of insecurity go through you. You blink up at him, swallowing only to have him frown down at you.

"Do you actually like this?"

You don't like the way he says it, like there's something wrong with you if you do. You stand shakily, your eyes on the floor as you give him your murmured response.

"I do, yeah."

Joel is a statue with eyes that burn like coal. You feel them even if you don't see them until you peer at him still seated insouciantly there on the couch.

"You like me orderin' you around?" His voice is grated around the edges, his eyes holding nothing but disbelief. "Tellin' you what to do?"

"I like you being in charge," you correct.

"Why the fuck would you want somethin' like that?” Joel insists, cheeks pinking. “Someone orderin' you around?"

"I think you need it the same way I do. Only you need to be giving the orders. Am I right?"

Joel swallows and you see his large eyes widen a fraction as he takes in your words. You feel strangely emboldened by his lack of response, by the fact that you’ve taken him by surprise. And perhaps since you’ve been doing this for over a month you feel that you can voice this.

"Am I right?"

He still doesn't reply, instead he crosses his thick arms over his chest and just stares you down. It doesn't intimidate you like it once did, but it does prompt you to answer him.

"Because when you make the rules and do the ordering my mind goes quiet," you explain softly. "I'm not afraid, I'm not angry, I'm just... Free. I'm not in control but I'm choosing not to be."

And you know just by the way his shoulders relax that Joel understands. He understands because it's what happens when he has you under his palm, mouth sliding on his cock, when he wraps the scarf around your eyes and tells you not to touch.

The choosing. The control.

You’d known from the very first time he'd given you the order. You'd seen in there in the dark of his eyes that he liked the dynamic.

But you sense the hesitancy in him, a guilt that he shouldn't be enjoying it so much. His eyes take on a large, wounded appearance and it’s so clear that he’s wondering if he’s done something wrong.

"You've never given me anything I didn't want, Joel.”

That seems to get through to him, because he blinks away that little lost boy gaze.

You lower yourself to a kneeling position at his feet again. But you make no move to touch him. You simply bow your head, your hands clasped demurely on your thighs. You hear him shift unconsciously in his seat.

"What're you doin'?"

"Tell me what to do, Joel."

You stare at his boots, never venturing to his face but you can feel him watching you, his large hand twitching at his side on the cushion. He looks down at you with uncertainty as you eventually tilt your face up to him.

"Tell me what to do," you urge him again in a voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

You feel a rush of relief go through you when he nods and you can see the hard length of him through his jeans. You gingerly pull the scarf from around your neck, letting it hang in your grip loosely. You wait for him to retrieve it, eyes on the floor.

"No scarf," he rasps. "I know you'll listen. Close your eyes."

You do, feeling that tingle go through your body at his order. His large hand comes to the crown of your head, fingers snaking through the strands and tugging your face up. You keep your eyes firmly shut, not even considering peering through your lashes to see his face. You have your orders.

"Take me out and suck."

And you do, just as you have every other patrol for the last month. Only now it feels so much better because there’s no confusion. He gives you take, you give he takes. Your submission driving him forward, his domination calming your overworked nervous system.

"You do like takin' orders," he observes with a groan. "Like bein' told that you're a good girl."

Your breathing elevates when you hear that term and you just know the corner of his mouth twitches.

"Yeah. S'what I thought."

His hand is still wrapped in your hair, tugging you gently. Your lips feel rubbery and wet as you take him deeper. Your hands remain clasped on your lap. When you feel Joel twitch on your tongue you give a soft sigh through your nose, a feeling of blissful satisfaction.

"Look at me," Joel murmurs.

You take a moment to consider if you heard him right, but then he repeats himself and you slowly gaze up the length of him. He's tilted over you with heavy eyes, mouth parted. A greying curl is stuck to his sweaty forehead.

"Christ," he grits through his teeth. "Look ‘atcha there, mouth stuffed with my cock."

Desire blooms in you, snaking behind your ribs, down your veins, into your very bloodstream.

"What happened to that soft thing makin' cookies?"

You happened, Joel.

When Joel's quiet rasp reaches you again you physically shiver.

"You like bein' on your knees for me?" Joel grunts as his hips jerk forward.

You nod, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper into your throat. He lets out a strangled noise, tossing his head back.

"Fuck!" Joel glances down to see you still staring up at him, lips swollen around his shaft. "Look away now."

It doesn't sound like a cruel order, more a plea. You close your eyes, giving a small noise of protest when Joel brings himself out of your mouth.

"Wanna come on your tits," he instructs with a rasping growl and you hear him stroking himself furiously. "Take em out for me."

Despite this being uncharted territory for you both you don't hesitate. Your hands fumble with your sweater and you pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor. Joel watches as you unclasp your bra, letting it join the sweater. Your nipples tighten in the cool air of the room.

You're still not looking up at his face as instructed; so you don't know what he thinks. All you know is that the stroking is increasing.

"Head back, eyes closed," he pants, his voice tight.

You tilt your head back, eyes firmly closed. You feel vulnerable in this position, an animal who has bared their neck to a predator. Despite this you cup your breasts, offering them to him.

"Good girl," Joel says with a grunt. "Fuckin' good… So good for me."

And the praise hits you so strongly that you whimper aloud. This is what sends Joel over the edge and he comes with a strangled groan, painting your tits with stripes of his warm spend.

Your dual panting fills the room and you wish you could see yourself covered in Joel Miller's come. You wonder what he sees when he looks down at you covered in his essence. Proud? Embarrassed? Guilty?

"Open your eyes."

You blink them open immediately, your gaze flying to your chest covered in him before glancing up at him. Joel is breathing heavily through his nose, looking at you as if he’s still not convinced you’re real.

He reaches towards you and you don’t flinch when you watch his thumb come to gently trace over your right nipple, the spend there clinging to his digit. You feel a shiver run through with the contact of his hand on you.

You watch mesmerized as his palm cups your cheek, his fingers curling gently against your jaw. His thumb hovers scant inches from your swollen lips. Your eyes can't help but dart to his face again and the sight of his eyes blown black makes you quiver.

"Open," he says barely above a whisper.

Your mouth parts, eyes still on his face. He slowly lowers his thumb into your mouth. It rests there on your tongue, heavy and damp.

"Suck."

Your lips wrap around his thumb, licking the digit clean before sucking it suddenly, nestling him into the concave of your upper palate like he belongs there. He watches this all with quiet fascination, eyes strangely sorrowful through it all, like it pains him to do it. You suck, your smooth tongue cradling his wide thumb.

His hand is still cupping your cheek, even when his thumb is removed and drags down your lower lip, his gaze watching its descent. His brows saddle when you sigh gently, eyes locked with his.

And then he yanks his hand from you so quickly that you flinch. You’re completely thrown by the behavior, covering your chest instinctively. He looks at you kneeling between his legs and he shakes his head as if to clear it.

You shuffle backwards as he stands abruptly. You sit there at his feet, covered in his cooling spend, shooting him a confused look.

"We ain't doin this anymore," he tells you brusquely as he quickly zips up his jeans before buttoning it with trembling fingers.

"Why not?"

"Cuz I said so," he mutters before he shoots an ugly sneer your way. "You said you like takin' orders so this must be your lucky day."

You can only shake your head in disappointment as he leaves the room. You don't know what happened but Joel is back to his old, asshole self. The door below slams behind him and you go to the bathroom to clean yourself up. Today there is no sliding your hands underneath your jeans and getting yourself off.

All traditions have been spoiled by Joel's selfishness.

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

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undercoverpena · 9 months

Text

xii. just say yes, just say there's nothing holding you back

javier peña x f!reader | chapter twelve of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: the last chapter (before the epilogue), feel that needs to be a warning. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love ✨ wordcount: 4.2k. (i did try to cut it down but she kept growing)

an: here we are. i have been a mess since finishing the draft of this and i hope it means as much to you, as it does to me. this marks the end of the current timeline for this pair (the epilogue will span snippets from their future, some of which i'd love to expand on later when i'm less emotional).

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Javi’s day begins like so many others.

Light bleeding into his room, the wind’s whispers pulling him from sleep, gently gesturing for him to wake and be one with them.

It does so in soft yellows and splashes of orange as his curtains puffed up and danced—casting playful shadows over the furniture and the clutter that make up his room.

If he could, he’d rather roll over—abandon responsibility and return to his dreams.

He doesn’t, and never will. A silent promise he’d made to himself when he returned—having opened his eyes to see how much slower his Pop was—to do the heavy lifting.

It’s why he slides his hand across his bedside table, fingers finding the edge of his phone—pinching the bridge of his nose. The soft glow makes his eyes sting as they squint. Usually, there’s nothing new, but he likes to read back on a few of your messages—it helping to start his day right.

Today, though, he finds something already waiting for him.

Morning baby, dreamt of you last night.

He doesn’t mean to, but he closes his eyes.

Allows his hand to glide up over his face. Palm flat, the part where it meets his wrist running over the curve of his nose, before resting lower, hiding the stupid, foolish grin you somehow manage to pull from him. The one you conjure without even being here.

The effect you have on him makes him want to pinch himself. Almost does. Just a little one. A need to check he wasn’t dreaming—wasn’t lost somewhere in the most prolonged fantasy he’s ever experienced.

He knows he isn’t from the way his alarm chirps, turning it off with a slam of his hand—returning his fingers to his face, sliding through the front of his hair. Quickly urging his brain to kick into gear, enough to respond at least.

But, the only conscious thought he has is: What good have you done to even deserve her?

It’s a continuous thought. One which runs on a loop in some distant corner of his brain. It there hiding in the shadows since Houston, since he had the chance to hold you, hear you whisper his name as he made you sing.

The thought had been louder since you’d told him you wanted to come to the ranch. It stands in the forefront, prominent, bold. It’s even made a home for itself at the foot of his bed this morning, holding a sign in the same writing your note to him was in:

Do not fuck this up, Javier.

As if he has any control over it.

Fucking up follows him, gravitates and slams into him. He knows he can count the times and run out of fingers when ‘fucking up’ has messed up his plans. His life. His future. A brief population of them arising in cloudy bubbles behind his eyes—ghostly faces of people he’s failed, the scenes from things he’s done, the hand he’s been dealt by choosing wrong—

Blinking them away, he swallows. Taking a breath, loosening the tightness of his chest. Returning his fingers to the keys, he focuses his attention back to you.

morning baby what you doing awake

In truth, he already knows. Knew before he’d managed to rub the sleep from his eyes with his thumb and index—but he asks all the same.

For the confirmation; the routine of it all. Because, even if it has always been hard for him to keep, he likes that the two of you have that. That you both have fallen into this dance so easily, so normally.

When he’d been in Colombia, invited to dinners with Connie and Steve, he’d wondered how they did it. How they understood one another, moved in fluidity around one another. Spoke the same language, even without spilling any words. His mouth chewing his cheek, hand scraping across his chin—attempting to crack the puzzle in front of him.

Now he has the answer. It simple, more than he thought it could be. That it’s natural, not forced, not something you can make happen or choose.

It’s not even that early. Going over my notes, keep feeling like I’ve missed something.

He snorts because he knows you.

There’s not a thing you’d have missed. Too clever for that, too aware.

Closing his eyes for another second, Javi steals a second of the quiet, until he hears Pop moving around, sparking to life squeaky floorboards and groaning walls.

It's rare that he has the chance to text you over his morning coffee.

The hour is usually not one where he finds you awake. Today, he likes that you are. A feeling swarming through his insides, doubling at the realisation that tomorrow you’ll be here in person.

He’ll get the chance to see you smile—the one that both warms a room and makes him feel like he’s arrived in heaven, all at once. A smile that makes it hard for him not to kiss it, savour the taste of it—feel you muffle out his name against it as you both will him to stop and clutch him closer.

you excited to be reunited with your jacket Mi chaqueta favorita y mi persona favorita. look at you learning quickly It’s easy when your professor promises you things if you do well. what does he promise hermosa Filthy things, Javi. sounds like hes rather inappropriate Oh he is. Asks me what underwear I'm wearing all the time. But he does have a great tongue, so it's worth i.

It’s hard to muffle his laugh.

A sound that he thinks the radio will have to compete with when you’re here, at the table—enjoying toast and coffee.

He’ll be lost in it, even if no one else is. Watching how your laugh shimmers across your face, witnessing the explosion of light that it brings. Like a firework, illuminating everything in its path.

Running his hand over his chin, he bites back a grin. One spawned from knowing he’ll have that in the next few days. You, in his home, laughing. It able to radiate and dance around his things and the things he’s always known.

Javi would have the chance to be able to touch you, pull you close by the legs of the chair, and bury his nose into your hair, smelling the sweetness of your shampoo, as he enjoys the feel of your giggle vibrating through your bones to his—the bass of it making his heart skip in his chest.

Fuck. He misses you.

It crawling up him, having softened him—scraped down and smoother over the hardened edges that the years of corruption and failure had created.

Licking his lips, he’s about to reply when he spots his Pop glancing at him over the top of the newspaper. Brow arched, half his face hidden, but Javi isn’t fucking stupid, he knows he’s grinning at him.

“What?”

“You okay, Javi? You’ve usually started by now?”

“Sí, lo sé. I’m going, Pop. Alright.”

One of the earliest things Javi learnt was that you’re a planner, an organiser.

He was able to witness it in small doses in Houston. Even if you had tried to squirrel it away, hide 85 from him.

He supposed, from the thing you’ve told him, you had to be. Plus, he imagined—like his former profession—it was almost a requirement. A need for a roadmap always there, a backup plan just in case of extremes.

So, for how much planning the two of you (you, mainly) had done the first time, the second time, in comparison, seemed to be chaos. You mumbled dates, times. There was a rough, outlined plan that made even Javi feel unorganised. If anything, it would be better to call it a loose, barely even well-organised idea, never mind a plan.

He had asked—numerous times during your phone calls.

Rather than helping him, your voice crooned down, begging for a clue instead, claiming, "We have days to talk about this, baby", but not many days to "Finish this crossword".

And fuck was he a slave to the way you whined his name when he interrupted the puzzle to ask something about dates, length of stay, and airport pick-up times.

Now, though, days is tomorrow—and Javi hasn’t got a fucking clue what he’s doing.

He’s aware he’s picking you up from somewhere, at an unknown time, with you on an unannounced flight.

But, the stress is mounting, beginning to grow, prickling and wrapping itself around his back.

He supposes the lack of a concrete plan is why it’s so easy for it to come apart. It fraying, all toyed and played with by his fingers and avoided by your own.

Because it was never much to begin with.

In your defence, you couldn’t have banked on Pop finally being able to book in his truck at the stop. The one which hadn’t sounded the same in a while, never mind acted like it—the one very much needing to be fixed if Javi was going to continue to have a good relationship with his father.

It’s why he knew it needed to be done. He just couldn’t wrap his head around why the universe would decide now was the time it would align it to be fixed.

Selfishly, he had wanted to tell his Pop no when he’d interrupted him to tell him. Wanting to say they’d sort it once you’d gone back—because he needed his vehicle.

Because Javi knows the people in this town, and knows how the universe works when it involves him. The truck wouldn’t be in the shop 'just for today'—it would be days. It would bleed out and ruin his plans of showing you all the places he loves in his hometown. His Pop needing to run ‘small errands’—ones that never remained as such when they involved Chucho Peña.

He knows this because if they actually needed something urgently, he’d be the one sent. Just like when he was a kid, and his bike wheels cut through dirt and fields.

But he bit his tongue all the same, placing the keys in his Pop’s hand so he can do what it is he needs to do. His arms crossed over, gripping his biceps' backs as he watches the tow take away the truck.

Knowing deep down, once he had you here, he wouldn’t care if the truck was even in the state, as long as he had you.

“How many errands you runnin’ anyway?”

Adjusting his hat, his Pop gives him that look. The one which tells him he hasn’t got a clue and not to stress. A look he finds he despises more now, post-Colombia, than before. “Don’t worry, mijo. I’ll fill her up for you.”

Except he won’t.

His Pop always forgets something. Usually, the thing most essential. It's why, naturally, Javi had factored it into his new plan, the one he’d been scrambling together when he mucked out the stable.

What he had yet to bank on was that someone above was laughing at each plan he made. His fresh, newly organised one came apart again, before he'd even begun to head back to the stables.

This time, in text form. Your message arriving, punching into the gentle breeze and sunny mid-morning.

Okay, I’m leaving the motel now, wish me more than luck because I need this.

His feet come to a standstill. Dust kicked up, swirling around his calves as he read your message once, twice—

Then, his stomach drops, not just to the floor, but out of his body. Exiting out of him so quickly, he’s sure the rest of his organs have whiplash from it vanishing so quickly.

Heat spreading, sweat building, his body suddenly being consumed by panic—its tendrils sliding around his ribs, pecking at his lungs and heart as he tries to steady his breath.

I thought it was tomorrow No, today, silly. when did you fly in Yesterday, I told you this. The interview is today.

He’s unsure if his fingers have ever typed so fast, sweat beading on his brow—damp on his palms. Because no, you didn’t. Which meant—

“Fuck.”

It rips from his throat and flutters over the field, his eyes squinting, head turned in the direction of his truck—the one being sparked to life. Tyres sounding in the gravel. His feet not quick enough, not enough to outrun a vehicle—

“Fuckin’ fuck.”

youre gonna do amazing baby

I think I’m going to be sick. Which is normal right?

just try to breathe and remember that no one can do this job like you

I think the other people up for it would beg to differ, but I like how you support me.

tonight we’ll be celebrating

How are we planning on doing that?

i think i’ll buy you wine and then i’ll make your toes curl

Have to get the job first, Javi.

you will

And you’d need to know what time I’m arriving since you forgot it was today.

didnt forget baby

You handsome liar. I have to go, so we will resume this after I’ve gone and wowed them.

just be you. its how you wowed me

Javi is panicking.

His hand almost dropped the house phone on the last call, a cramp forming from ringing every place he suspected his Pop would visit.

And, because this was him, none of them had seen him in days—never mind today. They all sweetly asked if he was okay, like he had time to kill—had the time to catch up and hear how their son wanted to be a detective or their daughter was single.

He knew he could have been more polite, could have been nicer to some of them. Imagining your face when he tells you, that soft way you say his name, almost full of judgement and disappointment, but not quite able to embrace it fully.

When he replaces the handset, he swears. Fingers massaging the side of his temple, outwardly silent—but inwardly loudly—ticking, his feet taking him outside before he begins to pace.

Usually, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees helps.

Today, he's not sure anything can. Thoughts of you standing at the airport, sad, abandoned, feeling forgotten hammer against his skull. His chest tightens at the thought, guilt eating away at his insides as each little sound makes his head lift and his ears turn.

But, Javi isn't able to move when he hears the noticeable sound of wheels in the gravel and dirt. Almost worried he'd made it up, dreamt it, until he hears the horn.

His horn.

Wiping his arm across his forehead, Javi takes strides out of the distance—it takes all of his willpower not to check his phone. Not repeatedly check it, anyway.

Because you’re being quiet. Again.

Have been for the last two and a bit hours.

Admittedly, he’s not sure how long these things take, but the gap between your last message and now has expanded to the point that worry has begun to set in. What if you’re waiting for him? His mind pulls at the doubts he's forced into the darkness. What if you’ve changed your mind? His thoughts attempting to run away from themselves. His fingers and muscles, tendons and bones flexing as he turns the corner of the back of the house.

The stress, panic and worry merge inside of him, all beginning to knot. Clumping. Mashing with the earlier excitement to create a concoction that makes want to vomit.

Mad at himself that he should have known something would happen. His gut instinct off, having been tricked by how lovely the morning was, future days lulling him into a false sense of security.

He should know better. Javi had become well acquainted with things going explosively wrong in Colombia. He’d just hoped he could have spared it from touching you, from tainting what the two of you have.

The dismay flickers down his legs as the soles of his boots crunch loudly against the ground, steps all heavy, weighted. Trying to focus on the usual dread he feels at whatever the fuck his Pop has brought back with him this time. Discount slabs, sacks of tomatoes, new fence pillars—Javi has even seen him come back with more wooden slats to fix something he hadn’t even known was broken. Rather than paying attention to the longing and sadness he’s secretly feeling.

When he turns the final corner of the house, he sees it—his vehicle. His eyes spot the lights cutting out and then that the bed of his vehicle is empty—a thank fuck falling from his lips in a whisper.

Relief barely has a chance to soak in when Javi spots that his Pop isn’t alone. Annoyance flares, shooting through him as his jaw tightens. Until he narrows his eyes, attempts to look closer through the dirt-stained window, seeing what looks like a woman. Their head turned—a side profile that looks—

Swallowing, he blinks.

Must be a trick of the light, he thinks, shaking his head, wiping the sweat, sun and dirt from his eyes.

It has to be a mis-sight. His brain addled from worry, it now making him lose his mind.

Purposefully blinking it away, wincing at the brightness when he hears the noise of a door opening, then another—trying to stop his heart from getting away from itself, hammering and thumping as he watches his Pop step out, hoisting the back of his jeans up as he nods at him.

“Mijo.”

There's a smirk. It scratched into his Pop’s face—yet, his voice is so normal, all forced, a pretence. It not matching the look on his face. The one all mischievous and devious. A devilish smirk outlined by white hair and a twinkle in his eye that Javi cannot remember the last time he’s seen.

It’s why his attention drifts and slides, watching the other person—you—move around the back of the truck.

He’d spot you anywhere.

His body comes to the conclusion, before his brain. His shoulders drop—all of the stress melting—taking worry and annoyance with it. Something hooks in the corner of his lips, dragging them up to his cheek as he watches you glance at his Pop with a smile. That same one he hasn’t stopped picturing, dreaming of—before you land it back on him.

You’re here.

You.

Today.

Your chin dips, but he sees how high your cheeks are on your face as you watch him through your lashes. The two of you move, crossing the ground, cutting through the path to meet somewhere in the middle. Gravel crunching, dirt swirling like smoke at both of your feet.

“Surprise, charmer.”

He snorts, not stopping until his arms wrap around you, colliding with you. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, he realises how much he’s been hurting since he let you get on the plane to begin with. Pieces of him sliding back into place—healing, fixing.

“How?” he asks, whispering it against your face.

Unwrapping his arms, he watches you stare up at him before he glances at his Pop—grin smothered by wiry white all over again, paused at the bottom of the stairs to the house, tipping his hat:

“She made me promise, mijo.”

Shrugging, you wipe your thumb across your bottom lip. “I did. Don’t be mad.”

“Mad?” he asks, cupping your cheek and tilting your head. “I’m not… not even a little bit. I’m just…”

“I know I didn’t get the Houston job.”

His heart breaks a fraction, hand rubbing your arm, hearing the door to the ranch open and close in the distance. “I know, baby. You’ll—“

“But I did get offered the one from today.” Nodding, you smile before your teeth bite down on your bottom lip. “Apparently, I am very impressive—was going to be poached, anyway. Seems my skills are transferable enough to work for imports. A job that, I'm not sure if you know, wouldn't be in Houston. Like I let you believe.”

He feels a frown beginning to appear—attempting to weave itself through the joy already etched into his face. The rest of him trying to catch up, trying to piece together the nuts and bolts, the corners and edge pieces of the puzzle from the statements you’ve drip-fed him since you first told him about it.

