#YAY second chapter done!!

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 2)

aka: Put Your Ear Up to My Wall, Mistake My Heart for A Drumbeat

David fights to keep everything quiet, Asher takes on a new role, and Milo finds Tank (for better or worse).

Ch. 1 // Ch. 3 // ao3 // 4.6k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief, implied/referenced self-harm, vomiting, gore/blood, violence)

EDIT: new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

————————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:52 pm

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David’s phone started vibrating as soon as he pulled away from the morgue. He’d placed it in his backseat—a habit Gabe had instilled in him years ago so he’d never be tempted to text and drive.

He ignored the buzzing, willing the rain battering against his car to drown out the sound. It worked; his phone eventually went silent, and David’s full attention was brought back to the barely visible road he was traversing.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Another call. He contemplated pulling over, but Gabe’s voice hummed in his head: Patience. Not everything needs an answer right away. He decided against it. Whoever was calling would realize he wasn’t available and leave a message. 

The call ended.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

It started again. And again. And again. And again. As soon as a call ended, another began. He could feel them in his skull, like the buzzing was coming from his brain. Like his head was a freshly shaken wasp nest.

The wasps traveled down into his gut, twisting and tightening his intestines. They kept traveling, moving to his extremities. His hands went numb. Then his feet. He couldn’t feel the steering wheel. Or the gas pedal. Or the brakes. His vision began to tunnel.

No. He didn’t have time for this. He had a job to do. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to his apartment safely. He needed to get the key. He needed to go to his dad’s house. He needed to get into his study. He needed to throw up.

David found himself pulled off on the side of the road, doubled over in the rain, emptying his stomach into a bush. How embarrassing, throwing up like a little kid. That’s enough, he thought to himself, get it together. He stood up straight, but the movement was too quick and he found himself doubled over again.

Everything in him burned as it came up. It stung. 

Retreating back to his car, David quickly checked his phone. Missed calls, voice messages, and texts from various pack members flooded his screen. Someone must have found out what happened. None of them seemed urgent—nor from Asher or Milo—so he put his phone on ‘do not disturb’ and returned it to its place in the back seat.

When he sat down behind the wheel, the wasps were gone. David started the car again and continued back home.

————————————————

Asher cradled his phone, rocking gently in an effort to appease his bawling body. He told himself he had until Milo texted with an update. Then he would pull himself together. His abdomen ached as wave after wave of mourning slammed into him.

He mourned for Gabe. The officer had said he’d died at the scene, but had it been instant? Had he suffered? Did he know he was dying? Did he try to move his legs only to realize he was paralyzed from the waist down? The neck down? Did he frantically gasp for breath as his lungs slowly, agonizingly filled with blood? Had he tried desperately to pry his arm from where it was pinned to reach his phone and call his son just one more time?

He mourned for his pack. Gabe was the founder. They’d never been without him. Would they survive? Would they break into dissension? Crumble apart without leadership? Asher had heard of the devastation past packs had gone through following the death of an alpha or a founder. Gabe had been both. And the pack didn’t even know he was gone. David had said he’d tell them tomorrow at the meeting, but was that the best way?

He mourned for David. David, whose family was already so small. Who already struggled to feel and show his emotions. Asher had seen the initial impacts of this loss. Cold. Detached. Devoid. Would David recover? Was this a wound he could ever heal from? Was he in pain? Asher assumed so, but if David was, he hadn’t shown it. Was he putting on a front, a wall he wouldn’t let anyone see behind? Or was he numb? Was that worrying David? Did he feel guilty he wasn’t feeling anything for his dad’s dea—

buzz buzz

Asher jumped at the vibration in his hands. He rose from the floor and stumbled over to the couch, wiping his face with his shirt. Milo had texted:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

Asher’s stomach dropped. His fingers were a messy flurry as he texted back:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

He waited for a reply.

————————————————

Milo pulled into the parking lot of Tank’s apartment complex. He’d past the site of Gabe’s crash on the way, scanning for a glimpse of Tank or their bike. Thankfully, he’d found neither.

But he saw Gabe’s car, and that alone almost sent him into a spiral. No wonder Tank had sounded so wrecked; the driver’s side had crumpled like paper.

As he raced through the parking lot, Milo caught a glimpse of Tank’s motorcycle parked in a large puddle to his right. He’d been right; they’d come back here. Thank god.

Once at the entrance to Tank’s building, he pressed the buzzer for their door and waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. When he was met with the same result, he started pressing every button, hoping someone would let him in. Eventually the door unlocked, and he pushed through.

Milo bounded up the stairwell to Tank’s apartment, slipping and catching himself several times on the rain-slick steps. His throat tightened when he turned a corner and spotted their door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

As he walked towards it, he texted Asher:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

After a few moments, his phone buzzed with a series of replies:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

When he reached their door, Milo pushed it open further and crept into the apartment. The curtains were all drawn and the lights were off, but Milo could slightly make out a series of objects on the floor. He felt around for a switch and flicked on a light.

All the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen were open and empty, silverware and broken dishes littering the floor of Tank’s tiny studio. Milo could practically track Tank’s movements, following the dents along the wall where they had hurled each cup and plate and fork and knife.

Then his eyes landed on blood—a piece of broken glass on the floor, glistening crimson along its sharp edge. Milo trailed the fat red drops to the closed bathroom door. The sight and faint smell of Tank’s blood made his head spin.

“Tank?” he called out.

A smear of blood glinted on the door handle. He gave two soft knocks. “Tank, please,” he tried again, “I know you’re in there.”

A wretched voice answered from the other side of the door, “Go away.”

He ignored them and tried the handle, grimacing at the slick feeling of fresh blood on his hand. Luckily, they’d left it unlocked.

Pushing the door open, Milo peered inside the dark bathroom. Tank was a huddled mass in the corner of their shower, head buried in their arms.

“I said go away, Miles!” they shouted, raising their head just enough to glare at him over their arms, eyes glinting with fury.

Milo flinched but didn’t leave. Crouching down, he spoke in as calm of a tone as he could muster, “Where’re you hurt, Tank?”

“Get. Out.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Milo replied, “Can I turn on the light?”

“No,” they snapped.

“Okay." Milo took out his phone and turned on his flashlight instead. He tried to ignore the trail of blood leading to Tank as he opened up their mirror cabinet, then the one under their sink.

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking for your first aid kit.”

“I don’t have a first aid kit,” they sneered.

Milo shined his light at Tank, who shrunk against it, burying their head again in their arms. They were soaking wet from the rain and shaking terribly. He cast the light away from them.

“Just leave!” they moaned.

“No. You’re injured, and since you have nothing to treat it with, I’m taking you back to Ash and David’s,” he retorted.

A snarl gurgled up from deep in Tank’s chest as Milo approached.

“You can growl at me all you want, I don’t give a damn.”

The snarl grew louder the closer he got. But once he kneeled down in front of them, it began to change, breaking up and losing its bite.

“I know,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as Tank began to cry, “I know, Tank.”

He placed a tentative hand on their arm. They trembled under his touch, but didn’t pull away. 

“Just come with me, please. You don’t have to talk about it. You can be as angry as you want. I don’t care. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” Milo said as he set his phone down, flashlight to the floor.

“I-I am,” they lied, their sobs warping their words. 

“You’re bleeding from somewhere, I saw the blood in the kitchen and in here. So no, you’re not,” Milo countered. 

“…it’s n-n-not b-bad,” Tank lied again. 

“Can I see?”

Tank hesitated, then raised their head. Milo couldn’t make much out. He flipped his phone around, so the light pointed up at the ceiling.

He choked down a gasp at the sight of Tank’s face. The gash just under their left eye was deep, blood still pumping out slowly, drenching their cheek and dripping down their neck. It was in their hair, on their clothes, on their hands.

“Not that bad, my ass,” Milo muttered, “Tank, this needs a healer.”

“No. No healers,” they choked out, tears leaving trails in their blood.

Milo knew accepting any sort of medical help was difficult for Tank. They never talked about it, but he assumed there was some sort of trauma or pride or fear stopping them. He was trying to be understanding, he really was, but it was all too much. It was late, he was spent, Tank was bleeding, and Gabe was dead.

“Fine,” Milo spat, “You either go back to Ash and David’s and let me sew it up, cause it’s going to need stitches, or I stay here and call a damn healer. Your fucking choice.”

That shut them up. Their sobs subsided and they glared with all the fury left in their trembling body before muttering, “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

————————————————

At the sound of the front door opening, Asher sprang up and raced to the hall. "Tank?"

David stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping like tears from his lashes. He looked as stoic as before, but now a sickly tinge covered his features. 

"David," Asher breathed, "Was it...was it him?"

"Yes," he muttered, walking inside and shutting the door, "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You thought I was Tank." David stopped in front of him. 

"I just uh...hoped..."

“What happened?” David repeated, his voice low and tense. He didn’t have the time nor energy for hesitation. His stare bored into Asher, demanding an answer.

"T-Tank saw Gabe's car," Asher spluttered. David's eyes widened. "They called Milo when they saw it. He had to tell them what happened, he—we couldn’t lie to them. Milo went to their place. He texted me when he got there but he hasn’t updated since.”

Of course. Of course they couldn’t have just waited to tell anyone until David got back. Or until tomorrow, like he told them. David pulled out his phone, turning off ‘do not disturb’. There were more missed calls and texts, but none from Milo or Tank. He pulled up Milo’s contact and called him. 

“Hello?” Milo’s voice oozed with trepidation. 

David’s was dry and sharp. “Is Tank ok?”

“…yes. We’re heading to my car now, we’ll meet you back at your place.”

“Are they hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David started getting another call. He ignored it. 

“Um…” David could tell Milo was choosing his words carefully, but for David’s sake or Tank’s he didn’t know. “Yes, but it’ll be ok.”

David gripped his phone tighter, but kept his rising worry out of his tone. He needed to stay level, anything less would just be detrimental to everyone’s safety.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Take them to a healer.”

David heard Asher mutter ‘fuck’ behind him. There was a long pause on Milo’s end, filled only with the sound of rain and Milo’s breathing as he walked. 

“Milo.”

Finally, he replied, “We’ll be at your place soon.” And with that, Milo hung up.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

The buzzing in David’s head started again, echoing those from his phone. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket as he stormed past a bewildered Asher and into his bedroom. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“David? David, what did Milo say? Is Tank ok?” Asher called out as he followed, making the wasps in David’s head angrier. He watched David tear through the drawers of his desk, searching for what, Asher didn’t know. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher called his name several more times before David seemed to hear him. He whipped his head around.

“Is Tank hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Yes,” David replied before continuing his search, “But Milo says it’s fine, so I’m hoping it’s not too bad. They won’t go to a healer, no surprise there, so they’re coming back here.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Who is calling you?”

David finally found what he was looking for; he pulled out the key and clipped it onto his key ring. “The pack. Someone must have found out. Maybe the wreck was on the news or someone saw it like Tank did. They’ve been calling since I left the morgue.”

David pushed past Asher again and started heading towards the front door. He fought back the wasps in his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Are you going to answer?” Asher asked as he followed. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“No.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Why not?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

He opened the front door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “At the pack meeting.”

“David they can’t wait that long,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “They already know. Or they’ve at least heard rumors. You need to talk to them.”

“Well, I don’t have the time!” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “I’ve got to get to my dad’s house and figure all this shit out,” David growled. The wasps were winning; he was starting to lose focus. He turned to leave. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Then let me do it.”

David paused. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“What?” he asked over his shoulder. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher’s voice took on an edge David had never heard from him before, “Let me go with you and answer the calls,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…“I’ll still be near, so you can get to your phone if you need to. But this way, you won’t be distracted, and the pack won’t be left in the dark all night.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David wanted to say no. Having Asher near right now felt like a liability. But he was right. buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…The pack already knew, and keeping them in the dark was only going to incite panic. That and David needed the buzzing to stop, both from his phone and his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David unlocked his phone and handed it to Asher. 

————————————————

“Hey, can you see who just texted me?” Milo asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. 

Tank wiped their hands as well as they could on their jeans before picking up Milo’s phone. 

goin w david 2 gabes

key undr mat

b back l8r

“It’s Ash,” they reported, “He’s going to Gabe’s place with David? He said the key is under the mat and they’ll be back later.”

“Why’re they—nevermind. Can you text him back and let him know we’re almost to his place and also ask if David has a suturing kit? Password’s 0209.”

Almost to ur place, u got a suture kit?

tank???

The one and only, how’d u know?

u txt dif

y do u hav milos phone

He’s driving

oh rite

r u ok

Im fine, suture kit?

david says in bthrm

Gotcha

y do u need it

Dont worry bout it

————————————————

“…yeah Kelsey, it’s true…I know…we don’t know that yet…yes, tomorrow morning at 11…okay…hey, you text me if you need anything…okay…okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, try and get some rest…I will…bye K.” 

Asher ended the call and trotted after David, who was already unlocking Gabe’s front door. He rubbed his eyes in the brief moment of silence before David’s phone started buzzing again. 

“Hey, Mika…yeah, it was a car crash…”

David was stuck in the doorway. The foyer loomed before him, both nauseatingly familiar and eerily alien. His childhood home was now as much a husk as his father was. It made the wasps in David’s stomach writhe. 

Asher was staring at him, David could feel it. So, he took a step inside. Then another. And another. It almost felt like trespassing. 

There was a David who used to live here. Who at seven years old had learned the virtue of honesty when he admitted to breaking the kitchen window. Whose first loose tooth was yanked out by a string attached to the front door. Who used to visit every week after he moved out. Who mended the roof and repainted the baseboards. Who spent countless hours listening to his father’s stories by the fireplace.  

That was not this David, the David treading across the floorboards like a thief. 

He reached his father’s study and unlocked it with the key he’d retrieved earlier. Asher ended his call and said, “I’ll be in the living room. Let me know if you need anything.”

David nodded and walked into the study, closing the door behind him. 

It smelled like him: rosemary, leather, and something distinctly Gabe. The scent should’ve been comforting, but it just stirred the wasps up, making him lightheaded as they whirled.

David switched on the desk lamp. Everything was just as he remembered:

Books lined the walls, organized alphabetically by last name. Stacks of paper sat neatly on the outskirts of the desk’s surface, leaving the middle open for work. A lumpy mug David had made in high school held a collection of pens and pencils. 

David walked around the desk. Three picture frames adorned the polished oak. The first held a pack photo from the previous year’s Solstice. The second held a candid of David’s mother, sticking her tongue out at the camera as she ran through a yard sprinkler. The third held a picture of Gabe and David on their most recent camping trip, their faces wild and beaming. 

On the back of Gabe’s chair hung his jacket. David felt the black leather—soft with use and dedicated upkeep. 

The wasps were stinging his eyes; David pressed his fingers into them, seeing sparks as he crushed the bugs behind his eyelids. He collapsed into the seat and focused on his breathing, forcing the wasps in his chest to move in an orderly fashion. Not here. Not yet. He had a job to do. 

David opened the largest drawer of the desk and began to gather what he needed. 

————————————————

"Shit, Tank, this looks really bad.”

Milo sat back on his heels; the cold of the tile seeped through his pants and into his skin. Tank stayed still in their position on the bathroom floor as Milo leaned in again, holding the needle tight in his hand.

After a moment, he leaned back again, exclaiming, "Fuck, I don't know how to sew stitches! I mean, my mom taught me to sew but skin is so fucking different than fabric. It moves and bleeds and-and, for fuck's sake, it's your face, can we please get a healer?"

Tank scowled but didn't reply, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from snapping.

"Alright, fine. Okay. But I'm gonna have to go slow. I don't know what I'm doing and, again, this is your face," Milo warned them.

"Just let me do it, then," Tank muttered. 

He dismissed the offer, "No, you've got your shaky hand."

"I can use the other."

"No, cause that's not your dominant hand. You've got to do this with your dominant hand, and that's your shaky hand. You're gonna scar real bad if you—”

"I don't care about scars."

"You'll care about this one."

"I have other scars on my face, I really don't care."

"You'll care about this one."

Tank looked away, the weight of the night and how they got there in the first place pulling them back down into silence. Seeing he’d won, for now, Milo breathed deep and tilted Tank’s head up slightly with one hand. He held the needle close to their cheek, whispering, "Okay. I'm gonna start."

Tank winced as the needle pierced their skin, and Milo almost called the whole thing off. But he kept going, and they quickly stopped wincing.

Milo was laser focused, doing his best to keep the stitches small and tidy. But when he was about halfway done, a tear rolled down into the gash, stirring Milo from his concentrated state. He used a gentle thumb to brush away the tears on Tank's cheeks.

"I'm not crying cause it hurts," Tank whispered, "It doesn't hurt."

"I know," Milo murmured, "...almost done."

Despite the circumstances, a sort of morbid satisfaction stirred in Milo at the sight of the bloody rift closing under his hand. It felt good, felt right, to be pulling something back together when everything was falling apart. 

When he finished the last stitch, Milo placed a large bandaid over the gash. Tank stared down at their hands while Milo put away the suturing kit. 

As he began scrubbing the dried blood off his hands in the sink, Tank explained:

“I didn’t mean to do this, you know.”

Milo stayed quiet, giving Tank the space to talk more if they wanted. But the silence just made them feel more pressured to defend themself.

“Well, I did mean to throw that glass, I just, I didn’t mean for it to throw itself back at me,” they clarified.”

“Okay,” Milo said. His tone came out of his mouth light, but fell heavy on Tank’s ears. 

“I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself,” Tank asserted, their anxiety rising.

“Okay,” Milo repeated. The discussion didn’t need to go any further. He didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. 

Tank blinked tears from their eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t purposely pull everyone’s attention from Gabe.”

Milo turned around and leaned against the sink, trying to defuse them, “I believe you, Tank. I know you. You would’ve let yourself bleed out in that shower before ever coming to me or anyone else for help. Especially tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course it’s a bad thing, Tank!” Milo threw his hands up, gripping tightly onto his braids.

“How is that a bad thing?!?”

“Because you can’t—I just—ugh, I can’t have this conversation right now. I need…I don’t know what I need, but it’s not any more of this,” Milo shot. 

Tank’s face twitched from the blow. They staggered to their feet. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.”

“What? Tank, no—”

“You stitched me up. Thanks. Now I’m leaving.” They threw open the bathroom door. 

Milo followed them down the hall, grumbling, “Tank, you don’t even have a ride.”

“I’ll walk.”

He rolled his eyes. They were being ridiculous.  “That’ll take you forever, especially in this weather.”

Tank whipped around, hissing, “I don’t give a fuck. You don’t need me here, you said it yourself.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well it sure did fucking sound like it.”

They stormed towards the door, but Milo slipped in front of them and blocked their path. 

“I just meant I don’t need to talk about that anymore!” he exclaimed, gesturing to Tank’s cheek, “We can talk about Gabe. We can talk about how we feel. We can talk about the future and the pack and what this all means going forward. Or we could not talk at all! But I don’t want to talk about shit that’s already happened. I don’t want to talk about shit that didn’t even happen in the first place. That’s not productive.”

“I don’t care about being productive,” they spat. 

“But you care about David, right? If you won’t stay for yourself or for me, stay for him.”

“He’s not even here.”

“But he’ll be back. And you know how he gets; he’s going to need us.”

“He doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, he does,” he groaned. 

Milo’s phone began to vibrate. 

Tank cried out, “No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t need my mess on top of everything else going on.”

As Milo dug his phone out of his pocket, Tank shoved past him and raced out the front door. 

Milo’s heart stuttered at the name on his screen. He rushed to the open door, yelling into the storm, “Tank, stop! Tank, please come back! Tank!”

Tears welling in his eyes, he leaned his weight against the door frame and answered the call. 

“Mom?….yeah, it’s true. Gabe’s dead.”

Wails erupted through his phone, scraping Milo hollow. 

————————————————

David found everything in under ten minutes—unsurprisingly, given how organized Gabe was and how pressed David was to leave. 

When he’d gathered the last of what he needed, he locked the study and walked into the living room. Asher was pacing, on another call of what seemed an endless barrage. He glanced at David and was summoned by a jerk of the latter’s head. 

The two left the house and drove back home, Asher answering calls and texts the whole way back. When they reentered their apartment, they heard Milo’s voice trickling down the hallway:

“Yeah, I know…no, but I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow…Oh, David and Ash are back. I’m gonna talk to them and then head over…no the rain has died down, I’ll be fine…yeah…okay, I will, I promise…okay, see you soon…I love you too, ma.”

He looked up at David and Asher. 

“Is Tank okay?” Asher asked. 

“Huh?” Milo replied in a daze. 

“They had to get stitches?”

“Oh right…um, yeah they fell on their way to their apartment after they saw the crash. The rain made their stairwell slippery and they busted their face open. But I stitched them up, best I could,” Milo lied. 

Asher nodded before getting another call. He answered, walking away into the kitchen. 

“Where are they now?” David asked, clutching a  handful of manila folders, a briefcase, and a familiar jacket. 

“They uh,” Milo looked away, “They left.”

The buzzing picked back up in David’s head. “Left?”

“…we got into a fight.”

David breathed out slowly, muttering under his breath, “Tank.”

“No, no, it’s my fault! I was distracted, I wasn’t careful with my words, I wasn’t listening to them. They left, I don’t know where, and I was gonna chase after them but then my mom called and…” Milo wiped the back of his hand across his face. 

The sight of Milo’s tear-streaked cheeks turned the hum in David’s head into a cacophony. 

“I think I’m gonna stay at hers tonight,” Milo croaked as he gathered his things, “She’s really upset.”

“Of course,” David replied, internally cursing that he couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

“I um, I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll text Ash for the details,” Milo babbled. He stopped by the front door. “David. If you need anything, you text me. Or call me. You hear?”

“I hear,” David lied, the buzzing in his head drowning everything out.

[samuelroukin]

ah four hours of sleep after writing almost 4k words yesterday. gonna be interesting (bad) to see what i write today jflhskjsts

[tojiscrack]

finally got around to reading soano and this is peak its so funny god i love your writing thanks for feeding me

omg?? you’re the third dual-reader! 🥹

i’m levitating rn i swear, like gravity isn’t working on me rn 😟🩷

i’m soo glad you enjoyed it, that story is pure crack which makes it so fun to write (and it’s also my first piece of writing so the first few chapters aren’t the greatest and are in dire need of some editing but oh well, i’ll get round to that later lmao).

your support means the world to me — it gives me motivation to write so i’m gonna get out of bed (it’s 2:36pm, the last day i’ll ever get to sleep in like this since school starts tmr) and go write! <3

[whumpy-wyrms]

Aspen and Silas fans i have NOT forgotten about ya’ll and i have good newsssss! i was hit with a sudden burst of motivation to feed you all some delicious new content and i’ve been writing blood runs cold like nonstop over the past week and have written over 17k words!!!! of bits and pieces of the next 10 chapters!!! so a lot is done, still have to work on some stuff though and finish stuff up but expect new brc chapters soon! and uhmmm silas is a little freak and he’s living in my head and i love him so much and yeah i’m very excited about this feel free to ask me questions about those guys :)

[samandmaxfan]

The Great Zootopian Detectives

Wow. Ok. That took forever, so sorry that’s so late, it was NOT working, but let’s look in the bright side! Chapter two is up!!😁😁 Again I own nothing except for my OCs who have like no point in this fiction and this is all for fun!!

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ZOOTOPIA!!

CHAPTER 2: Furtive Fox

It's been 15 years since the Gideon incident, and Judy Hopps has joined the police force, and it was time to celebrate with Mayor Lionheart:

“As mayor of Zootopia, I am proud to announce that my mammal inclusion initiative has produced its first police academy graduate. Valedictorian of her class, ZPD's very first rabbit officer, Judy Hopps!”

Cheers from her family, friends, coworkers, and fellow graduates filled the her ears as Lionheart told Assistant Mayor Bellwether to give Judy her badge, the lion looked over at Judy “Judy, it is my great privilege to officially assign you to the heart of Zootopia, precinct one, city center.” the cheers grew louder as she smiled,

“Congratulations, Officer Hopps!” the sheep told her,

“I won’t let you down!” she said before lowering her voice, “It’s been my dream since I was a kid.”

“You know, it’s a- it’s a real proud day for us little guys.” Bellwether told her in the same tone of voice, Judy smiled,

“Bellwether, make room will ya? Come on, let’s see those teeth Officer Hopps!”

~~

It was the day for Judy to go to Zootopia, and her parents were saying goodbye. Judy knew that they were proud and scared but this was her dream. Her father tried to give her Fox Away products, including a taser, she grabbed a spray so he would stop talking, when the train arrived, she jumped on, but looking at her parents and how her dad was sad that she did not say goodbye. Feeling bad she quickly ran out of the train and kissed them goodbye.

On the train, she put on some headphones and listened to ‘Try Everything’ by Gazelle.. Zootopia was beautiful, Sahara Square was incredible you could really feel the heat as she saw some camels jog by, next was Tundratown, all the snow was so cold that it immediately froze the window, Judy had to wipe it to get a better view, last but not least, was the Rainforest District, seeing all the animals with their umbrellas made Judy feel nice and warm inside the train as the rain dripped down the window.

At last, she was at the heart of Zootopia, the city center.

She was so excited she could barely hold it in, so as soon as possible she ran to her apartment, the owner was a armadillo, who was sure to tell her not to lose her keys, next she met her neighbors who were a kudu and a oryx

“Oh, hi! I’m Judy, your new neighbor!”

“Yeah well we’re loud.”

“Don’t expect us to apologize for it.”

Her apartment was, to say the least, interesting. The walls were greasy, her bed was rickety, and her neighbors, well, she knew that they were there..

“I love it!” she yells falling onto her bed.

After a long day Judy goes to bed, after all, she has to wake up extra early to get ready for work, so when her alarm goes off at exactly 5:30 am she’s up and ready to go, and leaves the fox repellent, and then grabs it.

At the station, Judy could see a wolf who was muzzled and being carried away by other officers, she also saw a cheetah who eating a donut and decided to ask him were roll call is,

At first the cheetah didn’t see her but when he did he called her cute which she quickly explained why he should not,

“I am so sorry! Me, Benjamin Clawhauser, the guy everyone thinks is just a flabby, donut-loving cop stereotyping you. Aw…”

Judy giggles but then noticed a donut on his neck, it took him awhile to find it, but when he did he eat it, and told he the way to roll call,

“That poor little bunny’s gonna be eaten alive.”

Roll call had lots of animals there. Judy felt small, she saw arm wrestling, and a little fighting. When she got to her spot, she looked over to her desk partner, a rhino, trying to start a conversation, she talked,

“Hey! Officer Hopps. Ready to make the world a better place?” she took out her paw ready for a fist-bump, but the rhino just grunted took out his fist and slides her away,

“Atten-hut!”

A bull walks into the room,

“Allright. Allright! Everybody sit. I’ve got three items on the docket. First… we need to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Francine,” Everyone looks at the elephant, “happy birthday.” all the animals start to punch her in excitement and she noogies one of them,

“Number two; there are some new recruits who I should introduce,” Judy grins, “but I’m not going to, because I don’t care.” Judy’s smile fades, but when all the officers start to laugh, she tries to too.

“Finally; we have fourteen missing mammal cases - all predators - from a giant polar bear to a teensy little otter, and City Hall is right up my tail to find them! This is priority number one!” The chief says as he’s given the files to pass out “Assignments: Officers Grizzoli, Fangmeyer, Delgato; your teams take missing mammals from the Rainforest District.” he gives them their files “Officers McHorn, Rhinowitz, Wolfard; your teams take Sahara Square.” They take their files and leave “Officers Higgins, Snarlov, Trunkaby: Tundratown.” The last of the cops are given their files and then take their leave, “And finally our first bunny: Officer Hopps…” Judy, all alone, excited, takes a breath, “parking duty. Dismissed.” Judy was confused.

“Parking duty?” she murmured to herself before trying to get the chief’s attention “Chief? Chief Bogo?” he sets down his reading glasses “You said that there were fourteen missing mammal cases.”

“So?”

“So I can handle one. You probably forgot, but I was top of my class at the academy.”

“Didn’t forget. Just don’t care,”

“Sir, I’m not just some token bunny.”

