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myspacebrat · 2 years

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Fooled round & fell in love (part two)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: you’re in love with your best friend but your best friend thinks love is for losers, choosing to sleep around rather than settle down. You’ve had enough and you’re ready to move on from your feelings, luckily you find someone who might make that possible but does Eddie really hate love as much as he leads on?

warnings: slight smut 18+MINORS DNI, cussing, smoking, fuck boy eddie, buckle up for this one

A/N: I am SHOCKED and so GRATEFUL at the amount of love part one got, I can’t even begin to thank everyone who’s read it and left sweet comments, I really didn’t think this would get more than a few likes so this has really given me the motivation to keep going.

Thank you again to my love @myobmaya for reading and giving me the best live commentary 💗💗💗

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After Eddie leaves, you and Randy head out to the party. You notice his body language is kind of off and he’s a little too quiet but you chalk it up to pre party jitters which you happen to be experiencing

Once you pull up to the unfamiliar driveway Randy gets out and walks around to your side, opening your door

“Oh, such a gentleman” you say with a smirk

“Only for you, angel” he retorts back with a sly grin

He wraps his arm around your waist and leads you inside, once you make it through the door you hear shot in the dark by Ozzy booming through the speakers, this was definitely not like the typical high school jock parties you were use to

Randy makes his rounds greeting his friends and doing his best to introduce you over the loud music, once he’s done you both head to the kitchen for some drinks his hand never leaving your waist

You walk up to the table filled with drinks and snacks reaching for a red solo cup and filling it to the brim with the red concoction sitting in the punch bowl, it was so sweet you couldn’t even taste the alcohol

While randy heads towards the fridge to grab a beer, you turn around to scan the party with your cup half way to your lips, your eyes lock with the brown doe eyed metal head you know so well, you send him a small smile and turn around almost immediately, feeling Randy’s presence behind you

He grabs your waist, pushing your body close to his while smashing his lips to yours, you both make out pretty hot and heavy for a couple minutes, when you turn around searching for Eddie, he’s gone

Randy leans down and whispers in your ear, asking you if you wanna go find somewhere in the living room to sit, you nod and take his hand as he leads the way, when you both look around you notice one spot on the couch that’s not currently being occupied. Randy heads over and sits down pulling you to sit on his lap, you squirm for a few seconds trying to get comfortable but he grabs your waist trying to halt your movement

Randy pulls out a joint from behind his ear

“Do you wanna smoke, babe?” He asks with an unsure look

“Yeah, light it up!” You respond back trying to sound as enthused as possible

He hands you the joint letting you take the first hit, as you blow the smoke out you notice Eddie with his arm around some blonde girl, she’s laughing at some stupid shit he said, you eye them as they walk out the front door together, Eddie takes one last glance back at you before he disappears out the door with his flavor of the night

Your stomach does that little plummet you’ve grown so accustomed to, but you remember you you have Randy so it’s not as bad as it could be

───⋆☆─────────────

You and Randy actually ended up having a pretty good time, even though you had this almost dread feeling in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t seem to shake no matter what you did.

you both smoked some more, danced a little and did a lot more making out followed by some groping

So once the party started to die down you were ready to go, you decided you were gunna spend the night at Randy’s place, feeling a bit anxious knowing what might possibly go down. You grab his hand and squeezed it looking at him while he drove trying to find something, anything in his features that could make you forget about the one person that seems to inhabit your mind constantly.

You keep telling yourself Randy’s good, he’s more than you could’ve asked for, he treats you great, too good even but that nagging feeling just won’t seem to subside

You give yourself a little pep talk before he’s pulling up to the parking garage

“You want him!” “Just have sex with him and forget about what’s his face!” “He’s probably balls deep in that girl right now, not giving you a second thought!”

“Wow, that last one hurt” you think to yourself

Once again Randy comes around to your side opening your door for you, this time you just shoot him a smile, still a little lost in your thoughts, he grabs your hand and walks with you up to his apartment

“Is everything okay?” He asks looking down at you with worried eyes

“Yeah I’m great!” The words rush out of you a little too fast

“Hey, if you’re nervous about us taking this further, you can tell me, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

God, why is he so perfect?

“No, I know, but I’m comfortable with it if you are?”