“The job, Javi, would be here. At the World Trade Bridge.”

He feels it, the way his face smooths as he processes it. Acknowledges it. A bubble, a flutter of wings, appears in his chest, a new one arriving with every nugget he manages to process.

“He asked me if I fancied relocating—when he offered me the interview. It wasn’t quite Houston, something he apologised for. But, here, in Laredo. I had the interview this morning. If I accept, I’d be here, Javi. in Laredo. Which I know is a lot closer than Houston, so…”

“Baby.”

You press your palm to his chest. “I rang for you—to tell you. I had wanted to keep it to myself initially, just in case. Then, when I was helping Aish pack, she said it would be a nice surprise. Then, the guilt got too much. But I was a bit too excited to see who it was on the phone… and your Dad says hello in the same way, and by the time I’d told you—him—everything, your Dad was offering to pick me up, to bring me here.”

His face softens, a smile widening. Practically engulfing every other thing his face could even show, one that hurts it's so large.

“I can completely understand if you’d rather us keep some miles between us,” you smile. “Thought, though, if you’re as serious about me as I am about you, we could make the decision together.”

His hand cups both cheeks, brushing his thumb over your skin. “I want you.”

“I want you too.”

“Take the job, move here—move in—“

“Your dad already offered that,” you laugh, tipping your head forward, forehead pressing to his chest.

And, it's likely you can hear how his heart is hammering—maybe even feel it through his shirt. All loud and heavy. It doing it all for you.

“And, as lovely as the offer is, I get a nice relocation package—and I think, don’t be upset, that I’d want my own place. Just for a bit.”

Dragging his thumbs across your cheek. He stares into your eyes, aiming to burn the words he’s about to say into them. “How could I be upset when I’d have you here, cariño?”

Your lips slide into your cheek, a shy smile forming. “We could do those dates you talked about? I know I would see you all the time anyway, but I think I’ve been reckless enough lately. I’d like to be a tiny bit sensible, and do the proper dating thing where I cook for you at mine, and you invite me to sleep over at yours. Y'know? Just for a short time.”

“So, are you…”

“I haven’t accepted, not yet. Like I said, I wanted us to make that decision. As a couple. I… I guess I also wanted to check I still wasn’t too much?”

He lets out a breath, fingers sliding further up your cheek.

Unsure how he can even find words enough to explain how not too much you are. But he doesn’t try. Instead, he closes the gap, pressing his nose to yours, hoping his lips tell you instead.

Feeling you grasp at him, pulling him close. Feeling warmth, fire and adoration erupting in his chest when your mouth moves against his, soft, all perfect. Utter fucking bliss. A kiss he's longed for and missed so much, he's sure he's floating.

Only stopping when you pull back, hand sliding round to his chest—grinning, all teeth and sparkling eyes.

“I should go accept, right?”

He kisses you again, shorter, more chaste, but with the same abundance of emotions. “Lemme show you where the phone is.”

“The infamous one?”

His hand rises to take yours, looping his fingers, finding you fall into place beside him—just as easily as the two of you had done in Houston. “The very one. Can show you where I hit my knee that time.”

“Oh, when you almost cried?”

“Ay, cariño. None of that.” His head shakes.

Fuck is it something to hear you laugh. How it leaves your lips, your other hand wrapping around his arm, head burying against him as he tilts his head to watch. Knowing he’s grinning, knowing he’s never been happier.

He’s also pretty sure the entire ranch just began smiling, too.

Since the first time he heard your voice, his dreams have all been so similar.

They are full of white sheets—soft-yellow sun rays dancing in from the outside through his blinds. They’d illuminate the bed, showcasing the outline of a person that he always knew was you.

This morning, Javi woke to find it wasn’t a dream.

You're curled up close to him, thigh over his. His off-white sheets tucked around your body—face bare, stunning and pretty, lashes resting against your cheeks.

“Why’re you watching me sleep?”

Smirking, he traces his hand over your hip, giving you a pinch. “Jus’ admiring.”

“Can you do that at a sensible hour?”

He places a kiss on your nose, feeling your sigh against his skin before your hips move under his palm as you try to get closer. The barest of gaps between the two of you—as there had been since your arrival yesterday.

“For me, this is a sensible hour.”

You groan, deep—almost playful. “Shh, baby. Someone kept me awake late.”

“Some else didn’t seem to mind. I have teeth marks on my hand to prove it.”

He feels you hum, turning your head to look up at him before pressing a soft kiss to his chin. One that makes his throat dry, forces his hand to tighten its hold on you. The usual knot inside him smoothing out, everything in his veins calming. A feeling he had in Houston, which is now humming just as prominent here.

The logistics for your move were glazed over last night, once you’d accepted, once his Pop had handed him a bottle of wine with a wink before 'heading out'. The two of you on the porch, wine in your hand and beer in his head. Tomorrow, Javi? We can plan it all tomorrow. Hand sliding over his. Just want to enjoy being with you right now, especially when we have forever.

Tracing a circle on your hip, he traces his eyes over your face. “I’m so glad you mistyped that number, cariño.”

His words make your eyes open, watching your pupils swallow the colour—seeing how you focus, how your eyes begin to shine, and your smile begins to widen.

Hand rising to his cheek, your fingers delicately strumming his skin. “So glad you were intrigued about my bad date.” Your fingers pause, stopping at the side of his lip. “And that you were bored and lonely.”

Your eyes slide from his eyes to his lips and back again. “I’m even more glad to be yours, baby.”

Groaning, he slides his hand to your thigh, hooking it over his leg. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours.”

His nose slides against yours, lips lazily capturing yours. “Again.”

“Yours,” you whisper, mouth brushing his. “All yours.”

“Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Sliding your fingers into his hair, you ghost a smile across his lips. “I am, aren’t I?”

AN: there are so many people to thank, but I'll save that for next week. for now, thank you for reading. for trusting me. for trusting that i was going to give them the ending they deserved. i know we have moments from their future next week, but for now, i love you, i love them, and i love that i had the chance to tell a story i really wanted to tell. this story made me feel like I was a part of the fandom for the first time since I really joined, and I hope you’ll all continue to be as loving and wonderful for the next thing I write.

anon inbox is now open for anyone who wants to scream love (hopefully) but I won't post anything with spoilers until Thursday 7pm BST.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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claymoresword · 1 month

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I Choose Her | Chp: 20

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: y/n & draco, character death, violence, general heavy themes, fluff, y/n & hermione are endgame , events follow canon (in theory)

Note: here it is.. the final chapter ! (technically it's not over yet since we still have the epilogue, which i will try my best to get out within the next week, fingers crossed)

i also want to thank you guys so much for being here. whether you just found this fic recently or you've been here since the beginning, i hope you know i appreciate your support so much. it's the reason we even got to this point! i'm truly going to miss writing this story, more than you know. especially considering it has been apart of my life for over a year now, which is crazy! but anyway, love you guys, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @brocoliisscared @aki-ham @theheartwants-what-itwants

Hours since the Dark Lord and his followers had officially retreated.

The sun was now steadily taking its position in the sky, illuminating the mortal world. Heedlessly enforcing the illusion that tragedy no longer looms over Hogwarts and all wizard-kind.

That is, of course, as further as one could possibly get from the truth.

The atmosphere amidst the Great Hall unfailingly reminds everyone of a suffocating reality. It is thick with grief. Cold, dark and devoid of life– much like the dead that lay within it.

Hermione has yet to leave your side since you found a space to sit amongst the rubble. She continues to cling to you like a lifeline. Harry has been gone for hours, and Hermione, with a bit of coaxing, has finally stopped crying.

Ginny however remained hysterical– till her father was forced to subdue her with a Laxo charm. Still its effects wear off too quickly, and Ginny is far too vulnerable to justify repeated use. So her parents have settled with putting her to sleep instead.

She rests her head on Ron’s shoulder, blind and deaf to the destruction around her, even if only for a short while.

“Are you alright?” A foolish question, but Hermione, ever sweet and gentle, doesn't berate you for it. She nods, wordlessly slipping her arm around you before nestling her face into the crook of your neck.

Hermione desperately seeks an escape through you and there is nothing more you wish to do than to give her just that. You want to be her helm in a sea of catastrophe, as much as she is yours.

Nothing matters anymore, only her.

As you slip a comforting arm around your girlfriend, you take a scan of the hall, quickly regretting your decision to do so as you divert your eyes away from the row of corpses laid across the floor.

It is then you spot a familiar face that causes your stomach twists even more, you are overcome with the sudden urge to wretch.

Draco appears just as pale and miserable as he approaches you. Gingerly taking a seat, cautious not to interrupt your embrace with Hermione. For what feels like an eternity, neither of you speak.

“I thought you left the castle with the rest of them.” You find yourself muttering, surprising Draco and especially yourself.

Hermione lifts her head, once she realizes you were not speaking to her.

She takes notice of the platinum haired man next to you, and you feel her tense within your hold. Hermione’s expression visibly hardens, and you recognize that it would be smart to continue putting yourself in between her and Draco for the time being.

“No, I– I couldn’t. My parents.. they were looking for me, but I– I hid.” Your best friend remarks, he is unable to keep eye contact with you.

Guilt is ever corrosive, and it was consuming him alive. You see it in the very way Draco carries himself– so far removed from the person he once was.

Much like yourself.

It seems as though Draco is entirely expecting you to push some blame onto him. As if the destruction here today was caused solely by him. Though things are hardly as simple as that– besides, there is little reward in kicking a man when he is already down.

“At least you refused them. I know it isn’t easy.” You state. A feeble attempt to uplift him.

“Doing the right thing rarely ever is.” Hermione chimes in, as she puts her head on your shoulder once more. Her demeanor has softened, and in any regular instance, this might even fill you with joy.

“Does it even matter now? It’s too late.” Draco wallows, and a part of you wants to contend his statement, but that would also mean lying to him.

“And my mother and father– I’ve disappointed them.” He adds and now you let out a humorless chuckle.

“We have that in common. Mine certainly aren’t going to acknowledge me as their daughter now.” You say, and your best friend almost seems comforted by the notion.

“Mine either.” Hermione quips plainly, her attempt at lighthearted banter only shatters you.

You turn to place a lingering kiss against her forehead. Hermione accepts it as a faint smile plays on her lips, one reserved only for you.

‘As long as we stay together it'll be fine.’ You remind yourself for the dozenth time.

Draco sighs.

“There was no point to any of this.. it's all gone to shit.” He utters, exasperated, and Hermione nods in agreement.

Another chuckle slips out of you, this time from true amusement. Possibly from exhaustion or simply just a reaction to the ludicrous position you have all found yourselves in. You are sitting in what was once the Great Hall; the safest and warmest place in all of Hogwarts is now reduced to nothing but dust, piles of stone and death.

You ought to be studying for your end of year exams, yet instead, you have been battling Death Eaters.

People you considered friends have attempted to harm you more than once, and now it is not even certain if you would survive long enough to see nightfall.

Despite herself, Hermione begins to laugh with you. Draco only scoffs at this, he averts his gaze but you manage to catch the smile threatening to form on his face.

The moment does not last much longer as a noise in the distance abruptly steals your attention. The air in Hogwarts is no longer desolate, it has been awoken once more, and you quickly find out why.

Neville is first to rise off the floor, swiftly walking out into the courtyard. Students and teachers, reluctant but curious, follow suit.

You leave Draco behind as you move through the crowd, Hermione quickly falls in next to you and Ron settles a few paces behind.

Your worst fear is realized.

They have returned, to finish what they started.

A large army of Death Eaters approaches Hogwarts, the Dark Lord leads them at the front of the brigade. As they get closer, you notice Hagrid towering over the rest, he walks with something large in his arms.

Your face falls in horror once you make out exactly what it was he was carrying. Harry Potter, limp and lifeless.

Hagrid held him as though he weighed no more than a feather. It is a devastating sight, but you can’t seem to look away.

You feel the sudden urge to pinch yourself, to force yourself awake.

You are trapped in a grim nightmare, Harry cannot be dead.

“No.” Ron utters your thoughts out loud.

Hermione is reduced to soft sobs as she turns away in distress, you feel compelled to pull her in for an embrace once more.

“Who is that, Hagrid’s carrying?” Ginny’s voice echoes through the courtyard. She is awake, only to be struck in the face with atrocity.

“Neville, who is that?” She calls, much louder and desperate.

“Harry Potter is dead!” The Dark Lord responds to her question with glee.

“No– no!” Ginny cries, but she is quickly silenced with a wave of Voldermort’s hand, he forces her to the ground.

“Silence! You stupid girl.” He bellows as Arthur frantically helps his daughter back on her feet, dragging her as far from the enemy as possible.

“Harry Potter is dead, from this day forth, you put your faith in me.” Voldermort claims and he is only met with a stunned silence.

"Harry Potter is dead!” The Dark Lord declares again in celebration turning to his followers. He laughs, maniacal and bone chilling. Death eaters soon join in, a roar of erroneous joy.

Blind rage gives Hermione the strength to finally look upon Voldermort, you release her from your grip, but maintain close proximity.

“And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us, or die.” Voldermort states, his arms outstretched– a forced gesture of welcome.

Once again, you can all only afford to stare at him in disbelief.

“Draco!” Lucius calls for his son angrily, and you only realize then that you’ve entirely lost sight of your best friend.

The crowd parts slightly, and you finally spot him at the other side of the courtyard, standing amongst Seamus, George and Dean.

“Draco.” Narcissa coaxes her son in a far gentler manner, but the distress and worry within her gaze is plain for you to see.

Draco stares at his parents for a prolonged moment and then turns to look towards you. Your breath hitches in your throat, the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he means to share the burden with you.

You manage to shake your head at him, signifying disapproval, but it seems he was not looking for advice, it was merely a look of remorse. He was just apologizing for something he was about to do.

Your shoulders slump in disappointment when Draco tears his gaze away from your own, he limps towards his parents, slowly, as if in a trance.

“Well done, Draco, well done.” The Dark Lord embraces him stiffly for all to see, your jaw tightens when his stare lands on you.

Any fear you felt in that moment has been overshadowed by plain hot resentment.

“Y/n!” Your own father calls for you the same way, you can still feel the weight of everyone’s stare upon you as you refuse to budge.

“Y/n, come here, now.” Your mother warns, but it does nothing to convince you, if anything it has the opposite effect.

You feel Hermione’s hand slip into your own, motivating a streak of confidence.

“I am fine right where I am, mother.” You remark plainly, and you catch the way Voldermort clenches his pale gray hand into a fist for an instant before composing himself.

“Well, I must admit, y/n, I am very disappointed in you. I have no doubt your parents feel the same.” He states, and it works to gain a rise out of you.

However before you can retaliate with something reckless, Voldermort raises his wand to point it at you. “Crucio.”

The next thing you recall is the ground coming up to meet you, and trying to break your fall. A blinding pain that travels from your arm to the rest of your body.

Hermione is crouched over you as you continue to seize on the ground in sheer agony.

“Stop it! Please, stop!” Your girlfriend's pleas fall on deaf ears.

You faintly hear Voldermort’s mocking laughter amidst your own gripes of pain. Certain you are about to faint, you clench your eyes tightly, but then, it all stops.

Air violently floods your lungs, you feel the ground again, this time you recognize that you are laying firmly on top of it. You feel Hermione’s desperate hands clutching your body.

The Dark Lord looks upon horrified faces– he is using you as a warning. “I will say it again. Join us, else you will suffer a worse fate that y/n. So I invite you to step forward now.”

Hermione begins to help you back on your feet, but not before kissing your temple. She smoothes out your disheveled hair, a frantic effort to soothe you, or perhaps herself.

“Please tell me you're alright.” She pleads, an anguished whisper. You ignore the sharp pain still pulsating throughout your body to give Hermione some peace of mind.

“I am, I'll be fine.” You reply, taking her arm to resume your place.

Neville slips past you then, this sudden gesture is followed by a wave of gasps.

You observed as he limped through the crowd and towards Voldermort, your brows furrowed in confusion.

Not Neville. Not him of all people.

“I must say, I hoped for better.” Voldermort hurls the jibe, brusque and overconfident. The roar of laughter that comes from his followers only causes your scowl to deepen, it is a jarring noise, deeply unsettling.

“And who might you be, young man?” The Dark Lord asks, feigned geniality.

“Neville Longbottom.” Neville admits only for the laughter to come again.

You shift your weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Hermione mistakes it for a sign you may collapse again so she moves closer, allowing you to lean on her; this only makes you want to weep.

This isn't right. It was never supposed to happen like this.

“Well, Neville I am sure we can find you a place in our ranks–”

“–I'd like to say something!” Neville's voice bullies over Voldermort’s.

From the looks of it, this would nearly cost him his life, as Voldermort lifts his wand, almost like a reflex but he lowers it just as quickly.

With an air of composure, he responds, but his pretense is waning.

“Well, Neville, I am sure we are all fascinated to hear what you have to say.” Voldermort’s smile only makes him appear even more displeasing to the eye.

“It doesn't matter that Harry's gone.” Neville announces, and you instinctively look to the man in Hagrid’s arms.

This can't be the end.

Only half a heartbeat until you avert your gaze again.

“Stand down, Neville!” Seamus possesses enough gumption to warn his friend, but Neville brushes him off.

“People die everyday!” He insists.

“Friends, family..” Neville trails off.

Again, you feel compelled to keep Hermione close as you notice the way she has been pursing her lips to fight back more tears.

Ron can't seem to pull his eyes away from Hagrid, and his dead best friend.

“Yeah, we lost Harry tonight, but he's still with us, in here.” Neville continues, gesturing loosely to his chest, just above where his heart is.“So is Fred, Remus, and Tonks, all of them.”

“They didn't die in vain!” Neville shouts with a newfound confidence.

“But you will, because you're wrong!”

He challenges the Dark Lord, bold and open, and it makes you wince.

“Harry's heart did beat for us, for all of us!” He continues.

“So it's not over!” Neville exclaims, and the old hat he had been holding droops to the floor. Within it is revealed an unmistakable relic: the sword of Gryffindor.

He unsheathes the steel for all to see.

Then just as suddenly, the unthinkable happens.

Harry slips out of Hagrid's hold, his body collapses to the ground, but he is not dead, he braces his hands on the ground before rising.

Harry Potter, alive.

“Merlin's beard..” You gape, and Hermione grasps your shoulder, then she laughs, shock and pure relief.

Harry sprints past the Dark Lord, quick, like a cat. He attempts to fish out Draco’s wand from his pocket but it slides past his fingers.

Harry isn't given the opportunity to retrieve it as he is forced to dodge the mania of curses being hurled his way.

There is only chaos in the courtyard now as Death Eaters begin to disapparate by the dozen, abandoning their leader.

Everyone else, desperately seeking shelter, out of the courtyard, back into the castle or elsewhere, anywhere away from harm.

“Come on, we have to go.” Hermione drags you with her, but you turn back for a moment to watch as Draco bravely pushes past the chaos, picking up his wand, unbelievably, he tosses it back to Harry.

“Potter!” Your best friend shouts just before you lose sight of him in the crowd. Although Harry catches the wand just in time.

“Confringo!” The Chosen One exclaims, Nagini writhes violently as the curse injures her.

The snake. You have to kill the snake.

Harry shares the sentiment as you get to the castle's doors, he falls in next to you, Ron and Hermione. “We need to kill the snake, I'll lure him into the castle.”

You merely nod in response, Harry continues to deflect the curses being hurled at the four of you.

“You'll need this.” Hermione says, retrieving the Basilisk fang from her bag.

The Dark Lord is rapidly inching closer now, fury has become him– yet he has never seemed so meek, utterly powerless.

He is losing, if he has not lost already.

Nagini is all he has left.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You anticipate it, but Hermione shoves you out of the way just in time as a mass of rubble comes crashing down from above.

You stumble, before coughing out a lung full of dust, squinting as it obstructs your vision. Hermione’s grip on your arm is the only thing tethering you to the present.

Harry bumps into you, just as disoriented. He has lost sight of Ron and worst of all, he can't see Voldermort.

Another large crash causes you all to flinch, it didn't take long at all for the Dark Lord to find you once again.

Harry throws another curse, powerful enough that he loses his balance, the Basilisk fang unluckily slips out of his pocket, bouncing off the stairs and to the flat ground in front of you.

You reach for it, but before you can retrieve the object, the tooth disintegrates right before your eyes.

“What–” You aren't given the chance to despair as Harry reminds you of an alternative.

“I’ll keep distracting him. Find Neville, he has the sword. Kill that snake.” He states, the sound of curses violently clashing masks his words, the Dark Lord remains oblivious to your plan, for now.

“Let's try the Great Hall.” Hermione suggests.

“If we can even get there.” You quip, actively trying to work out a way through the rubble.

You follow after Hermione, and soon, Harry disappears through the thick wall of smoke and dust, purposefully luring Voldermort towards the Astronomy Tower.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Here, this way.” Hermione says as she steps through an opening and further down a flight of stairs.

Just when you both think you are out of danger, a noise stops you dead in your tracks.

You spot the large snake coiling around the bannister before slithering across a pile of bricks towards you.

Its hiss sends a shiver down your spine as you reach for your wand.

Hermione on the other hand, acts on pure instinct. Grabbing a piece of stone, she aims it at the snake.

It successfully clips Nagini on the side of her head, but this only succeeds in agitating the beast.

“Oh.” Hermione utters as the snake recoils, ready to attack.

You both lift your wands in preparation but the snake is hit again, this time by a larger curse that disorients it.

“Go on, I'm right behind you.” Ron emerges,

pushing the both of you to continue on your search for the sword.

You only manage to get to the bottom of the stairs before Ron can be heard groaning in pain.

The snake had managed to trap him in its grasp, it was coiled around his body, an unsettling sight as it attempted to strangle the life out of him.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaims, chasing back up the stairs without a moment's thought.

“Stupefy!” She exclaimed, and the snake loosens its grip on Ron just enough for him to wretch free.

Hermione drags him to his feet and you can only watch in horror as the snake attempts to come at the both of them now.

“Incendio!” She tries again but the fire fizzles out as soon as it touches the beast, as if the snake was made of ice.

It is your turn to sprint up the stairs but the snake whips its head around, baring its fangs at you as warning. You halt abruptly, forced to keep a distance, grasping your wand tightly.

Hermione shares a pleading look.

It is useless. There are three of you against Nagini, and yet you were helpless without the sword.

This is not going to work. The snake won't die. Distracting it will only mean seriously harming or even killing one of you.

Your mind reels, you frantically scan your surroundings, looking for a solution.

Then, you are graced with a miracle. Neville appears behind you, barrelling up the stairs, panting, his face caked in dirt and dried blood. He has the sword of Gryffindor in hand.

Hermione let's out another scream that snatches your attention, the snake has attempted to come at them again, and again, Ron has now resulted in shielding your girlfriend with his own body.

You have to kill it now.

As you take another step, Nagini shifts her point of attack, now preparing to lunge towards you.

“Y/n– here!” With only seconds to spare, Neville tosses the steel in your direction. You quickly drop your wand before you manage to catch the sword by the hilt, still unaccustomed to its weight, you grasp it with two hands.

Just like handling a beater's bat, you swing it, firm and hard, slicing the beast across its body mid-air.