“Well then, writing one hundred tickets a day should be easy.” Bogo says before leaving, Judy thumps her foot in annoyance, “A hundred tickets, I’m not gonna write a hundred tickets,” she stops and thinks “I’m gonna write two-hundred tickets, before noon!” and so she was off.

Using her rabbit abilities, she wrote two-hundred tickets in no time,

“Boom! Two-hundred tickets before noon!” Then she heard a ‘ping’ noise next to her and grones, her police car and was in the spot longer than it should have been, “Two-o-one.”

Looking around she sees a little cafe, and it being lunch time, she decided to take a break, sure this was not what she wanted for a job, but within time, she’ll improve and she won’t be a meter maid.

Looking around, she saw many animals there, there were lions, tigers, and bears, sheep, goats, giraffes, mice, elephants, and many more, she wondered if she would even get in during her break, since there was already a line,

“Just wondering, how long would it take for me to get a seat?” Judy asked a antelope with the name tag ‘Annie’,

“‘Bout forty minutes,” she said, “Or are you the one who got the reservation?” Annie asked,

“Um, N-” she started

“We are.” Judy looked behind her and saw two mice, the taller one was wearing a small long brown coat with a small deerstalker cap, the smaller one had a mustache, and blue sweater with a darker blue shirt and a purple tie,

“You’re Basil?” Annie asked the mice “I thought you were taller,” the taller spoke, “I’m Basil,” he told the antelope, “This is my friend Dr. Dawson,”

“Basil…?” Judy asked herself, “Where have I heard that name before?” Then she got a sudden flashback to the Gideon incident, the little mouse that Travis held was right next to her, an old friend who was Basil of Baker Street.

“Basil!” Judy said and the mouse turned to her,

“Pardon?” Basil asked,

“Hi!”

“I’m sorry, miss, do I know you?” he asked,

“Yes!” she exclaimed, “I’m Judy Hopps, the girl from the Zootopia play fifteen years ago!”

“You're that girl who helped stand up to Gideon Grey!” Basil exclaimed

“Wait. You know her,” Dawson pointed to Judy, “And she knows you,” He pointed to Basil, “And everyone acts like this happens daily!?”

“Calm down doctor, this is my old friend Judy, she’s the bunny I told you about,” Dawson looked at him confused, “That’s Judy? The one that saved you when you were younger?”

“The one and only,” Basil smiled

“Yeah, but if it wasn’t for you, Sharla, Gareth, and my little sister wouldn’t have gotten their tickets back,” Judy said,

“So, you finally got that job being a-” Basil looked at her for a moment, “Meter maid?”

“Yeah, it’s not the best thing ever, but one day I’ll do better and the chief will have to choice but to promote me!”

“You mean Bogo? Good luck with that, even if your the greatest cop in the world Bogo would still treat you like a extra,”

“Wait… how do you know Chief Bogo?”

“I’m the ZPD’s detective. Basil of Baker Street, at your service!”

“Wait. Wait wait wait! You're the greatest detective? You’re the Great Mouse Detective! No way!” Judy almost screamed in excitement, but Dawson looked a little impatient, “Sorry to interrupt, but Basil, Miss Annie is waiting,”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Basil said,

“I guess I’ll be off then, see you around Basil!”

“Good day, Judy!”

Judy left the cafe in search for another place to eat,

Suddenly there was a loud honking sound and Judy looked over to a sheep in a truck just stopping in time for a fox to get by,

“Hey! Watch where you’re goin’ fox!” the sheep yelled in anger, the fox held his hands in a ‘hey, calm down’ manner.

Although she thought she should just leave it alone, Judy keeps an eye on the fox, whom she saw sneakily enter an elephant ice cream joint, she follows.

Looking into the store window, she realized the fox had disappeared,

“Where did he go?” she whispered to herself as she walked into the large building, that fox was talking to the owner of the joint,

“Listen, I don't know what you're doing skulking around during daylight hours, but I don't want any trouble in here,” he told the fox, Judy opened the fox repellent,

“I'm not looking for any trouble either, sir. I simply wanna buy a Jumbo-pop” the fox’s voice softened, “for my little boy” a little fennec fox in an elephant costume shows up, and Judy, touched by the kindness, closes the repellent.

“You want the red or the blue, pal?” the little fox waddles over the the cherry flavor jumbo pop,

“Ugh, I’m such a–” she complained to herself for even thinking about using the repellent on a father fox, but the owner didn’t care, he looked over at the fennec “Okay, come on, kid, back up.” Then he looked at the older fox “Listen, buddy, what? There aren't any fox ice cream joints in your part of town?” Judy’s ears perked up,

“Uh, no, no. There are, there are. It’s just, my boy,” he pats the little fox on the head, “this goofy little stinker, he loves all things elephant, wants to be one when he grows up.” the Fennec puts on his elephant mask and trumpets like an elephant. “Isn’t that adorable?” Judy can’t help but ‘aww’ a little.

“Who the heck am I to crush his little dreams, huh? Right?”

“Look, you probably can't read, fox,” he grabs a sign with his trunk “‘We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone’, so beat it!” Then a female elephant nudges him a little from behind, “You’re holding up the line.”

“Hello? Excuse me?”

“Hey, you're gonna have to wait your turn like everyone else, meter maid.”

“Actually,” she pulls back the meter maid jacket, “I’m an officer. Just had a quick question: are your customers aware that they are getting snot and mucus with their cookies and cream?” Suddenly a elephant couple spit on each other, “What are you talkin' about?” the owner asked

“Well, I don't wanna cause you any trouble, but I believe scooping ice cream with an ungloved trunk is a class-three health code violation,” The elephant looks over to his employee who was just holding ice cream in his trunk, dropped it, and then walked away sheepishly, “Which is kind of a big deal. Of course I can let you off with a warning if you glove those trunks and, I don't know, finish selling this nice dad and his son a…” she leaned over to the fox and whispered “What was it?”

“A jumbo pop, please.” he said looking at the elephant,

“A jumbo pop.” Judy repeated, the elephant groans in annoyance, “Fifteen dollars.”

“Thank you so much,” then the fox turned to Judy “Thank you,” then went to grab his wallet, felt around and opened his eyes in surprise, “Oh no, are you kidding me? I don't have my wallet! I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my neck. That's the truth.” Then he looked over at the younger fox, “Oh boy, I’m sorry pal.” he pats the youngin on his head, “Gotta be about the worst birthday ever, please don’t be mad at me.” then kisses him on the head, “Thanks anyway.” Then they leave.

Judy slams a twenty dollar bill on the counter,

“Keep the change!”

--

Ok. Ok. I know it seems as if I’m just adding them. BUT IT WILL ALL CLICK! Trust me! 😄😄😊 I love feedback!

Also same rules as last time: the more the feedback and likes, the better chance I’ll continue it ❤️❤️ stay safe everyone

[twice-inamillion]

Twice Series 

Fun by the Pool

Smut

Chapter 250

2900 Words

(You and the twins surprise Mina with a morning breakfast. With some help from family you and Mina spend some time together, even sneaking some birthday sex.)

“Let’s try to be careful as we go up the stairs, okay?”

The twins nod, smiling and trying to hold their excitement. They walk behind you, imitating your movements as you climb stairs. They look at each other, Hina signaling to Ari to keep quiet, “Unnie, shh!”

When you get to the second floor, you hand them a cup of juice and the other a bouquet. “I’m going open the door, and when we come inside, we’ll inside happy birthday to Mommy, okay?” 

The two of them nod, “Yes, Daddy.”

You slowly open the door and tippy-toe inside, walking past the door and start singing Happy Birthday.

”Happy Birthday, Mommy!”

Mina, from her covers, pops her head out, slowly opening her eyes. Three figures start to come into view as she listens to her twins singing. “Thank you, babies.”

”We made mommy breakfast!”

”Thank you.”

”Happy Birthday, dear. The girls wanted to make you breakfast.”

”Is that true?”

Ari and Hina nod, smiling at their mother, “Yes, make mommy pancakes.”

“They look good; I can’t wait to taste them.” 

The girls smile and watch as their mother pours syrup on her pancakes. She cuts a small piece and takes a bite, “Omg, it’s so good!”

“Yay! Mommy likes food!” The twins hug each other at a job well done. They watch as their mother eats the pancakes, their mouth drooling at the smell of food. 

“Ahh!” 

They immediately opened their mouth, happy their mother offered them some food. Ari climbs on the bed and picks at the apple slices and strawberries. Hina looks at Ari with a frustrated expression, “Ari, no. That’s mommy’s food!”

Ari turns and sticks her tongue out, “bleh!”

“No!” Hina stomps her foot, “That’s my mommy’s food! Not Ari!”

You pick her up, trying to comfort her, “It’s okay, Hina. What if you give her the picture you drew for mommy?” Hina nods, rubbing her eye, “Okay, daddy.” 

You place her on the floor, open her backpack, and giving her drawing to Hina. She woddles to her Mina, “Mommy, look, Hina, draw a picture.” 

“Aww, thank you, Hina. Let’s see it together.” Hina nods, raises her arms, and lets you pick her up. She approaches Mina’s lap and says, “Look!” 

“Aww, I love it. Is that mommy?”

“Yeah, it’s mommy, Hina, Ari, and daddy.” Hina continues to point at the stick figures. “Ohh, I see you drew my long hair, but what’s this on top?” 

“Mommy, a princess. Mommy pretty.” 

“Thank you, Hina.” Mina hugs Hina, causing Ari to become jealous. “Mommy doesn’t like Ari! Mommy not hug Ari, just Hina!” She crosses her arms and pouts. 

“Does Ari want a hug from Daddy?”

“No! Ari wants hug from Mommy, not Daddy. Ari mad!” 

Mina tries to hold her laughter, seeing how cute Ari looks when she’s mad. “Ari, mommy likes Ari and Hina.” 

“But mommy not hugging Ari, only Hina.” 

Mina extends her arms, “Does Ari want to join?”

Ari looks down, upset, “Yes.” 

“Come here.” 

Ari makes her way to Mina and hugs the two of them. You try to take a photo when Mina says, “Girls, can daddy join too?”

The two of them nod, and you rush to give them an enormous bear hug. “Daddy, Ari can’t breathe.” The two other girls laugh at Ari’s overreaction.

The day continues with the four of you spending time together as a family. Eventually, Jisoo and Da-eun arrive in the living room and get the twin’s attention. 

“I asked Chaeyoung’s mom if she could watch the kids for a few hours. Let’s spend some time, just the two of us.” 

“Isn’t that too much?” 

“It’s fine, she said she enjoys watching the kids. Plus, it’s a way for them to get used to her, and now they’ll be her students.” 

“You’re right. I don’t want to bother her if we don’t have to,” says Mina.

“Just think about it. You deserve some time off.”

“I do. I do.” 

“You still have some legos sealed, right? Or games you’ve been wanting to play.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” 

“How about we build some Legos and relax.” 

“Okay. Let me get them from my closet.” 

The two of you walk to the game room, but as you enter, you notice Nayeon and Jeongyeon enjoying themselves in karaoke. Jeongyeon turns around and shouts, “Get out!”

Mina and you laugh as you exit the game room. She asks, “Where should we go?” Thinking of a quiet place, you suggest, “What about going to the pool house? It’s quiet, plus we’ll have a nice view.” 

Mina nods and the two of you walk a few minutes until you see the pool house. It’s Mina’s first time visiting, and is excited to take a tour. “Wow, it’s so spacious and pretty. I thought it would just be a small shed and a pool on the side, but it’s actually a whole house.” 

“It is. I figured it would be nice to have one, especially with the kids and members who want to get out of the summer heat.”

“Maybe we should bring the twins for swimming lessons,” says Mina as she imagines her babies learning how to swim.

“That would be great. Let’s ask them.” 

Mina continues to tour the pool house and places her bag on the table. “Let’s try to do one box and see how far we get.” 

You sit across from Mina and admire how invested she is. “I found another piece here.” She grabs it and puts it in its place, “Thanks.” 

“Doesn’t your head hurt by concentrating so much?” 

“Sometimes, but I really want to finish it.” 

“How about a break?” 

“Break?”

“Yeah, a half-hour break.”

“Okay. What do you want to do?” 

“Want to get in the pool?” 

Mina’s ears perk, curious about your decision. “The pool? I don’t have a swimsuit.” 

“Just our clothes, then.” 

Mina smacks your shoulder after listening to your suggestion, “Oppa, stop. You’re not serious, right?” 

You take off your shirt and toss it to the side. You grab Mina’s hand and pull her off her chair, “Come on.” At first, she hesitates but holds your hand. 

“Let's rinse before going in,” you say as you turn on the shower. You take off your shorts and toss them to the side. “Are you going to go in like that?” Mina watches you standing halfway naked and replies, “Turn around, don’t look.” 

You turn around and try to listen to what’s behind you. “Hey, no peeking!” You laugh, caught trying to sneak a peek. 

After a few seconds, she says, “I’m done.” You turn around and see Mina completely nude. You eye her from head to toe, “wow.” 

She covers her private parts and says, “Hentai!”

“Wait… what?”

 “Jōdandesu.”

You laugh at Mina for trying to crack a joke. There’s times when you don’t know if she’s serious or playing a joke on you.

You turn on the water, and the two of you rinse yourself. Suddenly, you feel a pair of hands on your back and ask, “Yes?”

“Let me wash your back for you.” 

“Okay.” 

You feel the cold sensation of the body wash on your back. Mina gently lathers your back with the soap, making sure to get every spot. 

“It feels good.” 

Suddenly, you feel two small nubs press against your back. They slowly drag back and forth. You try to turn around, but Mina pushes your head back, “Don’t turn.” 

Mina continues to rub her mounds on you, pressing her body against yours as she washes you. She moves onto your arms and legs, making sure to clean the areas you can’t.

”Now it’s my turn.” 

You gently wash Mina’s flawless skin 

You admire Mina’s flawless skin as you wash her from behind. Everything about her is perfect. “I doubt anyone could tell you had children, Mina. Your body is so perfect.”

In a gentle and sophisticated manner replies with a “Thank you. I try to take care of myself.” 

“It shows,” you say as you begin to kiss her nape. She slightly lifts her head up from the sudden sensation and releases a soft moan. 

Noticing her reaction, you decide to take things up a notch and slide your hand past her waist. You slowly glide your hand toward her lower region and say, “I think this needs a bit of attention.” 

Mina gasps as she feels your hand move towards her lower lips. Your middle finger moves past her folds, making her moan. She grabs your hand and asks, “Ahh…what are you doing?”

”Washing you. I need to make sure you’re nice and clean.”

”But… not there…” squeezing her legs together. 

You continue to push your hand forward when your ring finger slips inside Mina’s folds. Her body squirms to the sensation and whines, “Oppa, please…” 

“Like this?” 

You insert more of your finger, scraping Mina’s walls. She moans louder, placing her hand around yours and inviting you in. “More…” You begin to thrust your finger, moving it in circles. 

Watching her expression, you insert another finger inside, causing her to lose balance from the overwhelming sensation. “Ahh… ahh!”

”You like that baby? Me, thrusting your fingers inside your pussy.” 

“Yes…”

You pull your fingers out and show Mina the mess she made, “Fuck… look how wet you are.” The both of you see as her thick juices drip onto the ground. You place your fingers into your mouth and lick them clean, making Mina bite her lip. 

She feels your cock gets hard behind her, pressing against her back. The feeling of your cock throbbing behind her is making her hot and horny. She turns around and grabs your face, putting her lips against yours and slowly making out. 

You turn off the water and slowly make your way out of the shower, lifting Mina and placing her on the bathroom sink. You pull yourself away and get on your knees and spread Mina’s legs open. 

Without a second thought, you move your face towards her lower region and drag your tongue against her leaking pussy. Mina feels her whole body becoming overwhelmed with goosebumps as you start to eat her out. 

She holds the back of your head as you make out with her pussy. The more you taste her wet and tender lower lips, the more you get addicted to her sweet nectar. The steady stream of sweet honey flows into your mouth and down your throat, “Ahh… oppa… you’re going to make me cum…”

You wrap your hands around her thighs, balancing yourself as you try to reach her deepest parts. Mina slowly begins to knead her breasts as she watches you on your knees. 

“Wait, oppa… I’m going to cum… get up.”

“Cum.”

”No, it’s embarrassing.”

Instead, you give her a small push as you aim your focus towards her clit. Mina pushes your head away, “Wait… what are you doing? Ahh…”

You increase the pace, digging your face into her cunt as you beg for your meal. “Cum for me, baby, I want to taste all of you.”

Not being able to hold any longer, she pinches her nipples as she cums. “AHH!” A heavy stream of liquid comes rushing towards your face, flooding your mouth as you try to take every ounce into your mouth. 

The bathroom is filled with Mina’s heavy breathing, her body hot from orgasm. She watches as you lift your face, her juices covering your mouth. 

There’s a lustful look in her eyes. Still innocent like the Mina, you know, but someone who is close to being corrupted. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes and notice her silent plea for more.

You wrap your arms around her small waist and lift her, walking towards the outside of the house and into the beach chairs. You lay yourself against the chair as the two of you make out. 

Mina pulls away, not being able to wait any longer; she grabs your hardened cock. She lifts herself and aligns your cock above her entrance. You watch as she lowers herself; your cock spreads her entrance allowing you to slide into her hot womb.

“Hmmm…

Mina traces her finger against her lower region as your cock makes its way inside. She stops and gasps, feeling her baby room being adjusted to your length. 

She puts her hands on your chest and starts riding you slowly. There’s a silence as she rides you. With the silence, your attention focuses on what's in front of you and the pleasure of your bodies together.

Your hands carefully move from her waist to her breast. She moans as you massage her breast, still sensitive after childbirth.

Noticing your attention towards her breast, she gets closer, placing her breast towards your face. You look up and see her expression giving you the green light.

You attach yourself to her breast, tracing your tongue on her nipple. “Ahh..” Mina moans, wrapping her arms around your neck. 

“It’s okay. Mommy has you.” 

Those words are like music to your ears. You suckle on her nipple while massaging the other. Mina moans softly, enjoying your attention on her breast. She continues to ride you, “Ahh… you really like my boobs, oppa.”

“I miss drinking your breast milk.” 

“Oppa, you’re bad. You know that’s for the twins.” 

“So? They need to learn how to share.” 

“They do; our girls are good girls,” she says as she strokes your head. 

“They are, unlike their mommy.”

Surprised, she asks, “Ehh? What do you mean?”

“That their mommy is a bad girl. Seducing daddy with her body.” 

Mina’s ears turn red from embarrassment, and she responds, “I’m not bad; I just have needs.” 

“Ohh, I want to hear more about that. What kind of needs?”

There’s some silence; Mina covers her face, avoiding your gaze. “Come on, tell me.” 

“I. I can’t. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Please…”

“I enjoy when you make me feel good. You treat me like a princess and spoil me. I like it when you do, you know, things to me.” She hides her face on your chest out of embarrassment.” 

“You like it when I make you feel good?”

“Yeah…”

“Then let me make you feel good,” you say as you pick her up and place her back on the beach chair. You raise her legs all the way, with her ankles behind her head. She yelps as you give her little time to react, aligning your cock towards her entrance. 

Mina groans as your cock spreads her tight cunt, “ahh… ahh…” You slowly push yourself forward as you create a visible bulge in the stomach. Mina bites her lip, stopping herself from moaning out loud. 

“Is this what you want?”

��Ye…yes.” 

“I was right; you’re such a bad girl.”

”I…I am. You need to punish me…”

You then increase the pace of your thrusting, watching as Mina’s boobs bounce from the rapid movement. As time passes, Mina’s eyes start to tremble, sometimes rolling back from the sensation of getting her womb played with. 

“Fuck Mina. If your fans knew how cock hungry you are, they would be so disappointed.”

”I… I think they would understand. I have needs, too.”

”They won’t. I know they would go crazy if they saw you like this,” you say as you press the large bulge.

”They won’t, our fans are great. They’d understand.”

”What if they saw you like this?” You pull out most of your cock, only leaving the head, when you shove it back inside, hitting the end of her womb.

“Ahh! Fuck!” Mina coughs out loud, drool running the right side of her mouth as she bites her lip. Her eyes roll back, and her walls grip on your cock tightly. 

“God damn, your pussy is squeezing me!” You can feel it want to milk you and immediately cum inside of her, “I’m cumming, fuck!”

”Ahh! It’s so hot! I can feel your cummies flooding me!”

Your breathing is heavy as you pump her full of your thick seed. Your cock makes a large popping sound as you pull out ”*pop!”

“Fuck… that’s a lot,” you say as you watch a large amount of cum ooze out of Mina’s pussy. 

Mina struggles to move but scoops a finger full of cum and stares at it. “It’s so thick. I might be joining the other two.”

”Haha. Ari has been asking for a baby brother.”

Mina smiles at the idea, “I wouldn’t mind it.”

——

After your quick session, the two of you will try to get back to the Lego building. Mina stares at the pool and says, “My body is a bit sore. Is it okay if we extend the break?” 

“Want to jump in?”

”Is the water cold?”

”Let’s find out,” you say as you suddenly pick up Mina and running towards the pool and jump into it. Mina screams as the two of you fall into the water, soaking her completely. 

“Oppa!”

”Haha.”

The two of you spend a while in the pool having, swimming a few laps or splashing each other with water. 

[myjjongie]

♯┆FIGHTING FOR FIRST ── P. JONGSEONG.ᐟ SMAU

PAIRING: college student!jay x college student fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: you and jay have been at each others throats for the whole time you've been enrolled at decelis university. the reason for the rivalry in question? the #1 rank on the academic leaderboard in the university. you went through your whole high school life being #1 on the academic leaderboard. you meet jay, who also had the same upbringing in high school. things then start to turn into a constant battle. leaving you constantly in second place and jay in first place every rank update.

GENRE: smau plus written parts (will be specified), college au, enemies to friends to lovers, academic rivals, pining, he fell first but is in heavy denial in the beginning (sigh), fluff, crack

FEATURING: enhypen (all members) p1harmony (keeho) riize (sohee & seunghan) aespa (ningning) + mentions of other idols

WARNINGS: kys/kms jokes, swearing, friendly bullying, inappropriate jokes, mentions of alcohol and drinking (done wisely)

SCHEDULE: every tuesday and friday (up to change, usually consistent though)

TAGLIST: closed !

STATUS: FINISHED ( 11/19/2024 - 05/02/2025 )

PLAYLIST: APT rose ft. bruno mars, all i wanted paramore, r u mine? artic monkeys, poison nct dream, you get me so high the neighbourhood, i wanna be yours artic monkeys, something about you eyedress ft. dent may, my kind of woman mac demarco, glue song beabadoobee, cherry waves deftones, sextape deftones, you nctdream

A. NOTE: noticed not that many people write smaus for jay, so here i am…. first time making a smau as well. i hope you guys like it !! i think thats all i have to say. enjoy this :3

PROFILES.ᐟ ───

(bad bitches + jake) (thing 1,2,3,4,5) (bonus)

CHAPTERS ─────────୨୧⋆ ˚

one. IM GONNA (K)eep (M)yself (S)afe two. YAY JAKEY three. im sooooooooooo drunk rn hehe four. my girls face card never declines five. why is bro thirst trapping on my timeline rn.. six. and im not fine shyt seven. my biggest fans ever chat ! (wc; 821) eight. then i crashed out and DIED nine. HOLY FUCK SPEAK OF THE DEVIL BRB ten. #STANDUPQUEEN eleven. HE ONLY SHOWED HALF OF HIS FACE twelve. stage 1. acceptance thirteen. rest in piss yn fourteen. jake crashout before GTA6 fifteen. womp womp :3 sixteen. we need to talk (wc; 1.2k) seventeen. FUCK OFF JAKE SIM eighteen. i live in a world nineteen. are you wasted rn? twenty. yeah i'm goated ik (wc; 2k) twentyone. oh jaaaayyyy :3 twentytwo. i fear. maybe. maybe he wants you??? (wc; 651) twentythree. i lob aquarium twentyfour. bro just play roblox. twentyfive. MY SHAYLA twentysix. it be your own best friends. twentyseven. de nile is a river twentyeight. you are not slick twentynine. CLOCKED HER I DO NOT FEAR thirty. gatekeeping isn’t enough…. thirtyone. #NEEDYOU thirtytwo. *explodes* thirtythree. MEN AINT SHIT (wc; 1.1k) thirtyfour. i will hit you thirtyfive. fuck you /derogatory thirtysix. ahhh you mad thirtyseven. woe is me thirtyeight. kiss and makeup (wc; 1.2k) thirtynine. that's my man forty. time fucking flies

bonus chapters tba....

fighting for first taglist (closed) ...

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @right-person-wrong-time @jakeyverse @minthoons @punchbug9-blog @starfallia @heartheejake @ikeulove @rairaiblog @kazemiya @yourssincerely-mimi @wondipity @leehsngs @justalittle-hee @chandmyseven @letwiiparkjay @dylanobr1ens @bbsantc @beigerin @mwahvvis @nickiminajleftasscheek @firstclassjaylee @strayy-kidz @itrytomakesenseofitall @rikizm @sumzysworld @jiheonie @heelovesmeknot @qfeet @jungwoniee @yuyamihi @jayhoonvroom @lockburn-castle @kukkurookkoo @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @luvleyylina @seyoungiesleeps @joonsprettygf @ddolleri @yuyita-rosier @zaycie @hoonkishoe @nishivyuxini @soondoongdoriii @choicila @sunhyeswife @kirakun @urmomdotcom5678 @asterialvia @doveblackboat @getoxo @starniras

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[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 9

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R EV I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, sexual jokes/teasing, alcohol/drug mention, rafe being pushy/frustrated/unable to communicate his thoughts properly, tense back-and-forth bc of a verbal dispute (they solve it though so yay)

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ after the confrontation with rafe at school, you told cara about everything over facetime. with the tension between you and rafe finally gone, even texting with him felt more comfortable. when you showed up at his place, sarah opened the door, eyeing you curiously before letting you know that rafe had been very insistent on getting her to leave. inside, he finally came downstairs, freshly showered, and you launched into another monologue, thanking him for not making a big deal out of your awkward behavior. despite being briefly flustered, rafe smoothly deflected it.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 3.9k+

✿ A / N ✿ i had sm fun writing this and i hope you guys will enjoy it as well hihihi. plus i'm always feeling excited with how the chapter ends bc i make shit up as i go LMAO. anyway, hope you will enjoy this as much as i did <33

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W E E K O N E // W E D N E S D A Y

"You want some?" Rafe asked casually, not bothering to look up as he sliced a banana.

You were sitting on a mahogany stool at the spacious kitchen counter, hands clutching your bag on your lap while Rafe prepared his food across from you.

Judging by the ingredients, you assumed it was his post-workout meal—Greek yogurt (obviously the low-fat kind), oats, chia seeds, chopped fruit, and a hefty scoop of protein powder he had mixed in at the start.

Honestly, it looked pretty good, but you had already eaten dinner with your parents back at home. Plus, after the conversation you’d had just a few minutes ago, your appetite was pretty much nonexistent.

For the second time that day, you had launched into a long-winded monologue. Only this time, instead of a confession, you'd been expressing your gratitude for his nonchalance.

And his response? Mhm, of course, he had done exactly what you'd just acknowledged in your little speech—smoothly deflected and shifted the dynamic right back in his favor.

Ugh, now he probably actually thinks that was some weird attempt at flirting. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?

But no, today you had decided not to spiral over stuff. And honestly, you'd been doing okay so far—until you'd opened your own damn mouth again.

So, trying to push down the wave of secondhand embarrassment, you forced a polite smile and shook your head. "Oh, no thanks, I already ate at home."

Rafe finally looked up, eyebrows raised as he met your eyes. "You actually not hungry, or is this just some polite etiquette bullshit?"

This guy and his directness…

"No, I really don't want anything," you replied awkwardly, glancing at his bowl for a split second. "But it looks good."

"So you do want some?"

You frowned. "No."

Rafe let out a short, amused breath before turning back to the cutting board. "Aight."

Lifting the board, he slid the banana slices into his bowl. And the way his arms flexed slightly as he did? Um… yeah. Something about the way he was just making his own food, casually slicing fruit—WHY WAS THAT WEIRDLY ATTRACTIVE?