He chuckles shaking his head

“I’m more than comfortable with it, baby”

Once you get into his apartment you both start kissing, unable to keep your hands off each other he softly pushes you up against the back of the door, running his hand down the side of your thigh, inching his hand up past your skirt, you let out a soft moan when his lips attach to your neck sucking and licking, you can’t help but think about Eddie in this moment

“Is this how he’d kiss me?” “How he’d touch me?” “God, what I would do for him to touch me like this!” “No, no! You’re with Randy, not Eddie!” You mentally scold yourself.

His hand moves up toward your panties, snapping the side of your thong back in to your skin, as he smirks against your neck, his fingers finally touching the spot you’re craving the most, he dips his finger past your panties, swirling his thumb around your clit, you let out a high pitched moan not expecting to be so sensitive, forgetting weed has the tendency to do that to you

He continues with his assault on your clit, you’re a moaning mess now, almost unable to even keep yourself up as you clench around nothing feeling your orgasm begin to creep up on you, your brain is so scrambled by the pleasure that when you’re cumming you scream out the first name that comes to mind

“EDDIE!”

Randy removes his hand from your panties, unlatching his lips from your neck, he’s looking at you like you just told him his dog died, and you couldn’t feel any lower in this moment

“What the fuck?” Randy spits moving away from you a little

“What’d you say?”

“Randy, I’m so sorry! I don’t even know why or how that happened, I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately and-“

“Do you like Eddie, or something? Like is there something going on there?” He says cutting you off

“No, no I don’t!”

You shout, way less convincing then you were trying to be

“Listen, I’m not blind, I can see the way you look at each other, and the way he looks at me when I’m with you. I like you a lot y/n but I don’t want to be holding you back if there is something there”

You shake your head signaling that you understand what he’s saying, as you bite at your bottom lip, but nothings really registering, you feel utter humiliation rush over you, your mind is completely clouded, as you internally curse yourself

“I really am sorry, I never meant to drag you into this bullshit, I really like you too, you’re a great guy, but I don’t know maybe I need some time to just get over him before I jump into something new”

“Get over him?” Randy asks

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

“Because it’s not that simple” you say coming out more as a whisper

“Well if you figure it out and realize that asshats not for you, you know where to find me”

You give him a small nod and smile

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asks

“Yes, please” you answer back

───⋆☆─────────────

You decide to stay in and distance yourself from the outside world, you felt like a complete idiot, you humiliated yourself in front of the guy you were trying to move on with, how could you be so stupid and say another man’s name like that? You haven’t felt this low in a long time.

But little did you know the humiliation was about to get worst, Eddie was on his way to re-up on his stash at Ricks house, and apparently men gossip just as much as women because Rick told Eddie what had happened between you and Randy, all the grimey details.

That night while you were laying in bed still feeling sorry for yourself about the events that happened after the party, you got a phone call but you decided to let it ring

Not having the motivation to face anyone, it rang again, and then three more times before you started to get annoyed

You stood up from your bed and stomped over to the phone on your desk

“HELLO?!” You snapped

“Woah, sweetheart! Is that how you answer the phone for everyone? Or am I just special?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt

“What do you want, eddie?” You spit out harshly

“I wanted to talk to you, I feel like we haven’t just talked in a while, I miss you.” He said while whispering that last part and your body betrayed you by making your stomach flutter

“Yeah, well I don’t really feel like talking, I gotta go” you rush out

But before you have the chance to hang up eddie is shouting

“HOLD ON, HOLD ON! Don’t hang up y/n!”

You keep the phone held up to your ear silently telling him to keep going

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks

“I’m not sure yet, why?” You question

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come hang, watch a movie, order some pizza, you know like old times?” He says hopeful

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea?” You say defeated

“Why? Your boyfriend won’t let you hang out with your best friend?” He scoffs

Eddie knew what happened between you and Randy but he wanted to see what you’d say about it

“Randy’s not my boyfriend, we’re not even really talking at the moment” you say while closing your eyes and taking a deep breath

Eddie smiles at the revelation, all though he knew what happened he wasn’t sure where that still left you and Randy, so this was music to Eddie’s ears

“Oh damn, are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it?” He says while putting on his best concerned voice

“No, I really don’t, honestly.” You say taking another deep breathe

“Kay, well come hang out with me tomorrow and I’ll make you forget all about what’s his face.” Eddie says with a suggestive tone to his voice but you surprisingly don’t read too much into it

“Fine, fine! I’ll go, happy?” You retort

“The happiest!” He says

You both hang up and now instead of dwelling on the stupid mistake you made, you’re thinking about how the hell you’re suppose to face Eddie and act normal.

