#and then the unreality and not knowing what was real or wasn’t and everything feeling fake. ugh

[astronomy-two-worlds-apart]

thinking about how me last night at about this time was quite literally going through it lmao

[f4riedimples]

one of the girls

Pairings:Sam carpenter x f!reader

summary:truthfully ,after months of hooking up you never knew if Sam would ever officially be yours.

Inspired song:one of the girls-Jennie,The Weeknd,lily-rose depp.

a/n:(reader is 19, Sam is 25)

warnings:friends with benefits?,small smut/suggestiveness, secrets, jealousy

‘We don't gotta be in love, no I don't gotta be the one, no I just wanna be one of your girls tonight’

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Yes, you had feelings for Sam but you’d never thought it’d turn out like this.

I mean- why would she decide to do this herself anyways? It all felt so unreal. you’d known each other since before she left her home 5-6 years ago.

and ever since she was back you couldn’t help but have feelings for her. She was everything that you wanted.

“Right there- right there, fuck.” She had whispered to you as you continued to please her, switching to whatever you knew she truly wanted deep down.

she loved to be dominant but you knew she’d also love to be taken care of so you decided to do whatever you can to please her.

‘Give me tough love Leave me with nothin' when I come down My kinda love Force me and choke me 'til I pass out’

after you made her feel good you both just would simply put on your clothes. No aftercare, sometimes no words.

nothing.

after you both came out of her room you helped yourself to a bottle of water in her fridge. You really needed it after all.

If you were gonna be honest as much as you loved doing whatever Sam asked of you, you wanted so bad sometimes for more. A real relationship. You hated how attached you were getting.

You at least would’ve loved some sex that felt soft, loving, and of course comforting. Not just sex that’s more…freaky. Not just the degrading words that would turn you on, the way she would spank you, the way she made you feel the way no one else could.

it felt good in the moment but you wanted more.

but you might never speak on that.

“hey y/n.” You turned around as she said your name, waiting for what she was gonna say next.

“can you hand me a bottle of water?” She panted as she wiped a bit of sweat off her brow. You handed her some water and she eagerly almost chugged it before chuckling.

“hey is it okay if I take a shower real quick before Tara and the others come back?” You asked almost shyly before she sent you a smile.

“of course.” You smiled and made your way to the shower trying not to think about everything running in your head.

after getting out of the shower you quickly threw on some clothes and excited the apartment, giving Sam a rushed good bye as you power walked out of the apartment.

Sam on the other hand…well. She didn’t know how to feel. Or what she felt.

the next day you had come over with the rest of the group to hang out before going out to the club that night. As soon as you arrived and Sam answered the door you saw Danny in the room.

you stared, almost glared at the muscular boy before Sam interrupted all the thoughts that were coming to your petty little head.

“y/n, come in!” She smiles seemingly not knowing what you were staring at. Once you had got in and set your bag down you hugged Mindy before sitting on the couch next to her.

You guys had quite a fun time for a while. All until when you weren’t paying attention Sam was taking Danny to her room.

your eyes widen as it felt like your worst fears were coming true right in front of your eyes.

no one noticed at first until you had this almost upset look on your face. Chad turned to you concerned thinking that you were about to cry or maybe even scream.

“Y/n? You okay? You seem pretty tense.” He asked concerned as you just shook your head and sighed with a chuckle.

“I’m fine. Thanks Chad.” You sent him a smile at his caring nature and also because to night was supposed to be fun.

and besides, Sam wasn’t yours anyways. Why would you be mad over someone who doesn’t belong to you?

once Sam and Danny had came out of the room after what felt like an eternity you had all went to the club.

while there you had some shots but decided to separate from the group.

In the corner of your eye you had saw Sam dancing pretty suggestively with someone else. There was so many people around you that you could only focus on Sam in the face she was making as she was touching the person.

“she’s not yours, she’s not yours, she’s not yours…she’s not…” you said in your mind as your eyes filled with tears. You didn’t know wether you wanted to tell that to the person or how much you were telling it literally to yourself.

she wasn’t yours. She wasn’t anybody’s.

you were just lucky your friends weren’t currently seeing you. You made your back to the bar and ordered another shot.

“thank you!-“ you almost squealed trying to be happy and cheer up. As you took the shot and felt the alcohol burn your throat you tried to get out of the sad mood and shake it off.

you felt a tap on your shoulder. You didn’t wether or not you hoped it was Sam before turning around to reveal…

some random guy.

he had a smirk like smile on his face and you already knew he wanted to dance.

you really wanted to roll your eyes.

“sorry. I’m not good at dancing.” You lied as you tried not to have an attitude. But of course he wouldn’t let up that easily.

“oh come on sexy. I saw you dancing a few minutes ago. I know you got moves.”

you sighed. “Sorry I just really don’t wanna dance right now.

the guy rolled his eyes with an attitude.” Cmon! I could really make it worth your while. Besides…maybe if you want we could go back to my place and you could experience some real fun.” His breath reeked of alcohol. You could tell by his clothes, scent, messed up tattoos and teeth that it wouldn’t be happening.

he was clearly fucked up in more ways than one. He yelled at the bartender to get you both shots of one of your least favorite alcohols.

You tried to be patient and talk out of this. “Listen man I’m just not interested. You’re not my type. Keep your shots for yourself. I can buy my own.” You argued with a slight attitude.

he couldn’t help but groan. “Damn. Why don’t chicks like a real man who’ll take care of you?” He then mumbled under his breath as he started to walk away. “Ugly bitch.”

you gripped the bar table in anger as you tried to keep a your emotions from the past weeks at bay.

you quickly turned around and ordered another shot from the bartender Toni who had a really sorry look on their face feeling bad for you.

as you took your next shot you heard Tara shout your name happily.

“y/n cmon! Why are you just sitting there by yourself?” It wasn’t anything to be rude or sarcastic but you still felt angry at it. But you knew that it wasn’t her fault for the predicament you were in.

you turned around and sighed before taking another shot and smiling. “Let’s party!”

now you were currently dancing with Mindy in not a too suggestive way. Everyone around you could tell it was just playful and friendly.

she was behind you as you two danced to the current song that was playing. It felt so good to let loose that you started to forget about the whole Sam situation.

that is until she took your hand and led you to another part of the club.

you were shocked and confused in your drunk mind. “Sam? What are you doing?”

“dancing. With you.” You could tell that she was probably not too happy but you ignored it and made sure not to make her mood worse. you guys were dancing like a couple who were ready to get it on. You felt her hands on your body and saw how she sent a slight glare at Mindy.

was she jealous? Couldn’t be. Her and Mindy probably just had an argument recently or for all you could know it probably wasn’t even aimed directly at Mindy.

you were almost getting turned on with the way Sam was dancing against you and grabbing you. It made you wanna kiss her so bad. And you almost did until you realized how angry could be.

‘Lock me up and throw away the key *She* knows how to get the best out of me I'm no fools for the world to see Trade my whole life just to be’

you were so ready and hoping Sam would take you back to her apartment right then and there when everyone got back and wouldn’t notice. But after a few minutes you saw her staring on another direction with a much different gaze.

you knew that this would probably be the end of your dancing now and you were right as Sam pulled away and walked off.

you were sad again. You weren’t gonna do anything crazy to get her jealous again. No. You were just gonna go back over to your friends and dance in a much more friendly and less provocative way.

you were once again trying to feel better but everyone around you could tell that was a mask to hide how you truly felt.

‘Top of the world but I'm still not free It's such a secret that I keep Until it's gone, I can never find peace Brace my whole life just to be’

when you all got back to Sam’s your drunkenness had already died down from all of your emotions on everything.

you so desperately wanted to talk to Sam before you all got back into the car.

but you’d just embarrass yourself or at least that’s what you felt.

you wanted so badly to move on. Get away. Stop it. But you knew that it would be such a bitch to leave. Not when you and Sam had already done so much.

you were just thankful that she didn’t try to bring back whoever she was dancing with at the club.

you hopped into the shower first and got rid of all the little bit of sweat from your time parting at that club. even as the drunken state your mind had was fading you couldn’t help but think about if Sam came in her right now.

seeing you like this. But not just for some hook up to end the night. No. Maybe to…finally be official?

You knew it was beyond stupid so you tried to get that hopeful thought out of your head.

as you came out of the shower you realized that as everyone was mostly asleep Sam had her door wide open.

she pulled you inside. “There you are princesca.” She whispered lustfully before kissing you passionately.

at least you were her girl for the night.

[onsomenewsht]

now playing: Too Well

< track 5 || track 7 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader, Barcelona Femeni x Reader, Arsenal Women x Reader

》 words count: ~5k

》 you weren't there in my dreams, I could finally sleep / I felt good, but it sucks, I don't hate you as much

You hear the whistle before you feel the pain in your lower back.

It’s been going on like this since the very start of the game, your former teammates are on you like it’s personal, not giving you space to move or time to play.

But you know them, you played with them. It’s not personal.

At least you hope so.

You’re pretty sure they’re playing this rough because they’re scared of you. Of the way you’re keeping up with them, of the way you’re not going down easily.

It’s exciting, it’s exactly what you wanted.

This one foul feels a little bit unnecessary though.

It’s a tactical foul, you manage to find a weak spot on the side of Barcelona’s midfield and you go for it even if the ball sent to you is a bit too fast. Mapi’s body crushes into yours firmly, not enough to cause any real harm but definitely strong enough to hint you to take a breath on the ground.

“Perdón, tenía que hacerlo” (Sorry, I had to), a tattooed hand comes into your vision and the second thing you spot is the smirk on the defender’s face.

You accept her help, smirking too.

“You didn’t have to, that ball was way too long”

“Oye, sabes que no es por eso” (Yeah, you know it wasn’t about the game), María’s grin turns into a sincere smile as she moves back into her position, adding “Estamos a mano ahora” (We can call it even now).

The referee is making sure everything is settled, trying to keep control of the players, but you dismiss her and let Katie take the ball for a kick into the Barça’s box.

It’s an exciting game, it’s good football. That’s what you wanted for your first game back in Barcelona, your first game at Camp Nou as a rival. The crowd is wild and the atmosphere is all you could wish for from a Champions League match as important as the first leg of a quarter-final.

“You good?”, Leah asks while joining the fun into the box.

You are all waiting for Katie to stop discussing whatever she’s discussing with the referee just to give your teammates time to find their positions.

“Get that ball in and I’ll be amazing”

Arsenal does not manage to get the ball into the back of the net and you still have ten minutes before halftime to level the score.

It’s not fair game on paper, the odds are against you and some headlines must already be written. Barcelona’s movements on the pitch are faster and cleaner, sometimes the crowd is so loud you can’t even hear your own thoughts. They scored five minutes into and they’ve been setting the pace since.

But you’re standing up to the current Champions League’s winner.

Arsenal’s defence line is keeping up, the ball is rolling and you’re finding your forwards. You can score, you just have to play the right pass for your teammates.

On the other hand, Keira is personally marking you and another Barca’s player is always around to intercept your pass and prevent your movement. It’s frustrating, they know how you like to play, but it’s also flattering.

They have a mark on you, you just need to remember it’s acknowledgement you can cause trouble and not spite.

~

A couple of players booked for both sides is how the game gets into halftime.

You take your time to reach the tunnel, speaking animatedly with Victoria and Lia, gesturing around with your hands to explain some other tactics you can try. The atmosphere is unreal, you can’t deny all the overwhelming emotions of being back.

The fact you don’t want to risk ending up in Alexia’s line of sight has nothing to do with it.

Leah really jinxed it back then, the Champions League’s draw put your new club against your former one sooner than what you hoped for. However, you got here, you’re once again among the best in the game and it’s all you wanted.

Having to play against your ex girlfriend is just a small detail.

You’re still following her, you’re still updated about her life – her professional one, obviously. If you find yourself watching her game’s highlights or listening to her interviews, you tell yourself it’s just what you do to study your competition.

The truth is you want to make sure she’s doing good. On the pitch at least.

Alexia’s knee is bothering her again and you were so close to calling her when you read about her having to do checkups and potentially miss some important games. Like this one. No one has to know you texted Ingrid instead, just to make sure it’s not actually worse than the media is making it to be.

“Head in the game, trotter”

The Gunners have gathered around in the locker room, waiting for your captains to deliver some motivational speech to get back out there with a renewed spirit.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Give some shit, you idiot!”, Katie is upset and already carded, she better finds some inner peace before the second half.

“Kim, you amazing captain, say something”

“She’s right, you have the insight”

The Scottish skipper is looking at you with a calm smile and your manager is trusting her captains enough to let them deal with this by themself. The entire staff is looking at you like you have the answers to all the universe’s most important questions.

“I already spilled everything, you know I want to win this as much as every one of you”

“That was theoretical, now you had time on the pitch with them as a rival”

You had to think for a moment, taking your time to fix your socks and lacing your boots three times. Stupid superstitions you don’t believe in, but you are not going to risk it today of all days. The team needs to calm their running minds and you need to gather your thoughts.

When it seems like you have nothing worth saying, you take their faces in. You want to win as much as they want to, that’s true, but you also have a lot more to prove.

“They’re frustrated”

“They’re just pissed you broke up with the Catalan divinity”, a quip that worthed Katie a punch from Alessia.

“First of all, she’s la Reina”

Some of the girls laugh, others are just glad you can joke about it, but they’re all waiting for your useful words. There’s a game to win.

“They didn’t expect us to keep up with them, they thought more goals could have easily followed the first one. They’re keeping a high pace waiting for us to trudge backwards, and that’s not what we’re going to do”

“No way, Sherlock!”

Now it’s Caitlin who smacks the Irish’ head, she’s having it worse than you.

“We keep doing what we’re doing”, Kim steps in.

The preparation for this game was intense, the Arsenal team studied Barça for weeks and you know what to expect from them – thanks to your insight, but also thanks to the amount of effort the entire staff and team put into the training sessions.

“I know them, I’m gonna keep annoying the shit out of them and get us some good opportunities”

“You want to play bait?”, Leah is sceptical about your plan.

“Yes”

“No”

“Can work, they have reasons to want to foul her a bit more”, you’re not sure which side Laia’s on.

“Putting her in unnecessary danger, what a great idea to add a name to our injury report!”

“Let’s do it”, your manager interrupts the banter, looking at his watch, “Pass the ball to her whenever she’s free and let her go for the runs when she can”

You know the Barça’s girls, you know how they like to play.

That’s how you find a line of pass for your teammates, or you manage to slip around the Blaugrana’s kits, or even attempt a shot from just outside the box. You can tell they’re annoyed. And you know you can use their annoyance and arrogance against them.

“Let’s put a mark on her”, Leah definitely doesn’t like your plan.

“She already has, let turn it to our advantage”

“I’m here and I’m fine with it”

~

The second half starts and it gets more physical rather quickly, with both sides looking for a goal. Your teammates move better on the field when the opponents are busy double marking you or making sure you can’t keep or pass the ball.

You take the pressure well, hit after hit.

Until warm-up players distract you, Alexia is running on the sideline and you don’t see Ona’s tackle coming.

It’s a clean tackle, perfectly timed, but you missed a bit. You should have jumped her over or moved your foot away. Instead, your boot is planted on the side of the ball and you crush on the defender’s body before hitting the ground. Hard.

You don’t even hear the whistle this time.

“¡Ay! You okay?”

“Stay away!”

“Leah, calm down”, Alessia has to drag the blonde away from the little circle formed around you.

Your body is curled up on one side, face hidden behind your arms. You can feel the fresh grass of the pitch tickling your neck and the rushed movements close to you.

It takes you a couple of moments to understand the medical team is trying to get your attention, testing you worried about a concussion. Apparently, you hit your head falling down. Once asserted, and once assured both Ona and your teammates you’re fine, you are escorted to the sideline while the game resumes.

Alexia’s eyes are on you.

You always had a feeling of her presence and you were always able to find her wherever she was around you. It doesn’t matter the place, it doesn't matter how many people crowded it. If she had her eyes on you, you knew.

You smile at the realisation you can still sense it.

“How do you feel?”, the medic asks you.

“Like I just hit my head”

“Funny as always”

“Are you being sarcastic, Alice?”

“Glad you didn’t hit it hard enough to get some wisdom”, the woman is not amused by your attempt to dismiss the situation.

They’re holding you up and you’re quite happy they don’t let go when you ask, your legs failing to support you like they are supposed to.

Immediately looking back toward the pitch, you assert the situation. Barça is taking the most of the extra player, pressing higher and controlling the midfield easily. You can’t put your team at a disadvantage, not by wasting time on the side but not by coming back into the game with unsteady legs either.

You gave it all.

“Ask for a sub, Ali, please”

“You okay?”

“Yeah”

It’s ironic how both teams opt to make substitutions at the same time, it’s ironic how Alexia enters on the pitch as you make your exit from the other side.

The Culés crowd is screaming and applauding for their captain, but you like to hope they are also cheering for you as you walk your way towards the bench.

You sit impatiently, getting up every couple of minutes to shout directions to your teammates and to encourage them. Even after Aitana splits around your defence and plays an incredible ball that just needs to be chipped into the net.

~

The final whistle is both a blessing and a curse.

You join the circle of white kits gathered in the middle of the pitch, exchanging congratulations or supporting pats for every player you meet on your way there. You don’t really listen to your manager’s or Kim’s speeches, always blacking out every rational thought after a match despite the result.

The group disbands soon, tomorrow you will study every single moment of this game to better prepare for the second leg. It’s not done, but it’s over for now.

You encourage some of the younger girls to enjoy the atmosphere in the stadium, not everyone has the opportunity to play in such places and they should take the most in. There are fans to thank for their support too, never stopped cheering for you all.

“¿A dónde crees que vas?” (Where are you going?)

Mapi jumps on your back like you haven’t left the pitch on trampling legs just twenty minutes before.

“Let me lick my wounds in peace, Marìa”, no real spite in your words.

“Lo mereces, nena” (You deserved it)

“I wasn’t hoping for a welcoming party, but you all sure made the statement clear”

“Estás bien, ¿verdad?” (You’re good, right?)

“I’ll survive”

“You better, there’s still the return”, Ingrid must sense her girlfriend is about to say something stupid as she greets you in a warm hug.

The two of them are the only ones of your former teammates you met in person since your transfer, besides Keira who you cross paths with thanks to your mutual blonde friend. You’re glad they can act as a buffer as you find yourself back here.

Said English girls join the little group, animatedly discussing as Leah’s frown gets deeper. You know she’s upset about the result, but this something else entirely.

“Why is her face like that?”, you ask.

“She wants to swipe with the traitor and not with her best-est friend!”

“¡Vale, I was about to ask my favourite teammate ever!”

Keira and you make an all scene exchanging your tops but you cover yourself with an Arsenal warming vest, not really ready to wear the Blaugrana colours again. The Alexia’s one you sometimes happen to fall asleep wearing is another thing entirely, you’re not going to unpack that right here and right now.

Leah’s pissed look and Mapi’s glare about your antics are a good distraction.

Ona reaches out to you to apologise again, but you are quick to pull her in a friendly hug and reassure her that her tackle was clean – contrary to another defender, you joke.

“¡Muy bien, nena, tú lo pediste!” (Fine, you asked for it!), the Spaniard grabs your arm and literally drags you toward the family and friends section of the stadium.

You’re pretty sure you’re about to have a stroke when you realise her intention.

You meet a few of your former teammates on your way to the stands. You accept Irene’s embrace happily, also glad to delay the time of your execution. Jana’ and Claudia’ are a little shorter than what you wished for. Their smiles are sincere and their nice words are honest, you understand and you know it’s even more than what you deserve.

“¿Pensabas de irte sin saludar?” (You thought you could leave without saying goodbye?), Eli doesn’t give you time to answer as she welcomes you in her open arms, holding so tightly you have to hold back tears.

You don’t let her go and she understands you need a moment to compose yourself, hidden in her embrace, and she lets you be. The woman’s the closest to a mother figure for you during your time in Spain, mothers know better.

“You look awful”

“You always were the better looking one, Alba”, you quip back as you let the younger girl join the hug.

“¿Estás bien, mija?” (How are you?)

“Como alguien que perdìo un partido de Champions League, señora S” (As someone who has just lost a Champions League’s game)

“¡Ay! Aún tan formal” (Still with the title)

Alexia’s family welcomed you as a born and raised member of their clan, always trying to make your homesickness less difficult and succeeding at making you feel loved. Yet, you insisted on calling her mother with all the formalities, first out of respect and then just as a running joke between the two of you.

“We’re going out to eat something, you’re coming”

“Nope”, you can’t think of anything worse than sitting and trying to have fun with your ex girlfriend’s little sister and some of your closest friends – who also happen to be your ex’s best friends, your former teammates and the ones that just beat your club and your ass.

“Keira already spilled you guys are free tonight”

Damn Keira.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea”

“Te extrañamos, nena” (We missed you)

You missed them too, truly.

Nevertheless, you have to process all your feelings about being here, being back in Barcelona.

The familiar road to the stadium somehow looked like taking you to a completely different destination. The hectic tunnel somehow crushing on you, the exciting atmosphere somehow making you sick. The Culés crowd is a completely different experience when they’re not cheering for you.

“I just want to sulk in a bit by myself”

Marìa knows you, she doesn’t press on the matter even if you can tell she wants nothing more than to spend more time with you and your friends. Her arm around your shoulder is comforting as you say your goodbyes to Eli and Alba, promising them not to disappear again.

You’re keeping your promise this time.

“¿Estás segura?” (Are you sure?)

You two finally reach a more private part of the tunnel’s exit, stepping a couple of times on the way there to wave at the fans. At least they don’t seem to hate you.

The hug you envelop each other in is the longest and most comforting one you ever exchanged, holding more than what words can tell and actions can convey. You let Mapi go just after spotting a blonde head waiting for you around the corner.

“Yeah, I’m gonna crush your dreams next time we see each other”

“¡Vale, pero mándame un mensaje antes!” (Yeah, but you better text before then)

The defender takes the opposite direction as Leah drops her arms around your shoulders from behind, effectively dragging you into the locker room.

“You good?”

“If someone else asks me again I’m gonna scream till you have to call the Neuro on me”

“Perfect, you can shower then, you stink”

The girls aren’t as loud as they usually are as you just lost a pretty important game and some are gonna sleep really bad thinking about missed opportunities or defence mistakes. You, first of all, know you’re not gonna sleep at all tonight.

When you’re ready to go, you leave the stadium for the parking lot.

“Are you going back to the hotel?”

Leah is probably hoping you decide to join her, Lia and a couple of the girls at the eating place Mapi mentioned before. You honestly would love to spend a quiet night out with your friends, both from your past and present, but you’re pretty sure Alexia’s gonna be there.