You honestly had no idea where to look despite his arms and hands—help. Just sitting here watching him felt so weird anyway, you felt like some kind of creep.

And the silence creeping in again? He didn’t seem to care, but for you, it created an uncomfortable tension.

Okay, say something. Anything.

"My mom wanted me to say hi to Ward," you said, and since you could already feel the confusion creeping onto his face, you quickly added with an awkward smile, "Because of the Grady-White. She hopes he's happy with his decision."

Rafe held your gaze for a moment, his expression neutral, before turning back to his food. "Yeah, I guess. He's been traveling a lot for work lately—probably hasn’t even had time to take it out properly."

O-kay. Something about the way he said that—kinda defensive like his dad was some untouchable figure or something—made you pause. You weren’t sure what to make of it, especially since just yesterday, he’d snapped at you for bringing up Ward’s whole former Pogue background.

And then, just as quickly, you felt bad for judging him. Losing his mom couldn’t have been easy—of course, he clung to his dad. That was just human.

You nodded. "Oh, yeah, I get that. My mom barely has time for herself either, she’s always running from one meeting to the next."

Shit, shit—wrong direction. Talking about your mom when his was, well… not around anymore? Yeah, not the best move.

Fuck. And sure enough, something in that must have struck a nerve—a barely visible crease on his forehead—but he just shrugged and pulled a spoon from a drawer. "That’s just part of the deal if you want to be successful."

...

You could tolerate the fact that he was a gym bro—that was honestly still kind of hot. Even the whole kissing-his-dad’s-ass thing, you could somewhat understand. But a potential finance bro/hustler/money-obsessed whatever?

Yeah. That actually gave you the ick.

Whatever, whatever. Nobody's perfect, right? Hahahahaha.

"Yeah, I guess," you said, your tone coming out drier than intended.

Rafe smirked. "What? You don’t agree?"

Your cheeks warmed. Of course, you didn’t, but getting into that debate right now? You weren’t in the mood to annoy him again—especially not in this setting.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag on your lap. "I just think it’s important to have enough time to take breaks and enjoy life too, that’s all."

Rafe let his spoon sink into his yogurt and huffed a small laugh—amused or condescending, you couldn’t quite tell. "With that mindset, you should probably look for a sugar daddy."

Again, you weren’t sure if he was joking or actually judging you.

"Shouldn’t be too hard to find one around here," you shot back, allowing yourself a smirk.

Rafe’s mouth tugged downward like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “You sure that message for my dad actually came from your mom?”

What was he—OH FUCK.

This asshole.

And yeah, of course, your face turned red, but more than that, a half-shocked, half-amused chuckle escaped you. "That's insane."

“Is it?” Rafe’s smirk deepened, and his tone? Oh, he knew he was being a little shit.

You shook your head, brows furrowed, an incredulous smile on your lips. “No, you’re right. I’m actually just here to become your stepmother.”

“Shit, no thanks,” Rafe scoffed, amused. “One vulture in the family is enough.”

Wow. Rafe really had some complicated relationships with his relatives.

He probably had his reasons, you figured, so you just nodded. "Guess I came here for nothing then."

That, apparently, was enough to get a real chuckle out of him. He shrugged, that smug little grin still on his face. “A real gold digger would already be investing in the next generation of rich men, just saying”

DUUUUDE.

Normally, a comment like that—probably his idea of being slick—would have turned you into a human tomato. But for some reason, his bullshit was so ridiculous, so absurdly over-the-top, that his almost-arrogant delivery just made you laugh.

And that? That pulled a real smile onto Rafe’s lips and poor guy didn’t even realize why.

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You slipped your phone back into your bag just as Rafe returned with an A3 notepad and a purple pencil case.

He placed both in front of you on the dining table. "Wheezie’s desk is covered in a bunch of crap. This was the only stuff that looked remotely useful."

You had brought your iPad with you but you figured sketching and planning on big sheets of traditional paper made more sense, especially since the final product wouldn’t be digital anyway. It also made the whole idea feel more tangible.

Rafe had thrown in a comment about how it didn’t really matter as long as the "shit got drawn somehow," but he still went upstairs to get you what you asked for.

"This should work, thanks," you said, pulling the notepad closer—only to quickly realize it wasn’t just any notepad. It was Wheezie’s personal sketchbook.

You shook your head and met Rafe’s gaze as he dropped into the chair next to you. "This is her sketchbook."

"I can see that," Rafe noted, obviously.

"We can’t use this."

Rafe raised an amused brow, like you were joking. "Of course, we can."

You frowned. "She’s got personal stuff in here. You don’t just take someone’s sketchbook."

"Then just skip over those pages."

Why wasn’t he getting it? "That’s… no. Can you just grab a different one?"

That’s when it clicked for Rafe that you were actually serious, and now he was the one frowning in confusion. "Why? Paper is paper. Who cares?"

Bruh. "That’s not the point. I wouldn’t want someone randomly flipping through my sketchbook either. It’s… it’s just disrespectful."

Rafe scoffed like you were being ridiculous and rubbed his hand over his chin, annoyed. "Wheezie doesn’t give a shit."

Okay, was he just refusing to get it, or did he genuinely not understand what you meant? Or… did he just want to win the argument?

"I do," you shot back, a queasy feeling settling in your stomach as his blue eyes locked onto you with sharp intensity. If you were a guy, he probably would’ve decked you based on that look alone.

For a moment, he just stared at you, and you thought he was about to double down. But to your surprise, he let out an amused breath and pushed himself up. "Shiiit, right. You almost killed me yesterday when I touched your iPad."

Relieved that he had actually given in—despite the lingering warmth on your cheeks from remembering that embarrassing moment—you allowed yourself a resigned smile. "I told you, I thought you were going through my art gallery."

Rafe gripped the back of the chair, raising his brows smugly. "Although… on second thought, it kinda looked like you were trying to find an excuse to get close to me."

NO NO NO NO NO, WAS HE SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Heat rushed to your face at full intensity as the scene replayed in your head. You had freaked out so badly that you’d practically thrown yourself at Rafe on Kelce’s couch, desperately trying to yank your iPad out of his hands—only to realize he had just been looking at your project notes. And, because you had the absolute worst luck, your hand had accidentally brushed against his thigh as you’d awkwardly pulled away.

And, up until now, he hadn't said a word about it. So WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS?!

Sure, he was probably just messing with you again, clearly enjoying the reaction he could get out of you, but oh god, this was so... WHY.

"No, that—oh my god, no… NO." You had no idea how to respond. "Just, no."

Rafe held your gaze, letting out an amused scoff. "Shit, okay." He grabbed Wheezie’s sketchbook, and—unless you were imagining things—you could almost hear the slightest hint of something off in his joking tone. “One ‘no’ would’ve been enough."

And with that, he turned away to get another sketchpad.

You ran both hands down your face, wishing you could just disappear. Why was every conversation, every interaction with Rafe so… intense?

On top of that, you never really knew how he’d respond—what topic shift, what comment, fuck no, what mood he’d hit you with next. It was deeply unsettling and, for someone like you, ridiculously hard to adjust to.

And even though, somehow, you felt comfortable around him, at the same time, you always felt so awkward—like you were walking a fine line. The thought that he might notice or figure out that you had a crush on him? UGGGHHH.

At this point, you were pretty sure he knew. Because today…it felt like he was steering the conversation toward—toward what exactly? It just felt different.

Fuck. And now you’d probably gone and pissed him off too.

And out of sheer fear of falling back into that painfully tense situation like yesterday at Kelce’s, you felt the urgent need to fix your reaction.

Rafe tossed a plain notebook onto the table as he came back. "This shitty-ass pad meet your royal standards, princess?"

And his tone? Definitely irritated. But about what exactly?

Uncertain, you glanced up at him, nervously playing with your fingers. Just ask. Communication is key, right? HAHAHAH.

"Did I say something wrong?", you carefully asked.

Rafe made a face, leaning a hand against the chair beside you. ABORT. ABORT. ABORT. "Like what?"

"I don’t know…" Fuck. Of course, someone like him wouldn’t take well to being called out. "The sketchbook thing. I didn’t mean to make you mad."

"Mad?" Rafe pushed off the chair, letting out a short, amused chuckle, like what you said was completely ridiculous. He tapped a finger against his temple. "Your head tell you that?"

"No!" You furrowed your brows, painfully aware that, yes, it absolutely had. "I just… you seemed pissed."

Rafe nodded. "Yeah. Pissed. Not mad." A lopsided smirk pulled at his lips. "There’s a pretty big difference, you know."

"I know," you shot back, your brows still drawn together. "I wasn’t even trying to— I just meant—"

You cut yourself off when Rafe ran a hand down his face. "Okay, fuck, stop that."

You shook your head in irritation, caught off guard by his tone.

He motioned to his temples with both hands. "That. The crazy-ass shit constantly running through your head." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I swear to God, it’s pissing me off—no clue how you live like that. If I wasted my time overthinking every little thing the way you do? Jesus."

His jaw tensed for a second before he flicked his fingers toward you. "Whatever it is, just say it. No overanalyzing, no long-ass justifications." His voice dropped lower, almost mocking. "Or is this some ‘please let me be easy to deal with’ pick-me type bullshit? ‘Cause if that’s the case—" he pulled back slightly, raising his brows— "I’m so fucking out."

...

...

That…

That response completely shut your brain down, because holy shit.

The way he’d just called you out like that, the direct confrontation—It was too much. You had no idea how to react.

And your body? Fuck, your throat was tight, your heart slammed against your ribs, and your palms were so clammy it was almost overstimulating.

But what nearly sent you over the edge was the way he was looking at you. Blue eyes sharp, jaw clenched, that fucking intensity in his gaze that was almost ... intimidating.

It took everything in you to hold back tears.

But something about the way he’d phrased it—Like you hadn’t just told him this exact morning, in full vulnerability, that overthinking was a huge problem for you. Like you hadn’t literally thanked him earlier for not making a big deal out of it.

Oh, that pissed you the fuck off.

"I'm not a fucking pick-me girl," you snapped, sharper than even you expected. "Like—what the fuck? You think I overanalyze shit or question things on purpose?" Your brows pulled together in frustration. "Just this morning I tried explaining exactly that, so what the fuck?"

Now it was your turn to let out a breath of disbelief, a wry smile tugging at your lips. "And maybe I wouldn’t have to give ‘long-ass justifications’ if I wasn’t constantly put in situations where I felt like I needed to."

Oh no. You weren’t done.

"And yeah, maybe I should think less but you should definitely think a whole lot more—then maybe you'd have realized that I was just trying to address the obvious tension you had going on. I just … I wanted to make it easier for both of us to work on this project without weird vibes. Not because I’m desperate for you to like me or some shit."

OH MY HOLY FUCKING SHIT. Did I really just say that? OH MY GOD.

Your heart wasn’t just pounding anymore—it was slamming against your ribs like thunderous shockwaves. Because fuck, no one had pissed you off enough to actually snap like that in a long time.

For a moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, jaw slightly tense, that one crease forming between his brows—the same one that always appeared when he couldn’t quite figure out how to react to a situation that overwhelmed him.

Then, finally, he let out a dry chuckle, tapping his fingers against his temples in that signature gesture of his. "See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about." He exhaled, shaking his head. "I was literally just trying to fucking help you, and in your head, you turned it into something completely different."

You blinked, taken aback. “Help me?” A disbelieving, irritated smile appeared on your face. “You literally just told me I piss you off and that I’m crazy in the head.”

“Jesus Christ.” Rafe ran a hand through his hair, briefly turning away as if trying to collect himself, then met your eyes again with renewed intensity. “You’re so fucking complicated. The ‘Did I say something wrong?’ shit just now? That…” He shook his head, seemingly confused and frustrated. “Shit, I thought you didn’t want me to make a big deal out of things.”

You just stared at him, completely overwhelmed because—HUH????

Your brows furrowed as you asked, incredulously, “So… you thought the best way to respond to me asking if you were mad was to … act even more irritated?”

“Fuck, I was trying to save you from another weird-ass monologue situation, okay?” Rafe shot back, his voice still dense with frustration, but something in his tone had shifted. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down, body angled toward you, and his hands? Bro was in full gesture-mode. “You’re always so fucking tense. What do you think it’s like for me, huh? I feel like I’m walking through a fucking minefield or some shit.”

That… You knew you should still be mad because his reaction had been totally over the top considering you had just wanted to clear the air for both of you. But somehow… the frustration in his voice, that strained desperation—

It felt like he wanted you to understand but didn’t know how to communicate it.

Maybe you weren’t so different after all.

And the fact that he even thought about pulling you out of an uncomfortable situation—even if he did it in the weirdest fucking way...

Your expression softened, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I don’t need to be handled like I’m made of glass.”

Rafe leaned back slightly, his own tension easing just a bit. “It sure as fuck seems like you do.”

“I don’t, and I don’t want to be.” You paused, watching his expression. “The way you are… your bluntness… I don’t mind it.”

Ohhh shit, you needed to be careful not to slip into another confession speech because THAT kind of confession would actually kill you.

Especially because you were trying your hardest to suppress the irritation about your current state. You almost felt … normal. Because what the fuck, where were the red cheeks, the overwhelming urge to sink into the floor from sheer humiliation?

“Yeah, sure.” Rafe scoffed in disbelief, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. His other hand gestured toward you as he spoke, his tone dry. “Then why the fuck do you always react so… weird? Like, seriously—” He motioned toward himself, a slightly irritated smile on his face. “Are you scared of me or some shit?”

That pulled an incredulous laugh out of you. Shaking your head, you smiled amused. “What? No! Oh my God. It’s just…"

The fact that he still hadn’t realized your awkwardness and blushing around him were caused by your massive crush on him—God, that was actually a relief. A huge, stupid weight lifted off your shoulders.

“I just need a little time to get used to new people, that’s all.”

Rafe looked at you like he was trying to connect the dots in his head, piecing you together. He scratched his chin, tilting his head slightly. “So… you still feeling too uncomfortable or what?”

It was kind of cute that he was actually trying to understand your brain. Even if it seemed to cost him every ounce of willpower and patience he had.

The faintest blush crept onto your cheeks. “No, I mean… not because of you, at least.”

It’s because I’ve had a crush on you for seven years, and now I’ve been thrown into this completely overwhelming situation by my fucking art teacher, and I’m terrified of making a fool of myself. Which, clearly, I already am.

But instead, all you said was, “That’s something I need to work on myself.”

Rafe studied you for a second, still looking puzzled, then shook his head. “Okay, fuck this, that’s enough.” But the remaining bite in his voice didn’t seem to be directed at you anymore. “Friday night, yeah?—Kelce is throwing some party at his place with the shittiest people from our grade. You’re coming along, downing a line of shots or snorting a line of coke—I don’t give a shit—but you’re turning your fucking brain off for once.”

He raised his eyebrows, his next words carrying a firm urgency. “And later, you’re gonna let someone fuck all that tension, overthinking bullshit, whatever-the-fuck, right out of your brain.”

YO WHAT THE FUCK??? EXCUSE ME???

Your expression flickered between disbelief, amusement, and irritation, and since it couldn’t decide on one, you just stared at Rafe blankly.

Because you had no fucking clue if he was joking or being serious—because holy fucking shit if he was serious then??? WHAT.

Of course, you’d been to parties before but the host was usually someone Cara was cool with but Kelce’s party???

Rafe shrugged. “Bring a friend, come alone, I don't care, but shit’s not gonna change if you don’t do something about it.”

OH SURE, BECAUSE IT’S JUST THAT EASY, RIGHT?

“That’s insane,” you finally said, your voice edged with dry amusement. “How… I mean, what? How is that supposed to help me?”

“Shit, it would help me,” Rafe scoffed, clearly entertained. “Whatever your problem is—whether it’s all in your head or, shit, I don’t know, maybe you just need to get properly laid—but whatever it is, it’s pressure. And once that’s gone—” He pulled his lips into a half-smirk, lifting his shoulders with complete nonchalance. "All the other shit falls into place. And I can enjoy the remaining project sessions in peace, without feeling the nervousness radiating off of you.”

Oh my God. You definitely had issues, but Rafe? This guy had no idea how to express emotions or sympathy like a normal person. Instead of saying, I want to help you, he said… whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.

You frowned. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not into drugs or hookup culture. And besides, it’s rude to show up uninvited to a party.”

“No one wants to see Kelce’s shitty face either, but he still crashes every party,” Rafe shot back before leaning back, now an irritated look on his face. “And I literally just invited you.”

THAT. You could practically hear your brain say: Maximum processing capacity reached. System shutting down.

“Yeah, I mean, but—”

“For fuck’s sake, just say yes.”

Fuck, everything in you wanted to understand—no, to rationalize—what the hell was going on in Rafe's head and—AHHHHHH.

“Okay,” you blurted out before your brain had the chance to overanalyze it.

For a split second, surprise flashed across Rafe’s face before it melted into a satisfied smirk. “Shit, I hope you’re aware I’m the best thing that’s happened to you this week.”

Or the worst, you thought, already tasting the regret on your tongue. Depending on how it'll end.

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✿ A / N ✿ i wasn't sure if it was the right timing for a dispute like this. i was scared it would be 'too soon' or idk i feared it would feel forced plot-like for rafe to call her out like this but then i was like s1!rafe is a little shit and he def doesn't have the patience for people that, in his opinion, need constant reassurance. so hahaha pls tell me it was the right decision 😭😭

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R EV I O U S | N E X T ->

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[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS chapter two pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 15,7K - tbd release date: june

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | injury, blood, experiencing pain, and undergoing medical recovery, IV's, strong painkillers, banter, alcohol, explicit language, themes of control and possession within a romantic relationship, explicit content, mentions of violence, mentions of religion and God, sexual tension, nipple biting, cockhumping, teasing, cowgirl, unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, and other...

author's note: well, I say this with every fic, but here we finally are! This chapter is sort of messy, but hints on what is with the other boys and sets the timeline for their stories to be told. There's also a history talk, eyebrows moving up and down, if you know you know, fairies. Now, the story is leaning more towards being 5 chapter deal, but we'll see where I'll manage to go with chapter three as there is less happening here than I originally planned. I actually wrapped the first draft at the beginning of May, but academic life snatched me - which, I very successfully finished. YAY! unemployment fairies, unemployment it is now. Anyway, very happy to put this out and move to something I've been cooking since Christmas (nope, not champagne confetti, just yet). Will also work on the masterlist for 1996 series so the fics are all together when I start to write something else than just this series. I love you all, and I'll see you in june. Exact date? We'll see when I'll decide to surprise you. Might drop it tomorrow, you'll never know. Love you! Let's go 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔.

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Your fingers traced idle patterns across the water's surface, pretending you weren't holding your breath with every inch of skin he revealed.

He peeled the hoodie off and tossed it to the bench behind him. The black T-shirt underneath clung to him like a second skin, muscles shifting under the fabric as he moved — languid, unhurried. His hands slipped down next, teasing the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to make you ache with anticipation.

But then—

He stopped.

Stood there. Watching you.

Waiting. For you to invite him. 

"Go on."

The words left your lips soft, almost careless — but you both knew it cost you. A thread you held between your fingers, tugging just enough to bring him closer without giving away the whole game. 

It would be a fucking sin not to climb this man when you have the chance. 

Namjoon's mouth twitched at the corner — not a smile, not really. Something sharper.

He liked being told suddenly.

Yet, he loved being dared more.

With a slow roll of his shoulders, he slipped the T-shirt over his head, dragging it off in a way that felt obscene in its patience. The mist clung to his bare skin immediately, making him look like something carved out of the mountains themselves

Namjoon stepped forward, toeing off his sweatpants without ceremony, leaving him in the dark stretch of boxer briefs that did little — nothing — to hide the fact that you had his full attention. 

"You are still healing." 

The words came from him like a warning, a reminder, but they were layered with something more — something that made your pulse spike. His gaze, dark and heavy, flicked to the bandage still wrapped carefully around your side, then back to your eyes.

It was like he was giving you an out, a way to back down.

Your fingers, damp from the water's surface, traced the edge of your collarbone, then slid deliberately lower, dipping beneath the water just far enough for him to see, but not enough to touch. You let the silence stretch between you, filled only by the distant crackle of leaves and the steam curling up into the air.

"Then you should be extra gentle this time." 

You knew the weight of your words — knew the invitation was laced with something deeper, something that could make him snap. But you didn't care. The way the tension stretched between you, thick like the fog around the spring, was intoxicating.

Namjoon's eyes darkened further, a flicker of something dangerous and hungry flashing across his face, but he didn't move. Not yet. He stood there, the distance between you shrinking with every second, and it was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you — the water, the mist, the beat of your hearts, all hanging in the balance.

"Gentle?" His voice was a low rasp, like he was holding himself back with everything he had. "Is that what my baby wants?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you let the question hang there, like a challenge. He didn't get to decide yet. You did. Looking at him like this, you wish he could absolutely wreck you.

"Can your ego take me being in control?" you ask, your voice a soft purr. You can see the way your words affect him, the way his body tenses, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. 

You pulled your legs just a little higher in the water, shifting your weight, letting him see the curves of your body more clearly. Your eyes never left his, and the way he watched you — the way his breath hitched in his throat — made the air between you feel like it was on fire.

Then, as though on instinct, Namjoon took a step forward. His hand shot out, almost jerking with urgency, but he stopped just short of touching you. The tension coiled tighter, thick enough to snap. His fingers were tracing the edge of your collarbone.

"I fantasise about it every night."  

Namjoon's voice, rough and low, felt like a confession — a brutal truth wrapped in desire.

A provocation, laid bare between you two in the stillness of the spring. His fingers brushed the edge of your collarbone again, just barely skimming your skin, and you couldn't hold back the shiver that ran through you.

You wanted him — wanted him to take you, to do everything he'd fantasised about. But you cannot. Not like that anyway. Though no one said you won't try.

Your palm slipped down under the water to find his manhood when he was being hesitant to show him you want this. You hook your finger to slowly pull down his boxers and take wrap your fingers around the shaft of his thick length as is if you've done this million times before, forgetting this might be your first time together. If you don’t count your little church’s restroom rendezvous. 

You stroke him once, twice, and listen to his fastening heartbeat and ragged breathing. You mouth closes around one of his nipples and with your eyes looking up at his clenched jaw your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, you bite down a little, pulling your head back.

Namjoon's body tenses, his hands fisting at his sides as if he's holding himself back with everything he has. You can see the struggle within him, the battle between his desire to take control and his need to please you. And you smile, knowing that you've won this round. 

"This is when I should ask you how you want me."

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Interlude - Meddling With Our Hearts

Summary: Five times someone interferes with yours and Aemond’s relationship and one time you decide to take the reins and shape your own fate.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 6,9k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Hello!! How have you all been? This one came out faster than I expected! Yay!

Okay, just to explain a few things, so this chapter is a bonus, non-chronological chapter in the story. It is separated into items, as it follows the ‘5+1 Things’ model, spanning across several years. In item 1, Reader and Aemond are very young, around 4 and 6 respectively (and Aegon is around 10), whereas items 2, 3, 4 and 5 are set after chapter 1 of this story (think episodes 6 and 7 of season 1). Lastly, the last item is set in the middle of chapter 2. 

I am having lots of fun writing for Aemond, so much so I have a few ideas for unrelated one-shots I plan on writing for him. Anyway, I really really hope you enjoy this!

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

1. Aegon Targaryen

As young children, wherever Aemond Targaryen was you were never too far behind. As the eldest of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s children, you were often regarded as a possible successor of your mother’s to the title of the Realm’s Delight, being soft and sweet and so very beautiful even from such a young age. There was no shortage of people wanting to gaze upon you, spoil you with attention and possibly win over the favor of the heir to the Iron Throne after King Viserys I. But there was only ever one person whose attention you truly craved.

With the birth of your younger brother Jace and your mother’s pregnancy with yet another child, your parents’ attention was naturally split. It wasn’t to say they neglected you or favored your brother above you, oh no, but it was only natural that you were no longer their sole focus, even more fickle given their duties at court. Your father in particular, Ser Laenor, tried to give you as much attention as he possibly could, but even then that was restricted to specific times of the day, mostly at supper and after. It was an adjustment, for sure, and for a little while you resented your little brother, but you were quick to find another source of the attention you craved somewhere else: your uncle Aemond. You couldn’t possibly know why, nor had you ever thought about it, but you were drawn to him in ways you could not explain. And the feeling seemed to be mutual.

Aemond Targaryen, as the second son of King Viserys and his fourth child, was most often overlooked by many in court. He wasn’t Rhaenyra, who held their father’s unconditional love, or Aegon, who carried the title of his first male child, and matters were made worse by the fact that his dragon egg had yet to hatch, whereas Aegon’s had done so when he was still pretty young, and Helaena had quickly claimed Dreamfyre. Even his mother, who once doted on him like never before, had lessened her attention over him, as her fourth pregnancy progressed and her affection usually leaned more towards her only daughter. 

So when his little niece, barely old enough to attend lessons, had developed a fascination towards him and would often trail behind him wherever he went, he absolutely basked in the attention that was so freely given. You, who had no obligation to him other than to be cordial at best, gazing up at him with adoration in those innocent eyes made him cherish the moments you spend together.

It was only natural, then, that the two of you could often be found in each other’s presence. Whenever neither of you were having lessons and were left to your own devices, you seemed to always find each other, your tiny hand enveloped in Aemond’s not much bigger one as he pulled you behind him towards whatever destination he had in mind.

“Where we going, Aem?” your sweet voice, not yet able to properly speak his name, would often ask. The library, the dragonpit, the gardens, it didn’t truly matter as long as you were together.

Aem.

The nickname you had bestowed upon him was one of his deepest treasures. To everyone else he was either Aemond, son or brother, and two of these he had to share with other people, but to you, and to you alone, he was Aem. It was something so inherently his, something to share with you and only you. It reminded him of you, of the devotion and admiration you held for him, something no one else seemed to have for him, and he never wanted to let go of it.

But as he would be reminded time and time again he should never hope, nor should he wish for good things for himself, for they could be ripped from him at a moment’s notice.  

The day had started out like any other: after your lessons you had quickly scrambled out of your quarters to find Aemond and spend the day together. He had decided, then, to take you to the training grounds to watch some of the knights train.

“See that one over there?” he pointed to a man, just barely out of adolescence, training with Criston Cole “That is Ser Arryk. Or could he be Erryk? It matters not, either way, both of them are really good. Ser Criston is training them to be the newest members of the Kingsguard.”

“Wow.” you sounded from next to him, mesmerized by the clash of the swords.

“Impressive, hm?” he then pointed to another man who was supervising the training “Ser Criston, over there, he is the best knight in all the realms. I hope to train under him and be as good as he is one day.” 

He was eager to start training with the sword, like his older brother already did. His mother had promised him that he could start his own training after his next nameday, though it was still a few moons away, he was already eagerly waiting for that moment.

“You be amazing knight in future, Aem.” you turned towards him then, that look of pure reverence made warmth spread in his chest, for he felt your words were true.

“Aem?!” a familiar voice cackled behind the two of you, and Aemond could feel the cold dread seeping into his heart like it usually did when his brother decided to torment him.

Aegon marched over in your direction, almost an entire head taller than Aemond, and ruffled his younger brother’s hair with a tad more force than necessary.

“Oh, Aemy, you will be such an amazing knight one day.” he spoke in a poor imitation of your own voice, high pitched and overly sweet and dreamy. Your face was scrunched in anger and poorly contained humiliation, and had the two of you not been under scrutiny Aemond would have found it adorable.

“Aegon, stop it!” he tried defending the two of you but he couldn’t stop his own cheeks from lighting up in embarrassment.

“Aemy, oh, Aem. Perhaps our mothers will marry us off to one another and I can carry your children.” Aegon chuckled before flicking his brother on the forehead “You would surely want that, wouldn’t you, you twat?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. With a warcry unbefitting of a princess of the realm you delivered a sharp kick to Aegon’s shin, the only part of him you could really reach, before running off with tiny droplets streaming down your cheeks. Aemond tried going after you, holding your wrist, but you swatted his hand away and disappeared around the corner.

“She attacked me!” Aegon complained, voice strained from the intensity of the blow, utterly baffled at how something so small could carry so much strength.