───⋆☆─────────────

part 3

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#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader

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pink-sparkly-witch · 11 months

Text

Everything

Summary: Dumped by her boyfriend, Y/N goes home with her tail between her legs, praying that her roommate, Dean Winchester, isn’t there to witness yet another failed relationship. But fate doesn’t work that way, and what seems like the universe conspiring against her might actually be what she’s needed all along.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, language, douchebag ex, Dean’s a bit of a dick at first, insecurities, heart to heart, frenemies to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry. This summary is awful. I hope you enjoy whatever this is 😅 Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

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The rain pours down, and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. You laugh bitterly at how the weather reflects your mood. Rain soaks your hair and clothing, your feet sodden and squelching; the stilettos you’re wearing offer zero protection from the torrents of water falling from the sky and running down the sidewalks.

You’re grateful for it, truth be told. At least this way, no one knows the mascara that runs in black streams down your cheeks is from the tears you’ve been crying over that asshole. The asshole you’ve been dating for two months who just dumped you at your local bar while sitting next to his date for the night.

Fuck, how did this become your life? How did you become this gullible, desperate woman who keeps falling for these kinds of men? Men who date you and sweet talk you, saying all the right things until they get what they want from between your legs and then leave you for someone prettier. Someone younger.

Maybe the asshole’s right. Maybe you are the type of girl to have a fun time with, not the kind to take home to meet someone’s mother. But fuck, that hurts to admit and fuck, you lose more of yourself with every asshole that spews those kind of lines to you. If you’ve said it once, you’ve said it a million times. You’re done with men. And this time, you mean it.

You turn the corner onto your street and stop in your tracks. Dread settles in your stomach as you see your roommate’s car parked on the side of the road. He just had to choose tonight of all nights to stay home, didn’t he? That’s all you fucking need right now. You consider turning around and walking away. Hell, he wouldn’t miss you. You were meant to be staying at the asshole’s place anyway.

But, this is your home. Well, the place you live, at least, and you need to go there eventually. Might as well get it over with. Your lip trembles, knowing you need to face the one person you really don’t want to right now, especially in this state. He already thinks you’re pathetic enough as it is.

You walk up the stairs, dread settling heavily in the pit of your stomach the closer you get to the door. You cast up a silent prayer that the only reason Dean is home is because he’s got female company over. At least then, you can get in, grab some whiskey and get to your room quietly and unnoticed.

“Hey, what are you doing home so early? Thought you were staying at Chuck’s tonight?” Dean says from the couch, not even turning to look at you.

“Yeah, well, plans change. Why are you here? Thought you’d be chasing some skinny ass, barely legal bitch at the bar.” Your tone conveys pure disgust, and you curse yourself for it when he turns to look at you. And, of course, he laughs.

“What the hell happened to you?” he buckles, scanning your absolutely hilarious appearance. “You look like someone threw you in the river and left you to claw your way back out again!” Dean laughs, and you huff, desperately trying to stop the fresh batch of tears threatening to stream down your face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, there’s a torrential downpour out there.”

“Yeah, that explains the puddle at your feet, but not the rest of you, bitch,” he laughs, and that does it. You know he’s not being serious; you constantly hurl insults at one another, and it doesn’t usually get to either of you, but this time, it hits differently.

“The only reason I kept you around so long is because you’re like a bitch in heat. Always needing to be fucked. But that’s all you’re good for, and it grows old pretty quickly.”

Your eyes water, and your lip trembles. A sob escapes unchecked, and you wish the floor would open you up and swallow you whole. “I’m going to bed,” you mutter and turn to walk away.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean says, his face softening into concern.

“What, Dean? What? You wanna laugh at me more? Call me a bitch again, huh? Look, I know you don’t like me, but you know what? A little compassion can go a long way. Some humanity might make me actually believe you have a heart.”

Your mind replays every conversation you’ve overheard Dean having about you with his brother, his friends, and his conquests, and your heart sinks to the floor at how true your words are.

