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awearywritersworld · 9 months

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tell me you don't want me

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night w/c: 1.8k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+ a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.

however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.

for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.

he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.

"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.

he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."

and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."

after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.

you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.

gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).

"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"

he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."

"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.

he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."

after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.

you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.

"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.

"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."

"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."

you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.

"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.

"not yet."

"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"

"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"

he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"

you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."

"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"

"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"

"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"

his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.

once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.

"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.

you nod eagerly. "yes."

the two of you have never fought before.

well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.

that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.

"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.

the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"

after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.

rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.

why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?

"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"

because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.

he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.

he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.

"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."

"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."

your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.

"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.

his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.

he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"

you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.

one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.

his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.

"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."

and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.

his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.

"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.

your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.

his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."

your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."

"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.

you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.

he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.

his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.

gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

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Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

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joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

to do the right thing l part ii

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: Joel has a hard time dealing with things as the pregnancy progresses; you and Joel ask Bill and Frank for the favor of a lifetime.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA. ((TW)) PREGNANCY, mentions and references to adoption, angst, asshole Joel, mentions of Sarah, softer Joel towards the end.

word count: 7.9k

a/n: i actually spent more time writing this second part, so hopefully it is a bit more well written than the first one that i wrote in an hour in the middle of the night. T_T

February, 2020

“Well, can I just say that we are just so incredibly thrilled that you two could finally come and join us for dinner this evening,” Frank beamed, grinning from ear to ear as he burst into the dining room with a bottle of his favorite red wine in one hand and a bottle opener in the other.

Bill snorted, stabbing his fork just a little too aggressively into his cut of chicken breast.

“Speak for yourself,” he grouched under his breath before taking a bite. Although he’d quit bringing his gun to the table, both you and Joel knew he had the pistol tucked somewhere nearby. You were willing to bet it was tucked into the waistband of his khaki trousers, but Joel would probably argue that it was in a less obvious place, like strapped to his ankle.

It really seemed as though Bill would never allow himself to get used to you, Tess, and he especially wouldn’t allow himself to get used to Joel. He knew it was the smart, logical choice, keeping you three around for the sake of trading supplies and resources when needed, but overall, it wasn't all that necessary. He and Frank had been doing just fine for years before you all had come into their lives after Frank had met Tess over the radio one afternoon. Or at least, that’s what he liked to believe despite the fact that during your very first lunch together, Joel had easily pointed out several flaws around the perimeter of their neighborhood—weak spots that could be vulnerable to raiders if they ever came along. You and Tess joked that Bill put Joel at the top of his shit list the moment he pointed out that their fence only had about a year left to hold strong. He’d been on it ever since.

Having you all around at this point was more for Frank’s benefit than anything. Bill would do just about anything to make Frank happy, and much to his chagrin, you, Tess, and even Joel, made him happy—having friends made him happy. Bill could do without socializing for the rest of his natural born life, but Frank, on the other hand, would lose his sanity.

“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just been in a bad mood because we had a massive roof leak the other day after that huge thunderstorm," Frank explained, rolling his eyes. Being the attentive, gracious host that he always was, he quickly made his way around the dinner table, pouring everyone a generous glass of wine to enjoy with their meal. “He spent hours up on that roof trying to patch it up and then damn near broke his ankle coming down when he missed the last two steps on the ladder. Can you believe that?”

“Thought I noticed a limp,” Joel remarked with an amused smirk.

Frank nudged Joel in the shoulder as he poured his wine. “I had told him to wait for you, Joel, what with you having been in construction before and all. But Mister ‘I don’t need anyone’s help’ decided to do it himself even though he has never patched a roof before in his life.”

“Tell you what, next time we’re over for lunch, I’ll go up there and check it out. Make sure he did it right ‘cause I highly doubt he did.”

Bill glowered at him.

You roughly smacked the side of his thigh underneath the table.

Joel, please, You thought silently. We need to stay on his good side.

Frank chuckled as he fell into step beside your chair. “That would be very helpful if you did, actually. It would definitely give me a bit more peace of mind, especially since the rainiest season of the year is approaching fast.” He offered Bill an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but we really should let an expert take a look at it, just to be on the safe side. Joel knows his stuff, after all.”

As he reached for your glass, you quickly placed your hand over the top of it and lightly shook your head. “Oh, none for me tonight, thank you,” You declined politely. The wine was normally your favorite part of any meal they hosted, seeing as Bill and Frank, who were both quite the wine enthusiasts, knew how to make the most heavenly of pairings. It really was a fucking shame that it would be at least a few more months before you could drink again. Lord only knew you could use the alcohol after all of the bullshit that had been going on lately with Joel. “May I have a glass of water instead, please?”

“What? You don’t want any wine?” Frank frowned and reached out with his free hand, pressing the back of it against your forehead. “Are you feeling sick or something? Should we be worried? Bill, where’s the reader—?”

You chuckled at his usual dramatic little antics. “No, I’m fine,” You assured him. “I’d just rather stick to water tonight if that’s okay.”

“That’s really fucking weird of you, but alright,” he sang over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a tall glass of clean, filtered water in his hand and set it down on the table in front of you before taking his seat next to Bill. He picked up his red cloth napkin and draped it gingerly over his lap. “So, tell us again why Tess couldn’t make it tonight?”

“She, uh, she had a few things she needed to take care of back in the QZ,” Joel explained to him briefly before popping a piece of roasted rosemary potato into his mouth. The truth was that Tess had opted to stay behind and sit this one out, stating that the conversation that would eventually take place tonight would be between the four of you. She didn’t need to be there, nor be a part of it.

“Well that’s such a shame. I really miss her,” Frank lamented between bites of his garden salad. “It’s been a while since we’ve all gotten together for a meal. Hell, this is the first time we’ve seen you in what, a couple of months at least, right Bill?”

“Felt like a lot less than that. But sure, let’s call it a couple of months.” Bill eyed Joel suspiciously. “Sounded a bit urgent when you radioed in and let us know you had to come see us tonight, Joel. More so than usual. I’m guessing that you two must really need something from us.”

You and Joel exchanged a silent glance.

“Jesus Bill, can you please not be so rude to them for once?” Frank scolded, waving a hand dismissively at his partner. He smiled apologetically at you and Joel. “Again, please don’t mind him. It seems to me that we still have some work left to do with his manners.” He paused just long enough to take a delicate sip of his wine. He set his glass down, then picked up his fork and knife. “But, if you do happen to need anything, you know that we are more than happy to help you out as best as we can if we have the supplies and resources to spare.”

“Which we don’t,” Bill chimed in, earning himself a light smack to the shoulder.

Joel ignored him and instead focused his attention on Frank. He was the one to win over out of the two. “That’s awfully kind of you, Frank. You know that we always appreciate your warm hospitality,” he remarked, and although he was laying it on a little thick for the sake of getting into his good graces, there was an underlying sincerity in his tone. He actually happened to like Frank—it was hard for anyone not to like him. Joel lifted his glass of wine to him in a toast. “Of all the people we could’ve come across on the radio that day, we’re grateful that it was you.”

Frank touched a hand lightly to his chest. He then picked up his own glass, clinking the rim against Joel’s. “Well, cheers to that.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Bill grumbled, shaking his head.

Joel nudged your leg under the table as if to let you know it was time.

On the way up to Lincoln, he had suggested Bill and Frank would be a lot more inclined to agree to yours and his pending request if it came from you. Joel could butter Frank up well enough, but Bill hated his fucking guts, and you probably had a better chance of winning the survivalist over than Joel did.

You cleared your throat lightly, garnering everyone’s attention. “I have some news to share. Well, actually, we have some news to share.”

Bill raised a thick, bushy eyebrow. “What kind of news?”

“News? Is everything okay?” Frank asked, suddenly worried. “Wait. Is it Tess? Is she alright? Did something happen?”

“No, it isn’t anything like that at all. Tess is perfectly fine,” You quickly reassured him, causing him to sink back against his chair in relief. You held your breath for a moment before exhaling it softly through your mouth and announcing, “I’m, um—I’m pregnant.”

Bill nearly choked on his chicken and Frank gasped, both hands flying to his mouth in complete shock. The seconds passed in silence, and the room had gone so quiet that one could have heard a fucking pin drop on the floor. You felt the heat flood to your face and nervously shoved a forkful of baked chicken into your mouth, deciding it would be best to just give them a bit of time to process the news before moving onto phase two. However, Joel wasn’t there to waste any time and decided to step in.

“Listen, I know that this is probably a lot to take in, but we didn’t exactly come over here to share that with you just for shits and giggles. As much as it pains me to say it, Bill is right,” he admitted reluctantly. That was one phrase Joel Miller could do without saying ever again. “Truth is, we do need somethin’ from you two. We’ve got a favor to ask you both, a big one at that.”

That had been enough to slap Bill back into reality.

“Oh no, stop right there! I can see where this is going from a fucking mile away!” He jumped up from his chair, furiously shaking his head as he wagged his index finger at you and Joel. “Listen here, we have been as generous as we can possibly be with the two of you, and with Tess—but there’s got to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it! There is no fucking way in hell that we’re taking you into our home, into our neighborhood! This place belongs to us, we built it, we secured it! We worked our goddamn asses off for all that we have and just because she’s pregnant does not mean we will allow you to—”

“That’s not it.” Though your voice was smaller, softer, it managed to get through to Bill over his angry ranting. “That’s not it at all, Bill. We’re not trying to move here or invade your space like that, I swear it.”

His hand dropped down to his side. “Really?”

“No. Of course not. We know you have boundaries, and so does Frank. And whether you choose to believe it or not, we do our best to respect them as much as we possibly can.”

“Oh.” Bill slowly sank back down to his chair, looking relieved. “Then what is it that you two want? You need baby clothes or baby blankets from the boutique or something?”

“Not exactly,” You mumbled. You took a quick minute to think it over in your head, wondering if there was any correct or tactful way to ask what you were about to ask of them—there wasn’t. It didn’t matter if you spun it a million different ways, Bill was still going to blow a fuse again no matter what. “We wanted to ask you and Frank if you would be willing to take the baby into your care once it’s born.”

And just like that, Bill’s temporary relief vanished. “I beg your fucking pardon?”

You turned to Joel, saying tightly through your teeth, “A little fucking help here, please?”

“Look. Boston ain’t no fuckin’ place for a child,” Joel started, lifting his hand in an attempt to keep Bill calm this time. “Too much shit’s been goin’ on there lately. Violence has escalated, supplies are gettin’ harder to get and costin’ us more than ever before. So we want to know if you and Frank are willing to take the baby after it’s born. It would be better off here with you two than with us in the QZ.”

Bill didn’t need to think twice about it. He answered Joel with a stern, “Absolutely not.”

Joel let out an irritated sigh and dropped his fork. The utensil clanked loudly against the white porcelain plate. He dropped his face into his hands, rubbing it harshly. “Fuckin’ knew he wasn’t gonna make this easy for us.”

You chewed anxiously on your bottom lip, an overwhelming feeling suddenly washing over your entire body from head to toe. It was strange to feel this way, considering the fact Bill and Frank’s place had always been something of a temporary escape for you. Their neighborhood, their home, it usually brought you a sense of peace and tranquility—you felt comfortable whenever you were here. But between Bill’s angry outburst, his instant decline to your request, and Frank’s wide, shocked eyes still fixed intently on you, you suddenly found yourself wishing you were anywhere but in Lincoln.

“You’re pregnant?” Frank’s incredulous voice broke the silence that had fallen over the dinner table. Part of you wondered how much of the conversation he had even heard or if it had just gone in through one ear and out the other. “You’re really pregnant?”

“Frank,” Bill said his name warningly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Frank ignored him, his attention still on you. “How far along are you?”

You glanced at Joel before turning back to him. “It’s just an estimate, but we’re thinking at this point that I might be about four and a half months, maybe almost five?” You replied with a small shrug of your shoulders. “We aren’t too sure, though.”

“And it’s yours?” Bill questioned, eyeing Joel in disbelief.

Joel glared at him, his aggravated silence speaking for him.

“Oh, Bill.” Frank suddenly turned to him with a hopeful expression. “A baby!”

There had been a couple of different occasions where, while sitting outside on the front lawn enjoying a glass of iced tea in the sunshine, Frank had confessed to both you and Tess of his desire to have a family one day. He acknowledged the chances of that ever happening were virtually impossible, but he admitted that it was something he had been dreaming of since meeting Bill. He wanted to be a father. He wanted a child, and here you were, with one that you couldn’t keep.

“Frank. No.” Bill stared at him, unable to fathom how he could even think that taking in a child could possibly be a good idea. “I’m sorry. You know I try to give you everything that you ask for, but I have to put my foot down this time. I have enough trouble keeping you safe as it is! We’ve had raiders come and try knocking at our door before—”

“And you’ve fought them off,” Joel reminded him. “Successfully.”

“Not to mention, think of all the things we would have to do in order to raise a kid, all the supplies and resources we would use up in just the first year alone—”

“Bill, we know this is a lot to ask of you, of both of you,” You somehow managed to chime in. “We know that a favor like this is one we would never be able to repay you for, not in this lifetime. But it’s this child’s only shot. What kind of life would it have where we live? What kind of future would it have in the QZ?”

“Hm. Sounds like not our fucking problem,” Bill quipped. “Sorry.”

Frank’s eyes left his partner’s and met yours across the table before they fell down to your midsection. “You said you’re about four and a half months?”

You gave him a small nod.

Bill might not have been on board, but you still had Frank.

He was your only hope.

“Yes, but again, it’s an guess. We don’t want anyone else in the QZ knowing that I’m pregnant, so I haven’t been to see a doctor. But we think it’s a pretty close guess.” Suddenly, an idea came to mind. You hesitated, at first, but knew it was your best shot at finishing the job and reeling Frank in. You slowly stood up from the table and with trembling fingers, you started to unbutton the flannel jacket you were wearing—Joel’s flannel jacket—and showed him the swollen belly you had been hiding underneath it. It was on the smaller side, but still quite prominent underneath a snug-fitting, cotton blue tank top.

“Oh!” Frank breathed out in surprise. He rose to his feet, rushing over and around to your side of the table. He excitedly lifted his hands, but then stopped himself, glancing at you for permission first. “Would it be alright if—?”

“Of course, go right ahead,” You encouraged with a tiny smile as you continued holding the jacket open for him.

Frank sank to his knees in front of you. He lightly cradled the small bump in between his palms, looking up at you with a look of absolute wonder on his face.

It felt bizarre, not only showing your midsection to someone else, but having another set of hands besides your own on it felt foreign as well.

As soon as you’d started showing, Joel had refused to go near you—the way he tried painfully to ignore it caused you to keep it hidden away underneath oversized clothes, even in the privacy of your own quarters.

During the first few weeks of your pregnancy, he’d been just fine. Well, as fine as he could be. But once your belly had popped, it was as if it had all suddenly sunk in and really clicked for Joel—this was one hundred percent fucking real now and that was his baby growing inside of you. Since that moment, he hadn’t quite been himself, at least not with you.

Joel still looked out for you, of course. He didn’t dote sweetly on you and shower you with affection, but he did take responsibility in the ways that mattered. He made sure that you were taking the prenatal vitamins Tess had found for you, he made sure that you were eating enough, and if he ever noticed that you were still hungry, he would shovel his own portion onto your plate without asking and head off to sleep on an empty stomach. He helped you out whenever you were assigned to the same work detail, taking on an extra load of work on top of his own if it meant sparing you from even the slightest risk of straining yourself or over exerting your body.

Sure, he still cared for you. He wouldn’t do any of that if he didn’t.

But that didn’t mean things between you hadn’t changed.

They had.

Drastically.

Joel kept his distance from you, physically. He hadn’t fucked you, kissed you, or so much as even touched you in the last couple of months. He’d even started sleeping on the couch, leaving you to sleep alone in your once shared bed. Whenever he spoke to you, he stood at least a few feet away, and his eyes always remained trained on your face—he took especially great care to not look at your growing stomach. You could briefly recall one morning when you’d squeezed past him in the kitchen to grab a mug from the sink while he’d been making his morning coffee; when your belly accidentally brushed against his hand, he had cringed, snatching it away from you as if he’d touched something unpleasant. Deep down, you knew this was his own twisted, fucked up way of coping with how he was feeling, but it still didn’t stop you from wishing that he’d quit acting as if you and the baby were the fucking plague.

As much as you tried to deny it, the way Joel had been treating you lately hurt you. It cut you deep, down to your very core. You put on a good front for him and Tess, though, acting as if none of it bothered you. But the tears that you shed on the nights they left you alone to go out on their runs were endless.

“Oh Bill,” Frank glanced pleadingly over his shoulder at his partner, his hands still on your stomach. “Please.”

“Frank—”

“Please.”

Bill couldn’t refuse Frank a majority of the time. But this was bigger than anything he’d ever asked of him and it was going to take more than his usual amount of convincing to get him to agree.

Bill scoffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “Let me guess. You want us to take this baby in and you want us to clothe it, feed it, and protect it. You want us to do the real work of raising it, using up our supplies and resources. And then what? You two come along to play mommy and daddy whenever you fucking feel like it?”

You shuffled from foot to foot, wincing slightly at his harshness. “No, of course not.”

Joel wasn’t all too fond of Bill’s tone towards you. He leaned forward, throwing him a warning glare across the table. “She’d like to visit,” he informed him, keeping his temper under control. He knew better than to go off on Bill, not when you were still trying to convince him to do you both the favor of a fucking lifetime. “Every now and again, just to see the kid. But we think it’s best if we do a closed adoption, if you wanna call it that. You and Frank are the parents, and we’re just a couple of friends who come by and visit daddy and daddy every now and again for lunch.”

“Right, and you really want me to believe that there’s no chance she’s going to be attached to this baby after carrying it for nine months?” Although Bill was facing and speaking directly to Joel, it was obvious he was indirectly grilling you. And here Joel thought the man might have had something of a soft spot for you. “Think about it, Joel. You don’t think one day she might waltz in here and decide she wants to take it back? Break Frank’s heart when he has to give up a child he’s going to undoubtedly fall in love with?”

Anger simmered underneath your skin, bubbling in your veins at the insinuation that you could ever do something to hurt Frank. “First of all, stop talking about me like I’m not in the fucking room, alright? I’m standing right here, so fucking look me in the face if you’re going to talk about me.” You seethed. Frank stood up and placed his hand on your shoulder in an effort to calm you, but it was too late. “This isn’t a fucking game, Bill. This isn’t a decision that we made on a whim or that we’re taking lightly. Me and Joel are just trying to do right by this child. If you and Frank agree to take it in as your own, it’s all yours. I’m not going to take it back,” You practically spat. “Once it’s done, it’s fucking done.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going to need you to just take a deep breath and relax before you bring on early labor in the middle of my dining room.” Frank gently guided you until you were sitting back in one of the chairs and handed you your untouched glass of water. He waited patiently as you took a few sips and then took the glass from your hand, setting it back down on the table. “Listen, before we decide anything, I just have to ask—is this really what you want to do? This is a decision that you made, right? No one is making you do this?” He noticed Joel raise his eyebrows at what he was suggesting, and before he could chime in, Frank quickly added, “I just need to hear it from her, Joel.”

“This is what’s best,” You answered honestly, feeling a dull ache in your heart that had become all too familiar. “I have spent so many long nights lying in bed just thinking this over. We don’t have any other choice, not if we want it to have a chance at a decent life. That is what I want, Frank. For it to have a chance at a decent life.”

“This child is gonna grow up and want to know who its parents are,” Bill pointed out. “Thought about that at all?”

“Use your imagination,” Joel remarked before taking a quick sip of wine. “Make somethin’ up. Lie. Tell it you found it in a basket floating down the fuckin’ river. Whatever it takes. We don’t ever want the kid to know it’s us.”

“Going to be kind of hard if it comes out looking like your clone.” Bill gestured to you with a nod of his head. “Or hers.”

“It’ll be a long, long time before this child is even old enough to notice things like who he or she looks like,” You released a little scoff, tired of him using any reason he could think of to stand against it. “Bill, please. Can’t you at least think about it for the next few weeks and at least consider it?”

“No.”

Your face fell.

Motherfucker really wasn’t going to budge.

“Well now, wait just a second.” Frank walked over to him and put his hands on his burly shoulders. “Bill, think about it. This is our chance.” He squeezed his shoulders. “To have a family. A real family.”

“Family? It’s not our fucking kid—it’s not a part of me or you.”

“But we’ll love it like it is! Blood isn’t what makes a family. Love is,” he reminded him softly.

You swallowed back the lump that had risen in your throat.

Bill might have been a stubborn jackass, but you knew that Frank would show him how to be a good father. He had already shown him how to be an amazing, loving partner.

“So?” Joel prompted. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back into his chair.

Bill scowled at him. He said nothing as he reached for his glass of wine, chugging every last drop in one long gulp before he stood up and stalked out of the dining room.

Frank had his answer.

And so did you and Joel.

As the next several weeks turned into months, pregnancy—and your ever ongoing attempts at hiding it from everyone in the Boston QZ—had really started to take its toll on you, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Joel had given you all but his entire wardrobe, helping to keep your condition hidden as well as possible, but it was taking a hell of a lot more than just his jackets and shirts to keep it a secret. When you entered your third trimester, you were starting to struggle immensely with work detail, finding it more and more difficult to keep up with what authorities expected of you. Everything ached—your feet, your back, and even the hairs on your fucking head were hurting, and yet you were forced to carry on with your daily duties as best you could to avoid raising any suspicions.

“Frank said it might be best if you gave birth at their place,” Joel commented over dinner one night. Tess was out doing a solo run, and it had just been the two of you for the last couple of days. Lately, you almost wished she would stop leaving you alone with Joel. Ever since that night at Bill and Frank’s, he had been acting a lot colder towards you, more than ever before. He could hardly look at you most days. Before, he could at least stand to look at your face. Now, there wasn’t a single part of you that his eyes could meet. “As soon as you start feelin’ off, we’re gonna need to get you over to them. Frank talked Bill into lettin’ you stay for a few days if it comes down to it and you need some time to heal.”

You simply nodded, your gaze fixed on the torn paper napkin in front of you. “Okay.”

He bit into his piece of jerky, his eyes also glued to the table. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that you’d finished your portion already. He reached out, dropping his piece in front of you onto your napkin. “Need to eat more,” he grumbled. He picked up his glass of whiskey, polishing it off before pouring himself another.

You couldn’t stand it.

You couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

“Joel.” You said his name in a smaller voice than what you had been aiming for. “Can we talk?”

He racked his brain for the first bullshit excuse he could think of. “It can wait. S’real late and we need to get to bed soon. We got early work orders tomorrow.”

“No, Joel, actually, it can’t fucking wait.” Your heart was pounding at a rate that felt far too fast for your body and you tried to remind yourself to remain calm. You knew you needed to keep your emotions in check, or else your distress could cause distress to the baby. “We need to talk. Now.”

Joel drew an impatient breath. “Talk ‘bout what, exactly?”

“About how you’ve been acting over the last few months.” Your voice trembled and you almost kicked yourself for it. The last thing that you needed to do was fucking crumble. “And about the way you’ve been treating me, too. You’ve been keeping your distance from me, acting like I’m some kind of—I’ve seen you cringe a lot less when dumping the infected bodies into the fire pits, let’s just put it that way.”