She managed to avoid you until now, you don’t want to ruin her night.

“There’s a place I want to go to”

~

Half an hour drive away from Camp Nou there’s a little secluded beach, rocky shore all the way down to the sea and just a couple of metres of sand in between.

Alexia insisted on bringing you there one day, unprompted and without a real reason to make such a trip in the middle of the week. The location is far away from any tourist spots but close enough to be a place to go when you need to think, surrendered by everything and nothing at the same time.

The Catalan ended up there the first time when she was barely old enough to drive herself around, coming back any time she needed to silence her mind and allowing herself to focus only on the unbothered nature.

You two used to go there together to just exist in the same place at the same time without needing anything else.

However, you got the habit of going there by yourself when you felt overwhelmed and in your last months in Barcelona you feel like you spent more time looking at the sea from that particular spot than in your own home.

The taxi’s drive there is quiet in the most awkward way possible, the old man asking way too many questions for your liking, but when you feel steps approaching you have no doubt who is joining you.

“I can leave, it’s your spot after all”, you gave yourself permission to come also secretly hoping to find her here.

“Tenía una sensación” (No need, I had a feeling)

When she refuses to join the little night out, much to her teammates’ disappointment, the English girls are way too fast to assure her you declined the invite and Mapi even encourages her with a silent but meaningful nod.

She drops on the ground keeping some needed distance from you, crossing her legs and holding herself on the sweater she’s wearing.

“I thought you were ignoring me”

“Ajá, intenté pero mamá me regañó” (Yeah, I was but mom scolded me)

You finally really look at her for the first time in nine months, allowing yourself to take in every single detail you memorised that last day to make sure her eyes still brighten the same way and the creases around her mouth still move in the same spots.

How can she be the same person and a completely different one at the same time?

The older girl is not looking at you, her gaze fixed on the landscape as she tries to regulate her heartbeat while shaking every time a gentle blow of wind urges you both to breathe some air in.

“You’re a brunette now”

Alexia’s laugh is something you had no idea you could miss so deeply until it reaches you open and at full speed, almost knocking you down physically as much emotionally.

When she finally looks at you, oh, you are so fucked.

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore is not enough to cover the silence that surrounds you again, you’re sure she’s here to kill you slowly without having to use words or weapons. She just needs to remind you what you left behind, who you lost.

“Lo siento” (I’m sorry)

“I– what? No, no, you don’t need to–”

“Te conozco” (I know you)

The Catalan has an all speech planned, rehearsed all the way here just to make sure she can say everything she needs to say in the best way she can.

“Lo siento, te conozco y yo– I knew you weren’t in love anymore y I didn’t do anything”

“I never stopped loving you, Alexia”, you have to make sure she understands it was never about her.

“Lo sé” (I know)

A warm hand leaves the hiding spot in the pocket of her sweater to land in the space between you. It’s not an invitation, you are not stupid enough to hope that, but it’s an open gesture. You believe she even smiles, but you’re probably delusional and actually concussed.

“I was there, I saw you fall in love with the club y with the city y conmigo”, she starts, fixing her gaze back to the waves, “I was there and I saw you fall out of love too”

“Alexia, I–”

“Por favor déjame terminar, you left without a word and I have words to say now” (Let me finish, please)

When it was time for you to leave Barcelona, she was the one taking you to the airport. She insisted, she was adamant about it.

You broke up with her with a transfer request and a shiny contract signed with a club in a different country, and she didn’t try to change your mind.

You packed your life in Barcelona and your life together in a couple of boxes, shipped them to an apartment you didn’t even visit yourself beforehand, and she went to her mother for a week just to give you the space to do that.

You said your goodbyes to your teammates at the end of a particularly hard gym session, no game left to play and a recovery plan already sent in by the trainers, and she watched over you a couple of steps back even if all she wanted was to join the group hug.

However, when you wanted to take a taxi to the airport, she was determined to drive you herself. The radio mocking you all the way there, playing your song as soon as she started the car up. You didn’t dare to turn it off, but you wished she had.

Alexia didn’t say a word, she parked the car and helped with your luggage, following you inside till just bureaucracy and security checks stopped her. Not a single word, not a single tear. You had red eyes and shaking hands, your ex girlfriend nodded to you and let you leave like that.

“You fell in love with Barcelona and playing for Barça and I thought that was enough for you just because it’s everything to me”

“You are–”

“No, por favor” (Please, don’t do that)

You’re not sure if she’s asking you to let her apologise or if she wants to stop you from saying something that could most definitely just hurt the two of you more.

“I’m sorry, I knew you didn’t feel at home anymore and I just hoped your love for me was enough to make you stay”

“It was”

It takes everything in you not to reach her, brushing away the tears that are marking her cheeks.

“Ay, but that’s why you ask for the transfer, no?”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, you left a place that was not your home”

“I don’t even know where my home is”, you’re not sure if there’s a place for you to call home in the first place. Maybe you’re just not made to feel at home.

“Es aquí” (It’s here)

You register her coming closer just when she has a finger pointing in the middle of your chest, eyes soft as she looks right through your heavy breaths and broken soul.

“Tu casa es tu corazón y cuando tu corazón no se siente en casa, te vas” (Your home is where your heart is and when your heart doesn’t feel at home anymore, you leave)

“I should have explained, I should have tried harder”

“I knew”

“Alexia–”

“No importa, I didn’t understand it, but it’s okay”, she’s the one reaching for you, gently touching your face as she’s scared you’re gonna break in a million pieces if she speaks too loud or brushes her fingers too roughly on your cheeks.

“Mi casa está aquí, mi familia está aquí y mi futuro está aquí, juego en mi equipo favorito y estoy dónde está mi corazón. Soy afortunada, tú no tienes la misma suerte. Intentaste explicarlo y nunca te escuché, y luego fuiste” (My home is here, my family is here and my future is here. I play for my childhood club and I’m exactly where my heart is. I’m lucky, you don’t have the same luck. You tried to explain it so many times but I never listened. And then you left)

“Te juro, dejar Barcelona fue la única manera” (I swear, leaving Barcelona was the only way)

“Lo sé, me sentí como una parte de mí dejé contigo” (I know, I felt like a part of me left with you), she takes a moment and you can see in her eyes that she spent a lot of time thinking about this, “I feel like I was missing a piece that let me breathe properly and kick a football the right way or winning successfully and sleeping peacefully”

“I’m sorry I had to leave”

“You never left, not really”

Alexia’s voice is shaking now, for the first time since sitting next to you and letting you understand you can forgive yourself for hurting her. She did.

“No estabas aquí, pero nunca te dejaste” (You were not here, but you never left), she laughs before explaining herself, “You’re in the cafeteria you were a regular at and I can’t let myself go anymore, you’re in the dating shows I avoid to watch. You’re in the songs you say you hate but you sing so bad while you cook”

You can’t hold her gaze when she says the last part, “You’re in the footballs left behind after training”.

“You knew”

“Nunca siento que no estás aquí, a veces lo odio a veces me ayuda” (I never feel like you are not here, sometimes I hate it and sometimes I hold on into it)

“Yo también te extraño” (I missed you too)

Her laugh is still your favourite sound in the entire world.

~

When the sun disappears under the waves, the Catalan offers to take you back to your hotel.

Alexia’s driving always manages to calm your nerves, you don’t miss the fact she is taking the longest road and she has the windows rolled down even if she hates it.

You’re exhausted, drained both physically and mentally. Somehow, though, your chest doesn’t feel so heavy and your lungs actually fill with fresh air, your mind doesn’t feel so crowded and your thoughts actually unravel rationally.

The last time you were in a car with Alexia it felt like the two of you were going to bury a piece of yourself down the heart of the earth, this time you are going to bring it flowers. This time, when a familiar song starts to play, you find the courage to turn it off.

“Thank you”

“Por no odiarte?” (For not hating you?), she quips, not taking her eyes away from the still very familiar road.

“Thank you for understanding”

“Hiciste lo que debías hacer” (You did what you had to do)

Alexia stops the car in the private parking lot of the hotel your team is staying in, you don’t need to check the time to know you should head back soon.

You say your goodbyes, knowing you will see each other in ten days and it’s probably going to hurt as much even if in a completely different way.

She doesn’t accompany you to the hotel’s entrance, but, unlike the last time, you turn around when you hear her calling out your name.

“I hope you found what you left for”

[querenciasturniolo]

believe ⮕ c.s.

word count: 604

warnings: insecure thoughts (if you squint), corniness (live life on the cob, baby)

summary: you’re having trouble believing that any of this was real, until chris completely eases your mind without saying anything

a/n: (part two to unreal) i wasn’t exactly planning on writing a part two for unreal, but oh my GOD this was so fun to write. i was worried i’d have no idea where to start, but i hope this works 💓

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

part one || part two

tags: @olivelovesolives222, @hollieeelol , @black-yn , @rafes-starkey , @mininishiriki , @gwenloremain , @athenalive , @notmarnaa , @iluvmatt , @emmssturniolo , @mlimmm , @peter-knows-spiderman , @strniolo , @aec420 , @oneirophobic , @obsessivencrazy , @landryz , @marleyramsey , @umichlover , @genericgravity , @olivia2463675 , @ot5xhabit , @floofparker , @friedfirewagonhorse , @champangekisses , @hoshhoshh , @mxriverse

It had only been a few months since you’d met Chris, and you were flying out to see him.

The two of you had texted, called, and facetimed at all hours of the day and night for the entirety of it, and when he suggested you visit them, you couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity. You’d taken a week off from work, and you were flying out to see Chris.

It was so hard to believe.

You’d gotten to know him on a totally different level, and you couldn’t believe he was interested in you. It shocked you each time your phone lit up, and you smiled before even reading the text. You had fallen hard, and you didn’t know if you ever wanted to get up.

The Uber ride to their house was nerve wracking, and you just hoped that Chris felt the way you felt. You hadn’t necessarily talked about your feelings with him, but he didn’t bring it up either. He’d called you little names before, like a casual ‘babe’ here and there, but it happened so fast that you couldn’t bring it up. And you’d hinted subtly before, whether it was a nervous and awkward ‘that’s cute’ here and there or not, you hoped he picked up on it.

You’d stepped out of the Uber and sighed, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and walking towards the door. You hesitated when you knocked, but you could hear the clamoring down the stairs before the door was ripped open and Chris was pulling you into a hug. You reciprocated immediately, relaxing against him as his nose nuzzled into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He mumbled, your cheeks heating as you pulled him impossibly closer.

“Me neither.” You whispered, Chris finally pulling away and smiling down at you.

“Come on up, I have our whole evening planned.” He said, grabbing your bag from the floor and throwing it over his shoulder. You followed him up the stairs, turning your head when he gestured to the living room.

The couch was littered with blankets and pillows, the coffee table stacked with snacks, drinks and popcorn. “I was thinking we’d have a movie night. Watch a few movies, talk, all the fun stuff.” He said, dropping your bag, walking over and plopping down on the couch.

You grinned and nodded, following his lead as you dropped onto the couch next to him. There was a few inches of space between you, as you didn’t want to assume anything. He frowned in your direction, but didn’t say anything as he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

The movie played for quite awhile before anything was said. You felt the cushion dip next to you, and you looked over with wide eyes as you watched Chris lean forward and grab the popcorn. When he sat back, his eyes were still on the screen.

He glanced over, chewing his popcorn with raised eyebrows. “What?” He asked, his mouth full. You scoffed and shook your head, looking back at the screen without saying anything. A few more moments went by before Chris put the bowl back on the table. He leaned back, his arm wrapping itself around your shoulders lightly. You felt your skin heat up as you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder.

It wasn’t until you felt his lips press against the top of your head that you realized he did feel the same and you relaxed completely, pulling your blanket over your shoulder and finally paying attention to the movie.

You couldn’t believe it, this was unreal.

[inkareds]

Eat Your Young

Modern Aemond Targaryen

6/10 - Unreal Unearth Event

nav // event masterlist // hotd m.list (tba) // ko-fi // taglist

✧.* word count: 8.1k (it's really long idk) ✧.* genre: angst, comfort, and smut (it has everything) ✧.* warnings: SMUT so, MDNI!!! Reader is afab but no gendered terms are used, forced to manipulate ppl, Aegon is an asshole (it's warranted lmao), piv sex, sub-ish Aemond, shitty parents

Your parents gave you one task in the gala, make Aegon Targaryen fall in love with you and establish a connection between your family corporation and the Targaryens. But what happens when a certain other Targaryen brother catches your attention instead?

This isn't my first time writing smut but it is my first time writing smut here. I hope Aemond doesn't feel too ooc, I tried to balance out Aemond's own insecurities and worries with the usual Targaryen masking their insecurities with being an asshole vibe.

As always, story and lyric breakdown are at the end

“Just get through the night.” You whispered while smoothing down the creases you’ve made on your clothes. 

After taking a deep breath, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The bathroom was pretty empty, most people being outside socialising and celebrating God knows what. Frankly speaking, you couldn’t care less what event this gala was thrown for, it seemed like every other month some rich socialite was throwing a party or a gala. 

What did matter right now was that the Targaryens were esteemed guests and you have been given a special mission. 

Make Aegon Targaryen fall in love with you. 

The mission seemed easy enough, especially because you felt like you could read Aegon to filth. Classic oldest son in a rich family happens to have one too many burdens as a kid burning them out at a very young age, leading to rebellion and then rejection from the entire family. You could use every manipulative tactic in the book to get the man head over heels for you. 

Pretend you liked him, be there for him, ignore all his bad sides but never affirm them. It should be easy. It was easy. If you didn’t absolutely hate him. 

The moment you walked into the building your parents had given you a clear goal. Solidify a permanent business connection with the Targaryen family, the easiest way to do that is through Aegon Targaryen. But the moment you shared a conversation with him, you felt salt on your tongue. 

Drying your mouth, spinning your head, gagging your throat. It was disgusting. At this point, you didn’t know if your distaste for Aegon was due to him or what he represented. A distasteful mission of manipulation shrouded and hidden atop of family values. 

Do it for the family, they’d tell you over and over again before the gala, and so you must. 

But after all the myriad of conversations you’ve had with the man you needed a break. Taking a step away from the crowd you went over towards the bar for some respite. Bless whoever was hosting the party for the open bar, it’s the only thing that’ll get you through the night at this point. 

It wasn’t like Aegon was bad company, quite the contrary, he was fun, reckless, funny, if not a little bit crass. But you didn’t want to seduce him like a cheap whore. It felt wrong. Especially for someone like him who seemed desperate for a real human connection.

You idly moved the drink the bartender had just placed in front of you around the bartop. Letting your mind swirl around through possibilities of what you could do to run away from the situation your parents had bestowed on you. All coming to nought. You couldn’t find a way to follow your morals without your family’s absolute anger. It frustrated you. 

Though your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a certain tall man sat beside you. In any other case, you wouldn’t have minded, but in this specific case, where the bar was almost devoid of any other person except you and a few other people. The fact that a random man just decides to sit beside you irks you to no end. 

“Tired of entertaining my brother, are you?” He calls your name and you recognize that voice. 

Putting very little effort into concealing the small smile creeping into your features, you turned to look at Aemond. 

“Not quite, I just needed a drink.” You raised your cocktail in response to it. 

Aemond looked unconvinced. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond, as Aemond usually was, cut straight to the chase, 

He had softened his features ever so slightly the moment the two of you made eye contact, but now his expression hardened once more. His brows slightly furrowed as he asked you. 

“What do you mean?” You answered with another question, taking another sip from your drink, as Aemond ordered one for himself. Whisky on the rocks. 

He doesn’t answer for a little bit, letting the tension linger ever so slightly in the air. Perhaps edging you to confess to your sins rather than him calling you out on it. But when you still seldom answer Aemond is forced to reply. 

“Aegon’s a fool but he’s the heir to our father’s company, if he makes a bad decision than it reflects badly on the entire family.” 

You try not to take the implications behind his words to heart. Shrugging instead and looking away back to the wall of bottles behind the barman as he makes his way to make drinks for the other rich patrons. 

“If I remembered correctly, Mrs Rhaenyra was heir.” 

“We both know you wouldn’t be trying to get Aegon’s cock in your mouth if you believed that.” 

You tightened your hold on your drink, now almost empty, his crass words crossing you more than you wanted them to. A bitter chuckle left you through gritted teeth. 

“Would you prefer it be yours instead?” 

Aemond’s eyes focused on you as you smile at him and take your leave. You didn’t want to hear a single thing from the man anymore. Truth be told, you had wished he was the firstborn son, perhaps in that way your goal would be easier to achieve. You have known Aemond for longer than you have Aegon. He took care of the minor business meetings his mother, father, or half-sister couldn’t or wouldn’t be bothered to. Your family’s business meetings fell into that category. 

Which was another strong reason your parents had placed so much hope in you. It was through those meetings you were able to create a sort of relationship with the then-young Targaryen. Neither friendship nor romantic, somewhere along the lines of mutual respect and mutual understanding over the heavy burdens placed on each other’s shoulders. 

His as a result of being the only capable child of his mother and yours as a result of being the only child of your parents. 

All of that went away since he had been promoted after his father’s sickness making him lose the ability to work whatsoever a couple of years prior. Bi-weekly meetings where the two of you would share small conversations before and after meetings became nothing at all. With no clear reason to contact one another, whatever respect had fizzled away. 

That would’ve been the first time you’ve properly met and spoken to him since then. 

Though after that disastrous first conversation, you hoped you could avoid him the rest of the night. Something that worked far too well as Aemond seemed to disappear into the crowd. It did make your conversations with Aegon easier but you couldn’t help but look outwards into the crowd every now and again trying to look for him. 

When the night neared a close, all the guests started filing away and the remaining people were just the close friends of the host, you started to make your way outside. Your parents were waiting near the doorway, smiling proudly at you as you bid your leave from Aegon who grinned. 

There was a sadness behind his playful eyes, not that many seem to notice, you pitied him. Though not enough to forget your anger at being forced to do such a distasteful act. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Aegon waved you off with a light-hearted wink and you gave him a friendly smile in return. 

As you walked towards your parents, heavy in your footsteps and holding your head high despite the shame that runs hot in your veins, someone else stopped you. Aemond was standing next to a pillar you almost walked by, if not for him calling out your name. 

“I believe you owe me a proper catch-up, it has been a while since we met and I would regret leaving with a bad experience.” 

You glanced at him and then back at your parents. Your mother’s brows were furrowed lightly in confusion whilst your father leaned towards her ear to whisper something. A choice was now presented in front of you. 

Decline Aemond’s offer and go back to your family home with a bitter taste in your mouth and simple daydreams of what could’ve happened if you stayed. Or accept Aemond’s offer and not only risk angering your parents but also risk an awkward altercation with Aemond, no doubt solidifying your family name in the Targaryen business’ eyes. Which would also lead to your parents being infuriated. 

But when you looked back at Aemond, long white hair neat as it flowed down his suit, you couldn’t help but feel selfish. Your parents should understand, that a whole night of schmoozing against Aegon should allow you some kind of prize, this will be it. 

“Of course,” Aemond pushed himself off the pillar and walked beside you, offering his arm as he pulled you away from the crowd of leaving guests. 

The two of you walked in silence for a little bit before you realised where you were going. Dazed at the decision you just made, you didn’t realise where he was leading you. When you did come back to reality, you found yourself at the back of the gala venue, a motorbike in front of you. 

“I didn’t realise your version of catching up is kidnapping me, Mr. Targaryen.” 

He handed you a spare helmet which you took, grinning ear to ear. Of course, you’ve heard the rumours, Aemond Targaryen, the man that should be the second pick to be the next owner of Targaryen Corp, not Aegon. After all, Aemond was the more responsible one, he was more patient, and though he wasn’t more charismatic than Aegon, was much less prone to finding a photo of himself on the front pages of gossip tabloids. But rumour has it that Aemond Targaryen had an edge to him. An edge that made him not as approachable as his siblings or half-siblings were. 

To be quite honest, you were curious about what this edge was when you worked with him. When you didn’t see it at the entirety of your ‘friendship’ you assumed it was simply a rumour. But now, you wondered if you’d experience it firsthand. 

“We’re not professionally involved with one another anymore, Aemond will do,” he says as he steadies his bike, beckoning you to come to his side. “And don’t worry, I’m only taking us to a more quiet space to talk.” 

Aemond looked at you with a small sense of sincerity in his eyes, at that moment you knew if you refused it, he’d be willing to talk. You knew that was the safer option, the option that your parents had instilled in you the moment you graduated. But the other part of you, the long lost teenage part of you who longs for the reckless nights and dramatic mistakes your friends back in high school seem to partake in that you never did due to all the responsibilities you carried, wanted to see where the night will go if you said yes. 

You smiled and put on your helmet before climbing to the back of his motorcycle. Aemond himself grinned before he put on his helmet. With a single tap to your thigh, Aemond starts off the bike. In a single moment, you were cruising through the dark streets of King’s Landing. 

The colourful city lights decorated the sky as you whizzed through traffic. It was late enough that all Aemond had to do was manoeuvre slightly to keep the pace constant. You couldn’t help but relax your hold on him from behind. Your hands splayed out on his abdomen, coincidentally slightly feeling his well-muscled body from under his black suit. 

You grinned to yourself, feeling butterflies erupt in your stomach at the thought of what you were doing. When you tightened your hold, feigning fear, you pretended not to notice how Aemond's grip tighten. 

Aemond slowed down when you left the city, the lights slowly got dimmer and much further apart from one another. Until you finally stopped outside a large home. The estate itself was slightly smaller than the house you grew up in, granted you grew up well off, but the house itself wasn’t as imposing as you thought Aemond’s house would be. 

As Aemond parked his bike inside the garage, he offered you a hand to help you get off. He didn’t let your hand go as he led you into the house. 

“Is there a reason why your parents seem to stick by my mother’s side the entire night or were they simply trying to make sure she wasn’t lonely?” he asked with a chuckle. 

“Here I thought you were a smart man, Aemond,” you saw the way his throat bobbed when you said his name, “I assume you’d have figured it out already.” 

“Ah, of course,” he shook his head slightly as the two of you made it to his kitchen. His whole house was beautifully decorated, marble everywhere, coloured accents where it made sense. You had assumed there’d be more splashes of red here and there, considering the Targaryen head office was filled with it, but instead, a dark emerald and a deep forest green were scattered throughout the space. 

It complimented the place well. 

“The same reason you’ve been hounding my brother it seems.” You rolled your eyes as he opened a cupboard to take out a bottle. “A drink?” 