“Who? Her? She’s just my roommate. Baby, you don’t have to worry about her. We’re not even friends, and she’s not my type. She’s basically my live-in maid. She cooks and cleans for me and pays me for the privilege.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what happened?” Dean asks, stepping towards you, frowning when you step back.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniffle.

“Come on, you’re upset. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? So you can make fun of me like you always do? We're not even friends, Dean. Stop pretending you give a damn about me.” The hurt furrowing his brow surprises you, and you scoff. “Don’t look so hurt, Dean. I’m only repeating your words back to you. I’m the live-in maid, remember?” you turn and walk quickly to your room, slamming the door.

Whiskey will have to wait until Dean’s gone to bed.

It’s been quiet in the main section of the apartment for over an hour now. It’s probably safe to assume Dean has gone to bed, and you can get the whiskey you’re so desperate to drown yourself in.

Leaving the sanctuary of your bedroom, you pad down the hall in your bare feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dean is a light sleeper, and he’d complained before about you waking him whenever you get up in the middle of the night suffering from a bout of insomnia.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” Dean’s voice makes you jump as it rings from the small dining table by the kitchen window. He’s sitting in the dark, with just the moon’s light shining enough to see his silhouette. “I was getting worried,” he states, sipping from a tumbler.

“Oh, so you do have a heart?” you respond. It’s a bitchy comment, and you know it, but you’re in defence mode after Chuck. “Might want to show it once in a while.”

“Nah. Makes me look weak,” he chuckles. His joke caught you off guard, and you let out a little huff of laughter. “See? I knew I could make you smile!”

“Barely,” you quip back and sit across from him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and filling the empty glass Dean must’ve put on the table for you.

“What happened, sweetheart? You left here tonight looking stunning and happy, and when you came home—”

“I was crying, and you called me bitch,” you state, watching Dean’s head drop.

“Not my finest moment, I admit,” Dean says as he reaches for the bottle and refills both glasses. “I didn’t know how upset you were, and I was only teasing you. If I’d known that it wasn’t just the rain that made your mascara run, I’d never have said it, and I hope you know that.”

“I really wanna believe that, but you’re always saying hurtful things,” you say, draining your glass.

“The things you said earlier,” Dean nods. “I didn’t mean… look, Y/N, you’re a beautiful woman, and some of the girls I bring home get jealous, you know? I say those things to keep them sweet.”

You nod, thinking it’s a fair excuse. Dean does have a lot of women over, and you’ve pulled out the sting from more than a few of them.

“As for what I say to Sam and my friends, well, they tease me about living with a pretty girl and don’t believe me when I say we’re just roommates,” Dean continues. You have to admit that was also sound reasoning. It didn’t excuse it; he was still a dick, but you understood it a little better.

“It’d just be nice if you stopped for a second and thought of me as a person with feelings before you say those kinds of things in front of me,” you say, filling your glass again.

“Alright, sweetheart, I promise I’ll work on that,” Dean agrees, and you notice he’s watching you intently.

“What?” you ask, feeling uncomfortably exposed under his gaze.

“What happened with Chuck,” Dean asks again.

“I don’t want to tell you,” you sigh.

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you whine and hit your head on the table.

“Come on,” Dean says, topping up their glasses again. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise whatever it is, it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“I got to the bar, and Chuck was there with another woman. He told me we were over and that Anna was his date for the night. Then, to rub salt in my wounds, as I was walking away, he told me that all I was good for was a great time in bed. Always up for anything, like a bitch in heat.”

“And then you came home, and I called you a bitch. Y/N, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dean takes your hand in his, and you can see that it’s a genuine apology, and he really does feel awful about it. “You know he’s wrong, right? You’re worth so much more than that?”

“I don’t think I am. He’s not the only guy to tell me that,” you shrug. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m done with men and dating.”

“You don’t mean that. You think I don’t know about all the romcoms you watch on Netflix? All those girly books you read.”

“Yeah, well, a fat lot of good they did me. I’m starting to see why people are boycotting Disney Princess movies because they’re filled with romantic disillusionment and give a false idea to women that their Prince Charming exists somewhere out there.”