There is no blood, instead the snake explodes into a rain of thin black ash, it is unlike anything you have ever seen before. It is all you can look at as you let the point of the sword fall by your feet.

For a while all you can hear is the clang of metal hitting the ground and a faint ringing in your ears, muffled by the sound of your own heavy breathing.

Neville's touch on your shoulder snaps you out of a trance. “It's over, it's done.”

Enough sense returns to you as you shift your gaze towards Hermione. Her expression mirrors your own.

The four of you are miraculously alive, and the snake is dead.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

In the aftermath, it did not take much convincing for you to agree to join Hermione, Harry and Ron for a walk along the bridge.

Thankful for fresh air, the afternoon sun was also a welcomed feeling upon your skin, for the first time in days, it felt like you could breathe.

As Hermione struts ahead, you manage to grab ahold of her arm, forcibly tugging her closer to your own body.

She then lets out a noise in surprise once you capture her lips with your own, but she melts into the kiss just as quickly, your hand slips to the small of her back as she opens her mouth wider to welcome your tongue.

You continue like that without care for a while, until Ron deliberately interrupts your moment by verbalizing his thoughts.

“Bloody hell, give it a rest, you two.” He remarks, but his tone lacks its usual malice as he clears a path by kicking away pieces of rubble.

You grimace as you feel Hermione pull away from embarrassment.

“Fuck off, Weasley.” You retaliate, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, the sound of Ron's laughter makes you smile.

You part Hermione’s hair away from her neck, tilting your head slightly to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses along her neck.

She smells like sweat– but, in truth, it has never been an unpleasant scent to you. Nothing about Hermione was ever unpleasant.

Even now, sleep deprived and unwashed, she was perfect.

You notice the way Hermione trembles at the sensation of your warm mouth upon her flesh.

It only works to entice you further, but before you can kiss her again, Hermione displays some semblance of self control.

She braces her hands on your chest, shoving you lightly. “Not here.”

With a pout you meet her gaze and she only rolls her eyes at that, before rewarding you with a quick peck on the lips.

“We both could use a bath later.” Hermione mutters suggestively, running her fingers through your hair.

A smirk tugs on your lips at that, but before you can retort with something clever, Hermione's gaze shifts to Harry.

The Chosen One stood at the edge of the bridge, where there was once a bannister, now just a stump of concrete and marble.

Harry is observing the wand in his hand as Hermione addresses him. “How come it didn't work for him, The Elder Wand?”

“It answered to somebody else.” Harry replies, turning to look at the three of you.

“When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. but the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape.”

“It was Draco, who disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, from that moment on, the wand answered him.” Harry explains, looking down to inspect it once more.

“Until, the other night, when I disarmed Draco at Malfoy Manor.” He continues and your eyes widen at the realization.

“So that means–” You gape, and Hermione turns to you in disbelief.

Harry nods. “It's mine.” He states, nonchalant as ever.

“What should we do with it?” Ron inquires, and Hermione merely grimaces.

“We?” She scolds.

“Ron's right, I mean, that's the Elder Wand. Most powerful in the world, with that, you'd be invisible.” You remark in support, now Hermione directs her scowl towards you, and you shrug innocently.

Although your expression twists once your gaze flits to Harry once again, he grunts as he struggles to break the wood in half.

You advanced forward to intervene, but it was too late. The wand snaps in two, like a twig.

Harry turns around, chucking pieces of the most powerful wand in existence off the edge of the bridge.

You chase after it as far as your eyes can see before it disappears, forever.

“What the fuck–” Ron mutters under his breath in shared disbelief, yet Hermione only watches the both of you with amusement.

Then she grabs you by the collar, dragging you away from the ledge.

You are forced to follow as she falls in next to Harry, strolling back to the castle.

Resisting the urge to confront Harry about what he had just done, you drape an arm across Hermione's shoulder, she welcomes it, intertwining your hands as you walked.

“I'm starving.” Ron remarks, trailing behind you. An effort to shift to a different, much simpler topic of conversation.

“So am I.” Hermione replies.

“Yeah.. reckon The Three Broomsticks are still open?” You joke, and Harry is first to laugh, followed by your girlfriend and eventually, Ron.

You allow yourself a smile, it is one of relief. You relish in a careless joy you once thought you'd never get to experience again.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #harry potter #hermione granger smut

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serverusslaype · 8 months

Text

Shameless, pt. 5

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

HEY YALL!! oh my lordddd this was so fun and emotionally draining to write lowkey, i had o children on repeat at the end and i was in my BAG, that song destroys me.

if you're still here and still following this series, thank you very much, i truly do appreciate your support - that means all the likes, follows, reblogs, comments - everything and anything <33 if you are new, hello, welcome, hi, the beginning chapters will be on my blog, just scroll down, this series is the only thing i have posted, i'll be adding the part links in tomorrow as i want to go to bed hehe

i love u guys so much :) pls make sure you drink enough water today!

this is a very long chapter by the way so pls prepare yourself for potential spelling mistakes!

alright... away we goooo!!!

As you sprinted down the corridor, it felt like it was never-ending. You were almost out of breath as you reached the scene, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you stared up in horror at the second bloody message. It eerily read: 'Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever'.

"Oh my…" You breathed out shakily; the loudening sound of a crowd of hurried footsteps began to get closer and closer to you. Looking to the right, you spotted the other teachers - McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Flitwick, Sinistra, Snape and the caretaker, Filch. They all looked as distressed as you did, even Snape who is usually devoid of any emotion.

"The heir of Slytherin has left another message," McGonagall stated apprehensively, gesturing to the defamed wall with an outstretched hand as the other teachers gathered around, all sporting the same worrisome look. "Our worst fear has been realised. A student has been taken by the monster, into the Chamber itself." The Head of Gryffindor's voice was shaky, it sounded like she was about to burst into tears. You glanced at her with sad eyes, and she beckoned you to come to her with her other arm. You padded over to McGonagall as she laid an arm around your shoulders comfortingly, her thumb gently rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Being the youngest of the teachers, you were taking this rather hard. Most of all, you were worried for the rest of your students. "What do we do Minerva?" You asked quietly after a moment of silence as the group of you stared at the wall in disbelief and what felt like denial. "The students must be sent home… I'm afraid this is the end of Hogwarts." She announced, her brows knitting together in a dramatic show of despair. You felt your stomach drop. The end of Hogwarts?…

Before you could get another word in, a familiar, cocky face appeared. "So sorry. Dozed off. What have I missed?" Lockhart asked over-enthusiastically with his signature million-dollar grin, bouncing on his heels as he clasped his hands together behind his back. You clenched your jaw in anger at him, your eyes narrowing into an unwelcoming glare as you stared at the man.

"A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Your moment has come at last." Snape said bitterly, standing tall.

"My m-moment?" Lockhart replied, stumbling over his words like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?" Snape quipped as the speed of sound, his tongue laced with venom. You glanced at Severus for a quick moment, your stomach doing somersaults. Instantly, Lockhart's grin disappeared. You swallowed thickly as he dared to glance at you, his mouth parting slightly in shock. Your jaw clenched again as you shuffled in your spot, resisting the urge to curse the man. McGonagall's comforting hand tightened around your shoulder.

"That's settled. We'll leave you to deal with the monster, Gilderoy." McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "Your skills, after all, are legend." She added, not hiding the smugness in her voice at all. The corner of your lip quirked up the tiniest amount at her words. Lockhart's face was the pure definition of shock for the last few seconds before he quickly returned to his fake, proud grin.

"Very well. Uh, I'll just be in my office getting err… getting ready!" Lockhart announced, feigning excitement. Did he think you were stupid? All of you could see through his brave act and see his true cowardly self. As you all stared at him, he spun on his heel and turned around, almost sprinting back in the direction of his office. You couldn't help but scoff quietly as he turned the corner, rolling your eyes at his pathetic self as you looked back at the message messily scrawled out on the wall. Your stomach twisted at the thought of one of your students being brutally slaughtered at the hands of a beast. It felt as if someone had just pushed you from a great height.

"Who is it that the monster's taken, Minerva?" Madam Pomfrey asked with inquisitive yet cautious eyes, pulling you from your thoughts. Professor McGonagall looked away for a moment, blinking slowly.

"Ginny Weasley." McGonagall replied gravely, sharing a glance with Madam Pomfrey before walking away, presumably back to her office. You'd been nurturing your Mandrakes with precision, but this whole debacle spurred you on to do as much as you could, even if that meant destroying yourself in the process. The students of Hogwarts' safety meant the world to you. You couldn't imagine the fear that was probably streaming through them all right now.

Ever since you were called by McGonagall to the second-floor corridor to witness the final bloody message scrawled against the wall, you'd been awake almost twenty-four hours a day; sleeping in your greenhouse at your desk to ensure you were there the exact moment your Mandrakes were ready to be stewed and made into juice for the Mandrake Restoration potion. Dark purple rings had appeared around your eyes as you worked day and night, fertilising, feeding and watering the Mandrakes, guaranteeing that the they were at their best when the time came. The threat of more students being attacked or snatched kept you awake most of the time.

Nothing of the sort had ever happened at Hogwarts before, and deep down, you were a little terrified. Though you refused to show it, it would only scare the students more. You had also heard through the grapevine that Hagrid had been arrested on suspicion of opening the Chamber of Secrets, which broke your heart. That man would never do such a thing, and you were positive he was being set up for it. It was a blistery, cold and frosty winter night and you had nodded off again whilst caring for the Mandrakes; your head drooped in the cradle of your arms on top of the table with your hair falling over your arms like a waterfall. You stirred awake, and it was a brutal war to open your eyes as the chilling air bit at your bare arms like a rabid dog. Shivering, you quickly blinked, rubbing your sore eyes with tired fingers, a gasp leaving your lips as you laid your eyes upon the scene in front of you. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Before you had fallen asleep, the Mandrakes were in their own pots. Now, they had moved into each others. They'd finally matured! All those early morning and late nights you'd slaved away had paid off. Your chest was bursting with pride as you grinned to yourself. It was a bittersweet moment for sure.

"Yes!" You exclaimed, the rush of excitement fuelling you to stand up from your chair. You clasped your hands together eagerly, staring at the nesting Mandrakes like a baby who just took their first steps. You were so proud.

Humming to yourself, you stood there blankly. If you were being honest, you had to wrack your brain for a moment as the lack of sleep was starting to get to you - your brain was a little foggy. Yet, you pushed through it, retrieving your wand from your robes, but to your surprise it wasn't there. Your brows furrowed as you looked down at your empty pockets. It must have fallen out when you nodded off. You bent down quickly, scanning underneath the table with tired eyes, and sure enough, there was your wand. Sitting all by it's lonesome. You retrieved it with nimble fingers and stood back up with a whoosh, aiming your wand at the root of a Mandrake in front of you. "Diffindo." You spoke clearly, flicking your wand in a up-and-down motion, watching carefully as a thin white light severed off a thick piece of Mandrake root. It fell and landed on the table with a muffled thud. Quickly retrieving it, you placed it into a dark brown woven bag to the left of you, sealing it closed with the ivory-coloured drawstrings. Now, it was time to pay the Bat a visit. Hopefully he didn't cause you much… stress.

You sighed quietly, turning around with a whirl to have a quick look in a old, dusty mirror that had been overgrown by some vines of ivy. Merlin, you had really been neglecting yourself. You grimaced as you stared at your unrecognisable reflection, noticing the purple circles around your eyes. "Yeesh," you grit your teeth, fingers coming up to trace the lines forming at the end of your eyes.

It's not like you were there to impress Snape anyway, you were going there to drop off the Mandrake extracts and help him with the potion. That was it. Nothing else. Your chest tightened slightly at the thought, of course you wished it was different, but this was Professor Severus Snape you were talking about. The man was emotionless, he had no time for such childish things. A soft, strained groan slipped from your lips as you shut your eyes for a moment, just imagining what it'd be like if did feel the same way you did. Perhaps he'd make you tea in the mornings, visit you during your breaks, maybe even bring you small, meaningful gifts. Sighing defeatedly, you shook away your fantasy from your mind, slipping back into gloomy reality.

You made your way out of the greenhouse, but not before readjusting your dress and brushing through your hair with your fingers messily, a quiet 'ouch' falling from your lips as you reached a knot. Feelings or not, you wanted to at least look presentable. Falling asleep on your worktable didn't really do you any justice.

The obsidian night-sky had taken over from the blue one earlier, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful the stars looked twinkling in the sky tonight. You stopped for a moment and admired it, quickly spotting your favourite constellation, Aquila. It took you back in time for a moment, remembering the fond times you had teaching students in Astronomy. You still loved Astronomy, but Herbology is where you truly belonged.

As you bid the night a silent farewell, you carried yourself into the castle, ensuring to be as quiet as possible considering it was around eleven o'clock at night, perhaps even midnight. You hurried to the spiral staircases leading down to the dungeons, that familiar, vile damp smell hitting your nose once again. Your nose scrunched up in disgust. As you continued down the path towards Snape's classroom, you spotted it; a warm amber light flooding out from underneath the door. It wasn't exactly a surprise that he was still awake, you knew he was usually out patrolling each night to catch students out of bed past curfew. You rolled your eyes at the thought and proceeded to rap on his door with your knuckles, awaiting his response, bag in hand.

"Come in." Came an agitated voice. You cringed slightly at yourself and opened his door and wandered in. As your eyes glanced around his classroom, you were instantly transported back to the times you'd served detention in here, scribbling rather inappropriate things on scraps of parchment. Looking back to Snape, you noticed he was sat at his desk, nose deep in what you assumed to be assignments. Your stomach suddenly felt rather light.

"Hello," you said sheepishly, stopping in front of his door as you shut it behind you, "You're up late." You commented, offering him a polite smile. Severus looked up confusedly from behind his desk, his brows furrowing as he noticed it was you and not a student. As his eyes connected with yours, they sent an anxious, shivery rush through your body.

"Y/N," Severus greeted you, his face still adorned with his infamous scowl as he looked at you directly for several seconds, scrutinising you as he tried to comprehend what you were doing at his office at such an ungodly hour. "What are you doing here?"

"The Mandrakes matured," you said excitedly, holding up the bag in your hand. Snape's gaze fell to your hands, eyeing the bag with an ounce of curiosity. "We can start the potion now to cure the students." You added happily.

Severus leaned back in his chair, looking back down at the assignments in front of him. You were a little bummed that he didn't look happier. "Brilliant, you may put them here." He said blankly, patting the empty space on his desk next to his pile of assignments. After several seconds, he spoke again with a curious tone. "…You said 'we', Y/N?" He stared at you. The way he said your name made your face redden.

"Erm, yes, well, I don't want you to over-stew the Mandrake root," You said with a cheeky smile. You were trying to lighten to glum mood. It was risky but worth it. High risk, high reward, you thought. "I thought it would be best if I did for you, since I was the one that raised them." You explained, shrugging sheepishly. Severus could sense the swelling pride in your voice, but he didn't mention anything, he wasn't sure if he'd say something awful and hurt you. It was rather pleasant to see you smiling in his presence instead of the usual upset and angry side of you.

Severus sat for a moment and pondered before speaking once more. "Very well." He said, that cold tone still very present in his voice. You bit down a little too harshly on your bottom lip out of nervousness, padding forwards to set the Mandrake roots down on a desk in the middle of the classroom. As you glanced around the classroom once more, fond memories of you and your friends whispering and sneaking notes to each other in class began to flood your mind, a nostalgic smile tugging at your lips.

"Are the cauldrons still in the same place?" You asked Severus, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him.

"Yes." Was all he said, nose still buried deep in his work. You rolled your eyes softly at his ridiculous work ethic. Every time you came in this room, he was always working hard. Of course, you admired his industrious nature, but you thought he would at least give himself some leeway and put the assignments down, maybe read a book or do something a little less work-related. Though, you weren't one to judge, perhaps he enjoyed it.

"Nothing changes around here." You chuckled quietly to yourself, a small smile spreading across your face as you wandered in the direction of Snape's storage cupboards, your fingers wrapping around the handle. Pulling it open with a exhausted squeak of the old and worn hinges, you let your eyes roam over the equipment, searching for a spare cauldron. As you had your back turned, Severus sneaked a glance at you over his assignments, his eyes narrowing vaguely as he stared at you for a short moment. Before you turned back around with the cauldron in your hand, he'd already returned his gaze to his desk.

Walking back to the desk you'd chosen to stew your Mandrake root, you let your eyes flick over at Severus for a quick moment, indulging in his appearance. Your eyes lingered, and you realised you loved the way his hair fell around his pale face like a pair of old curtains, a single strand curling onto his prominent nose. A tiny, bashful smile fell on your lips as you looked back to the cauldron in your hands, stopping at the desk to place the cauldron down. Whilst you were setting it up, you kept sneaking cautious glances in the direction of the broody Potions Master, your heart beat speeding up each time your curious eyes landed on him.

You retrieved your wand from your robes and cast a spell on the cauldron, watching as water suddenly filled it three quarters of the way up. After that, you cast another spell to boil the water, your face relaxing a tad as you reached for the bag of Mandrake root to your right, opening it and retrieving said ingredient. You dropped it in the cauldron with a satisfying plop, observing it carefully. Now, you had to wait fifteen minutes for it to stew, keeping an eye out for when it turned bright green.

You looked up at Severus, who was still scratching away at assignments with his quill. "It'll be around fifteen minutes." You announced, not really expecting a reply. He merely grunted as a weak sign of acknowledgment. That was the best you were going to get currently. You sighed quietly to yourself and decided to take a stroll around his classroom to kill some time.

Heading towards the shelves of jars and containers of rather vile looking ingredients, you clasped your hands together behind your back, stopping to have a look at a jar of rat tails. You grimaced at the sight, quickly moving on to another row of less disgusting looking jarred items. A content hum left your lips as you spotted your powdered asphodel root, placed neatly in a small glass container to the right of a phial of Phoenix tears.

"I see you have a surplus of powdered asphodel root," You commented, turning around to glance at Severus, who to your surprise, was already staring at you. A flash of butterflies shot through you. "You won't need anymore for a while, then?" You cleared your throat, chewing on your bottom lip out of nervousness.

"Not until I brew another Draught of Living Death." Severus replied slowly and coldly, his eyes scrutinising you. You turned around, nodding, tearing your gaze from him, continuing to walk slowly and peek at each jar nosily.

"Do you ever miss certain students?" You asked, catching Snape off-guard. His brows furrowed at you slightly, partially confused at your question.

"Not particularly," He replied slowly again, his mind racing through countless ideas as to why you'd ask such a question. "If that's your way of asking if I miss having you as a student, my answer may hurt your feelings, Y/N." Severus's lips quirked up at the corners into a small, reluctant smirk. In lieu of the familiar rush of irritation surging through you at his comment, you instead found yourself smiling. You were a little surprised at yourself, you half-heartedly expected to take offense at his dig. Severus was surprised at your reaction too, but he did not show it.

"Understandable," You laughed quietly; the butterflies fluttering like a storm in your stomach. "I wasn't the best student for you, if my memory serves me right." Another soft laugh left you. Severus felt himself almost smile at the pretty sound that slipped from your lips. It was a little jarring to see such a change in character in you. He'd prepared himself for you to yell at him again, or at least insult him back.

"No." He agreed, still staring at you. "However, you weren't the worst."

"Who was?" You looked at him this time, genuinely curious. Severus grunted at your question.

"I believe you know. Or, perhaps, can guess at best."

A cheeky smirk perked up on your face. "Benjamin Bluewater?" You stared at Snape, waiting for his answer. He only tilted his head at you, raising his brows a tad. You took that as a yes from him. "Yeah, he was a menace." You hummed amusedly, thinking back to the times Bluewater had caused Snape grief. One time, the boy had set off a rather foul-smelling prank in Snape's classroom, rendering it useless for that period. Snape almost had the boy's head that day for that mischievous mishap. Bluewater was insanely lucky to have another teacher walk by, diffusing the situation.

"Yes," Snape sighed exasperatedly, leaning back in his desk chair. For the first time, you felt comfortable in his presence. It wasn't tense, nor uncomfortable, and you weren't on edge, waiting for an insult. "I don't think I've ever met someone so… distasteful." You frowned at him, obviously in disagreement.

"Lockhart, surely?" You offered. Severus cocked his brow and tilted his head, nodding frankly at you, as if to say 'Yes, that's true'. You laughed and turned around, starting to head back towards your cauldron as it was starting to hiss. "Yeah, he's insufferable." You said as you reached your cauldron and retrieved your wand, using it to stir the stew.

There was a few seconds of silence between you two, only the hissing and bubbling of the cauldron echoing in the classroom. "I'll be sad to see him go." Snape said finally. Your head whipped up at him, a look of shock and confusion on your face. "I won't have the honour of coming across you threatening him in a corridor late at night anymore." He added, his lips quirking up slightly again. A dry laugh left your lips as you turned back to your Mandrake stew. "It was always a thrilling experience each time I neared a corner in a corridor when patrolling at night."

"Funny." You scrunched your nose up, trying to hide the amused smile that was painted on your face. With your attention on something else, Severus couldn't help but let his eyes linger on you for a few more seconds, silently admiring the way your hair fell over your shoulders. "I think it's done, Severus."

"You think or you know it's done?" He quipped, standing slowly to walk over to you, his majestic cloak billowing out behind him. He halted himself beside you, peering into the cauldron.

"I know it's done." You rolled your eyes at him, earning an eyebrow raise from the Potions Master. You had to bite back a smile. "Would you like me to do the potion as well?" You asked jokingly, daring to glance up into his dark, almost black eyes. That was a mistake, your cheeks flared up immediately. You quickly averted your gaze back to the cauldron, hoping he didn't notice.

"I believe I am the Potion Master of this school," Severus glared at you like he was offended you'd even offer that. You tried to hold back your laugh. He was so demanding at times. "Considering your… messy history with potions, I think it would be best if I handled this part." He added with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You make a great point, Severus." You rolled your eyes and stepped back, awaiting instructions. "Can I at least get the ingredients?" You asked eagerly, sounding like a child. You cringed a little at yourself. "Very well." Severus sighed, his eyes still glued to the cauldron. As he finished speaking, you spun on your heel and headed to where you were strolling earlier. You paused for a moment, realising that you had no idea what the ingredients were. Before you could ask, Severus was already on the case. "Dandelion root, Phoenix tears and purified water." He listed, almost tiredly. You blushed furiously at the fact you'd embarrassed yourself yet again in front of Snape.

"Okay…" You trailed off, eyes frantically searching the shelves. My asphodel root was next the Phoenix tears, you thought, shuffling to the right slightly to reach for the phial of Phoenix tears. Dandelion root must be placed with the other Herbology based ingredients, surely? you wondered. Sure enough, you were right, your eyes landed on the jar of dandelion roots; hand reaching out to grab it. Erm, purified water, purified water… you thought, eyes scanning the shelves, quickly stopping as you spotted it pushed behind a container of fish eyes. "Ew…" You muttered, pushing the fish eyes aside to grab the purified water. Severus had the tiniest amused smile on his face as he watched you search the shelves for the Mandrake Restorative Draught ingredients, he was thoroughly entertained.