“It would be rude of me to refuse.” You answered, smiling as he poured both him and you a drink. 

“Now, care to explain?” He asks after you take a sip. 

“I know you think there is an ulterior motive for me, but have you ever considered that I just wanted to befriend Aegon?” You teased. 

He turned towards you, keeping his eyes on your own. 

“Aegon’s good company, but you don’t seem like the person who’d flaunt yourself like that.” 

“Really?” you asked as Aemond drew near, “What kind of person am I then, Aemond Targaryen?” 

“You,” he whispers, his voice low and his breath brushing against your lips. “You are someone brilliant, headstrong, responsible, but far far too loyal.” 

“Is that so?” he hummed in response, “Are you sure?” Your eyes travelled to his lips as you both placed your glasses on the counter you were currently leaning on. 

Aemond’s body trapped you between him and the counter. Though trapped wasn’t the word you’d use to describe how you were feeling. 

“I’m pretty sure. I pay very close attention.” 

“You pay close attention to all the people you used to work with?” 

His hand places itself on your cheek, his thumb reaching towards your bottom lip. 

“Only the ones I care enough for.” 

Then he closes the distance between you. His lips against yours, you feel the softness he tried to convey, in a way he was giving you an out. Allowing you to reject his advances and he’d pull away. But you didn’t want to. For the first time in the entire night, you felt your mouth feel with sweetness instead of cotton and salt. 

So you pursued him, you leaned forward to kiss him back, bringing both your arms around the back of his neck as you arched towards him. Aemond responds in tandem, both his arms snaking his way to your lower back. 

He pulls you closer to him as the kiss intensifies. You feel yourself filling with fire, wanting to be impossibly close to the man in front of you. An eruption of emotions you tried to hide behind an edge of professionalism all those years ago when you worked with Aemond finally bubbled up in your chest. 

As a result, Aemond responded, he groaned into your mouth as he pulled away, only to leave open-mouth kisses on your jaw. Exploring down onto your neck as you looked up to give him better access. Your collarbones were next and you felt your nerves light like a match being lit on fire and thrown into gasoline. 

You writhed in his touch as you felt his teeth graze against your skin. To try and help him you pushed parts of his hair aside so it wouldn’t bother him. He muttered a small thanks before continuing his assault on your skin. 

“I wish I could’ve asked you out properly before our last meeting.” he murmured into your skin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this.”

At the mention of your work, your lust-induced haze cleared. The thought of your parents reached your mind as you realised this has gone further than you intended. Instead of the butterfly of emotions and affection that rose in your stomach, bile began bubbling. You felt yourself stiffen as you tried to think of a way to get Aemond to stop. 

Aemond, not truly realising the war that raged in your mind, let his hands wander to your thigh, pushing against your clothes, wanting to feel your skin. When his other hand seem to start its ascend towards your chest you placed both your hands on his chest and pushed him. 

Immediately Aemond pulled back. You refused to look at him as you started to stammer out incoherent words. 

“I shouldn’t- we shouldn’t- this has gone too far. I- I’m-”

You failed to see the disappointment and hurt cross Aemond’s eyes as he watched you writhe and stammer, clearly uncomfortable at the position he had placed both of you in. But he quickly steeled himself, pulling away properly now. Taking a few steps back and looking to the side. 

Anywhere but you, with your swollen lips glistening with spit, and ruffled clothes from his hands. 

“Apologies then, I- I’ll send a driver to bring you home.” Just like that Aemond turned his heel and walked away deeper into his home. 

You turned to face him just in time to see a scowl form on his face, but you couldn’t call out to him like you wanted to. So, biting the inside of your cheek, you grabbed your bag and pulled out a mirror. Meticulously making sure you were presentable before making your way out of his home. 

In the driveway, you dared yourself to look back. You didn’t know what you were looking for, maybe Aemond to call you back inside, and finish what both of you started. But none of that happened. 

With a sigh and a heavy heart, you trudged your way to the car Aemond sent for you. 

~

The next few weeks went by with a blur. After exchanging numbers with Aegon in the party the two of you had spoken here and there. Surprisingly enough, you had slowly been accustomed to him. At times you viewed him as a friend. 

However, those times were quickly crushed during every family dinner when your parents would ask about Aegon and talk about the Targaryen corporation. 

When you weren’t talking to Aegon, you were dealing with your family business. Your parents were getting older so you’ve been taking on more and more responsibilities. Fortunately, under your lead, your family company has been growing steadily.

“Our sales went up significantly this month,” you spoke as you cut into a piece of asparagus on the plate, “The data analyst report said it was because of the ad rebrand. The simple but eye-catching colours seem to resonate with my generation.” 

Your dad hummed in agreement, “See, I told you our child would be fine taking over after us.” He signalled to your mother. 

“I never doubted you for a second,” She spoke with a smile, before stiffening once again, “But I must say, it isn’t the same growth that we saw when we worked together with the Velaryons or Targaryens.” 

“Well, that’s a given, they’re support would allow us to bridge continents,” your father continued. 

“Indeed, if we are able to secure your connection with Aegon then the company and our name will be set for life.” You bit your tongue to stop any kind of retort coming out, “After all, how hard can it be? You can tell the poor boy’s practically begging for attention.” Your mother and father laughed.

Leaving you to chew on your food in silence. You couldn’t blame them for being such social and economic climbers. You’ve learnt from a young age that if your parents hadn’t done some of the morally ambiguous things that they’ve done, there was no way they could be as successful as they are now. You had to take the plunge. 

You excused yourself early from dinner, making up an excuse on how you had plans with Aegon. Truth be told, you didn’t have plans with him, but you hoped his schedule’s clear enough to entertain your presence. 

Surprisingly, after a short call, he told you to meet up with him at a jazz bar not so far from where both of you lived. Quickly dressed up, your driver dropped you off at the luxurious establishment. 

When you entered you made your way directly to the bar, forgoing the small tables and such. Aegon had already been there, his back facing you. You swallowed hard and forced a flirtatious smile to grace you. 

Walking up towards him, your hands reached out to caress his back as you leaned forward. 

“Hi stranger,” you teased. 

In response, Aegon gave you a lopsided grin and gestured for you to sit on the stool beside him. 

You ordered yourself a dry martini and took your seat. 

“Why the sudden call?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“What?” you rolled your eyes, “Can’t I just miss you? It’s been a while since we saw each other. How are you?” 

He let out a loud chuckle and leaned forward towards you. 

“Oh baby, let’s not pretend we both don’t know what you want.” 

Aegon grinned and looked at you up and down. For some reason, you felt your stomach drop. This is what you want, right? I mean, if you sleep with Aegon tonight, then you could definitely hook him to you. Establish a connection between the Targaryens and your family and then your job was done. But it felt wrong. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Targaryen.” Your voice was low and sultry, as you egged him on. Though the voice in your head told you to stop. 

You can’t shake the thought of Aemond from your mind. The way Aegon was looking at you reminded you of that night. How different would things be if you never pushed him away? 

“Oh really?” Aegon continued standing up from his seat and taking a step towards you, his face mere inches from you. 

“Mhm” you hummed as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, ignoring the pangs in your heart screaming that this was wrong. 

Aegon bit the bottom of his lip. 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to believe him, but here’s the proof laid out in front of me.” Aegon suddenly pulled away and chuckled dryly, leaving you confused. “You can tell your bitch of a mom and bastard of a dad that sending their kid dolled up like a noble won’t make me fall head over heels.” 

He waved you off and took a seat back on his chair, looking forward at the bar and not at all to you. 

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you processed what he was saying. 

“Aemond told me sweetheart.” He turned to you, the lopsided grin and playful glint disappearing from his expression, “Told me about your little parents’ plans to connect us or some shit like that. You don’t have to keep following them you know? You’re not a bitch on a leash.” 

At that you gritted your teeth, Aegon had every right to be bitter at you. But to be this crass was uncalled for. 

“Why do you look so angry? I’m the one who should be angry. You’re over here flirting and practically opening your legs to seduce me like the devil.” He let out a humourless chuckle as your face flared in embarrassment. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not going to take it to heart. You’re not the only social climbing degenerate who tried to get with me just for a key to the company. Especially after my half-sister got married.” 

Degenerate

How fucking dare he? All things considered, he should look in the mirror. 

“Forgive me then,” You gritted your teeth and turned your heel to walk away, embarrassed and furious. 

Until Aegon called your name. 

“What I said stands by the way. You don’t have to listen to them, I mean, Aemond seem to care about you enough to warn me. Something about not letting you fuck over your entire life just because you needed to fuck me.” Aegon light-heartedly chuckles. “Just give it a thought, baby.” 

The pet name sounded more sarcastic than anything as you walked away without turning around. 

You should’ve known Aemond would’ve done something to sabotage you after you refused him that night. Bastard. What would you tell your parents now?!

That night you spent an hour in a random ice cream shop before calling your driver to pick you up. You needed to pretend like you had spent all that time with Aegon when in reality you were spending your time with several cups of your favourite ice cream flavour. Your only companion is the underpaid college student who had the unfortunate late night shift. 

~

After that, you avoided your parents like the plague. Thankfully after your father asked you to take up some of his responsibilities, something about grooming you to take over for him in a few weeks when he retires. Your new office was closer to your home than it was to your family home. So you had moved in back to your apartment penthouse. 

The weeks droned on like thick molasses, slow and tedious. You couldn’t relax anywhere you went outside your apartment, because every time you were at work you were risking your parents’ suddenly asking you about Aegon or the Targaryens or anything like that. 

Somehow it’s begun spreading across the office that you have been getting closer to the Targaryen family one way or another. It was good news for everyone working there because that could mean they’d be getting a pay raise if a collaboration happened. You didn’t know who spread the rumours but you had a feeling it was your father, his own way of putting pressure on you to finish the deal. 

These rumours were what made it both surprising and unsurprising when Aemond Targaryen suddenly arrived in your office. 

You had been busy with work calls the entire day, and when you were finished you had very little energy left and weren’t as perceptive to the things that were happening around you. All you knew was that it was around the time when everyone except the overtime labourers would go home. You should also go home but there was some work still left to be done. 

Readying yourself to take on the mountain of paperwork you still needed to do, a knock on your door broke your attention. 

“Come in.”

Your secretary popped her head in and looked positively frazzled. 

“Sorry boss, there’s someone here to see you.” 

You made a confused expression until the door was pushed open a bit more and you could see the hints of long white hair waiting on the front of your secretary’s desk not far from your door. 

“I see.”

“I told Mr. Targaryen that you’d be busy, but he promised it wouldn’t take a long time.” 

“It’s alright, send him in.”

She nodded as she stepped back and brought Aemond to your office. As the door opened further, you could see some of your co-workers looking at Aemond. Likely curious if he was the connection the rumours had been talking about. 

You sighed as he stepped in and your secretary closed the door. 

“Why are you here?” You refused to even look at him and instead picked up a piece of paperwork and a pen. 

“Usually when guests arrive at my office I offer them a seat first before questioning them. But I understand you’re still training to take over your father.”

Though his sarcasm would’ve brought a smile to your face any other day. Today it only irked you. 

“Oh, apologies Mr Targaryen, I wasn’t aware you were a guest. I had mistaken you for an intruder. Please, do sit.” 

You sarcastically motioned to the seat in front of you. Before rolling your eyes and once again turning your attention towards the contract in front of you. You started trying to read through it as Aemond sat in front of you. Trying your best not to focus on the way his black dress shirt moulded his well-toned body. The same body you were almost acquainted with. 

“How about we put the paper down darling, we both know you won’t be getting any work done with me here.” 

At his smug voice, you practically scowled. You couldn’t take him anymore. You couldn’t take any of the Targaryens anymore. With their pretty face and smug bastardly attitude. They act as if they’re above everyone else and maybe if people like them didn’t exist, people like your parents wouldn’t be so desperate to climb and compete to act as smug and pompous as them. 

You placed down your pen and paper and spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You have yet to answer my question, what the fuck do you want Aemond?” 

You dared to glare at him, trying not to cower at his piercing lavender eyes. For a second, you think you saw him soften at the eye contact, though it was gone before you could verify that thought. 

“I wanted to talk to you personally.” 

“About what?” 

“About a potential collaboration.” 

At those words, your eyes widened. 

“But if I remember correctly, only your father’s office is soundproof, this isn’t. And I’d like privacy to talk about this.” 

“What game are you playing, Aemond?” Your eyes squinted at him trying to gauge his reaction. 

“Nothing, this is strictly business.” He motioned towards the messenger bag he was carrying. “I’d like these following documents and contracts with the heir to this company, but if you decline, I could always go to the head.” 

“I’ll be the head in a couple of days, you can discuss it with me.” You cut him off. However, you quickly realised you took the bait. 

“Very well, lead the way to a more private location then.”

A long silence swept across the two of you as you waited for each other to break. When it became clear Aemond wouldn’t, you stood up. 

“Fine.” That was the only thing you said before you stood up and quickly packed up your things to leave. 

Aemond followed suit as you walked out of the office building. Thankfully enough, a good chunk of people had already left. However, there were still a few who saw their boss walk into the car with Aemond Targaryen. 

Your ride to your apartment was silent. Your head rushing through your options and wondering if what you were doing was the right thing to do. You couldn’t regret your choices though because before you knew it you were inside your penthouse, with Aemond fucking Targaryen. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and decided to try and be casual, though you knew Aemond could feel your stiff nerves. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” A sense of Deja Vu washed over you at that moment. 

But you were confident tonight would end differently, you wouldn’t be tempted by Aemond Targaryen again. 

“I’d rather keep my head clear for our discussion.” he answered. 

You couldn’t help but admire the way he looked in your home as if he belonged there this entire time. 

You nodded and motioned towards the couches in the middle of the living room. The two of you took a seat beside one another as Aemond took out his papers. 

“As I’ve said before, I believe both mine and your corporation could benefit from a collaboration.” he handed you a few papers as he began explaining, “A data analyst from my team had informed me of your growth over the few months since your takeover to a leadership position.” Your eyes read through the words, these were proper documents, entailing a collaboration and what that would mean on both sides. 

“I’m under the believe that once you take over, that growth will only increase at an exponential rate. In which case, you’d be the most recent trend. I’d like to offer an early collaboration.” 

“So that you could get ahead of other companies that may want to work together with mine when we reach that moment of growth.” 

“Precisely.” 

You looked through some of the other documents in silence before putting them down and looking towards Aemond. There was the smallest hint of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“What makes you think this trend of growth will grow when I take over? And if I remember correctly, it’s Rhaenyra Targaryen who has a say in big decisions such as this. How can I be sure you’ll fulfil your end of the deal if I agree to this?”

You stared at him, placing both your hands on top of your lap. 

“To answer both of your questions, my family has put trust in me and my judgement in character. And I believe you to be someone strong and smart enough to fix the problems your father had when he took over the company.” 

He spoke with a confidence that irked you. But there was something else in there that you were now noticing. An uncertainty, a sense of anxiety, a small hint of hopefulness. You wanted to laugh. He was the source of your embarrassment when you were speaking to Aegon and yet here he was asking you for a collaboration project. 

“And why should I trust you? Last we spoke you had practically caused Aegon to embarrass me in public.” 

You saw Aemond tighten his jaw slightly. A sense of pride bloomed inside of you at the ability to make Aemond motherfucking Targaryen nervous. 

“Well, unlike your plan with Aegon, this would be beneficial to both of us. So I apologise for looking after my brother’s wellbeing.” 

You quirked your eyebrows at his pathetic answer. 

“So that’s it huh? The reason for this collaboration is because it’ll be beneficial to both of us?” 

“Of course.” 

You leaned closer towards him. 

“I don’t buy it. Aemond Targaryen, you are a brilliant man. You would know that a collaboration with me at this moment would benefit me much more than it would benefit you. So, I’ll ask again, is that your only reason?” 

You see the way Adam’s apple bobbed against his neck as you brought yourself closer towards him. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” You grinned at seeing the way he was reacting. 

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Aemond didn’t actually have an edge. Maybe the people who worked with him and said he did have an edge just didn’t have the bravery to push him. You’d be the first. 

“You know what I think Aemond?” You brought your body closer, till your legs are practically draped over his. “I think you’re doing this just as an excuse to see me.” 

Your lips ghost against his as his breathing deepened. 

“Because no matter how smart or brilliant you are, at the end of the day you’re just a coward who doesn’t have enough bravery to be man enough to talk to me normally.” 

At that, Aemond closed the distance between you. Smashing his lips against yours as he quickly brought his hands towards your back and pushed you against his body. In return your hands made their way towards his hair. 

Weeks and weeks of turmoil and mixed emotions filled the passionate kiss the two of you shared as you moaned into the way his tongue slipped past your lips. 

“I’ll show you bravery.” He pulled away breathlessly, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. 

“I don’t believe you.” You bit back with a grin. 

In response to your words, Aemond pushed you back to the couch so that he was now on top. You held onto the back of his neck as his lips made their way to your neck and collarbones, pushing against your blouse, as one of his hands was placed beside your head and the other worked to open the buttons of his shirt. 

When he got all of them he pulled away, leaving you to groan at the disappearance of his soft lips. Aemond only grinned as he sat straight to take off his shirt and throw it away somewhere with the pile of papers. 

Your hands immediately reached forwards to his body. You had already felt the outlines of his muscles on the motorcycle ride to his place the last time something like this happened. But this time, you were seeing and touching him without a single barrier between. 

You let your hands wander against the expanse of his chest and abdomen. Aemond felt himself swell with pride at the way you were looking at him with such admiration and lust. When your nails dragged against his nipples, he had to throw his head back to stop a groan from erupting from himself. 

Seeing this you grinned to yourself. 

You reached up at him and pulled him back to your level, your lips meeting one another once more. 

“Take my shirt off.” You whispered towards him. 

Aemond only nodded as your lips connected again, whilst his hands made quick work of your blouse. Your hands pulled away from him just to take off the sleeves of your blouse before his hands crept underneath your back to unclasp your bra.

You let him pull the undergarment away from you and let him watch your chest free of the confines of your bra just as you did to him. Unlike you though, he didn’t waste any more time. Like a starving man who dreamt of his meal for years, he was quick to smother your chest in kisses. 

You threw your head back and moaned loudly when his lips made their way to one of your nipples whilst the other one had the attention of his hand. 

“Yes~ Oh, Aemond!” You moaned as you reached to hold onto his hair and the couch. 

The feeling of his silky white hair pooling against your skin as he sucked and nibbled your nipples was heavenly. 

Now and again Aemond would let himself slow down and look at you. Only to come back to pleasuring you with fervour at seeing your expression of lust and bliss. Completely ignoring the way his pants started to get tighter and tighter. 

He’s been wanting to do this for the longest time and though he didn’t plan to do this now, wanting to wait until you were the head of your company and free from the chains of your parents. He could never refuse you. All he wanted to do was make you feel good. 

But the moment you lifted your hips and ground against his clothed dick, he had to bite into your skin to muffle out a pathetic moan. 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you breathlessly spoke, sounding like an angel in his ears, “Don’t muffle yourself. I want to hear you feel as good as me.” You ground yourself against him again. 

This time, Aemond let himself moan against your skin. His embarrassment caused him to bury his head against the crook of your neck and litter it with kisses. 

“Who would’ve thought Aemond Targaryen was so shy when it came to fucking.” You teased as you tried to take off your pants. 

Aemond feeling you squirm under him understood immediately, he pulled away from you to give you room to take your pants off. All the while he worked at his belt and pants as well. With only his boxers on, you could see the way it strained to keep his hard dick in place. 

Your mouth watered at the thought of him inside of you. Unbeknownst to you, Aemond was frozen looking at you bare. You had taken off your underwear along with your pants. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything as he stared at your slick core, dripping with need. Need for him. 

Seeing his hesitancy, you decided to take the lead. Using your elbows as support you pushed yourself up and lightly led Aemond to sit comfortably against the couch whilst you climbed above him. Aemond let out the loudest and most beautiful moan when he felt you rub your wet cunt against his clothed dick. 

“Come on, let me see all of you.” You whispered in his ear as you tugged at the waistband of his boxers. 

“Anything you want.” Aemond whispered against your skin as he shuffles to take off his boxers whilst leaving feather-light kisses against your shoulders and any piece of skin he could reach. 

Your eyes practically widened when you saw him. All bare and vulnerable in front of you. You wondered for a second what your parents would think of you. But before your mind could wander any furhter. Aemond brought his hand to your chin and made you look up at him. 

“Stop thinking, enjoy this with me.” 

His words brought back the confidence you almost lost at the thought of your dissappointed parents. So you reached towards the coffee table where you had placed your bag for your wallet. You quickly took out the condom inside and placed it on Aemond, before teasing him even more. 

He groaned at the feeling of you rubbing against him, his hands instinctively held your hips to still your movements. 

“After all these months, you still want to tease me?” 

You giggled, kissing the corner of his lips, “Maybe.” You spoke before slowly sinking into him. 

The two of you groaned in tandem when his tip went inside, the intrusion was slightly painful at first but as you went slowly the feeling of pain only blossomed into unadulterated pleasure. 

Aemond moaned your name when you bottomed out, placing his head on the crook of your neck as his arms embraced your waist. Your chest pressed against his and your bodies connected together. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt this much emotion for someone. 

“Gods, Aemond.” you whispered as you slowly started to move. 

He groaned in response as his fingers dug deeper into your skin. 

“Aemond fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You muttered over and over agains as you started to bounce on his dick. 

In response, he helped you by moving your hips and fucking you from underneath. His hips slamed against your own as he moaned your name over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re so amazing, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Between every word he’d sneak a kiss onto any place he could, just something to ground him. 

All the while you held tight on the sofa behind him. 

“I love you. Fuck, I fucking love you.” You felt him mutter against your skin, it caused you to clench against him, leading to an exceptionally loud moan from the man. 

The thought of loving him struck you at that moment. Did you love him? Maybe? How long has he felt this for you?  

One of his hands snuck their way into between your bodies and long fingers started toying with your clit, causing your legs to close around him even more. 

You felt his thrusts get more and more messy and you could feel your own stomach twisting in a familiar feeling. 

“Shit- Aemond- I’m gonna-”

“Yeah- yeah- me too, me too.” 

You bit into the side of his neck as the band in your stomach snapped causing you to cum all over his dick. At the same time, Aemond groaned and thrusted one final time into you, before shooting ropes of cum into the condom. 

The two of  you stayed like that for a while. With him still being inside of you and you with your head in the crook of his neck. Breathing in and out trying to calm both your hearts. 

You were first to pull away, with shaky legs you pulled yourself away from him and laid on the couch. Your legs on top of his thighs as he affectionately rubbed your ankles. 