“Those pregnancy hormones,” he released a short, bitter laugh. “Got you bein’ all dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic.” Your hands curled into tiny fists. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t touch me. You won’t even fucking look at me anymore! I’m sick of it, Joel.”

“It’s nothin’,” he replied dismissively, shrugging his shoulders. He looked down into his whiskey, feigning a sudden interest in the rich amber hues in his glass.

“Nothing?” You repeated, flabbergasted. “Then why haven’t you slept in our bed with me? Hm? Oh that’s right, because you can’t fucking stand to be that close to me! You’d rather break your back on that old fucking couch rather than sleep next to me.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his grip around his glass tightening. “Listen, I ain’t doin’ this right now, alright?”

“Joel.” You hesitated. If you crossed this line and pushed one too many of his buttons, there was no fucking going back. “I know that you’re afraid, okay?”

“I ain’t afraid,” he countered through gritted teeth. Finally, he brought himself to look up at you, his eyes meeting yours—that same emotion that he’d just denied was right there behind them as clear as the fucking stars in the sky outside. Joel wasn’t made of stone. He wasn’t any kind of special exception to having normal human feelings. He hid everything pretty well, and because you cared about him, you were willing to put up with his asshole façade because he needed you as much as you needed him. Still, even after years of trying to take the wall he’d built down brick by brick with your bare hands, you hadn’t gotten very far and you wished the man would help you out every now and again and throw you a fucking hammer. “Ain’t no reason for me to be afraid. I ain’t the one who’s fuckin’ pregnant.”

“It’s yours too! This is your baby too, Joel. Your child. It is part of you, just as much as it is a part of me. And ever since day fucking one, you have been scared shitless of it,” You confronted him, another trembling edge coming to your voice. “And I know why, okay? I know that what happened to Sarah—”

Joel froze, going rigid in his seat. His free hand had curled into a fist, his tight knuckles turning ghost white.

It was something of an unspoken rule.

Nobody talked about Sarah.

Hell, the only reason you even knew about his daughter was because you’d accidentally stumbled upon an old polaroid of her while washing his jeans in the kitchen sink one morning. You had found it in one of the back pockets while cleaning them out, the photograph heavily creased as if he spent ample amounts of time folding it open and then folding it closed again. Sarah’s name had been scribbled on the back of the polaroid. Her smile, her nose, it was all Joel, and it had taken you less than sixty seconds to realize the young teenaged girl posing goofily in the picture had been his daughter.

When you’d handed the picture to him while his jeans dried, it was like a silent bomb had detonated. Although it’d been a mere accident on your part, Joel had been so incredibly angry with you, as if you had gone snooping through his past life on purpose. For weeks, he hadn’t said a single word to you unless it had something to do with work or a run.

He’d lost her. He hadn’t told you that, but you’d guessed it.

Whether it was to infection or something else, you didn’t know. And you knew better than to ask him. All you knew was that losing her had done something irreparable to Joel Miller. Whoever he’d been before losing his daughter was dead too.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice strained. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Joel, please,” You whispered. “Whatever happened to her, you can’t possibly keep it to yourself for the rest of your life. You can talk to me about Sarah—”

Joel slammed his curled fist down onto the table, startling you. He then turned in his chair and flung his glass at the wall behind him, the sound of it shattering into hundreds of pieces echoing throughout the small apartment. Jumping to his feet, he pointed a threatening finger in your face. “Don’t you ever utter her fuckin’ name ever again! You understand me?”

“But Joel—”

“Do you fuckin’ understand me?”

“I understand.” You hardly recognized the squeak that left your lips.

“Go to bed. Now,” he ordered, whirling around on his heel. “It’s fuckin’ late.”

Without another word, Joel stalked over towards the couch and dropped onto it, rolling over onto his side so his back was to you.

You pulled the neckline of his shirt that you wore over your mouth and pressed your palm against it in an effort to muffle a sob.

A few hours later into the middle of the night, Joel had awakened and stood up from the couch only to find you sitting there in the exact same spot where he’d left you at the table. Though it was dark in the apartment, the moonlight that shone through the torn curtains over the window illuminated your face and he could see you hadn’t stopped crying since he’d fallen asleep.

“Y’need to go lay down,” he told you quietly.

You knew this tactic all too well.

His way of apologizing for losing his shit on you without actually apologizing.

“I’m fucking fine right where I am,” You snapped stubbornly in response, quickly dabbing at your damp eyes with the back of your hand. That was a downright lie. Your lower back was on fire from having sat in the chair for so long.

Joel sighed, hanging his head. He knew he’d fucked up. He’d been fucking up for the last several months. He pulled a chair around in front of yours and sat down, his knee touching yours lightly. That alone was enough to send a chill throughout your body. “Sittin’ in that chair for too long ain’t good for your back,” he stated. He waited to see if you would speak and when you didn’t reply a couple minutes later, he sighed again. “Look, I’m real sorry about earlier, alright? Hell, I’m sorry for everythin’. You were right, I’ve been treatin’ you like shit and you definitely don’t deserve it.”

Stunned, you looked up at him.

“I was angry, but I shouldn’t have lashed out on you the way that I did. Much less while you’re in this condition.” He paused, reaching up to rub his face tiredly with one of his hands. He then let it fall back down to his thigh with a loud slapping sound. “It’s a sore spot for me, alright? Always has been and always will be. Nothin’ or no one is goin’ to change that, not ever. Not even you,” he admitted, shoulders sagging as if the realization had just come to him. “You know you mean somethin’ special to me. You know I care about you, and you know you’re what has kept me goin’ these last few years. I’d do just about anythin’ for you. But I need you to respect that I don’t wanna talk about her and I don’t want you bringin’ her up. She is from my past and that is where I need to leave her.”

“But why?” You frowned, wiping a stray tear that had fallen away from your cheek. “That’s not fair to you or to her. She doesn’t deserve to be forgotten about.”

“That what you think it is? That I’m tryin’ to forget about her? Impossible. Not a single day goes by that I don’t think of her.”

You placed your hands down onto your lap and started wringing them together anxiously. “It’s not that I think you’re trying to forget about her, Joel. But you refusing to talk about her, it’s erasing her memory, whether you think of it that way or not.” Noticing him wince at your words, you wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him—stroke his cheek, hold his hand. But you were finally getting somewhere and you knew better than to move too fast, so you willed yourself to keep your hands to yourself. “And besides that, you aren’t doing yourself any favors by keeping her story a secret. You’ve been carrying the weight of whatever happened to her on your shoulders for what, almost two decades now?”

“It’s my burden to carry, alright?”

“You shouldn’t have to carry it alone.” Your expression softened. It dawned on you. You’d thought you knew how much pain Joel had been in for all these years, but the honest truth was that you didn’t have the slightest clue. You didn’t know how bad he was actually hurting—and that killed you inside. “You need to talk about it, Joel. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But someday.”

“No. I can’t—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Joel almost seemed offended that you’d even ask such a thing. “Of course I fuckin’ trust you.”

“Then why won’t you let me in, Joel?” A fresh batch of tears brimmed your eyes, and you blinked them back furiously before they could fall. “After everything that we’ve been through together. I’m carrying your fucking child for god’s sake.”

He didn’t answer. Tearing his gaze away from you, he looked straight ahead at the wall in front of him.

“Joel.”

Silence.

“Joel. Come on. Can you just fucking look at me, please?”

Nothing.

You let out a long, sad sigh of defeat. So much for getting somewhere. “Alright. Fine.” You placed a hand on your stomach and stood up from your chair. “I’m heading to bed. See you in the morning.”

As you padded over towards your mattress, Joel’s voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “Sarah was my daughter.”

Slowly, you turned around, your lips parted slightly.

“Pretty sure you knew that already though,” he chuckled in spite of himself. “She was fourteen years old. Her mom walked out on us when she was just a baby. I spent her entire life raising her by myself. Tommy, well, he was around too, but he was more of a bad influence than anythin’ and sometimes it felt like I was lookin’ after two kids instead of one.”

You walked back over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Joel reached up and took your hips in his hands, carefully pulling you down to sit on his lap.

“No Joel, I’m way too heavy.” Embarrassed, you quickly tried standing up.

“You think you’re heavy?” He snorted lightly, holding you firmly in place. “If anythin’, you could stand to have a bit more meat on your bones bein’ almost nine months pregnant and all.”

“Blame my nutritious, nourishing diet of jerky and stale crackers.” The sarcasm dripped from your tone.

He let out something in between a snort and a laugh.

You couldn’t help but smile a little and draped an arm around his shoulders.

How you’d missed this. Missed him.

You leaned into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. For the next several minutes, Joel just held you.

Just when you were beginning to wonder how long the silence would last, he broke it.

“I’m not ready to talk ‘bout what happened to her,” he explained, quietly. “Might not be ready for a long, long time. Not sure if I’ll ever be ready, if you want the honest truth. Sarah, she was my sweet little butterfly. The absolute love of my fuckin’ life. Losin’ her was the worst fuckin’ thing that has ever happened to me. It’s a wound that’s still raw as hell, even after all these years. Might even be one of those wounds that just never heals, you know?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, your hand going to his hair. You ran your fingers through it, amazed how even after going days without a wash, it always stayed so soft. “I know you don’t want me to say that I’m sorry—”

“I really fuckin’ don’t,” Joel confirmed with a shake of his head. “Won’t change shit. Won’t bring her back. Sure as hell won’t make me feel any better.”

“Then I won’t say it.” You brought your hand back down to your lap and leaned forward. You pressed your lips against his forehead, letting them linger. He stiffened, and you could feel him restraining himself from completely melting into your touch. You knew things would take a little time and you were willing to be as patient as you needed to be for him.

“Losin’ another child—” Joel trailed off, voice hoarse. “I just—I can’t.”

“I know,” You soothed him. “Which is why we’re doing the right thing and letting Bill and Frank take him.”

“Him?”

You offered him a small, tired smile. It really was getting late now and the exhaustion was creeping in. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you. But I think it’s a boy.”

“And how the hell could you possibly fuckin’ know that?”

You shrugged. “Just a gut feeling. Tess thinks it’s a boy too. She says with the way I’m carrying, it must be—” You stopped, doubling over in pain. “Fuck. Ouch.”

Alarmed, Joel’s hand found the small of your back, the other was in front of you, making sure you didn’t fall over off of his lap. “What? What is it?”

“The baby just kicked me.” You grimaced, leaning back into a sitting position. “Right in damn the ribs too. And there goes another one.” You exhaled sharply, the discomfort radiating throughout your body. “Jesus. He must take after you with all the violence.”

Joel seemed a bit stunned. “This the first time it’s ever kicked?”

“No. He’s done it a few times before. But never this much in one sitting. Or this hard.” You winced. “He’s really fighting in there.”

Joel just stared at you, something that looked a bit like awe in his eyes.

Through the slight pain, you raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to feel him?”

“Oh I don’t think, uh, I don’t think I should—”

“It’s not going to fucking kill you, Joel.”

He hesitantly lifted his hand. “Where—where do I put it?”

“Here.” You took his hand in both of yours and placed it on the side of your round midsection. “Just give it a second. You’ll feel it right here.”

You watched his face carefully. He jumped slightly once he’d felt the fluttering motion against the palm of his hand, his dark eyes going wide.

Even before the outbreak, Joel never thought he’d feel something like that again in his life.

“He’s strong,” he murmured. “Real strong.”

“I know. Wonder where he got that from,” You joked lightly.

Moving his hand away, Joel placed it on your thighs and awkwardly cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s pretty late. You really do need to get some sleep.”

“Okay. But on one condition.”

“What condition?”

“Will you come to bed with me?”

“‘Course.” He stood up, letting out a small, labored grunt as he lifted you up into his arms.

“I told you I’m heavy,” You reminded him with a laugh. “Joel, put me down. This cannot possibly be good for your back.”

“Oh, shut up.” Joel walked over, gingerly placing you down onto the mattress. He waited for you to get comfortable before climbing in behind you, pulling a wool blanket over both of your bodies. He pulled your back against his chest and draped his arm around you, his hand subconsciously—instinctively—resting on your stomach. His lips found the delicate spot behind your ear and he pressed his lips gently against it, sending a small shiver up your spine.

“Joel?”

“Hm?” He mumbled into your ear. He was already falling asleep.

They were right there, right on the tip of your tongue, those three words that you had been aching to say to him for years.

I love you.

“Nevermind.” You sighed softly. “Goodnight.”

“Mm, g’night,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into your neck before allowing his sleep to consume him.

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #fic: tdtrt

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proxima-writes · 5 months

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title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

divider graphic by @saradika-graphics.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

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teyamsilly · 5 months

Note

reader flinching during an argument w neteyam?

maybe he raises his voice or throws his hands up in expectation and reader misinterprets it and flinches, ofc he notices and feels super guilty, comfort after

deffered warrior

pairing: neteyam x omaticaya fem! reader tags & warning: reader is pregnant but not showing, a mom of one child, dad! neteyam, they're both aged up, angry neteyam, reader is so stubborn summary: with the sky people back, neteyam doesn't want you going out in the forest without his company. he's been extra protective of his family within reason, but you didn't like feeling helpless. you went to the forest without telling anyone, maybe you should have. index sempu - dad, muntxate - wife/female spouse, tawtute - human, nìftxan - so, ngäzìk - difficult, olo'eyktan - clan leader word count 3.5k

a/n spinned this a little hope you like it! i've been working on this for a while because i wanted to make sure it was good. enjoy <3

Because of the pregnancy, your duties as a warrior were temporarily suspended. It was frustrating that you were forbidden to participate in the raid. You were barely showing and still capable of fighting, but Neteyam insisted that you stayed behind.

With the the sky people back, their attacks became even more ruthless and unforgiving. Their technology advanced which gave them the upper hand, but everyday you prayed to Eywa that she protects the people. Especially your family.

Nutxe watched his father putting his cummerbund on followed by his leather armguard. Neteyam was preparing for another rally to stop the humans from creating their own space to live in. They were getting too close, and their preparations have been getting quick. Because of it, he's barely home and only coming back to his wife and son asleep.

"Sempu, how hard will it be this time?" asked Nutxe, eyes wide from curiousity.

"It doesn't get easier, 'itan," sighed Neteyam. He managed to pull a smile for his child, and placed his hand on top of his head. "We will do everything to stop them," he reassures.

Nutxe nodded. "I know. You'll defeat them because sempu, uncle Lo'ak, and grandpa are there!" he cheered as he raised his fists.

You laughed from where you were standing. After hearing his father's accomplishments, Nutxe admired him greatly. You'll always hear him saying he wants to be like his sempu one day, and protect you from danger.

Of course, he got the idea to protect you from the man himself.

Neteyam only chuckled. He approached you, and you handed him his bow and arrows. You couldn't help but inspect his warrior look with envy. It's been a long time since you've worn your own cummerbund, and the feeling of adrenaline was missed.

"I am still strong enough to fight," you said. You made sure to keep your voice low from Nutxe's big ears.

Neteyam exhaled before he pursed his lips momentarily. "We've talked about this, muntxate. You are with child, our child," he emphasised with a frustrated look. "I want you out from the field."

You hissed, "I feel helpless! I wouldn't be the first woman pregnant there."

"Munxtate."

"Your mother went to war with you inside of her. I don't see why I cannot be there."

He shook his head. "I don't want to argue about this with you anymore. I don't want to leave like this, please."

Both of you stared into each other's eyes intensely. Neteyam waited for you to back down, your eyes were full of determination that he almost felt like you would go against him. Eventually, your eyelids drooped, showing your defeat.

Neteyam couldn't help let his grin show. "See me off?" he asked softly.

"Always." You managed to crack a little grin, which was enough for him.

As the three of you went towards the edge of High camp, Nutxe shifted on your hip and Neteyam's hand rested on your back. There were already warriors staying by there ikrans as they waited for their Olo'eyktan's signal. Jake could be seen standing beside his ikran, speaking with Neytiri about the raid.

"Grandpa!" yelled Nutxe.

Jake turned his head to the voice, and his lips broke into a smile that was rare to see lately. With the tawtute's back, it was difficult not to worry each second that they striked back with an even callous defense. But he can't hold back the joy he sees from his grandson.

"Came to see your grandpa and grandma off, bud?" he opened his arms for the boy.

Nutxe jumped off from your arms and dashed to his. Jake groaned when he lifted him up, complaining about how heavy he had gotten. Neytiri laughed, her finger tickling the boy's chubby stomach which earned her a fit of giggles.

"Look at you, so big," cooed Neytiri.

Nutxe smiled, "I cant wait to be taller. I want to be tall like sempu."

Jake gasped, offended, "What about me?"

He shook his, a mischevious smile on his face. "No."

Neteyam chuckled at his father's playfulness. Nutxe truly is a blessing from Eywa, he brought joy everywhere with him in the midst of this war. The burden of being Olo'eyktan had gotten heavier, and the bags under Jake's eyes only turned worse. He was relieved to see his father relaxed even for a little while.

"Dad," called Lo'ak as he approached them firmly. "Tarsem and his unit is on the way to tail the humans."

Jake nodded, his playfulness was now gone. He put Nutxe on the ground, and the boy went to your side. He turned to the warriors, telling them to get ready. As a parting gesture, Neytiri gave you a squeeze on the shoulder.e, before she headed to her ikran.

Nutxe patted his uncle's hands and smiled at him, "Good luck, uncle Lo'ak."

Lo'ak returned the smile, placing his hand on top of his head. "Thanks bud." He gave you a nod before he left to his own ikran.

Neteyam kneeled down to his son's height. "Watch mama for me?"

His eyebrows were pinched together as he nodded with determination. "Yes, sempu!"

"I will see you when I get back." Neteyam pressed his lips on his forehead briefly. He stood up, looking at you.

You nodded, "Be safe."

"Always."

The raid was successful again. There were less injured warriors compared to the previous raid and they managed to avoid casualties this time which made the each Omatikaya beam with pride. It brought hope that they could defeat the tawtute, and maybe leave their home alone.

Although, that didn't stop them from being vigilant.

You were in the Tsahik's tent along with Tuk, rearranging the herbs that were not in their usual spot. Since you were reprived from your duties as a warrior, you searched for other ways to help the clan. Mo'at offered you to help her aid injured warriors which you did not decline. Your skills as a healer weren't as great as your athleticism, but it was better than nothing.

Nutxe was off with Spider and Kiri in the lab. You and Neteyam didn't mind that your son was getting along well with the scientists. They were loyal to the na'vi, and it always reminded you that Jake was once human. You cant take that away from Nutxe, not that you ever intended to.

"Is it all done?" asked Tuk. She sighed loudly, laying down on the mat as she stretched her arms and limbs.

"Yes," you hummed. Counting the number of bowls, you noticed that one was nearly empty. Yalnabark was most commonly used amongst injuries since they sting less, Kiri suggested this to her grandmother and they have used it ever since. "Oh, we're almost finished."

"What?!" Tuk immediately shot up from her position. She groaned once she saw the bowl you raised to show her. "We can't go out to the forest at this time. The party is still inspecting the area to make sure there aren't any surprise attacks."

"I will check my tent if we have some. I'll be back, Tuk."

Satisfied with Tuk's nod, you exited the Tsahik's tent and walked to yours. Unfortunately, the situation stayed the same: yalnabarak was nearly finished.

An idea came into your head, but it was something that you knew your mate would go against. However, you cant just stay and rely the work on other na'vi. There was no way you would make yourself a liability.

You attached your comm's around your neck and tucked the ear piece in your ear gently, just in case things were to go wrong, which you prayed that it wouldn't come to that. You hang your satchel over your shoulder with your bow and arrows in your hand. Exhiliration filled your body at the thought being able to travel around the forest.

The air caressing your face made you sigh. This must what Lo'ak felt everytime he was going behind his parents' back. It was envigorating, but you felt guilty going against Neteyam. What he doesn't know wont hurt him, you tried to convince yourself, but there was that conscious part of yourself constantly telling you that it was wrong. Pushing those thoughts away, you let your ikran fly down and landed on forest ground.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you searched for the necessary herbs to make yalnabark. They weren't hard to find if you knew where to search. The herbs were always close to the Link Shack which was one of the reasons why the medicine wasn't often used.

Since the RDA returned to Pandora, the Shack has been deemed unsafe and off-limits. Their chances of returning the area were highly probable. But when silence met you and the lone sounds you could hear in the forest were chirping insects, you sighed in relief.

Your satchel was almost filled with herbs you collected. It would be enough to aid the injured people for a while. Your arm was outstretched to pick out another leaf, but your eyes stopped on the muddy part of the ground.

A fresh footprint.

"We've got a na'vi here!"

The day continues to be quiet since the successful raid. Neteyam and Lo'ak were in the air, inspecting for any suspicion. The oldest frowned when he could see the damage that the humans brought to his home, trees were broken and what was once green and nature were destroyed.

"Nothing," said Lo'ak with a shrug.

Neteyam turned his head to him with furrowed eyebrows until it hit him that he was talking about the humans. He nodded. "Let's go back."

They turned their ikrans to the direction of their home. Silence fell between them, but comfortable, as they headed back home.

"Nete-"

Neteyam's ear twitched when he realised the voice came from the comm's. He pressed his neck where the speaker was, he spoke, "Muntxate?"

The worst possible scenarios started forming into his head. You never used your comms before, promising to him that it would only be used when something was wrong.

"Neteyam, I am being attacked! Near the Shack! There is three of them!"

His heart sank. Realising you had gone behind his back, he let out a growl. Lo'ak looked at his brother questioningly. "Bro, what is it?"

"My mate is in trouble. Three avatars by the Shack." Neteyam's ear were pinned against his head, his jaw clenched. His hand gripped the handle of his ikran's halters tightly, mentally praying that she would be okay. And that their child would be fine.

You hid behind a tree, hugging your bow close. Leaning slightly to the side, you noticed an avatar walking slowly through the trees, his rifle pointing straight ahead. You inhaled deeply and drew the string of your bow until it touched your nose and lips. Your arrow was directed straight to the avatar.

You drew your fingers back, releasing the arrow, which penetrated his skull.

"Na'vi!" his partner yelled. Bullets roared through the woods, and you assessed it as an indication to flee. Without glancing behind, you forced your feet to run faster than the wind. Jumping from one branch to the next.

A scream escaped your lips when the branch you jumped on rattled from a big explosion, causing you to slip and fall. Your body hit large leaves, slightly softening your fall but hurt nonetheless. You whimpered, feeling pain course through your body. Immediately, your hand flew to your stomach. "Please, great mother," you whispered with tears in your eyes.

Large footsteps entered your ears. Hope surged through your body until you looked up only to realise it was one of the avatars chasing you. His smirk sent shivers down your spine. He pressed the speaker on his neck, saying, "I got her."

His face wrinkled in anguish as he groaned, just as he prepared to take another step towards you. His corpse dropped forward right in front of you, and you stifled a sob as you realised who was responsible.

"Muntxate," Neteyam exclaimed. He felt loose after seeing you harmed on the ground; he felt as if he would rip each of their limbs off for doing this to you.

You sobbed, "Neteyam."

He knelt on the ground and hugged your form closer to him as he quietly listened to you weep. He trailed his hand to yours, which was resting on your belly, and kissed your temple softly while whispering soothing words.

Neteyam couldn't tell whether you had injuries from where he used to stand, but now that the glowing light from the plants reflected your body… he could see bruises and blood. Neteyam pursed his lips, holding you tighter against him. What could have happened if he didn't arrive on time.