“Oh, please!” Aemond pushed past his brother, annoyed, before stomping away towards his own quarters “It barely scratched. And you deserved it.”

For the next three days you ignored both of them, preferring to spend your days with Heleana. Whenever he asked about you, his mother would claim you didn’t wish for visitors and would rather stay in the company of your aunt. Aemond couldn’t deny that it stung, the only person he felt cared for him deeply, no longer wanting to spend time with him.

So he was overjoyed when, on the fourth day, you approached him as if nothing had ever happened, your expression light and smile bright as you held his hand.

“Where we going, uncle?” and his face fell, joy completely dissipating and giving way to sadness. 

You refused to call him by his previous nickname after that day, opting to refer to him only as ‘uncle’ going forward, and Aemond felt an overwhelming longing for things to go back to the way they were. He couldn’t help the resentment he felt towards Aegon for ruining what you had, for he felt it in his bones that things between the two of you would never truly be the same again.

2. Jason Lannister

You were bored out of your very mind at the moment. You had zoned out completely and could barely hear the incessant droning of Jason Lannister’s voice in the background as you reflected upon your life at the moment.

After that night in the bathtub where you shared your very first kiss with your uncle, you feared things between the two of you would change, and change for the worse. You didn’t want that, cherishing what you had with Aemond, even if it never went anywhere beyond friendship. But you needn’t have worried so much, for both of you seemed adamant in not ever speaking of that night ever again. It did sting a little if you were being honest with yourself, but you preferred that over ruining what you had.

So you were very much looking forward to spending a few hours with him before lunch when you were intercepted by Ser Jason Lannister.

“You look wonderful today, my princess.” the man had smiled down at you.

“Uh, thank you, my lord.” you answered, confused as to what he could possibly want.

“Why don’t you give me the pleasure of going on a stroll with me around the gardens?”

You didn’t know why he wanted to take a stroll with you of all people. And to be fair you didn’t want to spend more time than necessary in his presence. What you did want was to find Aemond and spend your day with him. But something, a strange sense of propriety and duty, held you back and you found yourself agreeing with his proposal.

That’s how you ended in the current situation, arm looped with his as he droned on and on and on about himself and his wealth and his castle and many other topics you couldn’t care less about. 

In your reverie you hadn’t even realized you had reached the training grounds until Aemond, who had just finished his training session with Ser Criston, smiled and waved at you as he was putting a wooden shield away. You were about to wave back when Ser Jason’s voice pulled your attention back to him once more.

“Well, princess, this is where we must part ways, unfortunately.” he gave a small bow of his head before letting go of your arm “The maesters say it is good to keep active, so I will go see if I can find a sparring partner.” 

You barely spared him a courtesy as Aemond was already by your side, ready to whisk you away.

“What was that all about?” he asked when you were already halfway to the library, a sense of unease pulling at his heartstrings once he remembered the way your arm was linked with the older lord.

“I do not know for sure.” you shrugged “I barely paid attention to what he was saying. Something about his riches I believe, we just went on a walk around the Keep.”

He laughed then, though it lacked any mirth, and his smile no longer reached his eyes.

“What is it?”

“You are so naïve, niece.” he explained.

“And why is that?” you questioned, feeling slightly offended.

“He wishes to court you.”

Your disgust at the thought must have been reflected very clearly upon your face, for he let out a full, genuine laugh this time.

“B-But- why?!” you tried collecting your thoughts, flabbergasted by such revelation “He is so…”

“Arrogant? Boring? Plain? All of the above?” Aemond completed for you, jesting at the situation.

“Old!” you whined and he laughed even harder at your expanse “I mean it! He is older than my own father!” you got closer to him to whisper conspiratorially at him “I heard he courted mother when she was looking for a husband, and he was already considered too old for her at the time.”

His laughter echoed around the halls, a few servants stopping to stare at the two of you, dumbfounded at the way you seemed to be able to bring the usually stoic prince out of his shell.

“But why does he wish to court me? Why not some other, older, lady?” you asked, still confused.

“Well, you are not just any lady, mandianna. You are a princess.” he explained, though his words seemed practiced, like they were reflections of not his own thoughts but those of other people “Any lord would jump at the opportunity to wed you. Chances are, in fact, that more suitors will start to flock around you for attention as you grow.”

“Ugh!” your shoulders slumped under the weight of your frustration “I do not wish to marry these lords!” you threw your hands up in exasperation “I just wish to spend my days with you and Helaena! Why can I not just marry you, then?!”

He felt a twinge too tight of happiness at the notion, but chose to ignore it and listen as you continued with your rant.

“If I were to marry one of these lords I would be miserable!”

His face softened in sympathy, remembering the conversation he overheard between his mother and grandsire regarding Aegon and Heleana’s betrothal. He felt pained for his sister, for he knew Aegon would not treat her how she deserved, and now he was seeing the same pattern with you.

“It is our duty, I fear, to find matches that best interest our House.” he spoke softly, but you turned towards him infuriated, and he feared he said the wrong thing.

“But I do not want to marry for duty!” his heart clenched in his chest as he noticed your eyes brimming with tears “I want a husband who loves and cares for me, like father and mother!”

He held back his tongue, knowing that speaking his mind about the kind of love between your parents, or lack thereof, would only upset you further. There was no denying that Ser Laenor cared deeply for Rhaenyra, just not in the way a husband should a wife.

The both of you stayed quiet for a moment, you simmering in your unsettled thoughts and him disappointed he couldn’t comfort you further, for this was something that was out of his hands.

“I would not mind, you know?” he heard you speak softly, turning his head to find you already looking at him.

“What?” 

“Marrying you.” you smiled softly at him “At least with you I would be content. I could see us being happy, even.”

Your words were a soothing balm over his heart, making it clench in his chest. He, too, did find the notion appealing, he could be happy with you, hells, you already made him happy.

“If it matters,” he spoke, trying to hide his true feelings behind a layer of nonchalance “I would not mind marrying you either.”

Your smile brightened then, and you bumped your shoulder with his.

“One can dream, right?” you giggled, before sighing once a servant came to fetch you to clean up before lunch, annoyed that your time with him had been cut short.

But as you walked away an idea formed in his mind, and with a determination he hadn’t felt in a really long time, he set off to find his half-sister.

3. Alicent Hightower

“No.” the Queen’s voice was harsh, and Aemond’s heart filled with dread as he peaked from his hiding place behind a pillar in her solar. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop but his traitorous heart was too anxious to wait.

“Come on, your grace.” Rhaenyra answered, clearly annoyed, a hand placed on her very pregnant stomach and another on her lower back, as if standing here arguing was bringing her physical discomfort “The boy came to me, begging for her hand in marriage, all that was left was for him to fall to his knees. She herself has asked about the possibility of marrying him once. They are the perfect match!”

After your conversation earlier that day, Aemond had set off to find Rhaenyra and ask, no, beg her to allow him to court and eventually marry you. She had laughed in his face, and he tried not to show how her dismissal wounded his pride, until her face softened once she realized he was serious. 

“Please, sister.” he had even stooped so low as to address their familial bond, no matter how sour the word tasted in his mouth “Allow me to marry her. As her husband, she would want for nothing, I would protect her with my very life. And I could even… make her happy.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened then, for the first time realizing how much her little brother truly cared for her daughter. She had known the two of you were close, but the depth of your feelings for one another was only now being revealed to her. So she promised him she would speak with his own mother, and if Alicent agreed, then so would she. Aemond’s heart had plummeted then, knowing it would be a lot harder getting through his mother. But he wouldn’t give up hope.

But hope, it seemed, was not enough.

“No, and my answer is final.” Alicent moved about, trying to get Rhaenyra to leave and go bother someone else.  

“Alicent,” even though she had her back towards him, Aemond could imagine the tick in his mother’s eye at the informal way Rhaenyra was addressing her “All I am asking is that you consider it.”

“Why do you even think they would be a good match for one another?”

“Oh, by the Gods, Alicent! Can you not see how much they care for each other? The amount of time they spend together? They are practically glued at the hip at this point!” Rhaenyra threw her hands up in exasperation, and Aemond could see yourself so perfectly in your mother’s image “I will just ask my father then.” 

“Do not entertain that idea even for a moment!” Alicent’s voice became shrill as she glared at her former friend “What is this even about, hm? Are you so afraid that child” and she pointed at Rhaneyra’s prominent bump “will be born sooner or later bearing a striking resemblance to a certain commander of the City Watch once more that you resort to this… this scheming? To secure your line of succession, is that it?”

Ouch. That was low, even for Alicent’s standards. 

Rhaenyra’s face hardened as she stepped closer to the Queen, and for a moment fear gripped Aemond’s heart that he was about to witness his mom get battered.

“My brother, your own son” she spat out, genuinely angry now “begged me to let him marry my daughter when they are older. He promised me he would be a good husband, and for once in my life I am inclined to believe him.” her face softened then, raising her hands as if to grab Alicent’s but let them drop, thinking better than to try and touch her “Please, your grace. If there is still any care left in your heart for the love we once held for one another, please let me do this for him.” 

Aemond waited with bated breath for his mother to say something, anything. For once in his life he allowed himself to hope; he’d give up everything, even his dream of having a dragon of his own, just so she’d say yes. But the longer she went without saying anything, the deeper the cracks in his heart became.

“I will not be able to change your mind, will I?” Rhaenyra asked, her face contorting in sympathy, and when Alicent shook her head, breaking his heart in a thousand tiny little pieces in the process, she sighed “Then I feel sorry for Aemond. For both of them.”

As Rhaenyra left the Queen’s solar, Aemond took his leave as well, his heart shattered and a weight heavy on his stomach, regretting even going to his half-sister in the first place. It seemed you and he could never be after all.

4. Rhaenyra Targaryen

Tears streamed down your face as you ran through the cold tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast, not caring even for a moment that you were only dressed in a nightgown. The news you had just heard from your father regarding your mother’s decision weighed heavily in your heart, and you had to share them with your uncle immediately. It couldn’t wait until the morrow, because come first light you might be gone.

“Hells, niece, will you ever learn to knock?” Aemond had turned towards you once you barged inside his chambers through the secret door, freezing once he noticed the state you were in. He was in front of you in a second, holding your cheeks in his palms and forcing you to look at him “What happened?”

Even though his image was blurred by the tears that kept on rolling down your cheeks, barely noticing when he started collecting them with his thumbs, you could perfectly see the concern etched upon his features, and that was all it took for you to release the sobs you had been holding back, falling into his arms and hiccuping against his shoulder.

“Mandianna, what happened?!” he asked, holding your trembling figure in his arms and awkwardly trying to console you, running a gentle hand up and down your back. He had never seen you in such a state before, and he did not truly know how to help, much less without knowing the cause of your distress.

Once you had calmed down enough, your wails reduced to soft sniffles, you pulled back from him, running the back of your hand through your face to try and look more presentable.

“Mother has decided to move us to Dragonstone.”

Aemond’s breath hitched then.

“What?” he whispered, taking a step back from you.

“Father just told me. We are to leave King’s Landing come first light in the morrow.”

He felt his whole world crumbling before his very eyes then. He believed his heart could no longer face more damage, for it had already been broken when he overheard his mother and Rhaenyra’s conversation a sennight before, but he felt it shatter all over again at your words.

“C-Can you not stay behind?” With me?, he wanted to ask as his own eyes started filling with tears.

“I asked, but father says we are all to go. Me, Jace, Luke and baby Joffrey.”

His heart was beating widely in his chest, twisting painfully at the prospect of having to face everyday at court without you to keep him company, to keep him sane.

“We can write, of course, but-” you started, voice still trembling.

“It will not be the same.” he completed for you. 

It was true, wasn’t it? Things were about to change. On one hand he wouldn’t have to face the teasing from Jace and Luke, just Aegon, the main instigator. But on the other hand he would lose you, which was so much worse.

But then he noticed how your lower lip had started quivering again and realized he had put quite a lot of distance between the two of you. Not wanting you to jump to the wrong conclusions he crossed the space he had created and cupped your cheeks, looking sternly into your eyes.

“It does not change anything.” 

“Aemond-” you looked at him with sympathy and disbelief but he wasn’t having it.

“No. It does not change anything between us.” he spoke, determined “I will write to you every single day, and I expect a response every time. It will be like you never left. You can fly on dragonback and come visit. And when I get my dragon, I will visit you in return.”

Your smile, although tentative and still wobbly, returned to your face and he felt relief wash through him.

“You said so yourself, the lines promised me I will have a dragon.” he rejoiced at hearing you giggle “I have to make good use of them when time comes.”

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you. Something in your eye, glimmering with a blazing hope, compelled Aemond to lean forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took everything in.

“We will still be the same.” he felt you move, nodding against his head, never once moving away “We will still be us.” 

And even though, or perhaps exactly because neither of you could prevent the events that would unfold in the following weeks, both of you believed it with every ounce of your souls.

5. Aemond Targaryen 

“Aemond.” you knocked once more, your knuckles red and starting to ache from their incessant contact with the hard wood “Qȳbor, please open the door.”

He hadn’t left his temporary chambers in days, and no one would let you see him. After the whole ordeal with Vhagar and the fight between your two mothers in the grand hall at Driftmark after the loss of his eye, Aemond was whisked away to the quarters he was stationed at during his stay so the maesters could work properly on his wound and for him to sleep off the copious amounts of milk of the poppy he had been given.

Having talked to your brothers and cousins and understood what had gone down, you started feeling a tad guilty for the way you reacted to it. Yes, you were still hurt over what he had said about your brothers and, by extension, you. But at the same time you had let him go when he was the most vulnerable, he had just lost an eye for the Gods’ sake. And yet, even though you were hurting, so was he, he needed you and yet you let go and ran from him.

So you had decided you needed to talk. Perhaps, if you apologized for Luke’s actions and your own behavior, he’d offer an apology of his own, for calling your brothers bastards and for not extending Rhaena the courtesy of trying to claim her late mother’s dragon before him. Then, having cleared the air, you could move past this and go back to the way things were, with exchanged letters and promises of visiting one another. 

But your attempts seemed futile. There was always a guard stationed in front of his door, denying you entrance every single time you asked. Even though they were stern, hardened by their training, you tried using your authority as princess to order them to let you through, but to no such luck.

“Apologies, princess.” they would say, a smidge of sympathy and annoyance in their tone “The prince is to receive no visitors. Orders from her grace, the Queen.”

Panic was starting to grip at your heart, for your time was running out. Eventually, as soon as Aemond was recovered enough to travel, King Viserys and his family would leave Driftmark and return to King’s Landing. By then it would be too late. If you didn’t speak to him now, you would lose Aemond forever. That is, if you hadn’t already lost him for good. You had to speak to him, and it had to be soon, otherwise he’d leave and you would lose the one person you cared most in the world, who understood you like no one else, and would be left to drown in your own loneliness.

So you started scheming. You waited around the corridor of his chambers, waiting for rotation of the guard so you could catch his door unattended. You almost managed once, but Queen Alicent opened the door to exit the room, stopping dead in her tracks once she came face to face with you, about to knock.

“Your grace!” you were quick to recompose yourself “I came to visit the prince. I wish to see if he is faring well.”

You winced, instantly regretting your choice of words once her face hardened. Of course he wasn’t faring well, he just lost his bloody eye! 

“Aemond is not receiving any visitors.” her voice was harsh, and dread overcame you as she started to walk away.

“Wait!” she stopped but didn’t turn around to face you as you pleaded “I just- I just want to see him.”

When she did turn her features were laced with a combination of disdain and pity. It stirred something so deep inside you you almost recoiled and ran, but you decided to endure.

“He doesn’t wish to see anyone, princess.” she spoke, her tone stern yet motherly. But the implications of her words were not lost on you.

He doesn’t wish to see you.

It hurt, tears brimming in your eyes as you turned around and headed for your chambers.  

Did he truly not wish to see you? Or did he just wish for solitude, away from everyone? Could your friendship still be mended after both of you had been hurt like this? 

It didn’t matter, afterall, for you were determined to try until the very end.

That’s how you found yourself in front of his door, finally alone with him, having waited patiently for the guard’s rotation and making sure his mother wasn’t around. It was his final night in Driftmark before he was set to return to the capitol, and so this was your last, final chance to talk to him before that. 

There was a light flickering inside his chambers, visible from under the door, so you knew he likely wasn’t asleep, and when you had knocked for the first time, you heard a thud coming from inside, like he had bumped into some furniture, so you believed he had listened to you. But no matter how many times you knocked, he wouldn’t open it, nor give any indication that he was listening. 

“Aemond, please.” you tried again “Please, let us talk.”

The longer you went without an answer, the tighter the knot that was forming in your throat became. Growing desperate, you laid your forehead on the cold, damp wood.

“Please.” you breathed out, not even sure he could hear you now “Talk to me, Aemond. Please.”

For a moment, a short, passing moment, you heard a flutter of movement from inside the room. Your breath hitched, a tiny flicker of unadulterated hope burning in your chest that he had heard you and was coming to talk. But it was quickly snuffed out when you heard nothing else follow.

A deep ache took over your chest, like something had dug its claws in your heart and squeezed. The inevitability of it all, the looming sense of grief over something so close yet impossibly far, out of your grasp completely, clouded your mind and had your ears ringing.

“I am sorry.” you said, taking a step back and turning around to leave “For everything.”

As you walked away you couldn’t help but feel like a part of you was missing. For you had just lost him for good. Perhaps forever.

+1

As you brushed off your skirts, having been sat on the grass by the weirwood tree, you set off to find your mother, determination written across your features.

You nearly ran into Luke as you walked briskly, sending a thankful look to Rhaena as she helped you steady him.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Jace asked as he came up behind your brother at the same time you bypassed him and Baela and continued on your way. 

“To secure myself a husband!” you shouted over your shoulder, not even turning back around to address them. Now all that was left was to find your mother.

And search for her you did. It was imperative that you found her quickly, for you wanted to make sure you did this tonight. It had to be tonight. No one knew how much longer the King would live, and the moment he drew his final breath, a war would break out within your family. A war that would ravage all of the Seven Kingdoms. So you had to make sure that didn’t happen while your grandire was still alive and lucid enough to give you his full support.

But Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found. The Keep was huge and there was a probability that you were both on the move and simply never crossing paths. You even stumbled upon Helaena during your search as she tended to her youngest son, Maelor.

“Have you seen my mother, aunt?” you asked after a brief and sweet exchange, though you did not hug her like you would Baela and Rhaena, for you knew she did not like to be touched.

“I have not, niece.” she bounced baby Maelor in her arms as he cooed up at her “Why are you in such a haste to find her, if I might ask?”

“I have something of utmost importance to discuss with her.” you smirked as you added next, and by the glimmer in her eyes she understood the hidden meaning of your words “I believe I have found myself a suitable husband and must ask her to arrange our betrothal as soon as possible.”

“Oh!” she smiled brightly then “So we might be celebrating tonight.”

To your surprise and confusion, her smile faltered just a bit, her eyes becoming unfocused, before she smiled brightly again.

“With a union forged in fire and blood, the dragon’s nest is put to rest.”

You dared not question her, for Helaena often spoke in riddles, even in your youth. Biding her farewell you went back to your task. You didn’t have to search long though, for you quite literally bumped into your mother and Daemon right as you were turning down the corridor from Helaena’s chambers.

“Mother!” you exclaimed as you helped Daemon steady a once again very pregnant Rhaenyra “There you are!”

“You were looking for me, darling?” she asked.

“Yes.” you cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders “I wish for a husband.”

That seemed to take both of them by surprise, their eyes widening.

“O-Oh!” she smiled then, still confused where this was coming from “And did you have someone in mind?”

“I wish to take Aemond as my husband.” 

“Darling.” her face softened in pity as Daemon scoffed “You know the Queen would never allow this union.”

“That’s not all, mother. I think I may have found a way neither she nor the Hand could refuse.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a curious glance with one another.

“Let us hear it then.” your step-father encouraged.

“I want Aemond as my husband.” you took a steadying breath, knowing you’d have to argue the next part “And I want him to be King.”

“Absolutely not!” was Daemon’s reaction, while your mother just looked… betrayed. And it broke your heart. You knew what she was thinking, she had just reaffirmed you as her heir, had to fight for it, and you now want to pass that off to someone else entirely?

“Please allow me to explain.”

“Why would you suggest such a thing?! To that cunt, of all people!” Daemon kept on raging, but his words were abruptly cut short as Rhaenyra raised her hand.

“Let her speak.” her tone was firm, and you knew you had to choose your next words carefully to plead your case.

“Word has come to me of a… plot against you as King Viserys’ heir.” her face twitched in anger for just a moment “The Queen and the Hand will try to instate Aegon as King once grandsire passes.”

“What is new?” Daemon laughed, incredulous.

“And the noble houses would back his claim.” you explained “Many will not recognize you as the legitimate heir-”

“But-” your mother tried cutting you off but you continued over her.

“-regardless of the oath they swore years ago. Simply because Aegon has a cock and you do not.” you hated how crass you sounded, but you had to get the point across “And then a bloody civil war would break out, for you would not let this go unpunished, am I wrong?” 

Rhaenyra pondered for a moment before nodding, and you took that as a sign to continue.

“A war between us, dragonlords, would absolutely decimate not only our House but also the realm. But a marriage alliance between me, your heir and future Queen, and my uncle might just make them give up on this quest.”

“Otto would never settle for his blood being just consort.” Daemon argued.

“That is why he would not be consort.” you smirked, the catch you were waiting to reveal slipping from your lips.

“You shouldn’t give up your claim and be consort either!” your mother exclaimed.

“I would not do such a thing. I would be the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Both of them looked baffled.

“Now you have lost me.” she said.

“When the time comes, both me and Aemond would be crowned Queen and King, and we would rule together as equals. No consorts.”

Rhaenyra took a step back from surprise, and Daemon looked like he was told the realm’s funniest joke.

“You cannot be serious, tala!” he chuckled, but there was an undertone of disbelief to it.

“It could work.” your mother spoke to herself.

“Rhaenyra, you cannot be entertaining this ridiculous idea!” Daemon turned towards her then, wringing his hands as if to stop himself from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her “It is not tradition!”

“Fuck tradition!” you exclaimed a lot more harshly than you intended, and probably a lot harsher than it was appropriate. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough. 

“You being heir over Aegon already breaks tradition as it is. Like I said, many will not see you as legitimate. But even if they do, and you are able to rule, the same thing would happen to me and Jace. But will you make all the great houses swear another oath to you?” Rhaneyra understood where you were going with this “Having a husband to back me up as heir, to rule alongside me, would give me strength in my own claim. If you are already breaking traditions, what is one more, eh?”

“You might want to keep your voice down.” Daemon spoke lowly, and you noticed he was staring at someone “The walls have ears in this Keep.”

From the corner of your eye you saw a familiar figure, and in a moment of panic, grabbed your mother’s hand and pulled her towards the temporary chambers you were housed in. You did not want Aemond to overhear what you had to say, fearful that should anyone hear about this ahead of time it would all crumble to shambles. As Daemon joined you two, shortly after, you continued. 

“Please, please mother! Think about it. It might be the only way.”

Rhaenyra was silent. While Daemon looked vexed, but made no further complaints, she looked deep in thought. You knew she knew you were right. She just had to see it for herself.

“It would be easier to convince them if we had the King’s approval. That is why we need to do this tonight, at supper.”

Daemon bristled but didn’t say anything. Your mother on the other hand agreed, even if she believed this was all very rushed.

“Would you be happy though?” she then asked, and it was your turn to be surprised “Marrying Aemond? After everything that has happened?”

You looked between her and Daemon, and for once in your life you were certain of what you wanted.

“Aemond has always been kind to me. Or most of the time, at least.” you shrugged “I believe, with due time, we could put our differences aside and rebuild what we once had. Perhaps even learn to love each other.”

Again, you meant. Learn to love each other again. At least in your case.

“Then it is settled.” she looked determined “We will pitch this proposition tonight.”

A wave of relief washed over you. This could work, genuinely actually work. Perhaps it didn’t have to end in bloodshed like you believed it would. Maybe your family could be whole again. And all of that at the cost of marrying the one you had longed for deeply in your heart once.

“He asked for your hand once, you know.” Rhaenyra broke you out of your trance, a soft smile on her face and a far away look in her eyes, as if she was reminiscing on a fond memory. Daemon had left at some point, leaving you both alone to share this conversation, too deep and personal for anyone else to hear, in private “Right before we left for Dragonstone.”

Your heart clenched in your chest at the revelation. He had wished to marry you as well?

“He said he could make you happy. And I believed him.” she then looked at you, cupping your cheek as pride took over her smile “I believe it still.”

You grasped at her wrist, feeling warm at the love you could feel it emanating from her.

“If you believe you could be happy as well,” she continued “then you have my blessing. That is all I want.”

You nodded, blinking back tears.

“I do. I will be very happy.” 

She nodded then, pulling you into her arms. In the safety of your mother’s embrace, you finally let yourself relax. Your fate was yours to shape how you saw fit, and you intended to make the most of it.

And you would.

High Valyrian translations: - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - tala - daughter (meant here affectionately, not by blood, as there are no terms for step-relative in High Valyrian)

Tag List:

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@voguiing

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@queen-of-elves

[grayandthyme]

Summer of 1989 ;

masterlist | next chapter

ao3 link ♫ playlist

tommy miller x reader

chapter summary: The summer of 1989. His dad sucks. You're solace. warnings: description of abusive father, mention of alcohol abuse, vulgar language, fluff, best friends yay, kissing, implied intercourse without description. reader is roughly 16/17, tommy is 17/18.

w/c 10.1k

Summer, 1989.

The night hung thick and hot—one of those southern summer sweats that clung to your skin like a second layer. Even your sheets had turned traitor, too warm, too clingy, too much. So you'd exiled yourself to the floor, legs sprawled across the cool wood, a pillow folded beneath your neck as you thumbed through Margaret Atwood’s latest. You weren’t even reading, really—just letting the words pass through you like a breeze that never came.

From the corner of the room, your record player crackled with soft resistance, The Smiths murmuring through a haze of static and dust. It was a good kind of background noise. Not loud, not demanding. Just there. Like summer itself—boring in the way that gave your brain permission to slow down. A sweet, stilled kind of nothingness.

Then came the knock.

A light tap-tap against the glass above the beanbags. Your eyes flicked up, already half-annoyed. Already knowing.

And sure enough—

Tommy fucking Miller.

You hissed, “God damnit,” under your breath as you pushed yourself up and stumbled toward the window. He was grinning like he knew something you didn’t, one hand already gripping the sill. His other leg swung up onto the trellis like it had every damn night this month. The wood groaned in protest, and so did you.

You popped the latch and shoved the window open just in time for him to half-slide, half-hurl himself into your room like he belonged there.

“Real quiet, Miller,” you gritted, running to double-check that your bedroom door was locked. “Because my parents are gonna murder you if they hear one creak.”

He landed on his feet with the grace of a kid who’s done this too many times, brushing imaginary dirt off his jeans like this was some kind of polite visit. “Wouldn’t be the first time I died for you,” he muttered, low and smug.

You turned, arms crossed, trying not to smile. Trying not to let the warmth in your chest outshine the heat pressing through the windowpanes. It's true, it wouldn't be the first nor the last time he finds trouble in your wake.

Because damn him—he was the only thing this summer had going for it.

Or, rather… this town.

It was only when your eyes set on his face that the rest of the room went quiet. A new scratch. A long, thin line snaking down his lip.

It looked fresh. Still red, still raw. You barely registered your body moving, your hand reaching, thumb brushing under his jaw.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, faster than you meant to. “What the fuck did you do?”

Tommy flinched—but not from you. Just instinct, like the kind that doesn’t leave. Like he was still waiting for someone else's hand to swing instead of hold. Still, he let you tilt his chin, let you see it in full.

“Nothin’,” he muttered, smirking like it’d make you look less close. “Got into it with the porch railing.”

You scoffed, not buying it for a second. “Was the porch railing wearing a ring? Because that looks a hell of a lot like a right hook.”

He winced when you grazed the edge of it, and that told you everything, “Christ, Tommy,” you whispered, softer now. Less fury, more ache. “You can't keep coming here like this.”