As you turned around to look back at Snape, ingredients in hand, your eyes caught his, and you noticed the smile on his lips. It almost made your knees buckle, you'd never seen him smile like that before, let alone at you. Immediately, the smile was wiped from his lips as your eyes connected. It made you a little sad that he felt he had to hide his true emotions from you.

"You are an expert at dawdling, Y/N." Severus commented, his eyes returning to their usual cold and harsh nature.

"Well, not that it's obvious to you, but I don't tend to come in here very much anymore." You quipped back, arching your brow at his words. It was intriguing to you to see just how fast he could just switch expressions. Snape offered you a condescending gaze as he brushed off your sassy reply. "Here, I've got everything you need." You said, placing the jars and vials on the desk in front of the two of you. "Brilliant." Was all Severus said as he barely acknowledged you, his shoulder-length mop of raven-black hair acting like a shield to his face. He was much taller than you, so you couldn't see past it whilst standing beside him.

"Can I watch?" You asked sheepishly, making Snape turn around to look at you. His brows knitted together, observing you silently. With a soft sigh, he turned back around to the cauldron and proceeded to pick up the jar of dandelion roots.

"If you must." Severus replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice. A small, appreciative smile fell on your lips. He glanced at you once more from beside you, sending butterflies soaring through you. You focused your attention onto his hands, watching how his quick and skilful fingers opened each jar gracefully, preparing them for each step. You watched as Severus took a pinch of the dandelion root, gently adding it into the cauldron, careful not to disturb the Mandrake root. After that, he grasped the vial of Phoenix tears with a cautious hand and poured it into the mixture, his eyes lighting up at the bubbles that started to form on top of the potion. Severus reached for the final ingredient of purified water. Dropping it in slowly, the mixture quickly shifted to a muted tone of green.

"Now, let it simmer for a minute or so, then stir it once clockwise, and then twice anticlockwise." Severus instructed sternly, picking up the empty jars and containers.

"Right," You nodded, a little nervous. You couldn't screw it up, right? Stepping forwards, you watched Severus stalk away to the shelves, glass jars and containers in hand. You looked back to the potion and waited for a minute and a bit, before using your wand to stir the green mixture once clockwise, and then twice anti-clockwise. A soft blow of air left your lips as a sign of relief.

"Well done. If only you could have been this competent when you were a student." Snape said sarcastically, peering into the cauldron, his brows raising in approval as he threw a side-ways glance at you. You rolled your eyes at him, fighting the urge to say something back. "Keep rolling your eyes, perhaps you'll find a brain back there." Snape quipped, obviously growing tired of your eye-rolls. It was impossibly hard not to roll your eyes at him right then and there, it was so fitting to do so. "I believe it's ready." He said, nodding once. A happy, proud and prideful grin broke out on your face as your stared at the draught, a sense of accomplishment washing over your small form. As Severus glanced down at you again, he couldn't help but stare at your happy little face, an odd and unusual sensation stirring in his chest. He swiftly turned away from you without saying anything else and headed back to his desk, leaving you alone, hiding his face as the smallest of smiles picked at the corners of his lips.

You had brought the draught to Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary at once. She was ever so grateful and thankful towards you, however, you were rather adamant that it was Severus she should be thanking. "Thank you so much, Professor L/N!" Madam Pomfrey cried with the Mandrake Restorative Draught in her hands, a gasp of relief leaving her lips as she lead you around the corner of a curtain, your body freezing as your eyes fell on a Petrified student. It was Hermione Granger.

"You should really be thanking Severus," You chuckled awkwardly, clasping your hands in front of your hips. "It wouldn't have been made without him, considering he is the Potions Master after all." You said, a hint of a laugh at the end of your sentence. "I only grew the Mandrakes." You added.

"Of course, but the Mandrake is the most important ingredient, do you not agree?" She said, turning to glance at you as she administered the potion to the skin of a Petrified Hermione. It stinged you a little to see a student of yours frozen and paralysed, almost lifeless. So you looked away, your eyes finding an interest in the floor.

"I suppose, but I wouldn't have been able to brew it myself, even Severus himself said I shouldn't." You hummed. Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes softly at you. You pursed your lips.

"Don't believe anything that gloomy bat says, Professor L/N, you're more than capable of anything if you put your mind to it." She said sternly, her long dress gliding across the floor elegantly as she moved away from Hermione and to the next student behind the next curtain to your left. She left you alone to your thoughts, and perhaps she was right. Maybe you were capable of brewing the potion, but even if you were, you would still rather have Severus do it, especially since it was an urgent requirement. It had to be perfect.

A few days had passed since you had distributed the antidote to Madam Pomfrey and today was Friday, the last day of term for the students before they left Hogwarts to return home to their families for Christmas. Mixed emotions stirred within you as you sat at the table with the other professors, your eyes glazing over the House tables sat in front of you. This term had been full of unusual and unexpected moments, and you were hoping it would simmer down the next term. You weren't too sure whether you'd survive anything like that again. In fact, you were almost positive.

"Hello, and good evening to all," Dumbledore announced, wandering up to his beloved golden Owl Lecturn, his long and worn fingers latching around the wings. "Before we begin to indulge in this excellent feast, let us have a round of applause for Professor L/N," The Headmaster said, almost making you snap your neck from the speed you looked up. You were not expecting Dumbledore to publicly thank you. "Madam Pomfrey, whose Mandrake juice has been so successfully administered to all who had been petrified." He finished, and your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. You didn't do well being in the spotlight, let alone being thanked by the entire school for something so miniscule in your eyes. You smiled sheepishly and gave a gracious nod at everyone who suddenly erupted into a chorus of cheers and applause. Looking to your right, you caught the eyes of Severus, who, to your surprise, was gazing at you proudly, a small, hesitant smile on his face. You smiled back at him and nodded once, resisting the grin that was itching to break out.

"Also, in light of recent events, as a school treat, all exams have been cancelled." Dumbledore added, which encouraged an even louder round of applause and further cheers. You allowed yourself to grin this time, relishing in the happiness of the students and teachers surrounding you. It was such a pleasant atmosphere, and all you could feel spreading through you was a homely-like warmth. Hogwarts had always been your home at heart, but this seemed to cement it.

Suddenly, the cheering and clapping ceased as the doors creaked open, revealing a very tall, very large bearded man with long, frizzy chocolate hair. He sported some raggedy matching brown clothes, and from this you could easily guess it was Hagrid. Mainly from his sheer height, but the beard and hair was also a dead giveaway. "Sorry I'm late," he announced, glancing around awkwardly, "the owl that delivered my release papers got all lost and confused. Some ruddy bird called Errol." He said, widening his eyes in a tired, yet joking manner. You couldn't help but smile at his comment, and a few quiet giggles fell from some first and second year students.

You leaned to Flitwick who was seated beside you. "Do you know who's owl that is?" You whispered curiously, glancing between the shorter Charms Master and Hagrid. Flitwick looked at you with an amused smile.

"Ron Weasley's owl, of course." He chuckled softly, returning his attention to the scene unfolding in front of him. You hummed. Of course it was, the bird matched his owner very well, you thought, another joyous smile gracing your lips.

"Without further ado," Dumbledore's raspy, wise voice boomed through the Great Hall, capturing everyone's attention. "Let us begin!" He cheered, a wide grin spreading across his bearded cheeks.

Instantaneously, plates upon plates of delicious, mouth-watering food materialised right in front of your eyes. Glorious and juicy roast turkey adorned with all the helpings sat temptingly in front of your placemat, a bowl of golden and crisp roasties to the right of it. Steaming hot green veggies sat to the left of the turkey, and you just couldn't wait to dig in, your stomach was growling like a chained up wolf. You let out a soft gasp at the beautiful sight, your eyes twinkling with delight. After all this chaos in just a few months time, you were all well-deserving of such gorgeous food.

"The food looks absolutely delicious, Dumbledore, thank you." You poked your head past Flitwick, looking at the older wizard with a grin, who had settled himself down in the Head seat. He casted his wrinkled, yet sparkling and wise eyes to you, and nodded graciously. "You are most welcome, Professor L/N." He smiled politely. You returned his smile without a beat and turned back to your plate, using the supplied silverware and utensils to serve yourself some of the rich and brilliant food in front of you.

Conversations and cheerful laughter surrounded you, and you couldn't have felt happier than right now. Whilst chewing on a piece of asparagus, you sneaked a glance at where Severus was sat, however, you found he was not there anymore. A sad frown pulled your brows together, and you swiftly glanced around the hall for a tall, black figure, but nothing caught your eye. You swallowed your mouthful and placed your utensils down on the plate with a soft clink. You turned to Flitwick again.

"Did Severus leave?" You asked quietly, careful to keep your voice down.

Flitwick turned to you, munching away happily on a hot roastie. He nodded before swallowing. "Yes, he tends to avoid these sorts of things. Each year he never fails to leave right before the big feast." The Charms professor explained. A sad knot twisted in your stomach at the thought of him being alone on a such a happy occasion. Though, it wasn't all too surprising. He does seem like the type to prefer to be alone instead of spending it with people he… works with. You pondered on your thoughts for a moment, before deciding to stand up.

"Excuse me." You smiled at the shorter professor beside you, grabbing your plate and loading it with some extra turkey meat, potatoes and some vegetables. Flitwick looked up at you with another mouthful, a little curious as he chewed and watched you get extra helpings with inquisitive eyes. With a full plate in hand, you quickly downed your goblet of wine. Flitwick didn't press you for answers to the nosy questions that were circulating inside his brilliant mind as he watched you head towards the door to the right of the dinner table. You gave him a small, coy smile and bid him a silent goodbye, wandering to the dungeons.

As you were walking in the direction of where Snape lurked, you got those same doubts again, wondering whether he would actually appreciate this act, or be appalled by it. You hoped it'd be the former, but you weren't very confident in that. Swallowing the bubbling anxiety in the back of your throat, you pressed on down the corridors, finding that familiar spiral staircase. You cautiously walked down it, a little wobbly from balancing the plate of hot food and also from drinking that goblet of wine in one go - you weren't a common drinker so in hindsight you probably should have thought that silly idea through a little more. As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you saw that same warm, amber hue of candlelight flooding out from underneath the door of Snape's office. Your heart began to pound in your ears as you neared his door; knees trembling a little bit.

You knocked on his door with your free hand and waited patiently for a reply.

"Come in." Severus said, sighing. You could sense the muted irritation in his tone, your fingers reaching reluctantly for his doorknob. You grasped it and turned it and opened the door. As you sauntered in, Severus didn't bother to look up, his eyes and nose still buried in what looked to be more… assignments. Does the man never give himself time to relax?

"Hi." You squeaked out awkwardly, leaning back against his door, the plate of food still held carefully in your hands. Severus's head shot up almost instantly at the sound of your voice, his brows furrowing together in what you hoped to be confusion rather than annoyance. "Erm, I brought you some food."

"I'm not hungry." Severus protested with a grunt, looking back down to the assignment in his hand. He must be lying, since you don't recall seeing him at breakfast, nor lunch.

"When did you last eat, Severus?" You asked, shuffling in your spot, attempting to hide the caring tone that accidentally slipped from your lips with a pathetic cough. Snape's brows furrowed deeper, a dark crease forming between them.

"What do you want, Y/N?" Severus groaned, his eyes glued to his desk still. You cleared your throat, demanding his full attention. A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips as he reluctantly tore his eyes away from his work, meeting your concerned ones. "Why does it matter when I last ate?"

"Because human beings need to eat." You arched a brow at him. He didn't seem to appreciate the tone you took with him. "I'm not a normal human being, Y/N." He blinked at you.

"Normal or not, you still need some sort of sustenance." You said matter-of-factly, tilting your head at him, silently ending the debate between you two. You padded towards his desk, pulling up a chair from the side of the room at the same time. You were definitely sure that the wine was encouraging your boldness, you even noticed the slight surprise in Snape's eyes as he continued to stare at you. "Will you eat, please?" You asked with a soft sigh, plopping yourself down in the wooden chair with a muted thud. You held the plate of food out in front of you, almost shoving it in Severus's face. His lips twisted for a quick moment, thinking.

"If it means you leave faster, then yes." His eyes narrowed at you like blunt daggers. The hostility was there, but it wasn't intended to be hurtful. Severus hesitantly took the plate from your hands, and slid the assignments out of the way on his desk, sitting the plate down in the middle.

"Oh!" You exclaimed softly, glancing at your dirty cutlery. "I almost forgot. Scourgify." You pulled out your wand and flicked it at the silverware, watching happily as the muck and grime dissipated from it like ice melting under the sun. Severus looked at you with suspicious eyes, scrutinising you, attempting to comprehend why you had paid him of all people a visit. "How come you left so early?" You queried, sitting back in your chair with your hands in your lap.

"Dinner parties aren't my forte." He replied, spiking a piece of turkey breast with the fork. A small smile painted your lips as you watched him place it in his mouth, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly at the divine taste that painted his tongue. "Perhaps I was mistaken…" He mumbled, glancing down at the plate of turkey, potatoes and green veggies, looking rather awestruck due to the glorious taste that was exploding in his mouth as of right now.

A proud smile slipped onto your lips as you looked away from Severus for a moment, letting your eyes wander around his dimly lit, and rather glum looking office. The bricks were a dark, worn black, with a beige cement sitting between them. He had shelves upon shelves of books, about everything you could ever imagine. Name it, and it's most likely there. So, he was a book nerd, you thought, smiling to yourself. Then, your eyes fell on the most beautiful record player you'd ever seen. Obviously, it was all black to match the whole aesthetic of Snape's office. It sat prettily upon a table in the corner, a small collection of well-kept records were leant up against it.

"You listen to music?" You questioned, a dry laugh escaping your lips as you stood up, drawn to the beautiful object.

"Why is that a surprise?" Snape asked, a little offended that you were shocked by such a revelation.

"Well, you don't exactly give me a music enthusiast vibe," You chuckled softly, glancing at Severus with glossy eyes. The wine had gone to your head slightly. "I can't imagine you listening to music." You added, allowing your chuckle to burst into a soft, hushed laugh. Severus rolled his eyes at you and turned back to his desk, shovelling another mouthful of turkey into his mouth, picking up an assignment with his other hand.

You turned your attention back to the record player and let your fingers trace the beautiful grains and grooves of the wood, the pads of your index and middle finger ending up on his record collection. You let your nosiness kick in as you flicked through them, spotting some seventies rock bands, classical compilations, and… Frank Sinatra?

"Frank Sinatra?" You queried with a curious, amused smile, glancing at Severus over your shoulder. Butterflies exploded like storm in your stomach when you found him already staring at you, though the look on his face wasn't what you wanted. He looked a little miffed. "I like Frank Sinatra." You quickly added, wanting to avoid any sort of conflict. You glanced back to where your fingers where dipping into his record collection, a furious pink blush tinting your pale cheeks. As you slipped your hand away, the end of your finger caught the play button, and suddenly the room was filled with a dark, melancholic and slow rock song. Your eyes widened in panic as you tried frantically to turn it off, however, nothing was working.

"Leave it, I… like it." Came a voice from behind you, immediately halting you in your desperate, albeit poor attempts to pause it. Severus was still sat at his desk, but he was sat back now, a little more relaxed.

"It's nice," you commented quietly, after a beat of silence, braving a look at Severus. His eyes were glued to his desk, the plate of turkey and vegetables pushed messily to the side. He seemed to be battling something. You swallowed thickly and sauntered over to him, your heels clacking against the brick floor. You stopped in front of him and held out your hand. "…Dance with me?" You asked, voice still quiet. The Potions Master looked up at you for several seconds, his harsh, dark eyes flicking to your open palm. Your heart was thumping so loud in your ears you were worried you wouldn't hear his answer.

Luckily for you, he didn't give you one. He just plainly accepted your hand, standing slowly, almost reluctantly. You backed away from his desk, one step at a time, his large, calloused and cold hand still in yours. You stopped in the middle of the room, gently pulling Severus closer to you. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up to meet his cold gaze, placing his other hand on your hip. You began to sway side to side to the slow beat of the song, his fingers flinching slightly as you moved. Severus found himself lost in your eyes as you stared up at him. He wondered why someone like you had offered to dance with someone like him; it felt wrong almost, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin, good and bad. As the chorus got going, a bright grin broke out on your face as Severus lifted his arm up to twirl you around, the skirt of your dress blooming outwards like a flower. His chest tightened as you stumbled slightly, your hand slipping onto his chest to steady yourself.

"Sorry." you muttered almost inaudibly, looking up at Snape through your lashes bashfully. He didn't reply, he only danced with you more, and you saw his the corner of his lips quirk up in a small, almost miniscule smile. Your heart fluttered at the sight and your smile was back on your face.

The two of you continued to dance carelessly to the song playing in the background, and any worries and anxieties had been long forgotten ever since the two of you touched palms. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes as Severus twirled you around again, a loud laugh leaving your lips as he brought you back towards him, his eyes half-lidded with admiration. You lifted your hand up this time and attempted to twirl Snape around. He almost fought against it, but the sad pout on your lips ultimately broke him, and so he let you twirl him around.

Severus didn't know what he was feeling as his hands found your waist, his stomach was in knots and his chest was tingly, it wasn't normal, and it worried him slightly. But his buzzing, worrisome thoughts were soon calmed the moment his dark, troubled eyes met with your bright, carefree ones. The sound of your laugh made him feel things he hadn't felt in years, and your beaming, gleeful grin sent shivers down his cruel spine. It felt so wrong, but it felt so right having you in his arms; having you this close to him. A few months ago, he wouldn't have dared to dream of feeling so… vulnerable. And with a Hufflepuff no less. Snape had always despised them, he'd believed them to be the weakest house, but your utter resilient yet soft nature had totally swayed him. He'd be lying if he said your beauty hadn't completely captured his attention too, though he would never ever admit that.

You reminded him slightly of Lily, and that's what frightened him. He let himself fall in love once, and he wasn't sure he was going to let himself do it again. Actually, he was adamant. He couldn't bear to deal with that pain again, it almost killed him. He wouldn't be able to stomach seeing you lifeless on the floor, your eyes dead and lifeless. Your life was not worth risking for his sake of happiness. Suddenly, Severus switched emotions like the speed of sound. He immediately released you from his grasp, you grin and laughter silencing immediately. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart the second your laughter ceased.

"Get out." He said coldly, pushing you backwards. Your brows furrowed at his words, confusion painting your face.

"…What?" You blinked at him, trying to comprehend what he'd just said.

"I said get out." Snape seethed. His tone was angry, relentless, cruel, uncaring. Before, it felt like you'd just opened another door with him, inviting you into his world, and then you'd been kicked out and sent to a different one.

"But… Severus…" You swallowed thickly, your throat tightening as tears began to burn your eyes. Was it something you said? Something you did?

Little did you know, it was something you did. You'd made him happy, you'd made him feel human again. After so long of shutting off his feelings and building a fortress around his emotions, encasing them in metres and metres of thick, impenetrable concrete, you'd broken through so easily, and it terrified him. His mind instantly shut off, almost like a defence mechanism the moment it felt anything other than hatred or resentment for another person.

Gods, it fucking hurt to see you cry because of him, but he couldn't show it, he refused to let you get hurt, or worse, killed because of his own selfish thoughts. And so he turned his back on you, his black cloak acting like a shield as he leant against his desk with white knuckles.

It felt like everything you'd done to get to know Severus had just been broken down a million times and thrown back in your face. It felt like… betrayal, almost, but you weren't sure why.

Hot tears were streaming down your face now as you stared at his back. He's shut you out. That's it, all those days, months you spent trying to get to know him went to waste. You sucked in a shaky breath and turned around, rushing to the door. You hesitated for moment, glancing over your shoulder. You'd hoped he might've changed his mind, but Snape still had his back turned to you, his head dropped in front of him. A strangled cry left your throat uncontrollably as you stomped angrily out of his office, wiping away your tears with harsh fingers as you stormed back to your quarters. Thank Merlin it was Christmas break now. Perhaps it was for the best.

part 6

ok pls dont hate me for the end lmaooo i just couldnt help myself LOL </3

let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, the next movie i'll focus on is prisoner of azkaban aka my favourite hehe, however that wont be for another few chapters i think. another update wont be due until tuesday or wednesday <3

thank you for all your support i honestly dont deserve it :') <33

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thelov3lybookworm · 9 months

Text

I Didn't Ask For This (part ten)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I really love this chapter. Let's see if you can find the reference I made in here. I honestly make so many references in the fics I write, but no one has noticed them.

Anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The tension in the air could have been cut by a blunt knife.

The most powerful High Lord in the history of Prythian was staring down one of the most feared man in Prythian, the Spymaster of the Night Court.

They were nearly chest to chest, and Y/n feared that if someone didn't step in, this place would be bathed in blood. So she cleared her throat.

Azriel looked at her, brows furrowed.

"I– can we go back? Can you take me back?"

"Sure–" As he began to turn to her, the High Lord's hand shot out, clamping down on his shoulders. Azriel glared at the hand and then it's owner.

"Cassian can take her back. Or if its him you want to go with, please wait for sometime." Rhys glanced at her while saying the second part. "My office. Now." He threw at Azriel before stalking out of the room.

Everyone watched him go, a muscle feathering in Azriel's jaw as he turned to her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be there soon." With that, he turned and followed Rhys.

Y/n's stomach turned as she thought about what could happen to Azriel. The high lord was said to be ruthless and cunning, and even though he hadn't seemed like it when they first met, she didn't know if she could sit still until she was sure that her husband was safe. The urge to follow him and make sure he wouldn't be harmed was overpowering any sense she had, but before she could take a step, Cassian placed a hand on her shoulder.

He tilted his head towards the door, and she nodded. Glancing back one last time to where Azriel had disappeared, she followed Cassian outside.

She stayed quiet the whole time, muttering a thanks to Cassian when they landed before locking herself in her room.

She couldn't stop thinking about Azriel and what he'd done today. Allegedly done today.

She changed into her nightgown, climbing into bed hoping to sleep. Maybe then her mind would stop trying to find some meaning in his actions. Maybe then her heart would stop trying to make her feel things she didn't want to feel.

•○🌑○•

It had been almost more than an hour now, and Y/n couldn't sleep no matter what she did. With a huff of annoyance, she threw the covers aside and stood, stomping to the balcony and leaning against the railing. Her minds inability to just shut the hell up was frustrating.

As her mind drifted through the plethora of thoughts in her head again, she couldn't help but think back to where Azriel might be right now. Was he back yet? He would come to meet her if he was, right?

As soon as she had those thoughts, she heard the familiar scuff of boots coming near, and her chest started loosening. From the sound of it, the door opened and closed behind her, but she didn't turn. She couldn't, because she knew if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from throwing her arms around him and slapping him at the same time. She wondered which she would prefer.

She could feel him coming closer, and she gripped the railing tightly.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked quietly, having stopped a little distance away.

She shook her head. "Did you really do it?"

A pause. "Yes."

She nodded, not knowing what to say to that. He took that as a cue to step forward. She knew he did because one moment her back was cold, and the next, she could feel his body heat through the thin silk of her gown. Suddenly she felt extremely exposed, considering the thing she was wearing barely reached her knee, and it was only held up by thin strings.

She inwardly cursed Nesta for this. Y/n had never worn something like this, and when she and Nesta had started to become friends, Nesta was appaled when she realised Y/n did not sleep half naked.