"Last one killed." He heard Lo'ak voice from his earpiece. "I've notified dad of this, he said to find whatever's useful on them and bring it in. He'll meet us as soon as we land in High Camp with grandmother to make sure your mate is okay."

Neteyam removed one of his hands and used it to press the button on his neck. "Copy. I will see you by the ikrans."

"I hear you. By the way, the second avatar was dead while I was making sure there aren't any more surprises. It was a straight shot to the skull. Your mate must've done this, she does have the best aim despite being in sticky situations."

Chuckles were heard through the other side, Lo'ak was clearly elated by this but Neteyam couldn't share the same feeling.

"Can you stand?"

The gentle tone of his voice resonated in your ears. You only nodded as a response because you were afraid that your voice would betray you. You felt ashamed that it had come to this, even after he warned you.

You stood up as Neteyam stood close to you, his arm extended just in case you felt unwell. "I came here to collect herbs for yalnabark. It was nearly finished," you explained, only gancing at his eyes for a second before looking away.

Neteyam's gaze transferred to the satchel, it's contents spilled out. He sighed deeply and grabbed the satchel, picking up the herbs and putting it back in. "We will talk once we go back home."

You felt like a child who was about to get scolded by a parent. Lo'ak's amused grin didn't help make you feel better. Just like Neteyam, you scolded him for getting into plenty of trouble back when you were just teenagers. So, forgive him if he found the situation a little bit amused.

When you got back to High Camp, Mo'at was already there to check your wounds and she brought you to her tent immediately. Tuk and Kiri were already there to assist her. The youngest sully was quick to apologise and blamed herself for not being with you, but none of it was her fault and you made sure she knew that.

Tuk did not have the responsibility to take care of you because you are a grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions. And you are mature enough to accept the consequences.

Questions about the baby quickly came out from your mouth. It was the first thing Mo'at did, checking the baby. She felt your heart racing against her hand. The beating of your heart only slowed down to its normal rate when you she told you the baby is fine, but you needed rest to make sure.

Neteyam was there the whole time, watching his sisters apply medicine to your wounds whilst listening to his grandmother intently. You met his gaze, and you could tell he was relieved but disappointed at the same time.

Fortunately, Nutxe dozed off in Jake's hut while he was with them. Neteyam stayed behind you on the way to the tent you both shared. He looked at the scratches on your back, his fury building with each glance, until he forced himself to turn his head away.

As soon as you entered your tent, you crossed your arms as you faced your mate.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed.

"I told you why, did I not?" you sassed.

He shook his head. "You do not get to act like this, not after you went behind my back. You did not even say a word to anyone!"

"I thought that it would be quick."

"You thought wrong," he seethed. "I told you so many times that this is for your own safety. Why wont you just listen? Do you not see that this is my way of protecting you?"

You turned aside, growling. You were already exhausted from being treated like a child. "I am not weak. I am still capable of standing without hurting!"

"Muntxate, this is not about your incapability." Neteyam pressed his palms against his eyes as he shut them tightly. He looked at you, annoyed. "You are carrying our prrnen. That should be enough for you to stay put."

"You forget who you are speaking to," you hissed angrily. "I am recognised as one of the strongest warriors along with you. Unless, my state makes me a liability, I should be-"

Neteyam suddenly took quick steps in front of you. You blinked, surprised at his stance but you didn't back down. He snarled, "I said no. Whether you like it or not, you will stay. I will tie you against a rope if I must."

"You are not Olo'eyktan yet," you scoffed. "I do not take orders from you!"

You moved away from him, but he grabbed your forearm with his grip tight. You glanced at his hand wearily before looking up to his eyes, it was full of fury. "Nìftxan ngäzìk. If you do not want to be treated like a child, do not act like one."

Breathing heavily, you yelled, "I am already treated like one, skxawng!"

Neteyam abruptly raised his arm, causing you to close your eyes and inhale sharply.. He pointed his finger to the exit of your tent, his gaze stuck on it. "Those demons have gotten stronger. They-"

The words died on his mouth when he saw how you cowered with his touch. He released himself off you, his guilt consuming him. He can't believe he did it�� that he let his rage get the best of him. He took a step back, his breath unsteady. "No, muntxate… I was not going to hit you. I would never."

You nodded, pressing your fingers to your temple before cupping your face. "I know, I just…" you sighed. Neteyam heard you sniffle, but it was muffled from your hand. You removed them for your face, and hugged your body.

He watched your body language, because the last thing he wants is you to be scared of him. He only raised his arm to point outside but you thought otherwise. Neteyam would hate himself forever if he had caused anything for you to assume that.

Relief washed over him when you reached out to him, holding his hand. He trailed his other hand to your arm softly before he held your elbow, carressing it.

"I do not like thinking that I am not there to protect you," you revealed. Tears pooled into your eyes as you looked up at him. "What if something happens to you? What if it will be too late to save you? What would I do?" you croaked out.

"Nothing will-"

"You do not know that." You shook your head. "We need you, Neteyam. And I get scared everytime you go out there. I beg the great mother to protect you always, to watch you because I cannot."

Neteyam held your face, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. "Nothing will happen," he pressed, his gaze loving. "Because I'm not only doing this for my people, but for you and Nutxe. I will protect my family with all my strength and I cannot do that when I'm dead."

A tear left your cheek when he leaned his forehead aginst yours with a grin present on his lips. "I will always come home to you, muntxate," he promised.

You pouted, "You should. I will haunt your soul if you dare to leave."

Neteyam laughed.

"And I'm sorry for leaving without telling anyone. I thought it would be simple."

"I know. What matters is that you are both okay."

You smiled as you pushed yourself against him and pressed his lips with yours. Neteyam wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your chests are touching each other. A moan escaped your lips when you felt a hand squeeze your cheek.

Neteyam pulled away slightly, his breath fanning your lips as he spoke, "Good thing Nutxe is with my mother and father." His eyes heavy with a look you became so familiar with. You said nothing and roughly kissed him making him groan.

Great mother, how long has it been since you let this man devour you?

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#avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar twow #neteyam sully #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fluff #dad! neteyam #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam #avatar rda #dilf! neteyam #dad!neteyam

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escelia · 1 year

Text

Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed the first part! I hope I didn't miss anyone in the tags.

You can click here to read the prologue and here to read part one.

Enjoy~

Not So Normal pt2

Bruce had gathered his whole brood in the Batcave for their debrief. This time, Danny included. He'd hoped that one day he would bring Danny down here and tell him all about their nightly activities, just not so soon. His newest son didn't even seem fazed at all by all the vigilantes flooding into the cave. Not that that really meant anything with him floating down through the ceiling with Dick and Damian in hand. To think one of the kids living under his own roof was a meta and he hadn't noticed… he had to step up his game as Gotham's greatest detective.

"Is the Joker alive?" Was Bruce's first question once everyone was situated and settled. He had a personal rule about not killing his rogues, but honestly, after what the Joker pulled, he thought he might be able to overlook it. After all, when an eldritch being takes a life, who is he to argue?

"Of course he's alive! Nobody dies when I get involved." Danny puffed his chest proudly. He hadn't broken his no casualty streak since he started hero work over a year ago. Not many heroes could say that, and Danny worked damn hard to keep it that way.

Bruce let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Out of relief or disappointment, he didn't know.

"Next question. Where and what is 'clown jail?'"

"It's a subspace of the Infinite Realms." The detective tucked that term away for questioning later. "It's a trick I picked up from my Head Guard back in the Realms. It's basically a space where you experience whatever punishment I think fits your crime. But it's all psychological, so no one ever gets hurt there."

"And what's his punishment?"

"Are you a meta or an alien? I can't tell at this point."

"How long have you known about us?"

"Why did you look so different back at the warehouse?"

"You have a Head Guard?"

The questions came in like a flood. Danny flushed at all the attention, unsure where to start first. He looked to Damian for help, but he only folded his arms and smiled smugly. That little traitor! But he supposed that's what he deserved for waiting so long to tell his family. In his defense, the last time he told a family about his abilities he'd ended up strapped to a table with a scalpel poking at his spleen.

"One question at a time, please!” Danny screeched, covering his face in embarrassment. He stared at Damian pleadingly one more time.

"I told you to tell them before something drastic happened, so don't look at me. "

"You knew?" Jason pouted. Damian just smirked and puffed his chest in pride. He knew exactly why Daniel hadn't told them, but had been confident that his new family wouldn't react the way his old one had. Perhaps this would teach Daniel to trust him a bit more. And wasn't it something that Damian wanted Daniel to trust him.

"They aren't like the Fentons, Daniel. You should tell them."

The words were like a balm on Danny's nerves. The others were smiling patiently at him, judgment absent in favor of eager curiosity but not in the cruel way it had been on Jack and Maddie's faces. He took a deep breath before starting in on the details. No place like the beginning, he guessed.

He told them about how he half died when he was 14 and all the abilities he gained as a result. He told them about his hunter parents and his colorful array of rogues turned friends. Bruce had paled considerably when he got to the part about Pariah Dark whisking their town away and his subsequent defeat of the Ghost King. And he looked downright nauseous when Danny detailed his victories over several of the more godlike entities of the Realms, like Overgrowth and Vortex. He left out Dan, skipping to the part where he'd effectively become the ward and apprentice to the Master of Time, Clockwork. And finally, he told them about Jack and Maddie.

When he'd stumbled into Gotham after the vivisection and begged Bruce to take him away, to protect him, "please, I just wanna feel safe again," he'd told him that it was abuse and refused to outline the details. This time, he looked him in the eyes, and with one finger wrapped around Damian's for support, he told his family about how the Dr's. Fenton had cut him open and poked around in the name of science.

"So… you're not a meta?" Duke asked in the silence that followed Danny's confessions. He had to admit he was grateful his brother wasn't dwelling on his past. Damian had been right, they were taking it well. Boy, did he let it show on his face in a typical, 12 year old, "I told you so," fashion.

"I don't have a metagene and I'm technically half-dead, half-alive. Damian used the term Pseudo-Meta. I kinda like it."

"So let me get this straight," Jason began. "Since dying, you won the Ghost King's crown by right of conquest, defeated several godlike entities, who are now your friends, and your mentor is the literal God of time?"

"Pretty much."

"Damn," he whistled. "I don't think I died right the first time. I want a do-over."

Danny snorted in laughter and Damian tutted at him while the others elbowed him in ribs.

"Does that make you a god?" Dick teased.

"I don't think so, but every time I ask Clockwork he gets all cryptic, so maybe?"

Bruce was getting a headache.

~~•○•~~

"Alright, it's time to solve some real mysteries now," Tim said with a gleam in his eyes. They'd migrated up to the kitchen for post patrol cookies. Alfred had been pleasantly surprised when Bruce had explained that, thanks to Danny, everyone had made it home relatively unscathed. And considering they'd had a run-in with Joker, that was worthy of cookies in his opinion.

"Danny, how in the world did you get Damian to stop trying to stab you?"

"Actually, yeah! You guys have gotten really close. What's the secret?" Dick asked with a raised eyebrow. Damian rolled his eyes and answered for Danny.

"I challenged him in combat and Daniel accepted. It's not my fault none of you were intelligent enough to realize it was a bonding tactic." Bruce tried to hide his laughter in his mug while the others blatantly gawked at him.

"No way."

"I have a picture of the first time he managed to graze me in a sparring session! You guys wanna see?" Everyone swarmed him to see the photo. Dick cooed and tried to pinch Damian's cheek, but was met with snapping teeth. Steph, with eyes sparkling, just muttered, "cute," so as not to stir the youngest's ire. Danny ended up promising to send the picture into the group chat later.

"By the way, you never did say what Joker's punishment was," Jason mentioned casually. Danny smiled cruelly, his frosty blue eyes glowing.

"His greatest fear, of course! A prolonged stay in a Gotham that has not nor will ever know the Joker. I swear, I've never met a clown that wasn't a total narcissist." Danny popped the last bite of a cookie into his mouth and dusted the crumbs off on his pants. "No one is allowed to hurt my brothers. Ever."

~~•○•~~

Damian was just about to climb into bed when he heard a knock at his door. He looked up just in time to see Danny phase through it into his room.

"Why even bother knocking?"

"Because it's polite!" Damian rolled his eyes. "I just wanted to say thank you for earlier." He took a seat at the end of the bed and Damian sat next to him, as was tradition for their late night chats.

"I'm the one who should be thanking you," Damian countered. "You weren't ready to tell everyone, and yet you came when I called."

"Of course I did. You're my little brother. And I'd do it for any of you." Danny nudged him with his shoulder, and it earned him a tiny, barely there smile.

"Thank you Danny."

"Using a nickname, huh? Don't let Dick hear that, he'll think you're playing favorites."

"Of course not. I have a reputation to uphold after all. Besides, Richard already thinks you're my favorite. It's giving him a complex."

"Well, aren't I?"

"Tt, don't push your luck."

There was a beat of silence before they erupted into laughter. Danny was so proud that he could make Damian laugh, even if it was more reserved than the guffaws he and their brothers had when they found something particularly funny. He couldn't wait to brag to Jazz about it once it was safe to contact her. If it was safe to contact her.

"I'll see you in the morning," Danny said, leaning lightly against his brother's shoulder in lieu of a hug. He floated over to the door. "Goodnight, Dami."

"Sleep well, Danny."

~~•○•~~

Vlad Masters gnashed his teeth while he stared at the computer screen in his office. First Daniel up and disappeared without so much as a word, and now he was all over the news and tabloids as the newly adopted "Daniel Fenton-Wayne." He was annoyed. He was furious! He was… confused. What had that fool Jack done to get Daniel taken away? Why hadn't Maddie stopped it? How did Daniel end up getting legally adopted by Bruce Wayne of all people? The boy should have come right to him if something was wrong. He deserved it! The boy was his or he was no one's!

The man swatted the mug off his desk. It shattered against the wall.

#danny phantom crossover #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #fanfiction #damian wayne #batfam #ghost king danny #big brother danny #protective danny #fright knight totally taught danny how to make fear dimensions #jason wants a do-over #bruce has a headache #danny is a pseudo-meta #or a god #clockwork refuses to clarify #no beta we die like danny #vlad throws a tiny lil temper tantrum

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runningfrom2am · 2 months

Text

cold nights // twenty-one

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: oh- you guys wanted them to be happy and in love in peace?? my bad. anyway, good a time as any to wish you guys a happy valentines day! lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

"Where are ya takin' those?" Lennox asks you as you're quickly scanning through your piles of books, pulling out one or two at a time and holding onto them.

"I will bring them to Coryo and Sejanus." You smile to yourself, standing up straight as you finish picking out most of your favourites.

"Coryo." Lennox scrunches his nose up. "Why bother? They can't read that many books in a week. Especially when he'll hardly get his hands off you long enough to do literally anything else."

"Oh, Lennox hush. That is not true." You shake your head pointedly, cheeks burning red.

"It is true."

You had kind of explained to Lennox what happened, that Coryo explained, apologized, and that you were wrong about him. Your mother was right, of course, but Lennox still wasn't buying any of it. Although, he wouldn't deny that you seemed happier.

"Ma!" You call out, coming out of your bedroom with the stack of books in your arms. Trying to talk to Lennox about this would never end in him actually listening to you.

"Just out back, honey!"

You follow her voice out onto the back porch. "Ma, do you know if there's a limit of things you can take on the train?"

She looks up at the question, laughing at the stack of books you have steadied under your chin.

"It's not a passenger train, honey. I don't know." She chuckles. "You want to give him all of those? Won't you miss them?"

"Well..." You think about it, placing them down on the ground to rest your arms for a moment. "I don't know when I'll see him again, and books are expensive to post. Besides, I know they'll be in safe hands, and if I want to read them again I can take them from the library."

Your mom smiles sadly at you. "I suppose that's true."

"Yes." You grin, crouching down to pick the books up again carefully. "I shall go drop these off."

"When will you be back?" She asks, just as you're about to walk back inside.

"Uh, I'm uncertain, but I shouldn't be long! We don't have any plans."

"Maybe you should take your brother with you, he can carry those." She suggests and you sigh.

"No, Ma. He's mean." You pout.

"He only wants to keep you safe. Take him with you, please. He'll be driven mad here waiting for you to get back." She insists and you groan, dropping your head back. "I won't ask again, I promise."

"Okay, Ma." You relent, stepping back into the house and letting the door swing shut behind you. "Len! Ma says you're coming with me!"

"So... how do you know where they are staying?" Lennox asks you, half the books in his arms as you practically skip ahead of him.

"Coryo showed me the other day."

"Oh, he did. Of course he did." You can practically see him rolling his eyes behind your back. "Have you ever considered that he could just be using you? I mean-"

"Lennox, that's not a rational thought process. I have nothing that he would want, he already won his prize." You interrupt. "He just came here to spend time with me, we talked about that when I was in the Capitol."

"I can think of something he wants..."

"Lennox!" You turn on your heel, pointing a finger in his face so fast he almost stumbles as he stops. "That is enough. You have so little trust in me!"

"It's not like we haven't been down this road before!" He argues, and you quickly look around as he raises his voice. The path is deserted this time of day.

"And you don't think me capable of learning?"

"Clearly not! Him and Cole are practically the same person!"

"Don't you say that- I didn't like Cole and you know it." You narrow your eyes at him. "Coryo is different. He wouldn't hurt me."

"You do realize that those are like, the famous last words that every teenage girl ever has said and regretted it, right?"

"Do you just not want me to be happy?" You ask bitterly. That wasn't true and you knew it, but you were upset and you knew it would get your point across. He was being cruel.

"The opposite, actually! I just want you to think realistically about fallin' into the open arms of your 'knight in shining armour' who you've literally had nightmares about for weeks on end."

"I am not a child! I am an adult, and I am capable of making my own decisions." You spit. "He's not using me. He loves me, and I love him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll say that until-"

"Lennox you are such a.. boy!" You groan. "If you must know, if you must insist that I am so stupid, no, I have not slept with him. Is that what you needed so desperately to hear?"

"Gross." He mumbles, shaking his head with disgust. "I don't care what you do with your alone time, actually I'd really rather not know! All I'm saying is you need to be more careful."

"I'm not going to fight with you. You can trust my decisions or not." You grumble, turning back around to keep walking. He follows behind you silently, neither of you saying another word the whole walk there.

You knock on the door, taking a step back while you wait for it to open. You can hear your brother breathing behind you and it's driving you up the wall. You would drop off the books and send him home- maybe you would stay for a while, go for a walk, something.

The door creaks open and you smile when you see Sejanus. "Y/N!" He grins, opening the door wider for you to come in. "Coryo! Your girlfriend is here!" You blush at the term as you walk in past him.

You hadn't discussed any kind of title to what you had, the looming ache of him leaving again so soon holding you back from wanting to mention it. You assumed he didn't want to discuss it either, both of you silently agreeing just to enjoy the time you still had together.

"Y/N/N." Coryo grins, eyes lighting up as he enters the room.

"Hi." You smile, ignoring your brother pretending to gag behind you.

"What brings you?" Coryo asks. "I didn't expect to see you today, I was thinking of coming to see you myself."

"Yes, well, I went through my books and brought some over that I would like you to take." You look back over your shoulder as Lennox is placing the large pile of books on the dining table.

Coryo hums as he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. "That's a lot of books." He chuckles.

"You don't have to rush through them, keep them as long as you'd like." You assure him. "I just thought they were some you may enjoy."

"I'm sure I'll love them." He kisses the top of your head. "Thank you."

You turn in his arms to look up at him, ticking your head slightly when you hear Sejanus speak quietly. Clearly, not to either of you. "Hey, I just want to show you something. Come outside with me?" And then the door is shut, and you and Coryo are left alone.

"What's he showing him?" You ask, and Coryo watches through the window as his friend and your brother circle around to the side of the house.

"I am not sure." He answers. Immediately, he's thinking of the note Sejanus had scribbled out for himself. It included your brother's name alongside the dates and times, and those dates were creeping up quickly, the seventeenth being in three days- if he had today's date correct.

"Coryo?"

"Hm?" He looks down at you again. "You were thinkin' for a minute there. What's wrong?"

You were always so concerned. All he had done was take a moment to think, and you seemed genuinely worried. Maybe there was something in his face that showcased his confusion. "Nothing, love." He assures you, but you don't seem inclined to believe it. "Okay, uh, just... Come with me." He grabs your hand, watching out the window to make sure they aren't coming back yet as he leads you to his room.

You step into the small space and smile. He wasn't here for long, but the room already had little touches of him. The bed was made, and there was nothing on the walls but the bedside table had the copy of Romeo and Juliet he had got for you, a folded-up note, and a comb for his hair he had yet to put back in his bag despite him not needing it anymore.

You turn to face him after he shuts the door, smiling. He almost looked normal here, now. Like he was getting used to being here with you, living your life. It certainly wasn't like what he left behind in the Capitol, but to you it was special.

"Y/N, I have something to tell you." Coryo says, serious with a lowered voice. He didn't want anyone to hear it, even though you were still likely alone in the home.

"Okay." You reply, feeling your brow crease as you nod at him. His tone makes you nervous- your heart skips a beat in your chest. For a moment, you feel trapped. Tell him what you need. He won't mind.

"Can you... can you move away from the door, please?" You ask quietly before he has the chance to speak again.

He nods, not wasting a second before passing you and you turn with him, now with the door to your own back. "Is that better? You okay?" He asks and you nod.

"Fine just fine." You smile, trying to be reassuring. "What were you going to tell me?"

"Right, so..." You watch as he runs a hand over his head, still in the habit of pushing back his hair. "I was in Sejanus's room the other day, and I found this note. It had two dates and places on it, and then your brother's name and that was it."

"Oh." That's the only thing you can think of to say. "Well... do you remember the places? Maybe he was just trying to remember Len's name?"

"I don't know, I was hoping you'd know more." Coryo sighs, reaching for the bedside drawer. He had written down what he remembered from the dates and times, because he did want to ask you about it. "But he's been leaving and coming back at odd hours, he won't tell me what he's doing. Is he with Lucy Gray?"

"I don't think so." You frown, shaking your head. "But they have been getting close."

"But that doesn't really feel relevant to the note, or your brother."

"No... It certainly doesn't seem that way."

"Here, so... I wrote it down. Uh... The Hob, August seventeenth at ten pm, and broken fence August eighteenth at four am." He reads off what he remembered enough from the note to write down.

You tilt your head.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

"Well, on the seventeenth The Covey is performing at the Hob, so maybe he planned on going to that." You explain. "But broken fence... there's so many of those around here I couldn't tell you. Although, four am is an incredibly odd time to be meeting anyone."

"That's three hours before our train leaves."

"Oh." You shake your head slightly. "That's very weird."

"I know." Coryo sighs. "He won't tell me either, I've asked if he has any plans that night and he said no."

"Well... We should go." You offer. "Tell him that we're going to the meadow that night, and we'll just go after him. See who he's with."

Coryo raises his eyebrows at you. "I didn't take you for the nosy type."

"Well, I'm a big sister at heart and if it possibly involves Lennox I have to know." You argue. "It could be dangerous. He's always had a few friends I didn't love."

"Are you okay to go back there? I can go without you." He offers.

"I'll be fine." You insist. It's more so out of necessity, you have no choice but to be fine. You have to know- you have to make sure your brother and friend are safe.

"Are you sure about this?" Coryo asks, stopping you outside the entrance to the Hob. "If you want to go home I can take you, I just want you to feel safe."