“This is more serious than I thought if you’re losing faith in the Disney Princesses!” Dean chuckles, and it makes you smile slightly. “Seriously, though, I think this is more about the men you date than you, sweetheart. They are way out of your league.”

“I am not out of anyone’s league, Dean. If anything, it’s probably the other way around,” you huff a bitter laugh.

“I’m out of your league,” Dean says quietly.

“You have that backwards. I’m the one out of your league. You’re gorgeous and charming, and I have seen the girls you bring home, and they are the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. I can’t compete with that.” The words spill out of you before you can stop them, and you think Dean might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell when the only sliver of light comes from the moon shining through the kitchen window.

Dean laughs, and it takes you aback slightly. “I have called you beautiful or some other variation of it several times tonight, and not once have you picked up on it. Those women are hot, sure, but you… You are on a whole other level of hot. You are stunning and so much classier than they will ever be.”

You scoff at his words, not believing them but not wanting him to know they affect you. You know Dean’s type, and it is definitely not you. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. There’s a reason Sam and Cas and Benny are on my case so much about you, and it’s because I really, really, like you—”

“So, all the insults and barely tolerating my presence was what,” you smirk over at him, “you pulling my pigtails and pushing me over in the playground?”

“When you put it like that…” Dean cringes. “I guess it was. Look, you’re hurt and sad, and we’ve had a lot to drink, so I’m not going to push you to tell me if this is one-sided, but I will talk to you tomorrow when we’re both sober.”

The warmth of the sun wakes you, and you stretch in its gentle heat. You’re not nearly as hungover as you should be, and for that, you’re grateful. Dean had some interesting things to say last night, and you’d rather your brain was running at full capacity.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen, mindful that Dean’s door is closed, so it’s likely he’s still sleeping, and start the coffee machine.

You busy yourself with clearing up from the night before. You rinse dishes, put them in the dishwasher and put the almost empty whiskey bottle back in the cupboard. You grab your and Dean’s favourite mugs and place them next to the coffee machine.

Taking the cleaning spray, you spritz all the surfaces and wipe them down while patiently waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

“How did I manage to find the only person in this city who likes cleaning?” Dean’s groggy voice sounds from the doorway, and you smile.

“Morning, Dean,” you say as you pick up the coffee pot and fill his mug. You place it on the breakfast bar and fill your own before hopping onto one of the stools and making yourself comfortable.

“Morning, sweetheart. Thanks,” Dean says as he picks up his mug and takes a sip. “So, about last night…”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I’ve wasted enough time, and now that my feelings are out there, I can’t sit on this any longer,” Dean pauses to take another mouthful of coffee. “I meant what I said. I like you, Y/N. I’m sorry if anything I did when I was in denial of my feelings hurt you. And I’m sorry for pushing you away and making you think I hated you so you wouldn’t find out how I really feel.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say,” you say. “I used to like you in that way, but with how you were with me, I turned it off because, for the past year, I’ve been thinking you don’t like me, and I don’t know if anything is still there for you.”

Dean nods, looking a little deflated by your words, but it’s clear he accepts them. “Can I at least try and make you get it back?”

“I don’t know—“ you begin, but Dean cuts you off.

“Please, Y/N. One date is all I’m asking for,” Dean begs, and you feel your resolve waning. You know you still have feelings for him.

“I’ve seen the girls you bring home, Dean. And I’m nothing compared to them,” you try. It’s your last bit of fight, the last time you’ll be able to give him an out from this.

“You’re everything, Y/N. And I mean that. You are smart, funny, kind, beautiful… you’re everything they weren’t. Please,” Dean begs again. “Just one date. Let me prove it.”

“Okay,” you nod with a small smile.

“Yeah?” Dean says, breaking out into a boyish grin.

“Yeah. I’ll go on a date with you, Dean.”

“Awesome!” he grins, looking like he just answered the million-dollar question. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#everything #au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x daughter!reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst

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unholyhelbig · 7 months

Note

oversight request if ur down! what if nat’s enemies captured ronnie? how would nat get her back? (i love seeing this darker side of nat… she’s hot asf when she’s mad 🥵) thx !!

Title: We Have Your Daughter [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When Veronica is taken from a friends house in the middle of the night, it's clear that reader and Natasha will stop at nothing to get her back and get revenge.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Gun use, kidnapping, use of gags & zipties, broken glass, threating statements, knife use, strangling, and horrible grammar.