"Do you have nothing to say to that?" Azriel asked, his body like a furnace behind her.

"What do you want me to say?"

"How– how do you feel about all of this?"

"I don't know..."

"Does it bother you?"

She shook her head. "No, it does not. But what about the women and children?"

"They were evacuated to safety. And your brother, he's here."

At that, she finally turned slightly to look at him. She hadn't even thought of her brother who lived in the camp. She didn't have to worry about Velda as she lived in a different camp.

Azriel towered over her, studying her.

"What?"

"He is living in an inn across the Sidra."

"Really?" When he nodded, relief spread through her. She mumbled a thank you before turning back to the view in front of her.

"Your....your father is alive."

She stiffened. "What?" She whispered.

"He burned in the fire, but I just felt like he didn't suffer enough for his crimes." He stated casually, as if he was telling her about the weather.

She blinked at the night sky before asking the same question again.

"I bought him here. He is where we keep all the prisoners and I... interrogate them. He is badly injured and won't be able to escape. I wanted to ask you before I did anything to him."

She knew exactly what he meant with that.

"What did you want to ask."

"You were the one who suffered from his ministrations. You deserve the right to punish him however you want. You can either let him live, give him a quick death or let me handle him."

"What would letting you handle him entail?"

"I'll go all Spymaster on him. I'll do all the things I do to the prisoners to get information out of them."

She nodded. Thinking for some time, she finally decided. "Then I'll let you handle him."

He was silent for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

His hands landed on either side of her on the railing as he leaned closer. "Thank you." Butterflies erupted in her stomach as he kissed her shoulder before straightening. "Come, you should sleep."

She turned to him, and ignoring her mind, she followed her heart's urge to wrap her arms around her husband. He froze for a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and using the other to cradle the back of her head.

"Thank you. You didn't need to do this." She mumbled against his chest.

"I absolutely did." She pulled back from him. He smiled and kissed her forehead before tugging her back into the room.

As she lay down and he arranged the covers around her, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Azriel? Your father and brothers lived in the camp too. What happened to them?"

He gave her a smile, and honestly she should have been scared of it. But she wasn't, and that scared her more than anything else did.

"They're dead."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes. And it gave me immense satisfaction."

"Wish I could have witnessed it."

He blinked at her, a slow smile spreading on his face. He pushed her hair back from her face as he straightened. "Hmm. Next time I do something like this, I'll make sure to take you with me."

She grinned, just a little bit, shaking her head. He stared at her for a few moments before nodding his head and turning away. "Good night."

She didn't want him to go. Atleast, not yet.

She had only a moment to make her choice, and she did.

Her heart danced with joy while her mind screamed at her that this was a bad idea.

"Azriel." She burst out before she lost her nerve.

He paused, turning back slightly. "Yes?"

"Can you– can you stay?"

He stared at her. "What? You– you want me to stay?"

Instantly, a blush was climbing up her neck. What if he didn't want to stay? She kicked herself mentally. "Only if you wish to–"

"I do." His eyes shone. "Um– do you want me to sleep on the ground? I have no problem with it."

She shook her head. "Stay next to me. Please."

The room was dark, the only light provided by the moonlight filtering in from the doors of the balcony. She almost couldn't see the flush on his neck and face as he rounded the bed, where a few clothes had appeared. He took them and walked into the bathing chamber to change.

When he walked back out he was dressed in loose pants and shirt. He slowly climbed into the bed. He was as stiff as a plank with tension as he lay as far as he could from her.

She smiled and turned on her back. "You can relax you know. You'll never get any sleep if you're that tensed up."

He sighed. "I know."

She bit her lip. "I don't bite...much."

His head whipped to her. And honestly, she agreed. She wasn't bold in any way. She didn't even know where that came from.

"Tell me about something interesting."

"Velaris was built by Rhys's father." He supplied.

"Really? Wasn't he..."

"Cruel? A monster? That he was. But he did build and protect Velaris. The only good thing he did, honestly."

"What was he like?"

Azriel began telling her about the previous High Lord of Night Court, and she listened, her attention rapt. As moments passed, his voice filling the room, he relaxed gradually. He also told her about Cassian's past and his mother.

When he was done, they stayed silent. She processed all the information that had just been dumped on her. She shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

"Would you accept an olive branch?" She nodded and he pulled her closer. Now she was as stiff as a board.

"Relax. I don't bite...much." He murmured against her hair.

She sat up abruptly. "Was that a joke Spymaster?"

He grinned, pulling her back to his chest. "Maybe." After a pause, he went on. "Sleep. I won't try anything. No funny business unless you ask for it."

"Shame." She mumbled under her breath.

"Did you say something Y/n?"

Of course the bastard heard her. "No."

"I feel like Nesta is a really bad influence on you."

"Shut up." She shoved his chest lightly. He just kissed her head and wished her a good night.

As she drifted off, she felt safer than she had felt in her whole existence. She knew he would protect her always, no matter what.

And maybe that should have scared her, but it just made her feel warm and happy, making something in her chest sing.

•○🌑○•

Part 11

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eddiernunson · 2 months

Text

Really Drives Me Mad | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev Part l Master List |

Word Count: 10k

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY POST. (I’m 28 y’all)

Chapter contains: brief pregnant!reader, babies/kids…this is like a lil collection of blurbs. I have some head canons about each OC I can post if you’d like xoxo

I had ideas about their kids for ages, lol. This crazy lil family is chaotic

Still thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you and @bebe07011 for without you two this fic wouldn’t nearly be this good

Third trimester is a bitch. I barely have the bandwidth to write lately. I hope you enjoy

Two pink little lines stare back at you as Eddie turns the shower on, completely oblivious to the manic state you’re in.

He offers you to join him, a temptation you decline with an intense amount of reluctance. You just claim you need your own bed, which was true.

Eddie missed four weeks of work while you were on your luxe honeymoon, which means he now has several fires to put out. It keeps him busy for the week, making the doctor’s appointments and blood work you do that much easier when he passes right out on his couch at the end of his long days.

The following week, knowing you're pregnant but not being able to tell him is pure torture. It doesn't help that for some odd reason Eddie seems more lovey, more affectionate. Your first instinct is to chalk it up to your newlywed status, but his affection feels different, the way his arms wrap around you each morning to wake you up, his gentle voice low in your ear. It's driving you up a wall not being able to share your secret with him.

He seems to consistently have a hard time letting you go to leave for work (not that you’re complaining.) Though eventually you have to practically push him out the door.

The ultrasound is nearly dull, the implantation in question is only a bundle of cells, but once you get a photo from the tech at the end of the appointment, it’s the very thing you needed to tell Eddie.

After another early night of falling asleep you empty the face of the fridge, yanking every magnet off as you place the sonogram on the silver surface with a pink heart magnet right at his eye level.

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night, a sudden urge to rise hitting him out of nowhere. His arm tightens around your waist, admiring your pretty face as he kisses your cheek. Your face falters only the littlest bit, twitching your muscles to shake off the tickle of his stubble.

He finds himself starving, craving something only a feral racoon would also be satisfied with. He rubs his eyes as he walks down the steps. Sometimes he thinks he’s going to see you back in the kitchen chair in the dress and bathing suit, Dylan searching manically for a parking pass as if Eddie has imagined this whole dream scenario. Your love is just too good not to think he’d made it all up at times. He smiles to himself as he turns on the stove light, turning to the fridge for a snack.

He feels frozen by the blank fridge at first, wondering where all the magnets got to. The black and white image staring him dead in the face suddenly registers, the heart shaped magnet falling to the floor as he rushes to pick it up to make sure his tired eyes aren’t fucking with him. They bulge out of his head when the significance of the photo occurs to him, and the hunger that woke him up seems to vanish.

His long legs take the stairs two and three at a time as he rushes back to you, hurling himself beneath the covers.

The cold of his arms startles you, a gasp leaving your lips from the shock as you abruptly awoke. “Hmm?”

“Are you fucking pregnant, sweetheart?” His eyes are unbearably soft, melted pools of milk chocolate staring intently at you.

A burst of sleepy giggles leaves your mouth, turning your body so you don't have to crane your neck. “You got up early.” You comment, weaving your fingers into his curls.

“Skip the pleasantries, love.” He dismisses, scooping his arms beneath your back. “Are you fucking pregnant?”

You pull him in for a kiss, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him down against you. “What’s the sonogram tell you?”

He chuckles against your lips, his thumbs swaying against your smiling cheeks. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” You nod, absentmindedly playing with his curls. “Fuck, I’m so excited right now, baby.”

“Really?” You ask him, grinning.

“I just found out my wife is having my baby. Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, rutting his hips against yours desperately. “I’m rock hard, sweets.”

Lucky for you and him, you opted for a pair of tiny panties and a t-shirt to bed, feeling his hardened cock against the thin lace fabric of your panties. Your fingers fumble to his boxers, hurriedly pushing them down his hips. “Then fuck me.”

Eddie gently pulls the fabric aside, exposing it as his head perfectly brushes against your entrance. “God, my girl is soaked for me, ain’t she?”

Your thighs tighten around his hips, jaw dropping as he teases you. “Want you, please, Ed.” Your eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you

He pushes in, arms wrapping themselves around your torso. “Oh my god you’re having my fucking baby,” Eddie mumbles, face curling into your neck. “Gonna see your stomach all big when you’re carrying my baby, sweets, and you’ll be even hotter than you are now. Which I thought was impossible.”

No words come to mind, mouth open and gasping at the way he moves in you. The cotton of your shirt is too hot, your hands shakily grabbing at the fabric to take it off. Eddie admires the sight he sees as your piqued nipples fall out of his faded black t-shirt, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at them. A moth drawn to the light, he dives into one, curling his tongue around the nipple with the perfect mix of teeth, pulling little mewls from you.

“Fuck, we’re gonna be the happiest little family,” he chokes, kissing from your breast up to your neck, his voice filled with emotion.

“Love you,” you sigh, gasping into his open mouth as his hips hit you harder.

Eddie smiles, a wicked little grin as his hand curves over the swell of your tummy, thumb petting it gently.

“Hold on to me, sweetheart. Hold on to your baby daddy,” you grin the line, wonderfully cheesy, but Eddie feels the way you tighten around him. Your arms curl around his back, pulling his body against yours.

“Eddie, make me cum, please.”

“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there, hold on,” he stutters, his deep voice starting to falter. His lips bend down to your ear, gasping desperately, bordering on whining. “Fuck– cum with me.”

His lips wrap around yours, delicately connecting his tongue with yours as his hips stutter a final time, the little moans vibrating against your lips as he fills you up. As you collapse on the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined, he spends the twenty minutes until he falls asleep cooing, whispering in your ear how excited he is.

You wake up the same way, with rounds two and three before he begrudgingly trudges off to work.

The sun accounts as a natural alarm clock as Dylan stretches his limbs wide, turning to face his girlfriend. His arm falls over Maya’s form, pulling her in as he starts to wake up. “Morning, Dylan,” she whispers, her pink lips spreading into a smile.

He pulls her back against his stomach, hiking his legs under hers. “Mornin’.”

She hums as he kisses the back of her neck, giggling as he takes a deep inhale of her shampoo. “You work today?”

“No,” Dylan answers, caressing the strip of her exposed skin with his thumb. “I am seeing my dad today.”

She smirks, turning to face him. “And your stepmom?” Dylan grits his teeth, tickling her stomach until she begs him to stop, hunching over the arm around her. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

“Mmhm. I’m telling them, did you want to join me?”

Maya squishes her face, seemingly debating on pros and cons. “I’m gonna pass on that, respectfully.” She can feel the questioning look Dylan gives her. “I have a long shift today, and I am exhausted.”

“Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” Dylan insists, squeezing with his arms wrapped around her.

“I’m counting on it.”

As soon as Dylan opens the door, he listens in, waiting for a sound that never comes. Good, he waited long enough to come. He wanders into the kitchen, meeting his dad drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Dad?”

His dad freezes, removing the spout from his mouth, and wipes his face hurriedly. “Hey bud.”

Dylan raises his eyebrow at him, pointedly glancing to the carton and back to him.

“Don’t tell my wife.”

Dylan smirks, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of the devil, where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

As if your ears are burning, the two men’s ears pick up the particular sound of someone coming down the stairs. Eddie prays you come downstairs with some clothes on. Your face lights up when you see Dylan, welcoming him into your arms without a second thought. “Dylan!” The familiarity you two share is still new, but wrapping him in a hug is like second nature at this point. “What brings you into this part of the world?”

You leave the embrace, backing straight into Eddie’s arm. “Actually, I have some news I wanna share with you guys.”

Eddie’s hand tightens around your arm, he’s mentioned Dylan talking about proposing last month, and this news felt right around the corner. He feigns ignorance, innocently asking, “Oh, what news would that be?”

Dylan’s cheeks bloom in red, glancing down to his feet sheepishly. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to travel to a destination wedding while largely pregnant. “Uh, we–or, Maya,” he clears his throat, a laugh stuttering through it, “Maya’s pregnant.”

The first thing you do is glance at your husband, both sporting wide eyes and slacked jaws. To say you’re surprised is a grand understatement.

“Not the news you were expecting?” Dylan asks, watching the two of you share a silent conversation.

In sync, the two of you switch back to him, twin smiles on your faces. Dylan had no idea what either of the faces in front of him could possibly mean, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is happy news for either of you.

“Um, no, actually,” Eddie barely holds back the sound of laughter in his voice. “That’s, that’s fantastic news, Dyl.” Truly, fantastic news. Eddie has been looking forward to being a biker grandfather since Dylan showed interest in being a father.

You smirk, leaning into his shoulder. “How far along is she?”

“Uh, 8 weeks, or so,” Dylan answers, squishing up his face comically.

“Oh wow, so a week behind me, then,” you say nonchalantly, nodding at Eddie.

“Wait, what?” Dylan asks, making sure he understood that correctly.

You giggle, nodding as you sit your head in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I’m pregnant too, ironically enough.”

Eddie leans into your ear, “So you’re gonna be a mom and a grandma in the same year…”

Your eyes widen. “To think, I was just getting used to the idea of being a mom.” You lean back, meeting your husband’s pretty brown eyes. “Are we sure the kid’s gonna call me grandma?”

Dylan picks up the conversation right away. “I mean, unless we’re gonna be completely honest with them, it doesn't make sense otherwise. You’re grandpa’s wife, therefore grandma.”

Am I mom, then, too? You think to yourself, knowing you’ll point it out later. Your stomach rumbles, turning around to the counter to start making a breakfast of sorts. Your eyes hit the open orange juice jug and the lack of cup. “Did you drink straight out of the carton, again, mister?”

Eddie avoids your eyes, looking at his son. “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” he surrenders, having a seat at the island.

“How’s Maya been handling the pregnancy so far?” you ask, grabbing a pan from under the cupboards. “Because morning sickness is no joke.” You pause, leaning on the counter. “Not just in the morning, either.”

“I think it’s some nausea, a bit of acid reflux, but to my knowledge she hasn’t been sick,” Dylan says, taking out his phone to text Maya about the news.

“Bitch,” you mutter, the tone in your voice clear you’re joking. “We can’t all be so lucky. Eggs?”

Dylan nods, grinning at the text Maya shoots back. “So dad, you’re gonna have a kid and a grandkid the same age as each other?”

Eddie shrugs, taking another large sip from the carton. “Since my girl showed up, my life hasn’t been normal, and this just means it will never be normal again.”

“You’re welcome,” Dylan laughs, rolling his eyes at the exasperated look you shoot at him.

Dylan’s phone buzzes, glancing at the unknown number as Maya fades in the middle of her sentence. “One minute, babe, I’m expecting a call from the interview I just did last week. Dylan Munson, speaking.”

“Oh, Dyl-pickle, you sound so big!” Only one person has ever called Dylan that. He gulps, the sound of her voice bringing up old, sore emotions.

“Brooke. W-why are you calling me?”

“Brooke? C’mon, I’m your mom, sweetheart,” she whines, her voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

“Really, are you?” Dylan asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace the hallway, his anger already building. “Ok, what college did I go to?” Silence. “What did I major in? What year did I graduate high school? When did I have my first kiss? Who’s my current girlfriend? What’s my best friend’s name? What sort of vehicle do I drive?”

She doesn’t answer a single question, instead giving stuttered empty answers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer any of that… We haven’t exactly been talking for the last fifteen years.” She says, somewhat accusatory.

Dylan sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly. “What, your phone didn’t work all those years?”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the only one who had a phone,” she protests, sounding incredibly defensive.

“Yeah, well, you also weren’t a child for 8 of those years who begged his dad for his mom to come to one thing that was important to him,” Dylan retaliated, angry at her gaslighting. “My dad had your number, always left voicemails inviting you to my soccer games, to award ceremonies, to my birthdays, and you never answered a single call, let alone showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan, I am, but I was young then, you can’t blame me for wanting a fresh start.”

“Actually, I can,” Dylan answers, now done with this conversation. “You had eight years to be a mom before I finally gave up on you. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my mom, now.”

“I’m sorry that hurt your feelings, Dyl. But I have two boys, and they really want to meet their older brother. Would you come down for lunch one day?”

He nods, knowing that this sudden need to be a mom again wasn’t going to come for free. “No. I have no interest in being your life. Not since the day I turned 18.”

“C’mon, Dyl–”

“No, mom–Brooke. No. Don’t call me again, please. I need to go now.”

She starts another sentence, but Dylan hangs up on her before he hears it. When he walks into the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend, he crawls into the bed next to her, feeling like the ten year old whose life got torn apart.

It looks like Brooke still has that uncanny talent for making everything about her.

Eddie sits in his office, a small room decorated with frames filled with the faces of those he loves and papers strewn around the desk. He’s going over the receipts and payments, and silently regrets not having hired an accountant by now, but he’s far too stubborn to admit it.

There’s a knock on the door and Eddie looks up in relief. Please, let there be a disgruntled customer to save him from the numbers. “Come on in!”

Connor, one of the new apprentices he hired only a few months ago comes in, looking timid. The first few months he has a new hire they’re usually shy, and when their self confidence in their ability to do their job kicks in, Eddie truly starts to miss it. “Uh, hey, boss, there’s a client out there who wants to speak to you.”

Eddie chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on his desk. “Don’t, don’t call me boss. What do they want?”

Connor screws up his face. “Uh, I forgot to ask.”

“Always ask, man. Tell them I’ll be right out.”

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Eddie sighs in relief, women tend to be more understanding.

“Hey, send in Joe, will ya?”

“On it!”

Joe, a man who’s worked for Eddie for 20 years, older by ten years, walks into the office just a moment later. “What’s up, Ed?”

“Give the lady a talk, will ya?” Eddie asks, scratching the itch on his right forearm. “Ask her what she wants.” Joe, tall, dark, and quiet, nods and shuts the door.

He’s back in the office in seconds. The door’s loose knob has barely clicked shut before it’s abruptly opened again. “That fast?”

Joe shakes his head, his eyes wide with a grimace on his face. “Uh, no, it’s…it’s Brooke.”

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Brooke, like…Brooke?”

“Yeah. You want me to–”

“No it’s okay, I got it,” Eddie insists, a pit forming in the depths of his stomach. He rubs his face tiredly, fully unprepared to deal with this.

“Dude, you sure?” He asks, having been with Eddie through the divorce.

“Seriously, I got it. Thanks, man.”

Eddie gets up from his desk, catching the eyes of his long-time employees on his way to the entrance of the garage. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

There she stands, looking around the garage holding her purse with two hands. She’s dressed like one of those Instagram moms, high waisted jeans with a loose blouse tucked in under a long coat. Her eyes land on him, her face lighting up as she exclaims, “Wow, the garage looks great!”

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sighing. “Is there a particular reason for…”

Brooke smiles, and Eddie could almost see a genuine human behind the mask. “Um, do you mind if we go into your office?”

Eddie raises his brows, perplexed. “I really don’t see the necessity for it.”

“It’s not really a conversation to have in front of the guys, Eds,” Brooke comments, shuffling her feet as she crosses her arms.

Eddie winces at the nickname she calls him. She really doesn’t know him well enough to call him such anymore. The audacity of it astounds him. “I’m not Eds to you…and my office holds things that are precious to me, that I honestly want to keep out of this conversation.”

“Like I haven’t already seen pictures of your little wife,” Brooke grimaces, her tone switching from sweet to condescending in a split second, her eyes rolling. “Congrats on that, or whatever.”

Eddie blinks, too exhausted to argue. “Alright, come on.”

It's not like Brooke hasn’t been in his office before, Eddie thinks, they were happily married, after all. She looks around at the changes, her eyes seemingly fixated on where photos of Dylan’s previous achievements are proudly displayed. “Wow, he looks just like you,” Brooke mutters, a look on her face that Eddie can’t quite place.

Eddie assessed the bulletin, Dylan’s graduation, first school dance, the Munsons spending a weekend at the Harrington’s, it certainly spelled out to her what she missed out on.

He clears his throat, quietly asking for her to continue. “Right, um, I was wondering if you could talk to our son.”

“Our son?” Eddie asks, barely holding back his laughter. “Last time I checked you said he was my son.”

Brooke ignores it, faltering in her seat. “I tried calling him last week, but he shut me down.”

“What do you need me to talk to him about exactly?” Eddie leans against his desk, his hands gripping the edge.

Brooke blinks, tilting her head. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Irrelevant. What do you need me to talk to him about?” Eddie enunciates, already feeling the exhaustion of her mere soul sucking presence.

“My sons are asking questions about him, and they would like to meet him.” She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “I would love to reconnect with both of you, honestly.”

Like an anvil, Eddie feels his stomach pull him all the way down into the floor. The silence she’s given him and Dylan for the last fifteen years has been stable, reliable even. The most reliable thing about her. This is turning off the road into a ditch with nothing to instigate it. “What did he say?”

“Uh, he had no interest in it,” Brooke shrugs, leaning back in her seat.

Eddie nods, having expected it. “Brooke, those pictures on the wall? My son spent so much time begging me to call and get you to at least one event, one time just to show that you still cared about him.” He pauses, watching her avoid his eyes. “I left dozens of voicemails in your inbox, and I know it was your inbox, because I remember the day it went from Munson to Prescott. I begged you to show up. Just once. The last time I did was for his graduation, but by then I had stopped telling him.”

“He told our lawyers and the judge he wanted nothing to do with me. Forgive me if I thought he was telling the truth,” Brooke huffs, her voice sounding defensive.

“He was a child, Brooke!” Eddie deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “A child hurt by his mother’s actions tearing apart his happy family. Staying with the stable parent was probably the more appealing option.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, glancing over to the sonogram sitting on his desk. He’d hoped Brooke hadn’t caught wind of that news, yet. “At first, he was really hurt, but after a while, he just wanted his mom. Who never showed up.”

“Well, I might be a little late, but doesn’t it count for something that I’m trying, now?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“I think it counts more that he’s about to be a father and he has no interest in including you in his kid’s life.”

Her eyes bug right out of her head. “Wait, what?”

“Mmhm. Seems he’d rather give what was supposed to be your title to someone he’s known for less than a year.” Eddie flickers to the photo of you he has framed, a portrait of you surrounded by the sunset in your wedding dress. “You had eight years, Brooke. Eight. You don’t get to decide to be a parent when it’s convenient for you. I never had that luxury. I had to pick myself and my son up and find a way to get through it emotionally without falling apart at the seams.”