"I know." You give him a small, reassuring smile as you squeeze his hand. "If I need to leave I'll tell you. I promise."

He nods, taking one last look at you to make sure you still seem okay before he pushes the door open and you both head in.

The building is buzzing- as it usually is when The Covey performs. You smile at the music, letting Coryo pull you close to the side wall as he scans the crowded room for his friend.

"Do you see him?" You ask, and he somehow hears you over the music and shakes his head.

You frown, looking around as well. No sign of Sejanus, no sign of Lennox. Lennox isn't even old enough to be here, but he wasn't at home when you left- and it's not exactly hard to sneak in.

"There," Coryo says, nodding in the direction of the opposite side of the room. You follow his eyes, and spot Sejanus talking to someone you recognize. "Who's he with?"

"Spruce." You explain. "His sister is scheduled to be executed tomorrow afternoon." You add, leaning closer so no one else will hear.

You watch as they head toward the back hall, the same one you ran down just a couple of weeks ago. "Should we go after them?" You ask when Coryo doesn't reply and he nods, watching them as he pulls you down the outside wall toward them.

You make it back to the hall without Lucy Gray spotting you, as far as you can tell. Standing outside the door, you hear shouting. You watch Coryo as he clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

"Wait out here." He tells you, dropping your hand.

"No- I, I should come." You shake your head and he grabs your cheeks, lifting your head to look into your eyes.

"I don't know what they're fighting about but it doesn't sound good. Wait out here." He's stern as he gently brushes his thumbs over your cheeks. "Listen to Lucy Gray, just watch the door. Okay, love?"

"Okay." You agree quietly, slightly nodding.

He kisses your forehead before letting you go, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open and disappearing behind it.

You chew your nails as you wait with your ear to the door, trying to decipher who is inside with them. It's hard to tell with all the shouting going on, but you hadn't heard Lennox.

"Y/N." You hear your name, quickly jumping back from the door and turning to face the voice. "What are you doin' here?"

You chew your cheek, trying to avoid Cole's gaze. "Just waitin' for Lucy Gray." You lie, looking down.

"Ah." He hums, nodding slightly as he steps closer to you. "Where's your purebred Capitol attack dog?"

"What are you doing here, Cole?" You ask, ignoring his question.

"We got leave passes for the weekend." He answers. "Hoff said something about 'boosting morale'."

"That's nice." You smile nervously. "Well, I don't want to keep you, so..."

"You aren't." He smirks, tilting his head as he looks down at you. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, you know that, right?"

"I know." You say softly.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Cole..." You sigh, looking down again. "We talked about this I just... We're too different. I'm sorry."

"Oh, because you have so much more in common with that prick- right?" He laughs sarcastically. "He's Capitol! He'll never know you like I do. Honestly, I'm offended that you'd choose him over me."

"I'm not choosing him over you." You frown. "I already knew we wouldn't work before I ever met him. This is very, very different. I'm sorry."

"You are? Oh, I'm glad to hear that." He nods and you eye him suspiciously. "Maybe then after he leaves, you'll give me another chance. He's taking the next train, tomorrow morning, right?"

"I can't do that, Cole." You shake your head.

"That's an awful shame." The evil smile on his face doesn't fade. "I'll have no choice but to report your father."

Your heart drops. "My Pa hasn't done anything."

He sucks in through his teeth. "Well, suspicion is enough to charge, and I don't know... I get a bit of an off feeling from him. It's actually my duty to report any suspicions we have, so honestly I've been protecting you, and I'd like to keep doing that, you know?"

You finally picked up on what he was saying, and immediately could taste the bitterness of fear on your tongue, a metallic tang that seemed to linger in the air.

"So? Do we have a date?"

"Sure." You mutter through gritted teeth.

"Sweet, thanks for finally coming to your senses, bug." Cole smiles, patting your shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon!" He calls back as he walks away.

You don't even care what's going on inside, you can't be alone in this dark hallway anymore.

You pull the door open and rush in, but you're quickly stopped by Coryo's arm as he takes a few steps back, pushing you behind him. "What- what's-"

"She can't be in here!" Spruce spits at Coryo as you look past him, gasping at the sight of several guns on the table and the one in his arms.

"Listen, she's not involved." Sejanus promises.

"Her brother is gonna help us, it's cool. She won't tell." You look at Billy Taupe when he speaks, eyes wide.

"No- this is crazy." Mayfair shakes her head. "She's not coming with us. We're not bringing her or Lucy Gray. I'm leaving."

"No, they aren't coming. I just said I'd ask. Now she knows, so she probably should." Billy Taupe replies and your eyes flick between the couple. You had no idea what was going on, where he wanted you to go, and what this had to do with Sejanus or your brother.

"No! My daddy will have you all strung up for this." She throws her hands up and starts to walk toward the back door. Your heart is pounding in your chest as Coryo reaches for one of the guns.

"Don't!" You cry out, forcing yourself in front of him just as he aims the gun at her. At you.

"Y/N, you gotta move right now." He says quickly, and you hear her footsteps stop behind you.

You can only look at his eyes as they flit between anger, instinct, and fear.

"Coryo." You say, voice cracking and it's only then that you feel the tears dampening your cheeks.

The barrel of the gun is under an inch from your chest, and you can see his hands shaking as he holds the heavy weapon in his hands. He won't shoot you- he won't.

The world around you seems to blur as your focus narrows on the overwhelming sense of fear gripping you tightly. Right now, if someone asked where you were, you wouldn't know. You just as easily could have been standing in the arena.

He doesn't dare move as he stares at you, eyes wide. He doesn't want to hurt you, but that's why he has to do this. He can't let whoever that girl was have you killed. Still, you stand in front of him. Shaking, but not moving. This was the girl he knew from the games who offered a rose to Coral who in the moments before was threatening her. The girl who so thoroughly hated the idea of bringing harm to others that her own mind blocked it out completely and replaced the story with something else. This was the girl who was willing to give up her life just to be able to give the other tributes an honourable burial that she knew they wouldn't otherwise receive.

The girl who saw him kill another boy and despite all of that, still had it in her heart to forgive him.

You don't even hear Mayfair laugh and begin to walk away again, you only hear the gunshot that follows. You jump, immediately looking down to assess the damage. Coryo wasn't pointing the gun at you anymore, he had dropped his arms in defeat- and you had mistaken the loud noise for an impact you were expecting.

He didn't shoot you.

"What did you do?" You turn as Billy Taupe screams, eyes widening as you see Mayfair bleeding out on the floor.

"Oh god- oh god..." You mumble, stepping back until you bump into Coryo. He drops the gun back onto the table, pulling you into his arms.

"Don't look, don't look..." He tells you, turning you and pressing your head to his chest so you can't see anymore even if you wanted to.

You can't even make out what Spruce and Billy Taupe are yelling at each other over the sound of your blood pumping through your veins. Until the second gunshot.

You must be sobbing now, clinging onto the front of Coryo's shirt so tight your knuckles are burning. "You're okay, it's okay." He tells you. You don't know what's going on- you don't want to.

Coryo stares between Spruce and the body of Billy Taupe now slumped down next to Mayfair. He needs to get you out of here, now, but he doesn't know how. This has to be handled first.

He's letting you go only to grab your cheeks and get you to look at him. "Go back outside, you have to go back outside, I will handle this."

You can't even speak- can't even move. You try and shake your head. You couldn't leave him, not right now. You feel like you'd die the moment he ceased touching you.

The door slides open again, followed by an angry voice you know too well. "What the fuck?" Cole must have been watching you. He must have heard.

"No..." You cry, shaking your head. If Cole saw this you were absolutely all screwed.

"What the fuck did you do?" Cole shouts again. "Nobody fucking move! You're all-"

Another gunshot. Silence.

"Oh no, no, no..." You try and look behind Coryo but he doesn't let you, holding your head firmly into his chest again.

"It's okay. Don't look." He says again, staring at Sejanus who looks like he's panicking just as much as you are now.

"Why'd you tell them where we were? Now you've gone and screwed us all over! I just shot a peacekeeper!"

"He didn't tell anyone." Coryo defends him. "We followed him, Cole followed us."

"Fuck." Spruce sighs, throwing the gun onto the pile of others still laid across the table. "We gotta bump this up. We have to get Lil now, go tell Lennox to get the stuff and hide it for us like we said."

"Get rid of the guns and pretend this never happened."Coryo hisses. "And leave the kid out of this. It's too late for whatever plan you had now- we don't know where he is."

You can't even hear a single thing going on anymore. You're actually sure you might faint.

When you go from shaking to completely still in Coryo's arms, he knows you have. "Shit..." He mumbles, trying to steady you as your knees give out. He quickly readjusts so he can lift you with an arm under your knees and the other under your back.

"I gotta get her out of here and you have to move quick. Get rid of the guns. Now." He instructs, and surprisingly, Spruce listens. He throws the weapons into a bag and steps over the two bodies by the door before leaving.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Sejanus cries, gripping onto his hair and breathing heavily. "No one was supposed to get hurt!"

"Sejanus, for once just shut up!" He grabs his attention from where his friend is staring at the dead couple, clearly losing his mind. Coryo doesn't have time for this- an unconscious girl in his arms and his friend looking like he's about to be in the same state in a matter of moments.

"It's all my fault..."

"All of this is your fault!" Coryo agrees, looking around at the mess of the room. "It's only gonna get worse if you don't pull yourself together."

"Oh, god..."

"If you breathe a word now, all three of us are finished. Just like in the arena. We came here to see her. If we go down, she goes with us." He holds you tighter to his chest as your hair falls over the curve of his arm, your head limp against his skin. "So now we have to go back to the house, gather all our shit, and act like nothing is wrong. We have to board the train tomorrow like nothing is wrong. Do you understand?"

"I- I don't know." Sejanus sniffs.

"Hey." Coryo says, taking a few steps closer. "Look at me. You have to pull it together. I know you wanted to go with them but now they aren't going. We've got to stick together. You won't get in trouble. I won't let anything happen to you, but you have to listen to me." It was obvious that it didn't matter that none of you pulled the trigger- being in the room was enough; especially when a peacekeeper had been murdered. If you were caught, you'd all be executed. "We're brothers, yeah? Brothers. Whatever you've done, I swear I will keep you safe."

"Brothers. Yeah." Sejanus mutters, still obviously in shock.

"Those guns were the only loose ends besides the four of us, so we're gonna be okay as long as we leave tomorrow." He breathes. "Okay? Not a word."

"O-Okay." Sejanus nods slightly, trying to keep his focus on the boy in front of him rather than their unconscious friend in his arms.

Coryo tried to give him a reassuring smile, but inside he was panicking too. They could escape it all on the train tomorrow, but now came the problem of what to do with you.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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ao3-shenanigans · 3 months

Note

I hope you don't mind me having a little rant here:

I don't want to get into "good ol' times" mindset, especially, since I'm not even fandom old (like, I'm only in my mid 20s), but I miss old fandom culture. Or rather: I miss how unhinged and unapologetic it was. All these funny disclaimers (like "nothing belongs to me, if [franchise] belonged to me, [ship] would be making out all the time"), authors arguing with characters, people squeeing in the comments, "don't like don't read" and "ship and let ship" being the default, general weirdness being the default – this all was so awesome. And the interactivity. Like, I have a feeling, that in old fandom interacting with each other, especially the creators, was much more common. And don't get me wrong, I am thankful for every single comment I get on my works, but I still can't shake the feeling, that commenting is not as popular as it used to be, especially if one isn't already an established writer/artist/etc. in the fandom.

Yeah, there are things, that got better with time – I absolutely love the current emphasis on tagging – but I still miss a lot of things.

I don't know, if anyone feels like that too. Maybe it's just nostalgia speaking, I dunno.

Anyway, thank you for listening to me. I hope everyone has a great day! 💜💜💜

Yes! I miss some of that too!

I consider myself pretty young in terms of fandom but I started reading on Fanfiction.net which is where a lot of “old fandom” content was posted; it was quite odd interacting mostly with inactive accounts like discovering the ruins of a once great kingdom/hj

There was a lot of “I don’t own this media: PLEASE DONT SUE ME!!!!!!” And definitely wrangling the characters into interacting with the authors notes, Oh my gosh- the citrus scale??? With no context that was quite the surprise!

I do miss that energy- it was a wild and lawless time but by Holy did you people party

#thanks for sharing #i definitely get it #there things from both eras I really liked #ao3 #fanfiction #archive of our own #fanfic #fandom #fanfic.net #ao3 shenanigans ask #fandom history #💜

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cinnamostar · 5 months

Text

02: home

part one.

pairing : minho x gn!reader

summary : “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

wc : 7.3k

cw : childhood friends, arguing, angst, sadness, mentions of bullying + racism/xenophobia, best friends to lovers, fluff, sappiness, its so doooomed

a/n : pls read part one before this! i was in so much pain as i wrote this, so im sorry in advance, my dear reader. please let me know what you think! likes and reblogs appreciated

tags: @im-on-a-hellavator , @httpswilloww @atinyniki (its not letting me tag so i hope this works ;w;)

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Maybe that was a little too harsh, Minho thought to himself as he remembered your glassy eyes and the guilt that painted your face a depressing blue, the bashful glowing smile of yours he adored nowhere to be found. Oh, how his heart soared to the heavens when he saw you back at the pond you both once called home years later, the same vibrance you carried as a child seemed to have never left you even after so many years. How he missed seeing you smile so timidly, yet lovingly, at the tadpoles who swam underneath the pond's surface, how he missed seeing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked as the wind bellowed through your locks, and how he missed you.

It didn’t matter how many times the earth had rotated around the sun, it didn’t matter how long it had been, his heart could never let you go.

The instant he saw someone standing at the pond, his body and soul knew it was you, there was no way he’d ever mistake that nostalgic, comforting presence of yours as anyone else’s. The way the soft rays of the sun highlighted your features nearly made his heart skip out his chest, as if he just saw an angel standing before him; the cherub he once knew as a child had grown up.

How he hoped you’d finally come back home to him, how he desperately wished for years to relive the sweetest moments of his childhood, how he wished you were there for each and every milestone in life, and how he wished you two could finally make up for lost time. And while his heart yearned for you, the abandonment he felt in his childhood festered inside him, as if he had taken a swig of poison that sought to destroy the love and adoration he had for you in a bitter, resentful, rage. He couldn’t help it, the pain and misery he felt growing up had never truly left and your presence reawakened those wounds he never learned to heal. His heart stretched painfully in this twisted game of tug-of-war, unsure on whether he should feel thankful for your return or relent to the enmity that had rotted within him for god knows how long.

Yet, it was so easy to submit to the indignation he was feeling as it overpowered any sense of gratefulness, choosing to ignore the miracle of you being back as his mouth soured over the taste of resentment.

Had his prayers finally been answered? Has he finally wished you back into his life? I’m an idiot, he cringed as he began to regret his behavior. Maybe his anger wasn’t justified, maybe he should’ve met you with more grace. After all, you weren’t wrong, you were just a kid who knew no better. It wasn’t fair to him, but neither was his treatment to you after the fact. Ah. The guilt you must’ve felt over the years could not have been easy to manage on top of the stress of living in an entirely foreign country, as your tearful eyes showed him how much you had been agonizing over this. For so long, he had convinced himself you had forgotten him entirely, no longer cared for him as he mourned over you as if you had died, yet the years of the youth you both shared came rushing in like a tsunami the minute you both made eye contact. The overwhelming emotions of nostalgia and regret was a feeling only you two could ever understand, and my, was it complicated to choose how to feel with thousands of nameless emotions competing with one another.

The love Minho had for you never left, almost as if it laid dormant for years as it hoped for the day you two would meet again, the familiar butterflies of his childhood crush blossoming once again at the sight of you. Somehow, everything and nothing about you changed, it was something Minho didn’t have words to explain or couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. You were the Y/N he knew and doted on as a child, but you had grown into an astonishingly beautiful adult version of yourself and he found himself falling in love the instant his soul recognized you.

For so many years, Minho had tried his best to erase any memory of you, but his heart couldn’t deny the love it had for you and no matter how hard he tried, it was always you. Through the trials and tribulations of life, you were his safe haven, the very thought of you bringing a sense of peace and tranquility no other could, and during the lowest points of his life, his body always instinctually took him to the same pond as a refuge. He coveted you and your presence, yet the pond was the closest he could get to you and the feelings he had longed for.

Just maybe Minho was being unfair to you, he thought. After all, you both were just kids.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Since your run in with Minho, you had been suffering with an overwhelming amount of guilt, carrying the weight of shame on your shoulders as you came face to face with him for the first time in years. Having to finally confront the pained and saddened expression he wore was something you could have never prepared for, and the very memory of it was enough to make you break down in tears.

You knew what you had done to Minho was extremely hurtful, and you couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, no matter how hard you try. But knowing and witnessing it were two completely different things, and after seeing Minho’s watery eyes, you weren’t sure if you could ever forgive yourself. He was right, though. Maybe you shouldn’t have come back, maybe coming back was only reopening old wounds you both didn’t need to be dealing with all because of your selfish need to reconnect with your culture.

Though, after spending most of your life overseas, you were starting to feel like you didn’t belong in your home country anymore. You had lost touch with cultural traditions, basic etiquette, and even struggled to speak your native tongue as well. You still spoke like the eight year old that had moved away long ago, and it was becoming increasingly embarrassing as you compared yourself to everyone around you. You stuck out like a sore thumb and for the first time in your life, you began to realize you didn’t fit in anywhere. Not here, not in the states. You were too much of your ethnicity to be considered a proper American, and you were too American to be considered a true citizen of your country, despite spending the first eight years of your life here. Coming back home didn’t reaffirm your identity, but only left you more confused and questioning who you even were.

Minho was right, this was a mistake.

You so desperately craved a sense of belonging, and you became certain you weren't finding it here anymore, but you had to make it through the rest of your trip at the very least. You were just going to try to continue business as usual though, hoping you would not run into Minho again and would simply forgo the pond entirely. It should be simple enough, you thought. No one needed to know about your accidental meeting with Minho and you were sure he’d avoid you like the plague. It should be fine.

Well, that quickly changed as soon as your mom told you Minho’s mother invited your family to dinner at their house. The color from your face immediately drained as a cold sweat formed all over your body, your mother seemingly ecstatic at the news, “Oh, it will be just like old times! And you can finally see Minho after so long, isn’t that great, sweetheart?” she beamed, your father also nodding alongside her.

You cleared your throat as you forced a fake smile, “Yeah, that does sound great, mom. When are we going over?”

“Tonight! So make sure to be ready to walk over by seven, okay?”

Tonight? Oh, god, no, that was far too soon when you had just barely recovered from seeing Minho yesterday, and now tonight? Breathe, Y/N. Just one night, then you’ll never see him again, you ressaured yourself, trying to find a way to make this news manageable. You honestly should have seen this coming, your mom was also best friends with Minho’s mom, but for some reason that detail had escaped you.

Just one evening, just one dinner, then it would be all over, right?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Dinner was going as well as it could have. Minho’s mother spent a great deal of effort preparing a feast for your family and she showered you with compliments as soon as you walked through the door, commenting how you had grown into such a lovely young adult.

Minho and you only exchanged an awkward hello, which didn’t raise any alarms in either of your parents as they somewhat expected this, especially considering how your friendship ended as children. Nonetheless, it did not stop the onslaught of questions each set of parents asked in attempts to catch up, nor did it stop them trying to force a conversation between you two.

“So, Y/N, how was university in the states? Did you like it there?” curiously inquired Minho’s father.

“Oh, it was great! Definitely got to meet some life long friends there and had lots of fun,” you politely responded, “I didn’t exactly live the typical all-american college experience, but it was still nice. Excited to start my new job once I get back though! I got a really good offer and the position I wanted.”

Minho’s mother gasped as she congratulated you, “That’s amazing! I remember your mother telling me how stressed you were about those interviews, but I’m glad you got it,” she then turned her head to Minho while giving him a slight nudge, “Minho also graduated, he got a job offer as well. Tell them about it, Minho.”

Minho awkwardly cleared his throat, “Uhm, yeah, I just got an offer with a bank here as an analyst, but I’m waiting to hear back from another company before negotiating.”

You nodded as he spoke, looking anywhere, but him as your parents also commended him, you weakly congratulating him as well. Wow, this felt painfully awkward, but somehow neither of your parents seemed to care too much about the tension between you two.

“How about a special someone, Y/N?” Minho’s dad asked, the question catching you by surprise. Your eyes landed on the boy who sat across from you, who looked just as surprised, but fully interested in your response.

“Ah, no, not right now… Kinda focused on myself for now,” you respond, a stiff smile on your face, feeling nervous under the sudden intensity of Minho’s gaze.

Your mother let out a chortle, finding your embarrassment endearing, “What about you, Minho? Any girlfriends?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows as everyone else joined in laughing.

“Minho does have a girlfriend! It’s such a shame she couldn’t make it tonight, she was a lovely girl,” his mom piped, “Reminded me a bit of you, Y/N, if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t know why, but something inside you sank, an indescribable wave of disappointment washed over you at the words girlfriend. Of course he had one, he’s, well, an attractive, smart, man. Of course, but why were you so bothered by it? You haven’t spoken to him in years, you virtually had no relationship with him and only had remnants of the past to hold onto, yet your stomach began to twist and turn inside you, almost as if you were jealous? Ah, no, this is weird, this isn’t right. Maybe the food just isn’t sitting with you well, maybe you caught a stomach bug that just so happened to show its symptoms just in this moment.

The boy coughed, “We, uh… We broke up, that’s why she isn’t coming.”

Everyone stood in silence, not expecting that kind of news over dinner, both sets of parents shooting him an apologetic look, but for some reason, you felt relieved to hear that. The pit that was forming in your stomach suddenly vanished, as if Minho’s words just cured you of your ailment.

“What, you never told us!” Minho’s mother exclaimed.

“It was a few weeks ago, it happens. I’m fine, really.”

Maybe that explains the tired look in Minho’s eyes when you first saw him yesterday, maybe that explains the somber look he carried that day, and perhaps he went to the pond for a moment of peace, just as you did, except your very presence ruined it. There returned the familiar hand of guilt that rested its heavy hand on your shoulders, never giving you the chance to take a deep breath.

Beside that, dinner did move on relatively well as everyone took turns to catch up or reminisce on the olden days, all while gossiping about who was up to what. As dinner came to a close, both sets of parents decided it was best for you two to be left with washing the dishes alone in the house, as they moved to the patio area to chat amongst themselves.

Minho and you silently stood next to each other as he washed the dishes, handing them to you for them to dry with a rag, much as you two did while growing up. Although you two were much older, there was a comforting air that hung around you two that allowed you to relax the tension your body had been carrying over the dinner, humming a quiet tune as you dried each plate.

“You still hum while doing the dishes?” Minho asked, a small amused smile taking over his features.

You froze in place, not expecting him to willingly speak to you, much less take the time to ask you a question. “I guess I still do,” you replied lightly, afraid that the mere sound of your voice would somehow upset him.

A quiet lull returned after your response, neither of you knowing what to do or even say around another as guilt nibbled away at each of you, but for your own different reasons.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry”

You both turned to each other, eyes widened in surprise as you both rushed mumbled apologies to each other at the same exact time. Neither of you knew what to do in this unexpected situation, awkwardness filling both your eyes as you both struggled to stammer out a response.