His eyes flicked away, to your bedroom floor, to your half-finished book, to the record player wheezing out some broken refrain. He looked anywhere but at you. Until he did. “Where else’m I supposed to go, huh?” he asked, voice low and not angry—but worn. Frayed. “Ain’t like my place is offerin’ bedtime stories.”

Your hand dropped from his chin. You hated how often this happened. Hated how your room had become his escape hatch. And you hated most of all that you were the only one who knew how bad it really was. He threw himself down onto your floor like it was a ritual—because it was. Pushed your beanbag aside, tugged your extra pillow under his head like he always did. Smelled like sweat, and heat, and the faintest trace of tobacco smoke—none of it from him.

“You know this is the third time this week?” you asked, turning and kneeling beside him.

“Guess that makes it a sleepover,” he grinned, lip split open fresh with it.

"I think sleepovers are supposed to be voluntary for both parties."

You rolled your eyes, tugging the pillow back out from under him just to make him fight for it. He did, of course, all elbows and puppy-dog dramatics, wrestling it back into place until you both dissolved into breathless laughs. But there was tension there. A line you never crossed, both of you knowing exactly where it was.

You sat beside him, knees pulled up to your chest. He reached out, tugged at your sock like a pest. It was always an annoying touch, in one way or another. “You ever think about just leavin’?” he asked suddenly, eyes on the ceiling.

You blinked. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Road trip. California. Shit, I’d even take Amarillo.”

You snorted. “That’s your dream? Amarillo?”

He turned toward you then, and there was that look again. The one he only gave you at night, when it was quiet. When there wasn’t anyone left to pretend for.

“My dream’s not far from yours."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because you weren’t allowed to believe him. Not out loud.

So instead, you reached for the little first aid tin under your bed, unsnapped it, and tapped your knee.

“C’mon, Miller. Let me patch up your ugly ass again.”

“If I knew bruises got me this kinda attention, I’d’ve started fallin’ on purpose," he drawled, smirking with just a bit too many teeth. You tossed a cotton ball at his face for that one, earning a small huff of a laugh. It was a slow process as you moved over towards your bed.

“Where’s Joel?” you murmur, voice thinner than usual as you turn away.

Your hand disappears beneath the bedframe, fingers brushing past old notebooks and a half-dead flashlight before landing on the cold metal tin. Inside, tucked in like something sacred, was the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You’d kept it stashed there. Just for him. Just for this.

He didn’t answer right away, and that alone told you more than words could’ve. The bottle clinked softly as you pulled it free, cradled it like something living. You didn’t look at Tommy when you unscrewed the cap, but you felt him watching. He shifted on the floor behind you, the creak of your carpet like thunder in the heavy, humid silence.

“Didn’t come back tonight,” he finally said, quietly.

Your stomach turned in on itself like a wrung rag, but you didn’t ask for more. You didn’t push. Because when it came to Joel Miller, missing didn’t always mean gone. Not yet, at least. Instead, you poured a capful of the alcohol and soaked a cotton pad, your voice flat when you spoke again, “Sit up.”

Tommy obeyed without a word. That was the thing about him—he never fought you on this. Not when you got like this. Not when your voice went tight and your hands moved like muscle memory. You reached out and cupped his jaw, thumb just beneath that fresh cut on his lip. It was already scabbing. Still angry and red. “This one looks worse than the others,” you whispered, not even meaning to say it.

He tilted his head slightly, letting you work. “Maybe I’m just gettin’ uglier,” he offered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Maybe,” you muttered, and you both let out a breath, a semblance of a laugh.

The pad touched skin, and he hissed, muscles tensing, but he didn’t flinch away. You were careful, always careful, even when your hands were shaking. You didn’t let yourself meet his eyes. “You shouldn’t keep this stuff for me,” he said after a beat. “Ain’t right.”

“You shouldn’t need it so often,” you shot back, sharper than intended, "Ain't right."

Silence again.

The kind that meant he agreed with you, but couldn’t say so. Because that would mean admitting everything else. You finished cleaning him up, tossing the used gauze into a little bag you kept just for nights like this. Your fingers lingered on his cheek before falling back to your side.

“Y’know,” he said, eyes cast down as he pulled at a thread on the seam of your rug, “… you always ask about him first.”

You hummed, dabbing the cut with practiced care, making sure to wipe away every speck of dried blood and the thin layer of dirt clinging to his skin like residue from whatever hell he’d crawled out of. “Stop moving,” you whispered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Tommy didn’t. Just sat there with his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched, like he was waiting for some invisible blow. It made your stomach twist.

"Are you jealous of your brother?" you asked, so softly it almost got lost under the spin of the fan overhead. You kept your eyes on the wound, working at the grime with a precision that was more intimate than clinical. It wasn’t meant to be mean. And you knew what it sounded like—some bratty, loaded question you already knew the answer to. But it wasn’t about that. Not really. Joel was older. He was hot, yeah, in that rugged way that made even your friends whisper when he passed by in the truck with his arm out the window.

But he wasn’t for you. He was a grown-up, already halfway out of town with one foot in the real world. Practically eight years older.

Joel was the wall Tommy could hide behind.

That’s why you asked.

Because if Joel leaves? Tommy might have more than injuries that only you can tend to.

Tommy’s lips parted like he wanted to say something quick and dumb, his usual escape, but the words didn’t come. You watched his jaw flex under your fingers.

He finally exhaled, shaky. “Jealous ain’t the right word.”

You slowed, waiting.

“It’s just… when he’s around, things don’t go to shit so fast. House is quieter. Pa doesn’t act like such a goddamn drunk.”

You nodded, eyes dropping back to your work. The skin was clean now, the cut shallow but angry. You pressed the last cotton round against it, gently.

“I ask ‘cause I care about you,” you mumbled, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw like it was nothing.

Like it hadn’t already meant something for years now.

You're best friends.

That's all.

He looked at you. Not just glanced—looked. His brows pulled together, like he didn’t know how to accept that. Like it hurt a little, maybe, to hear someone say it out loud.

“I know,” he said, voice like gravel. “That’s why I come here.”

And that—that—landed heavy in the space between you.

Not flirtation. Not tension.

Just the truth. Just a boy with too much weight on his shoulders, and someone who noticed every time he started to sink.

"You listen to the Depeche Mode album?"

It came out of his mouth too quick—too sudden for the mood, too bright for the dim room, but maybe that was the point. Anything to cut through the static silence between you. Anything to scrape the weight off his chest, or maybe distract you from the way his hands were still trembling in his lap. You blinked, caught off guard, eyes finally lifting from the little tin of first aid supplies now resting between you. “…Violator?” you asked after a beat, voice soft. “Yeah. Like, five times already.”

He gave a little snort through his nose, barely a breath. “You’d like it. Dramatic as hell.”

“Says the guy crawling through my window like a teen movie reject.” That made him smile for real this time—small and lopsided, but it reached his eyes just enough to chase off the worst of whatever had been nesting behind them.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured. “But c’mon… Sweetest Perfection? That’s got your name written all over it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the burn in your cheeks gave you away.

“You always do this,” you muttered, finger grazing against the tube of antiseptic, careful as you lifted to apply it to each mark on his face.

“Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better when you’re the one bleeding on my floor.”

He shrugged, head tilting back against the edge of your bedframe, eyes half-lidded now. Like the effort of it all—sneaking out, climbing in, surviving—was finally catching up to him.

“You patch me up,” he said, quieter now. “Only fair I return the favor.”

You didn’t respond right away. Hand lowering to settle the tube back into the tin. Just leaned back beside him, shoulders touching faintly. Let the sound of the record player’s low hum fill the silence again. Somewhere between a love song and a funeral march.

The kind of song that fits a summer like this—too hot, too heavy, too full of things unsaid.

Four Days Later.

The hum of the crickets outside kept you restless, limbs tangled in a mess of damp sheets and sweat-slicked skin. It was another one of those nights—air thick enough to chew through, heat hanging like a damp rag on your back. Everything was uncomfortable. Even with the ceiling fan cranked to max, its groaning spin only pushed the warmth around, never easing it. Nothing was fun or relaxing. 

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just rolled from one side to the other, forehead pressed to the pillow, trying to ignore the way the silence made your chest ache more than the heat did.

Then—  

Knock.  

A beat.  

Knock, knock, knock.

You knew that rhythm. You always knew.

You didn’t rush, but your legs remembered the way. You made your way across the room, bare feet thudding softly against the wood, fingers gripping the handle. A slow twist, a full spin, and the window swung out like muscle memory. Like ritual.

Tommy was already halfway up the trellis, the worn slats creaking under his weight. His boots landed silently on your floor a second later, shoulders rising with the effort of the climb and the heat. “Your parents aren’t home?” he asked, like he hadn’t timed it perfectly. Like he hadn’t been doing this long enough to know their schedule better than your own.

“They won’t be,” you murmured, stepping aside to let him in properly. “Out of town for the weekend. Some retreat thing.”

He nodded, already dropping his bag by the beanbags like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. His hair was longer than usual, sweat curling it at the ends. Probably hasn't gotten it cut in a while. Dirt smudged along the hem of his shirt, the collar pulled loose. Another fresh cut on his knuckle.

You didn’t ask. Not yet, at least. 

He threw himself down beside your bed, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath all day. You stayed standing, shifting, watching him for a moment. He looked more tired than usual. More worn-in. And not just from the heat.

“…Long night?” you finally asked, your voice soft, nearly swallowed by the buzz of the fan and the hum of the cicadas outside.

Tommy glanced up at you. Gave you a look that was both too old for seventeen and still somehow so young.

“Yeah,” he said simply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just didn’t wanna be there.” You didn’t need the details. You’d heard enough from him over the years to read between the lines. You nodded once and turned away, heading toward the closet where you kept the old box fan.

“I’ll get the extra blankets,” you mumbled, even though you both knew he’d end up stealing yours anyway.

“Thanks, dummy,” he said, voice quieter now.  Just warm enough to make your heart twitch. Just familiar enough to remind you why you always opened the window.

Before long, the night settled around you both like a soft weight—too heavy to move, too comforting to shake off.

You ended up curled together on the couch, limbs thrown over limbs without much thought. One of your throw blankets draped half over his legs, your socked feet tucked beneath his thigh. The TV buzzed in the corner, playing some scratchy old VHS of an animated movie you'd seen a thousand times. Not anything special. Not really. Just a way to fill the silence.

The kind of film you didn’t have to watch. Just hear. Familiar voices, familiar melodies, flickering light dancing across your living room walls like it had a mind of its own.

Tommy let out a long, quiet breath. His arm was slung behind the cushions, but his pinky brushed against your shoulder every now and again—like he forgot it was there. Or maybe like he didn’t. You didn't question it. Didn’t have to. His presence was loud in all the ways that mattered.

You glanced over once, catching him mid-blink, eyes heavy-lidded from exhaustion or maybe peace. That quiet sort of peace he only ever seemed to find here. With you.

“Y’wanna change it?” he asked suddenly, voice scratchy with fatigue.

You shook your head. “No. I like this one.”

He hummed in agreement, letting his eyes fall closed again, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Figured. You always did.” Outside, the cicadas buzzed. Inside, the old animation played on—flickering, faded, and just enough. Just like the two of you. Not quite kids. Not quite something more. But close enough to keep holding on.

"You still thinkin' about the military?"

The words slipped out softer than you meant, barely more than a breath—like your mouth had to wrestle with them first. Like, just saying it out loud made it more real. Tommy didn’t answer right away. He blinked slowly, kept his eyes on the screen, though you could tell he wasn’t really watching anymore. The flicker of cartoon colors lit up the sharp cut of his jaw, the bruise yellowing near his temple, the scab on his lip.

Finally, his thumb tapped once, twice, against the couch cushion.  

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “Still thinkin’ about it.”

It landed in your chest like a stone. You turned your gaze forward, too, the movie nothing but background now, noise to drown in. You didn’t want to say it out loud, but the thought of him leaving—of him choosing to go—was something cold and mean curling in your stomach.

“Why?” you whispered, knowing the answer, but still asking. Always asking.

He shrugged, but it was hollow. Forced.  

“Get outta here, I guess. Make somethin’ outta it. Outta me.”

You swallowed hard, teeth pressing down on the inside of your cheek. You hated the way he said that. Like this place made him nothing. Like his worth had to be earned in blood and sand somewhere far away.

“…You already are something,” you mumbled, voice nearly lost to the old VHS hiss. “… to me, anyway.”

That made him glance over. Just a flick of his eyes. Then a longer pause. Tommy didn’t say anything, not at first. Just leaned back a little deeper into the couch, fingers curling slightly where they brushed your shoulder. “I know,” he said after a while, quietly. Almost guilty. “That’s what makes it hard.”

And there it was. That weight again. The one that never really left the room. You just shifted closer, rested your head against his shoulder, and let the silence hold what neither of you could say yet. Before long, the soft hum of the old television melted into the background, swallowed by sleep. You’d drifted without meaning to—head tucked into the curve of his neck, the steady rise and fall of his chest guiding your breath.

He smelled like cheap cigar smoke and dirt—like summer sweat and scraped knuckles. It clung to him like a second skin, like something sacred. But to you, it didn’t reek. It didn’t repulse. It was him. And that meant it was safe. You might’ve stayed like that all night, if not for the subtle shift of his body beneath you. A twitch in his arm. A breath too sharp. He moved like he didn’t want to wake you, but your body knew the absence before your mind caught up.

Your words spilled out before you could even register them: “Where’re you going?” It was slurred, drowsy, and fragile around the edges. Like your heart had noticed the emptiness first. Tommy froze halfway out of his seat. His silhouette was nothing but a shadow in the blue light of the paused screen. He looked back at you over his shoulder, one hand raking through his messy hair.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said lowly, his voice all gravel and guilt. “Just… thought I’d head back before the sun comes up.”

You sat up, still foggy from sleep, a crease forming between your brows. “Why?”

He hesitated. Eyes flicked down to the floor, then up to yours.  

“Don’t wanna be here when they get back. Don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

There was something else under that, though. You knew him too well not to hear it. The fear. The shame. The pull of a house that never really felt like home.

You shifted closer, reached out, and caught his wrist before he could rise all the way. “Tommy.”

He stilled. The name hung between you like a warning, like a plea.

“You don’t have to go,” you said, softer now. “Not yet.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his shoulders sagged told you enough.

Six Days Later

The magazine pages whispered as you flipped them lazily, the glossy smell of print clinging to your fingertips. Your lamp was the only light on, casting soft shadows across your bedroom walls, the kind that danced just a little if you stared long enough.

A knock—soft, measured—tapped at your window.

You didn’t even flinch.

You just reached over and cracked the window open. The warm night air curled in first, then came Tommy, sneakers quiet against the hardwood, curls messy like he’d just come from another sprint down the alleyway. Or a shower. You could never tell. 

“Thought you said you’d knock like a normal person next time,” you muttered, not looking up from your spread of perfume ads and terrible quizzes.

“I did knock,” he said, dusting grass from his jeans. “You’re just picky.”

You snorted.

He laid down on the floor beside your bed, stretching his legs out in that exaggerated way he always did. Like the world never made space for him, so he had to take it himself.

“What’s the quiz tonight?” he asked, peeking over your blanket edge. “What kind of soup are you based on your emotional trauma?”

“Close,” you said, holding up the page, “It’s ‘What’s Your Signature Shade of Lipstick?’ Apparently, I’m cherry heartbreak.”

“That sounds fake,” he exhaled, “You’re more like… chapstick with a vengeance.”

“So, I'm boring?” you laughed, tossing a throw pillow at his head. He caught it and hugged it like it was the prize at a carnival.

Silence settled for a second, easy and loose.

Then:

“Would you rather,” he started, eyes fixed on your ceiling fan, “Be stuck in a zombie apocalypse… or have to sit through your dad giving a sex talk?”

You groaned. “Tommy.”

“No, c’mon. Answer.”

You rolled your eyes, thoughtful. “Honestly? Zombies. At least with them, I can run.” He laughed low in his throat, satisfied, "I wouldn't peg you for the type to survive."

“Okay, okay—your turn,” you said, sitting up straighter, twisting the magazine shut. “Would you rather go a week without your Walkman, or without Oreos?”

“That’s evil,” he said immediately. “That’s a war crime. You’re violating, like, three conventions.”

“You don't know what a convention is—Pick, Miller.”

“…Oreos,” he sighed dramatically. “I need the tunes more. Music’s survival.”

You gave a mock solemn nod, like he’d just said something incredibly wise.

“Okay, okay,” he said, pointing at you. “Your turn again. Would you rather kiss Joel—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—or,” he went on, ignoring you, “be grounded for a year with no music, no books, no nothing.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “I'd rather chew glass.”

Tommy grinned like a fox. “So you would kiss Joel.”

You launched another pillow at his chest. He caught that one, too, and laughed like it was the best noise in the world. It was. It was the best noise in the world.  Eventually, he shifted onto his side, arm propping up his head, eyes settling on yours with that half-serious calm he got when the world slowed down.

The magazine had been forgotten somewhere between the second round of “would you rather” and the moment Tommy started toying with a few loose strands of your hair without thinking. The radio was on now, low volume, casting soft blues—some old song you weren't really vibing to, but didn't dislike either.  

You turned your head a little, just enough to catch his eyes where he lay beside you on the rug.

“How’s your dad been?”

The question was gentle, but it landed with a weight neither of you could ignore.

Tommy blinked, his hand pausing mid-braid.

“Same as always,” he muttered, eyes shifting toward your ceiling again. “Worse, maybe. But I don’t know. Think I’m getting better at dodging.”

"Tommy—" You started, and he raised a hand in protest, as if already asking you to calm down. Though it wasn’t a good answer. There wasn’t a good answer to begin with.

“I heard him the other night,” you said softly. “Through the phone when you called. Yelling. Surprised he even let you on the landline.”

Tommy didn’t reply. Just breathed out slowly through his nose and picked at a fray in your carpet. You gave him a minute.

“I dunno,” he mumbled finally, “some days I think I’m used to it. Like it’s just… background noise now.”

You rolled to your side to face him more directly. “That’s not something you’re supposed to get used to, Tommy.”

His jaw tightened. Not angry. Just locked.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, “… you play the hand you're dealt, right?”

You wanted to say something—anything—to fix it. But you’d said things before. He always took them like a thank-you note and folded them into some internal drawer, deep and unreachable.

So instead, you just reached for his hand. He let you take it. Let your thumb trace the ridge of his knuckle, where a fading bruise bloomed soft purple even against tan skin. 

“I keep thinkin’ about August,” he said after a long stretch of silence, “’Bout leavin’. What it’ll be like not having a reason to go back home.”

Your heart thudded a little harder. But you didn’t let go of his hand.

Am I not a reason?—

“You’ll have to write me letters,” you said quietly. “Or I’ll send someone to kick your ass.”

He looked at you finally, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’d do it yourself,” he said. “You got better aim than half the football team.”

You shrugged. “Someone had to teach you not to flinch, huh?” And for a while, you both just laid there, hands laced, the weight of the world still heavy—but a little more bearable.

The quiet had started to settle again.

The kind where nothing needed to be said. The kind where it was enough just to share a space, two teenagers on a bedroom floor, toes brushing the edge of an old rug. The hum of the radio filled the silence. Outside, a siren wailed distant and low, swallowed quickly by the thick Texas night.

Then—

“Oh my god—”

You bolted upright so fast it startled Tommy, your voice cracking into a higher pitch than usual.

“What?—"

“It’s on the wall—it’s on the wall, oh my god, Tommy—”

He followed your frantic stare, his eyes landing on a slow-moving brown spider just above your bookshelf. Average size. Harmless, really. But to you?

Apocalypse-tier.

You scrambled backward, nearly climbing onto the nightstand.

“Kill it—Please, please, kill it—Move it out.. Let it leave.”

Tommy blinked, then—unexpectedly—chuckled. Rough, and gravelly from a puberty-bent chuckle. 

“Ain’t gonna kill it,” he said calmly, already rising to his feet. “It’s just a wolf spider. They eat worse things.” You stared at him in betrayal.

“Tommy, it has legs, it’s moving, it’s in my room.”

“Technically, you’re in its house,” he mumbled under his breath, stepping toward the wall like this was all perfectly routine. You pressed yourself into the far corner like the thing had a vendetta against you personally. It did. Okay? It totally fucking looked at you. 

Tommy grabbed a tissue box and gently coaxed the spider onto one of the corners, slow and patient like he’d done it a hundred times. “They’re misunderstood, you know,” he said, glancing back at you. “People always think they’re tryin’ to bite, but most of ‘em just want out. Just scared.”

“I want out,” you hissed, eyes wide. 

With an easy flick of his wrist, he opened your window and let the spider drop onto the trellis below. It disappeared into the shadows.

Tommy shut the pane and locked it. “There. Crisis averted.”

You didn’t relax right away. Not until he sat beside you again, and you could feel that it was gone.

He bumped your shoulder with his own, a little smug. “You good now, tough guy?”

You exhaled hard, the tension finally leaking out of your limbs. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…Maybe just a little.”

He smiled—but not the cocky one. The real one. The soft one you didn’t see as often. The one that always caught you off guard.

“You didn’t have to be nice about it,” you muttered.

“I wanted to be.” He didn’t say more, but you felt it. That tiny shift in the air. The part of him he didn’t show to everyone else. Not even Joel. The part that didn’t flinch when something ugly looked back at him.

And maybe, for the first time in a while, you weren’t just seeing Tommy for Tommy. But, rather, who he is when he isn't forced to be a Miller. 

THREE WEEKS LATER

The engine roared to life beneath your hands, louder and meaner than you’d expected. It rattled through your ribs, made your fingertips buzz. The kind of sound that screamed run, that made your stomach flip and your blood throb hot. It would be too soon if you ever felt this again in your lifetime. 

This was—without a doubt—the craziest thing you’d ever done. And you were doing it for him. 

The drive was short, just a few streets down, but every red light felt like a lifetime. Your knuckles clutched the wheel like it might buck out from under you, but when you finally parked in the dark mouth of the cul-de-sac, you felt it: that jittery sort of thrill only reckless kids with nothing to lose ever really feel. You slid the stolen keys into your jacket pocket. Still warm. The Miller house sat quiet, porch light off but the living room lamp bleeding faint yellow through the curtains. The patrol car in the driveway was what made your heart stutter.

His dad was home.

Perfect.

You ducked low, sneakers thudding softly as you crossed the backyard and leapt the fence. Not your cleanest vault, but better than last time—your palms stung, a branch scratched your leg, but you didn’t stop. The bungalow was squat and familiar, the roof a shallow climb. Nothing like your second-story escape hatch. You clawed your way onto the shingles, heart hammering, body moving on muscle memory.

You crouched beside the window—his window.

Knock. A pause.  

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The signal.

Curtains rustled. The old window creaked open. And then there he was—Tommy. Mess of sleep-mussed hair, eyes wide like he was still trying to process what he was seeing.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, voice low but sharp, too surprised to be angry.

“Happy birthday,” you breathed, and held up the keychain.

His mouth fell open. “Is that—? You stole a car?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Borrowed.” It's not like your Dad will miss it for the whole four hours. 

Tommy just stared at you. Then he did that half-laugh thing he always did when his emotions tripped over each other—somewhere between awe and disbelief. He blinked once. Twice. “You stole a car,” he said, flatly, not quite believing the words out loud. “With my dad home?”

You didn’t say anything. Just held up the plastic keychain you’d clipped on, shaped like a stupid little dinosaur—the kind of joke he always made at the gas station. Something small. Something dumb. Something his.

"Police officer Father," He looked at it, then back at you. And for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to start yelling, or laughing. Instead, he sighed. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Figured you could use a break.”

He was quiet. Really quiet. Then: “Yeah,” he said, softer this time. “I could.”

He stepped back from the window, letting you crawl through. You both moved carefully, aware of every creak in the floorboards, every shadow. Only then did you realize—he was shirtless. His frame stood faintly outlined in the low light of his room, back turned to you as he rummaged through a drawer, sleep still clinging to his shoulders like something he hadn’t quite shrugged off yet. His curls were a mess, flattened on one side, the red imprint of his pillow still stamped along his cheek. You must’ve woken him. Hard sleep, too—he always crashed deep when things at home got loud.

You stood awkwardly near the window, hands shoved in the pockets of your hoodie, trying not to stare at the way his back moved, or the slow stretch of muscle when he yawned.

It felt a bit more intimate than your room. 

Talk. Say something. Anything.

“So,” you started, voice a little too dry, too loud in the hush of the room, “… Eighteen.”

He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, one brow raised, “Big number,” you added, like that helped. Like it meant anything.

Tommy let out a low breath—something halfway between a laugh and a sigh—and finally tugged a worn T-shirt over his head. “Yeah, well. Don’t feel any different.”

You nodded slowly, still avoiding his eyes. “Think you’re supposed to get a new license, vote, buy scratch-offs… Porn section of blockbuster… enlist.” That last word stuck in your throat for a second longer than the rest.

He caught it.

The air shifted. The easy haze of the moment tightened—thin string pulled taut between you. He didn’t say anything right away, just grabbed a hoodie off the back of his desk chair and pulled it on over his head. Then: “You worried I’m still thinkin’ about that?”

You shrugged, gaze flicking toward the floorboards. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I ain’t going anywhere,” he said, firm but not harsh. “Not yet, anyway.”

You glanced at him then, just for a second—and for once, he didn’t look like the kid sneaking through your window to escape a fight. 

He looked older. Still the same, still Tommy, but with something under the surface. A little sharper. A little more worn.

You didn't notice as it slowly morphed. But, something about this summer was different. Eighteen didn’t make him different. Life already had. Maybe a little too fast for your liking. 

“C’mon,” he murmured after a second, flicking the light off behind him. “Let’s get you outta here before my dad decides to take a piss and sees your shoe prints on the damn roof.”

You weren't that obvious… were you?

A quick nod, falling into step behind him, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest for how calm he looked. Maybe it was muscle memory by now—he’d snuck in and out of his house so many times it was practically routine. But for you? This was chaos. Controlled chaos, but chaos all the same. He paused by the window, then motioned for you to hold up a second as he peeked outside. The porch light was still off. The dog wasn’t barking. The patrol car was empty in the drive. “All right,” he whispered. “Same way you came in, just backwards. Watch your foot on the ledge—it dips on the left.”

“Right.” You crouched near the window, already regretting your choice of jeans as they pulled too tight at the knees. “Totally got this.”

Tommy snorted. “You’re gonna break your neck one day tryin’ to impress me.”

“I’m not—” you started to hiss, but he was already half out the window, crouched low on the shingles, one hand reaching back for yours.

You took it without thinking.

His grip was steady, grounding. Even in the dark, with his house behind you both like something waiting to bite, he made you feel like you weren’t completely out of your depth.

“Okay,” he muttered, once you were both crouched on the roof. “Trellis is on your left. Step lightly, don’t lean too far out. It’ll hold if you don’t freak out.”

You did, in fact, freak out.

You made it halfway down before your foot slipped, your body knocking against the wooden frame with a loud thud that echoed down the street. You clamped your hand over your mouth, wide-eyed.

“Jesus,” Tommy hissed from above, then dropped after you with practiced ease, boots silent on the grass. It baffles you how he could make a half-story jump look easy. He caught your elbow before you could stumble again.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” you wheezed. “Mostly just… bruised my pride.”

He smirked, just barely. “That thing’s made of glass.” You elbowed him softly, trying not to grin too wide as the two of you crept down the street, the stolen car still parked a block down. You handed him the keys without a word, already knowing you weren’t the one who should be behind the wheel.

He'd been driving since he was thirteen. Probably. A sad, unfortunate task of driving your father home from the bar. 

Tommy opened the door, eyes flicking across the empty road before jerking his chin toward the passenger side.

“You’re insane,” he muttered once you were both in, engine purring like a wild animal barely tamed. “Stealin’ a car. Hoppin’ fences. Breakin’ into my house.”

“I brought cake,” you offered, motioning towards the back, a small cake in a semi-beat up box resting on the floor of the passenger side.

That smile again—quiet, tired, crooked. It looked good on him. “You’re still insane.”