[a/n: This one wasn't my favorite thing I've ever done, but I was way too far to scrap it. I might take a small break from Oversight oneshots so I can clense my pallet a bit!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The phone buzzed against the mahogany table on Natasha’s side of the bed. You were in a haze of sleep, something so cloying that it was hard to distinguish what the noise was. There were four monotone vibrations and then a silence so thick that you nearly drifted back into unconsciousness. But then, it started again, louder this time, it seemed, as the phone fell from the nightstand and to the carpeted floor.

An alien blue light filled the room and you groaned softly against the side of Natasha’s neck. You’d ended up laying fully on top of her; legs tangled. Your hands were under her, holding her as close as possible. The rhythm of her heart picked up when she stirred from her own sleep.

She blinked a few times before reaching blindly to the carpeted floor and retrieving the phone. It had stopped ringing again, but soon amped back up. The number was unknown, which formed a small marble of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Natasha sat up carefully and you shifted to the side to give her more mobility. Both of you shared a frowned look of confusion. It was three in the morning, and a stranger was calling. That was enough to arise panic in anyone, but with your profession, it seemed to echo further than most.

“Romanoff,” Her frown deepened, then. You couldn’t hear much, just the warbled and panicked voice of another. “Wait, slow down.”

She flipped back the duvet and stood up, flicking on the bedside lamp. You winced at the sudden brightness but tracked her frantic movements all the same. She was pacing. It often helped Natasha think. All trace of sleep had left you both.

“No, no. We’ll be right there. Thank you.”

When Natasha hung up and her eyes met yours, any hope of a peaceful existence had been sucked from the room. The words ‘I’m sorry’ seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t’ say it. Instead, she threw the cell phone on the end of the bed and moved her hands through her messy russet locks.

“Natasha,” you said, almost viciously. “What happened?”

“That was Luke. Someone broke into the house. We should… get dressed. We need to get dressed and get over there.”

Her words were broken, causing you to rise despite the wave of nausea that overtook you. Unsteady on your feet, you closed the distance between and grasped onto her shoulders as if to stabilize you both. Natasha’s eyes threatened to boil over with tears, they were red-rimmed and oh, so broken.

At thirteen years old, you both had deemed Ronnie mature enough to start having sleepovers with the other kids in her class. Of course, you’d meet with the parents first, and give them all the emergency contact information. Never tightening the reigns there.

But the Jones family were trusted more than most. Ronnie and their daughter Dani had been close since diapers. You’d spent days by the pool together and even took a family vacation with them to Niagara Falls this past summer, despite how ‘lame’ Jessica’s son deemed it when they dawned the yellow plastic ponchos.

“Is she hurt? I know we told Luke and Jess to call us first if something like this happens but if she’s hurt we really should get over there right away and get to the hospital. Call an ambulance maybe? God, please tell me she’s not hurt.”

Natasha’s hand cupped your cheek, and she peered into your eyes. There was sadness behind her stare that was incomprehensible. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from rushing at you in all different directions. Her touch quieted the noise, if not for a moment.

“She’s not hurt,” Natasha frowned, backtracked. “I don’t know if she’s hurt. She’s just… gone.”

The man said his name was Grant. He didn’t give a last name, and Veronica did not ask for one. Grant would do just fine. He looked like a Grant; his eyes were beady and black, his hair combed in various directions with a generous amount of gel. He was trying to look effortless and cool.

Veronica thought he looked like he was trying too hard. Of course, she didn’t say that, but the fact remained the same. The gag that had been nestled tightly against her mouth tasted stale, like the way a thrift store smelled. Maybe it was the carpet in the trunk of the car that lodged itself into her lungs.

She was calm and collected; prepared for something like this. As much as her mothers had poked and prodded and huffed and puffed when she suggested she start to learn basic things (like how to get out of zipties, or what to do if you were trapped in the trunk of a car), they had yielded.

Really, her aunt Lena had Yielded. While she still was discouraged from the heavy-hitting stuff, she did know how to break free of most contained spaces. She could also throw a mean punch if she put her entire body weight into it. But she had been sleeping when Grant shattered the window, and groggy when he hit her temple with the blunt end of his pistol.