“I… I’m sorry for never telling you I was leaving, I should’ve known bet-”

“No, no, we were both kids. Neither of us knew better. I’m sorry for being so… rude. I don’t know what got into me. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered anxiously, continuing to dry the glass cup in your hand, “It’s a lot to handle all at once. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“It really isn’t okay. We were both hurting in our own ways, I think we both did the best we could at the time,” he smiled reassuringly at you, the same one he had flashed you the first day he dragged you out to the forest to find the pond, a smile you had come to miss.

“Oh, and sorry about… your ex? Break ups suck…”

“It’s fine, I actually am glad we broke up… she was, well… it wasn’t great for either of us,” he mumbled, not willing to divulge any further, “Break ups suck? Sounds like you’ve had your fair share.”

You laugh lightly, “Unfortunately. Mine weren’t as peaceful as yours. You sound a lot happier than I was.”

“Well, you’ve always been a crybaby. Guess not much has changed about you, huh?” he mused, a teasing smirk forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes as you snorted, playfully nudging him with your hip, “Shut up. You’re still as annoying as I remember too.”

“I bet you missed it.”

“I did. A lot. Moving sucked.”

He handed you the last of the dishes to dry, deep in thought as he leaned his back against the kitchen counter, “Was it hard?”

You sighed as you put the last dish away, turning to him as you swallowed thickly, “I think I cried nearly every day for two years straight,” your gaze was stuck looking down at the floor as you fiddled with your fingers, “It was really hard. I didn’t have friends for a long time. No one understood me when I tried speaking English, and I didn’t understand the other kids a lot of the time, but I always knew they were laughing at me.”

Minho’s heart ached hearing how your voice slightly quivered as you recalled the memory, he could tell it was your first time ever saying any of it out loud. There was an icy sadness surrounding you as you spoke, yet no tears were to be found. Maybe you were good at hiding them, or maybe you had grown too tired to cry for your younger self at this point, but it didn’t take away from the scars the loneliness had left on your heart. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been there for you.”

You shook your head, an exasperated laugh left you as a resigned smile took over your face, “It’s okay, it was years ago. I’ve learned to deal with it. Besides, I did end up making friends and I ended up learning how to speak English.”

Minho was amazed at your ability to force a cheerful expression while discussing something so traumatic, something he would have never expected you to be able to do. He couldn’t help but wonder what you had endured all these years on your own, wondering where the sensitive and delicate version of you he had once knew had gone, feeling angry that you had been hurt so much that your tenderness was forced to become a callous exterior.

The child he had once known was so fragile, he had to wear gloves when handling your porcelain heart, nervous his very own touch or breath could crack it if he wasn’t careful. Minho hated seeing you cry. He would defend you, fighting tooth and nail, like his life depended on it if anyone ever upset you, even going as far as angrily huffing and puffing at your parents if they ever raised their voice at you. And every time, he would comfort you right after in a gentle embrace until you calmed down, making sure to glare at anyone who tried to disturb your peace. How much did your little heart break over the years? Who was there to pick up the pieces and comfort you through those moments? Had you really dealt with it all by yourself? The thought alone made Minho’s heart writhe in despair, aching as he mourned this realization.

You reached out to grab Minho’s arm as you saw the downcast expression on his face, “Hey, it’s not your fault. I learned how to defend myself and I think I turned out pretty okay at the end of it,” you reassured before laughing, “Unless you think I’m lame now.”

Your laugh was enough to bring Minho out his incessant thoughts, a mischievous grin returning, “I never thought you were cool in the first place.”

“Minho!”

“Kidding, kidding. I’m just glad to have you back. I missed you lots.”

“I missed you too.”

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Over the past few days, you and Minho had become inseparable, spending nearly every minute of the day with one another, much like how you two did when you were children. For the first time in years, you finally felt that you belonged somewhere, no longer feeling out of place like you have since the day you moved away. It didn’t matter where you were, but as long as Minho was there, you felt like you were at home. He knew this too, he noticed the change from the first day he found you at the pond again to now. You were much more relaxed, as if all the worries in the world disappeared while you both were together, giggling over whatever stupid joke was made. You weren’t on edge as you were before, and the walls you had surrounded your heart with slowly crumbled away through his affections.

And even though over a decade has since passed since you two last spoke, it was as if time had paused since the moment you left, and only resumed from the day you both made up. Nothing has changed, except everything about the two of you changed. Your childhood friendship continued like it was nothing, playing like a song that had been paused, waiting to sing its tune, except you two were much older, more matured, and had experienced so much of life. Whatever you each went through shaped you into the adults you were today, yet the kids you each knew hid behind locked doors that only the two of you had accessed.

Yet, there was a more complicated matter that you had to address before it snowballed out of control. Your feelings. Love was never a word you and Minho shied away from, as you often told each other ‘I love you’ while growing up, it seemed natural during that time of childlike innocence. You knew you loved Minho, and you knew he loved you, but saying it as adults had an entirely implication and your feelings were indicating something much deeper than platonic love.

It was no secret that your childhood best friend had grown into a rather handsome man, and the childhood crush you once had on him was flourishing into something greater than just a crush. The smallest of gestures would send a frenzy of butterflies and warmth rushing throughout your veins, hoping to god Minho had not noticed just how much of an effect he was having on you.

If you two were walking through a crowded area, he’d grab your hand without hesitation as he led you through the swarms of people. If you had food stuck on the corner of your lips, he’d grab a napkin and wipe it off. If you saw a small trinket at the shopping mall you wanted, the very next day he’d come back with the item in hand, saying he bought it so you could remember to text or call him when you went back to the states. It was moments like those that felt so incredibly intimate to you, but part of you wasn’t sure if it could all be explained away by how comfortable you two were with one another.

And here you were again, sitting on the couch of Minho’s living room after he had begged you to watch a new scary movie with him, insisting this was to make up for the pre-teen years you both missed out on and that he would’ve forced you to watch one then. You tried to protest, saying that you guys weren’t kids anymore and there was no need for these ‘tests of bravery,’ yet you couldn’t resist the way he would pout and whine, begging you to do so for him just like he would as a child.

You were barely watching the movie, just peeking out from behind a blanket as Minho’s secure arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head laying on his chest as you cowered in fear over the pure suspense of the movie. Each time you’d flinch, you could feel a soft rumble come from Minho’s chest, doing his best to stifle a laugh and hide the fact that he was enjoying every moment of this.

“I fucking hate you,” you scowled, still recovering from the last jumpscare.

Minho giggled at your face, finding your attempt to look upset absolutely adorable, “No, you don’t,” reaching his other arm over you as he squeezed you into an affectionate embrace, “It’s not my fault you’re still a giant baby after all these years.”

You grumbled while doing your best to shove Minho off you, but there was no way you’d be able to overpower him. You’ve hugged Minho so many times throughout your life, but this time, it sent your heart racing so loud that you could hear it drumming in your own ears, silently praying that he couldn’t hear it too. Something about this hug felt different, especially when he kept you close in his arms, refusing to let you go as he snuggled into you. This trip was going to be the death of you.

Without fail, every time you jolted in your seat, Minho was quick to chuckle at each of your reactions and tighten his grip on you gently, not skipping a beat to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead while whispering to you that it was just a movie. If you were two kids, this would be something normal and innocent, but right now, it left you feeling like a flustered mess who was melting under the heat of his affection.

You were slowly feeling yourself short-circuit, your body starting to sweat from the heat of embarrassment that was washing over you. Surely, Minho would feel the amount of warmth emanating from you at this point, yet he seemed completely unbothered as his eyes were trained on the movie ahead of you. You were relieved that he seemed aloof to the distress you were experiencing, but also mildly insecure that he seemed so… relaxed despite the proximity you two shared. Maybe he had only seen this under the same childhood innocence and nothing more, maybe it was only you making a big fuss over this.

It was becoming too much for you to bear as you started to shift uncomfortably, slowly getting up while excusing yourself to the bathroom. Minho’s eyebrows furrowed with concern, “Are you okay?”

You nodded your head hastily as you made your way to the bathroom, “Uhm, yeah! Just not feeling well suddenly, not sure why. Just gonna splash some water on my face.”

He didn’t seem too convinced, he could sense there was something more to it, but decided to let it go. You raced to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you to finally catch a breath, shaking your hands as if you were trying to remove all the nervous energy out of you. Your face was hot to the touch, thankful for the cold water from the faucet as you splashed it onto your warm cheeks. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough for Minho to come knocking at the door, “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You swung the door instantly, startling Minho as he backed up from the door, his eyebrows raised at your change in behavior, “What’s wrong? Don’t lie to me, I can tell something’s up.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed as he looked into yours, trying to search your eyes for an answer as you bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes entirely avoiding him, “It’s nothing, I’ll be fine-”

“Y/N.”

“I promise, I’m probably just overreacting, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

He stared down at you with his arms crossed, pursuing his lips as he watched the corners of your lips twitch, a telltale sign that you were lying, “Am I making you uncomfortable? Was the movie too much for you? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head panickedly, “No, no, it’s nothing like that, I swear! Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

You gulped, you knew there was no way out of this. Minho knew you better than anyone else, he knew you weren’t randomly feeling ill over nothing, he knew it had nothing to do with the movie.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Minho. It’s okay.”

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with me?”

The stubbornness you found charming as a child was definitely an absolute pain in the ass as the adult man in front of you analyzed every microscopic detail you, trying his best to get to the bottom of what had you acting strangely. You couldn’t lie to him, no, he would know as soon as you opened your mouth it was a lie. Sure, you could tell him he was the cause of your unsettledness, but would that even go well? There were too many factors to consider, too much to think about and your long pause told Minho everything he needed to know.

He sighed, taking a step back as he started to make his way back to the living room, “It’s fine, I can tell. If this is too much, we can stop here. We can talk about it tomorrow morning.”

“N-no!”

The words flew out your mouth before you had the chance to even think. Oh, you were mentally cursing at yourself as Minho turned to you again, his face furrowed with confusion, “No?”

“I just… I mean, it’s just a lot, but it isn’t at the same time?” you sounded so unsure as you said it, which only caused Minho to tilt his head to the side as he tried to understand you.

“It’s too much, but it isn’t…” he mumbled to himself, his mind straining to figure out the riddles you were speaking, “I know I said we don’t have to talk about it, but you do realize you’re not making any sense, right?”

You forced a tight-lipped smile, inhaling sharply, “Uhm, yeah… It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“You’re lying. You know exactly what you mean, you just don’t want to tell me.”

You winced at his bluntness, not really surprised at how direct he was being with you, “Do you not trust me anymore?”

His eyes glossed over with insecurity and worry as he asked that question, your heart dropping immediately, wanting nothing more than shoo those feelings away, “What? Of course I still trust you.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s complicated?”

“But why?”

“Why can’t you just drop it?” you raised your voice in frustration at his insistence, not willing to budge as he tried to pry his way into your mind.

“Well,” he hesitated, “The last time you hid something from me, you left. So forgive me for being a little scared.”

Your mouth dropped open at Minho’s statement, not expecting him to be so vulnerable with you out of nowhere, “I… Minho, I’m sorry,” you whispered tearfully, your stomach flipping onto itself as it digested the grief Minho had just voiced. You stepped towards him, reaching for his hands as you clasped them between yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t really know if I should be saying this.”

“Trust me this time, please? I don’t want to be left in the dark again,” he pleaded, his mind reminding him of the day he waited for you as the amber sunset turned into the night sky.

Your hands started to tremble in his, your nerves taking over as you unexpectedly found yourself about to confess your feelings to a man who lived thousands miles from you, a man you had only started talking to a few days ago, a man who had somehow known you your entire life, despite missing so many crucial years together. Your breath hitched as the butterflies in your stomach got caught in your throat, your nerves signaling off as the electrifying feeling of adrenaline took over, “I, uh… I am really happy we’ve made up, I’m really happy to have rekindled our friendship with one another, and I’ve loved all the time we have spent with each other over the last few days, but…”

Trepidation ran through you, biting your lip for a brief moment as you hesitated to continue your sentence, “Maybe I’ve come to love it a little too much?” At this point, you were looking for every way possible to avoid saying your actual feelings, hoping Minho would connect the dots for you, but his face told you he had no idea what you meant. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me I’m still not making sense, I can see it in your face,” you sighed. He nodded, urging you to continue with patient eyes.

“I… like you?”

It was quiet, so quiet you swore both Minho and you could hear your heart thumping, your hands clamming up as you held his, terrified eyes examining his face for his reactions. He stilled for a moment, as if he was processing your words before breaking out into a grin, a hearty laugh escaping him.

“I already knew that.”

You froze in place, disbelief painting your face as you stared at him incredulously, “What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re also still clueless after all these years,” yet he took your silence as confirmation, shaking his head as he giggled, “Do you really think I was being overly affectionate with you for no reason?”

Your mouth dried up from nerves, stuttering over your reply, “I… Yes? I thought you were just… I don’t know, I thought you were just treating me the same way you did as when we were kids.”

“And do you know why I treated you like that growing up?” he questioned with a candied smile.

You blinked slowly, your head shaking cautiously as you tried to decipher his words, “Because… I don’t know? We were best friends.”

“Sure, that was part of it, but it was more like me having a giant crush on you.”

“...”

“... That means I still like you, if that wasn’t clear enough for you.”

There was no way this was real, this all had to be a dream, you just couldn’t believe your ears. Your childhood crush, the man that caused our feelings to go absolutely haywired in a matter of a few days, felt the same exact way for you this whole time and you just somehow missed it? No, no, this was certainly a dream, why on earth would he be into someone like you, someone who-

“Y/N,” he removed his hands from yours, resting them on top of your shoulders as he leaned down to come face to face with you, effectively waking you up from your reverie, “Let’s make up for lost time,” he whispered, his breath fanning on your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You stared back with doe eyes, all your vocabulary escaping you as you gulped, nodding your head perhaps a little too excitedly. Minho’s smile only widened at your reaction, his rough hands traveling to cup your face with half-lidded eyes, his head leaning forward as his chapped lips closed the gap. His lips melded against yours, your hands grasping at his t-shirt as you felt your knees buckle under him, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. You felt yourself weaken under his touch, becoming prisoner to his affection as the world around you quieted, much like the moment of silence that existed between the end of a performance and explosive applause of the audience. Everything stalled, as if the expanse of the universe took a pause and the supernovas’ violent bursts slowed to witness feverish kiss between you two. You were becoming lightheaded, pulling away from the dizzying kiss as your chests heaved in an attempt to catch your breath. Minho’s cheeks and ears burned a bright scarlet, a sweet smile grazing his features as his eyes brimmed with love and affection, softly whispering:

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Once again, the familiar, low, hum of mosquitos filled your ears as Minho’s firm hand led you down the same dirt trail you’ve traveled down hundreds of times, leaves brushing against the skin of your arms as you cautiously followed his grasp. Today, Minho told you he had one last surprise for you before you traveled back home, blindfolding you at the entrance of the forest as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, temporarily distracting you from the fact that this was your last day here before returning to the states, returning to your mundane life and leaving this mind numbing summer romance behind.

He slowed down his pace, signaling to you that you had arrived to your destination, his hands slipping out of yours as you felt his presence behind you, gently removing the blindfold as he softly whispered, “we’re here.”

As soon as the blindfold was off, your eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the change of lighting, scanning the scene that stood ahead of them as Minho made his way into your vision, a saccharine smile beaming at you, “Do you like it?”

Like was an understatement as a grin broke out onto your face, your heart filling with an overwhelming amount of adoration as you took in the surprise Minho spent so long preparing for earlier this morning. There, beside the pond, laid a small plaid blanket with a picnic basket centered atop of it, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bottle of wine propped up against the basket. You gasped with delight as your heart softened, “Oh, Minho, I love it.”

His shoulders relaxed at your words, no longer feeling nervous as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the blanket, sitting down next to you as he gingerly laid out the food he prepared in front you. “I made you some of your favorites,” he added, gently opening the bottle of wine and pouring you a glass, “I hope its as good as it looks,” he laughed anxiously, handling you a small bento box with the a serving cutely prepared, the vegetables cut out into small hearts decorating the rice. You took a bite of the food as soon as you had the chance, a small moan escaping you due to how delicious it was, your eyes widening in surprise, not expecting it to be so flavorful, “Minho, this is so good, you made this?”

He proudly nodded, pride bubbling up within him as you complimented the meal he made for you, one where he spent an agonizing amount of time to make because it just had to be perfect for you, especially today of all days, a day he wanted to send you off with the happiest memories.

You both continued to enjoy the date Minho had put so much effort in, occasionally teasing one another or chuckling at whatever lame joke the other made, both of you trying to avoid the looming topic at hand, the inevitable ending of this summer love story that was doomed to last for only a few weeks.

“So…” Minho anxiously drawled, “You’re leaving tomorrow…”

You smiled weakly as you cleared your throat, “That I am.”

He pursed his lips, struggling to ask the question you both knew you needed to address, “So… what does it mean for us?”

A heavy sigh escaped you as the tension in the air thickened, both of you intently staring at one another, trying to decode what the other was thinking before speaking, “What do you want it to mean?”

“I asked you first,” he responded a little too fast for your liking, not willing to voice his thoughts without hearing yours first.

“Well, uhm…” you paused, debating with your mind and heart as you decided your next words, “I am going back to the states, back to my friends, back to my job, back to my life.”

“Right,” he mumbled with a crestfallen expression, “Your life is there, not here.”

“It is.”

“What about me?” he whispered in a quivered voice.

“Well, your life is here, my life is not here. I don’t really…” you took a deep breath, tears starting to prick your eyes, “I don’t know how we would work.”

He nodded tearfully, knowing he couldn’t deny the difficulty of managing a long distance relationship, especially one like this, “What if I moved with you? What if you moved back?”

You shook your head, your heart breaking at Minho’s attempts to find a solution, “Minho, you don’t even speak English, you wouldn’t be able to find a job there and use your degree-”

“I can learn! I promise, I’ll start studying-”

“Minho.”

He stopped mid-sentence, his stubbornness refusing to let him accept the reality you two had found yourselves in, “Minho, you already have a job offer here, your friends and family are here. You wouldn’t be happy in the states, it’s so hard living there as a foreigner.”

“I’d be happy anywhere as long as I’m with you,” he begged, praying you’d at least try to see the glimmer of hope he was trying to conjure up, “I don’t care where, as long as I’m with you, I’d be happy.”

You bit your lip as you tried to suppress a sob, “You know that’s not true, you know your happiness can’t be dependent on me alone.”

“You don’t want to come back here?”

“I… can’t, Minho. My life isn’t here anymore, it hasn’t been in years.”

Crystal tears fell from Minho’s eyes, his eyes no longer being able to meet yours as the your words crushed his soul, the love he felt for you expelling into his tears as he began to mourn your loss once more, sobbing much like he did all those years ago. Through hiccups, he blubbered “Please, Y/N. Please don’t leave me again.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you sniffled, no longer being able to watch the man you love completely fall apart in front of you, cursing yourself for your cruel words that stabbed over and over again in his bleeding heart. “I’m so sorry, Minho. I don’t want this either, but what choice do we have? You and I both know our lives would never cross paths, we would never be able to come together.”

“We can try-”

“For what? To only cry years later to have this same exact conversation again?” you snapped, your frustrated tears and guilty conscience no longer being able to handle his pleading, it only wounding you more. You’ve already spent the past few weeks trying to scour for a possibility, a fragment of hope that showed you a timeline in which you two would be happy together, but it simply didn’t exist in this life, no matter how many times you flipped and turned the story. This wasn’t a movie, this wasn’t some romance novel where love would triumph it all, this was the bitter and harsh realities of life, and you hated it with all your heart.

You let out a despondent sigh as you lamented over the situation, your hands gingerly reaching out for Minho’s chin, forcing his teary-eyed face to look at yours, “Minho, I’m sorry, baby.”

He sniffled, his nose reddening as hot drops cascaded down his cheeks, “I’m sorry too.”

“I love you with everything in me, Minho, and I always will no matter where life takes us,” you murmured heartbrokenly, “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

His hands reached out to hold yours, removing them from his face as he grasped them tightly, as if he was fearing you’d fade away if he loosened his grip, “I just wish we worked in this one,” he trembled.

“Me too, but…” you heaved, “Maybe in the next one, right? You’ll find me again?”

He laughed melancholily, “Always. I’d chase you to the very end of the universe if I had to.”

“Kiss me one more time? So I don’t forget?”

He smiled with anguished eyes, not hesitating to tilt his head as his lips captured yours once more, in one last, passionate kiss with all the devotion in the world, leaving the taste of your bittersweet love, one where only the two of you would know and understand.

You were leaving him again, but at least he got to say goodbye this time.

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 11 months

Note

Here's something that's been cooking in my head for a while. So there's a lot of fics where Marc and the reader will have a argument and then Marc will sort of shut out and just leave Steven and Jake to be out as a means to avoid reader, and some have it that while that's happening Steven and Jake then just spoil reader with affection and stuff and then there's some point where Marc just comes out and they talk it out. But hear me out on this one and even feel free to run and do your own things with it-

So let's say that that's a common scenario that happens and that Marc and reader are arguing about something and at some point things boil over a little and they do a whole "Fine! "Fine!" sort of thing. Reader walks away to cool off and maybe go back to the issue later when both of them are more calm but then Marc goes "I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!".

And now there's an even bigger problem because now Marc is bringing Steven and Jake into this and that pisses them off and there's a whole argument between them because Jake and Steven are saying that they wouldn't have to if Marc would just man up and not turn every issue brought up into an argument. And Marc is saying that it wouldn't be such a big deal if they just let him sulk and solve it himself without them swooping in and overhearing/seeing them basically fawning over reader. And reader is even more upset because it's somewhat true but because you're still made they want to prove him wrong.

You can continue from here or just leave it. Just thought you'd like to hear it at least

Thank you so much for this ask! It has been fermenting in my mind for days now. I hope I've done it justice ❤️

Spoiled Rotten

Marc Spector X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: arguements (subject matter is not specified), hurt and comfort (heavy on the comfort), typos, rail road sentences Please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1496

_______________________________________

“No that’s not what I said, you’re not listen-”

“You’re just repeating what you said over and ov-”

“I wouldn’t have to repeat it if you would just li-”

“It’s not even relevant to this, you’re changing the sub-”

“I’m changing the subject? What do you think you’re doi-”

“Stop talking over me!”

You both glare at each other, rage boiling over like an overfilled pan.

Your breathing hard, your lips forced together, just waiting for him to say something so you can both go at each other again.

You could strangle him, the way he sneered a little as he spoke, that little mocking tone he used specifically for you, the fact that he would never, ever, ever back down.

Your breathing calmed a little as he stayed quiet, good. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, a few rouge curls had escaped his carefully slicked back hair, breaking his illusion of being oh-so perfect.

Oh, I’m Marc Spector and I never do anything wrong.

You loved him, of course you did, and if anyone ever laid a finger on him you’d gouge their eyes out, but good god if that man didn’t know how to get perfectly under your skin.

He stayed quiet, scowling at you.

With a deep breath you looked away from him and walked into the kitchen. There was no reason to stay in his presence if he was going to be like this, trying to bait you into talking first like a child. (As if you hadn’t been trying to do the exact same thing to him.)

You thought about making a comment, saying something like ‘oh, the silent treatment, Marc? Real original.’ But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And you knew how childish it would sound.