You leaned your head back against the seat. “Yeah. But I’m your kind of insane.”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. Just put the car in gear, eyes fixed on the road ahead like there was nothing else in the world he needed to look at. But his voice came soft as the engine’s hum. “Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

The car hummed along the cracked pavement, tires crunching against loose gravel on the side streets. The night air slipped in through the cracked windows, carrying the faint buzz of cicadas and the distant glow of streetlights.

Tommy’s hand tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel as “Just Like Heaven” spun through the speakers, Morrissey’s voice low and urgent. You sang along quietly, half-smiling, head leaning against the window as the world blurred by in soft streaks of light.

“This one’s yours, right?” he asked, glancing your way, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nodded toward the radio.

You shrugged. “One of ‘em.” He flicked the dial, then settled on something louder — “Love Shack” by The B-52’s. The beat was infectious, and the car filled with your voices belting out the chorus, off-key but all in. Somewhere between laughing and singing, Tommy pulled off the main roads and slipped the car into a narrow dirt path that led to the local forest preserve. The headlights cut through tall grass and low-hanging branches. Your heart kicked up—not just from the thrill, but from the rawness of being out here, away from all the noise and rules. The car came to a stop near the edge of the woods. Tommy killed the engine, and the world fell almost completely silent—except for the chirp of night creatures and the distant rush of a small creek.

“C’mon,” he whispered, swinging open the door and jumping out. You followed, the box of cake clutched tight in your hands.

He led the way, moving with that familiar ease through brambles and shadows, scaling the low fence at the preserve’s border without hesitation. You paused for a breath, the cool night air washing over you, then hoisted yourself up beside him on the wooden ledge. From here, the town sprawled out beneath you—a scattering of sleepy lights blinking against the dark canvas of the night. It was quiet, save for the distant hum of life.

Tommy pulled the cake from the box and handed you a plastic fork. You both ate in companionable silence, the frosting sticky on your fingers, the cold cake sweet and real.

“Thanks,” he said finally, voice softer than before. “For this. For everything.” You shrugged, your eyes fixed on the stars just barely visible through the trees. “I’m glad you came,” you admitted quietly.

He looked over, that half-smile still lingering. “Yeah, me too.”

The night stretched out around you—endless and wild, just like the two of you.

Tommy poked at the soft cake with his fork, eyes fixed on the distant glow of the town below. After a long moment, he finally spoke—voice low, careful.

“Hey… I might be leaving.. earlier than I had planned…" A beat, "… August.”

Your fork froze mid-air. The words hit like a fist to your gut—sharp, unexpected. You blinked, trying to steady your breath, but it caught in your throat.

“August? That soon?” Your voice cracked, disbelief sharpening every syllable. “You never said— I thought you were still figuring it out. You didn’t even talk to me about this."

"You'll be missing senior year—You're dropping out?" 

The questions rattled in your throat. 

He looked away, jaw tight. “I didn’t wanna worry you.”

But you felt the sting of betrayal twist inside your chest. 

You trusted him. You thought he’d hold onto this secret a little longer, or better yet, let you in before deciding something so big.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you trusted me,” Your voice was raw, trembling. “I was here—waiting. Thinking, maybe we had more time.”

Tommy’s hand reached out hesitantly, but you pulled back, the hurt sharper than the night air.

“It’s not like I wanted to leave,” he snapped, voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. “You think this is what I want? I’ve got my dad breathing down my neck every damn day—I don’t even breathe right and he’s ready to throw a punch.”

You stilled, heart thudding, but he wasn’t done.

“I can’t live like that anymore. And I can’t stay here just because it’s easier for you.”

The silence hit like a slap.

Your lips parted, the words caught somewhere deep in your chest, burning like acid. “I didn’t ask you to stay for me, Tommy. I asked you not to disappear like I never mattered.”

His face tightened, jaw clenching.

“Yeah? Well I’m tired of being scared shitless in my own home,” he barked suddenly. “It ain’t all about you.”

The words dropped between you like a landmine.

He turned away, breath caught halfway between anger and regret, already knowing he’d gone too far. His shoulders slumped—just a bit—his hands flexing at his sides like he wished he could take it all back.

But the damage was done.

You turned your face toward the stars, blinking fast, hoping the cold night air would dry the sting in your eyes before it spilled over. Everything inside you cracked in quiet, invisible places.

He’d never spoken to you like that.

And still—it wasn't the anger that hurt.

It was the fact that maybe, deep down, he’d meant it.

The night suddenly felt wider. Like the space between you wasn’t just emotional—it was physical now, stretching mile by mile. And for the first time, you wondered if there would ever be enough left to come back to.

It was already unraveling. And neither of you knew how to stop it.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up like acid in your throat. The room spun just a little too fast.

“I_—I…_ I have to go home,” you blurted out, voice shaking. “This isn’t a good idea. Being here, with you—.”

Tommy’s eyes snapped to yours, confused, hurt. “What are you talking about?”

But you shook your head, bitter tears pooling behind your lashes. “You’re leaving. You’re not waiting. You’re already gone, Tommy. I feel like I’m just… a stop before the next thing, and maybe you don’t even care if I’m still here when you’re gone—here, without you.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, voice cracking, “What’s fair about this? I thought we were something. I thought I mattered more than some damn deadline.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “You think I want this? You think I want to hurt you?”

“Then don’t leave like this. Don’t just decide without me,” you snapped, your heart shattering with every word.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers tightening against thick curls, voice low. “Look, I’m not saying goodbye yet. I’m just trying to figure it out. I don’t know how this ends either.”

You swallowed hard, wiping your face roughly. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe there is no ending. Maybe this is the ending."

Tommy’s gaze softened, but the weight still hung in the air: “I don’t want to lose you.”

You gave a bitter laugh, “You don't know what you want to lose."

And with that, the tension simmered but didn’t fully fade. The night wrapped around you both—heavy, uncertain, and raw with things left unsaid.

ONE WEEK LATER

The week that followed felt endless. Your world shrank down to the four walls of your bedroom, the heavy weight of silence pressing in on you like a stone. You were grounded—no phone calls, no going out, no distractions—just you and the growing ache in your chest. Your father was pretty mad about the car, evidently. 

Every afternoon, you stared out your window, hoping for a sign, some kind of message from Tommy. But there was only stillness. No knocks, no visits, no echoes of his laugh.

It was then, in the quiet and loneliness, that the truth settled deep and stubborn—you loved him. Not just as a friend, but something more, something raw and real. And now, you were losing him. Losing him to something you couldn’t fight, couldn’t change. Days passed in a blur of walls, until one night, just as the sky turned navy and the stars blinked awake, you heard it—a sharp knock at your window. Your heart leapt, hope rising, but you stayed still. Too scared to move. Too numb to answer.

Another knock. Then another.

When you still didn’t respond, the unmistakable sound of a lock snapping cracked through the night.

Your breath caught as the window slid open, and there he was—Tommy, breathless, eyes wild but filled with something fierce.

“I’m not letting you shut me out,” he muttered, voice rough with desperation.

You didn’t know if you wanted to be mad or relieved. 

All you knew was that suddenly, the walls around you weren’t so suffocating anymore.

It felt like for the first time in a week, you had inhaled.

"Did you just break my fuckin’ window?" you hissed, sitting up in bed as the frame creaked and gave way.

Tommy’s hands were already gripping the sill, one leg halfway in like he was scaling enemy territory. "Wasn’t gonna just sit out there all night while you ignored me."

"You broke the lock!"

"You weren’t answerin’."

You stared at him, lip trembling, rage and heartbreak fusing into something sharp. “You can’t just—crawl through here like everything’s fine.”

He stepped in slowly, the hardwood creaking beneath his boots. His hair was messier than usual, face was flushed like he’d been pacing outside for a while. “Didn’t come to pretend it’s fine.”

You looked away, arms crossed tight over your chest, trying to keep yourself from unraveling. “You left. You chose to leave, Tommy. And you didn’t even tell me ‘til the night of your damn birthday.”

“I was gonna—”

“But you didn’t!” Your voice cracked, too loud for the hour. You didn’t care. “You waited until I was in a car with you. After I brought the cake. After I climbed your goddamn roof. You waited ‘til I was too far in to walk away easily.”

He ran a hand through his curls, jaw clenched. “You think it’s been easy for me? You think I want to leave?”

“You didn’t have to make the choice yet.” Your voice broke into something smaller. “But you did. You made it without me. Like I was just—I dunno. Temporary.”

That landed. You saw it in his face.

Tommy stepped forward, careful, like you might bolt. “You ain’t temporary. Not to me.”

You looked at him, tears blurring the edges of your vision. “Then why does it feel like I already lost you?”

Silence.

He sat at the edge of your bed, hands clasped, elbows on his knees. 

“Because I was stupid. I should’ve told you sooner. Should’ve asked what you thought. I just—I got scared, alright? Scared you’d look at me differently. That you’d stop… carin’.”

You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, your throat tight and hot.

“I’m not askin’ you to be okay with it,” he muttered, softer now. “I just needed you to know that this—you—mean more to me than anything I’m walkin’ into.”

You wiped your face with the back of your sleeve, breathing raggedly. Not remembering when the tears had started, only recognizing that they came out in heavy, depleted gasps, “I hate that I love you."

He blinked. His mouth opened—then shut.

Then opened again, “Say that again.”

You just shook your head and turned away, too tired, too wrecked.

But he was already pulling you into him, arms tight around your shoulders, voice low and cracking against your ear.

“I love you, too." A beat, "God help me, I do.”

And for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest loosened—just a little. You're kids. Teenagers. Young adults, or whatever. Nobody knows what love is, really. If it's sitting on your floor, giggling to old scratchy records, or bragging about how he almost scored a detention after fifth period. Or, when you're curled up in your bed listening to him talk about the way his dad ruthlessly beats him. How each scratch, and old scabbed scar, made you feel sick. Nauseated. When you felt ugly after homecoming, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear—so carefully, it felt like he was touching glass. And that was the first time you felt the burn. The—all-consuming, swallowing burn in your stomach. Helping him study for his chemistry final, and realizing that he's a lot brighter than he lets on to be. He hides it, almost. 

The silence settled between you like fog—thick, warm, but charged with something that made your fingers twitch against the fabric of his shirt. You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to feel it, let alone speak it out loud. But it was already in the air. Spoken. Tangible. And now he was holding you like he meant to protect you from the world falling apart, the same way he always had—but different. This time, there was weight behind it. No more pretending. No more circling what this was. His thumb moved, slow and calloused, brushing just under your eye. Wiping away the last of the tears. You leaned into it before you could stop yourself.

“You serious?” he murmured, barely above a whisper, like he couldn’t believe it was real. You gave a small, wordless nod, not trusting your voice. But he saw it. Felt it. And whatever restraint he was holding on to finally crumbled.

His forehead leaned against yours first. Breath warm, shared between you in the space of a heartbeat. Then, slowly, tentatively—his nose brushed yours. And then he kissed you. Soft at first. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he touched you too hard. His lips were warm, unsure but wanting. Desperate in a way you hadn’t expected, like he’d been holding back for years and now the dam had cracked.

You kissed him back just as desperately, hands curling into his t-shirt, pulling him in closer, grounding yourself in the only thing that felt real—him. The pain, the fear, the ache of knowing he’d be gone soon—all of it dissolved into that kiss. The way he cupped your face like he was memorizing every inch. Into the little gasp you let out when his hand moved to the small of your back, keeping you close. When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless and a little dazed, he let out the smallest laugh—barely a sound, really—like he couldn’t believe it had happened.

“You know this changes everything, right?” he whispered.

You nodded, heart pounding. “Yeah.”

"Yeah—I know." 

And you meant it. Even if it hurt. Even if the summer ended, and he'd leave, and nothing would ever be the same again. For right now, he was here. And he was yours.

But it didn’t. It changed nothing.

Not really.

You woke up to an empty room. A hollow space where warmth had been just hours before. The blanket was still half-pushed down from where he'd slid out, his scent still clinging faintly to the pillow beside yours—sweat, earth, cheap soap, and something that was just him.

But he was gone.

He usually was, sure. Slipping out before sunrise, before your parents could catch him, before the world could press its weight back on his shoulders. But this time… it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t sneaking out. This wasn’t teenage rebellion or a midnight escape. This felt like a goodbye.

Your chest ached, heavy with the realization. Something cold coiled in your gut, worse than guilt, worse than anger. It was an absence. A ghost before the body was even gone.

You sat up, pulling your knees to your chest as you stared at the open window. 

The lock he’d broken was still busted. Hanging loose.

You told yourself not to cry.

That it was just Tommy. 

That he’d be back like always. Grinning like an idiot, calling you baby-girl or some stupid nickname he made up just to get under your skin. Until last night, whispering it into your ear as you followed the motions of each other's hands slipping underneath fabric. An Intimacy you never thought you'd have shared—especially with your best friend. 

But your throat burned. Your chest clenched.

Because deep down, under all the denial, you already knew.

Tommy Miller just broke your fucking heart. 

WINTER OF 1993 Austin, Texas

Tap.  

A pause.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound of the pen striking the podium sliced through the idle hum of the lecture hall. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting the room in a dull, bone-colored glow. Your eyes blinked against it, focus drifting between the empty lines of your notebook and the voice that finally broke the silence. 

What a familiar rhythm. 

“Mushrooms,” the professor said, slow and sure, “are just like us.”

You shifted in your seat, the denim of your jacket brushing against worn plastic armrests. 

No one around you laughed. Not today.

Dr. Halpern was a known eccentric—half biologist, half prophet, and all intensity. His lectures were unpredictable. Sometimes thrilling. Sometimes unnerving. Always precise. Today, though, there was something different in the way he carried the silence between each word.

“Cordyceps,” he said, clicking the projector remote with a twitch of his fingers. A distorted image appeared: an ant, stiff and lifeless, with a fungal stalk piercing through its skull.

“It’s a parasitic fungus. Latches onto the brain. Manipulates behavior. Forces movement. Controls the host. The body moves, but the mind is no longer its own.”

He spoke cleanly, clinically. But something in his tone itched beneath your skin.

The room had gone still, too still. Pens stopped scratching. Someone a few rows back let their leg stop bouncing.

“So could it affect humans?” a voice asked. It was a half-laughing question, barely confident enough to be heard.

Dr. Halpern smiled. Not kindly.

“No. Not yet. Not with current climate conditions.”

A pause.

“But it’s not entirely out of the question.”

Another click. A still of a rainforest. Then a slide of a CDC chart. Then nothing.

“All it takes is temperature. Adaptation. A small shift in the way the world turns.”

He said it like a fact, not fiction. And you could feel the way the words settled in your chest, like dust that wouldn’t move even if you coughed.

You looked down at your notes. Still blank. Still waiting.

Outside, the sun shone heavy and golden through the tall lecture windows. But it felt cold.

The room felt too quiet now. The kind of quiet that you knew would stick with you long after the bell rang. The kind of quiet that doesn’t leave your bones, even after the semester ends. And maybe, for the first time, you wondered what the end of the world would actually feel like. The lecture continued for what felt like hours, brain drifting in and out of focus. Eventually, everyone stood up and packed, some dropping off their statements at the front. 

You slipped the paper across the edge of Dr. Halpern’s desk, the printed pages curling slightly from where your fingers had gripped them too hard during the walk across campus. He didn’t look up right away. Instead, he pinched the top corner of the paper between two fingers and tugged it forward, adjusting his glasses. His lips moved silently as he scanned the title. Then, he made a sound—small, almost amused. Not unkind. “This is the piece on environmental psychology and developmental trauma?”

You nodded. Words caught in your throat. You hadn’t given it a title. Didn’t know how to.

His eyes scanned the first paragraph again, then flicked to yours.

“The path you drew between cyclical abuse and emotional response mechanisms is… intense,” he said plainly. “The father figure—violent, unpredictable. And the boy, always afraid, always calculating. How he survives in that house… It’s vivid. Uncomfortably so.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. You weren’t ready to lie and call it fiction.

“But it’s excellent work,” he added, softer this time. “Unflinching. Brutal in the right places. There’s clarity in your anger. And control in the way you let it bleed through.”

He tapped the pages with the back of his pen, then gave a slow nod. “You’ve got a good voice. You should use it.”

You nodded again, more out of instinct than conviction. Your hand was already on your bag strap, itching to escape. His compliment lingered in the air between you, like smoke from a match that had just gone out. The moment felt too quiet. Too seen. You muttered a thank you and turned, heart thudding too fast in your chest. The hallway outside was humming with students, the overhead fluorescents buzzing, a girl laughing too loudly into a payphone. You leaned your back against the brick wall just outside the classroom, staring down at the empty palm of your hand like it should be holding something.

You hadn’t said his name once in the essay. But every sentence was his.

Every bruised sentence. Every corner of the page filled with that house, that silence, that boy with scraped knuckles and too-wide eyes. 

Tommy.

authors note: hi i love him, your honor. anyway feedback is appreciated tyvm!!!

masterlist | next chapter

[wasitforrevenge]

go your own way

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ chapter one of under pressure ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

pairing: preoutbreak!cowboy!singledad! joel miller x fem reader

rating/warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI (smut in later parts) no big warnings for this chapter i don’t think!

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: when your career gets put on pause for the summer and you’ve got nothing to occupy your time, a favor from your best-friend has you babysitting a beautiful little girl AND trying not to fall in love with the man who raised her.

author notes: hi 1st chapter is out sooner than expected i am super excited so here you go! please like, reblog and comment, send me a message if you’d like to be added to the tag list and please drink some water and stay safe :) no joel in this one but his pov next chapter! hehe yay

life was changed at 8 years old when you were brought to live in the middle of omaha, nebraska, with your aunt may. growing up on her farm, you learned routine and actual stability. it was peaceful, always just the two of you. life was quiet, you spent your childhood drawing and creating, caring for the animals and tending the gardens, pottery and stainted glass projects. repotting plants and reading every book you could get your hands on. training on the horse you adopted named clementine, laughing with your aunt at dinner and listening to all the stories of her childhood with your mom. being in the place she grew up was odd, you’d never visited here before everything happened. the art was hers, one of the last things you had left of her, you remember sitting at the table together, watching her create amazing sculptures and pictures and it was all gone in the blink of an eye.

by the time you turned 18, you were ready to pursue a career in the arts, something your mother never got the chance to finish, there’s a piece of you that never wanted to leave the farm, sticking close to what you know, but you knew you couldn’t shy away forever now that high school was done. the only good thing you gained from it was your best friend maria, the girl who’s been there for you since she caught you crying in the bathroom one time freshman year, and since then you’ve both been inseparable. you and maria had been planning to move for college, and when it happened, neither of you looked back.

you and maria had moved into the dorms of whatever random building they assigned you. twin beds, shared bathrooms, and very thin walls, it was the college experience but it was weird being back in austin, texas, after all that time living in omaha. you never thought you’d be back here again since “the accident” happened, as your aunt likes it to call. but here you were, attending the art school that your mother had attended but never finished. you knew missing your aunt may and clementine was going to be hard, but this was your dream.

at 23, you were in your second to last year of art school, time has flown by. it’s consisted of so many lectures and art projects. visits back home for school breaks, you’ve missed may and clementine deeply. paintings and clay figures littered the walls of your shared apartment off campus with maria. while you’re taking the creative route, your dear best friend has gone into the legal side of things and is working to pass the bar exam. college has only helped grow your friendship, from the little coffee dates and studying in the library together, to partying like there’s no tomorrow and nursing the hangover the next day.

fast forward to 25: the college experience ended, and life began. you became a curator for an art gallery in the city after getting your degree, it was a dream to be able to travel to different countries to collect amazing pieces, see phenomenal views and learn about the art culture all over the world. you’ve been to at least 15 different countries, exploring as much as you could, but you always ended up back in austin. it was home. its where your friends were, it’s where you felt the most comfortable, it was where you grew up with your loving parents until you moved away, it’s where you and your best friend have built lives. maria has become a successful attorney and now lives with her boyfriend tommy.

they met one night when you and her were out getting drinks two years ago and have been inseparable every since. it was incredible to watch your best friend find love in a world where it’s just one night stands and ignored text messages. even your aunt got married a few years ago to a woman named florence. where your love life is concerned… there isn’t one. not because you don’t want it, but because it’s not worth the heartbreak, not worth the stress. work is enough to keep you fulfilled, and maybe one day things would change, but for now, you aren’t holding your breath; you’ve got time to figure that side of things out. you’ve had a few hookups since moving here for college, men from many places have tried to flirt with you while procuring sculptures and paintings, but business and pleasure are just something that can’t be mixed.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

2 years later, present day,

the drive back from chicago was always peaceful, leaving and watching the skyline disappear behind you was bittersweet, this work trip that involved two art gallery openings over the weekend, a few drinks at a fancy restaurant with some art colleagues, and a hotel room with a great view. your thoughts of weekend were being drowned out by fleetwood mac’s “go your own way” playing over the radio. as much as you loved the travel, you loved your own bed more, surrounded by all the things you love and admire. it has been far too long since you’ve been back in your comfy reading chair curled up with a cup of coffee and a good smutty romance book… four days to be exact.

your thoughts of your most recent read were stopped by the sound of your phone ringing, cutting off the music. you hit the button on your steering wheel to accept the call.

“hey lidia, everything okay?” you politely asked your boss, lidia, when the call connected, “i’m on the way back from chicago now, i’ve sent you the invoices to your email.”

“wonderful! thank you,” lidia said, “i’ll look over them when i get a chance, do you have a second to chat?” she finished.

you met lidia, a short light haired older lady, at a speaking engagement you attended in college, she took a liking to you immediately and offered you a position that had just opened up, it was pure luck. she said she “saw the passion in your eyes and just knew.” you still swear to this day that hearing that healed something in you, something that your mother once said to you.

“yes of course.” you responded as a shiver of nerves run up your spine.

“well as you know… i’ve been wanting to renovate the gallery for a while now and i just got word from the city that the permits have been approved after all this time,” she paused for a second before continuing, “so with that being said… the gallery is going to be closed until the fall.”

your brain registers what she said but you don’t have the chance to respond before she starts speaking again.

“but don’t worry!” lidia says quickly, “you aren’t out of a job, we’re just taking a temporary break while the construction is being done. i think you deserve some time off, so please take these next couple weeks and relax, you’ve been working hard for months now- and don’t worry you’ll still be getting paid.”

“thank you lidia, i mean, are you sure? we can figure out a schedule to get some things done-“ you speak until she cuts you off.

“no- no- no- this summer is for you, things will pick up where they left off when you come back, you’ve been collecting and traveling for so long.” she says with a bit of sympathy in her voice, she knows how hard you’ve worked to get where you are, it’s refreshing to have a lady like her in your corner. she reminds you so much of your aunt. she finishes telling you the rest of the details and she promised to keep you updated as long as you promise to enjoy your time off.

so you’ve got until september to do absolutely anything you want, the excitement builds at the thought of being able to hang out with maria and her fiancé, getting to sit around and read whatever’s on your tbr list. you spend the rest of the drive home mentally preparing for the next few months and considering it’s the middle of may, you’ve got tons of time to kill.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

you shuffle through the door of your two bedroom apartment, suitcase and backpack in hand. you place your keys in the orange themed clay bowl you threw and glazed a few years ago that’s placed on top your thrifted entrance table where you kicked your shoes under. turning back around after locking the door, you drag your suitcase across the room to the washer and dryer closet, as you make a false promise to yourself that you’ll do it tomorrow.

taking your backpack, you place it on the couch before heading to your bedroom. stripping your clothes, you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower to wash off the car ride and the lingering scent of chicago air. your shower consisted of your favorite lavender soap, and fragrant vanilla shampoo, and a quick face wash before you got out, dried off and changed into an old band t-shirt and a pair of comfy underwear and long socks.

you grabbed your laptop out from your backpack and headed over to your kitchen, placing the device on the island, and turned it on before moving around and grabbing a water from the fridge. you check your email as you prepare a small dinner, you’re exhausted and knowing you’ve got the summer off now leaves you with endless possibilities which can start off with a nice 10 hour nap!

some hours later, you’re awaken by the shrill sound of your phone ringing on the coffee table where you passed out watching a show on the tv. you groggily move and grab it, sliding to accept call.

“hello?,” you say still half asleep, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and forefinger.

“ugh you’re alive, thank god! it’s been years since we talked.” maria exaggerated with a sigh.

you laugh as you pull back and check the time, before you respond, “maria it’s been like 5 hours since we texted-“

“and now we’re talking! i checked your location and saw you were home, how was the drive back?” she questions as you pull yourself up to sit on the couch and reposition your blanket over you as you answered back.

“well i’ve got some news…” you paused.

“me too! okay you start, spill.” she hurried.

you tell her all about what lidia said, the gallery being closed until september and having the whole summer free. she was so excited to hear that, she knows how hard you’ve been working and how the traveling really effects you even if you don’t voice it out loud. you make plans to hang out before she drops that her and tommy have finally decided on a wedding date, around the end of august and they’re ready to really start planning it now. it’s so special to see your best friend find love and getting to be here while she does is a wonderful thing.

eventually maria has to hang up, she said she’s been helping babysit tommy’s brothers daughter until she has to go back to work in a few weeks since schools out and the farm is too much. you’ve never been to the ranch she now lives on, and you’ve never met the “rugged, grumpy older brother” as maria calls him, normally you guys just meet at your apartment or at your favorite bar to catch up but you hear how beautiful the land is and how much fun it is up there.

the way she talks about it reminds you of your aunts farm back in nebraska, one of the places you miss the most. you mentally make a note to give her a call and tell her about your break and make a plan to go visit her and her new husband ben, before you get up and crawl into your silk sheets on your queen bed, letting the sleep take over yet again.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

1 week later

it’s friday night, you and maria are here at your favorite bar named the basement, a decent sized bar that holds some of your fondest memories. both of you nursing a vodka cranberry as you catch up on your latest activities of your first week off… which was spent lounging on the couch, elbows deep in snacks and binging game of thrones on the big screen. (with your curtains closed of course… it’s so hard to see sometimes) but doing nothing is driving you crazy. yes it’s fun to do nothing all day and have no obligations but really, you just feel lonely and just trying to pass time.

you tell her of some half assed paintings you’ve been in the middle of working on and she tells you of the wedding planning, they’ve decided what colors to go with, and as in “they,” it’s maria and her tendency for everything to be her way, she said tommy left it all up to her with just a few things he’d like to add, so there you guys sat chatting about wedding details and concepts of a show you can’t get her to watch no matter how much you beg.

“i have something to ask you,” maria spoke as you both worked on finishing your third drink, “and you can say no but if you said yes, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

you look at her wearily before nodding at her to continue.

“you know how i told you that i’ve been helping tommy’s brother out this summer with his daughter…” she paused, “well work needs me back in the office soon and with wedding planning, things are getting a bit stressful.”

“okay so what do you need from me?” you asked.

she gave you a long look before she kept talking, “well i was wondering if you’d want to take over the nannying i’m doing.”

“mari-“ she cut you off before you could continue.

“look, i know it’s a lot to ask of you but you said it yourself, you’re already bored and i think you’d be great, i’ve already talked to joel about it and he wants to meet you and you’ll be getting a pretty good paycheck… plus our house is only a 5 minute drive from his so you can come over all the time.” she said with a wide smile.

“i don’t know anything about kids- what am i supposed to do with it?” you asked with a nervous laugh. you aren’t opposed to the idea, getting to spend the summer on a farm, maybe it would be fun and it sounds like a good way to pass the time. taking care of a kid for one summer can’t be that hard, can it? but then again, it’s a kid, what if something bad happens? youre only like half cpr certified.

“you’re fun girl, she’ll probably have more fun with you than she’s been having with me,” maria chuckled, “look i know it’s a big ask but i think it’d be great so just think about it and let me know.” she said with a smile as you both took a sip of your drink.

your return your glass to the table and you’re quiet for a minute before you nod, “okay ill meet with him, im not making any promises but i will consider it, it’d be fun to be back on a ranch again…” you trailed off.