She seems to start talking, but Eddie is on a roll. “I finally feel like I’m living my life, and not just surviving. If you reached out five years ago, I probably would’ve said yes. I even had a low enough self-esteem to hope it would mean something more…but now I have this woman, this beautiful person who showed me how much she believes I’m worth, showed me how much I am worth. Brooke, no offense, but when I look back on it, especially comparing the two, you treated me like shit.”

“Uh, okay,” Brooke mutters, holding her hand out. “I did not treat you like shit.”

“You never stuck up for me with your parents, forced me to do things I was uncomfortable with all the time, gave ‘our’ son’s teachers hell all the time, and, oh yeah, left me for the person you told me not to worry about. So, no I will not be talking to my son. If he comes to the conclusion to reconnect with you, then fine. But I will not be participating.”

“Wow, you’re being harsh.” Brooke complains, grimacing. “Eddie, I was young. I made a few stupid decisions.”

“You know, my wife is a bit young. Somehow, she already knows not to act like a stone cold cunt.” Brooke stutters through an empty response, completely rendered speechless. “I think we’re done here.”

“I’m not done!”

“Well, I suggest you be by the time my pregnant wife gets here, because she’s not your biggest fan.” It gives him the utmost satisfaction to start looking through the papers. He glances back up to her expectant expression. “Safe travels back to Boston, hmm?”

Eddie swears the smile on your face in the photo of you grows, glad the backbone he needed seems to have finally grown. “You’re not going to even–”

“No. I’m not. I’m done here, Brooke. Give Kevin my condolences, yeah?”

Brooke nods, reluctantly understanding she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Eddie had indeed grown the self-confidence she never saw when she was with him. “Condolences?”

“Yeah, for still being stuck with you. Close the door on your way out.”

Brooke’s nostrils flare, her jaw locking. She turns around without another word, the slam of the door echoing through the garage as she storms out, every click of her heel enunciated.

Moments later, Joe pops through the door. “Everything, ok, Ed?”

Eddie looks up, his dimples pronounced on his face. “Oh just, peachy, Joe. Mind if I take off for the rest of the day?”

“I would be concerned if you didn’t, man.”

The ringing of your phone stirs you from your slumber, having passed out on the couch mid snack. An app you downloaded on your phone for the pregnancy said the first trimester would have you feeling quite sleepy, and you didn’t believe it until you find yourself constantly falling asleep during your off days, and exhausted at work when you really shouldn’t be.

Your sister’s name lights up the screen, and the quick assessment of the movie tells you you’ve been asleep for at least forty-five minutes. “Hey, Viti.”

“Hey, sis,” she greets, an airy tone in her voice. “Sounds like you just woke up.”

You haven’t broken the news to your family, yet, waiting to present the information in the form of a present next time you and Eddie make your way over to your parents’ house. “Had an afternoon siesta,” you sigh, watching the movie you’re tempted to restart. The twist of Carlisle’s death just isn’t the same if you don’t build up to it. “What’s up?”

She sighs, a habit you’re all too familiar with. “Spit it out.”

“Okay,” she starts, gaining her courage. “Me and Arlo got together the night of your wedding.”

If you were attempting to get rid of any sense of sleep, it disappeared within a second. The information takes a second to register, eyes darting around the living room filled with wrappers you have yet to throw out. “Harrington?”

She laughs, probably expecting a much worse answer. “Do you know any other Arlos?”

“Guess not.” You pet the bangs in your eyes away from your face, trying to remind yourself of the look on your baby sister’s face when she was slow dancing with him. “Ok. How did it happen?”

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, your heart melting at how little her voice sounds.

“It was never my choice, Vi,” you answer, using the remote to restart the movie. “If you like him and trust him, then, yeah, I’m okay with it. So how did it happen? Tell me all about it. But if you’ve slept with him, then maybe not all about it,” You chuckle. Viti sighs exasperatedly and you can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.

“Um, so we were kind of flirting a lot after the family dinner. I thought he was just being nice, but I was willing to be his friend. It got a bit more intense at the wedding, and he asked me to dance…”

“I saw,” you admit, granted you only saw because Eddie pointed it out to you. “What happened after that?”

You can hear the smile on her face. “He led me to a hallway, and then we went to the hotel room I was staying in…” She trails off sheepishly. Oh, that's all you need to know.

“Damn, girl!” you laugh, opting to push away the mental image and simply be your sister's friend right now.

“We went to dinner last week,” she says, a giggle laced through her sentence. “I really, really like him.”

It had to be Arlo Harrington. “Then I’m really, really happy for you. Have you told everyone else yet?”

“You’re the last to know, to be honest. I think Eddie even knows at this point.” You roll your eyes, because of course that’s why he was so peculiar this morning.

“Just because I don’t necessarily approve of the choice of boy doesn’t mean I won’t be happy for you. Plus, I could get used to him, after all, Steve isn’t so bad.” That’s a damn lie, Steve Harrington has become one of your favorite people. “Tell me you got out of the hotel room before mom and dad discovered you.”

“We heard them coming down the hall…” she says, giggling. “We were dressed as they were about to come in the door. Luckily, they were both pretty drunk, so they didn’t really catch on to what was happening. Well, until the next morning at brunch, I guess.”

Note, send a text to your mom asking about what her perspective was, because there’s a chance she knew more than she let on. You think to yourself.

“Anyway, four weeks in Cancun. Spare me the dirty details but tell me all about it,” she giggles, moving the phone away from her face, “shut up, stop, shut up!’

“Let me guess. Arlo?”

A burst of giggles runs through her body and you can hear the smile on her face. “Maybe,”

“You couldn’t wait until you were alone?”

“She’s not really alone all that much these days,” Arlo’s voice rings out. You can picture the smug smirk on his face.

“Arlo!” She chides him, and yeah, this might not be so bad, you decide.

“I’m gonna let you two go,” you offer, dismissing any protests she let out. “Also, without the dirty details there’s not much of the honeymoon to tell. Well, except one thing.”

“What?”

“You'll have someone new to meet in seven months!”

“No way!”

If there’s one thing you know, it’s Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years is the song for the last credit scene of the Twilight Series. As each character is shown with the corresponding credit, it gets closer and closer to the main cast.

It might just be the hormones, but this round of credits just seems to hit differently, tears spilling down your cheeks as it gets to the Cullen family. The front door to the house slams shut, announcing the arrival of your husband. Odd, he’s about three hours early.

The weight of the cushion next to you sinks down with a comforting arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your head falls easily into his embrace, curling into his lap as you sniffle. It’s ridiculous, the irrational reaction that takes over you, but damn do the editors know how to elicit a reaction out of the audience.

His hand pets your shoulder, kissing your forehead. “You crying at Twilight?”

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Lose the smug attitude, mister. This is your doing.”

He laughs under his breath, petting your hair. “Hmm, that’s not how I remember our honeymoon.”

You tilt your head back to look at his face, fretting at the curls that are starting to resemble closer to a mullet. “Just because I begged for your babies does not mean you had to listen to me.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips that takes the breath out from your lungs. As he backs away, he hums with a peculiar look on his face. “What’s on your mind?” You ask, your brows knitting together.

Eddie sighs, petting the bare skin exposed on your hip. “Minor Brooke update, today.”

Your brows instinctively rise, feeling every little muscle in your face tense up. “Oh?”

“Yup. Are you interested?”

You close your eyes, asking any entity out there listening for a lick of patience. “You piqued my interest. Lay it on me.”

Eddie can’t beat around the bush, or he would never say it. “She came into my work today.” He pauses, allowing you to absorb the information before continuing. “Requesting that I convince Dylan to…let her back into his life, so to say.” You squint, remembering the few times that Dylan had confessed about his mom to you, always finishing by claiming he wants nothing to do with her and never will.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” you comment, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between yours.

“She reached out to him last week and when he refused, I guess the next most logical step was to drive the six hours from Boston and corner me at work.” Your teeth grit, angry at the fucking gall that fills Brooke whatever-the-fuck her last name is. God forbid Steve or Eddie ever accidentally tell you what it is, because the day it comes her inbox will be flooded with just a little piece of your mind, and she'll be lucky if profanities are the worst things you say.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, having watched your face move through the storm of emotions.

“I was thinking that I fucking hate your ex-wife and if she has no haters then I’m dead,” you answer, dead panning.

“I love you,” he sighs, tugging you in against his chest. “Are you hungry?”

You look at the wrappers decorating the mahogany coffee table, “Surprisingly yes.”

“Lets get a real meal in you, shall we?”

Eddie is present at every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, birthing class, and even at 20 weeks, when you were inexplicably spotting, stayed with you throughout the 7 hour wait at the ER. He certainly helped you hide from the embarrassment of the doctor explaining the bleeding seemed to be brought on by intercourse and to start being a bit more careful.

Only one time does a health care worker mistake Eddie for being your father, a mistake quickly fixed at the death glare he gives her. You don’t know how, as you look nothing alike and he has been doting on you too affectionately to be a dad, but you can’t help teasing him by calling him daddy as soon as she leaves the room.

Well, that’s a lie.

There is one other time he’s mistaken for your father, running into the maternity ward and anxiously stating your name to the front desk of labor nurses. The head nurse, a woman bearing silver streaks in her hair, calmly tells him to relax and sit down, only the baby’s father is allowed in the room with patients.

“Well you better take me to my wife, then,” he deadpans, his eyes harsh enough to shoot daggers if it were physically possible.

She stutters through her response. “Oh, you-you’re her husband? I’m so sorry I assumed–my mistake, she’s in the third door on the left.”

He rushes to the door, ignoring her last pleas for forgiveness. He was far too busy focusing on how he knew he shouldn’t have gone into work when he knew you were due to go into labor any day now. He knew he should've told them to ask Joe for the solution, as he was basically acting owner while he was away.

When he bursts through the door, you’re sat on the bed in the room with Bethany petting your face as you push through a particularly hard contraction.

He waits and watches anxiously for you to get through it before announcing his arrival. As soon as your eyes land on him he sees your face crumple in relief and your hands reach out for him. “Baby,” you whine, seeking the comfort of his shampoo and cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, planting a big kiss on the hand that was reached out. “Thank you so much, Bethany, for taking her.”

She shrugs, dismissing his over exaggerated gratitude. “She’s been a champ. Let me know if you two need anything.”

Eddie pets your hair, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “How’ve you been, baby?”

“Only been an hour, and I am so over labor,” you whine, smiling pathetically. “Thanks for coming so fast.”

Eddie was surprised he didn’t get pulled over, going 90 down the freeway. He turned a 20 minute drive into 8. “Made any progress?”

“I’m only one centimeter dilated. We could be here for a while.”

“I’m here every minute,” he says, grabbing a chair to sit by your bed. “I believe in you. We’ll listen to Taylor, listen to a smutty audio book, watch a true crime series, whatever you want, baby.”

True to his word, he allowed you to blast your Faves Spotify playlist, watched a few episodes of 48 Hours with you, and even sat with you as he let you play with the makeup you had packed in your hospital bag on his face.

You made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow, giggling as he animatedly talks in a pirate voice. The best thing about Eddie being there is that he wards off your parents and others who wish to visit you in your labor and acts as your advocate when the nurse is too rough with you and requests a new nurse immediately. Well, and his presence alone puts you at ease, of course.

It feels like forever, but you’re eight centimeters dilated when a familiar face walks down the hall, passing his father as he carries the millionth cup of ice chips you requested. “Bud! Did someone text you about–”

“She told me when Bethany was driving her to the hospital, but that’s actually not why we’re here,” Dylan sheepishly admits, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears as a pink blooms across his cheeks.

“We?” Eddie catches on, blinking. “Is Maya also..?”

“Yeah, we got here about three hours ago,” he squinted one eye comically, crossing his arms. “She’s about halfway there, now I think.”

“Wow she’s progressing a lot faster than we did,” Eddie comments, it taking you far more than three hours to get to five centimeters.

“It would be ironic wouldn’t it, if they had the same birthday?”

“Irony is one word for it,” Dylan chuckles. “My girlfriend asked for ice chips about eight minutes ago, and she is not patient, so I’m going to get back to it.”

“Let us know any updates, won’t you?”

“I bet my kid will be born before yours,” Dylan answers, only somewhat joking.

“Oh, you’re on, dude.”

As nurses and the doctor rushes around you, frantically assessing the baby while helping you with the afterbirth, birthing the placenta and ridding the bodily fluids that came out with the infant. Eddie cut the cord, watching carefully as the nurses quickly washed his newborn son off.

He’s simultaneously whispering sweet nothings against your cheek, how proud he is of you, describing your son’s dark hair, his little mouth opening as the nurse's hand gently washes it. “Did so good, baby, so good, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Is he okay?” You whisper, eyes half open as you stare up at your husband’s brown ones. “J-Josh, is he okay?”

Eddie knows exactly what you’re asking, making sure his limbs are working, that he looks healthy, that the nurses don’t look too concerned about their results. He can’t help but answer, “He’s perfect.”

Your favorite nurse, the one who got assigned after Eddie demanded it, brings him over swaddled in a hospital blanket and tucks him into your arms. The hormones and adrenaline overwhelm you as you stare at his face, selfishly grateful he looks just like his father, happily staring at the little button nose.

“I love you,” when you stare up at your husband, you’re expecting his eyes to also be planted on the newest member of the little family. Instead they’re shiny and planted on you, his expression drenched in pure love.

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “He’s so perfect.”

“I fucking love you so much.”

The love fest eventually dies down, all the medical aides surrounding you finishing up and leaving the room as they steal one last glance at the happy little family.

You’re lost in your own little world when Dylan runs in, seeing the little addition sat on your chest. Eddie looks up to face Dylan dressed in a hospital gown and a hairnet. His face is lit up with the same joy as the room is filled with. “You wanna meet your grandson?”

Eddie nods, quickly stopped by his wife still lying on the bed sitting in the afterglow. “Go,” you insist, petting at the soft hair on your son. “Say hi for me.”

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your knotted hair, followed by his newborn. “Be right back.”

On the way over to the emergency surgery room Dylan explains that the umbilical cord ended up twisted around his son’s neck and they took Maya straight into an emergency C-Section. He sat with his girlfriend as they emptied the contents of her abdomen to allow the newest Munson to come into the world.

Eddie asked several times to make sure it was okay if her father in law, her boyfriend’s father, to go into a room where she is this vulnerable. Dylan insisted that she said it was fine and since Eddie was here for the birth of his son it would be cool for him to meet his grandson, too, within the same half hour.

Miraculously, after getting in his own scrubs, Eddie wanders in with Dylan as Maya is finished with her stitches. She’s still loopy from the general anesthesia, holding her newborn on her partially covered chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked, knowing how against visitors you were.

“Just come say hi to your grandson, Eddie,” Maya chuckles, passing up the newborn. “Meet Jace Edward Munson.”

“Edward?” Eddie laughs, barely holding the mist that comes to his eyes. “What?”

Dylan scrunches his nose, tilting his head to face the newborn now in his father’s arms. “You stepped up when she left. You were everything to me. You may have stolen a girlfriend, but that is small beans in the grand scheme of things, you know?”

“Jace and Josh,” Eddie muses, laughter bubbling up his throat. “God, they even sound like twins.”

Kayla smooths over the dress she wears, nervously looking around the classroom. Are there enough learning centers set up? Will the children like the home center she put together? Will there be any difficult teachers during her first year?

For the first time, she’s on her own, placed in the very class she had spent so long working toward, kindergarten.

Her little classmates with their parents, usually mothers, wander in with wide eyes, nervously holding onto their sleeves and looking around anxiously. She talks to each little one at a time, welcoming them and offering them many activities to distract them from wanting to stay with their parents.

One little boy doesn’t need much, or any, peeling off his father as he runs in, his shaggy brown hair rustling in as he bolts straight to the building blocks. His dad walks in right after, carrying his bag dressed in a leather jacket and acid wash jeans.

“Hi,” he sighs, sounding tired. “That’s Dylan.”

“M or H?” Kayla asks.

“M.”

“Dylan, can you grab your bag from your dad and put it in the cubby?” Dylan runs to grab his bag from his dad, shouting in slight frustration as he’s pulled in for a hug. “Yours will have an M next to your name!”

He listens, but doesn’t look back as he runs back to the blocks.

“I’m Eddie,” the father says, holding his hand out. “His mom, Brooke, will pick him up after school, uh, she’s a bit of a hardass, so just beware.”

Oh, goody. She gives him a strained smile, insisting she’ll be able to handle it.

Eddie and Dylan end up being one of his favorite pairings for the year. But when Brooke walked in, she knew it became a big deal for something as small as Dylan putting his book in the wrong pocket in his bag.

Kayla got along great with Eddie, as they turned out to be the same age. They saw one another around the school as Dylan got older, even became someone Dylan could rely on for a maternal figure when his parents ended up divorcing in fifth grade.

About twenty one years after initially teaching Dylan, she’s a veteran teacher in her own right, having a monopoly over classroom #3 as she continues to be the answer for dozens of individuals when asked their favorite teacher.

She sits in her lumbar chair that her coworkers raised the money for the previous Christmas as she finally is able to look over her newest class list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she came across 9th and 8th from the last name, two boys with J initials and the last name Munson. She’d been wondering if she would ever have the pleasure of teaching Dylan’s boys, or if he decided to skip town like most of his classmates.

Their birthday right next to their attendance names indicated they had the same birthdate, so she was safe to assume she would have another set of twins. If they were anything like Dylan, they would be a fun sort of challenge for her, that she was sure of.

On the first day the following fall, she keeps an eye out for her former student, keeping in mind it could very well be the mother that decides to drop them off.

As she’s helping a particularly shy child settle into her classroom, she notices a parent helping their kid out of the wind breaker they’re wearing. As soon as the little girl is settled she goes to them welcoming them. She immediately recognizes the parent. “Dylan!”

“Oh, Miss. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were still teaching!” He sheepishly admits, looking at the plaque now containing her married name.

“I am just married, now,” she answers, answering him the same way she would a student out of habit. “Now, who do we have here?”

“I’m Jace,” the little boy answers shyly, brown hair of this father but stark green eyes.

“Well, Jace, would you mind finding your name at one of the cubbies for me? I think you’re put right next to someone named Josh,” she tells him, watching for any recognition of the other name she thought was his twin.

“Oh, sweet!” Jace exclaims, running with his Pokémon bag.

She gets up from her squatting position, her knees far too achy for doing it continually like she still is. “So, there’s another Munson on the class list, would you know anything about that?”

Dylan chuckles, sighing. “Well, about that–” Dylan is interrupted by a little boy with dark hair hugging him, exclaiming his name. “Hey, Josh, we were just talking about you!”

Josh laughs, tugging on Dylan’s arm. “Is Jace here?”

“Yeah, he’s playing with the dinosaurs, if I know him.”

“Cool!” Josh runs straight off, meeting his supposed relative at the play carpet.

Kayla turns around in confusion, questioning what just happened.

As if answering her, in comes another familiar face, holding a bag that looks comically small compared to his tall stature. “Ah, Kayla. I was wondering if you were still here.”

“Eddie!” She greets him, giving a very frank hug. “I have to admit, I am very confused.”

“That’s okay, you wouldn’t be the first,” Eddie comments, crossing his arms. “Me and my wife had Josh at the same time Dylan had Jace. They’re assholes, they like to gang up on adults, but don’t let them intimidate you, they can’t with their adults anymore, so they try it on teachers.”

“Takes a lot more than that to intimidate me,” Kayla answers, looking back at the boys who gained ownership over the carpet with dinosaurs and cars. “I appreciate the warning, though.” She looks back to her old friend, seeing the smile lines on his face, still carrying his son’s things. “I’m happy you found someone, though.”

“Thanks. His mom will pick him up after school,” Eddie tells her, going to the cubby with his kid’s name on it. “She’s not as bad as Brooke, so there’s no worries, there.”

“Alright, can’t wait to meet her.”

Eddie and Dylan share a look, one that Kayla misses as she starts to welcome in a few new classmates.

The bell rings for lunch for the rest of the elementary school and end of day for the kindergarteners. Mrs. Franklin, or Miss. Thompson, as Dylan knows her, helps all her students with their backpacks and jackets. It’s one thing to manage five-year-olds, it’s another to get them to stop wrestling and help them simultaneously.

The Munson boys are certainly no help, Josh trying to stick his finger up Jace’s nose, pinning him down on the dirty floor as Jace wiggles underneath him. Kayla wished Josh would stop telling Jace he’s his uncle and he has to listen to him, that way she wouldn’t have to hold back her laughter so hard.

“Okay, Mr. and Mr. Munson, break it up, your parents will be here any minute now. Get up.” They both switch their glances up to her, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “Get up.”

They roll their eyes, Josh reluctantly getting off Jace slowly and helping him up. Slowly but surely, parents start to pick their kids up, both Munsons waiting for their parents anxiously. You wonder in with your youngest, a little three year old by the name of Stevie. She holds onto your pointer and middle finger anxiously, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar noises and faces.

Your son is seemingly nowhere to be seen, usually seen with his counterpart but you can’t see him around the crowd of parents kneeling with their kids and asking how their day was. The teacher, someone both Dylan and Eddie insisted is the best in the school, approaches you kindly to ask which kid is yours.

Before you can even answer Josh runs into you, happily glancing up at you as he wraps his arms around your legs. “Hi, baby,” you greet him, kneeling down as you pet his sweet face.

You miss the peculiar look Mrs. Franklin, or Kayla as Eddie referred to her as, gives you. Surprised to say the least that the Mrs. Munson she has yet to meet is so young. Her brows furrow even further when Jace notices you, yelling, “Grandma!” as he also runs for a hug.

“Were you boys nice to Mrs. Franklin today?”

“Of course!” Josh smiles, and you squint through his bullshit.

“Well we’re gonna make sure to be nicer or we’re gonna have to lose our tablet privileges, won’t we?”

You get back up, smiling at their grumbly faces. They never listen to new adults, it was a field day at their first day of preschool. One glance to their teacher’s observant face told you all you needed to know. “Eddie didn’t warn you, he?”

“No, but they did have a peculiar look on their faces when I mentioned meeting you. Should’ve known better, with those two,” you tilt your head, curious at what she meant. “Seriously, your husband needs to tell you more. I taught Dylan when he was in kindergarten.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, somewhat surprised. “That’s really cool! Were you surprised to see Eddie wi–”

“With another kid,” she interrupts, laughing, “yes, I was. I’m happy to see that he found someone else, Brooke, was, well, she was not a nice person.”

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of your husband’s ex-wife, this being the first person she meets outside Eddie’s inner circle to having even mentioned Brooke. “So, I’ve heard.”

“Hey mom,” you hear behind you, you shove the owner before you even see him, rolling your eyes.

It’s very recently become a silly habit of Dylan’s to call you mom, due to your son asking why his brother calls his mom by her real name and not mom like he does. After the best attempt at explaining Dylan has a different mom who is no longer around, Josh is still confused and insists that you still act like his mom, so therefore, are Dylan’s mom.