The selfish part of Veronica knew that her mothers were scared right now, and reveled in it, for only a brief moment. She’d let out a grunt from being jostled when the car hit a particularly bad speedbump. Her teeth bite down harder on the gag, releasing a sordid taste that did not settle her stomach.

Even at the age of six, which Veronica remembers in bits and pieces, she knew that something wasn’t right with her mother. It wasn’t wrong, either, but it put her on edge and kept her voice trapped in her chest like a music box without a key.

You’d come home smelling metallic, sometimes like the salt of the earth itself. It was much less palatable than the sweet coffee that often graced your collar. She used to inhale the familiarity of it, but had stopped when you’d begin to get bruises and deep red gashes against your skin.

It was something that you’d try to hide from her, from Aunt Darcy, but in the deepest moments of your sleep, the fabric of your shirt would lift and expose the camouflage markings on your ribs or the crack of flesh on your back that Veronica was certain hadn’t been there before.

Then there was Mama.

Natasha. Natalia. Romanoff.

She’d heard every variation of the title. The name was spoken with a certain type of urgency in some, fondness from you, and fear from most. It wasn’t until Veronica was eight and paid more attention to those around her that she realized Natasha was the source of the un-well scent on you.

“Your moms whack people,” Dani had told her one day as they played up in her room. Veronica was meant to stay the night but there had been a heated and insignificant argument about who got to marry Malibu Barbie.

She’d whined back, “They do not,”

“They do too! I heard the other mommies at the playground talking about it. They whack people and it makes everyone else afraid of them and you.”

“You’re lying!”

Veronica had felt the tears prickling at her eyes. Not because Dani’s words were too much, they were just the right amount of hurt. Deep down, Veronica knew that something was fucked up about her family. And while they tried to shield her, it never stopped people from talking.

She would get looks from the parents of her schoolmates. Once that reeked of worry, and sometimes pity. It fed her anger, stoked the coal fire that burned within her. She shouldn’t be angry at her moms, she knew it was unfair. But as she clenched the barbie in her little fist, anger was the only thing she could truly feel.

“They don’t hit people!”

“That’s not what whacked means, dummy.” Dani seemed to catch her bearings, lower her voice to keep her own mother from hearing the accusations. “People that are near your family are never seen again. That’s what Cassie’s mom said. People that are near your family die.”

How could that be true? Things were so different here. There were different smells and Dani’s family didn’t eat around the table like hers did. The house was smaller and cozier. There were pictures on the wall that were black and white and worn with age. But there was love here, just like there was love in Veronica’s house.

A house with love couldn’t be a house where her mothers… whacked people.

Natasha held her with so much warmth at night. She read her two stories if Veronica asked and would get her a glass of water in the middle of the night. Sometimes, on the way home from school, they’d stop for ice cream even though you had cautioned against it.

Someone who let her get extra chocolate sprinkles was not a killer.

But the thought lodged itself in Veronica’s head and refused to leave. She was unnaturally quiet on the ride home, having called you to pick her up early from the wall phone. She held back tears and pressed the plastic close to her face until it was numb.

Natasha had cooked steak and mashed potatoes. Usually, it was Veronica’s favorite, but she watched as the pink runoff seeped into the white mush and quelled the nausea in her stomach by taking little sips of water.

She pretended not to notice the wary look her mothers gave each other, but it was impossible to ignore the way you cleared your throat, palming the wine glass to give your hands something to do. “Baby, is something bothering you?”

The dam broke. Veronica hated when you took that tone with her because it made her cry each time, made all of the hidden emotions bubble up until her cheeks were red and she was a sniveling mess.

This time, she blinked them back and looked between both you and Natasha. She clenched her fork in her little hand and drew in a breath. These were big emotions for such a small girl and she didn’t quite know how to swallow them.

“Why is everyone afraid of you?”

Your hand tightened on the glass you were holding, just loose enough to save it from shattering. Natasha had been mid-chew, her stare moving frantically to you before she swallowed and used her napkin to wipe the edge of her mouth.

“Sweetheart, did someone tell you that?”

Veronica seemed to tremble, shrinking into herself. She had gotten so verbal over these last few years, and this was a side that you refused to let her fall back into. You set the glass down and reached across the table. You covered her hand with yours, despite her refusal to unfurl it. It helped to ground her, had since she was little.