“I’m going to get us some water.” he spoke softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead before standing up and making his way to the kitchen. 

When he came back, he had already discarded the condom and put on his boxers. 

Handing you the glass of water, you sat up to retrieve it and silence soon followed. 

Aemond was the one who tried to break it. 

“I’ll call my driver while you shower. We can forget what happened and what I said if you want.” You looked at him at that moment, he looked, honest. 

You remembered that look in Aegon’s eyes that time in the jazz bar. Something about the Targaryens and their perfect masks which seem to drop and show just how fragile they truly were. 

Maybe the Targaryens weren’t such assholes anyways. 

“No,” you reached out towards him, your hand against his the scarred side of his face, “Stay. I don’t want to forget what happened.” You leaned to press a soft kiss against his lips. 

In return his hand held onto the yours that was on his cheek. He held it there in place even as you pulled away. Rubbing his thumb against your knuckles. 

“You know, once you become the head, there’s no way your parents can control you. Which means you’re free to do whatever you want.” He chuckles and leans to press a small kiss on the palm of your hand. 

“You’re right.” You whispered, “Then!” You quickly stood up, holding his hand in yours, “As my first decision at doing whatever I want, I want you, Aemond Targaryen, to take a shower with me and spend the night here.” 

You grinned ear to ear as Aemond stood up. 

“I’d love nothing more.” 

Just before the two of you made your way to the shower, Aemond spoke again, “You know Aegon doesn’t hate you or blame you. He knows what it’s like for your parents to push you to do something you don’t want to.” 

Your brows furrowed at the thought of Aegon, you’d have to properly apologise to him later on. But on the meantime, you didn’t want to sour the mood. 

“Damn, the famed Targaryen family has family drama? That’s surprising.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Eat Your Young is a song about the exploitation of the younger generation by a group of rich people that do not care at the fuck all. Though the song talks about stronger messages like the world of arms-dealing I want to write more about exploitation following the reader who is the first child of a very rich family who is trying to climb the ladder even more.

[lemmetreatya]

hii hope your having an amazing day! i am litr in SUCH A BIG miguel brain rot and it’s unreal. like imagine reader having such a bad day at work and comes home so sad and shit and miguel just cheers her up!! like he’s so sweet UGHH. i feel like he could be fluffy or smutty 🤭🤭

contains: cunnilingus

“Hermosa!”

As Miguel hears the door open and close, he shouts the usual petname into the air — an indication of where he is within the apartment. However, once he hears the irregular stomping and hard clanks of your items clashing around, he knows somethings up. 

“Babe?”

Miguel’s already making his way towards the front of the apartment, meeting you as you’re about to move into a next room. Just by your pudged frown alone, he can tell you’re not in the mood. 

“Bad day?”

“Worst.” 

You move past him, already making trudging effort for the kitchen. Miguel can only follow after you with his head constantly trying to poke over you to see what you’re doing. 

“Sorry to hear that, mi cielo.” Unsure, he keeps a safe distance. “Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Barely.” 

As you get out a glass and an already opened bottle of wine from the fridge, you brashly pour yourself some. Turning to Miguel, you finally unleash everything you’re feeling.

“I just feel like everything at that establishment is always going wrong and I’m always the one having to be caught up in it. It’s honestly about time I get something else but the process in finding work is so tedious.” 

Miguel blinks a few times as he watches you from across the counter. 

“I could always get you something at Alchem—“

“Be fucking for real. Why the fuck would I work at such a dubiously immoral place like that?”

A twitch of an unpleasant feeling flashed across Miguel’s face as he’s taken aback by your words. Even before he makes that expression, you realise how harsh they were as soon as they left your mouth. 

It was an insensitive thing to say to someone who contributed greatly to the company’s success. 

“Sorry. That was unfair.” You say. 

Miguel, as ever understanding with you, simply shakes his head. You know if this was anyone else or even a different scenario that he would have snapped back with something uglier. Instead he only shrugs. 

“No, it’s okay. It’s not like you’re far off.”

“Miguel, that wasn’t okay. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” 

The man softly shrugs again as he comes closer to you. He stretches his arm out for you to hand him the glass of wine and you comply. 

“Hey, so you haven’t had the best of the days. I get it. I’m not mad at you, but we gotta find you a way to distress before you’re hurting anyone else, hm?”

He places the glass down on the counter besides you both before cupping your cheeks and planting a kiss to the button of your nose. You pout at his sweet gesture, already melting into his touch. 

“I guess…”

Miguel kisses your nose again before planting one to your mouth. As you feel him smile against your lips, you already know he has a method in mind. 

Soft whimpers leave your throat as you wither over the bedsheets, fingers digging into the material and duvet. You make a mental note that after this, they’d need to be changed.

“Fuck, Miguel.” 

The man hums against your dewy cunt as he hears your reactions, mouth too busy to give a proper reply. He finds no problem in then latching his lips to the nub of your clit and sweetly such on the meat of it. 

Another curse leaves your mouth and your hands find a way to tug at the roots of his hair. You can tell it’s had an effect on Miguel because his head lifts with the pull and he lets out a succinct groan. Either way, he doesn’t reprimand you for it. If anything he only uses the pull to come up for air and conversation. 

“Work was that bad?” He jokes. 

“S-shut up.” 

Miguel chuckles with his eyes looking up at you. He knows its a tease, a play at making you so wound up that your climax can only be euphoric as it reflects your pent up frustration. 

“Annoying…”

“But you love me~” He coos before going down on you again. 

[motherloads]

My Love Mine all Mine

I kept rewriting this idea. Is it good? Probs not. But, did I need something to fuel me? Yes. Ahm, it was supposed to be happy but. Ig I'm in a sad mood.

This fic was SO close to being named "Glimpse of Us." But there is no other man or woman that they're with so it didn't match.

Probs OOC Simon.

Summary: Simon always dreams of you. He isn't sure why. But, you're always so sweet. But, you aren't real. He's never seen you before. He doesn't know your name. He knew you were caring. Dream him, he felt the love he held for you. From a mission gone wrong, he finds himself in your home. He convinced himself you weren't real. But how could he lie to himself when he can feel your skin under his hands? He has you now.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley/Reader

Other Tags: Scarlet Witch! Reader, Marvel/COD Crossover

Never proof read.

⋆｡°✩

My baby, here on earth. Showed me what my heart was worth. So, when it comes to be my turn. Could you shine it down here for her?

“You’re a good boy, Simon.” The voice whispers to him, their fingers running over his mask quietly. “Such a good boy.” They leave a soft kiss, where his mouth should be. He doesn’t reciprocate, but he almost feels the need to. He hears them softly giggle, but he doesn’t quite open his eyes. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see who it was. 

Who were they? Why were they treating him like this? Why wasn’t he stopping them? 

The thoughts that ran in his mind increased as time went on, as they began running their soft and delicate fingers on his neck, to his shoulders, on his arms. Until their hands found his own. They held him, bringing his hands to their mouth. They leave small kisses. He felt the residue of gloss stay. 

“I’ll see you soon, Simon. Calm down.” They whisper, pulling away. He chases after their warmth, running his hands on the side of their hips, squeezing tightly. They felt so real. 

This time, he opens his eyes to try and see who they were. He only sees the outline of a woman. He couldn’t see her clearly, but he could see the light wisps of red surrounding her. He said nothing as his eyes closed again. 

This was just a dream. He would wake up soon enough. 

The little he slept should not have bothered him. Usually, it doesn’t. He could easily avoid sleeping or eating without facing the repercussions. One of the many he was trained to learn and endure. But somehow, this did bother him. It felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. He felt, the rare occasions when the women visited, she drained almost everything he stored for the missions. She bothered him. He has never met her before. So why was she constantly bothering him?

His constant questions were cut off when Soap nudged him with his shoulder. He hears him, “You okay, L.T.?” He grunts in response, moving forward.

They were on a mission, he shouldn't be distracted. But he is. He shouldn’t be thinking about the woman who does not exist. She is merely a figment of his imagination. Unreal. He knew he would never experience this. He couldn’t experience this. He would not allow himself to. He couldn’t be distracted. 

Somehow he is. His thoughts, a hindrance to his capabilities and warrior in the battlefield. He hears Soaps shouts, Laswell in his ear. He hears Gaz, alongside Price. He could hear them, but he couldn’t see them. How could things go so wrong? He coughs, surrounded by smoke. He gets separated. At some point, he feels two bullets knick him. With the surrounding sounds, Soap's voice getting more scattered, he feels his breathing become more shallow. 

He’s inside a building, surveying one of the bullets. There was no exit wound, as he slightly hissed in annoyance from the pain blossoming. He’s focused on the blood pouring out, having no necessary tools to remove the bullet. He lifts up his head, looking around for anything to assist him. He freezes, seeing small eyes peer at him in curiosity. Her eyes lingered, twiddling her thumbs as she continued  to watch Simon. 

He didn’t know there were still civilians in this area. 

“You’re not like Tony Stark, are you?” She carefully questions, hesitantly stepping closer to the man. He shuffles back in response, refusing to respond to the kid. Her questions did raise his own.

She doesn’t take his silence as an answer, “She doesn’t like men like you.” She continues, rubbing her hands on her dirty pants. Her red shirt, riddled with dirt, had blotches of dried blood. 

“Where are your parents, kid?” He rasps, “Go back to them before you get hurt.” 

“I’m already hurt.” She frowns, shaking her head at the man, “You don’t get it, do you?” 

“Get what.” He growls, leaning his head back. He shuts his eyes, trying to rid his headache. 

“She’ll hurt you,” was all the girl said. When Simon opened his eyes again, she was gone. 

It’s silent again. Too silent. The blood loss increased, the smoke from before affecting him more than it should have.

Maybe that is what she wanted. 

His strength is wavering. If he loses consciousness, he fears he may see her again. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. 

He accepts it, though. Waiting to feel the hint of eerie calmness before the storm hits.

You watch him sleep, silently patching his wounds up. The bullets were gone, by your courtesy. You hum a familiar tone quietly, one of the corny shows you loved watching when you were younger. You glance at the man with the mask, tilting your head as you reach out to run your fingers down the outline of the skull. He doesn’t move. You pull away to glance at the array of guns on your kitchen table. Then, you look at the woman, sitting deep in thought, running her own hands through the book she was reading. 

The Scarlet Witch looks up, feeling the eyes on her. She doesn’t say anything, looking back down at the book in front of her. She acted as if the book held all the secrets known to man. But you knew. 

It was simply a new recipe book. 

You turn back to the man, although unsure of his name and why you found him ways away from the battle currently going on. You didn’t bother to read his mind. Maybe you should have, to make sure he would not hurt you. (As if he was capable of doing so with your abilities.) But, if he was with the men who had started this battle, then you would kill him with a flick of your hand. 

The Scarlet Witch herself, with the whispers in your ear, convinced you to bring the man into your home. You were one and the same, but sometimes you felt the Scarlet Witch left important information out. 

Your thoughts get cut off, when the man suddenly coughs, breathing heavily from the residue of smoke you found in his lungs. You grab the water bottle, pushing it up to the man who pushed your hand away. You feel his glaring through his mask, as he pushes himself off the couch and away from you. 

“Careful there,” You warn, "Don’t want to pull your stitches.” You open the water, hearing the click. To show it wasn’t tampered with, you take a sip. Then, you extended it back to him. He still refuses to take it, despite how constant he needed to clear his throat. You put it down on the table.  It was weird, doing the exact same thing your captors used to do to you.

The Scarlet Witch was long gone. Leaving the book unopened and on the page she left off on. 

You see the man glance at the guns on the kitchen table. Then, he looks back at you. Quickly, he goes to snatch the closest one to him. He points it at you, gesturing for you to put your hands up. He only held the gun in one hand, holding his side with the other. “What did you do to me?” 

You say nothing. Simon grows irritated, his voice raising, “I said. What did you do to me!” He grips the gun tighter, “If you don’t answer in five seconds, I’m putting a bullet through your head.” “I didn’t do anything,” You calmly respond, “Calm down.” He freezes at your words, grasping at the familiar words he has heard before. 

“It’s you,” He breathes, “You’re the woman.” You furrow your brows in confusion, tilting your head at his realization. You didn’t recognize the man. 

“I’m sorry? I’m unsure of what you’re entailing.” You murmur to the man. “Sit down. Put the gun down and explain it to me?” You smile softly, letting yourself slightly manipulate his decision. Hesitantly, Simon sits. He puts the gun down. 

He isn’t sure why he followed your words. 

“You-” He cuts himself off, wincing from the wound you had just finished dressing before he woke up, “You took out the bullets?” You confirm with a hum. He sees your fingers twitch. Sees you run your hands together, as if nervous. 

“You were bleeding to death.” Is all you said. “I found you that way.” You glance at the flag on his chest, pursing your lips, you look back up to him, “You were the ones sent to infiltrate? I’ve seen the ones before you. Many deaths.” 

Simon doesn’t respond, instead, he leans with his own questions, “Who are you?” 

You introduce yourself, from there Simon doesn’t say anything else. You wait for him to say his name, but he says nothing. 

“What is your name?” You question. 

“You should already know,” He shot back, “You always say it.” You shake your head in response, smiling sadly at the man you still did not recognize. The only man of significance in your head, has been dead for quite some time. 

Maybe not in this Universe. But in another, you had lost your other half long ago. 

“I don’t.”

“You’re the woman. In my dreams. You’re always…There. I have never seen your face until now. But I know your voice,” He growls, his fingers twitching to hold something. Anything. He holds his knees tightly in response. 

You shake your head, “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.” You insisted, Standing up, you brush a strand of your hair away. Your hairstyle had gone haywire from how unkept you left it. You see no humans, you had no reason to do anything anymore.

Maybe you should have cut it like Natasha. 

Shaking your head, you push the water to the man still sitting down. “Heal. You will need it once you leave.” You pause, looking at the guns still on display on your kitchen table. “None have bullets, by the way.” Smiling, you leave the clueless man to his own devices. 

You learn that the man has taken on the name Ghost. Nothing else, just Ghost. You constantly felt his presence in your home, but he never pushed for more conversation. You could tell that he was trying to find his bullets. Anything. But, you continued with your daily chores. From maintaining your garden, feeding the animals. Hell, even nursing the mother and her kittens who found comfort in your home. You worked on anything. 

You run your hands through the clothing you were washing. The soap increased as you continued to lather through the grime from constantly being in the garden. You feel a presence near you, watching you. You glance at Ghost, his familiar mask peering down at you. He still wore the same clothes. 

“I have clothes that can fit you, if you’d like to take a shower. No offense, but you’re starting to reek.” You smile at him, continuing on rubbing the dirt off of your clothing. 

He doesn’t respond, but you do see his head tilt in question. “You know where my room is. It’s the bottom drawer.” He disappears soon after, taking you up on the offer. 

It’s quiet, only the chirps of the birds and your animals. You move on to letting your clothing air dry. Wiping the sweat off of your forehead, you nod to yourself at the job. At that moment, Ghost returns. You look at the outfit, seeing a familiar long sleeve and sweats. 

“Husbands?” He asks gruffly, the shirt being tight on his figure. The sweatpants, surprisingly fit him. The ones you made to appear out of thin air. 

“No,” You begin dumping the water out, “He’s long gone.” 

Ghost felt inclined to help you. He knew he had overextended his stay, but he couldn't help it. He needed to know more about you. Who you were. What you did for a living. Why you never left him alone. He needed to know before he left. He convinced himself, that he would be the one leaving willingly.

Even with the little he slept, he still had the dreams of you. It was just you. Sometimes, you said little things that made his heart hurt.

"You are my sadness and you are my hope. But mostly, you're my love." You murmured to him, running your hands through his hair. His face was uncovered, as you smiled down at him from your place on his lap. You kiss his forehead, eyes glimmering in pure love at him. Your love, for him.

"You could never hurt me," You're below him this time, your hand reaching out to lay on his cheek. The same exact look on your face. The same one as always that he continued to love with all his heart. He sees his hands stay on your hips, pulling you closer as your laughs filled the room.

He never says anything in these dreams, always afraid to ruin the moment. But, even if he tried to, he felt he was never in control of the dreams he lived through.

One, stuck to him deeply. Once again, you were touching him. He felt like crying--No. He was crying. It wasn't a breakup or anything. It wasn't anything sad. No. "They're twins, Simon." You whispered, a smile on your face as you brought his rough hands onto your stomach. "Boys." He holds you closer in this dream, shaking as you soothed him. His head lay in the crook of your neck, soaking your turtleneck with his tears. He felt what dream Simon felt.

He was ready for the twins.

Throughout this time, he continued to follow you, sometimes helping you hold your items when asked. He collected the eggs quietly, like you asked him to. Even when one of cows was prepared to have their own, he helped.

“The dreams people have are the glimpses of the other lives they could have lived. The appearances of the other Universes,” You spoke calmly, seasoning the meat you were preparing to cook for dinner, “I’ve had dreams where I was a zombie. Another where I died in a burst of red.” 

You pause, moving the meat to the stove. You watched it sizzle. “I’ve heard the voices of my sons calling out for me.” You calmly say, smiling sadly, thinking of the voices of the two boys who asked you for help. Who begged for their mom.

"Sons?" He asks.

"Twins," You confirm. "I was a twin once."  He keeps that information to himself, seeing your smile that twitched.

“What are you trying to say?” Ghost questions, taking over on cooking the meat. You stand behind him. 

“The dreams that you’ve had of me. They’re real.” Is what you say, moving on to the salad you were going to prepare, “I reckon that’s one of the little that I have seen where I am happy. Where I haven’t experienced or done all that I have done.” You hum, “You must think I’m crazy.” 

“I’ve known the minute you brought me into your home.” Ghost responds, his back turned to you. “I’m inclined to believe you.” “Why?” You question him. 

“The books you’ve tried to hide for one thing. You like Witchcraft?” 

You giggle at his words at first. Then, it turns into a full blown laugh as you double over. He ignores you, focusing on the meat in front of him.

“Nothing is lost in your eyes, are they?” You stifle your laughter, running your hand down your mouth. You held the collar of your shirt, pressing lightly over your beating heart. 

“The ruins around your home cannot be ignored.” He gruffly responds, shaking his head with a sigh, “Your home is in a vast clearing, but I have seen nobody pass through. The only animals evident are the ones you own.” 

“You’re quite certain that I’m a Witch. What if I simply enjoy the crafts? I’m just superstitious,” You giggle, pushing the salad aside as you move to sit on the counter to watch him cook the meat. 

He wouldn’t try to hurt you, he would know better. He stays silent, unsure how to respond to your question or how to confirm what he knows. You take the silence as an answer. Instead of continuing the conversation, you reach out to the side of his balaclava. One of his hands shoots out, effectively stopping you from touching it. You only smile back, not moving your hand away from his grip. He carefully lets go, as your hands run on the little seams you can see. You continue onto the outline of the skull. Running down to his shoulder, the soft cotton of the clothing he was borrowing moved under your motions. 

You felt real. 

You ran your hand down to his arms, swirling it in a specific motion that caused shivers down his spine. From the hand not focusing on the meat, you let your fingers intertwine. 

"It's unfair to dream of the world we deserve. The life we deserve. It's unfair others live the life that we have yearned for our whole lives." You stare down at your conjoined hands. You rub your thumb atop his covered hand.

“Such a good boy.” You murmur, bringing his hand to your lap. He doesn’t say anything. His free hand gripping onto the meat he had now deemed ready to remove. When he turns off the stove, he provides his full attention to you. He turns his body to you, but he still doesn’t say anything. 

You bring your other hand to his covered cheek, he slightly leans into your touch. He was almost there, but not quite close. You smooth the creases using your thumb. Simon closes his eyes. 

“Simon,” He grunts quietly, “Simon Riley.” 

It’s as if he can sense your smiling. Your hands do not stop from how you continued to touch him. 

“You’re a good boy, Simon,” You murmur, his breath hitches from your comment. 

He’s fully leaning into your hand, bringing his head down onto your forehead. You hum a tune unfamiliar to him, but familiar to you. When you released your hand from his own, he didn’t expect you to hold both sides of his covered face. 

He feels the ghost of your lips in between his eyes. Then, he feels it near the corner of his left eye. You move on to the right. Then to his nose. 

He stills when your lips ghost his own. 

“I wish we can stay together, Simon,” You whisper, moving away from his lips. He could still feel your breath, though. “Love is not possible for me. It never will be.” 

“Why?” He places both of his hands over yours, squeezing, “Why?” He repeats. 

“I”m undeserving of this. What I have done, the lives lost because of me. I have lost everything before. I bring Chaos wherever I go. Why do you think I live isolated? I’m not risking your life,” You leave one last peck on his clothed mouth. 

“This was a mistake.”

He opens his eyes, immediately noticing the unshed tears. You smile at him sadly, “You are a dream.” “I just feel you.” 

Simon remembers nothing else but your warmth. The last thing he sees is the red surrounding his head. The red wisps resonating from your palms. 

"You'll grieve. It will be bad," You whisper in his ear. Everything is dark. It's so dark. Why can't he see anything? Where are you?" "But what is grief, if not love persevering?"

When he awakens, he is surrounded by medical equipment. Immediately, he stands up, looking around frantically. From his movement, he startles Soap awake. Despite being groggy, Soap immediately goes to his side, pushing him back down. 

“Ay, get back down L.T., You’re not well,” The Scottish man reprimands, struggling to get Simon to calm down, “We found ya surrounded by dead bodies. Jeez, ya put up a fight.” 

“Where is she,” Simon rasps, his voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in ages, “Where is she, Johnny?” 

“Who?” Soap questions, “There was no lass around.” 

“I was-” Simon continues to struggle, “She’s real. I know she’s real.” 

As if he could hear Soap’s struggle, Price enters the room, immediately going to help Soap. When they have Simon restrained, he is still breathing heavily. 

“Where is she?” Simon continues to ask, his eyes searching everywhere for a glimpse of her. Just her. Where is she? 

He needed her. He needed to see her. She was real. He knows she was real. He felt her. He knows her. 

“I need her,” His eyes, so far away, look out the window as a wisp of red leaves him from the corner of his eyes. 

She’s real. 

He just felt you.

[dionysia-ta-astika]

LARPing

I was accused of LARPing again. I get accused of LARPing, and of hubris, by people who see that I don't worship the gods properly, so I must not take them seriously. I am told that I have not been initiated. That the gods will strike me down, and put me in my place and then I'll be sorry. And I was sorry. I wept.