It was awkward at first, but now it’s a little inside joke. If you were told when you first got together with Eddie that Dylan would be referring to you as a maternal figure, you probably would’ve hit them on the head for fucking with you.

“Hey, kiddo,” you tease back, mocking his twisted face expression. “They were apparently giving her a hard time today.”

“Of course they were. You know we can ask one of you to switch classes, right?” Dylan asks, an aura of authority in his voice.

Their eyes go wide, even though it was a threat in their preschool room, they have yet to consider this. You didn’t want to resort to threats but with their shenanigans, it's literally one of the only things that will work.

“C’mon, your dad is making your favorite for dinner,” your shoulder cascades around Josh’s shoulder, telling him to say bye to his nephew and that he’ll see him tomorrow.

Two years later, Stevie shows up with her dark curls down to her shoulders after her father, giggling as she says hi to the teacher.

That was the last time Kayla taught one of Eddie Munson’s kids. Or, so she assumed.

The double doors to the high school flew open, big black boots echoing as the large leather jacket trails behind a slim torso. He takes the immediate left into the office, his presence large, with grey streaks leaking into his roots and an angry look on his face.

The kind administration lady looks up to his expectant face, the curiosity quickly melting into confounded terror. “Can I help you?”

“Apparently Stevie Munson is in the office right now?” Better be a damn good reason for peeling me away from one of the only moments I have left alone with my wife, he thinks, eyes observing around the office.

“Yes, she is, uh, are you her–”

“Her father, are you going to let me in the office or do I have to let myself in?”

The surprise that fills her features would be charming if Eddie wasn’t so fucking annoyed. He’s used to the assumption by now, but for the moment he just doesn’t have any patience in his body.

“You can go right ahead, Mr. Munson,” she peeps out, gesturing to the door marked Principal. Eddie’s not sure why he even asked, or how he had the foresight to ask, first. He’s surprised, honestly.

The door opens to face the school principal, his daughter and a boy sitting two seats away from her nursing his face with an ice pack. “Mr. Munson, welcome in! Have a seat.”

“No thanks,” Eddie answers, polite, but curt. He looks at his daughter, “What happened?”

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by the bald principal, “I didn’t ask you, I asked her. What happened?” He directs his attention back to his daughter.

She smiles at him, the same sweet smile his wife bares. “This guy touched my ass under my skirt, so I punched him in the face.”

Eddie’s brows raised, teeth gritted as he sends a daggers at the boy he is now aware assaulted his daughter. “I’m sorry?” He asks, now directed to the principal.

“So she says,” the principal says, eyes widening at how Eddie manages to look murderous. “Granted, even if Mr. Jackson did do that, it’s not a good enough reason to assault him. She will be suspended for two days.”

Eddie laughs, loudly, shaking his head at the gall, the fucking nerve. This principal is extremely lucky it was him who answered his phone and not you. “Really? My daughter got sexually assaulted and your reaction to her defending herself is suspending her? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mr. Munson, if you could please calm down and have a seat,” he starts, gesturing to the chair, yet again.

“Oh, I am calm. You don’t want to see me angry,” Eddie answers, the Hulk flashing through his mind. “You deciding to punish her tells me exactly why this little shit felt confident enough to lay his hands on her, to begin with. I just think about all the other girls he’s done this to, too afraid to speak up, I wonder how many times he’s done this with no consequence to feel confident enough to touch under a skirt. What the fuck is this place? No-tolerance bullying policy? Utter bullshit.”

“Mr. Munson, calm down before I call security–”

“Don’t make me laugh. Seriously. Don’t.” Eddie sighs, pinching his nose. “If you do suspend her, I will press charges against him and I will sue this fucking school. If you punish him, like you’re supposed to, take him off his team for the season, put him in detention for a month, I don’t care, something with fucking consequences, I won’t. You decide.”

He looks down at the little shit, whimpering as he still nurses the barely there bruise. “You better hope I don’t hear you doing this shit to any other girl in this school, or you won’t get into any college in the country.” He pauses, opening the office door to an audience. Maybe he was louder than he thought he was. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go get some fucking ice cream.”

When you heard about how your husband stuck up for your daughter like that, you got on your knees for him in the bathroom. That might’ve cheered him up a bit.

The sounds are familiar yet foreign when you wake up to the blindingly white room, the chatter in the hallway and some heart monitor beeping. Two people immediately come into focus, Josh, sitting at the end of the bed on his phone, Stevie sitting concerned by your head.

You moan, sitting up in your bed annoyed at the stark contrast of the back of your eyelids. “What the hell?”

“Mom!” Josh shouts, getting up and standing on the other side of his sister.

“Mom,” Stevie runs out of the room, calling for a doctor.

You look to your son, brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“You passed out at the grocery store. You fainted and you didn’t wake up until just now.”

Your brows raise, because you haven’t felt off even the slightest. The dizziness hit you out of nowhere, going from fine to woozy in two seconds and falling flat on your face. “How long ago did that happen?”

“Like twenty minutes? The ambulance got there pretty quickly,” he admits, turning his head to his sister and the nurse coming in the door.

“Mrs. Munson! So glad to see you awake. I’ll let the doctor know and he should be able to give your results,” she says, sweet smile as she turns away.

Stevie’s bottom lip is stuck out, quivering as she grabs the hand containing an IV line. You thought that was a bit much. “Stevie, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure, because I heard the nurses saying it’s not normal to stay out that long after fainting. What if you’re sick?”

“I’m okay,” you insist, watching both their worried faces. “Fuck, you called your dad, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yes! He would’ve killed us if we didn’t!” Josh laughs, leaning back in his chair.

As if summoned, your husband pokes his head in, his eyes wide as he walks in the room, hands out to you as his long legs take him to the head of the bed. “Fucking Christ.”

“Hi, baby,” you greet him, leaning into the forehead kiss that he gives you. “I’m okay.”

“Fainting in the fucking grocery store, fucking hell. My god, baby.” He looks over to his kids, “What tests have they done, so far?”

“Just a blood test, I think,” Stevie shrugs.

“They might do an MRI but that could take weeks of waiting.” Josh offers no comfort to his dad despite his best efforts.

“I’m okay, really.” You insist to all their worried faces. “You didn’t call anyone else, did you?”

“Uh, we called Dylan,” Josh says, wincing at your annoyed face. “And Jace.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, intertwining your hand with Eddie’s rough one.

The doctor doesn’t come as quickly as the nurse promised, but he comes within two hours. “Oh, hello, you have quite the visitors, don’t you?”

You shrug, rubbing his thumb as it anxiously rubs your hand.

“We have the results, inconclusively.” The air is tense, every one of the family seemingly expecting terrible news. “Congrats! You’re pregnant.”

You knew nothing was wrong, but this was not what you were expecting. You’re forty-two, Eddie is nearly seventy. You weren’t even sure he could still get you pregnant. You meet your husband’s eyes, sharing a bewildered smile.

In the meantime, shouts of disgust from your teenage kids fill the room, standing up with tense shoulders.

“Gross!”

“Ew! I didn’t even know you guys still did it! Oh my god! Ew!!!!”

You bite your lip, shrugging. “Are you wanting to be a father to a newborn at almost 70?”

Eddie smirks, leaning in for a kiss that makes your kids jeer again. “Bring it on, baby.”

Steve calls an hour later, concerned for the text his name sake sent him. When Eddie informs him, you’re pregnant, twenty years of karma hits tenfold.

When Steve and Jocelyn said they were pregnant with Eliza fifteen years after having Dustin, Eddie spent the pregnancy making fun of their oopsie baby. Asking if they knew what protection was, joking how they still had sex, telling them to keep it in their pants, the works.

Now, Steve was more than happy to return the favor. “A baby at 70, you old bastard? What was that you told me twenty years ago? God, I’m surprised you two still do it, considering how low Eddie’s ball sack must be hanging.”

“You wish you could see my ball sack, you asshole,” Eddie teases, laughing with you as you sigh. “You’re just jealous I can still keep it up, you geriatric bastard.”

Five years later, when Eddie and Kayla are older, he wanders into classroom #3 for the last time, holding his third son who ends up being notoriously clingy towards his older father.

It’s ironic to the both of them how Eddie has a son for both Kayla’s first and last year of teaching, keeping tabs on one another for the duration of forty years.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, letting Tommy down and dismissing her questioning look. Don’t wanna talk about it.

By the time Tommy is 18, Eddie is too old to give a shit, wondering constantly what Wayne’s opinion will be when he ends up knocking on heaven’s door.

When you got into your sixties, Eddie was full of gratitude, thankful that you will no longer be confused for one of his kids despite his actual kids all calling you mom. He makes fun of your vision, stealing his reading glasses constantly despite his constant insisting that you get your own pair.

Despite the smile lines by his lips and his eyes, the sunspots decorating his skin, you still stare up at him like you did when he was forty-seven.

Your lives were forever intertwined from the moment you saw him, from the moment he saw you. He lies down in your bed next to you for the millionth time, his hand caressing your side, pressing kisses on whiskered lips, it doesn’t occur to you to ever be anything less than woefully in love with him.

———————-

Thanks so much for reading remember that reblogging and replies are the best way to support your fic writers

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut #older eddie munson x you #older eddie munson x reader #older eddie munson #older!eddie x reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months

Text

Paper Rings - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 750 Summary: Signs of you are all over Joel's bedroom in Jackson. Warnings: Smut, slight somnophilia, drinking.

Masterlist

Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge, I picked Lover because I've been listening to a lot more of it as the weather begins to get warmer. "Paper Rings" is definitely not my favorite Taylor song, but oh my god I LOVED writing this about Joel, it fits perfectly for him.

***

The story of your romance with Joel Miller could be told with just one look around his bedroom.

The picture frame on his dresser with a picture that you painted of the two of you the night you met.

It was quite a meeting, a quick slip on the ice as you stepped off the curb on your way to the Tipsy Bison to celebrate Tommy’s birthday, Joel jumping towards you to catch you. His hand grabbing your blue jacket’s shoulder before you fell into the large pool of water leftover from the melting snow. You both making your way to the Bison together, his handsome face taking your breath away once you saw him in the light of the high moon. You became fast friends, urged on by Tommy and Maria’s matchmaking. Your friendship accidentally turning into something more after a night of drinking and dancing together in Joel’s kitchen. The two of you sharing your first kiss as you slowly swayed along to a Neil Young record. The kiss turning heated, turning into Joel taking you from behind as you gripped his kitchen countertop.

The books you’ve read stacked up on the table beside your side of the bed. Your favorite chapters marked with the bookmarks you made.

He’d always try to bring you home a book to make up for how early he’d have to leave for patrol on Monday mornings, the day always being more sad and dreary due to his absence. He’d always succeed at not waking you up until he’d kiss you goodbye. He found it hard to control himself when he’d hear you let out a small sleep drunk moan as his lips touched yours. Some mornings he could manage it and walk away, and others he’d be late to the stables, leaving you satiated and smiling after gently fucking you in the light of dawn.

The comforter rumpled on the floor in the corner, left there from when Joel threw it off the bed last night before he made love to you.

Your glass is still sitting on the coffee table half full of wine, the thought of finishing it out of your mind once Joel began kissing your neck. You were teasing each other all day, playing a game of cat and mouse. Biding your time until both of you couldn’t take it, Joel stalking behind you up the steps as he threw his shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans.

The t-shirt of Joel’s you wear to bed with the large blue paint stain on it from the time you helped him paint Tommy’s house.

He loves to see you in it, your body filling it out in places he loves to touch. He loves how you smell of him whenever you wear it, how it sits against your smooth skin. He loves it when you ride him while wearing it, seeing his clothes on his girl as you grind your hips.

The sheets on the bed always on your side, Joel sleeps warm, he never needs a blanket.

You like to watch him sleep, his face more at peace, his breathing relaxed and slow. A small grunt usually escaping his mouth when he turns away from you, followed by a hum of contentment when you wrap your arm around him. Sometimes you’ll wake up before him just to watch the rise and fall of his chest quicken as you take his cock into your mouth. Joel always waking up thinking he was having a dirty dream until he looks down and meets your eyes staring up at him. A small half smile as he realizes what comes next, his tired eyes growing larger with lust.

The jewelry hung from the hooks surrounding the mirror above his dresser.

The mirror that Joel loves to watch himself kiss you in. Sometimes because you had a long night. Sometimes because it’s the best way he knows to tell you it’s gonna be alright. Sometimes because he waited his whole life for you. He loves to stand behind you and watch his reflection touch you, he loves watching you gasp as he sticks his hand down your pants.

The paper rings on each of your nightstands.

Joel secretly teaching himself how to fold them as a way to surprise you until he could find a ring that would fit you. He just couldn’t wait to make you his wife.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #taylor swift #paper rings #tlou fanfic #tlou joel

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 2 months

Text

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the endings

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. click here for game day (group) chapter.

⋆˙⟡ wc: member endings are ~1k each, group endings are less than 500 words each! (in total: ~5k)

⋆˙⟡ reader: no pronouns used for reader at all in any of the endings :)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.

⋆˙⟡ endings summary: choose your own ending! jiwoong, hao, matthew, hanbin, taerae, group (quasi-poly), and group (revenge) are all included. most are angst/fluff and some are suggestive.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: there is no smut in these endings, but they allude to smut that happened previously or suggest smut that would follow these endings. please, minors dni still with this post! member endings are all happy (with angst). revenge ending is also happy, depending on what makes you happy! lol.

I'M SO SAD IT'S OVER. writing the bully series was so much fun! thank you to the anon who suggested it in the first place a couple months ago and for everyone who has given positive feedback/input! i appreciate it so much. these endings are all crafted with so much love! let me know which one you love most. maybe i'll put a poll at the bottom lol. ily, catch you in the next series!!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

jiwoong 🎭

“so i’ll hand out these scripts and we’ll get started right away,” professor lee announces, walking around the room and handing out scripts for everyone’s assigned scenes. mina sits next to you as usual, except this week she’s staring daggers at jiwoong from across the room. you guess it beats her making googly eyes at him.

mina had called you last night to rant again about how much of a jerk “jiwoong-sshi” is. note the absence of the word “oppa”. you were sorry that he’d stood her up, but you knew what kind of a person he could be long before last week.

and she unfortunately didn’t seem to care how much of a jerk jiwoong was when you were the one bearing the brunt of it.

but you don’t want to dwell on it. you’d just fucked him and four of his friends in the campus activities lounge and had no plans to tell her. she’d asked you how the “revenge” went, but you’d kept it all pretty vague. mina was no prude, but she might have the urge to gossip a bit with news as insane as that. you wouldn’t blame her if she did.

still, you didn’t regret what you did saturday. not even a little bit. in fact, it made you feel kind of proud every time you thought about it.

you spend all of class working on a scene with mina in which you play a really outrageous set of characters trying to escape arrest. it’s a role that you’ve never opted to take before— one that requires you to be bold, funny, and brave.

professor lee praises you after you present it at the end of class. “excellent work. what’s gotten into you, (y/n)-sshi? whatever it is, let’s keep peeling back that shell!”

you smile with pride, eyes scanning the rest of the room until they happen to land on kim jiwoong.

he’s smiling, too.

when class ends, you pick your bag up off the floor and toss in your marked-up script. you’d normally throw it in the recycling bin, but you want to keep it this time. as a reminder of what you’re capable of when you’re sure of yourself.

mina giggles as you walk out the door together and into the hallway. “i’m surprised, but you really pulled that off!”

“i’m not.”

both of your heads whip around to find kim jiwoong leaning against the wall behind you.

“you just needed some... encouragement,” he says with a smirk, but there’s a noticeable warmth in his eyes.

“and what exactly do you need in order to be able to show up to a commitment you made?” mina asks with a scowl. your eyes narrow at him, too.

“listen, i–... i’m really sorry, mina,” he responds sincerely. the fact that he even got her name right has you stifling a gasp— let alone the apology that prefaced it. “i shouldn’t’ve stood you up. that was mean. so i’m sorry.”

mina sucks in her cheek, looking at the ceiling as she considers his sentiment.

“but i actually have something else to apologize for, too,” he adds quickly, gaze moving back and forth between the both of you. “i... i wasn’t really interested in you in the first place. i was—... i used you. to get a reaction out of the person i’m actually interested in.”

his eyes meet yours. your lips part in shock at his sudden confession. you stare at him for a long moment, unspeaking until—

“AREYOUKIDDINGMEYOUABSOLUTEDICKOFAHUMANBEINGYOULIETOANDSTANDUPMYFRIENDANDLEAVEHERINFUCKINGTURMOILOVERYOUANDTHEN—.”

you glance over at mina, expecting to see tears running down her face but instead...

she’s grinning. from ear to ear. and not in a joker sort of way— just genuine happiness.

“i knew it,” she says, clasping her hands together in front of her face and jumping excitedly. “i KNEW it! i knew you both liked each other!”

“you—... what!?” you exclaim, eyes bugging at this bizarre turn of events. “what do you mean, ‘you knew we liked each other’!?”

“i’m also confused,” jiwoong says with a frown. “considering i didn’t really know until, like, yesterday.”

“well, i knew you were going to like each other. eventually,” she says with a nod. “you know, shy, quiet person and arrogant, attractive person trope. it’s destiny!”

“if you really thought that, then why did you wanna go out with him so bad?” you ask through furrowed brow.

“‘cause he’s hot. duh,” she says, shaking her head with a smile as if your question was very silly. “can you blame me for wanting a taste first?”

“well, if it’s just a taste we’re talking about—,” jiwoong starts to offer with a smirk.

“one more word and the only thing you’ll be tasting is—” you interject, balling your hand into a fist.

“aw, first lovers’ spat! i’ll leave you guys to it,” mina says quickly before sprinting off down the now-empty hall.

you look down at your shoes awkwardly. “i have nothing else to say to you.”

“then, you won’t mind if i talk?” jiwoong asks, not waiting for a response to continue. “when hanbin made me start bullying you last year, i honestly didn’t want to. you were pathetic enough already without my help.”

“gee, thanks,” you reply with with a frown.

“but then i sort of started to have fun with it. the way you reacted was absolutely intoxicating. you made it all so rewarding— coming up with a new plan to drive you crazy every day,” he explains. “then last week, when we started that competition, i found a whole new way to drive you crazy. and i liked it a lot more.”

“this is the most convoluted apology i’ve ever received,” you remark with a sigh.

“after saturday, seeing you like that... you were far from pathetic. and it made me proud. i think, somewhere along the way, i just became really fond of you,” jiwoong confesses, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “and i also desperately want to buy you better clothes.”

“okay, i’m leaving now,” you announce, turning on your heel.

“what a coincidence. me too,” jiwoong says, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours as he starts to drag you with him down the hall. “you’re hungry, right?”

you start to protest, but as you look at his handsome side profile— dark hair covering the tips of his ears— you realize you are, in fact... hungry.

“starving,” you answer.

he stops walking to look at you, eyes widening with surprise. “yeah? what would you like to eat then?”

staring at his lips, you can’t help but lick your own. “mina’s right, y’know.”

jiwoong’s head tilts, the corner of his lip upturning slowly as he registers your expression. “is she?”

“mhm,” you answer, pressing your lips to his. he responds quickly: soft, lazy, and stupidly addictive. you can’t believe you let him get away last week without kissing you. you could give him just one chance, couldn’t you? “but what she doesn’t know...”

he attaches your lips again, free hand cupping your jaw.

“is that one taste of you...”

jiwoong inhales sharply as you gently bite his bottom lip.

“just isn’t enough.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

hao 🎻

you rush into orchestra on tuesday, already five minutes late. unfortunately, your regular bus never showed at the stop. and then your back-up bus also never showed. which means you had to walk all the way to campus when you hadn’t planned to— your violin case in tow.

rehearsal having started already, you make a beeline for your seat and frantically open your violin case. luckily you’d warmed up your instrument before you’d left your house this week and your bow is ready to play when it hits the violin strings.

or, it would be, if you didn’t just realize you forgot your sheet music.

“oh, for fucks sake,” you mumble, looking up at the sky and begging for the sweet release of death in this tragically embarrassing moment.

a soft creaking noise draws your attention to your left, where you find hao’s music stand is suddenly angled in your direction.

he doesn’t say anything or look at you. he just keeps playing. and so you follow the first chair’s lead.

rehearsal goes surprisingly well. you’re sure you managed to correct all of your mistakes from last week after being able to put more rosin on your bow.

“third and fourth chair are falling behind the tempo,” hao replies when professor ahn asks him for notes about the performance. your eyes widen when he names a violinist other than yourself that needs correcting. “it makes it harder for first and second chair to successfully introduce and complete the next movement.”

first and second chair? hao was voluntarily grouping you together?

professor ahn seems as surprised as you. she nods, writing down her own notes in the binder on her music stand. she waves her hand, dismissing the orchestra for the day. you clean your violin, getting it ready to be put back in its case as your classmates begin to file out of the orchestra room.

“(y/n)-sshi,” professor ahn calls suddenly from the doorway. your heart drops to your stomach at the mention of your name. “you actually played quite well today. i’ll assume it’s because you had the help of the concertmaster’s annotations. don’t be late again.”

you nod quickly, bowing your head respectfully to her. “thank you, professor-nim. i’ll play even better next time.”

you’re left alone with hao as usual, both cleaning your violins with the utmost care. when you finish, you place your instrument in its case before fishing around in the side pocket and pulling out something small.

hao locks his violin case, placing it sideways at his feet. finally, he looks at you.

you hold out the cake of rosin that he’d given you last week and told you to bring to your next rehearsal. you’d be remiss to notice that even though you didn’t show him until after class, he never told professor ahn that you’d stolen it like he threatened.

hao examines the rosin, completely ruined from what you’d both done with it. there was no cleaning it and you couldn’t use it if you tried.

you expect to catch some attitude, but, to your surprise, he smiles. “guess it couldn’t be salvaged, huh?”

“guess not,” you agree with a shrug. “at least you got some use out of it.”

“mm,” he hums after a moment before reaching down and reopening his violin case delicately. his hand disappears into one of the side pockets and pulls out a fresh cake of his premium rosin.

and then he hands it to you.

you stare at it in your palm, wide-eyed. “w-what are you—”

“you’re a pretty decent violinist,” hao says matter-of-factly. “sometimes— not often— but sometimes i feel like you have the potential to be almost as good as me. but you’ll never reach it if you don’t start using higher quality products to care for your instrument.”

“oh,” you reply, brow furrowing as he locks up his violin again. “so you’ve decided to take pity on me now?”

he smirks. “something like that.”

“i guess it’s better than pure hatred,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you tuck the box of rosin into your own violin case.

“i never hated you,” hao says with a frown. you sit back up, lips parting as your eyes meet his. “i didn’t particularly like you, but i only told professor ahn about the mistakes you were making because they were careless. you always came in the next week with those same mistakes completely perfected.”

“so you were motivating me through public shame?” you clarify, one brow piqued in disbelief.

“doing whatever it takes to improve the sound of the orchestra is what sets a great concertmaster apart from a mediocre one,” he explains, deciding to paint himself as a misunderstood martyr.

“oh, i’m sure it was so difficult for you to step up and take one from the team,” you mock, a laugh escaping you at hao’s audacity. “do you hear what you’re saying? you’re so fucking full of yourself. who gave you the right to play god and—?”

hao leans in, connecting his lips to yours mid-rant. your breath hitches in disbelief as he pulls back.