“i know, we’ll have to go riding soon, the trails around there are beautiful!” she exclaimed before you guys dove into more about the little girl thats been keeping maria on her toes. her name is sarah and shes ten, maria refers to her as a “little ball of sunshine!” it sounds like hanging out with a kid is basically just hanging out a little friend. you’re told she’s very smart and just like her father.

her father, joel miller, the infamous “rugged grumpy older brother,” maria warned, you’ve heard stories of him in passing, angry and stubborn. you’ve never met him, in fact over the years that your bestfriend and his brother have been together you’ve haven’t even laid eyes on the man, there were a few instances where he was supposed to join you guys at the bar after work but he’d never been there, either hadn’t come at all or left early so you’re naturally curious, the least you can do is meet him.

a few hours later, safely back at your apartment, you lay in your bed, still slightly buzzed, pondering the idea of being a live in nanny for the summer. maria invited you over tomorrow evening to meet sarah and joel, and she also said that with joel getting up so early to take care of the ranch, that it’d be easier to stay at the house during the weekdays so that sarah can just sleep in and have someone there the whole time. it makes sense but living with a man you barely know? realistically you know he’s not a creep, he’s not too much older than you, only about seven years and tommy is a great guy so his brother can’t be too horrible… right?

you’re actually excited at the thought of doing this, yeah the idea of doing absolutely nothing is very appealing but the idea of spending the summer on a farm like the one you grew up on sounds perfect actually, being alone all day has already started to drive you a bit crazy. you doze off with the running thoughts of how this could be a wonderful opportunity and maybe… just maybe… life changing in the best way.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

hi thank you for reading! please interact and let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome! you only get better with practice so apologies if this is horrible 😁 i’m avoiding names and physical traits so please imagine it’s you bc it is but i did want to give her a bit of a backstory who doesn’t love a tragic fmc or is that just me! or is it just trauma dumping who’s to say? anyways! i’d love any feedback and advice.

taglist: @dugiioh

[cobaltperun]

The Catalyst (6) - Let it Burn

WandaNat x Female Reader

Chapter summary: A reunion opens up old wounds and a question of “What now?” plagues your mind. And the answer? It lies in the past, in the days long gone, buried under the betrayal of the woman you loved.

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

Word Count: 7.5k

-Is your love just a drop of rain? Will we all just burn like fire?-

You could feel the slight heat coming from the inside of your house before you even reached the front porch. It wasn’t alarming, it was simply the stove being turned on, but it did alert you of an unannounced visitor. All things considered there really was only one person brave enough to waltz into a mutant’s house and turn the stove on. It wasn’t just you being the mutant though, it was the forest surrounding your house; it was dark, uninviting, you liked it, but most people would feel like it was warning them to stay away. A perfect place for a mutant to hide from regular people, as far as you were concerned. The moment you stepped into your home you could smell the subtle scent of instant noodles being cooked, confirming the identity of your guest. “Lena, that better not be the only thing you’re eating!” you exclaimed as you left your glaive hanging on the wall and dropped your bag on the floor with a light thud, it was mostly clothes, after all. You stretched a bit, fighting back a yawn. You should have accepted Tony’s offer to drop you off.

“Of course not, I had some coffee for breakfast,” you heard and noticed her thick Russian accent remained, which honestly made you happy. In her own words, she was done being a spy, so, there was no need to change her accent. She had no need to blend in, so she wouldn’t.

“Yay, that’s exactly what I want to hear,” you walked into the kitchen, noticing she changed quite a bit from the last time you saw her. Short hair, though not as short as Natasha’s, fully casual clothes without one of her vests that had way too many pockets in your opinion, so, she wasn’t constantly on edge like she used to be. But most importantly she looked a lot more tired, exhausted even, than the last time you saw her. You approached her and pulled her into a firm hug before she could put on a façade and reject it. “I’m here,” and it wasn’t because she was Natasha’s sister, hell, for a while it was in spite of Natasha being her sister.

She hugged you back for a few seconds and then pulled away. “Yeah, that’s enough,” she raised her hands as she looked out the window with a tiny pout, and you grinned as the two of you sat down at your kitchen table, complete with Yelena’s instant noodles. She dug in like she hadn’t eaten in a long while, which frankly wouldn’t surprise you. “An Avenger, huh?” she asked between bites and you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands.

“I guess so,” you muttered. You had that same nightmare last night, that endless space, that helplessness, it all still haunted you. It would continue to haunt you; perhaps even for the rest of your life.

For a while the only sound that could be heard in the room was Yelena eating, until that was done as well and she still didn’t say a word. And you weren’t sure what to say either. What could you say?

Maybe: Hey, I saw Natasha!

As if you needed to say that. She saw the news, she probably got her hands on some information that weren’t made public as well.

“You couldn’t stay out of it, after all,” there was something cynical in her tone, accusing you, and you couldn’t blame her. After all you said and did, you jumped right back into that world of violence as if there really wasn’t any other option. And in your mind there really wasn’t another option for you. Staying out of it would only risk more casualties, and you weren’t willing to just sit by and let people die. With or without your mutant powers the one thing that always remained true about you was that you didn’t have it in you to sit by and watch as people died.

“Back then I didn’t think something like this could happen,” an alien invasion, gods, monsters, technologies that were beyond your understanding, none of that plagued your mind three years ago. Sure, there were mutants, but this was something entirely different.

“What now, Y/N?” Yelena asked and you had no clear answer for her.

“Get ready for something worse,” you figured, knowing that was the only answer you could give her right now.

After all, that was the only answer you had at all.

Oh, things were so much simpler eleven years ago.

~X~ 11 years ago, Madagascar, ~X~

Spies had to adapt, to constantly change. They weren’t allowed to get attached, to people, things, or their own personality traits, at least that’s how it once was. Director Fury was a bit more lenient, believing attachment would make them fight harder; Coulson agreed with that sentiment. And while he got attached, there still weren’t that many things he actively disliked.

Yet, as brief as that list was, rain, particularly in humid locations. He had fresh air all around him, yet it felt suffocating to him.

The driver tried to make some small talk, but Coulson was so wrapped up in the report he got from Fury that all of his responses were brief and not exactly aimed at keeping the conversation going. It didn’t matter much, he wasn’t here to make friends with the locals, no, he was here for something much more important.

Like the report informed him Coulson was taken to an amusement park, which wasn’t exactly the first place he’d go to to look for a mutant, even if said mutant was a teenager. But Fury’s eyes and ears were absolutely certain that the mutant girl would be here, so, he followed the trail of breadcrumbs meant to lead him to you.

He found the man matching the description of your legal guardian, Edward, sun-kissed skin, short dirty blond hair peeked from under an old straw hat, fit, but not particularly muscular man in his late forties, dressed just well enough to blend into the crowd. A traveling merchant slash performer slash whatever the circumstances demanded or allowed. And sure enough, there you were, sitting on a chair next to him and explaining something in a rather animated way. Coulson took a moment to observe you, noticing that you didn’t have any physical mutations that would give away what you were. No, you were a regular fifteen-year-old, perhaps a bit taller than average girls your age, but other than that you were just a kid.

The man looked amused by whatever you were telling him, replying every now and then with just enough input to keep you talking. Strangely, he wasn’t bothered by you being a mutant, at least at a first glance. Usually when they got involved concerning a mutant they saw humans, even parents or siblings, rejecting the mutants. Still, the best course of action was to interfere and preferably recruit you before X-Men did.

So, Coulson approached, interrupting your conversation with the man and his suit immediately alerted the two of you. Indeed, a suit in an amusement park, especially without a child of his own, really did make him stick out like a sore thumb. At least the weather made the place less crowded at the moment.

“Authorities?” Edward asked as he stood up, subtly getting between Coulson and you.

“Not quite, but we can go with that,” Coulson offered his hand. “I’m Phil Coulson,” this wasn’t a spy mission, establishing trust was necessary.

“Edward L/N,” the man cautiously accepted the handshake. “Now, would you mind getting to the point?” he had no patience for small talk with strangers.

Coulson nodded, pulling out a notebook to make it seem like he needed to read the report. “I’m here to follow up on the report local police made; about the incident you and your daughter were involved in,” Edward immediately narrowed his eyes and this time you stood up as well, alarmed.

“It was self-defense,” Edward said, but then began coughing and you got him to sit down. You were yet to say a word, and you looked so talkative before.

“Y/N is still a mutant, I am-“

“You are about to leave. Mutant or not, she is neither a weapon or a monster. Leave and tell the others like you not to come back, you’re not taking her,” he said so with such determination in his eyes that Coulson believed him. They would get to you over his dead body, but what worried him more were the others Edward mentioned. As far as he was aware no one else tried to contact you.

“I assure you the people I work for didn’t try to contact you of Y/N, which is all the more reason why you should both come with me,” if taking only you wasn’t an option, maybe offering a comfortable life would sweeten the deal

You definitely seemed to consider it, and Coulson guessed it was due to Edward’s health. “I’ll be fine, kid,” he sensed your unease, immediately reassuring you and though you didn’t fully believe him you did relax a bit. “I quite like my freedom, and even if mine was for sale, her freedom isn’t,” and there it was, the definitive rejection.

“I have one more question,” Coulson’s tone changed, became firmer, more authoritative, yet the man remained fairly unphased. “Did you know she was a mutant before the incident?” he was genuinely curious, though he was fairly sure Edward was aware of it.

“Of course I knew, I pulled her out of fire when she was seven,” Edward grinned a bit. “Never mattered to me, all I saw was a child that needed help,” so, he adopted you, just like the records showed.

“We’ll stay in touch,” Coulson told the two, understanding nothing would come from this and figuring it was time for him to leave, but all Edward did was flip him off. Funnily enough, you’d do the same thing years later.

~X~ 10 years ago ~X~

A year later you were once again left all on your own. Edward’s sickness got worse, and he died in his sleep in a hospital in Japan. He didn’t have any relatives that would take you in, so you were left with two choices, try to survive on your own, knowing there was a chance someone would find out you were a mutant, or you could contact Coulson and join the organization he worked for.

Coulson was kind enough to handle transporting Edward’s remains back to the States and organize the funeral and then you were given training to become an agent of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. It started out good, you were good with various equipment, easily picking up the programming and engineering skills, you were alright with guns, nothing to write home about, but it was acceptable, but your hand to hand combat?

Maria Hill tossed you over her shoulder and pinned you to the ground once more as you groaned, knowing you would have to nurse several nasty bruises. Maria sighed and got up, sitting down next to you to catch her breath. She was one of the brightest talents of the current batch of recruits, and she was annoyed by you. “I don’t get it. Why are you even here if you’re going to hold back?” Maria asked you for what felt like the hundredth time even though she probably only asked you three or four times.

You huffed and turned onto your back. “Oh, I’d just love to see you cosplaying as a burnt toast,” you remarked sarcastically. Whenever you got a bit too into a fight you ended up lighting something on fire, and you didn’t want to do that to your fellow recruits.

Now it was Maria’s turn to huff, annoyed by your answer, or simply by your voice. Whatever it was you figured you couldn’t exactly fix it, but Maria wasn’t the only one who noticed you were holding back. So did Coulson, and that led you to Fury and the mutant depowering serum, a temporary kind, meant to be taken once a month. Fearing you’d hurt your teammates on missions, or even worse that you’d hurt someone completely innocent, you accepted the serum.

You never once argued against it. Edward may have had no issues with you being a mutant, but you had them. You feared your powers. You hated being like Magneto, or like X-Men who failed to once and for all stop the Master of Magnetism. You wanted to be sure you wouldn’t hurt someone by accident, but you also wanted to be free from the mutant powers you had.

~X~ Six years ago ~X~

There was a nervous buzz at the main base, a kind you weren’t used to. You finished sparring with Maria and were fresh out of the shower and heading with the woman to get a new mission. “You don’t seem phased by all of this,” Maria, though she was almost as nonchalant about this as you were, commented.

You shrugged, sure, it was a big deal, but you didn’t really care much. “Leave it to Barton to bring in the biggest news of the year,” you grinned a bit. You worked with Clint a few times, and if he made this decision then you’d have his back if needed. Even if most agents weren’t quite on board at the moment.

“The Black Widow, the only super soldier currently active, one of the deadliest assassins in history, switching sides after apparently destroying the Red Room,” Maria whistled, and sure enough, those were big news. Or a deadly trap, as many agents believed. “Barton is gambling with a lot here,” and it wasn’t just his life.

You opened the doors and let Maria pass first, the room was hauntingly empty aside from the two agents that had to be there. From the looks of it everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the Black Widow arriving. “Well, you guys accepted a mutant into your ranks,” you pointed out and Maria rolled her eyes, taking a small stack of papers from one of the agents and handing you half of it.

You skimmed through the data, noticing it was a simple escort mission, nothing too complicated, but it was best to stay on guard in those situations.

“And our mutant is depowered,” she patted you on the arm.

You rolled your eyes, even as a smile spread across your face. “Let’s just get this mission over with,”

~X~

“Simple mission, my ass,” you complained, taking cover behind a wall in an almost empty parking lot and keeping the frightened man you and Maria were escorting down. There was a sound you didn’t want to acknowledge a few feet away from you and you quickly turned the corner and fired, shooting one of the attackers and narrowly dodging bullets coming your way. “A bit of back-up here?” you were a tiny bit annoyed that Maria still didn’t reach your location.

“Two minutes, I had to get the data,” you felt your blood pressure rising. Usual Fury, always handing out different tasks to people.

“This was supposed to be just an escort mission!” you exclaimed, hearing someone stepping on broken glass on the other side of the wall and quickly moving around it to shoot them. The gun felt heavy in your hands as some blood splattered onto it. You were letting them get too close.

“You know how Director works,” Maria reminded you, and you knew, you absolutely knew. You still hated it.

All of a sudden, and before you could reply to Maria, three shots echoed through the parking lot and you heard five bodies hitting the ground. For a bit everything remained silent until you heard Clint’s voice through the comms. “All clear, it’s safe now,” you frowned, appreciating the back-up, but first of all, since when did Clint use guns, and second of all why was he here in the first place. You pulled the man up to his feet, ignoring the wet stain on the front of his pants and dragged him along while keeping an eye out for any potential threats. And then you saw her.

She was dressed in usual agent uniform, but you’ve never seen her before. Now, sure, you didn’t know every single agent, but even from a distance she was so striking you knew you would remember even seeing her in passing. The woman was ethereally beautiful, sharp, piercing green eyes, long red hair, beautiful face, and deadly powerful, and you realized you were looking at the Black Widow, Natalia Romanova. And she just killed five people with three bullets.

“Thanks, I owe you,” you approached her with a friendly smile, but she didn’t seem amused, she seemed deep in thought.

You noticed she was looking at the corpses as she sighed, as if accepting some heavy weight on her back. “Just doing my job,” she told you and looked you in the eyes. “Natasha Romanoff,” you did hear she’d slightly change her name.

“Y/N L/N,” you didn’t bother offering your hand to her, she looked like she wasn’t eager to touch anyone.

~X~ Four years ago ~X~

It’s been two years since Natasha joined the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, which really should work on its’ name. The only thing Natasha might have missed about her past was the short organization name. She was working on her report, meticulously explaining each step of her mission. It was four in the morning, she hasn’t slept, couldn’t sleep, really, and the steaming mug of black coffee, her second one, because just one cup wouldn’t do it, was the only thing keeping her company.

That is until she heard familiar footsteps and smiled instinctively and even somewhat against her will. She was the Black Widow, she didn’t get attached, yet she did just that, not only with Clint, but also…

She knew it was coming and surprisingly didn’t have to force her body not to react as warm arms wrapped around her from behind, just beneath her shoulders and she felt a chin resting on her left shoulder.

“Hey, can’t sleep?” and there you were, the second person she got attached to. And it terrified her because your touch didn’t just feel so natural her body didn’t react defensively, it relaxed her, eased her mind. You were always so warm, a part of your mutation that the depowering serum couldn’t remove, and she found herself sinking into that warmth, letting it melt her heart encased in ice bit by bit.

“The bed felt cold,” so, she flirted, half-serious, half-joking just to keep her heart from racing. Her heart never raced, not when she was in danger, not when she was threatened, or when she had to tell a lie. She could fool anyone and not blink, but with you her heart raced with need for more than just this closeness.

You hummed, as if seriously considering her joke, as if she hasn’t said something similar to it so many times before, dropping innuendos or flirting, or just teasing you. And you took it all in stride. “Let me buy you dinner first, Nat,” your eyes met and somehow she found herself being lost in your eyes, in that fire hidden behind them. Nat. Yet another sentiment she never thought she’d indulge in. She never thought she’d be affected by something as simple as a nickname.  “Come on, let’s get some of that nervous energy out of your system,” you reached for her coffee, drank about third of it and gagged at the lack of sugar and Natasha, amused by your antics, smiled and shook her head. “Hush you, that’s awful,” you complained, staring at her coffee like it owed you a fortune.

Natasha got up, brushing past you with her report in her hands and, with a slight sway to her hips, led you to the training area. You ran after her, catching up and walking side by side with a bit of a sleepy, but still eager, grin on your face. You were ridiculous, and she absolutely liked that about you.

The moment you were in the training area you took a few steps away from her, giving her those few seconds to get ready for a fight. You didn’t need to, you’ve seen her reacting in milliseconds, but you still did it, still saw her as more than just a super soldier serum enhanced assassin. So, Natasha smiled and went after you, throwing the first punch followed by a spin kick when you predictably moved to your left. You crossed your arms, blocking her foot and quickly catching it with a smile on your face. Natasha winked at you, jumping into air and kicking with her free leg, making you release her leg and block the kick. She spun in midair, dropping an axe kick aimed at your shoulder, fully trusting you to be able to handle it.

And you did, not by blocking, but by lunging forward and wrapping your arm around her waist. You went to slam her against the floor, but she already had her arms around you, using your body to maneuver onto your back and easily regain control. You grunted, managing to slip one arm through her hold, but you were still soft. You should have tried to slam her against the wall, instead you were trying to free yourself the harder way.

She kept her hold on your neck with one arm and raised her elbow, going for your head, and you caught it, returning the favor with an elbow to her own side. She lost her grip on you for a moment, which was enough for you to throw her off you. She gracefully landed back on the floor and evaded when you tried to tackle her again. You were fun to fight, skilled enough to challenge her, strong enough so that she didn’t have to hold back. You blocked her punch with your forearm, pulled her into a clinch and tried to knee her in the face, but she not only pushed your knee back down using her weight, but she used what little space there was between you to launch an uppercut that you narrowly dodged and the two of you separated again.

It was a constant between you. She was too nimble for you to keep holding her long enough to actually get an upper hand, and you were too quick for that to give her an upper hand. And you just didn’t stop. She had enhanced stamina, but you were giving her a run for her money, and from what she read the depowering serum affected your stamina as well.

You both kept the sparring up for an hour, neither of you giving up or letting the other take any significant lead. If you went for the kick, Natasha was quick to jump over it and try to take you down. If she went for a direct hit you blocked and hit back. If she danced circles around you, you stood your ground, using quick reflexes and perception to handle her speed. And it went on like that until you heard the doors opening and Clint walking in.

“Interesting, uh… foreplay?” he had no filter and that earned him two glares as the two of you ended your sparring prematurely.

~X~ Three years ago ~X~

For once your were on a high-risk mission in Russia, hence Nat had antidote to depowering serum on her at all times. The instructions were clear, she couldn’t use it without permission from Fury, and she wouldn’t get it unless hostages were rescued and the compromised data was secured. Even after all these years the belief that your powers were too volatile to be safely used on a mission remained, even if you were occasionally given the chance to train with them.

And you believed it too. You’ve grown so used to being depowered that it only felt natural to not consider using your powers until the very last moment. Nat, as often as she was paired with you for missions, had never seen you use your powers before.

You climbed onto a rooftop overlooking the base held by heavily armed military-esque organization. The numerous guns strapped to your body felt heavy, two machine guns, two regular pistols, throwing knives, smoke bombs, several grenades, shotgun and plenty of ammo as well. Despite that there were still too many guards to walk in, even if you had Nat on your side, no, you’d need a distraction first. You watched as Nat took the two snipers out with ease, they never even saw it coming as she knocked them out, sedating them and tying them so they still looked like they were standing guard.

“All clear,” she whispered through the comms.

“Copy that,” you heard the zipline being attached to the wall just beneath you and used it to reach Nat. From here you had a better look at the base. There was no way to tell what they were working on, but the place was heavily guarded. “There’s your target,” you nodded toward the doors on the far left, supposed to lead to the cells, meaning you’d go and make a mess on the far-right side.

“Be careful,” Nat told you and you saw her nearly reaching out to touch you, nearly breaking that professional barrier she always put on during missions. On your free time she was comfortable, touching you, letting you hold her, sometimes even initiating contact, but that was never the case on the missions.

The fact that she reached out, even if she changed her mind, was enough for you. “You too,” you winked at her. “I’ll see you soon,” she smiled at you, that same adorable smile that you loved.

“Remember, dinner when we get back home,” she reminded you as you went to the trapdoors and you gave her a thumbs up.

“Don’t need a reminder,” it’s been on your mind for a long time now, and it was about to become a reality, but you appreciated a bit of extra motivation to stay safe and careful.

You opened the trapdoors and went inside, for once being stealthy, at least until you reached the ither side of the building. You put the night vision goggles on and carefully moved through the halls, silently knocking out anyone on your path. Just like the snipers up above you these guys would also take a very long nap.

You pulled up your collar, sure, you weren’t cold, but your breath was still visible when you exhaled. Nat wasn’t bothered by it in the slightest, she even enjoyed the cold, as cliché as that was. Although, she did mention cold gave her an excuse to stay closer to you since you were always warm. Granted, she was tired, had a nightmare, and was sleepy, so maybe that had something to do with her confession.

You slowly but surely reached the other side of the base and glanced toward the tower where you and Nat were. You couldn’t see her, but you could feel her eyes on you. “I’m ready,” you told her, seeing the guards you were about to take out in a rather loud manner. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit nervous, there were still lots of them, and some of them were heavily armed. But then again, so were you.

“Remember, be careful,” Nat reminded you and the chaos started. You grabbed your machine gun and opened fire, killing several of the thugs and alerting the rest of the intruder in this part of the base. Soon enough the reflector lights were on you and the place was turned into a bullet storm from hell. You dashed for cover, throwing one of the smoke bombs to cover your tracks and vaulting over crates, firing at anyone that moved.

You were constantly on move, not letting them catch up to you or properly aim at you. Someone like Nat or Clint would have been able to shoot you, but there weren’t that many people on their level. You were surrounded by the sound of bullets flying, people shouting in Russian, which you now somewhat understood, but not well enough to pick up words in this chaos.

You could feel heat on the tips of your fingers as you kept firing, shooting people or explosives they were near, and before you knew it the right side of the base was engulfed in chaos, flames, explosions and even more bullets. Several bullets grazed you, leaving small wounds that wouldn’t even need stitching. They were annoying but none of them mattered. If you got seriously wounded you’d simply get the antidote and your mutant powers would burn the wounds closed, you just needed to finish the mission first.

A loud explosion close to you caught your attention and you saw a heavily armed soldier carrying a glaive in his arms approaching you. It wasn’t a regular glaive though, it was absorbing the heat from the flamethrower attached to it and each time the soldier swung it it sent an explosion in the path of the swing.

“Shit!” you narrowly jumped out of the way of the explosions and fired, only for the bullets to bounce off the helmet the soldier was wearing. You weren’t immune to fire when you were depowered, so you absolutely needed to avoid the explosions.

~X~

Natasha cursed under her breath. The hostages have been killed at least three days ago, just before the mission got authorized, but she could still get the data. She plugged her USB stick in and began copying all the data from the computers. You were definitely distracting everyone in the base, she could hear the distant sound of gunfire, but for now it didn’t seem like she had anything to worry about. You knew what you were doing. You’d be fine. You had to be fine. But then the explosions started and Natasha began to worry.

She listened as the explosions got more and more frequent and immediately contacted Fury. “Director, I need permission to give agent L/N the antidote,” she quickly told him as she retrieved all the data from the computers.

“Denied. There’s equipment in that base that we need,” and she was looking at it. Advanced weapons and equipment designed to be used on mutants, similar to what Red Room was trying to create before she destroyed it. And Fury wanted that.

Natasha caught the reflection of her worried face on the now black screen. “But, Sir, there’s a chance the base will be destroyed either way,” Natasha tried to argue, surely you were more important to Fury than this equipment. Right? She clenched her fists so tightly she nearly made her palms bleed. She was being naïve, she, better than most people, should know the answer to that question. Yet, she hoped. Against her better judgment she hoped.

“Do not disobey my direct orders, agent Romanoff. We need everything to remain intact, put trackers on the equipment and flee,” they wouldn’t take fighting over to this side, they wouldn’t risk destroying it.

Natasha slammed her fist onto the table, shaking it with the force of her punch. “Agent Romanoff, you want to wipe your ledger clean. Don’t waste this opportunity,” but the cost was letting you fight your way out of this or die, drenching her ledger with your blood. “I’m sending Barton, Coulson and Hill to rescue L/N,” less than an hour later she’d learn that was a lie, but at that moment it made her decision easier and she put her faith in the organization she worked for, in the man she worked for. It didn’t matter, an hour later it was already too late.

~X~

You cursed your lack of close-range weapons as the soldier caught up to you and tried to cut you, and that on its own wouldn’t have been that big of an issue, but each swing caused explosions, and he was protected by glaive absorbing any explosion coming his way. You weren’t that lucky, and your protective gear was barely holding up, you were injured, blood trickled down your left arm and you were sure you had a concussion.

You ducked under the glaive, desperate, and cut the flamethrower part of it with your knife, detaching it from the glaive and just barely dodging the last explosion it could make, but you lost your footing and couldn’t avoid it as the soldier threw the glaive at you. The blade, still hot from explosions, pierced through your side like it was cutting though butter and you fell. Disoriented by the immense pain and looking at the handle of the weapon.

This wasn’t happening.

But before you could comprehend what just happened to you there was another explosion, caused by all the damage you and the soldier did, caused by all the damaged equipment, spilled fuel and the destruction. The explosion rocked the building and you crashed through several floors, falling into the underground levels, with the glaive still piercing through your right side. Ironically, the glaive saved you, as it absorbed the explosion that reached you. You landed harshly on your side, making your wound even worse. The pain blinded you temporarily as you grabbed onto the handle, grasping onto anything within reach as blood spilled from your body and pooled underneath you.

“Y/N, what happened?” you heard Nat’s voice, filled with panic and you could imagine the look on her face.

You couldn’t answer her, the pain was too much as you finally regained your sight and just stared at the glaive in disbelief. If you pulled it out you’d definitely bleed out, but from the looks of it you’d die either way.

“Y/N!” her shout snapped you out of your thoughts and you remembered Nat had the syringe with the antidote to depowering serum. If she could reach you, and she probably could do it easily since most of the soldiers were killed either by you or the explosion, you’d be able to burn the wound closed.

“Nat, I need- I’ll bleed out-“

Nat remained silent for what felt like eternity, but when she spoke you wished she didn’t say a single word. “I don’t have the permission to use it,” she said it as if what you had meant nothing to her, as if she was fine with letting you die here, bleeding out in these ruins impaled on a glaive. At least she sounded like she was sorry, like saying those words and leaving you to die broke her heart.

There was no use in arguing, and you had no energy left to argue even if there was a way to convince Nat to come back for you. You tried to get up, to fight for your life, but you just slumped back onto the floor, unable to do anything but close your eyes and wait to die.

The next time you opened your eyes you were in shackles, captured by the Red Room.

~X~

She could see a lot of herself in you. Not in your helplessness, or inability to escape from the Red Room, no, those hardly mattered to Yelena. It was your firm belief that Natalia, or Natasha as you called her, would come for you.

Madame B was cruel indeed, making Yelena tend to your wounds just enough to keep you alive, making both of you see the proof of Natalia’s callousness, of her tendency to leave people behind. You, bloodied, injured, damn near on the brink of death, were faced with someone who once hoped Natalia would come back and save her. And her, she was faced with someone carrying that same hope, heading toward that same disappointing realization that Natalia wasn’t coming.

“Natalia isn’t coming,” she didn’t even need to fake it, she truly believed that. “She didn’t come for me either,” the anger and hurt in her voice was real.