You kicked down the door with a big box of costumes, painted green with gold clasps. And you sat atop it with a winning smile. You asked me, “What shall we play? “Let's play pirates, and ride on the high seas, and turn the sailors into dolphins. “Let's play wizards, knights and castles. Grab your sword, and your armor, and your book of spells, and we'll save a princess from a dragon. “Let's slay Medusa, like you did once when you were seven, using your fairy princess wand as a sword, swinging it by the star until it broke. “You were Perseus, then. You climbed on Pegasus' back, and he took you to Olympus, where we, your siblings, waited for you.”

I asked, “Why wasn't I struck down like Bellerophon?”

And you said, “There's a big difference between being invited, and kicking down the door claiming you deserve to be there.”

I look at the box and I say, “I want to play Shaman.”

I know how problematic that is. I know that shamans are spiritual leaders from Siberia I know how insulting it is for a colonizer like me to imitate Native Americans as a childish game, Dressing up in fur and feathers like a bad Halloween costume And listening to New Agey "tribal" music While I dance around an altar that I built out of feathers and rocks and other natural talismans I'd collected and little figures of deer and elephants and leopard-print scarves spread under a fake plastic campfire that burned in the center of it all.

But I remember how it felt. It felt powerful. It felt ancient.

You smile and say, “It was powerful, and it was ancient. “You were not imitating any real indigenous rituals, except to burn sage and call it "smudging." “Everything else was your own. It was your ritual. A child, reaching back, back through the mists of time “To find the oldest ritual in the book. “Before there was theatre, there was LARPing. “Before there was writing, there was dance.”

And I said, “Lord of Dappled Pelts, give me that feeling back.” You open the box. Inside are fawnskins and leopard skins, feathers, bones, animal skulls, Rough-hewn masks, with empty staring eyes, as primeval as the soil. You put a horned mask on my face, and dress me in furs, and braid feathers into my hair and put a necklace of bones around my neck that rattles with every step. Before there was theater, there was LARPing. There was the shaman, in their animal mask, behaving as the animal does, dancing round and round the ritual fire until they don't know the difference between man and beast, real and unreal, day and night. And you are there, where you've always been, in the dance. Casting the illusion over our eyes. The mask is a glamour, the stage, a farce. Storytelling itself, an enchantment cast over an audience as they watch and listen, enraptured, fully believing what they feel and see. It is old magic. I found my gods by LARPing. I put on a white sheet, like a makeshift peplos, and made an olive crown out of pipe cleaners and construction paper and gold glitter and I drank nothing but white grape juice, the blood of the vine, and pretended it was ambrosia, and it was. I threw my paper leaves and thought the gods were listening, and they were. Back then, I didn't ask whether they were real or not, or whether what I was doing was historically accurate or not, or whether I was guilty of hubris for pretending that I, too, was a god. You and I dance around our ritual fire decorated with stones, and feathers, and figurines grapevines, pinecones, and phallic objects and other fetishes, wearing our pelts and our animal masks. I lose my name, my face, my gender. I am made and unmade. In the primeval woods, in a time before the dawn of civilization, industry, writing, art, theatre religion, liturgy, sacrifice, humanity itself, we were LARPing.

[obsidiancreates]

The Fabric Of The Universe Is A Little Coarse (1 Out Of 5 Stars) [Part 2/2]

(Content warnings for seizure mentions, blood mentions, waiting in a hospital, hospital setting, Henry being an Ass even while worried sick because he literally can't help himself)

He’s drifting.

He? Maybe. Faintly, that feels right.

But so does Everything. 

All the cords.

Threads.

Events which Have Happened and Are Happening and Will Happen… it all feels right.

 He’s drifting among Everything, and it’s…

Nice.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus wonders if Shawn is going to die.

He rides in the ambulance and it’s a good thing they have bags for vomit because everything inside of him is trying to run away every time he looks at Shawn. The rolling, unseeing eyes– everything leaves. The uncontrollable spasming and writhing– everything leaves. The blood steadily trickling out of his ears and nose– everything leaves.

Shawn leaves. Left. Is leaving? Gus isn’t sure anymore. He’s not sure if Shawn is here. He is, but he isn’t, because Shawn is never so… so…

Shawn spasms again, his head lolling as his body jerks and his empty eyes land on Gus but they don’t see him. The blood coming from his nose coats the stubble on his lip as it changes course, and the blood from his ears pools on the cot, and he isn’t there.

Gus looks away too late.

Everything leaves. 

They make him lean his head back and close his eyes, and he feels the prick of an IV being inserted. Why are they bothering with him? He’s not the one seizing and bleeding and empty empty Shawn is never Empty he’s Full full of life full of bullcrap full of ego just Full-

It won’t stop playing over and over again in Gus’s head (Is that what it’s like for Shawn every day? It’s terrible, and Gus needs Shawn to know that, he needs to be able to tell him after all this that he’s sorry Shawn has to deal with constant replays and crisp memories and uncontrollable realizations because this is terrible) as he sits there. Just sits there, stuck in a memory being useless.

The way Shawn got that slightly distant, distracted look in his eye while the girl was talking. The way Shawn almost fell into the glass and didn’t even seem to realize he’d started swaying. The way his hands started spasming first, scratching at something Gus couldn’t see or feel. 

The way Shawn just collapsed, without a shout or scream or even a gasp. Just went from standing to going down. 

The way Shawn’s body went from limp to tense. His breathing becoming sharp gasps. His hands still scratching at nothing. 

The way when Gus turned him over and knelt down to cradle Shawn’s head in his lap Shawn’s eyes never met his once, rolling uselessly and disconnected in his skull and Shawn’s eyes don’t do that.

Shawn’s eyes are sharp, focused, not always on the right thing but they’re focused. They can get distant sometimes, when he’s figuring something out or remembering something strongly, but they’re never so completely empty.

And the scratching.

Gus had been calling his name, louder and louder every time Shawn didn’t respond, didn’t blink, didn’t react at all, and Shawn’s mouth had opened but instead of words it was painful gasping like a fish held out of water or an astronaut who lost his helmet or oh god anything absurd and unreal he wishes this wasn’t real. 

And all the time Shawn’s hands never stopped scratching. 

Not when the shaking started, not when the bleeding did, not even when–

“Don’t you dare leave me Shawn! I need you, I need you, I can’t imagine my life without you in it, don’t you dare leave me alone out here it’s supposed to be us against everything not just me–”

It’s lingering on the outskirts of Gus’s racing thoughts, waiting for a chance to slip in. Shawn read his mind. Shawn read his mind. Shawn read Juliet’s, too. Shawn looked into their heads.

It’s lingering, and he knows it’s there, but he can’t let that realization sink in yet. He can’t let it sink in because Shawn is dying and if he dies then what does it matter because Shawn won’t be here to talk about it with, talk about anything with, and Gus needs him here.

Gus needs him here.

“I need you here.”

Shawn seizes again.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s not drifting so much anymore.

There’s a specific… something, calling to him. He’s drifting towards it, a gentle pull and push moving him its way. It feels unusual to let something direct him, but at the same time more familiar than anything else. Does that mean he’s a person, a place, and item? He’s Something– that’s interesting news. 

What is he?

Maybe when he gets wherever he’s going he’ll find out. Oh, that’s familiar too– finding things out. It’s exciting, even. He’d forgotten about Exciting. When drifting among Everything, knowing Everything, being Everything, it’s easy to lose Excitement. 

If only this push and pull would get him there a little quicker. Maybe he can speed it up. He will find a way to speed it up. 

There’s a hint.

He’s something that doesn’t give up.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lassiter drives behind the ambulance. Juliet is shaking too much to do it herself.

“He’s going to be fine, O’Hara.” Her partner’s voice is strong and firm and unyielding as always, and she knows it’s not real this time. He’s doing it for her. She sees the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the movement of his jaw as he grinds his teeth. She has to see it, she can’t look ahead at the ambulance where Shawn is possibly dying and she can’t look behind at where it happened and she can’t look out the windows at sights she’s not sure Shawn will ever see again.

So she looks at Lassiter. Shawn is an ocean, and Lassiter is a shoreline. Shawn throws himself against rocks and sands and trees, trying to pull them into his vast all-encompassing snare, but Lassiter is every single piece of the shoreline and more. Shawn can pull parts of Lassiter into the wild, uncontrollable seas, but he can never pull all of him, and whatever Shawn manages to snatch away will inevitably return to Lassiter sooner or later. They’re opposites and they’re the same, stubborn and determined and always there.

She needs that. She needs the fact that Lassiter is here. If he’s here, Shawn has to be too. Shawn has to be ready to rush in, pull her and her partner into something crazy and never-before-seen and utterly vexing, has to sweep her up in the tide for the time of her life and when the waves become too much for her she can cling to Lassiter for support and find her footing again, lay on the shoreline to catch her breath before the next swell.

Maybe she’s selling herself short– she’s gotten good at navigating both sides of it over the years, finding her own place in that dynamic that was already so present when she transferred to Santa Barbara. But right now she feels like she did in the beginning, unsteady and inexperienced and likely to drown, and she knows Lassiter is there and she can rely on him to help her find somewhere safe to rest until the storm has passed.

“Spencer is too stubborn to die in the middle of a case,” Lassiter grits out. “Especially if it’s not in some idiotic, dramatic way that belongs in a movie.”

He is. Shawn would never let himself die like this. Or would he? It’s is dramatic. Even if Lassiter claims it’s not. He’s doing that for her sake, too. She can’t pretend she believes that one.

She remembers hearing Gus scream Shawn’s name. Remembers the witness cutting herself off when she realized Shawn was still there. Remembers ignoring the witness’s cries of betrayal as she shot out of her chair because Gus sounded terrified and–

And freezing in the door, heart stopping, when she saw Shawn on the ground seizing. 

It was like a nightmare. 

Shawn’s face shouldn’t be slack and emotionless, Shawn’s eyes shouldn’t be unseeing and rolling, Shawn shouldn’t be–

And then Lassiter was calling for Buzz to call an ambulance behind her and she was moving and asking questions and trying to get Shawn to focus on her but she wasn’t, not really, she was focused on the spasming and the gasping and Shawn looking so unconnected to the world around him and she’d put a hand on his face and suddenly all of her thoughts were spilling out of his mouth and it made it too real, too real, too real–

They’re at the hospital.

She’s running out of the car and into the hospital. She’s explaining why she’s here. It’s all passing by in a blur. She’s sitting next to Lassiter, and he’s stiff and uncomfortable and exactly how she needs him to be right now, and then he puts an arm around her and pulls her into an awkward hug on the crappy waiting room chairs and she cries into his suit.

Gus is there when she pulls herself away. He looks on the outside like she feels on the inside. Shellshocked, confused, like he’s not sure where he is. She finds it in herself to stand up and coax him over beside her and Lassiter, and she holds him like Lassiter held her.

They’re there for maybe hours, maybe minutes, most likely somewhere in-between, when Henry shows up.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s Somewhere. 

That’s a nice change of pace. He’s in one single area, one single point in time, one single event. 

He used to do this a lot, didn’t he? It feels Familiar. Linear, and Familiar.

Oh, he Existed at one point. That’s cool to know. He thought he Knew Everything, but apparently it’s hard to know Anything when you know Everything. 

An old-ish woman is holding a toddler and weaving a rug. He recognizes them, of course he does, he recognizes Everyone and Everything because he is Everyone and Everything. But he recognizes them… Differently.

“You need to make a good life, good choices, or else you won’t snap out of it.” The old-ish woman looks at the toddler and sighs. He’s asleep. “I hope you’ll…”

Her eyes glaze over. They travel to a point just behind him and fix on the wall.

… No.

They fix on Him.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Well… at least I know you do figure it out eventually. Oh, sweetheart, look at you…”

He can’t look at himself, because there’s not really anything there. Is there? Maybe there is. She’s looking at him. How is she doing that? What does he look like? He…

He should know that. He should know what he looks like.

“I wish I could help you, sweetheart. It’d be a heck of a use for all the experience I have with this exact thing.” The old-ish woman sighs. “But it doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to find your own way back. Good news is you’re in the right general… area, of sorts. Something– Someone, will be calling you back, if you took my advice. Find it. Find them.”

He wants to ask her what she means. He should Know what she means. Maybe he does, but staying here is making it hard to Know. It’s jumbling things up, trying to sort them into a linear line, and that’s not right but it is but it can’t be. 

It’s making everything all… screwy.

Her eyes refocus as a man who looks decades older than he actually is walks in. “Alright Mom, thanks for watching Shawn but Maddie and I can take him back now.”

She blinks, and then shakes her head. “Let me have a little longer with my grandson, Henry. He’s the only one I’ll ever get.”

“Mads and I might decide to have another one.”

“You know you won’t. And I know Jack won’t be having one either.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Mmm, I wish you weren’t right Henry.” She hands the toddler over, and then glances at the spot again for just a moment. “Goodbye, Shawn.”

He’s not There anymore.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The silence has been broken only by sniffles and the crinkling of vending machine snack wrappers for a long time when Henry, head in his hands, hands which pull at the little hair he has left, looks up at the wall and says “This is my fault.”

Gus chokes on his Twinkie, because he has never heard those words from Henry Spencer’s mouth.

“His grandma had seizures.” Henry rubs his hand over his head, soothing the red spots where he pulled and picked. “She told us to watch out for them in him, said it skipped a generation with me and Jack. When Shawn didn’t have any as a kid or teen Mads and I just… thought it skipped him too.”

“You mean this could’ve happened any time?” Lassiter’s voice is carefully controlled, but that control frays and snaps with his next sentence. “He could’ve just collapsed in the middle of a case and you didn’t think we needed to know that?!”

“Shawn doesn’t even know! I didn’t want him using it as–!” Henry cuts himself off, snapping his mouth shut in a deep scowl.

“Using it as what, Henry?” Juliet’s voice is tight, eyes sharp, body language taught, her entire being the drawstring of a bow pulled back and ready to fire.

“... As an excuse to get out of responsibilities,” Henry admits in a sharp, short spit. Gus’s face twists into some mix of rage, disbelief, and complete unsurprise. Juliet stands, hands clenched by her sides, and Lassiter stands up right after in case he needs to break up an altercation. But he doesn’t move to hold her back yet.

“That is not okay, Henry. Not okay not to tell him, and especially not okay to assume the worst of him as a child!”

“You didn’t know him as a child!” Henry barks the defense on instinct, and has to hold his head again to reel himself back in. His voice is thick when he speaks again. “You think I’m not kicking myself over the decision now? I should’ve just told him, I didn’t even know what triggered Mom’s seizures, how did I think I’d know with him…”

“It’s just irresponsible.” Lassiter puts a hand on Juliet’s shoulder– not to stop her if she moves to swing, just to let her know he’s here. “What the hell else have you left out, Henry? Is your kid going to collapse of heart failure on us next?”

“His heart hasn’t had trouble since his surgery,” Henry mutters.

“Aw, what the hell– I was trying to be cutting! What do you mean Spencer had heart surgery?!”

“... He’s also got some trouble feeling pain.”

“Explain.” Juliet’s voice is cold. Gus looks like he might pop– either in self-destruction like a balloon too filled, or maybe like he’ll ‘pop’ Henry in the jaw to spare his own sanity.

“I dunno, he just doesn’t feel pain right, Maddie never told me the name of it. He feels it but not to the degree he should, or… something like that.”

“Holy crap.” Lassiter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Spencer, you realize this would all have been very valuable to know while he was out getting guns pointed at him every week for the last few years?! No wonder he doesn’t– the man ran through the woods with an untreated gunshot wound, for Cripe’s sake! He might not even know what counts as a ‘serious injury’ if he can’t feel pain right!”

Before Henry can say anything back, a doctor walks in. “Family of Shawn Spencer?”

Gus and Henry both stand– Gus makes sure to step closer to the doctor than Henry does.

“All of you?”

“Yes,” Juliet says quickly, and though he opens his mouth for a moment, Lassiter closes it again without protest.

“Well, I have good news. He’s stable, it looks like the worst of it has passed. He’s unconscious, and we’re waiting on the results of a few tests, but so far it’s looking like he’ll be okay. We’re letting visitors into his ro–”

Gus is rushing past her before the sentence is even over. Henry is on his tail, Juliet and Lassiter right behind.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s drifting around a few specific lives.

His favorite is Burton Guster’s. Burton Guster is the coolest, awesomest, most incredible person in all of Everything, and he can say that for a fact. He hadn’t had favorites while he was Everything, but he’s a little smaller now, and Burton Guster is his Favorite. 

Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter are close, close seconds. They’re all very different from each other, but they’re all bound together by something he can’t quite pinpoint yet, and he’s glad because they’re all incredible. Everything is boring compared to them. He’d have them over Everything any day– day. 

Day by day. Living life day by day. 

He did that, didn’t he?

He has a Past. 

That’s interesting. He has a Past, so he must have a Future… and a Present.

Is that what the old-ish lady meant? He needs to find his Present? How did he even get taken out of it? He’s not dead– he doesn’t think he is, anyway. The Dead are different. He drifted among them a lot. They’re not what he is.

He follows along all their cords at once– there’s another one, just out of his reach, just out of range for Connection. 

And there’s another, a fifth cord, and it’s… Different.

It’s woven around them, the three favorites and the fourth he can’t quite connect to, all bound together by this strange cord with nothing on top. There’s nothing to follow. Nothing to look at the stitching of, the messy edges, the covered-up unsightly bits that make up a Life. 

There’s not even the neat little picture the messy stitching makes up for the other things on top to see. Just the cord, woven right in, tightly clinging to these other four.

He follows them. There’s something he’s missing. Something he needs to find. This is Familiar. He needs to find something. He always needs to find something. He does this all the time. What is he missing?

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His hands are still scratching.

He’s completely still otherwise. But his hands are still scratching. Faster now, in fact. Faster, almost desperately. His eyes are closed. His ears have been cleaned up. There’s still blood in his stubble.

“How long would your mom be… asleep?” Juliet asks, watching Shawn’s twitching hands.

“It varied.” Henry can’t look at his son. He can’t look at his son’s friends. He can only look at the ground below his son’s hospital bed. “She only got this bad a few times in my life. Usually she just–” Henry rubs his face. “She just disconnected, and came back spouting nonsense. The only time I can remember her bleeding is just before Jack went to first grade. He asked me if we’d always be able to count on each other and I said yes. She collapsed on the spot.”

“And was she–”

“It took three days for her to wake up.”

The room is quiet again.

Shawn keeps scratching.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s a cord he can’t find. A Life he can’t track down. Someone always around the three favorites and the fourth he can’t reach. 

The mystery Life and Cord should come to be next to the fourth unreachable one around the time of late teens or early twenties. It should come to be beside Burton Guster’s almost at the very beginning, woven away for a bit before coming back around. It should be by Juliet O’Hara’s and Carlton Lassiter’s around the same time it’s woven back beside the unreachable cord and Burton Gusters.

He can’t quite find it. It’s a person, a Life, but there’s nothing On Top. It’s someone unmissable, unless he wants to be. Someone loud, because he was told to be quiet for most of his life. Someone who hides in plain sight, because he can make everyone see whatever he wants them to see. Someone who can see Everything, and it’s too much but most of the time no-one can tell how Much it truly is.

He looks closer, closer. He follows the four cords as far as they’ll go, but it hurts to See the ends so close up. He likes them. He loves them. He doesn’t follow them to the ends entirely, when the bit on top will be woven into their cords and they’ll be a part of the weave itself instead of decorating it. He doesn’t want them to End. 

He goes back. He goes to their starts, and moves along slowly, and he begins to understand how Life moves.

Day by day, little by little, the Present mattering more than anything else. Each life is not just one big cord encompassing all of a Person, but a million little threads, each second making the threads that make up the whole. 

He hones in on the threads, each one so important– details. 

He knows Details. He’s the king of Details. Who is he?

He picks over the cords, scratching at the individual threads.

Bump.

Wait. There…

The Present.

The most important part.

They’re all four there. Sitting in a hospital room. Someone is on the bed. The Missing Cord.

“Shawn won’t take three days,” Burton Guster says. “He won’t be able to wait that long.”

“He’s not patient,” the unreachable cord agrees.

“Henry, tell us what we should expect when he does wake up.” Juliet O’Hara is holding back from screaming at the unreachable cord– Henry, apparently. 

He should know Everything. Does him not knowing how to reach the fourth mean he’s getting closer to where he needs to be, smaller to fit in what was once his Existence, singular enough to be a Life? Hopefully.

Henry sits back in his chair, the sound of his spine hitting the hard plastic echoing in the sterile room. “Look, Juliet, it’s not like I’m an expert in this. My mother died decades ago, and–and you know, even then I never really knew her well. She was always…” he waves a hand by his head. “... Somewhere else. She was worse than Shawn about it.”

“Maybe because of this?” Juliet gestures at the man– Shawn– in the bed. He’s unconscious. His cord is missing. He probably won’t wake up. 

That’s…

Upsetting.

“... Maybe.” Henry sighs and puts his face in his hands. “My mother… wasn’t… well. She thought–” He lets out a bitter laugh. “She thought, she was psychic.”

Something twangs. Thrums. It’s His cord, somewhere, the one he’s meant to be traveling along day by day, event by event, second by second– but where? Where?

“What?!” Burton Guster stands up. It’s distracting. It’s all he can focus on. “Shawn’s grandma was psychic and you just never felt a need to mention it?!”

“She wasn’t! Psychic!” Henry is barely holding himself together. He’s rage and indignation and regret stuffed inside a meat suit. “She was a sick woman who got everyone else to believe her… delusions! I made her stop claiming it when Jack was a kid so he wouldn’t–!” Henry huffs, clenching his jaw and looking away. “Well, fat lot of good it did in the end with him. The damage was done. I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to Shawn.”

“This is ridiculous.” Carlton Lassiter is cleaning out his gun. He loves that gun, but he’s being a little rough with it. “Now you’re telling me Spencer’s the lastest in a long line of psychics? What, are we in one of his asinine 80’s movies?”

“He is not–!” Henry seems to catch himself differently this time. This time like he almost spilled a secret. What is the secret? Does not knowing mean Life is almost in reach? “He is not, the latest, in a long line. His grandmother wasn’t psychic.”

Burton Guster is having a crisis. He sits down heavily. He’s remembering things– the man on the bed collapsing and seizing and saying the thoughts in Burton Guster’s head. He’s remembering years and years of observations, mysteries, gut feelings from his friend that he’s reexamining and–

And those are Familiar.

…

He scratches the cord wrapped around the four. The one with nothing on top, no Life following it’s tracks.

On the bed, Shawn Spencer’s eyes flutter.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh, of course.

He scratches it again. 

Bump.

Shawn Spencer sucks in a breath. Everyone in the room looks at him with hesitant hope.