“would you be mad if i said i wanna get to know you better?” he asks, hand resting on your thigh.

you look down at his long fingers on your soft skin. “furious,” is what you answer.

he presses his lips together in a hopeless smile. “i’ll take it that means you don’t feel the same way then.”

“you always think you know everything about everything,” you huff, grabbing his hand in yours and bringing it further up your thigh. “but you don’t. so i guess you will have to get to know me better if you wanna keep being an insufferable know-it-all.”

as soon as a smile appears on hao’s face, it’s replaced by the cutest frown. “i’m sad now.”

“why?” you ask, not sure how your answer could’ve possibly made him sad when it was the one he wanted.

“i took for granted how absolutely fucking adorable you are when you’re angry,” he whines, a disheartened little pout on his pretty lips. “kind of makes me wish i could keep making you angry from time to time.”

you blink at him, looking around awkwardly as a reluctant smile grows on your face. “i mean—... i guess i’d have to worry about my playing skills suffering if you stop completely. that wouldn’t be very responsible of concertmaster-nim.”

“no, it wouldn’t,” he replies, biting his lip in a smirk. you’re fully aware of what this title does to him. “so what should i do to keep you playing well?”

you look up at the ceiling, considering your options. “maybe you could see what other things in the music room fit up my—” “that’s depraved,” hao scolds, shaking his head at you in shock before a grin peeks through. “are you free right now?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

matthew 💪

with three weeks left of your soccer unit in phys. ed, you braced for an awkward class on wednesday. as you wait outside in the warm, spring breeze with your classmates, you waited anxiously for matthew to show up.

he doesn’t.

coach yang blows his whistle, signaling for you to form a straight line in front of him. luckily one of your classmates asks the question for you.

“coach-nim! where’s matthew hyung?” the younger boy asks in front of you. “we wanted to talk to him about the game.”

“ah, matthew-sshi is on a strict regimen of weight-training and cardio until the championship,” coach yang answers with a sigh. a little quieter, he adds, “and maybe that’ll teach him to stay in line.”

maybe, you think. maybe not.

it’s a surprisingly pleasant p.e. class. your classmates are respectful, giving you as much grace during the game as possible. your sunbaenim from your calc class even pushes you behind him when a ball comes a bit too quickly towards your face.

“thanks,” you say with a smile.

he smiles back. “don’t mention it.”

this class sure was different when someone wasn’t trying to kill you the whole time. that being said, you’re pretty disappointed that matthew isn’t here. you can’t help but wonder how he would’ve treated you today after saturday night.

when class is over, coach yang hands you a hose, some rags and a ball trolley. he still can’t look you in the eye after what happened. “here’s your supplies. shouldn’t take you more than an hour.”

you nod ashamedly, getting to work right away.

“and a word of advice,” coach yang adds over his shoulder. “don’t be afraid to put him in his place from time to time. you played well today without him. it’s nice to see you have some more confidence, (y/n)-sshi. good luck.”

the last thing you were expecting today was a pep talk from coach yang. you walk over to the right side of the field and pick up a muddy, grass-stained ball and bring it over to the hose. washing it thoroughly and buffing any stains with a rag, you drop it into the ball trolley and make your way to the back of the field to retrieve a couple more.

you grab one from behind the goal, turning around to fetch the other one. but as you do, you come face to face with matthew— tossing the ball gently back and forth between his hands.

“hi,” he greets shyly.

your lips press together in an awkward smile. “hi.”

he doesn’t say anything else for a moment, so you brush past him— bringing your ball back to the hose. he follows behind you quietly, placing his soccer ball on the ground beside yours. you pick up the hose and douse them both in the cold water. matthew picks up a rag and kneels down on the ground next to you, buffing the soccer ball you’d brought over.

you pick up the one he brought over, doing the same. “that one was mine.”

his eyes widen, holding out the ball to you wordlessly in an attempt to give it back.

you can’t help but laugh. “i was just kidding.”

“right,” he replies with a nod, returning to cleaning the ball. “sorry.”

you raise one eyebrow at him quizzically. “are you okay?”

“hm?” he asks before nodding quickly. “oh, yeah. i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you question further. “because this is my punishment and you’re helping me when you should be getting ready for practice.”

matthew shrugs. “it was my fault.”

“it absolutely was,” you agree, tossing your soccer ball into the trolley. “and you got away with it scot-free.”

suddenly, matthew’s hand reaches toward your forehead— thumb brushing over the tiny scar from where the ball he kicked had scraped your skin. “i shouldn’t have.”

well this is... new. matthew taking accountability for his actions? you never thought you’d see the day.

“i—... um...” he stutters, starting to pick at the grass in front of him. “i think i should probably be punished. for that. and for a lot of things.”

oh.

so he’d really liked it.

“oh. should i tell coach yang to—,” you play dumb, starting to stand up like you’re about to march right into his office yourself.

“NO! ... no. no,” matthew grabs your hand, keeping you seated next to him. he bites his lip, clearly embarrassed by what he’s about to say. “want you to do it.”

“huh,” you reply with frown. “i thought you didn’t really prefer people who were tainted.”

“you aren’t tainted,” he says, shaking his head. “that—... that was really immature of me to say. and gross. and i’m... i’m sorry.”

you look at him for a long moment, studying his eyes to see if he’s being genuine or not. there’s no obvious signs of lying. he’s very nervous, but it’s not because he’s being untruthful. maybe it’s because he finally is.

“and i can also assume that you said sorry to the waterboy?” you ask, pressing your lips together in an attempt to not laugh at his panicked expression. “and that defense player on the other team? actually, you should probably just draft a mass apology and send it to every university team you’ve ever played against. it would save some time.”

matthew nods sullenly. “yeah. i can do that.”

you have to admit, you like matthew quite a bit when he’s like this. he’s agreeable, apologetic, and distressingly adorable.

“i appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” you reply, patting him on the shoulder gently. “i think... maybe... we could make this work.”

matthew’s eyes light up at this. “really? you’d wanna keep doing... this?”

you smile. “yeah. it doesn’t sound so bad, now that you’re being nice to me.”

matthew smiles with embarrassment, avoiding your gaze. “i guess i should’ve tried this approach last year. but i—... have you ever heard of alpha male podcasts?”

“matthew,” you groan, palm flying to your forehead in disbelief. “you’re gonna unsubscribe from every single one of those, okay?”

he nods frantically. “of course. they didn’t get me anything anyway, except a light ‘roid addiction.”

“do not tell anyone that, oh my god,” you reprimand, hitting his thigh. “you’re also gonna throw all of that out immediately.

“ah, it was so expensive though,” he winces, tilting his head as he weighs the consequences. “can’t i sell them instead?”

“JUST GET RID OF—,” you shout, cutting yourself off when matthew suddenly leans over and kisses your cheek.

he grins. “you’re so beautiful when you’re disappointed in me.”

“you’re—... you—...” you stutter until matthew leans in again, pressing his lips to yours this time. he pulls back, leaving your brain hazy. “please don’t be so mean to me again.”

he shakes his head decisively. “i won’t. i promise.”

you smile, stomach fluttering as he beams at you.

“but, like... you’re okay with being mean to me sometimes, right?” matthew asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“oh, absolutely,” you answer with a nod. “i’ll start now.”

he laughs passively, obviously interpreting this as a joke. “sure, sure.”

you stand up, hovering your foot over his crotch. “finish cleaning these soccer balls. now.”

matthew’s eyes widen with fear, hopping to his feet immediately, bowing his head to you, and sprinting off to the end of the field to complete his task.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

hanbin 📝

“hanbin-ah!” you shout, running down the dimly-lit, empty hallway. how far could he have made it in the few minutes since he’d stormed out of the activities lounge without so much as a word.

“hanbin-ah...”

a banging down the hallway to your right seems to signal his location. you turn down it, running until you reach the end and a long hall of public lockers unfolds before you. to your left is a very distraught hanbin, clanging his locker door about as he holds a small book in his hands.

the floor is littered with torn up pieces of paper, that seem to be coming from the book he’s holding.

“FUCK,” he yells, ripping out another page from the book and crumpling it up— tossing it onto the ground, where it lands at your feet.

you bend down and pick it up, carefully unfolding it and reading what’s written:

what the fuck does (y/n) see in junseo hyung-nim? i thought that poem was for me. could (y/n) really choose him over me? is he better than me? i don’t understand. what did i do wrong?

it’s a diary entry— your name, mentioned twice. the confession contained in it sends a chill down your spine. hanbin had posted your poem about junseo sunbaenim out of spite.

out of jealousy?

you pick up another crumpled paper and unfold it, reading:

i just hung up all the copies of the poem around campus. i got the other guys in on it, too. maybe this’ll teach you not to take people for granted. maybe it’ll keep you thinking about me.

hanbin throws his empty journal across the hallway, sitting down on the ground with his back against a locker as he runs a hand through his hair in distress.

you walk over to him cautiously, standing in front of him and waiting until he looks up at you. you hold out the pieces of paper from his journal and drop them on his lap. “so you decided to ruin my life because you couldn’t have me?”

hanbin reads the writing on the crumpled papers, tears suddenly spilling over and streaming down his cheeks. he wipes them away as quickly as they come. his chin dimples up with sadness. it reminds you of something...

you look in his locker, finding his messenger bag and opening the flap. you dig around gently until your hand wraps around it.

you sit down next to hanbin, back against a locker as you place the little, plush hamster in his lap. he stares at it for a long moment before finally picking it up in his hand and giving it a gentle squish. a tear falls onto the hamster’s nose.

“you found this the other day?” he says, rubbing the back of his hand across his cheeks again.

you nod. “he’s cute.”

hanbin smiles. “i was hoping you’d think that.”

“what do you mean?” you ask, a confused pout forming on your lips.

“i was hoping you’d think he was cute,” he says, running his thumb over the hamster’s fur, “when i bought it for you.”

“what?”

“on the class trip to the national library last year,” he continues. “we sat next to each other on the bus and you pulled three plushies out of your bag like it was the most normal thing ever. and you told me all their names and what they wanted to be when they grew up.”

“hanbin-ah...”

“and we took those polaroids of each other outside on the grass. and ate kimbap at the picnic table in the garden. and ran around together finding the weirdest books we could. and then, in the giftshop, they had a bunch of cute plushies themed off of children’s books and...” hanbin rambles wistfully. “and i bought this one for you while you weren’t looking.”

“hanbinnie, i’m so sorry,” you interject truthfully. you see the full picture now and you never had before. “i shouldn’t’ve been so oblivious as to make you feel like i was leading you on, but i was. and i never should’ve told you about that poem in the first place. i’m sorry.”

he blinks back at you before shaking his head adamantly. “it’s— it’s not your fault.”

“but i hurt your feelings,” you assert, meeting his gaze. “and i never wanted to do that. you were my first friend i made at university. actually, you’re the only friend i’ve made at university. how pathetic is that?”

he shakes his head again, brow furrowing sadly. “it’s not. it’s—... it’s my fucking fault that that happened. it’s... it’s all my fault.”

“hanbinnie, it’s—... it’s okay, you—,” you try to alleviate his burden, like the moral person you are.

“no, don’t do that. don’t say it’s okay, because it’s not,” hanbin asserts, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. “i made you share something you didn’t want to. and i betrayed your trust. and i—... fucking—... all because i couldn’t handle my own emotions?”

you chew your cheek nervously. “listen, it’s okay—.”

“you’re the nicest person on the fucking planet if you can sit here and say that’s okay,” he says, a sad laugh escaping him. “i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but... i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to fully express to you how sorry i am.”

you don’t respond, stunned by hanbin’s genuine apology.

“i could try, though, if you want me to,” he blathers on anxiously. “i could write a hundred thousand words worth of apologies and you could rip them all up and make me start again and—.”

“he looks like you,” you interject suddenly.

he frowns. “hm?”

“the hamster,” you clarify, holding out your hand. eyes wide, hanbin places the hamster in your palm. “he looks a lot like you.”

hanbin doesn’t say anything, his eyes trained on the side of your face as you squish the little plush.

“it’s funny, actually,” you hold the hamster up for him to see. “looking at this hamster and trying to be mad at him is a lot like how it feels when i look at you.”

eyes still wide, hanbin’s bottom lip finds its way between his teeth— not sure how to answer to your overwhelming mercy.

“you’re right. that wasn’t okay,” you say as you bring the hamster to your lips, giggling after you give him a little peck. “but this is okay.”

“this?” he repeats.

“doesn’t this feel pretty nice?” you pose, eyes locking with his. “us getting along?”

hanbin nods slowly. “yeah. it does.”

“what do you say we continue this?” you ask with a smile. “indefinitely.”

“i—...” he stutters as a smile grows on his lips as well. “i’d really like that.”

“me too,” you agree, eyes abruptly narrowing. “but it’ll cost you.”

his brow raises, swallowing hard at your words. “absolutely. anything. name your price.”

you hold up the hamster to the side of your face, doing your best to mimic his little expression. “i want him.”

if hanbin’s eyes could turn to cartoon love hearts, they would. but because he’s a human person, his pupils simply dilate. “you—... i—... he’s yours. he was always yours.”

you grin, giving the hamster a hug. “thanks.”

“thank you,” he says, still reeling from your cuteness. “i’ll miss him, but he’s where he belongs now.”

“maybe you can visit him sometimes,” you offer, biting your lip shyly. “you’re clearly his biological father, after all. i’m sure your presence in his life is nothing less than enriching.”

he laughs. “some father i am. i didn’t even manage to give him a name.”

you smile. “he has a name.”

hanbin tilts his head curiously. “he does?”

you nod. “his name is binnie. jr.”

his cheeks turn red at this suggestion. “really? you want to name him after me?”

you don’t answer. instead, you ask softly, “hanbinnie?”

“yeah?” he replies eagerly.

“do you...” you start, finding the confidence to finish your question. “do you still like me?”

hanbin’s breath hitches in his throat. “um...”

“it’s okay if you don’t,” you assure with a sigh. “i just... a year ago, i didn’t even know someone like you would be interested in me. you’re so handsome. and smart. and the soccer team’s star player. i never even considered the possibility that you felt that way about me. but now, i—... i have more confidence. maybe you accidentally gave it to me, but i have it nonetheless.”

he looks at you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“and i think i realized that... i want you to like me,” you confess. “i wanted you to like me the whole time. i just didn’t want to admit it because i was afraid it was too much to ask for. and i—.”

“(y/n),” hanbin interjects with the fondest smile imaginable. “i like you so much i think my chest might explode.”

you can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. neither can he. hanbin brings his hand to cup your jaw, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

“oh and i’m sorry i fucked all your friends right in front of your face,” you say, pulling back momentarily.

hanbin laughs, shrugging it off. “i totally deserved it. and... it was pretty hot.”

“keep kissing me,” you request with a smile.

“don’t have to tell me twice.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

taerae 🎤

after a completely bizarre session of portraits and quotes for the campus newspaper, the boys all awkwardly grab their things and head out the door. as you place your clipboard and pen on the activities director’s desk, you see a familiar backpack shoved behind a chair. you forgot you’d stashed taerae’s bag and phone in here when he didn’t come back for it on friday.

you walk over to it, picking it up off of the floor and slinging it over your shoulder. you shut off the lights, walking down the hallway until you spot your former best friend— sitting alone on the entrance steps to kang hall in the spring night air.

you plop yourself down next to him, placing his bag on the step in front of him. he turns to you, eyes red and watery.

“oh, tae,” you whisper, head falling instinctively to his shoulder.

“why’re you comforting me?” he asks with a sniffle. “you should be punching me in the face or something.”

“would you prefer it?” you joke, trying to get him to smile. “because i can absolutely just—.”

“this is good,” he says with a breathy laugh.

“good,” you affirm, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “i love you.”

“(y/n),” taerae seems to plead. “i can’t—.”

“i love you,” you repeat. “and i miss you so much.”

“i—...” he stumbles verbally, but grabs your hand in his. “i—.”

“when did you lose your virginity?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

he gulps. “uh... a couple years ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” you question, a little hurt that he’d kept this big news a secret from you even when you were still friends. “to who?”

taerae shakes his head anxiously. “it’s not that important.”

“oh, come on,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “i told you i lost mine to sungchan oppa during that pool party at mina’s dad’s house.”

he flinches at this. “i remember.”

“it was that same pool party where you threw up in the pool,” you say with a smirk. “an eventful night for both of us.”

“mhm,” taerae mumbles shortly. he was definitely growing more bothered with each mention of that party.

“and to think, a couple of years later we’d do what we just did,” you muse in an attempt to dig something more out of him. “we’ve come so far from you throwing up in the pool at the thought of kissing me.”

“i never said that!” taerae exclaims with frustration. “you said that. and i just... went with it.”

you shake your head, brow furrowing confusedly. “then why did you throw up?”

“because—... because i was nervous,” he says softly. “i was so nervous to kiss you that i threw up in mina’s dad’s pool and then i was so embarrassed that i couldn’t even open my mouth to deny that i was disgusted by the thought of kissing you.”

you blink at him in shock. “did—... did you have feelings for me?”

after a long moment, he nods. but there’s more tension lingering under the surface. you know there’s more that needs to be said.

“i really liked you,” taerae confesses softly. “i never wanted to weird you out or anything, but i just liked you from the first day i met you. i loved being your friend, but i just couldn’t help it. when you told me at that party that you’d hooked up with sungchan hyung... i just got so jealous. i thought i could be cool about it, but i was drunk and...”

your eyes are wide, clinging onto his every word.

“and i hooked up with someone, too,” he admits with a pained expression. “i thought it might be the only way to make you jealous back, so i—... i—...”

you hold your breath.

“i hooked up with mina!” he exclaims quickly, looking down at his lap in shame.

“YOU WHAT!?” you scream, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look you in the eyes. “that’s not fucking funny!”

“i know it’s not,” he replies despairingly. “i regretted it instantly afterwards. no— while it was happening. i was so disgusted with myself. i hated lying to you, but i just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. i thought i wouldn’t have to until last year, when hanbin hyung came up to me in the hallway after class.”

your brow furrows at the mention of hanbin’s name.

“he said he knew what i’d done with mina. apparently he had a few friends that went to the party,” he explains sadly. “and that if i didn’t do exactly what he told me to, that he’d tell you what i did and he’d make things even worse for you. i just couldn’t let either of those things happen.”

“how—... how did you even manage to bag mina?” you ask in a daze.

“well, i mean,” taerae grimaces. “it’s mina.”

“she’s a total slut,” you nod, catching on immediately. “more power to her.”

“the most power to her,” taerae agrees quickly.

“why didn’t she tell me?” you wonder.

“oh, that one’s easy,” taerae answers with a shrug. “she said she’d rather die than let anyone know we slept together.”

“that sounds like mina,” you affirm. so the truth was out. it’s hard to wrap your head around everything all at once, but you were definitely relieved that taerae didn’t actually hate you. he was just an idiot.

“i’m so sorry, (y/n),” he apologizes genuinely. “for everything.”

you sigh heavily. “i’m sorry, too.”

taerae’s eyes widen in surprise. “what do you mean? you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“i’m sorry i bragged to you about losing my virginity. i could’ve been more sensitive with that information,” you reply. “and i’m sorry that i said you threw up in the pool, because you didn’t want to kiss me and never asked you what the truth was. i could’ve been more considerate of my best friend.”

“i love you,” taerae says abruptly. “being without you this year was literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you nod in affirmation. “let’s never do it again.”

“never,” he agrees with a wide, dimpled grin. that smile you missed so much. you watch it fade naturally, replaced by a fond gaze. but you desperately want to see it again.

so you do the only thing that you can.

you kiss him.

he pulls back after a moment, that perfect grin shining back at you. it’s enough to light up the night sky.

“i know i was using the past tense before, but,” taerae says, biting his lip. “i still really like you.”

you smile, pulling him back in to meet your lips again. “prove it.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

group (poly) 🥵

you look around the room, every boy avoiding eye contact with you in an attempt to quell the awkward tension. it feels amazing. exactly how you were hoping it would.

"so, uh," jiwoong starts, scratching the back of his neck. "are we gonna do those interviews now?"

you shrug. "you can just text me a quote, if you want. probably easier actually."

they all agree nonverbally, the uncomfortable haze still lingering in the air.

"you can also text me about when you'll be free again," you add, the boys heads turning rapidly to look at you.

"uh... which one of us?" matthew asks with a frown.

you shrug. “whoever’s down.”

“you—… you wanna do this again?” hao asks, lips parted in shock.

“why not?” you answer honestly. “i had fun. but if you’re not into it, that’s okay too.”

“i’m into it!” hao replies a bit too quickly. “i just meant that… i didn’t know you would be.”

“i guess before last week, someone would’ve had a hard time convincing me that i’d wanna do this once— let alone twice,” you admit with a smile. “but i think i’ve proved i changed.”

“and you’re okay with… changing?” taerae asks, worry in his eyes.

you nod definitively. “yeah. i am.”

“so, after all this, you’ve decided you just wanna fuck all of us whenever you want?” hanbin asks, standing up from the desk he’s sitting on and walking over to you. “you really think you’re hot enough for that?”

you smile at him. “no one’s forcing you to participate.”

hanbin frowns, studying you as you hold eye contact.

“don’t be too upset, hanbinnie,” you say with a pout. “you’re the one who wanted me to fuck your friends in the first place. you just forgot to consider i might end up really liking it.”

he stares at you for another long moment. and then, he smiles. “i guess you’ve won your own game then?”

you smile back. “i guess i have.”

“then i have to pay the price, fair and square. we all do,” hanbin nods with respect— an undeniable warmth in his gaze. “congratulations.”

you look at the other boys around you— excitement reaching their eyes as you grin. were they really all yours now?

“thanks,” you say happily. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

group (revenge) 😈

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you look around the room, every boy avoiding eye contact with you in an attempt to quell the awkward tension. it feels amazing. exactly how you were hoping it would.

"hey, is that camera on?" jiwoong suddenly asks, pointing at the camera you set up by the photo wall to take portraits for the campus activities interviews.

at least, that's why you told them you set it up.

"there's a little red flashing light," hao observes with a frown. "to the left of the lens."

"did—... did you record this?" matthew asks, fear palpable in his eyes as he looks at you.

you hop off the desk you're sitting on, grabbing your shorts and shimmying them on. walking over to the camera, you hit the record button again to stop filming. then you, take the camera off it's tripod and throw it in your bag that's sitting on the ground beside it.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you boys," you say, making your way towards the door.

hanbin stands up, grabbing your shoulder. "what are you gonna do with that?"

you shrug. "nothing."

his brow furrows tensely, not sure whether to relax or not.

"yet," you finish.

"(y/n), please," taerae begs from behind you. "please don't post that."

"i'm not gonna post it," you say, rolling your eyes. "i'm in the video, too, remember?"

the boys look around at each other, not sure what to do.

"but if i have to," you threaten, unlocking the door, "i won't hesitate. could anything be worse than what you've already put me through?"

"wait, (y/n)!" jiwoong calls. "we're—... we're sorry. we're all really sorry for everything."

"i'm sure you are," you reply, opening the door and exiting the activities lounge...

"i'm sure you'll stay sorry for a long time, too."

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