You stopped in front of the kitchen counter and sighed. Cliché as it was, you couldn’t remember what you had first started arguing about. Or why it even mattered.

Maybe if you just took a few minutes to cool off and-

Marc’s distinct footsteps sounded as he came into the kitchen. “So, I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!" His voice was somewhere between normal and shouting, raising in volume even more at the end.

He had been trying, and promptly failed, to sound collected.

You turned, anger rising in your chest and throat, “what?”

“It’s always the same-”

“It is not always the same-”

“We have an argument, you go off and sulk and then,”

“I sulk?” You gestured to yourself, “I’m the one that goes off and sulks?”

“And, then, Steven or Jake front and it’s all ‘oh what has that horrible Marc done to you now.’” His eyes flicked to the side the second the words left his mouth, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching hard.

You recognised the movement instantly. Steven or Jake, or possibly both, were saying something.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “That’s not what happens.”

He glances back to you, the smallest twitch is his forehead telling you that Steven and Jake must still be talking. “Liar.”

You clamp your teeth shut, trying to stop yourself from saying something you know you’ll regret.

He was right though, and you hated it. Why did this insufferable man always have to be right?

You and Marc argued the most.

Jake didn’t shout, he didn’t like that kind of confrontation. He would go quiet and listen to you when you were angry. For anyone else his silence would have made it worse, but there was something about his expression. How he just folded back, bleeding emotion out of himself until he seemed monochrome against your rage. It never failed to refuse you. You’d both end up talking calmly about your disagreements.

Steven was the king of sarcasm, and passive aggression when he wanted to be. But when an argument with you was getting too far he would just call a timeout and let you both go your separate ways to calm down.

On the whole, very rarely did any of you argue, and when you did it was usually about something silly.

And as you’d been together longer, disagreements with Jake and Steven had lessened to almost nonexistence. While arguments with Marc had stayed the same.

It always followed a similar pattern: you and Marc would shout at each other and then Jake or Steven or both would come and make it better with hugs and kisses and soft words.

“Well it’s not going to happen this time.” Marc snarled.

You looked back at him, realising you had been lost in your thoughts.

“You're stuck with horrible me.”

He was goading you, trying to get you to shout at him again. Needing you to yell, to express your anger. He could deal with that, could fight against it.

You stayed quiet.

“Gonna give me the silent treatment? Because I’m not good enough for you? That’s real original.”

You almost laughed then, but just managed to stop yourself. There was no way that could help in this situation. Your shoulders slumped slightly. The problem was, you were both too similar.

“Sit down.” You spoke softly, and gestured to the kitchen table before walking over to the coffee machine. Marc was the only one who really used it for the fancy milky coffees he still pretended he didn’t adore.

“What?” He snapped, watching you move. He took a step towards you, his hands flexing in irritation as he saw you switch the coffee machine on.

You turned fully to look at him, “sit down,” your voice sounded calm and kind, even though you were still fighting with your own exasperation inside. “Or stand, whatever you want.”

You expected him to snap back with another dig. But to your surprise he swallowed, a small bob of his throat, and sat down on the chair closest to you.

He didn’t take his eyes off you while you made a coffee, the crease in his forehead deepening as he assumed you were going to drink it right in front of him.

Instead you heard the little breath he exhaled when you placed the cup on the table directly to his right.

Marc stared at it for a second, dumbfounded. He was so caught up in staring at the coffee that he didn’t hear you step back and open the cupboard, only realising that time had passed when you set a small plate with choco leibniz milk biscuits in front of him.

“Those are Jake’s.” He whispered.

“I bought them for everyone.” You leave out, ‘except Steven’ as that was a given due to the milk.

The biscuits were, however, a favourite of Jakes. And he did have a tendency to eat them all before anyone else got a chance.

Marc pressed his lips together into a tight line.

You didn’t want for him to say anything else as you walked into the living room and turned on the television. You spend a few minutes searching through the listings until you found something that matched your criteria. Marc had a soft spot for westerns.

You clicked on The Searchers and pressed play before grabbing the heavy, fluffy blanket out of the airing cupboard and laying it out on the settee.

When you came back into the kitchen Marc was chewing on a biscuit. He looked up at you as you entered and for a moment seemed much younger than his years.

“Come on,” you spoke softly, lifting the plate and cup from the table.

Marc didn’t question you and followed you into the living room one step behind.

You gestured to the settee after you put the biscuits and coffee on the table, raising the blanket for Marc to sit. He did, slowly, as if he was waiting for something awful to jump out at him.

You sat next to him, pulling the blanket over you both. You left a ‘sensible’ space between you. Not wanting to be too far or too close, and upsetting him with the extreme.

He stared at you, not even glancing at the television. “What are you doing?” He whispered. His expression was nervous, pained, and it chased away the residual anger in your chest.

“Spoiling you rotten.” You said quietly, The Searchers opening music nearly drowning your words out.

Slowly, you lifted your arm to the back of the settee, leaving an open invitation for physical touch.

To your surprise he moved instantly, burying himself into your side and laying his head against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight.

You smiled and kissed the top of his head as you hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your chest, his breath hot against your skin.

“Me too.” You kissed his head again as you both relaxed into each other's embrace and settled down to watch the film.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#marc spector #moon knight #moon knight mcu #marc spector x reader #x reader #marc spector x you #x you #marc spector x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #marc spector x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 4 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

“Have you completely lost your mind? You can’t be serious!”

Shadowheart paces in front of you; a brooding scowl darkens the delicate features of her face. This is the third argument with her in as many days about you moving back in with Astarion and the obtuse notion that maybe you could help him regain some semblance of his old self.

Gale was due to return home soon, and you’re not looking forward to repeating this argument with him.

“I need to do this, Shadowheart.”

“You most certainly do not! You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

“It’s my fault he’s like this. I let him down in that ritual chamber.”

I should have tried harder to talk him out of it.

“He let you down,” she sneers, “do not allow him to make you think otherwise. Gods, I requested you stay out of trouble, not go barrelling headfirst towards it!”

“Shadowheart,” you gently grasp her arms to halt her ferocious stomping, “look at me.”

She inhales sharply at your touch, and you recognize that look from when Astarion used to touch you before you were this walking corpse.

You drop your grip, “Sorry. I forget how cold I am now.��

Shadowheart grabs your hands, concern furrows her brows and creases her forehead, “It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I know, but I must try. If not for him, then for myself. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why would you agree to such a thing in the first place?”

You sigh, “I think you know why.”

“You’re still in love with him.”

There’s pity in her eyes.

“I’m not sure I will ever not be in love with him.”

Shadowheart scoffs at you, but her voice loses its serrated edge, “Do you think he is still capable of loving you?”

No.

Yes?

No. I cannot allow myself the luxury of that fantasy.

“No… I don’t know, but that’s not what this is about. Astarion would have done the same for me once upon a time.”

“There’s no talking you out of this suicide mission, is there?”

You give her a solemn look and shrug your shoulders. There was nothing anyone could say to put an end to this madness. Your decision had been made that night in the Crimson Palace when you had watched him battle with himself as you clung to him.

“What if this is another carefully orchestrated maneuver to regain control over you?”

You shrug, “Then I am a foolish woman.”

“I would argue that you’ve far surpassed simple foolishness. Good Gods.”

“He doesn’t need to plan such an elaborate ruse if what he wants is simply control. I’m his spawn. He has the ability to control me completely at his whim.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow skeptically, “Is that what this is? Has he compelled you to do this?”

Has he?

“No. He asked for my help, and I gave it freely.”

Did I?

She huffs, her eyes upcast in exasperation, “I will never understand your deluded loyalty to him. Hells, Gale is going to be furious."

Loyalty or love?

“One angry friend at a time, okay?”

She chuckles with an exasperated sigh, “Less angry, more worried.”

“Your style of worry looks a lot like anger.”

She scowls at you, but one side of her mouth is tugged up in a wry half-smile, “I’ve been told that before.”

Shadowheart takes a deep breath and sits down. Her heartbeat starts to slow, and you nearly want to praise the Gods on your knees for it. That thrumming in her chest clamoured in your ears and made your mouth salivate obscenely. It took every ounce of your control to be in such proximity to her without lunging for her neck.

Astarion has been keeping you fed while attempting to teach you how to hunt for yourself, which is the only reason you can bear to be this close to Shadowheart in the first place. Your lessons are not going well, although he seems to find the spectacle of your ungracefulness extremely amusing.

My, my, how the tables have turned.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly returning to that dreadful palace.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I’m not.”

Shadowheart leers at you suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“Not living in the palace was part of my… terms. Astarion purchased another residence.”

Her eyes go wide with surprise, “He agreed to this?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“But you will be staying close by, I hope? When something inevitably goes awry, you can return any time.”

“We will be in the upper city, I believe.”

“The upper city?” Shadowheart giggles, “How very posh.”

“Not my first choice, but would you have expected any different?”

She laughs, “No, I suppose not. He always gravitated towards luxury, like an insect to a flame. When is this happening?”

“Soon. I was hoping Gale might be home before I left so I could tell him myself.”

She winces, “It might be best if I do it.”

“I don’t wish to put that on you. I’ll return to tell him.”

“Perhaps, don’t bring Astarion when you do. Gale may be a gentle soul, but his feelings for you might lead him to do something rather rash.”

His feelings for me... I had hoped those were long put to rest. It seems she knows something I don’t.

You sigh loudly, “I know.”

Your fingers shake as you pack what little things belongings you have. Fear coils tepid and stewing in your chest. Shadowheart is right. Astarion is dangerous. There is no telling what he’s capable of or what he might do to you when you inevitably make him angry.

Replaying your recent interactions with Astarion in your head, you evaluate what seems to provoke him. Every time you’ve disobeyed or challenged him, in some way, shape or form, he loses himself. This realization scares you more than not knowing and opens up many other questions. You know what happens when you make him angry, but what happens when someone else does? His new lover, his “business” partners, whoever and whatever they may be, or anyone else for that matter?

I will undoubtedly upset him. I will not be intimated into being his subordinate, not again.

You’ve landed yourself in a precarious situation, and your life, if you can call it that, hangs in the balance, but you’re not unaccustomed to fighting for your life.

I may have finally thrust myself into a battle I cannot win.

Astarion comes to retrieve you in the early morning to escort you to the place you and he will once again be sharing.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s very… large.”

He chuckles, “Anything would look large to you after living in a bedroom for over a year.”

The manor is bright and airy. Heavy curtains are hung on all the windows but are pulled back to allow the sunlight to flood in. The shining radiance of the daylight you’re not used to hurts your eyes and causes your head to pound. You still fear the sun. Standing in it makes your stomach churn, and your muscles quiver.

This will take some adjusting to.

Nervously, you walk around the ground floor to familiarize yourself with your new lodgings while Astarion trails behind you.

Entering the large kitchen makes you wonder. In the time you had lived with him before, he would do the hunting for you as he did now and then drop you back off at your room and disappear. He had kept you corralled where he wanted you like an animal, and you had never witnessed him eat anything, blood or food.

I will not let myself be controlled like that again - no matter the consequences.

“Do you eat food now?”

“I can dine on both as I see fit, but I won’t if it bothers you.”

I miss food.

“It doesn’t,” you wave at him dismissively, “You can eat or drink whatever you please.”

Astarion gives you a sultry gaze, “Whatever I please?”

You ignore his provocative tone and climb the wide staircase. You peek into a cozy library. It seems Astarion has moved his rather impressive book collection already. The filled shelving reaches up to the high ceiling. The room has only one small window, which is covered to keep the sun’s bleaching rays from deteriorating the texts.

You continue down the long hall, which has multiple bedrooms off of it. You look into all of them curiously.

“Which room is mine?”

“Whichever one you want. There are several; take your pick.”

With all your charisma, you plaster an angelic smile on your face, “I want the biggest one.”

“I… uh-”

He’s still adorable when he’s flustered.

“Relax, Astarion,” you smile at him wryly, “I’m well aware that’s your room.”

“I could be convinced to call it our room.”

What? Nothing has been ours since he ascended unless he was saying candied falsehoods.

“That’s not what this is, is it?”

His eyebrow cocks, “What do you mean?”

“Trying to get me back into your bed?”

“To what end, my dear?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Power. Control. Possession. Pleasure. Take your pick.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

You scold yourself inwardly while running your fingers through your hair. You were still angry with him, of course, but you were letting it get the better of you.

“Sorry. I’m still-”

“Apology accepted,” he halts you with a resigned sigh, “I am angry at myself most days.”

Who is this person?

“I have business I must attend to in the city today.”

Your eyebrow cocks, “Business?”

“Yes.”

“With that terrible woman?”

He chuckles, “No, not today.”

“Something is off with her, Astarion. Be careful.”

“Oh, pet. Your jealousy is utterly adorable, but she’s harmless.”

You pivot swiftly, scowling, and poke your finger into his chest hard, “You will not call me “pet” anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes, I understand,” he looks around anxiously, “it never bothered you before.”

“You mean when you were a spawn?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t own me then. Moreover, you didn’t want to. It became a slight as soon as you thought of me as nothing more than another pretty possession.”

His knows knit together, “I do not wish to own you.”

“You have held it over me on multiple occasions.”

Astarion’s red eyes shift around as if searching his memories, “I have, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Apologies,” he bows shallowly, “I’ll work on it.”

I am sure you will.

“You didn’t bring many things.”

“I don’t have many things anymore. I left it all behind when I left…”

Your words trail off, but Astarion finishes your sentence for you.

“Me.”

You nod, “Yes.”

“I’ll have your belongings brought from the palace.”

What?

Your eyebrows shoot up, “You still have my things?”

There’s no way he kept them all this time.

“Of course, darling. One doesn’t simply throw away perfectly good magical items. It would be a ghastly waste.”

“I figured you would sell it all.”

“I admit, I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m… not sure,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I just never got around to it, I suppose.”

Too busy bedding the trollop.

Ugh.

“How far is your business in the city?”

“Not far,” his brows knit together, “Why?”

You point to the windows, “The sun.”

“Right, of course. We will have to figure out where the limit is.”

“Astarion?”

I need to know.

“Hm?”

“Do you control it?”

“Control what, love?”

“The sun protection. When you sent me away, you eluded that you have the power to grant me that benefit or not. I need to know if this is another thing you can control me with.”

Astarion takes your hand in his, a sincere expression on his face, “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“You might if you get angry enough with me, which you will. It’s a certainty. Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

This does not bode well for me.

Pulling away from him, you step back from the sunlight spilling through the nearby window. You shiver noticeably as you try to swallow the harsh truth that you might very well end up as a pile of ash on these floors one of these days.

Astarion squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Astarion?”

“I just am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs, “It’s the only answer I have for you right now.”

You point at the room furthest from his, “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled then. I will inform you before I depart.”

The room is large, and the heavy curtains are already drawn, suffusing it in darkness. It’s furnished with a generously sized bed, a few wardrobes and several little tables with oil lamps and candles. A pair of plush chairs with a damask patterned fabric sit off to the side of the bed in front of a small stone fireplace with ornately chiselled dragons, vines and fire inlaid with gold and silver.

A small room just off the main holds a wooden tub and glass washbasin. You note there are no mirrors in this room, but you had spotted several throughout the manor.

Not that I need a mirror, but I imagine he can’t get enough of staring at himself now.

Crawling onto the bed, you wrap your arms around your knees and take deep breaths of useless air to try and settle the disquietude sitting heavy in your belly. Being here with him, knowing he was just outside that door and could barge in at any moment, was terrifying. You’ve been desperately trying to hide your fear from him since he came to fetch you this morning.

Shadowheart had tried to talk you out of this again before he had arrived, and you find yourself wishing you weren’t so mulish. You had been adamant with her that this was what needed to be done, but your resolve was wavering, especially with the knowledge that he did have control over your protection from the sun.

Had I known, would I have agreed to this?

Probably. Idiot.

Am I trying to get myself killed?

Maybe.

Rolling over onto your side, your eyes brim with tears. You have not known joy for so long, and you wonder if you simply agreed to this in the hope that he might end that suffering, whether on purpose or by accident. You push yourself into your meditative state to allow yourself some peace.

A knock jolts you from your trance, and for a moment, you panic, looking around the unfamiliar room. You never thought you would miss the smell of Shadowheart. She carried the fragrance of safety but also food. You console yourself with the knowledge that at least your friends are safe from your insatiable hunger.

Slipping off the bed, you unlock and open the door. Astarion is attired grandiosely, and you wonder what business he’s going to, but it’s none of your concern.

He’s so handsome it’s nigh on unlawful.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. The curtains are all drawn. I am unlikely to return until late.”

“Okay,” you look past him and around the dimmed manor, “thank you for letting me know.”

“You will be okay here on your own?”

“I’m not going to go chasing nobles through the streets if that’s what you’re asking.”

He chuckles, “Not what I meant, darling, but thank you for the assurances. I’ll see your delicious self later.”

Once you hear Astarion leave, you take another lap around the manor mentally making note of where all the windows are and inventory of all the exits.

Just in case.

In the kitchen, your eyes fall on a shelf full of extravagant and exotic wines, liquors and spirits.

Can a vampire spawn get drunk?

Fuck it.

Let’s find out.

You pick up whatever bottle your hands land on first, uncork it and gulp it down. You cringe at the taste of bitter, vinegary ash on your tongue. The liquor sits precariously in your stomach, a balmy tingle arising and spreading through your limbs. It’s been forever since you’ve had a drink, quite literally a lifetime.

You could never indulge in such stupidity when living with Shadowheart and Gale. Anything that could alter your mind or dampen your resolve was not a risk you could take, but here, the only person you were endangering was yourself.

An acceptable risk.

Finishing the bottle, you pick up another and take it to the large dining area, sitting at the dark wood table with delicately carved legs. You’re desperate to feel the numbing caress of the spirits as it fuels you with the courage you’re currently missing, even if that courage is nothing but a hoax being played on your dimmed mind.

Time passes by in a blur as you sit there encased in your own self-loathing and morbidity, and old memories you wish you could forget start to surface as the authority you have over yourself slips.

“Wake up, Astarion.”

You reach out but go to jostle him a little to pull him out of his trance, but his hand catches your wrist, and his eyes open in narrow slits.

“My favourite travelling companion, what can I do for you?”

“Keep your voice down, or you will wake the others. Get dressed and meet me at the edge of camp. Bring your weapons and wear your armour.”

Astarion sits up and peers around the camp. The others are all fast asleep in their tents around you. He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused but nods his understanding.

You creep as best you can through the camp away from his tent, but rocks grate harshly under your feet with every step. You stop and look around constantly to be sure you haven’t awoken anyone else.

“Gods, if you keep making that ruckus, you’ll get us both caught.”

Astarion’s sudden appearance by your side makes you jump, and he grabs you before you can clatter to the ground and muffles your breathy shriek with his hand tightly over your mouth. You pull his hand away from your mouth and scowl at him. You keep your voice in the quietest whisper you can.

"Not all of us are imbued with your talents, Rogue.”

“No, Sorceress,” he tuts, “that’s readily apparent. Do you trust me?”

“What are you on about?”

He smirks, “Don’t scream.”

Astarion sweeps your feet out from under you and lifts you effortlessly. He quietly carries you the rest of the way out of camp before setting you back down with a smug half-smile.

“You didn’t have to carry me.”

“Darling, I’m surprised you made it to my tent without waking the others. I heard you coming a mile away.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

He shrugs, “I wanted to see if you were coming to plunge a stake through my ribs.”

“And if I was?”

“Then I would have had to stop that pretty little heart of yours,” he pokes a finger into your chest, “Now, what are you waking me up for in the dead of night? I do need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“I’m going to go take care of the Gur tracking you. I thought you might enjoy the show, and if you care to lend a hand, I wouldn’t say no to the help.”

His eyes widen in surprise, “Why? You ever so vexingly made us walk away from him earlier.”

“Karlach and Wyll are not murderers. I didn’t want to stain their hands with blood against their will.”

“But you are? A murderer, I mean.”

For you, yes.

“Sometimes… sometimes death is necessary, and I’m not afraid to do what’s necessary. I won’t allow him to make a deal with the Hag, hunt you down and take you back to Cazador.”

“How very… sweet.”

“Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like I’m your next meal?”

“A man can dream. Lead on, my dear.”

With only the two of you, the battle with the Gur is fatiguing and arduous. He is well-equipped and trained, but your magic is a draconic firestorm. Astarion took him by surprise, allowing you both to land several attacks before he could recover. You hold back and let Astarion land the killing blow, driving his dagger deep into Gandrel’s chest.

Regardless of your magical prowess, you don’t make it out of the battle unscathed.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. He caught me with an arrow or two.”

Astarion grabs your hands and shoves them hard against your wound, “Keep pressure on it. Hold on.”

He jogs over the Gandrel’s backpack and starts rifling through it. There’s concern inlaid in his features that you haven’t seen.

Well, other than for himself.

He returns to your side quickly and hands you a Potion of Healing, “Drink up. Preferably, before you bleed out.”

You roll your eyes at him but drink the potion happily, which eases some of your discomfort and refuels your body.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Astarion. Really, but you’re injured as well.”

“I’m already dead, my dear. Not to worry, I’ve been in far more dire straits. We are positively bathed in blood. We can’t return to camp like this unless you wish to appraise the others of our nighttime activities.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“There’s a river near that village. We can wash up there before I sneak us back into camp.”

You nod and start toward the river. The night is clear, and the moonlight is enough to light your way without the need for extra magical assistance.

When you arrive at the river, Astarion strips down without hesitation and wades into the running water. The pale light from the moon washes him in an otherworldly brilliance. A gentle breeze stirs his hair and casts frolicking shadows over him.

Gods, he’s beautiful. Mere words can’t do this man justice.

A haughty smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Are you going to join me or just stand there gawking?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. You know I am all for shallow praise.”

You strip off your trousers and blood-soaked robe but hesitate when it comes to your undergarments, feeling suddenly shy as his crimson eyes pour over your body.

“Bashful tonight, are you? You were not so reserved when we were getting lost in each other in the forest.”

A rush of heat washes up to your face at his teasing, and he chuckles. With a deep breath, you calm your flighty nerves, strip down and wade into the river.

“I thought you said one or two arrows caught you.”

You look down at your body and see several wounds marring your flesh where arrows grazed you. There is a rather deep puncture wound in your shoulder where you had to pull one out mid-battle. That one would have lodged itself right into your heart had Astarion not pushed you out of its path at the last second.

“Or three or four. Who’s counting?”

Astarion’s fingers graze over the wounds lightly, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Are you concerned for me or at the waste of my blood?”

He shrugs, “Can it not be both?”

You huff an exasperated sigh and turn away from him, scrubbing the blood off of your hands, arms and body. Astarion’s chest presses up against your back, and his arm wraps around your waist carefully.

His lips ghost over your ear, “Thank you.”

“Drinking the expensive stuff, I see.”

Astarion’s voice nudges you out of your thoughts, and your eyes lazily drift to him leaning in the archway, observing you with an earth-shatteringly handsome smirk.

“I’ll pay you back for it.”

He laughs, “Your tab is running rather high these days - a rug, shirt, and now several bottles of imported liquor.”

“Sell my stuff like you were going to.”

“No, darling. I don’t need coin. Although, if you keep drinking like this, I may have to start picking pockets again.”

Astarion takes a seat at the table with you. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle and takes a long drink. He smells like his familiar self, but there’s a tinge of tangy blood, and it’s not his. He looks on edge, something frightening in his body language, and your throat constricts.