Bump.

Shawn Spencer’s eyes move under his lids. Everything is getting smaller. He doesn’t Know what he Knew before. He still Knows more than he should, but smaller, foggier, less readily available. It feels familiar. It feels right.

Bump.

He doesn’t know what the other people in the room think and feel anymore. He doesn’t know Everything. 

But he does know that his head hurts.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn groans and turns his head to try and bury himself into the pillow. Everything aches. 

“Shawn!” Gus’s voice hurts his ears– they’re really tender, he realizes as feeling slowly comes back to his body. As he slowly comes back to his body, settling back into Life and Singularity. What a freaky experience… 

“Gus,” he groans. “Turn off the light.”

“Shawn, you–” Gus’s gushy proclamation of joy is cut off by a sob. “Oh my god, Shawn, you’re back.” He dives in for a hug, and Shawn coughs from the force he’s squeezed with. It’s nice, though. Being a formless, personality-less, wandering Nothing kind of seriously sucked. He’d way rather feel like absolute crap than feel like Nothing and not even know what he’s missing out on by being Something.

“I’m back, buddy,” Shawn rasps, patting Gus on the back and trying to open his eyes. He regrets it instantly, shutting them tight again. “Ah! Seriously, lights!”

They click off, and when Shawn cracks his eyes back open he just barely sees Lassie’s head over by where he remembers the lightswitch being from when he was Watching. His head pulses with pain when he remembers that. The whole experience is there, but blocked off, visible through a thick wall of mesh meant to keep out curious minds that’ll hurt themselves looking too closely. He groans and sinks back against the bed, for once deciding to respect a ‘No Entry’ warning. “Thanks, Lassieface.”

“I just didn't want you to whine about it.”

“You didn’t want me in pain. You love me.”

“I will turn them back on.”

“Carlton.”

“It’s okay Jules. Lassie’s sweet, yet also sour denial of his deep affection for me is exactly what I need after all that.”

“Kid.” Oh, there he is– the ‘unreachable cord’. As if he needed any more confirmation their relationship is absolutely screwed up. Henry steps into Shawn’s sight, expression a mess of emotions he’s trying not to have. “Listen, I–”

“Not now, Pop.” Shawn pats Gus’s back again, a silent signal to please let go before he passes out again, and Gus quickly pulls away and wipes at his eyes. “We can talk about you hiding stuff about Grandma from me later.”

“I just– wait. How did you know that?”

Shawn musters up a small smile, and puts his finger by his head. 

Henry isn’t amused. Shawn’s smile falls. His finger doesn’t.

“I’m serious, Dad.”

“Shawn.”

“The universe is a big rug, or uh… tapestry, thing, by the way. Beautiful, masterfully made, but a little coarse. One out of five stars, would not recommend before dying.”

“Shawn, don’t.”

“Respectfully, Mr. Spencer, shut up a second.” Gus leans in close as Henry is stunned by the blatant disrespect from someone who only ever calls him “Mr.” and used to scold Shawn for his misplaced prepositions. “Shawn. Be real with me. You read my mind before, remember that? And I’ve been thinking about all the stuff we’ve done together and– just, tell me straight. Are you actually…”

“Yeah, buddy.” Shawn closes his eyes again. “And it kind of blows.”

“Oh my god.”

“Didn’t see him. Unless he’s the rug, I guess, but I don’t think that’d make very good stained-glass windows.”

“Guster, don’t–”

“He read my mind back at the station! He’s not delusional!”

“Why would he be delusional?” Jules is at Shawn’s bedside, holding a cup of water, offering the straw to Shawn. “Henry, you’ve been acting weird and cagey about this entire thing.”

“Because he’s not–!”

“He is!”

Jules just looks more confused as it sinks in what Henry is not-saying. “Wait, why is this up for debate? You’ve confirmed it for us yourself!”

Shawn’s hands twitch. Bump.

It’ll work out. He can rely on The Universe to ensure Everything will Always work out. But he can make it work out well for everyone, not just himself, he knows it. And he can find it, find the best way to handle this. He can follow the cords without slipping away. He can. He’s done it before, he just didn’t know he was doing it. The sounds of arguing, of his dad finally spilling his secret, of Lassie shouting in vindication and then anger, of all it becomes background noise for a moment.

Bump, bump, bump…

The cords are running through him, but they’re not tight. They’re slack, and malleable. They’re not fully set in place yet. He can shift them. He can manipulate them–

No, no, his grandma told him not to get sucked into that. He wants to. He shouldn’t. He can. He could figure out how to move everything exactly how he wants. It’s right there…

But if he did that, had been doing that the whole time, where would his life be right now? He could probably find out exactly where– he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to, doesn’t need to sink into The Universe and play with it to know that he wouldn’t be here, with the good and the bad and all the in-between. 

Jules wouldn’t be here. Lassie wouldn’t be here. Gus might not even be here.

He lets out a slow breath. 

Bump. 

There.

There’s how he can do this without losing everything. Without everyone getting too hurt. Without just letting The Universe settle itself around him and his giant, panicked, longstanding deceptions.

He opens his eyes and everyone is arguing. Jules is furious and betrayed, Gus is yelling at Henry, Henry is fuming, Lassie clearly doesn’t know how to feel–

“Guys!”

His shout turns all eyes on him.

“I can explain everything,” he promises. “Yes, I am psychic. Yes, I lied about solving crimes psychically for years now. How are they both true? Well, let’s start with how my father is terrible at sharing important information until it’s almost not helpful anymore, and then skip right over to Lassie not believing I could get a good tip for him just by watching the news. By the end I promise you’ll all have your minds blown, might even be begging me to sell this as a TV show. Just… sit down.”

Gus does, and eyes the other three expectantly. They all take their seats with more hesitation. But they take them.

Twang. The cords pull taut for a moment as something major shifts, settles, and is firmly woven into place. Shawn can feel it reverberate in his bones. He thinks he’s felt it once before, back when…

“Lassie had me brought into the station after I called in a tip.”

[fandonnavyce]

Ship Week: Afterdark

Sweet Endings aka The Epilogue

CW: Mature Sexual Themes (skirting around subspace/aftercare)

Part 1

“Shit, ok that was too much. Let’s get out of here.”

Cupping Jason with his power, Danny teleports with him. He reacts with horror as Jason’s ghost core flinches away in pain from contact with his powers. Danny immediately lets go, dropping them into a private corner.

Like a puppet with cut strings, Jason collapsed to the ground; dropped to his knees. Cascade-failure. His mind turned static white.

Jason keened.

Mindlessly, he nuzzled Danny’s crotch. Jason's heated breath misted the metal zipper. Restless fingers fidgeted with the buckles on Danny's boots. Jason felt overwhelmed. He could feel his cock desperately straining against the confines of his jeans, hard beyond belief. But he couldn’t quite dare reach out to touch himself for relief.

Everything already didn’t feel real. Distorted. Disconnected. Unreal. But Jason was terrified that everything would come to a sickening stop. That reality would crash upon him with horrifying realism. That Danny would react and treat him with disgust and disdain.

A soothing hand petted his head even as it pulled Jason away from his solid warmth to instead rest his head on his thigh. Jason could feel tears prick the corner of his eyes, completely against his will. Danny’s hand, caressing his hair was simultaneously making Jason feel so much better and so much worse. He was trembling. Jason knelt there, at Danny's feet, too weak to move. Suddenly aware of all the strangers in his vicinity, the music pounding in his ear. Jason rested his head for shelter, hiding in Danny's embrace.

Someone was walking towards them. Jason could feel himself bristle and snarl. But Danny’s hand held a touch of warning to it. Jason heeled, even as he vibrated out of his skin.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Part of Jason felt mortified, that was being seen on his knees basically being stroked like a pet and a knife-edge away from panting to suck Danny’s dick. So he solved it by burying his face further into Danny’s crotch. As if that solved anything. As if, because Jason couldn’t see Sam, he would finally be able to turn invisible. Danny’s hand turned soothing. Danny shifted his body to further hide the kneeling Jason from sight.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sam asked as she approached. Jason was on the floor and looked worryingly out-of-it whilst Danny, instead of doing something to help or at least teleporting Jason to the Speeder, Danny was just holding him here instead.

“I did a stupid,” Danny admitted to Sam. “I wasn’t being careful enough and I overwhelmed Jason. But this seems to be calming him down.”

Sam crossed her arms, looking very unimpressed at Danny.

“Overwhelmed him, how?”

“While we were dancing Jason’s core began feeding off the emotions here and building itself. I wanted to help so I added some of my ectoplasm to the mix, but I must've accidentally given too much, too fast or something. Now his ghost core is straining under the metaphorical weight of it. I would try to take it back but that would require touching his ghost core.”

“Which would just overwhelm him further, thus exacerbating the problem.”

“Exactly. It hurt him to even try to teleport him just out of this building with me.” Even whilst he was still speaking, Danny made sure to continue comforting Jason.

Line Break

Jason could hear Sam and Danny continue talking but it was like he was underwater. He couldn’t focus on it. He played with the green laces of Danny’s knee high boots, feeling the coarse texture of the lace’s fabric between his fingers. The laces glowed in the dark. Jason felt his breathing even out. He still wanted to suck Danny’s dick. But he held back.

"Hey Jason," a soft, gentle voice greeted him.

Jason blearily opened his eyes. He didn't even know when he had closed them.

The first thing he saw was Danny's face looking at him with a concerned, tender look on his face. Jason felt his stomach flip-flop.

"Easy Jason, how are you feeling?"

Jason's tongue felt really heavy. Talking, moving his lips, making his voice go, felt beyond him. Instead he relaxed fully into Danny’s caressing hand and breathed in contentment.

Danny chuckled. "I'm glad you're feeling so comfortable, but I think you'll feel so much better if we got outta here. Do you feel up for the trip?"

Jason blinked slowly, taking a moment to let the words sink in. Rubbing his face up against Danny's thigh, he slowly brought himself back to awareness. Getting back to his feet was another though.

"Ah here, let me carry you."

The next thing Jason knew, all 6feet and 225lbs of him was being effortlessly scooped up.

"Ha, don't worry Jason, I won't drop you."

Jason blushed. He was being carried tenderly in Danny's arms. He relaxed into Danny’s secure hold, burying his face into Danny's broad chest

::I k̶͉̔nơ̵̫w y̶͍͘ö̷̭́u̷̫͗ ̵̼̔w̶͍̉o̵̔ͅn̴̪̑'̷͖̍t::(̷̪̈́c̶̗̊on̵̗̓ṭ̶̕ĕ̸̹n̵̬͆t,re̴͛ͅȧ̶̞sś̸̠u̵̜̎r̶͚͊ē̷̹d,̴̞̑c̵̭̔om̷͍̏f̷̯̀o̴̲͝rt̷͍͛ed)̴

You can check out my fic and series on AO3 to read more

And dont forget to reblog!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

So what about villain finding hero bleeding out in their house (plus if hero lost so much blood that at the point where villain arrives, they can't even speak)?

“No…” Whatever the villain had wanted to say, they were pretty sure this wasn’t it. This was supposed to be luck. It was supposed to be a present on a silver plate.

But the villain’s stomach dropped. Their knees were about to give out under them. For a second, the world allowed itself to spin around them but the villain forced themselves to see clearer, to concentrate harder.

There were three things they knew.

1. The hero was bleeding out on their couch.

2. It was a lot of blood.

3. A shit ton of blood.

“Hey.” The villain dropped their groceries and fell to their knees in front of the hero. “Don’t you dare.”

The hero was barely recognisable. With blood and bruises and swollen flesh, they looked truly horrific. Their suit was damaged, showing off the purple and blue skin. It seemed unreal, whatever had done this to the hero was a threat to humanity.

Though their mouth was slightly open, with little weak and raspy breaths coming out of it, they looked pretty much dead. It was a real nightmare.

So, the mission had gone sideways. Only yesterday, the hero had told them about it. How they were worried, how they didn’t want to go, actually. The villain knew a lot of cocky heroes who’d give blood and bones to prove themselves. But the hero wasn’t someone like that. They were calm and rational. They were cautious.

Despite being enemies, the hero always told them about those things. It was a weird relationship, the villain had to admit that. A relationship which consisted of one of them talking about their problems while attacking the other. It was never enough information to actually get something out of them, but enough to give advice.

“Shit—” the villain cursed. They picked up the hero easily and carried them into the bathroom. There, they put them in the bathtub and removed their clothes. A few wounds were still bleeding, so the villain took all the clean towels they had left to put more pressure on the bloody mess.

When they realised nothing would stop the blood except for closing the wound, they were close to crying. The villain couldn’t stitch wounds. They didn’t even own a sewing kit.

Losing the hero was unacceptable. Yesterday, they’d been fine. They’d talked to each other, they’d joked around. This couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. The hero was strong — the strongest person the villain knew.

“Fuck. Don’t die, please don’t die—” They needed a solution. Now.

The villain stared at the blood dripping down the bathtub’s porcelain and then thank goodness it occurred to them.

A few weeks ago, their sister had laughed at an article she’d found on the internet. Using duct tape to close wounds? That sounds hella counterproductive, she’d said while staring at her phone with a smile. But it was the only way. The only chance the villain had.

Stumbling into the kitchen, almost tripping a few times and with shaking hands, they dug through the messy drawers until they found it. And they prayed to everything that could be considered a god that this was going to work.

Their enemy looked like a fresh corpse in their bathtub when they got back. Fighting tears, fighting emotions and fighting every desperate outburst their body could make, the villain unwrapped the sticky tape and somehow managed to slap it on the hero’s wounds.

Maybe I’d talk about my feelings more if I was brave, you know? the hero had said. Sometimes I think that when I’m with people. But when I’m with you I feel the bravest.

The villain started crying. They couldn’t do this alone. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t just. It was shitty and it sucked.

But then they realised this was working. The bleeding stopped.

When the villain put two fingers on the hero’s neck, however, they realised there was no pulse.

[foxintheferns]

Wild Heart

Chapter Three

A Twilight - Paul Lahote Fanfiction

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

*Short summary for my antsy gals: this absolute babe with childhood trauma, no real family and a passion for animals goes to live in the woods outside of La Push beach for her job that’s she’s deemed is necessary to find her way in life, and guess who’s not happy she’s there because now they have to worry about this human who’s put herself smack in the middle of bloodsucker city, where they have an instinctual obligation to protect her. And guess who’s even more angry that he suddenly feels an undying and relentless, fiery need to be with her all the time? Angst, tension, passion, anger, love, jealousy, perhaps even some betrayal? This story’s got it all babes (yes, even the smut) - it’s just one of those slow burn, then-suddenly-everything-is-fuckin-crazy-and-the-angst-is-unreal fics, you know? stay tuned ;)

A/N: awww shit we got the Jacob POV with this one! Sorry this took a while! I’m feeling super excited about the story and antsy to get into it. Hope you enjoy!!! PS, tagging all the wonderful lil babies that liked chapter one and two! You guys motivated me to get this one done :’) more to come shortly

CHAPTER THREE

Jacob Black’s POV:

“I don’t know, dude, but she’s out there,” I muttered under my breath, whittling away vigorously at the piece of wood I was working on with my knife. Jared scoffed, lounging on Emily and Sam’s couch across the room, gnawing on some chicken wings that Embry had brought over.

“Yeah, okay, I’m sure she was just a hiker, Jake. Teenagers from the Rez go out there all the time lookin’ for trouble, you know that,” he responded, not seeming to be truly allowing his full attention to fall on the conversation. I raised my eyes from my wood carving to glare at him from where I sat on the wooden steps.

“I do know that, Jared,” My voice came out as a sneer now, “That’s exactly why I’m saying this is different.”

Jared didn’t notice my eyes on him, and shrugged casually as he continued to pull chicken off a thigh bone with his teeth, his eyes more focused on the hockey game playing on the television than on my concerns. His face was looking extra punchable today, and I knew I’d have to reel in my annoyance for him if I wanted to be taken seriously by the pack with this one. Seth strode in from the back porch now, the screen door into the living room having allowed him to hear our bickering. He slid the screen closed behind him and shot me an interested look.

“I believe you, Jake. We just all gotta go out there and see what’s goin on.”

Ugh. Seth was always backing me up, and it made me even more irritable. Even though he was 22 now, he still felt a lot like a little brother to me, although I’d started to really respect him as a member of the pack; he did really pull his weight. I shrugged now, turning my attention back to the wood in my hand that was starting to slowly take the shape of a full-bodied wolf. I knew I’d have to wait until Sam and Paul came back from their trip to Canada before the issue would be addressed seriously. Even my own father wasn’t showing the concern I thought was necessary.

A week before, a twenty-something, obviously totally clueless girl had moved into the old lookout shelter smack in the middle of the Olympic Forest. Right where the pack had full territory protection orders, conveniently enough. The shelter hadn’t been used in over 5 years, and now suddenly the State of Washington has deemed it necessary for this girl to be out there doing, what exactly - birdwatching? It was ridiculous. On my patrol a few days before, I’d decided to stay quiet and watch her from afar for a while, as I’d been keeping an eye on her since I noticed her arrive days before. I seriously watched that girl walk around the forest for hours, looking through her binoculars and scribbling in her little notebook. I got so bored I almost fell asleep, my head resting on the ground between my paws and the occasional sound of the girl’s whispered ‘wow’s and ‘look at you, you are a beauty!’s lulling my tired brain. She often stayed in one area of the woods for hours, and I didn’t have to move around much to avoid her detecting my massive form behind the falls ferns and trees.

I just didn’t understand why anyone would do that to themselves. I mean, if anyone understood the beauty of the forests around La Push, it was me, but subjecting yourself to living in that little cabin for who knows how long? This girl must be certifiably insane - or at least very weird and antisocial, I thought. The boys and I had seen the empty cabin loads of times, it being pretty much smack in the middle of the pack’s territory. It was every so often that young, drunk teenagers stumbled across the chained-off shelter late at night and warranted us to do a little intervening, scaring them off by growling or shuffling deep from the darkness. It worked like a charm, every damn time. We couldn’t have people, nonetheless some random kids, partying out in the middle of the woods like a buffet for the bloodsuckers. It was our job to make sure anyone on our land was safe. And that’s exactly why this girl was putting a bit of a kink in our system.

I remembered the night I first saw her. The lights had been on, smoke escaping from the cabin’s chimney for the first time in years, and I had practically sprinted home to tell the rest of the pack. I had been the only one out doing patrol recently; Sam and Paul had gone as the pack ambassadors to Northern Canada, in their human forms, to visit another group that had reached out in efforts to understand more about our kind. It seemed the Quileutes weren’t the only shifters around. It was great and all, sure, but it left me as the stand-in Alpha while they were away, and the boys didn’t necessarily fear me as much as they did Sam, what with them being my best friends.

“Ah, right, that girl… the one with the Bronco, from the grocery store,” my dad Billy had said casually a week before, when I had brought up to him the severity of my concerns after first seeing her and having my worries be promptly brushed off by Embry and Jared pretty quickly. There hadn’t been a bloodsucker around these parts in quite a while. The Cullens were away, somewhere in Europe, for the past few months, and the pack had seemed to get a bit too comfortable with the lack of constant vampire threats.

I stared up at my dad in confusion, my mouth slightly open in surprise that he seemed to immediately know who I was talking about. All I’d said was that I saw someone was in the lookout shelter, lights on and wood burning stove cranking, and that we needed to figure out who the hell was trespassing and kick them out.

Billy looked up briefly from his newspaper and coffee to meet my eyes nonchalantly.

“Who?” I asked incredulously.

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head and straightening his newspaper out to read it again. “Jacob, the lookout is State property. Sometimes they send in a scientist or two to do some research on endangered species and whatnot for a year or so. They’ve done it lots of times. She’s not the first,” He said casually while eyeing the newspaper. My mouth gaped at him now. How was he taking this so lightly? “Wh-first of all, how do you even know about this girl? Second- she’ll be out there a year?!” My voice was louder, his nonchalance starting to irk me. Billy had sighed then, setting the newspaper down on the table. “I saw her when we got groceries earlier today. She dropped something from her wallet and I yelled out to let her know. I asked her what she was doing in these parts, and she told me she moved here for her job. Wildlife biologist. Tell me, son, you see any other places that a wildlife biologist would work in La Push? I figured that’s where she’d be going, right when she told me. Now, obviously it’s not ideal that she’s out there but, well… I mean, she’s doing it for a good cause.” I stared at him in disbelief, shaking my head and my eyes bugging. His careless demeanor towards the issue was making me feel like I was about to implode, my temperature rising and the wolf inside me eager as ever to let my anger take hold. “Yeah, not ideal is a bit of an understatement. Ha! She’s bloodsucker bait out there. She won’t even last a month, just watch. Either we’ll scare her off, or the leeches will come for her,” I seethed, crossing my arms and putting my feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch. I stared across the room at the wall. Billy’s eyes burned into me from my peripheral, and I heard him grumble under his breath before he curtly responded, ”Jacob. It’s your job to keep her safe now. That is not an option. That is the responsibility and obligation that runs through your veins,” he hesitated briefly, “And I won’t hear about you trying to scare her. I won’t.”

My brows furrowed, and I kept my arms crossed in defiance, although I knew I couldn’t argue with him. He was right. But, it was still worth a shot trying to get her to leave.

That was a week ago now, and with Paul and Sam still gone for the next week, I knew I’d have to figure something out myself. I was the Alpha for the time being, after all. I stood up from the step, folding my knife, stuffing it into my back pocket and carefully slipping my incomplete wolf carving into its velvet pouch for safe keeping.

“You guys have fun. I’m going back out there,” I grumbled, taking the extra moment to flick the side of Jared’s head on my way out the back door. He yelped and grimaced, holding his head dramatically and rubbing the place where my middle finger had made contact. Seth stifled a laugh from the recliner in the corner, and Jared shot him a look before flinging a chicken bone at his head, which Seth dodged gracefully. I hid my smile as I strode out across the back porch, bracing myself with my right arm and slinging my legs over the waist high fence to land on the other side with ease. I breathed deeply, feeling the last bit of direct sunshine the day had to offer touch my skin. I had honestly been enjoying this smaller pack experience. With Sam gone, and me calling the shots, I had a lot more solo-shifting time. Being in my wolf, all by myself and without the constant obnoxious chatter of the boys in my head, was truly peaceful. I stood behind the porch and glanced around me once before pulling my pants to the ground. I shook them off and tied them around one of my ankles, my typical way of ensuring I had clothes to put on when I shifted back into my human form later. I let my body begin to tremble and burn and tear as I pushed through my current peace and urged it to become strength. Shifting on command was now something my body had gotten quite used to, and I felt natural doing it. I was grateful that I no longer had to be seething with rage or worry in order for my body to morph, painfully and violently, into its massive canine form. This was much more convenient.