You grunted when she tightened the bandage around your waist a bit harsher than necessary. “Try all you want, I’m not letting you or anyone else turn me against Nat,” you weren’t that easy to break, she’d give you that. You were so disgustingly loyal to Natalia, as if she deserved that kind of love. You looked into her eyes, still so determined and defiant. She never got to be like that; any defiance was quickly beaten out of her. “I’ll make all of your higher ups pay for what they did to her,” you promised, sure that would happen, defiant to the bitter end.

She imagined a similar defiance was what separated Natalia from other Widows, made her THE Black Widow, the only one worth the super soldier serum, because none other could take it.

“You chose the wrong person to put your faith in,” so maybe she could chip at that instead, at your choice instead of the person. “We’re in no rush, you only just got here,” three days were nothing, you’d understand sooner rather than later that no one was coming for you. Especially not your precious Natalia.

~X~

You bit your tongue so you wouldn’t scream, but the electric current coursing through your body made it nearly impossible. The cruel irony wasn’t lost on you. If you weren’t depowered this would have had no effect on you, but here you were, tortured by one of your own powers.

The woman on the other side of the glass wall turned the machine off and you gasped for air. It didn’t matter the air was stale, breathing it in without electricity shocking you felt like you were breathing in the fresh air. The sound of dripping made you look to the side where a small puddle of blood was forming. Your thrashing reopened the wound, but the pain was dulled by the shocks, still, it made you feel light-headed.

“You should feel lucky, mutant, you can choose to make this all stop,” Madame B wasn’t even taunting you, she genuinely believed giving you that choice was an act of kindness. As if the choice between joining the Red Room and being tortured was a choice anyone would enjoy having.

“Do your worst,” you glared, you couldn’t do anything else.

“The traitor isn’t coming,” her words echoed as she turned the electricity back on and ten days into this torture and two weeks since you were captured those words sounded a lot more true than you dared to admit. “You were left to die by the traitor. The Red Room has given you a new life.”

You forced yourself to smirk at her as your eyes, wild and unbreakable focused solely on her. “I don’t want it,” you put tremendous effort into it and gave her a middle finger as she dialed up the electricity and finally made you scream, but you found some satisfaction in seeing the frustration on her face.

~X~

Another week later they have given up on torturing you, instead they just threw you into a cell, shackled to the wall and bit by bit emptying the cell with every bare minimum meal they brought you. And the worst thing about it?

The solitude was working. With nothing to occupy your mind, with no pain to focus on, you were left with your own thoughts and the realization that you were betrayed and abandoned, and that no one, not Fury, not Coulson, not Hill or Clint, and especially not Natasha, was coming to save you.

There was no denying it anymore. You were on your own. You’ve given them seven years of your life, and you were thrown away like it all meant nothing.

Maybe it truly meant nothing.

~X~

Each second felt like a week, drawn out, passing by so slowly you wondered if you’d go insane. That annoying dripping sound from the cell next to your own persisted, staying by your side through it all. Rhythmic dripping felt like its very own form of torture, just reminding you of how alone you were, constantly reminding you of the deafening silence that surrounded it. The darkness around you seemed almost endless, and the dim light of the candle did nothing to chase it away, it only forced you to focus on the blood-stained glaive just out of your reach. A dripping sound to break the torturous silence and a flickering flame taunting you in the dark; well, at least the Red Room made some creative choices regarding your time in their cell.

This would never end unless you let go, that much you understood by now. The Red Room wouldn’t stop torturing you until you broke, and you wouldn’t let yourself break. With no one coming to save you all you could do was burn this whole place down, letting your powers consume you in the process.

For years you tried to be different, to not use your powers for the sake of destruction like Magneto did when he destroyed your home. Yet here you were, knowing that was your only way out.

A sound of footsteps made you look to the side, the only doors leading to this room were right in front of you, so this wasn’t someone from the Red Room. No, you knew exactly who, or rather what, this was. “Is this it? The death you promised me?” your voice was hoarse, it almost hurt to speak. How long has it been since you had any water? Two days? Longer? You had no idea how much time passed since the last mouthful of water you were allowed to drink.

The darkness seemed to swirl in one spot of your prison, as if it was consumed by the one approaching. And then you saw it, this creature made of hundreds of small black birds, barely stuck together. With every step it took the wings of the birds closest to the surface flapped helplessly. The creature remained silent, only looking at you with empty, white eyes. “Silent treatment?” you coughed, wondering if this really was it. Would you just lose consciousness and die here? “Impaled, killed by my own powers. That was your promise,” you reminded it, but, like an oversized amalgamation of birds taking a human-like shape, it just tilted its head. It didn’t speak, didn’t open its’ mouth. Maybe this really was it. Sure, you weren’t impaled any longer, but the wound still troubled you, even if the Red Room made sure you wouldn’t bleed out, they never allowed it to properly heal. “What do you even want from me?”

The doors opened and you were temporarily blinded by the light piercing through the darkness. “Talking to yourself?” Yelena asked you as the creature stepped between the two of you. She didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge it, proving to you that no one else could see it. Somehow, every time you were close to death you saw it, and it only spoke to you the very first time.

“I am a good listener,” you joked, staring at the eyes of the creature. No matter how many times you saw it, you had no idea if it was an enemy or not. Or if it was simply neutral.

Yelena walked through the creature and you watched as it vanished into the darkness. Yelena snapped her fingers and brought your attention back to her. Luckily, she didn’t come empty-handed, she had a bottle of water in her left hand. “Here,” she offered the opened bottle to you and you never enjoyed the feeling of cool, fresh water, going down your throat. “Slowly,” Yelena chastised you and spilled some water on your face, which was greatly appreciated.

“Thanks,” you gave her a slight smile, but she wasn’t amused. “Won’t you get in trouble though?”

Yelena stared at you blankly, a lot like Natasha would when you were being ridiculous. They may not be related by blood, but the similarities were somehow there. “I shut down all surveillance in the room. Dreykov and Madame B are going to brainwash me tomorrow,” your eyes widened at that. After Natasha they probably didn’t want to take any chances. The thoughts of brainwashed Yelena fighting Natasha made your blood run cold. “If I said I want a fresh start, what can you do about it?” Yelena asked and you took a deep breath. You found a semblance of tentative companionship with the girl sharing the same fate as you and carrying the pain of being abandoned by Natasha. And you didn’t want her to lose herself to this damned place.

This was it. “Give it to you, as long as you can find an excuse to get out of the building. I’ll give you an hour before this whole place is turned to ashes,” you promised her, figuring that, if this was where you’d die, you’d at least take the Red Room down with you.

A/N: So... I'm curious, how would you feel if Yelena joined the team, more or less right now?

Taglist: @toxicitytiger @wandaromamoff69 @womenarehotsstuff @psychickryptonitebouquet @seventeen-x @maddsdotorg @arualdcg @ilovemybabygirlmoon @redroomgraduate @canyonyodeler @skz-xii @jokermoonie

[fayes-fics]

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 4

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (future chapters), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: Benedict Bridgerton turns up and is confused.

Warnings: not much, really… the Bridgertons being Bridgertons lol.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Benedict finally arrives back in London and is instantly confused by this woman claiming to be his brother's fiancee. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Off topic, but this is my 5000th post on this blog - yay! Enjoy! <3

It's after 1am when Benedict finally arrives at Bridgerton House. Exhausted from the marathon journey from Edinburgh that took all day. Slipping in the door, what he hopes is quietly enough not to disturb anyone…. Only to be met by Hyacinth bounding down the grand staircase, loudly calling his name as he winces and gestures for her to be quiet, dropping his bag.

“Why aren't you asleep?” he chides in that affectionate, elder brother way after their brief hug.

“I got the new iPhone for Christmas,” she grins, following him as he heads towards the kitchen. “Cloud is still transferring. Takes forever,” she rolls her eyes, holding up her old and new phones with the odd burbling screen of dots.

“Didn't Mum give you the latest model for your birthday?” Benedict frowns, pulling open the fridge and rummaging around for a late-night snack. He settles on picking from a cheese tray covered with cling film, leftovers from the party earlier.

“Yeah but this is the Pro Max,” Hy counters, “and it's got more memory.”

Benedict shrugs non-committal, not really getting the fuss, being perfectly happy with his three-year-old model with a slight chip on the screen corner. 

“Oh, Ant’s fiancee is here,” she pipes up, grinning as he pops three cubes of Red Leicester into his mouth. “I convinced her to stay by plying her with far too much champagne.”

“Poor thing,” Benedict shakes his head, then pauses as he takes on board what she said. “Wait? Fiancee? They got engaged? I thought she was in LA for Christmas?” he garbles around the cheese before deciding a bit of manchego will be a nice contrast and throwing that in too.

“What?! No, she lives right here in London, dummy.” Hy withers before changing tack with a snarky observation: “You don’t normally eat like Colin…”

“I have been stuck on various trains for the last fucking twelve hours with no food, give me a break; I’m starving,” he protests but takes the hint. Slowing down to actually chew a bit, reopening the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Anyway, y/n is great. You are going to love her…”

“Who’s y/n?” Benedict interrupts, taking a swig of Evian.

“Ant’s fiancee,” Hy says slowly, as if explaining something to a toddler.

“I thought it was Sindy or something,” Benedict’s brow furrows. 

He vaguely recalls Anthony showing him the Instagram of some social media influencer he was seeing. Frankly, to him, she sounded like a high-maintenance nightmare, so he forgot what scant details he gleaned. The bottle of champagne Ant had treated them to that night probably didn’t help.

“Oooh, it's done!” Hy exclaims, holding up her phone with the ‘hello’ looping across the screen in various languages.

“Congrats…” Ben offers deadpan.

“Luddite,” she teases, knocking into him with her shoulder before sing-songing her goodbyes, but not before swiping a bit of Gouda for herself.

“No one can resist the late-night cheese,” Benedict opines with a knowing chuckle…. Then realises he's now talking to himself. 

So, with a shake of his head, he puts the tray back in the fridge and heads upstairs.

—

Usually, it's Chairman Meow’s demanding stomach that rouses you, his indignant paws whapping your cheek. So when you blink your eyes open in a fancy room that looks unfamiliar, it takes a second to get your bearings. You are still in the clothes from the party last night, which is not ever the most pleasant state to wake up in… but at least it feels like you had a good rest, slight muzzy head aside. Sitting up, you spy a couple of ibuprofen tablets and a big glass of water on the bedside table next to your phone, along with a disposable bamboo toothbrush and toothpaste.

Bless Hyacinth Bridgeton.

As you swallow the pills, you grab your phone and immediately book an Uber, knowing that if you are not home as soon as possible, Chairman Meow will indeed riot. There is no time to wait for Sunday morning transport options; he will likely wee on your rug in revenge if you are not back within the next half hour. You will just have to dip into your holiday fund to pay for it.

Multitasking, you check your appearance in the mirror in the little ensuite bathroom as you quickly brush your teeth, using your fingers to style your hair the best you can. When your phone pings that a driver will be with you in less than a minute, you grab your bag and sneak down the staff staircase at the back of the house - seriously, who even has that these days?! -  hoping not to bump into anyone, worried they might somehow guilt you into staying for breakfast or something.

But alas, just as you think you are safe and dry, tiptoeing towards the front door, a noise on the grand staircase makes you startle and whip around. But the sight that greets you has you almost toppling over.

There, a few steps up, holding a big mug of delicious-smelling coffee, is someone you know from a glance can only be two things: 1) troubling to your hormones and, worse, 2) your ‘fiancees’ brother.

Benedict.

Well, shit.

“Hi…” 

His resonant voice slides over your skin like silk, even as his gaze seems to bore into you—a puzzled look, like you are not at all what he was expecting. 

The feeling is mutual, mate.

You swear his pupils dilate a fraction, though.

Perhaps predictably, he is handsome, just like his older brother, but, on first impressions, more down-to-earth. Whereas you’ve only ever seen Anthony in sharp tailoring, he looks like the type to live in jeans. Right now, he is clad in tartan pyjama bottoms, a faded navy sweatshirt with a rowing club logo, and hazy blue eyes he has inherited from Violet.

“Hi… umm… Benedict, right?” you stumble, and he nods just as your phone pings and vibrates in your hand. “Uber…. waiting outside,” you explain, holding it up.

“Just Ben,” he offers, unfurling from his seated position to full height and jogging down the last few stairs.

He is tall, too, maybe even more so than you recall Anthony being. Perchance it's the tendrils of a nascent hangover, but something roils inside you as Benedict - Ben - sweeps past, traces of a delicious woodsy, citrus scent in his wake. 

He yanks open the large door and gestures gentlemanly.

“Well, it was nice to meet you… briefly,” he lilts with a playfully arched brow. 

You can only smile wanly, trying to ignore the little skip in your heart as you skirt around him and slip out the door, the sounds of central London almost an assault on your delicate senses. 

“Y/n,” he calls out a few seconds later, making you spin back around on the path. “Welcome to the family….” he offers enigmatically.

“Err, thank you.” 

The lingering look between you is only broken by your Uber driver’s impatient beeping.

—

“Why do we have to do this?” Benedict sighs, shifting around in the battered leather chair, trying to get comfortable, wishing he had been able to get more than five hours of sleep. He really should have just gone back to his own flat rather than crashing in his old room.

“It's Sunday. Family pub lunch is our tradition, darling,” Violet smiles.

The Bridgerons are indeed gathered at a local pub in a quiet mews a few streets from their home. It’s their usual table, reserved every Sunday for many years…. unless they are out in Kent. Then it’s the country pub in the nearby village. Anyone misses this occasion at their peril; Violet always keen to keep up the tradition, even during the Christmas break. And even with Anthony indisposed.

“Feels off without him…” Benedict mumbles almost rhetorically, staring at the empty chair that is usually Anthony’s.

“We will go and see him later, during visiting hours,” she points out, patting his hand. “He will be so pleased to see you.”

“He’s in a coma, mum…”

You know what I mean,” she waves a dismissive hand as the waiter rolls up with plates of food. “He can hear us, I just know it.”

Benedict decides it's probably best not to disagree with anything like scientific facts and just goes about helping himself to the sharing plate of veggies she hands him.

“So who is this y/n?” he changes tack.

“Anthony’s fiancee.” Violet seems to light up at her name. “Oh, she's just lovely. Shame she slipped out before I was able to invite her to lunch…”

“She dodged a bullet,” Gregory mutters under his breath.

“Take some peas,” Violet chides maternally.

“I hate peas…”

“Gregory Bridgerton, you will eat your vegetables.” 

She raises an eyebrow at her youngest son as Marcus chuckles and helps himself to another Yorkshire pudding from the extra pile they always order in honour of absent Colin.

“They help you see in the dark!” Victor pipes up.

“Granddad, no, that's carrots…” Hyacinth rolls her eyes, looking up finally from her shiny new phone.

“That’s a myth,” Agatha butts in.

“You would think if Anthony were getting hitched, he would have announced it in The Times…” Benedict ponders, poking at his roasties.

“We read the Guardian,” Agatha responds airily.

“Why did she sneak out this morning?” Benedict queries. 

Mostly, he’s still mystified as to who the pretty woman he saw scurrying out of the house this morning was - certainly not anyone Anthony has mentioned to him lately. They haven't met up for drinks as much as they used to lately; art has kept him busy, but still, it seems odd he would get engaged without telling the family first. Plus, she’s definitely not Anthony’s usual type.

“She has a job. And a cat,” Hyacinth smirks, watching him closely “You seem awfully interested in knowing more about her, Ben…”

“I'm just confused, it all seems so sudden, that’s all,” Benedict shrugs, realising perhaps he should back off as Hy raises a pointed eyebrow; the youngest does always so love to stir the pot. 

—

You get home to an indignant Chairman Meow. It’s only after a handful of treats and lots of attention that he partially forgives you, curling up next to you on the sofa as you sip a cup of tea when your eyes fall upon the bag the orderly at the hospital gave you. 

Anthony’s belongings.

You thought about just taking them to the Bridgerton Boxing Day dinner yesterday but then realised that would likely prompt more questions than anything. To them, you are his fiancee. 

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you open it. Anthony’s beautiful dark grey wool coat takes up most of the bag. It still has traces of that enticing amber cologne you have caught whiffs of when he breezes into the coffee shop. Before you even know it, you have stood up and wrapped yourself in it—the lining’s pure silk is so soft against your bare forearms. 

You reach into the deep pockets, and there you find a leather wallet. Pulling it out, you run your fingers over the buttery soft hide and note that it’s embossed with his initials: AB. And you can't help but be nosey, fishing out his driver's license. You are almost annoyed he manages to look dashing even in this photograph. Your eyes fall to the address and can tell it’s one of those swish Thameside developments just around the corner from the coffee shop. No wonder he is such a regular. 

In the other pocket, you find a key ring with some sleek-looking entry fob. Probably to said fancy flat. Then, digging further, you find what feels like a tin can. It's a small tin of that expensive cat food you could never afford to even try Chairman Meow on… you’d be bankrupt within a month.

Wait, cat food?!?! 

Before you know it, you are bundling up all his stuff back into the large plastic bag and grabbing your handbag. If he has a cat, the poor lamb hasn't eaten in almost two days. You are just hoping these keys let you into his building….

….Entirely forgetting you are still wearing Anthony’s coat.

—

“Did you get the chance to visit Castle Craig?” Violet asks as she finishes her plate.

“Yep…” Benedict confirms, wishing his mother wouldn't talk about work on a Sunday.

“What did you think of the new wing?”

“It's fine,” he shrugs, unsure what else to say. 

“Darling, you are running the foundation now. Perhaps a little more enthusiasm for all the good work we are supporting?” She replies pointedly but lovingly.

“That is something I would like to talk about…” Benedict begins, a touch sheepish.

“Perhaps later,” she deflected crisply.

Marcus leans in. “Talk about it now. She can't kill you with this many witnesses,” he jests, waving his fork around to signify the other tables.

“Can we just have lunch quietly? Like a normal family?” Gregory bemoans, being in that eternally embarrassed-by-your-family phase of teenagedom.

“Normal?! Have you met us?!” Hyacinth mocks, tossing a Yorkshire pud at him… that misses entirely and winds up sailing over his head and landing on the table behind, startling the elderly couple sitting there.

“You are disrupting the other patrons, dears…” Violet soothes, as Marcus wisely moves the remainder out of their reach, and Agatha offers apologies to the couple.

Just then, a waiter materialises.  “Can I get you anything else?” he asks brightly in that manner that suggests it may be time for them to wrap up their visit.

“I like opera better when it's in Italian,” Victor pronounces loudly, seemingly apropos of nothing. Everyone turns to look at him, including the waiter. “It's nicer when you don't know what they are saying.”

“Yeah, such a normal family….” Hyacinth mutters sarcastically as Gregory flips her the finger. 

—

Benedict pulls up at the address his sister texted and is instantly confused.

This doesn't look like the sort of place someone Anthony dates would live. 

He has only ever known his brother to be with models and influencers. The types who wouldn’t dare stray beyond the bounds of Zone Two, even though they would never be seen dead using the Tube.

This looks like a place normal people might rent—a converted Victorian in a typical London neighbourhood.

A few moments later, he is ringing the doorbell, mostly intrigued as to who this woman is. Also to return the jumper she apparently left behind after the party. Why Hyacinth insisted he be the one to return it is a bit of a mystery… but then maybe it's because he's the only family member who actually enjoys driving around London.

There is no answer, but just as he is about to give up, the door swings open, and a youngish man appears, seemingly distracted by the contents of his pockets, startling when he looks up to see Benedict there.

“Oh, hello. Sorry. Didn't see you there… Can I help you?” 

“Hi, I'm, um, looking for the woman who lives in Flat 2…?” Benedict hedges, not wanting to offer her name to a possible stranger.

“Y/n?” the man instantly reels off. 

“Yes, yes! You know her?”

The man laughs. “She lives in my flat, of course I know her!”

“You live together?” Benedict buffers. 

“Well, her and her sweet kitty cat,” the man winks, seemingly conspiratorily. “I’m Alby, by the way, Albion Finch. And you are…?”

But Benedict doesn't reply, too stunned to respond, backing away and fleeing back to his car without another word—leaving Alby puzzled and standing there clutching his Tesco Bag For Life.

As he starts up the engine and drives off, a million thoughts tumble in Benedict’s head:

Anthony’s fiancee is living with another man?! And they have a cat together? Or, even worse, he talks about his girlfriend VERY inappropriately…. Either way, how the hell can this beautiful (wait…what?!) woman be engaged to his brother?! Nothing makes sense.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaani @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[diorsluv]

casual , part 7

“ you said ‘we’re not together’ ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by vivianliu, dylanduke25, and 100,299 others

yourusername i’m on that hot girl shit

view all comments

username91 the mirror pics 🤭🤭

username40 gimme sum of the hot girl shit babe 🙏

lhughes_06 yes queen be confident!! don’t let my douchebag of a best friend bring down your happiness

→ yourusername who are you and what have you done to my brother

→ mackie.samo limp wrist culture

→ markestapa 🍊🍓🍎🫐🍐🥭🥝🍏🍋

→ dylanduke25 fruit bowl alert

→ rutgermcgroarty 😟

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_quinnhughes i have a few friends who want to get to know you a bit better

→ yourusername wait a second..

→ _quinnhughes yes i know i never let you talk to guys 😑 BUT THIS IS AN EXCEPTION.

→ yourusername is it what i think it is 😱

→ jackhughes WAIT WHAT WE DIDNT AGREE TO THIS

→ lhughes_06 THIS WAS NOT UNANIMOUSLY DECIDED

→ _quinnhughes THIS IS A ONE TIME THING ONLY yourusername

rutgermcgroarty yay

→ yourusername ☺️

→ rutgermcgroarty 😁

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→ lhughes_06 what the hell is this

→ luca.fantilli goddammit they’re communicating in emojis again

_alexturcotte AYEEEE NICE

trevorzegras SHES BACK??

→ yourusername IM BACK

→ trevorzegras are you happy

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→ jackhughes she’s not happy she called me last night bawling her eyes out

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username48 who’s gonna tell her she looks absolutely GORGEOUS

username93 drop the workout routine babe

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luca.fantilli i think someone might feel a bit regretful

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→ luca.fantilli IM TRYING TO HELP YOU

vivianliu oh my god

vivianliu mother

vivianliu you’re so hot

liked by yourusername

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→ yourusername ‼️‼️

→ lhughes_06 i’d rather you date her instead of him

→ jackhughes me too

markestapa he has so much pride i apologize

→ yourusername 🤷‍♀️

→ yourusername you know how i am with my toxic men

→ _quinnhughes yeah you’re obsessed yourusername

→ trevorzegras LMAOOO

→ mackie.samo goddamn 😭

→ vivianliu stop don’t do her like that

→ _alexturcotte violation.

→ dylanduke25 💀💀

colecaufield hello i see those are the headphones i generously gifted you out of the kindness of my heart

→ yourusername i dont like where ur going with this.

→ colecaufield I DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING

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→ jackhughes he wants you to go watch him play when they play the wings on thursday

→ colecaufield JACK.

→ yourusername AWWW OF COURSE I WILL (can you get me good tickets 🤨)

→ colecaufield i already got you behind the bench don’t worry

username14 i’m afraid you ABSOLUTELY ATE 💕

username55 mom and dad are fighting again

→ username71 mom and dad??? they didnt even hard launch babe 😭😭

edwards.73 nice

this comment has been deleted

edwards.73

liked by adamfantilli, markestapa, and 93,447 others

edwards.73 spent time with the #1 bro tn

tagged: markestapa

view all comments

dylanduke25 i always knew you had favoritism

→ edwards.73 it’s true mark’s my favorite

→ dylanduke25 YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DENY IT

→ edwards.73 my mom said never lie

→ markestapa i love you too babe 🥰🥰 edwards.73

→ edwards.73 😘

username36 this is so frat boy

adamfantilli this is completely unfair

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→ adamfantilli BRO SHE’S MY BEST FRIEND BY ASSOCIATION

username16 i’m waiting for you and rosie to make up

username5 ethan’s cheating with mark 😱

mackie.samo let’s address the allegations

→ edwards.73 hell no

→ dylanduke25 what allegations?? 😟

lhughes_06 why can’t you just stop beating around the bush for once

jackhughes i hope you know she cries herself to sleep every night

→ yourusername stop exaggerating it was one time 😒

username17 listen to the hughes ethan please 🙏

username3 i’m so confused what’s going on

vivianliu you should’ve spent tonight with her

→ edwards.73 well i didn’t so 🤷‍♂️

→ vivianliu oh my god you drive me insane just make up and fuck already

→ markestapa what’s with the change of heart vivian 🤨🤨

→ vivianliu i give up

colecaufield 👍

→ edwards.73 🙏

username45 ayeee that’s what we like to see

username90 whyd you post a mirror pic too

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_alexturcotte just makeup and makeout

→ trevorzegras whaaat 🤯

→ edwards.73 thought you were so against me what happened

→ _alexturcotte we’re so tired of you two

luca.fantilli am i #2 at least 🥹🥹🥹

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→ adamfantilli #2 literally means shit

→ rutgermcgroarty awww luca you’re shit 🥰

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yourusername stop ignoring me please

username37 ethan and mark best duo ⁉️⁉️

username74 let’s talk about the fact that that’s a whole ass mural in a house???

→ username59 frat house go crazy

_quinnhughes stop ignoring her ethan

→ edwards.73 i’m not

trevorzegras should’ve invited me fr

→ edwards.73 buddy you’re on the other side of the country

→ trevorzegras PLEASEEEE 🥺🥺🥺🥺

→ edwards.73 ew god no

username16 this is so old chase atlantic coded

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rutgermcgroarty PLEASE she’s sobbing uncontrollably and i know it’s killing you too

→ edwards.73 mmmm

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→ edwards.73 STOP STALKING ME??

→ rutgermcgroarty if i don’t see you still at her apartment when i wake up in the morning i’ll make sure you never wake up again

→ adamfantilli calm down rut 😭

→ colecaufield i see you’re a bit protective aren’t you rutgermcgroarty

→ mackie.samo why are we threatening each other

→ lhughes_06 okay why are his words effective but mine aren’t 😔😔

→ markestapa what the hell is going on

→ dylanduke25 FIGHT??

→ jackhughes more like a murder dylanduke25

→ vivianliu i stand by rut ‼️

username20 please just have makeup sex already i want the old posts back

→ username2 yeah i think they’re doing that 💀

next chapter notes ) soooo yes they’re a little toxic but i love my toxic men 🥴

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust @alwaysclassyeagle @love4ldr @inhoodmood @bunting58 @crazycat-ladys-blog @smoooore @bunbunbl0gs @lilasianmeat

[ezxthan]

I’m done with the first ending (Mad Love) and these are my general impressions (no major spoilers):

I really enjoyed this route and I can't remember the last time I enjoyed writing in a Cybird game so much (okay, maybe i remember, i'm looking at you @ Kanetsugu). 

I usually don't like the dead sibling trope because the entire plot revolves around it and it's incredibly annoying. But in Jude's route it worked really well. His dead little sister is just a part of his life and one of the many reasons why he is the way he is now, but not like, you know, “the center of everything”. If you remember his story events, you can see a lot of connections and I'm very happy that they left a mark on the main plot. Especially the story with Anne.

There's a lot going on because, first of all, everyone in London wants to kill Jude, and second of all, everyone outside of London wants to kill Jude too. Funny thing, the secondary characters are named Theo and Gilbert. Is that intentional, Cybird????

There weren't really any shocking plot twists - the situation with Jude's family was revealed quite quickly. But that was absolutely no problem. Jude's story is pretty sad, but somehow comforting. IDK, HE’S THE GREENEST RED FLAG IN THE GAME. He seems awful on the outside, but he has a good heart, even if he'd rather call Victor his mother than admit it. 

The last chapters were pretty chill compare to the whole route (at least in Mad Love ending - I’m to poor for the Blind Love right now lol). We only have one attempted murder, yay! Ah, what about Kate? Kate has a gun and my heart. 

As always: Sorry for my English, but my language skills are one thing and the need to promote the majesty of Jude Jazza is another.

P.S. If you were hoping for sex on the desk in Jude's office, this is your lucky day. Congratulations! Here's a bonus for masochistic perverts:

Have a nice trip to the moon!