“How was your business meeting or whatever you’re up to?”

“Disappointing. I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.”

It comes out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end, and you fill your body with the weave, tugging on your inherent talents.

“Shall we go and get you some food and continue your lessons?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

He takes another swig from the bottle and sets it on the table. His finger taps the side, making the glass ting sweetly.

“I will change, and we can be on our way.”

“I said not tonight, Astarion.”

“I will not allow you to go hungry. We are going.”

“No!”

With a dark, dangerous growl, Astarion swiftly rises from his chair, grabs you by the throat and slams you hard against the wall. Your head bounces off of it with a loud thud, and stars burst in a spectacular light show behind your eyes.

Your head swims groggily, “Stop, Astar-!”

He increases the pressure on your throat, causing your words to cut off abruptly in a strangled wheeze.

“Or what, sorceress?” he laughs menacingly, “Are you going to burn me again?”

His eyes are once again listless and piercing, and he scowls at you grimly.

This is what I’ve agreed to. This is why I’m here.

I’m an idiot.

His grip on your throat stops you from being able to speak. If you’re going to get through to him this time, you’re going to have to resort to violence. It was something you didn’t want to do because violence seemed to escalate him further, not calm him down, but you can’t do anything pinned to this wall.

Thankfully, since Astarion has been keeping you fed, you’re stronger, relatively clear-headed, except for the liquor, and in control of your body.

Swinging your feet up in a swift motion, you plant them on his stomach and launch him backwards off of you. His grip is ripped away, and you clatter to the floor.

“You ungrateful petulant ingrate!”

“Astarion,” you croak, “I’m begging you. Listen to my voice and come back to me.”

“The Astarion you knew is long dead, pet. I should have let you burn!”

He’s taunting me, trying to provoke me. I have to keep my wits about me.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I… I-”

You’ve got him fumbling. Righting yourself, you launch at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with your legs secured around his hips. You cling to him and bring your lips to his. It feels like kissing a stranger and makes you want to cringe. He’s rigid and tense. His mouth is set in a hard line under yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut and say a small prayer to any God listening, hoping this works. If it doesn’t, you’ve lost before you could even really begin.

You feel the shift in him start as he trembles savagely against you. His hand grabs a handful of your shirt in a tight fist, and he grits his teeth.

You shift your lips away from his and bring them near his ear, “I’ve got you, Astarion. Fight.”

Squeezing closer to him, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. All you can do now is wait and see if he can find his way out of the sadistic purgatory he retreats to when this thing, whatever it may be, takes over his control, compelling him to be this monster.

Your heart aches for him. All Astarion has wanted as long as you’ve known him was not to be a puppet, a slave to someone else’s whims and desires. The promise of power and eternal safety is what made the ritual so appealing to him. What a cruel joke it was to end up a slave to a version of yourself you don’t recognize.

Astarion’s hand snakes up your shirt and slides smoothly over the skin of your back, pulling you closer, “I’m back, little love. You can let go now.”

I don’t want to let go.

Releasing your grip on him, you slide back to the floor and step away, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, but you’re afraid.”

“I have good reason to be.”

He nods, “You do.”

“I need your consent, Astarion.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If this is to continue, I need to know you’re okay with the… physicality. I can’t fight you back. It only drives you further away, and it will end up getting me killed. The only way I’ve been able to break you free from the chains your thoughts hold you with is… well, you know.”

You shift on your feet anxiously with your hands wrapped behind your back while he stares at you.

“Why do you think I would not be comfortable with such an…. arrangement?”

“You know exactly why, Astarion. If this is to continue, I need your assurance that I’m not pushing any boundaries.”

“You have my consent; do what you must, but do not allow me to harm you. Fight me if that’s what must be done. Fight me with everything you have. Don’t hold anything back.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Astarion.”

Even if I could.

The back of his fingers glide tenderly down your cheek, “Do what must be done, my love.”

No.

“Fine.”

He nods, and relief floods the vibrant red sea of his eyes, “If you do not wish to go hunting tonight, that’s fine. If that’s all, I will retire for the night.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“What happens when someone else makes you angry? Someone that’s not me.”

His voice is dark, cold and grim, “They don’t survive.”

Oh… How many people has he killed?

“I… see. Goodnight.”

Astarion doesn’t even look at you as he turns around and retires to his bedroom.

Withdrawing to your room, you lock the door and slide into the empty bed with a dismal sigh. He may not have said it outright, but the urging nature of his voice telling you to “do what must be done” was daunting.

Was he telling me to kill him if I must? Even if I were capable of it, could I do that to him? If it came down to my life or his, whose would I choose?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

You try to pull your trance over your consciousness to blanket it, but it doesn’t come. The events of the night weigh too heavily on your mind. Not only did you have to be wary of upsetting him, but you also had to be wary of anyone else who might aggravate him.

That’s why he smelled like blood tonight… Someone lost their life to his demons.

In truth, the people he was doing “business” with were probably hardly people who deserved to be saved anyway. Regardless, you worry that every time he gives in to these gruesome impulses, he might lose more and more of himself until there are no traces of him remaining.

A very fine mess indeed.

You toss and turn in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Your senses are all heightened and alert. You’re scared to sleep, to leave yourself vulnerable to attack with him so close by. A locked door will not keep him at bay if he decides he no longer wants to participate in this experiment.

“I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

His words surface in your mind. How could he possibly know that? He just admitted that he kills others who provoke him, likely without remorse or thought. He had sounded so resolute when he said it as if it was just a simple matter of fact and not simply conjecture.

He hasn’t killed me yet, I suppose.

You spend the rest of the night flip-flopping around in your bed, lost in thought and unable to find any rest.

You’re still wide awake, sitting in your bed when a knock at your door finally rings through the silence. When you answer it, the sun streams in bright and glorious, and you jump back, a reflexive habit, falling to the floor.

Astarion approaches you with sorrowful eyes, offering you a hand up, “You’re safe, love. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

You take his hand, and he hauls you up on your feet, “It will take some… adjusting to, I think.”

“Your belongings have arrived. Would you like me to have them bring it to your room or leave it downstairs?”

“Are they living or spawn?”

“Living.”

“Leave it downstairs. I can’t be trusted around them. I’ll bring it up myself.”

Astarion bows, “As you wish.”

He disappears out your door to give directions to whoever has been sent to fetch whatever belongings remain at the palace. Soon, you can hear hearts beating heavily with effort, and it sounds like a euphony lullaby. It marks your guts stir with well-known, unslakable sanguine thirst.

Crushing your eyes shut, you dig your nails into your palms harshly, causing shallow wounds that weep blood to give you something else to focus on other than the siren song of the living.

One day without food and I’m already losing it.

Astarion’s hands find yours, and you lurch at the sudden contact, “They’ll be gone soon, darling. Hold onto me.”

You need to anchor yourself on something, anything, and you fold your arms around him and hold on tightly, gripping handfuls of his coat. You put your ear to his chest and try to focus on the sound of his beating heart. His hand rubs your back comfortingly. It feels like forever to you before a voice rises from the staircase.

“Master Ancunin?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve finished.”

“Very good. You may leave.”

“As you say, saer.”

The door shuts, and the beating tune of hearts fades slowly. Your hands finally unclench and stop tugging on his jacket.

“Getting blood all over my clothing again, I see.”

Shit.

“Sorry. I… I wasn-”

A low laugh catches you off guard, “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ve learned not to wear my fine clothing around you. You’re always bleeding on me, burning me, or throwing me across courtyards, after all. Look at me.”

Looking up at him, he brushes your hair back, “You didn’t sleep at all last night. Why?”

“How do you know?”

“I can hear you tossing around in here.”

Shifting away from him, you cast your eyes at the floor, “I’m not used to sleeping at night.”

Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

How does he always know when I’m lying? I’m able to persuade most people, but not him, never him.

“I should get my things.”

“Would you like a hand?”

“No, thank you,” you smirk, “I’m sure Master Ancunin has more important things to do.”

He chuckles, “Cheeky pup, aren’t you? If you need help, you know where to find me.”

You have to make several trips to bring all your old things to your room, stacking boxes and crates in a corner.

I didn’t realize how much I left behind.

Astarion kept all your clothing, robes, quarterstaffs, circlets, and various enchanted rings and necklaces. It takes hours to unpack, sort through it and put it away.

Reaching into a long crate, you pull out the Cazador’s quarterstaff, Woe. You reflexively throw it to the ground, and it clatters on the wooden floor with a loud bang. You shuffle back away from it as fast as you can, as if it were threatening your life by simply existing.

Astarion appears in the open doorway to your bedroom, seemingly out of thin air. He perceives the horror afflicting your expression and looks around as if searching for danger.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out a little too fast, “Everything is fine.”

His eyes search the room and land on the quarterstaff strewn on the floor.

“Quarterstaff troubling you, my dear?”

“Why did we keep this thing?”

“It’s a decent item,” he shrugs, “I’m sure it has its uses.”

Images of Astarion completing the ritual and ascending froth over in your mind.

The red glow of his eyes. The sound of the other spawn and prisoners popping. The maniacal laugh that resounded from him.

You recoil, cringing, “I don’t want it. Get rid of it.”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, “Why? It could be useful.”

“I don’t care how useful it could be. I don’t want it. Sell or destroy it. I couldn’t care less but get rid of it.”

He cocks a brow at you, confused, “If that’s truly what you want. Perhaps I’ll give it to Elowyn.”

“Elowyn?”

“Ah, yes, you don’t know her name.”

The mulberry-haired woman.

A jumbled fusion of betrayal, anger and jealousy rises like bile in your throat, “Don’t you dare, Astarion.”

“Why not? You said you don’t want it, and I have no use for it.”

“She’s dangerous. Something is off about her.”

He giggles, “Jealous, are you? That’s very cute.”

Jealousy does not begin to describe it.

“You never listen to me. I said she’s dangerous!”

“Darling, she’s a mere human. She’s no more of a danger to me than a fly is to carrion.”

“You’re blind if that’s what you truly think, Astarion.”

“Care to elaborate on your analysis of my relationship?”

Relationship? Ouch.

That stings.

“I’m assuming she knows what you are.”

“She knows I’m a vampire. Nothing more.”

“Gods, for someone smart, you’re dull sometimes.”

He laughs, “Am I?”

“Give me the fucking quarterstaff. It’s safer in my hands than it is in hers.”

“No, you said get rid of it. I will oblige your request.”

You cast Telekinesis, ripping it out of his hands, and grasp it. It feels repulsive in your palm, and you shudder, fighting the urge to throw it to the ground.

You level a challenging glare at him, and the intonation of your voice is defiant and harsh, “I said it’s mine.”

You catch his eyes shift again. The telltale sign you’ve irked him in some form, and you wait for the inevitable strike. Astarion grits his teeth, but keeps his eyes open, staring into yours boringly.

“May I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please.”

There’s urgency in his voice, and you watch as his hand balls up into a shaking fist.

He’s trying to fight it himself, but he needs my help.

“Yes.”

Astarion crosses the room quickly, ripping the quarterstaff out of your hands and throwing it to the ground. His lips meet yours with desperation, like you’re the single thing in existence that will keep him afloat.

His hands find your waist and tug you closer to him, crushing himself against you. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re engulfed and consumed by the depraved thoughts swirling through your head.

His kiss turns rougher, more insistent, and you murmur against him. He takes the opportunity, and his tongue slips between your lips. Any rational thought you were capable of is blown away in a supernova of sensation and is replaced by desire and passion alone.

You want him. You want him with everything you have and everything you are so entirely you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything else more in your life.

Astarion grinds into you with a rumbling groan, and you can feel his pulsing erection. He guides your hips and rolls them against himself, eliciting a shuddering pant from you at the exquisite friction against the throbbing in between your thighs.

“Gods, you feel good against me.”

His voice breaks you out of your passion-fuelled delirium, and you push him away, taking several steps back.

“Are you back?”

“Oh yes,” he coos, “I’ve been me for quite some time now.”

“Great. Now, get out.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Look at you; you’re practically vibrating with need, as am I, quite obviously,” his eyes shift towards the bulge in his trousers with a devious grin, “We could assist each other.”

“Go get Elowyn to assist you.”

His brows knit together, “Is that really what you want?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered to you for quite some time, I imagine.”

“What do you want? Name it, and I will make it yours.”

You.

You point at Woe, “I want you to destroy the quarterstaff.”

“What?”

Will he? I’m pushing my luck.

“Destroy it. Snap it in half. You’re strong enough to do that, are you not?”

“Of course, but-” he sputters.

“No, “but,” Astarion. You either do as I ask, or you decline. The choice is yours.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly and shift to the quarterstaff lying where he threw it. He picks it up, inspecting it raptly. His crimson eyes slither up the surface of it while his hands do the same.

With a growl, he easily snaps it in two. A bright flash of light emits as the magical enchantment is released, making that terrible, hideous thing nothing but an inert hunk of useless, gleaming metal.

“A pity,” he pouts, “I do hate to waste perfectly good treasure.”

He actually did it?

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“I aim to please,” he bows shallowly, “Now get ready. The night is almost upon us, and I imagine you’re ravenous.”

In more ways than one.

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs! I plan to keep updating as long as people seem to be enjoying the story.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

#ascended astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion #astarion smut

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delicatebarness · 3 months

Text

bring him home | prologue

Summary: A revisit, back to where it all went wrong, when The Mad Titan finally did it himself.

Warning: MCU Spoilers, mainly Infinity War. Avengers: Infinity War contains extended, intense sequences of violence and peril. Swearing.

Word Count: 1791

Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: I thought this was longer to be honest, I have split it up into four named parts. However, it just mainly a recap of Avengers: Infinity War with some rewrites to fit the reader into the story.

Tags: @crazyforbarnes | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED OR PUBLISHED TO ANY THIRD PARTY SITE OR APP. IF ANYONE SEES MY WORK ANYWHERE BUT HERE, IT HAS BEEN REPOSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

The Children of Thanos.

It was a typical spring day, the farmers market in Greenwich Village was blooming. Flowers, fruits, vegetables, all the colours were so vibrant. Walking past a fruit stall, you can’t help but smile when you notice the plums. If only he could have been here with you, pick out some for your fruit bowl in the home you created together. But, no, it couldn’t be done. Not yet anyway.

You carried on your morning walk around the city, daydreaming of what may be. You smiled and waved at locals, and took photos with anyone who asked. “Miss Stark! Welcome!” You knew the city loved you. The child of a genius, a superhero. They adored your father for what he created, they adored you for who you are. The kind, empathetic daughter of Tony Stark.

You stopped just by the end of a stall and pulled out a flip phone, but still no messages. Suddenly, a non-forecasted breeze began to pick up. And, fast. Before you knew it, the plums from earlier began to roll past you in the street. Intuitively, you tapped your chest and allowed the nanotechnology to cover your entire body. Pink and gold wrapped around you perfectly as you rushed to help stop stalls flying, catching pushed-over citizens.

“Friday? Where’s my dad currently?” You called to the AI within your suit while pulling an elderly man back up onto his feet, guiding him to a nearby cafe where other pedestrians have taken safety. A blue digital map appears on the holographic display with the location of your dad. 177A Bleecker Street. Not far, you thought to yourself.

Finally, you reached the address Friday had given you. You burst through the front door of the place, releasing your head gear the moment you notice your dad.

“Dad! Bruce? You might want to get out here and see this!” You didn’t stay to see if they were following, you ran out as quickly as you ran in. Making your way towards the source of wind and destruction, you continued to help fallen citizens.

You fight your hardest to keep Bruce safe, you don’t understand what is happening with him and Hulk but that was their issue, all you could do was protect them both.

“Wong, you’re invited to my wedding.” Watching your dad fly up to reach Peter and the ship, you began to thrust your reactors to follow his lead. “No, I need you on Earth.” His voice echoed through your comms, you tried to argue back with him but he knew what your argument would be and he didn’t want to hear it. “Now, Y/N, please.”

Just like that, you were back on the ground standing with Bruce, watching him pick up your dad’s burner from the ground.

“Bruce?” He looked up at you, seeing how your eyes were fixed on the phone.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Call Steve.”

Brother.

After Bruce had called Steve, you both headed back to the compound and explained the situation to Rhodey. You frantically start to move things around the holographic screens trying anything to locate Vision.

“Hey, Steve’s on his way, it’s okay.” Bruce came over trying to calm you down, he knew that look on your face. It was the same face Tony pulled when he was focused and lost in it.

“He’s the closest thing I have to a brother, I need to find him, Bruce.” Picking up your phone, you tried to call him, you tried Wanda too, but no answer,

“Tony said-“ Bruce pointed to an error on the holographic, referring back to when your dad explained Vision couldn’t be located.

“My dad doesn’t know shit, Bruce.” You continued to go over everything on the screen, hearing only mumbles from Rhodey in the other room. You’re too fixated on the screens to realise they weren’t just his. Until the movement of Bruce walking out catches your eye.

“This is awkward.” Sam! You close the screens down and rush out to where Bruce is now standing. Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda and Vision. They all are here standing in the compound once again.

“Vis?” You gasp as you notice he is limping, being held up by Sam and Wanda. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.” You relieve Sam from his duty and help Wanda get Vision back into the office to rest. Passing, you make eye contact with Steve, and exchange a look that only has meaning between you two.

“We have to destroy it.” That one sentence made you stop thinking and trying to understand. A quick “What?!” escaped as you glared at your android brother. You knew that if that stone got destroyed, especially while still in Vision's head then he’d be destroyed too. Vision and Wanda began the conversation about her being the one to do it, you couldn’t help but feel for them both. On one side, your brother is asking your best friend to kill him. On the other, your best friend was being asked to do the impossible.

You listened, it was all you could do, to the discussion further. Bruce explains that it isn’t just the stone that makes Vision, Vision. It’s Jarvis and Ulton. Your dad, Bruce and the Stone. Even, you. The discussion led to carrying out a procedure to remove the stone while keeping Vision exactly how he is. All they needed was someone able and a place to do it.

Once again, you and Steve exchanged looks. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it with a nod.

“I know somewhere.”

Wakanda.

You sensed a sort of thrill flying into Wakanda, you’ve admired the entire country and its technology since finding out about its existence. You also admired how welcoming, understanding and extremely helpful they have been in keeping your not-so-little secret. You sighed in relief as you edged closer to the kingdom, knowing soon you’d be the safest you have ever been in your life.

You look over at Vision sending him a hopeful smile. Knowing first-hand how incredibly smart Shuri is, you know your brother is in safe hands. That's what Wakanda meant to you. Safety. Protection. He reached out, squeezing your hand. He knew you were deep down terrified of something happening to him, you are his big sister after all.

“Whatever happens -“ he began, you stopped him giving him a ‘do not say another word’ look.

“It’s going to work. It HAS to work.” You emphasised you couldn’t think of any alternative. Not when it was his life on the line. You already couldn’t get a hold of your dad or Pete. Vision was not leaving as well.

When you landed in Wakanda, everyone made their way off the jet but you held back for a moment. You double-checked yourself in the mirror, noting your puffy eyes from the tiredness from fighting, flying and mind-blowing experience yet, you smiled. What waited for you outside of the jet would make it okay.

“A semi-stable, 100-year-old man.” You heard his voice as you started walking down from the jet. You watched as Steve went in for a hug with an old friend, Bucky’s eyes caught yours as he finished the embrace.

“James!” You exclaimed as you ran towards him, jumping to wrap your legs around his waist, his arms tightening around your back. He held you as close as he possibly could.

“Hey Doll.” He whispered as started to place a soft kiss on your cheek, taking in your scent. Neither of you noticed the glances from your fellow heroes.

As everyone begins to gather outside, you give Vision a reassuring look as you decide to wait outside with Bucky and Sam. You talk together about the journey, Buck’s new arm that you helped Shuri design on your private trips to Wakanda.

Suddenly, the defence shield around Wakanda destroys a vessel that tries to enter the atmosphere. You felt your boyfriend’s left arm wrap around your waist, it felt strange for a moment as you grew used to always having the right one around you.

“God, I love this place.” You watched his smile as the three of you looked up at the explosion the shield had protected you from.

No Goodbye.

You fought your way towards Thanos, dodging his attacks and shooting blasts. If it wasn’t for that one stone, the wizard's stupid green glowing stone freezing you in a stance, you could have prevented it all.

You watched frozen unable to move, scream, or cry as Wanda, your best friend, destroyed a part of your brother that was currently keeping him alive. You watched as his body turned grey, falling to the floor. Then, before you knew it, you watched him come back to life only for Thanos to kill him again only this time. He forced the stone out of Vision's head, leaving a hole the size of a fist in his head.

You saw everything. Your friends and family are lying on the ground, defeated. Your best friend is devastated holding onto your brother’s lifeless body. Your eyes searched everywhere for Bucky, your internal thoughts screaming his name in search of him. Then, you saw Thor coming down with force and an axe, but, he was too late and went for the heart.

The second Thanos left, you fell to the ground, rushing to Vision’s body.

“Vis?” You screamed at his body, shaking it to wake him up. “Come on, Vis! Get up!” Wanda grabbed you, shaking you until you looked at her. You both collapsed into each other arms over Vision's body.

“Steve?” His voice, he was okay. You dropped Wanda’s embrace for a second to look over at the man you fell in love with. Before you had fully stood to run to him, he just disappeared.

“James!” Screaming his name as you hastily ran towards the spot he disappeared from. Steve caught you in his arms before you could fall to the floor. “James!!” You kept screaming, looking around frantically thinking it was just the light playing mind games with you. Placing both of his hands against your cheeks, Steve forced you to look him in the eyes, reminding you to breathe. “Where’d he go, Steve?”

“I don’t -“ he began before you pushed him away, you had watched the rest of the world disappearing in the reflection of his eyes. “Y/N?” He called as you ran to where your best friend had once been sitting comforting you.

You turned back to face Steve, Bruce, Thor and Natasha. Your face soaked from the tears that would not stop flowing. It had been hours, who knows how many since you last heard from your dad or Pete, now, you’ve lost Wanda, Vision and Bucky.

“They’re all gone.”

#bucky barnes #white wolf #falcon and the winter soldier #james bucky barnes #catws #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #x reader #dad!tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #the avengers #infinity war

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sulieykte · 1 year

Text

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒗

‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19) ‣ Warnings: smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), slight edging kinda, fingering, softdom!Neteyam, creampie, angst, a hint of a praise kink and as always mean Neteyam. ‣ Word Count: 2.3k ‣ A/N: And we're back with another one. This hasn't been proofread because I'm determined to get it out before I have to leave for work for 24 hours, so if you see any mistakes then no you didn't. I'll be back to fix it later. The ending is a little rushed because I actually have an hour before I have to leave I'm sorry bbs. Also I think I tagged everyone that asked, but I apologise if I missed anyone, I'm gonna close the taglist now because it's getting a lot. English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi. ‣ Na'vi word bank: tìyawn - love, mons veritasis - largest mountain in the hallelujah mountains, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, tewng - loincloth

SERIES TAG | SERIES PLAYLIST | JOIN THE TAGLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

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By the time you had reached your Marui, your body was crippled with exhaustion. The reason for your physical exhaustion was easy to pinpoint, as much as you were trying not to think about it. But you hadn’t been able not to, not even as you lay in your hammock, trying to reconcile what had happened with what you knew to be true until your brain felt numb.