I made a point to check the entirety of the perimeter first, possibly trying to convince myself that this foolish girl wasn’t the only reason I was out there so early. I ran for miles, keeping my senses honed in and my body at a steady pace. I was leaving checking on her for last, the little cabin tucked deep into the woods on our land and about a mile in from our southernmost territorial boundary line. Suddenly, a thought broke through my quite peace.

~Jake, we’re all down by First Beach for a fire, you should swing by and take a break~

Seth’s voice was soft. He knew when I was in the zone, and had been barked at for being a nuisance many times, so I could sense his hesitation with the invite. Surprisingly, I was eager to take a break before checking out the lookout shelter. I hadn’t realized it, or maybe hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge it before, but I was a little nervous. I didn’t know what it was about this girl, but her comfort within the forest threw me off. I wasn’t used to seeing outsiders look so at home in what I felt was my home.

~Sure, sure, I’ll be there~

Seth’s presence quickly disappeared again with my response, and I began my sprint through the forest down to the beach. Within minutes I was gliding through the trees, aiming for the spot where the boys and I typically met up. I stopped when I came to the tree-line, and could see the fuzzy outline of the reservation’s only restaurant, Riverside, through the trees. I felt my body shimmer and shake as I shifted back to my two legged body, bending at the waist and moving from side to side to crack my tired back and neck as I adjusted. I untied my sweatpants from my ankle and pulled them back on, swiping my hand quickly through my hair to make myself presentable and avoid attracting too much unwanted looks from tourists on the beach. Although, being six foot five and shirtless usually prevented that from being avoidable. I made my way through the remaining patch of trees until they broke apart and revealed the stretch of dirt road that went from the restaurant down to the beach. Seth, Embry and Quil were standing in a huddle off to the side of the small building. Seth and Embry turned at the sound of my footsteps, a greeting, howl-like call coming from Embry’s mouth. I chuckled and returned the sound, coming up to them and returning his waiting fist bump. Quil nudged my arm, narrowing his eyes and lowering his tone to speak in a playful inflection, “Yo, think I saw that girl you’re so hung up on down at the beach, man.”

I felt my cheeks warm, and I immediately felt anger at the odd sensation. I knew Quil was just trying to fuck with me. ‘That girl you’re so hung up on’ as if I gave a crap what she was up to. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the inconvenience of another innocent human to have to protect for no good reason other than she wants to watch some birds. I punched his arm, hard enough for that shitty grin of his to be wiped off of his face.

“Yeah? D’ya tell her to get the hell out of here?” I responded with a sarcastic smile.

Embry rolled his eyes, looking at me straight on. Embry was never intimidated by me, even when Sam appointed me the stand-in alpha, even when I was the only one of us besides Paul that could easily overpower any of the others in the pack.

“Jake, relax. Girl looks like she knows her way around a trail, I don’t think it’s a big deal.” Embry’s voice was steady.

I raised my eyebrows, smirking at his consistently naive kindness.

“Yeah, Embry? You ready to keep watch and make sure she doesn’t become leech bait for the next year?”

Embry’s face faltered, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion, “A year? Why would she be here a whole year?”

I nodded, a grim smile on my face, happy the boys were finally getting it. “A year. Billy says that’s what the State does, hires biologists or whatever to come down here to study the animals and shit. I guess that’s how long the job is.”

Seth seemed interested now, his own usually neutral position seeming to falter as well.

“Oh damn, that is kinda…not ideal… I wonder if-,” Seth paused mid sentence, his eyes catching something behind me. I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, I turned to see what had caught his attention. Walking toward the restaurant -and toward us- a small red backpack strewn over her shoulder and light brown, caramel hair that escaped its long braid in small wispy sections around her face to whip across her cheeks with the slight salty breeze, was a girl. The elusive forest girl. There she was. The current thorn in my side that was causing more issues than she could even dream of understanding. I hadn’t seen her this up close yet. She looked to be around our age, early twenties, and she was a bit taller than a lot of the girls I’d seen around town. She had long, graceful legs that carried her with purposeful and lengthy strides. Her feet were clad in brown hiking boots, dirty and currently covered with sand. In the brief moment we had stopped our conversation to look in her direction, she had glanced down at the ground, seemingly avoiding our intense stares. The silence carried on until she opened the door to the restaurant, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

I turned back to the boys, and Seth’s eyes were still on the door. I snapped my finger in his face, calling his attention back. He blinked, staring at me. Then, he looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet around on the dirt and finding a random rock to be apparently quite interesting.

“I mean, if that’s the girl living in our woods- I think it’s, uh… I think that’s just fine,” Seth mumbled with a light shrug, a playful smirk pulling up onto his lips as he shot a narrow glance at Quil from the corner of his eye. Quil snorted, earning another shoulder punch from me. “Yeah, yeah. Get your asses down to the beach, let’s go,” I instructed, turning my body away from the restaurant and directing the group of us towards the treeline. They obliged, starting a new conversation amongst themselves as I trailed behind. Before we entered the trees to make our way down to the beach, I risked one brief glance over my left shoulder, and regretted it instantly when I made direct eye contact with her through the glass pane of the front window of the restaurant. My eyes shot back forward immediately, but I continued to see her face in my mind for a moment. She had been looking at me. Her expression was… intrigued? No, that wasn’t it, maybe nervous? Good. I didn’t want her getting comfortable here.

Two Hours Later

“All I’m saying is, she’s hot,” Quil had his hands up defensively in front of him, palms facing outward, “sue me, Jake. A hot girl is living in our woods and I’m not mad about it.”

I glared at him from across the large driftwood fire the four of us sat around on First Beach, the sun just starting to come down across the horizon.

“And all I’m saying is, you’re lucky you’re sitting all the way over there, Quil,” I mumbled back, turning my gaze downward to continue to play with a stick in the sand, stabbing it down and feeling the satisfying crunch of the beach beneath it.

“Lighten up, Jake. You’re gonna go prematurely grey with all this worrying you’re doing,” Embry joked, chewing on some Swedish Fish he’d pulled out from his back pocket. My eyes flickered up to his face, and he slowed his chewing when he saw whatever expression was on mine.

“This isn’t something he, or any of us, should be joking about. Just because the bloodsuckers haven’t come through in a while doesn’t mean they’re not out there. They’re always out there. And this girl has just decided to settle down right smack in the middle of the damn woods. You guys don’t see anything that could go wrong there?”

Seth shrugged halfheartedly, “Honestly, no…Not with us around.”

I rolled my eyes, but slumped my shoulders back down in defeat. “Whatever, I’m going back,” I muttered, throwing the stick I’d been fumbling with down into the flames of the bonfire as I pulled myself to my feet. I heard the mumbles of complaint and opposition come from the three of them, but decided I wasn’t in the mood for more petty arguing and defending of my side, and kept a steady pace over to the tree-line bordering the beach until I was well into the cover of the dark greenery. I walked further, trying to allow the cold air of the forest to bite into my skin and clear my head. The sunlight was almost completely gone now, and I was eager to get back into my wolf form, the idea of not having to communicate with the rest of the pack looking like a luxury at this point. I was always able to sink effortlessly into the instinctual, primal rhythm that came along with shifting. It was a quiet place where my human emotions and worries weren’t as clear and sharp. It allowed escape. As I bent to pull my sweatpants down, a distant light flickered across my vision. I stood back up straight, my pants coming back up to my hips, and narrowed my eyes to peer through the trees. A bobbing flashlight was moving through the black trees ahead, probably around 40 yards away. My vision was much better than the average human’s due to the altered DNA I possessed, and my senses of smell and hearing were almost as good as they were in my wolf form. I knew almost immediately that it was her. I felt a smirk pull up a corner of my mouth when I realized that she was making it far too easy, now. All I had to do was freak her out a bit, right? What woman wants to stay in the woods by herself when strange shirtless men are out and about? I started striding towards her, not fully knowing what I was doing or bothering to question myself up until the very moment she seemed to hear the crunching of my feet on the ground. She froze, and I could hear the terrified pumping of her heart in the silence. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to do much. Maybe this would be enough to scare her, to get her to pack her things and head back to wherever she came from. I continued to loudly trudge across the forest floor, trying to make myself sound even bigger than I already was. She suddenly reached behind her, grabbing some object from her backpack’s side, and then proceeded to yell. Or, I don’t think I could truly call it a yell. A loud whimper, perhaps.

“Hey, bear! H-hey bear!”

I almost laughed out loud. I stopped walking, stifling my chuckle and keeping my eyes on her trembling frame. I had to make myself known; I couldn’t let the poor girl believe that her pathetic attempt at keeping a bear away would’ve actually worked. I’d practically be doing her a disservice by going away now. Back to the strange man in the woods approach.

“Well, I’m not a bear, but if I was - don’t know that those sounds would do the trick.”

She reeled, gasping and throwing her flashlight to the ground in her panic. I rolled my eyes in the darkness. If I had been a bear, you’d be a goner by now, I wanted to say.

“Shit!” Her voice filled the silent forest, and I bit my bottom lip hard to keep the unimpressed laugh from escaping. I was right to try and get this girl to leave, she wouldn’t last a second around a vampire. Suddenly, the flashlight was back in her grasp and a blinding light was being pointed directly at my face.

“Jesus, wha-, fuck, can you shine that down?!” I practically yelled, throwing a hand up in front of my face and straining my eyes from the brightness. After a moment, the light was lowered quickly, hovering around my legs, and I let my hand fall back down. We locked eyes, her terrified gaze traveling up and down my body, resting finally on my face.

“H-…wha-who-,” she stammered out, then appeared to take a deep breath and began again, “Why are you following me?”

Now, I couldn’t hide my amusement. I felt a smile prick the corner of my mouth, and I watched as her expression became more filled with terror at the change in my expression. When I saw that, I realized it was possible that I was maybe scaring her a bit too much. I let my gaze soften and stifled back another chuckle, cocking my head towards her and letting my genuine interest in her ridiculous reasoning lead the way.

“Following you? You’re on my land, sweetheart,” I responded, my voice calm and steady, keeping my eyes locked on hers.

➡️NEXT CHAPTER

……………………………………………………………………………………

A/N: eeeeeek! This was basically Chapter Two but from Jake’s POV, so very excited to move it along in the next chapter heheh. Should be up tmrw! To the wonderful readers who followed along with Chp 1 and 2, you guys rock and I hope you still wanna read, but still luv u even if u just stopped in for those first chapters! <3

@hotheadwolf @living-that-best-life @carrrieeexu @plainharmony130th-blog

[curiositymemes]

MISTER MAGIC SENTENCE STARTERS : PART TWO.

taken from the 2023 novel by kiersten white. trigger warnings for unreality, trauma, religion, and cults. feel free to change wording and pronouns and provide context as necessary. do not add to this list.

“what do we say about crying?”

“you had a lot of nightmares.”

“at least i don’t snore?”

“i wouldn’t mess with her / him / them.”

“that was really kind. thank you.”

“it’s just what i was supposed to do all along.”

“why do you have it?”

“don’t you remember— no, i guess you don’t.”

“please take this as kindly as possible, but what the hell does that mean?”

“i forgot what a dork you can be.”

“only you could make me do this. you’re as pushy as ever.”

“is this what prom was like?”

“i hate missing free food.”

“we just have to wait a little longer. you’ll see.”

“we could go be beautiful somewhere else, instead.”

“or your ass is mine.”

“what is she / is he / are they doing here? i can’t deal with her / him / them, not right now. not ever.” 

“you know how important tonight is to me.” 

“i’ve worked a long time for this.”

“take me with you. i can’t do this alone.”

“wasn’t it the best?”

“i’ve lived here my whole life.”

“angels were everywhere, if you knew how to recognize them. if you knew how to make a deal.”

“suffer the children, you know.”

“not everything needs a reboot.”

“go home and cry joylessly into your still-in-the-box transformers.” 

“someone’s got to compensate for my terrible influence in his life / her life / your life / their lives.”

“lol delaware isn’t a real place.”

“what is all this talk of killing and death?”

“you’re here now, and you’re going to fix it. you’re going to make it right. you owe us that much, don’t you?”

“i don’t like to think about what happened; the pieces don’t make sense.”

“guess i was wrong about not needing to sneak in our own booze. luckily, i’m always prepared.”

“please don’t tease me.” / “i would never.” 

“everyone will stare.” / “they’re all staring anyway.”

“you! you broke everything!”

“what was that?”

“we won’t let them / him / her do this to you.”

“whatever else she is / he is / they are, name’s a loyal friend.”

“you need this. don’t let them know you have it.”

“you deserve— you all deserve to know.”

“can we get out of here?”

“come on. we’re going to make a bonfire.”

“i woke up in the middle of the night and it was glowing.”

“how do you know how to do this?”

“i can build a fire, administer basic first aid, and bullshit my way into making older people think i’m trustworthy.”

“he / she / they / you didn’t protect me from that.” 

“i’ve never not been a mom / dad / parent.”

“that’s the only time i ever got to be a kid.”

“don’t be a little shit.”

“you never forget the lesson that they would rather destroy you than let you inconvenience them.”

“it’s hard, and you’re doing it anyway.”

“fucktrumpet! shitgibbon! cockwomble!”

“be serious for once!”

“i need to know what happened to her / him / them / you / us.”

“anyone who was looking for you, anyone who took the trouble to find you: they’re not your friend.”

“you have to get out of there. now.”

“you can’t get better until you’ve hit rock bottom. you know that.”

“what if forgetting is a gift?” 

“i wish i could forget it.” 

“we missed you, name.”

“you didn’t give up, even when it got hard and a little scary. sometimes things are a little hard and scary. that’s when we need each other the most.”

“i am losing my mind.”

“i missed you the most.”

“i want it back.”

“i can’t force you to do it. but i need you to do this for me. for us.” 

“weird vibe in here, you guys.”

“please, come with me. nothing here is good for you.”

“i know that sounds sad but it wasn’t.”

“don’t look at me like i’m the one who’s being a bitch.” 

“what the hell? how is that possible?”

“tell me whether i saw what i think i saw.”

“how long have you been down here?”

“we don’t say that.” / “why not? they’re just words.”

“so really, all words are magic. something from nothing.”

“you were always good at words, weren’t you? good at making the others do what you wanted.”

“i’m tired of talking.”

“nothing is more powerful than imagination.”

“we all chose what to remember. or what to forget.”

“maybe it’s a deepfake.”

“fuck me. fuck me, fuck me. fuck all of us.”

“i’m sorry. i’m really, really sorry. i didn’t know.”

“i’ll see what they want.”

“name. fuckface. fuckface junior.”

“dunno what i did, dunno how to fix it, don’t really care.” 

“i’m going with you. we do this together.”

“you all realize this is insane, right? this is how we die.”

“at least i’ll go out doing what i love: being an absolute fuckwit making the worst possible choice.” / “no. being an absolute fuckwit making the worst possible choice in the best possible company.”

“is that how it was always supposed to feel?”

“i’m ready to break things.”

“i never would have left you.”

“i won’t let anything happen to you.”

“give me my fucking friends back.”

“tell me how to get you out of here. tell me how to fix it.”

“i believe in you. you protected us all back then, when we didn’t even know you were doing it. let us help you now.”

“we have to buy her / him / them / you time.”

“we should do what we do best.”

“it’s all still here.”

“let’s summon a demon!”

“this is so trippy! and stupid. i think it’s mold.”

“it’s not better in here, name. i know it feels like it could be, but it’s not. it never was.”

“you haven’t forgotten who you were, but you’re even better at it.”

“name is fucking with people who don’t have his / her / their best interests at heart.”

“that’s gotta be driving them insane to watch.”

“i’m nothing without it. i’ve never been anything without it.”

“you’ve always been enough by yourself. no one has ever been as loyal and smart and funny and fierce and deeply, deeply annoying as you.”

“i want to be a person. whole. happy with just myself. but how do we do that?” / “therapy.”

“in today’s session, i’d like to revisit the period of your childhood that was controlled by a minor deity in a pocket universe.”

“you’re all so stupid.”

“i love you, and i’m so proud of you.”

“you came back for us after all, name. i always knew you would.” / “really?” / “no. but i love being wrong. i’m really good at it.”

“he’s / she’s / they’re gone. you’ve always been good enough. you can do this alone.”

“i would have loved you so well.”

“you stayed.” / “i stayed.”

“go on. i believe in you.”

“you know what that’s like, if you let yourself remember.” 

“it’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be.”

[deancaskiss]

don’t wanna fall asleep without you

word count: 1,381 (continued under the read more), also posted on ao3

A day and a half after Cas has been rescued from the Empty, he realizes he needs sleep. But that… well, it’s easier said than done.

Even though his body is exhausted, a fatigue that makes Cas feel dizzy with its potency, every time he tries to fall asleep, his brain is flooded with the Empty; wrapping around him and pulling him down down down into darkness, into pain, into cold loneliness and complete despair.

He tries to fight through it. Tries to dig his fingers into the warm bed sheets of his bed and feel the soft pillow cushioning his head. But the comforts are short lived. It isn’t enough to fight the creeping inky blackness as it swallows Cas whole again and again.

So instead, he forces himself to wander around the Bunker until the exhaustion is unbearable; until he collapses and falls asleep leaning against the jukebox in Dean’s cave or curled up in the hallway outside of Dean’s room or in the garage with his head against the drivers door of the Impala.

He wasn't aware of it at the time. How he finds spaces that are etched by Dean’s presence or his energy. How, even in his fatigued conscience, he gravitates towards Dean’s essence.

And he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. If his brain wasn’t so fuzzy, he would scream at himself to stop falling for this agonizing torment.

Dean doesn’t love him back. Otherwise Dean would’ve said something when he rescued him… wouldn’t he? But he didn’t; he just kept touching Cas’ shoulder and repeating that Cas was home home home. And Cas can live with that. He can. He told Dean his truth, and everything else is out of his control.

That’s the hardest part though. Accepting that he isn't an Angel like he used to be. He can’t control fate and choices and destiny like he used to. Or maybe he never could. Maybe it was all Chuck. Not that it matters anymore. Not that his tired brain can process it anyway; his sleep-addled brain is unreliable and makes decisions he wouldn’t make if he were more awake.

Especially because it’s late, and now it’s a week after his escape from the Empty, and he’s leaning against Dean’s chair in the Dean cave, and now he’s seeing Dean crouching down in front of him and, oh, what a beautiful mirage he is, and oh, Cas’ heart clenches in his chest because Dean is beautiful and God, Cas wants him and he loves him and it’s too much too much too much.

The words sound unreal in Cas’ ear. “C’mon Angel. Let me take care of you.”

And that can’t be real. Because he’s not an Angel anymore. Or maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. Some powers remain and some have been sucked away by the tendrils of the Empty.

But the hands on his skin feel warm and tender as his body is floating up up up and then there’s a guided walk to his room and a hand slowly helping him into bed as sheets are tucked softly and carefully under his chin.

“I’ve got you,” lingers in the air, and Cas can’t tell if the words are spinning in his head, fabricated by his own desires, or if they were ever even spoken aloud at all.

A soft brush of lips to his forehead, a hand resting against his shoulder, and a weight lingers on the other side of the bed. “Sleep, Cas. You’re safe. I’m not letting anything happen to you ever again.”

Cas finally allows sleep to lap at his subconscious until he’s lulled into peace.

When his eyes flutter open again, the room is quiet. There’s no presence by his side. He’s in his own bed with the sheets tucked around him. He can’t remember how he got here; if he fell asleep in his bed all along, or if, in his weary state, he managed to stumble his way back to his own room before passing out. But there’s no Dean perched at the end of his bed. Just a mirage invented by his exhausted brain. It aches so deeply in Cas’ chest that he doesn’t know how to cope. It feels like it’s cracking his ribs apart and tearing his heart from his chest.

Cas vows never to sleep again.

But two nights later, it happens again. Sleep clambers at his brain, making him feel dreadful and dizzy. The same mirage finds Cas as he’s slumped against the hood of the Impala. It’s so tempting and surreal that Cas wonders if it’s just another tactic invented by the Empty. Maybe he was never rescued. Maybe this is all just another torture device meant to tear Cas apart agonizingly slowly.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice murmurs, and then Cas feels like he’s being scooped up into a warm embrace. “You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself. Just ask for help. Let me take care of you.”

There’s the sounds of distant doors creaking and then the softness of a mattress as it dips beneath Cas’ hips. Blankets are wrapped around him, and Cas reaches out to the mirage. Does his hand go through it? Or does it rest against skin? He just can’t quite tell.

“Stay,” he manages to say, voice thick with sleep, and he’s not sure if any of this is real.

“There’s nowhere else I want to be. Just here with you.”

The words wrap around Cas like wings protecting his heart, and he lets sleep consume him.

When he wakes up, blinking his eyes against the heaviness of sleep, there’s a warm weight next to him with a distinct aura that Cas knows by heart. Dean.

Oh God. It was real. Dean was there last night and every night before.

“Dean.” Cas doesn’t mean to say the name out loud, but Dean’s eyes immediately flutter open and their gazes lock. “You’re here.”

The look on Dean’s face is enough to crack Cas’ heart and sew it back together. Dean’s hand reaches out, softly cradling Cas’ face against the pillow. “I meant it when I said it last night, Cas,” Dean murmurs, so feather soft that Cas feels like he could meld those words right into his wings.

“Meant what?”

Dean’s thumbs stroke across his cheeks. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Cas feels like he’s swallowed cotton balls. His throat feels thick and he can’t breathe. “This is real?” Cas asks as he reaches up to feel Dean’s hands resting on his face.

There’s a soft squeeze of fingers against the stubble on Cas’ cheeks as Dean nods. “You’re home, Cas. You’re with me. I should’ve said it days ago, but I’m not good with words. You know that.”

Swallowing thickly, Cas asks quietly, “What do you mean?”

When Dean leans down, hands still cupping Cas’ face, there’s a moment where everything hangs in the balance between them; a precipice of everything that has accumulated between them for so many years. Dean’s lips brush against Cas’, and oh. Cas has never felt something so real in his entire life.

The kiss is warm and sweet. It’s home and yet it’s something never explored. A lingering sensation of completeness mixed with a revelation of a new depth of love. Reciprocated. Whole.

When their lips part on an exhale, Cas feels like he’s floating. He reaches up to trace a finger along Dean’s nose and then across his eyelid and down to linger against Dean’s lower lip.

Dean bows his head, murmuring the one word Cas had said last night. “Stay.”