Neteyam hates you. He has always hated you, for as long as you can remember. But what he had done was not something people did out of hate, was it? For certain you had seen it in his eyes and felt it in his touch. What clouded your mind was the four words he had said as you’d separated. We’ll finish this later.

Because surely, he was not mad enough to think that you would do that again.

It had been nothing short of a miracle that Jake hadn’t figured you out once you’d been freed, with Neteyam only thinking to warn you of the mark he’d sucked into your skin a moment before you’d stepped out of the cave, giving you little time to hide it with your hair until you could find a more suitable covering. Jake’s insistence that he checked you over for injuries had presented another challenge but with your assurance that you were fine he left you alone to examine his son instead.

Once he had been happy that you were unharmed, you suspected more by each other than the rocks crumbled around you, he had sent you off with an order to get food and rest. You didn’t argue or wait for your companion before you left for camp.

Sleep had not eluded you for too long as your mind collapsed into your body’s desire.

Larger hands intwine with yours, arms taut above your head against the ground below you. Body taking root in the grass as frantic breaths brush against your ear, the form pressed tightly against yours as you writhe beneath it.

Legs wrapped around his waist, back arching in desperation, needing him deeper. Needing him to put out the fire in your belly as it got devastatingly close to setting you alight. “Please.” You beg, hips meeting at too slow a pace for relief.

“Y/N.” His voice is barely a whisper in your ear.

“Y-Yes.”

“Y/N?” His hands have moved to your shoulders.

“Neteyam.”

The world shakes and you’re tugged from your slumber. Confusion settles in as you open your eyes, finding yourself in a position not entirely dissimilar from the one your subconscious had cooked up. Neteyam released your shoulders, a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Come.” Was all he had to offer you, tugging at your wrist. Your body follows, sleep fighting your movement as you exit your hammock. Sparing a glance across the Marui as you’re leaving, you thankfully find your mothers hammock occupied and unmoving. You would have no idea how to explain why Neteyam of all people was guiding you from your home at such a late hour.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re far enough from your mothers ears, still feeling the need to whisper as you passed your neighbours homes. He didn’t bother to give you an answer, his pace quickening as he pulled you past the Ikran pen, towards the lab.

“Neteyam.” You hiss, your annoyance bubbling in your chest at his ignorance. He was the one who dragged you out of bed, out of your dream. A harmless imagination that couldn’t cause any damage the way that its inspiration could. You wanted nothing more than to be curled up back in your hammock and you certainly didn’t want to be yanked to a forgotten corner of camp, lit only by the external lighting of the lab.

“You know what, if you’re not going to answer me, I’m going back to bed.” You move to pull your wrist from his grasp, his hand tightening at your attempts. At least you were back in familiar territory. “Look, I’m not in the mood for- “

“Shut up.” He pulls you around the corner, out of sight of the rest of camp. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he pressed you against the cold metal exterior of the lab, almost distracting you from the irritation you felt for him. Your body shivered at the sensation; the coolness contrasted by the heat radiating from his body. The body once again penetrating your personal space.

“You can’t pull me out of bed with no explanation and then tell me to shut up ‘Teyam.” You meet his eyes, the usual tension missing in his face at the nickname. “Tell me what you want or I’m going back to bed.”

“You know what I want.”

“I really don’t.”

He laughs, his face closing in on yours. The way his breath tickles your ear reminiscent of your disrupted dream and your face flushes at the awareness of the dampness between your legs leftover from your fantasies.

“I told you we were going to finish this later.”

Laughing in his face hadn’t been intentional, but you couldn’t hold it in. He could not be serious. After nineteen years, one mistaken romp in a moment of madness could not have led you to this. As much as your body felt excitement at the thought, the throbbing between your legs ensuring you were very much aware of that, you knew that nothing good could come of allowing this to go any further.

“Don’t act like I didn’t hear you moaning my name in your sleep tìyawn. We both know you want this as much as I do.” Oh Eywa. Was there any coming back from that? No. There wasn’t. A dive from the top of Mons Veritasis more enticing by the second as his eyes bored into you, fangs poking at his bottom lip as he smiled.

“Y-you’re delusional.”

“Mmmm.” His brows raised, faux contemplation on his face as a hand hooked under your thigh, lifting it for better access as he ground into you, his arousal as evident to you as your own. “Maybe I am, but we both know you wouldn’t be here unless you wanted to be.”

Shit.

You knew he was right, you had proven yourself capable of escaping his grasp before. It would be easy to do so again, the distance between yourself and salvation much smaller and his grip on you much lighter. But you don’t move. Not an inch as he grinds himself into you, your resolve crumbling at the friction.

“Tell me you want this.”

But that was too much. You could not admit to that. Shaking your head, you closed your eyes finding it much better to avoid his burning gaze. Hooking your leg around his hip, you pulled him closer, head falling into his chest with a gasp as his length pressed into you through your soaking loincloth.

“Tìyawn.” He growled, finding a firm grasp on your chin, and pulling your face out from its hiding spot, your eyes reluctantly opening to meet his. You take his appearance in. His nostrils flared, chest rising as rapidly as your own. “You have one more chance. Tell me you want this, or I will go.”

As simple as that, you had an escape. You could just tell him you didn’t want this, go back to bed, and pretend that none of this ever happened. No need to admit that you wanted him, Eywa you wanted him.

“I want this.”

Your body is spun around, chest pressed against metal faster than you can register the confession had left your mouth. His hands digging into your hips as he presses into you from behind, “You better stay quiet, wouldn’t want to wake the whole clan.”

Fingers tug at the strings of your loincloth, discarding it with ease and sinking to his knees behind you. You turn to question him, confused about what he’s doing but strong hands pull at your hips and his tongue prodding at your entrance halts any thoughts from transitioning into words.

“Neteyam!” Hands reaching behind you, you try to push the foreign sensation, but one much stronger hand soon has them in its grasp.

“You have to be quiet if you want to come.” He warns before returning to the task at hand, keeping your arms pinned behind your back.

His tongue runs flat along your slit, your cheeks on fire as he spreads your lips with two fingers to take in your glistening folds. “You have to tell me about that dream later.” He teases and dives back in. How he expected you to keep quiet was a mystery, but you did your best, lips tightly pressed together because you knew he would follow through with his threat.

But you manage, even as he devours you like a starved animal the only sounds that permeate the air are the obscene sounds of his tongue lapping at your juices and your stifled cries. When his lips wrap around your aching nub, it’s all you can do to keep your knees from buckling, and you barely notice as he buries two fingers in you until he curls them just right and your vision blurs. And Fuck.

“Fuck.”

Your outburst barely disturbed the night air, and it’s not fucking fair how he pulls his mouth off of you with a light and his fingers slide out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. “It’s not like I didn’t warn you.” He raises to his feet, turning you to face him. Your chest heaves with the as you come down from your impending release and you fix him with a glare.

Once you gain confidence in your ability to walk, you’re resolute in your decision to leave. That is until you notice his face glittering with his tanhì and your juices and your willpower crumbles.

“You think you can be quiet this time?” You nod, swallowing thickly. “Good girl.”

A breath catches in your throat before his lips crash against yours, bruising and urgent. You open your mouth, allowing entrance to his tongue that gives a taste of your own sweetness as it flicks against your own. His hands tapped at the back of your thighs in a silent instruction, and you jump and wrap your legs around him, your lips separating as he hooks a hand under your ass, the other flat against the metal he has you pressed against.

Wasting no time, he frees his erection from his tewng, pushing the fabric to the side for efficiency. He lets out a sharp breath through gritted teeth as he lowers you onto his length, hips meeting as you take all of him in. Your head drops back against the metal, an echoed thunk earning you a warning glower as he begins to move.

The coil in your stomach tightens as he builds his pace, hips snapping against yours mercilessly and you can do nothing more than cling to him. Sanity slipping from your body, your mind goes blank of anything that isn’t Neteyam. And the way his tip slams into your cervix. The sweat dripping from his forehead. His jaw clenching in concentration.

You’re close, body dissolving into his as fucks into you, but you recalled his earlier threat that you couldn’t come unless you were quiet. You’d failed miserably at that, but he’d given you a second chance, right? You were a good girl, and you hadn’t made a sound since.

Daring a whisper, you call out. “’Teyam.” His cock twitches inside of you, and he doesn’t tell you to shut up, so you brave your question. “Can I- Can I come?”

A low growl rumbles from his chest and your heart misses a beat, fearing you had screwed yourself over again. “Come for me Tìyawn.” And you oblige. Legs tightening around him as the tremors of your release rock through your body. You have to bite down on the closest thing you can reach to silence the sounds, teeth clamping onto his shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough it seemed to send him over the edge with you.

His hips jerk as he attempts to maintain his rhythm as he floods you with his seed, your walls convulsing around his length as you milk him dry. You let your head fall back once more, his hand already there to soften the blow before you hit the wall.

As he stills inside you, the silence is filled with your trembling breaths and he pulls his chest away from yours, skin still sticking to skin from the sweat that coated it. He pulls out of you, placing you back on the ground, leaving you empty and dripping. The mix of his essence and yours rolling down your thighs.

“Dad says our punishment is over.”

“What?” He breaks you out of your stupor and you realise he’s already fixed his tewng back into place, not even sparing you a glance as he spoke.

“We’re in the clear, no more clean up duty. He said to let you sleep, he’ll tell you in the morning.” You should be happy at his words, ecstatic at the news that you’d no longer be the entire clan’s maid. But the happiness dies out as you watch him turn and leave.

You nearly cave and call out his name, but you knew what this was before getting into it, had you not? It shouldn’t sting to watch him go, leaving you exposed, his cum soiling your thighs. Finding some comfort in the normalcy of his harshness, you collect your loincloth from the ground, fixing it back on with a grimace as it stuck to your skin, pressing the mix of warm fluids into your sensitive core.

It would not happen again.

You would tell yourself that as many times as it took for you to believe it.

taglist: @innercreationflower,@lili-of-the-dream,@arminsgfloll,@strawberryclouds22,@aliceantalus,@afro-hispwriter,@mandaaaaaaaaaaa,@nxptury,@amortencjja,@l3laze,@strongestangel,@inluvwithneteyam,@tsuteysyawntu,@whyyouhatemeeetmblr,@jdbxws,@yumimak,@weirdpersonhelp,@kaylaperiodqueenslay,@neyetams,@jjkclub,@grxcisxhy-wp,@vampire_majesty,@dani-d0rk,@ashleexisxcool,@syulangg,@moony-artemis,@deadgirl02,@cl0esblogg,@thehalalboy,@cxlynv,@melllinaa,@saturnheartz,@julesandro,@zeysartzone,@chucklefuvk,@midnightstar-90,@laylasbunbunny,@cypherpt5fttaehyung,@aalyara,@taleiak,@itzgabz22,@itssomeonereading,@avatarmasterlistblog

#~ lys writes ♡‧₊ *#action // reaction #neteyam sully #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam angst #neteyam imagines #avatar fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction #avatar fanfic #atwow fanfiction #avatar imagines

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multi-fandom-simp · 1 year

Text

Forever and always.. or maybe never. Part 2

[Part 1] [Alternate Ending]

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Hanahakis Disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: You're dead, and now Aemond must suffer the consequences of loving someone he can never have. How long until he can no longer handle it?

❗️TW❗️: Harsh language, mentions of blood and throwing up, character death, mentions of sexual situations, mentions of infidelity, slight violence, arguments, mentions of childbirth

(A/N: Part 2 is here! It took me a minute to put this together because I had so many ideas on how to do it, so I hope it is to your liking. I would love to hear thoughts, opinions, and ideas on it as well, I'm always open for criticism/suggestion! My asks/inbox are always open as well, I love nothing more than to talk about my fics, or just to you guys in general! I'm always up for having more mutuals on here! Also, if you are interested in the alternate ending for part 1, I posted a poll on what you would like to read in it, so feel free to vote. Anyways, enjoy!)

Word Count: 2,329

Taglist: @libdarkheart @bibli0thecary @earthangels-things @iiamthehybrid @bellameshipper @introverbatim (I believe that is everyone who asked to be tagged?? I apologize if I missed anyone)

It was hours before anyone was allowed to take your body. Aemond had sat there, clutching you as you turned cold and stiff, staring off into the distance as the young boy inside his head wailed endlessly. It had been Helaena who convinced Aemond to let you go, and Daeron who supported him while he carried you to the maesters. Alicent was the first to cry out as you were pronounced officially dead, a piece of the queen's heart seeping through her lips as she wept against your hand. The small smart-mouthed girl that arrived nearly a decade and a half ago now lay unspeaking before her very eyes.

“Tell me you were there” Alicent croaked out.

“ Mother?” Daeron was the only one to question the queen. Helaena knew the question was not for her and Aemond still stood unmoving.

“ Tell me you were by her side, Aemond! That she did not die alone!” Alicent stared directly at Aemond now, even if he did not look back.

“ You think so low of me, that I would let her die unheld?” Aemond whispered.

“ I did not think you would cause her such heartbreak and yet here we are!” Alicent cried out. The fire in her eyes might even make you believe she was a Targaryen in more than just marriage.

“ I did not know” Aemond argued softly.

“ Then you will not know the time of her rest as well” All air sucked itself from the room and Aemond’s cardinal-rimmed eyes shot to his mother.

“ You can not keep me from it” Where an authoritative edge was expected, vulnerability came instead.

“ I am your mother and the queen dowager, I will do as I please” Alicent spoke harshly, “ I will take Aemys to the ceremony. I expect you to get rid of that bastard wet nurse in the meantime.”

“ Mother-”

“ I will hear no more, Aemond! If I see you there, you will be thrown in a cell until it’s over” Alicent warned one last time while brushing hair from your face. She bent down to place a motherly kiss on your crown before turning away swiftly. Shortly after her departure, Daeron said his peace as well, followed by Helaena. Finally, Aemond stood alone with you once more. It didn’t take long for his legs to weaken and buckle, taking him down to his knees. The memory of the last time he had been on his knees for you tore a sob from his throat.

“What are you doing?” You giggled in astonishment as Aemond removed his tunic and knelt at your feet. His hands dipped in the warm lilac water that your swollen feet soaked in.

“ I’m going to massage the knots from your feet” Aemond explained, watching as your face contorted in bliss when his fingers dug into the right spot.

“ That is what the maids are for, my love.” You proclaimed before laughing again, ”Most husbands would scoff at the thought of massaging their lady wife.”

“ I am not most husbands, am I?” Aemond countered, smirking up at you. He took one of his hands from the water to caress your swollen stomach. Though he had soaked your night shift with water, you could care less.

“ I suppose not” You sighed contently, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you.

“ Avy jorrāelan, Ñuha prūmia. Besides, it is the least I can do when I am the reason why you ache in the first place” Aemond continued to soothe the bump, hoping to feel movement. Kicks were his favorite, they usually occurred whenever you laughed. As if on cue, a flutter of movement blossomed underneath his touch as you chuckled at his statement.

“ If I recall correctly, I was a part of that same reason” You took a towel from beside you as spoke and let it flutter to the floor. Carefully, and with assistance, you removed your feet from the water onto the dry cotton.

“ Mhm, that is true, you even had me on my back at one point” Aemond snorted.

“ As I remember, you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit” You teased.

“ Did I? Perhaps you’ll have to remind me” Aemond surged at you before you could even comprehend what was happening. His lips moved deeply against yours as he shifted you to lay back.

“ Aem!” You gasped in delight, holding onto his shoulders.

“ Yes, Ñuha prūmia?” He cooed mischievously, gleaming down at you like the Cheshire cat.

“ This is nowhere near the position we were talking of, ñuha zaldrīzes!” Dragon. Your dragon, always. Aemond nipped at your neck upon hearing the endearment that always caused his heart to stutter.

“ Mhm, ‘tis not, but I quite like this position” He murmured hotly against your neck.

“ You won’t like it when it’s the position I give birth in” You whispered. It’s not that you were scared of your first child’s birth or of death itself, you just worried about never meeting your child if you did perish.

“ Stop that” Aemond scolded.

“ Stop what, I’m-”

“ Overthinking. I can feel it” He rose slightly to press his forehead to yours, "Both of you will make it out just fine, though I imagine the babe might still scream well afterward”

Aemond was right, Aemys did cry well into the night after his birth until you were awake and well to hold him that is. It’s ironic, Aemond thinks, how similar that was to now. You were unconscious after a taxing birth, now you lay unconscious on a pyre. Aemys screamed for you then, and he screams for you now, despite Aemond being there both times.

“ Muña! Muñaaaaa!” Aemond silently braided a piece of the thrashing toddler's hair as he kicked and screamed. Even at three years of age, he was clever enough to know something was wrong.

“ Muñaaa-”

“ Aemys, please..” Aemond sighed tiredly, turning the child to face him.

“ Jaelagon. Muña.” Want. Mother. By the seven Aemond wanted you too, but he couldn’t have you. The realization caused a tightness in his chest, a breathless one, but he refused to cough.

“ I know, byka zaldrīzes, I’m sorry.” Little Dragon. Aemys truly was still little and it broke Aemond’s heart that you would never get to see him grow big and strong. He brought the distressed toddler to his chest and held him tight, tears soaking onto the small amethyst tunic he had been wrangled into.

“ Aemond” Alicent called out from the doorway, poised in an onyx dress with a belt of deep purple jewels to match her grandson and a hand full of lilacs. Your faithful hyena, Lark appeared as well, striding into the room slowly.

“ Be good for your grandmother” Aemond spoke quietly but firmly, before standing to full height. He watched as Aemys toddled over to Alicent, giggling as Lark lapped the tears off his cherubic cheeks.

“ Muña?” Aemys whispered, your eyes shining up at Alicent through his.

“Mama?” the young girl croaked, peering up at a young Alicent Hightower.

“ Your mother isn’t here-” Her voice faltered at the heartbreak in your innocent eyes, “but surely we can see her later, alright? Now, what else would you like, little one?”

“Flowers?” Alicent chuckled, before taking your small hand in hers.

“ I suppose I can show you the lilacs..they’re my favorite” The queen whispered down to you, smiling when your face lit up. You may not have been hers, and despite Viserys being the one to invite you, it was the queen who took you under her wing.

“Mother.” Alicent’s head snapped up to look at Aemond, breaking from her memories. She blinked rapidly to dispel the water weight from her eyes.

“ Your mother isn’t here, but we’ll see her…someday” Alicent reassured, taking Aemys little hand in her own. Aemond watched as they went before leaving the room himself. He trudged up to a small room at the top of the tallest viewpoint in the castle. Dreamfyre was circling the skies, waiting for Helaena to say Dracarys.

“ Aemond!” The sound of his name on your tongue lapped at his ear and your footsteps echoed past him. Dreamfyre now flew towards the grassy knoll.

“You’re handsome to me” The ghost of your fingers prickled goosebumps near his scar. Dreamfyre landed upon the ground.

“Avy jorrāelan”

“Avy jorrāelan.” Your proclamation of love faded away with a hot wind as Aemond’s rang through the air. Dreamfyre hurled fire as Aemond hurled petals.

Whereas your suffering lasted two months, Aemond’s lasted a year. He never tried to conceal, nor cure it. Aemond once said he would die without you and he meant it. Over the course of his downfall, several had tried to convince him to remarry.

“She’s gone, Aemond-”

“ Do not speak my name. I am a prince, refer to me as such.” Aemond snapped coldly at Alys, who stood in front of him and his family in the hall. Unfortunately with a slightly swollen belly accompanying her. The very sight of it made Alicent and even Helaena nauseous. You had only been gone a few months.

“ Apologies, my prince-”

“ I did not say your prince, I am nothing of yours.” Aemond corrected once more.

“ You were once” Alys spoke, gazing wickedly at the man before her.

“ You tricked me, bewitched me” Aemond sneered.

“ I merely used your lady wife’s blood to make you think I was her. You, Aemond Targaryen are the one who chose to believe it. You began to love m-”

“ I loved her, not you! It will always be her-” Aemond turned swiftly as he felt the familiar dryness creep up his throat and out onto his hand, bringing rivers of scarlet in its wake.

“ I was going to offer myself up to you for marriage, but it seems that your wife still calls to you even from the ground.” Alys tuts, “Such a pity that I couldn’t have either of you in the end.”

Pity. It was a thing that Aemond found himself receiving often. Lords would offer their pity on losing such a gorgeous young wife. Ladies of the court pitied him for losing the only woman who could ever love a monster like him. Even Aegon pitied him, but not for the right reasons.

“It’s a pity that you lost your wife brother, because now I have to find you another one through alliance. Which mother loathes me for because she believes it’s too soon” Aegon grumbled the last part into his chalice as to avoid his mother's glare.

“ I will not take another wife” Aemond didn’t bother to eat nor look at anyone, he was only sitting at the table for duty’s sake anyway. In his head, he was in a whole other world where you were alive and happy.

“ You will remarry, to a Baratheon girl. You will remarry, forget about your old wife, which will get rid of those damned petals you leave everywhere, and then sire more children” Aegon chuckled darkly.

“ No.” Aemond refuted.

“ Yes-”

“No! I will not take another wife as long as I lo-” Aemond wasn’t able to say the word much these days without it being an instant reaction. The blonde looked down at his hands and saw not only flowers but thorns. He was nearing his end.

Aemond’s end wouldn’t come for many more months. Leaving him time to try and end his life quicker. Many morrows would pass and for each one Aemond sat on his knees in front of Vhagar, but nothing ever came of it. Either the dragon refused to kill another rider, or she agreed with Alicent on the fact that Aemond deserved to suffer as you did. Aemond also lived to see Aemys reach another birthday. He spent as much time with the boy as he could in between his duties. It was the only time he could ever get a glimpse of you outside of his mind. The four-year-old’s eyes had become windows to your soul. Not only did Aemys have your eyes, but he had begun to display your mannerisms as well. Mimicking the way you used to carry yourself, the way you talked, and ate as well. The only thing he held of Aemond was hair and emotional range. Though the latter did not develop until after your death.

“ Aemys, father must go now.” Aemond stood in full armor at the child’s bedchamber door.

“ Okay.” Aemys spoke with a soft smile before figuring out how to say his next words, “Tell Muña I say hi”

Aemond’s expression fell before it was quickly replaced. He memorized the look of his son once more before taking off down the hall towards Vhagar. Aemys’s words repeated through his head as he flew toward God's Eye. Blood trailed from the corner of his lips and nose, but he ignored and braved on. He would die a dragon rider's death, a brave death, so that he may meet you again in the afterlife. The universe, however, like before, had crueler plans. Air began to solidify into silk beneath the tissue of Aemond’s lungs. His bronchioles turned to thorns, and trachea to roots, all while his body remained the soil.

“ I-I lov-” For the first time since your death, Aemond sobbed. He needed to say it, needed to say he loved you before he died. The sky, the clouds, the stars, the universe, all of it needed to know how he truly loved you. Aemond could not see caraxes flying towards him with a rider confused on why his nephew was kneeled over before the battle had even begun. Daemon would not attack an injured rider, it would bring him no pride or glory. Instead, he watched as Aemond slid sideways from Vhagar and plummeted towards the river.

“ Avy jorrāelan” “ Avy jorrāelan” This time it was your proclamation of love that engulfed Aemond’s just as the river of sea and blood consumed him. Aemond Targaryen could not feel the crisp coldness of the water, only the soft warmth of your hands pulling him in.

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