Cas feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and jump into Dean’s. “I’m right here, Dean. Just you and me.”

When Dean climbs into the bed next to Cas, it heals the hole that had been gnawing at Cas’ subconscious. The reason he hadn’t been able to sleep. There was a Dean sized gap waiting to be filled, and now Dean’s here, wrapping his arms around Cas' waist and pressing a kiss to his temple. When Cas tilts his head and Dean meets him halfway in a kiss, this kiss is too good to be imagined.

“Sleep, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And finally, Cas believes it.

[coraniaid]

98 + Fuffy

This one ended up being a bit longer than I was aiming for, sorry. A few years post-canon (but mostly canon compliant, except that I ignore the comics and that perhaps some people who die in Chosen or the final season of Angel are still alive here). Buffy POV.

Years later, she still has nightmares.

Bad ones: the kind that ... well, she's sat through enough college psychology classes in her life to recognize one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.  And she was an active Slayer for almost eight years, after all.  She fought ancient demons and gods and monsters; she risked her life pretty much every night.  She saw friends die. Died twice herself.  No wonder she’s still a little messed up.  

But knowing why they’re happening doesn't ever seem to help.  She still wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a minute -- or five minutes, or an hour -- she's just a scared little kid again, too afraid of the things that go bump in the dark to lie down and go back to sleep.  Terrified by the weight of everything the world wants her to do.  By the thought of having to be the Chosen One again.  

Dawn's always telling her she should talk to somebody about them.  An expert, she means.  A specialist. 

But -- even if it wasn't ever real -- her false memory of that time in a clinic when she was younger is too strong.  She doesn't want to go back there.  Not ever.  Or to go anywhere even a little bit like it. She doesn't want to be a freak in somebody's lab -- poked and prodded and tested and restrained.  She just wants to be herself.  She just wants to be Buffy.

So she still has nightmares.  Sometimes she dies: drowning alone in the dark, unable to move or cry for help; tumbling from a tower in the sky; not strong enough to drag herself out of the grave before the dead soil fills her lungs and she suffocates below the ground.  And sometimes she doesn't die.  Sometimes the dreams are much worse than that.

The thing is, they never seem to happen when she expects.  Never when it feels like they should.  Significant milestones come and go without even a bad dream -- she’d slept right through the anniversary of that last, desperate fight under Sunnydale, not even waking up once -- and then other times, without warning, she'll spend a whole week unable to sleep at all, or waking up shaking and sweating every time she tries.

It all started after she decided to step back from the Slayer Organization she'd helped set up.  Half a year in charge of that was enough, she'd told herself.  Living out in some remote castle in Scotland, cut off from the normal world ... that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore. That wasn’t what she’d been hoping for when she said goodbye to Sunnydale.  She wasn't the one and only Chosen One any more, after all.  Maybe it was time to stop pretending.  Maybe it was time to grow up.

So they'd held a vote on who would replace her, made it all official. And then, when it was over – and after she'd congratulated Kennedy as sincerely as she could manage -- she'd packed her things up and moved back to California.  Northern California though, this time.  San Francisco.  SoCal still had a few too many unpleasant memories (the bits of it that weren’t literally underground these days).  

Once she’d arrived, she'd settled into that normal life she'd always told herself she wanted.  Went back to college.  Signed up to be an English major. Bought a house, with some of the old Watcher’s Council money that GIles had passed on to her.  She'd even gotten married, a couple of months ago, just a little while after graduating, however unreal that still feels.  Willow's been telling her she should look into grad school, but she’s not sure whether she wants to follow in her younger sister’s footsteps quite so soon.

So, yeah, everything's been going really well.

Except that, after a few months, the nightmares had started. 

That's why at 3 AM she finds herself downstairs in the kitchen, pretending to read a book, wondering if it would be a bad idea to go out for a run.  This is a pretty safe neighborhood, but still, she might get lucky.  Something supernatural out there might be too stupid to stay away. 

If she’d thought it would help, she’d be out there already.  But would it?  She doesn't really know. She doesn't know what to do.

And while she’s deliberating, a creaking floorboard reminds her that she's not alone.

"Hey, B," a familiar voice says sleepily.  "What's up?"

Buffy had never asked Faith to come with her when she left Scotland.  Actually, she'd kind of assumed she was leaving the Slayer Organization in Faith’s more than capable hands: the girls all still loved her, after all, all idolized her in a way they'd never quite seemed to treat Buffy herself.  (The same way she remembers Dawn treating her, the first few months after Faith arrived in Sunnydale, even if intellectually she knows that that’s not what really happened.)  She'd assumed it would be Faith, not Kennedy, who would be replacing her as leader.  Right up until the point she told Faith about her plan to go back to the States, and the other Slayer had just nodded and asked her when they were leaving and whether she’d already booked a flight.  Like it wasn't even a question whether she'd be coming with her.

She'd stuck with Buffy for four years since.  Not always sharing the same house, but always close by.  She’d listened to her complain about her course load, or bad professors, or unfairly difficult exams, or let her rave and enthuse about analysis of poems or novels which she isn't sure Faith has ever read.  It’s been good – really good, better than Buffy had expected – to have a familiar face around.  To not be doing this all by herself.  It’s been good for her to have Faith.

(The two of them are still going patrolling together most nights too, however retired they might be officially.  She thinks that that's an itch that never really goes away for anyone.  Though there weren’t many active vamps in the Bay Area even when she’d first arrived, and these days there are barely any.)

Faith’s stuck by Buffy for almost as long as anyone.  And now she's here with Buffy in the middle of the night, wearing a pair of Buffy's old pajamas and a concerned look on her face, and Buffy can't even bring herself to face her.

"Glory again?" Faith guesses.

Buffy shakes her head, wordlessly.  Keeps her eyes glued to the book she isn’t reading.

It's true that those are some of the worst of the recurring nightmares.  Everything about that year is painful, and worse in the dreams.  Dropping out of college, or being found out as a total academic fraud, as somebody who shouldn't even have been let into college in the first place.  Losing her Mom, again and again, for different reasons every time.   Not being able to save Dawn, or not being able to want to save Dawn.  Watching her fall, or forgetting her entirely: stumbling across her broken body lying on the ground and only seeing a stranger.  Thinking that she'd always been an only child and always would be.  Sometimes, in those dreams, it's almost comforting when the world drifts inexorably into hell.  

But those aren't the dreams she's been having lately.  That's not what's keeping her from sleeping.  It’s Faith.  That’s who she’s been dreaming about.  That’s why she can’t sleep.

"I killed you," she mumbles, putting the book down but still not quite able to make eye contact.

It all feels so real, even now. Even with Faith – the real Faith, not a dream – sitting only a couple of feet away from her, patiently waiting for her to explain.

"We were fighting, just like we ... before," she goes on. "Just before graduation.  I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop.  And when I ... at the end, you didn't fall.  I stabbed you, and you bled to death in my arms.  I killed you."

The other woman shakes her head.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm tougher than I look," Faith says.  "Haven't even died once, unlike some Slayers I could mention.  And lucky for me, all the cool chicks dig scars."

She pulls her pajama top up slightly to demonstrate.  There’s still a pale scar there, yes, even after all this time.  Proof of what Buffy had done: not just in a dream, but in real life.  Something she’ll never be able to undo.  She reaches out, just for a second, as if she was going to touch it.  To trace the faint mark she’d left across her fellow Slayer’s skin.

"Did ... does it hurt?"

It's not the first time she's asked the question.  Guesses that it won't be the last.

"Sometimes," Faith admits.  "A little."

She used to pretend that it didn't, Buffy remembers.  But they’re more honest with each other these days.  They’ve had to be.

"You shouldn't be beating yourself about this, B," Faith says carefully, sitting down next to her.  "It was a long time ago, and you did what you had to do.  Like you said back then, I'd have done the same if I had the chance.  Hell, I did a lot worse.  I think we both know that I’m the one who should be apologizing"

Buffy remembers.  How powerless she’d felt, how violated, how justified she’d felt in her rage afterwards.  But she’d thrown the first stone, hadn’t she?  She’d crossed the invisible line first.  And in truth, when she thinks about things she’s sorry for doing to Faith, the scar is only the start of it.

"It's not just the fight," Buffy admits.  "It's … it’s everything about that year.  I could have ... I should have done so much more for you.  But I never knew how scared you were.  I never realized that you were so alone.  I think … I think I didn’t want to see it."

Faith frowns.  Gets that look in her eyes that Buffy knows means she’s fighting down the urge to say something impulsive.  

"I was scared," the other Slayer admits, slowly.  "You’re right.  And angry. All the time. And a little bit crazy too, I think, at least towards the end.  But I don't think you could've talked me out of it.  Not you, not anyone. None of it was ever your fault.  I think I had to figure that stuff out on my own.  Had to be honest with myself about what I felt, and what I could do about it."

"I should have tried harder," Buffy says stubbornly, not wanting to let this go. Because arguing with Faith, fighting with her – that’s always been easier, hasn’t it?  That’s always been something she could do.

She’d had a whole life of her own, back then.  A mom, and a sister, and a big house.  She could have tried to share it with her.  That would have been better, wouldn’t it?  But she hadn’t wanted to share.  She’d refused.  That was what she’d told her Mom, the very first night Faith came for dinner.  That Faith trying to spend time with her was creepy.

(That was one of the only nights that Faith had ever come for dinner, she realizes now.)

"You did try, Buffy," Faith says firmly.  "You were the only one who ever did.  You were the first person in my life who ever tried to look out for me, even after everything I did.  I'm not ever going to forget that, and you shouldn’t either."

Part of Buffy wants to believe that.  She does.  And she knows her friends would all agree.  Vocally, some of them.  But it’s too easy though, isn’t it?  Too convenient.  To make excuses, to find reasons why you didn’t have to help.  To make yourself seem better than you ever really were.

“You came to Sunnydale looking for me,” Buffy says, putting her hand on the table, brushing against Faith’s.  “You wanted to be with me.  And I tried to murder you.”

They’d never talked about it at the time, not openly.  But looking back, she must have seen it, mustn’t she?  How much time Faith wanted to spend with her, how little she cared about anyone or anything else.  How pleased she’d been when Scott Hope dumped her, how furious she’d been when she found out about Angel later.  How could Buffy not have seen what was right in front of her, unless she was trying to ignore it?

"You did what you had to do," Faith tells her again, more firmly this time. She rests her other hand on Buffy’s.  Squeezes it lightly, just for a second.

Buffy sighs.

"You always say that," she says, trying not to sound like she’s complaining. 

"Always will," Faith nods equably.  "Because it's the truth."

Buffy shakes her head.

"God, Faith, you were just a kid.  If I--"

"So were you, B,” Faith says.  “We all were."

She pauses, looks a little uncomfortable.

“Look, Buffy,” she says, “I dunno if it helps at all, but when I was in prison, the shrink we had at group sessions used to tell us that an apology had to convince two people.  The person you’d wronged, and the person you wanted to become.  So, uh.”

Buffy listens.  Tries to be patient.  Willow had pulled some tricks after Sunnydale – a bit of magic, a little old-fashioned hacking – and these days nobody seemed to remember that Faith was supposed to be behind bars.  But Faith remembers, she knows that, and she knows how hard it is for her to talk about that part of her life.  

“He used to have us write them down,” Faith adds.  “I guess there are a lot of unsent letters to you back in the big house that I forgot to take with me when I split. None of them were ever good enough anyway.  We were meant to write them down, and then try to imagine how the people we were going to write to might reply.  Try to put ourselves in their shoes, I mean.”

Faith fidgets a little in her chair, as though she’s having second thoughts about this speech.  Or maybe because putting herself in Buffy’s shoes was a large part of why she’d ended up in prison in the first place.

“The point is … maybe that’s stupid.  Maybe it was only ever a way to get some of us to shut up for a few minutes.   But I thought maybe we could try it.  Only, instead of you having to imagine how I’d respond, you could just listen to me.  Maybe copy what I said.  Say it yourself.”

Buffy nods slowly.  Faith was right: it does sound a little stupid.  But at the same time, she guesses it can’t hurt.  She manages a weak smile.  Nods her approval.  Waits for Faith to tell her when to start.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you more, when we were both kids, Faith,” she says, when the other Slayer gives her the signal.  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you into more of my life.  I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I hear you, B,” Faith says seriously, brown eyes focused on her.  Gestures for her to repeat it, to keep echoing her as she continues.  “I get what you’re saying.  And I forgive you.  I know you helped me as much as you could.  More than anyone else.  Way more.  And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I could have been happy back then unless I was the only person in your life, the way you were for me.  Unless you gave up on your mom and your Watcher and all your other friends.  And that wasn’t ever fair to ask of you.  That wouldn’t have been healthy, for either of us.”

Faith pauses, face serious, waiting for her to finish repeating that all back to her.  Leans in a little closer, like she’s sharing a secret.

“Plus,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, “You kind of looked amazing when you stabbed me.  Total smokeshow.”

“Faith!” Buffy protests, feeling herself starting to blush the way she had when she was younger.  “I am not repeating that.”

Faith smirks, and Buffy lets herself think.  it still seems kind of stupid, even without that last part.. She’s not naive enough to think it will fix everything. But at the same time, she thinks that maybe it was useful.  A little bit, anyway.  

“Thank you,” she says.  “That helped.”

For a minute neither of them says anything.  The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock over the kitchen table.  Faith still hasn’t let go of her hand.

"Still … if I could go back and change things, I would," Buffy admits. "Back to the beginning, I mean. I wish that I--"

She doesn't finish the sentence.  You don't spend years of your life in touch with Anya, on-again  and off-again vengeance demon, without realizing it might not be a good idea to make open-ended world-changing wishes out loud in the middle of the night.  (She thinks Anya’s mostly human these days, but it’s hard to keep track.  Maybe she should write more.)

"It … uh.  It hasn't been all bad, has it Buffy?" Faith asks her, suddenly sounding almost nervous. "There's some things you wouldn't change, right?"

She’s looking at one of the rings she’s wearing, Buffy sees, on the hand that’s resting on top of her own.  A silver one. 

Faith's always loved wearing rings.  Has done ever since Buffy met her.  She’s got a whole collection of them.  This one is a little different though.  Brand new, something Faith’s been wearing all the time for weeks now.  This one Buffy helped pick out herself; a perfect match to the ring she's wearing on her own hand.  It turned out Faith was a bit of a traditionalist that way.

"You wouldn't change this, would you, B?" Faith repeats softly, staring down at the ring on her left hand.

"You know I wouldn't," Buffy says firmly.  "That goes without saying."

She pauses.  Faith’s looking at her expectantly.  Waiting for her to take the lead.

"But you want me to say it anyway, huh," Buffy realizes.

Well, she can do that.  She guesses it’s her turn to be the one doing the reassuring anyway.  Buffy steps up, leans in, wraps her arms around the other Slayer and kisses her softly on the forehead the way she knows she likes.  Feels Faith shiver slightly under her touch, leaning into it the way she always does. Remembers suddenly just how thin those pajamas are; how little Faith is wearing underneath. 

"I've made a lot of decisions in my life that I regret," Buffy says softly, "But you, Mrs. Summers, are not one of them."

Faith was a bit of an unexpected traditionalist about that as well.  Buffy had been all for both of them keeping their names, or hyphenating them,  sharing them, but the other Slayer had insisted.  Had, finally, admitted that she just didn't like her old last name at all, that there was a reason she'd never used back in Sunnydale, why it had taken Buffy so long to even learn what it was.  "Faith Summers, though,” the other woman had said quietly, "I think that's a name I could be proud of.  That's someone I'd like to be."

The ceremony itself, back in June, had been a pretty small affair.

They’d only allowed themselves a handful of guests each.  Willow and Kennedy; Xander and Andrew; Dawn and Amanda.  Faith had spent weeks threatening to invite Angel to play the part of her best man – especially once she realized just how mortifying Buffy found the prospect – but in the end she'd opted to be merciful and just invited Gunn and Fred and Wesley up from LA, plus Robin from wherever he called home these days.  Buffy has a feeling neither Angel or Spike minded missing out on this experience.  

And Giles had been there too, flying out of England for the first time in almost two years.  She'd been so pleased he could make it.  It was a little bit like ... well.  He was family, wasn’t he?

"Your mother would have been very proud of you today," he'd told her at the airport, when she’d rushed up to meet him and totally embarrassed him with a hug.  "Proud of you both.  As am I.  But then, I hope you already knew that."

And then – because of course nothing could go smoothly for long – they'd had to reschedule the whole thing almost at the last minute; pushing everything back by a week so they could all make an emergency trip to Cleveland.  

Even though she and Faith were pretty much retired now -- and even though Kennedy was too, as of last year, along with Amanda and Rona and most of the other former Sunnydale Potentials -- they still got called up for the main events.  For the real apocalypses, when the Organization needed its biggest guns.  This time it had been the Sisterhood of Jhe again, Buffy thinks.  Trying to open another Hellmouth, almost ten years after the first attempt.  Their timing had sucked, but at least she'd been able to take her frustrations out on a few big demons.  She's sure Faith had been a lot more vicious than usual in her Slaying too.  Between them, they hadn't really left much of anyone to interrogate afterwards.  Maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t something either of them had to worry about anymore.

(Buffy had met Kennedy's replacement as head of the Organization briefly in Cleveland, while they were being briefed before the mission.  She was a nice kid called Satsu, who had been gratifyingly starstruck at meeting both of the original Slayers, but who had still kept her head enough to give them their orders just like everyone else.  It was good to know that the other Slayers -- the new ones, the ones young enough not to have retired yet -- were in competent hands.  And Buffy knows that they have been, all along, whether that means Kennedy or Satsu or whoever will come after her.  That's part of why Buffy doesn't regret her decision to step back from that side of things.  Not for a minute. Even if it has meant a few more sleepless nights.  Nobody can carry that much weight for long.)

And a week after Cleveland, that was it: Faith and Buffy, married. Not because of a wish, or one of Willow’s spells gone wrong, but for real.  Forever.  Legally binding, recognized by the State of California and everything (although a lot of awful people seemed awfully unhappy about that).  When Buffy had been younger, she could never have imagined any of this.  She'd thought that being a Slayer meant that anything like this was impossible.  That this was something only normal girls got to have.  And she'd never thought that she’d want it quite so much: her own parents’ marriage hadn’t exactly endeared her to the institution as a whole. Even a couple of years ago, she’d never have admitted to anyone quite how happy it would make her.  

And she is, Buffy realizes.  Even with the odd nightmares.  She’s sitting in her kitchen with the love of her life, waiting for the sun to come up and a new day to begin, and she’s never been happier.  She thinks her younger self would be delighted to know that, somehow, everything had worked out okay.

Maybe she's been looking at things the wrong way all this time.  It's not that the  nightmares started when she moved out here. It's that the waking nightmares – the real world nightmares, the kind with teeth and names and minds of their own – had become rare enough she finally started noticing the other kind.

"Look, B, I've got to get back to bed or I won't be any use for anything at work tomorrow," Faith says, fighting back a yawn, shooting an apologetic look at the clock on the wall.  “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be. Good thing I’m still wicked hot.”

Buffy nods absently.  She's still not sure what she's going to do next.  Whether she's heading off for that late night run, or ...

"I'll see you in the morning before I head out for work," Faith promises.  "Unless, uh."

Buffy makes a decision.  Stands up.

"Well," she says slowly, "I guess it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to leave my wife alone all night, would it?"

Faith grins at her wolfishly. Just the way she had when they'd first met. Like a co-conspirator; a partner in crime. As if the two of them still had a secret that nobody else could share.  And for a second, it's like no time has passed at all.  Like they could still be dancing together back in the Bronze, just the two of them, or out on patrol looking for vampires in some forgotten Sunnydale cemetery that's long since been buried deep in a hole in the desert.  When it seemed like high school was going to last forever.  When they'd both only been able to focus on the present; on the immediate demands of the here and now.  Finding the next vamp, dusting it, and moving on to the one after that.

Buffy puts her arm around Faith's waist, fingers resting carefully just below her scar, walks with her towards the stairs.  Maybe they weren't so wrong, back then.  Maybe this is what matters.  Maybe this is all that ever did.  Just the two of them, just the present moment.  And when the other Slayer looks up at her, when she leans her head to rest on her shoulder, something in her eyes makes Buffy sure they're both thinking the same thing.

"There's my girl," she breathes.

[softsweetwhispers]

Asters and Goldenrod were given in abundance, soft dandelion yellow flowers turned brown and rotting, dehydration from their roots to their petals causing their beauty to crack.

Maybe I should’ve been grateful. Maybe I should’ve tried to preserve them, a reminder of one of the worst days of my life, but I didn’t -- as soon as I got home that night, I threw them away, tossing them in the trash right on top of the weeks-old leftovers we’d only just cleaned out. I remember flies, dozens of them, flying up in a panic, their ceaseless buzzing making the ringing in my ears worse. I tried not to think about maggots as they inevitably flew back into the trashcan, and I closed the lid.

There were Asters and Goldenrod given in abundance and maybe I should’ve been grateful, but I couldn’t say anything past the barbed wire tangled in my mouth. My jaw clenched and I remember the familiar taste of blood. All I could think about was how much my mother hated flowers.

It was a memorial service because we’d decided on having her cremated. I didn’t make the decision, didn’t have any part of it – my father did, though. He was the only person who knew her well enough to make the decision, even though they’d been divorced for almost a decade. My siblings and I were too young to know any version of her except the one that had been infected by her own mind. Her father wanted nothing to do with her and her mother couldn’t use the bathroom by herself let alone decide if her daughter would be thrown into a coffin or burned into ash.

People spoke, but I don’t remember what they said. I sat on a cold, plastic chair like the ones in waiting rooms and stared ahead, waiting for it to end. Static echoed in my brain like some secret hidden message and there was nothing I wanted more than to lay in bed and make everything stop. I felt like a ghost – unreal, invisible, outside of the real world. I thought, these people didn’t even know my mother. I thought, how cruel it was to make up a person who never existed for the sake of relieving self-guilt.

My mother’s best friend walked up to the podium – the podium, as if it was some charity or public speaking, as if what was left of my mother wasn't even something I could hold in my hands – she said I can’t believe we’re all talking about how like she’s not here, and I wanted to scream but she’s not! She wasn’t here and she never would be.

When it was over, somebody picked up the strings holding me together and made me walk and talk like everything was okay. When it was over, I stared at the flowers in my hands and couldn’t feel anything except anger curled so tight within me I thought I would snap. It was all wrong. Asters and Goldenrods are beautiful, and the world shouldn’t be beautiful when my mother is dead.

| k. - @nosebleedclub xii. asters and goldenrod