“Dani said that people are scared of you, and that they die around you. I called her a liar, a dirty liar, but she kept telling me it was true.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “That’s not true, right?”

The silence seemed to answer her question, but she stared at both of you. She wanted to hear it. She wanted you to look under the bed and slay all of the monsters that were intent on grabbing her ankles and pulling her down. Natasha looked down at her plate, almost shy. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Baby, it’s complicated.” You started, her wild eyes moving to yours. You felt her grow tense. “Your Mama and I, we want to be honest with you no matter what. This family is complicated, but that will never change how much we love you.”

They’d abandoned the food and spent most of the night explaining what they could. She was still only eight years old, and they held back from her. Each year of her life, they revealed more, eased her into it. And if she asked a question, they never, ever, lied. They answered truthfully- even if it wasn’t an answer she didn’t’ want to hear.

Veronica’s muscles had become stiff. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been shoved inside of the trunk, but light was leaking through the edges. She’d drifted in and out of sleep, her legs burning. She wanted to break free of her binds and stretch them out. Grant tied a good knot.

It was no matter, she thought, because her mothers wouldn’t let her linger for long.

Glass and blood sprayed across the back patio. Someone had clearly wrapped their hand and shattered it with sheer force. They’d cut themselves at one point or another, but it didn’t’ seem to stop them from muscling their way into the Jones’s home.

Luke, in his hulking nature, reached into the highest cabinet and got his daughter a glass of water. She hadn’t touched the muffin that was set in front of her. Luke was nesting, trying to ply her with gifts to ease the horror of what had just happened.

You felt bad, having to dredge it up when the memory was still so fresh. She had the deer-in-headlights stare. Wide eyes flicked to you and Natasha. She opened her mouth and closed it in succession twice. She looked like a fish.

It wasn’t that you hated Dani, you didn’t. She was thirteen-year-old child, after all. But, you were admittedly wary about her after she had brought Veronica’s walls down when they were younger. Kids, you reminded yourself. They were innocent, but they were also mean when they wanted to be.

“I already told you, “She said, frowning down at her untouched muffin. “We were both asleep when we heard a loud crash. It didn’t wake up mom and dad. I wanted to call the cops, but Ronnie was against it. Why haven’t we called the cops?”

The silence in the room was palpable. You were studying the edges of the glass, the dried dark blood against the edges. It was better for you to focus on that, than the fact that Veronica wasn’t here. You would spiral, then. You’d think about all the places she could be, and none of them were particularly good.

“Fine. There was a man with a gun in the kitchen and he… aimed it at us. Ronnie wasn’t scared. I don’t know how, the look in his eye was determined. Horrifying. He said that he wasn’t going to hurt us, he just needed her and then he would leave.”

“And she just went?” Natasha urged; her voice strained with exhaustion.

“Yeah, yes. I didn’t try hard to stop her, he had a gun. A gun!”

“Okay, alright. Thank you, Dani.” Luke placed his hand on the small of her back. She crumbled into him, dwarfed by his sheer size. Jessica glared at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink. She had been deathly quiet.

Suddenly, Dani looked so tiny in his arms, hugging her close. Your heart seized and you frowned at the broken glass at your feet. Natasha willed herself to continue. “Dani, I’m incredibly sorry about this. About all of this; but we need to know what he looked like.”

“I don’t know, he was tall and had these blue eyes that were just unsettling. He was sort-of good looking.”

Jessica seemed to find herself at that moment, working her hand through her hair. It was damp and unkempt with sweat. “You both need to leave.”

“Jess,” Luke interjected.

“You need to leave!” She raised her voice, turning to face the group. She kept her palms on the counter to steady herself, refusing to look at Natasha, but clocking you with a deathly stare. “We’ve ignored so much. We’ve watched Veronica when the two of you leave on your business trips, and come back looking like you’ve been raised from the dead. We pretend not to notice the guns you carry even at the fucking beach! But this is not something we can ignore. Y/n, this is my home.”

Her chest was heaving with rage but there was immense sadness in her eyes. Dani’s fingers clenched at the fabric of her father’s shirt. Natasha’s hands were in her back pockets, her red-rimmed stare trained on the ground.

“I understand. Thank you for everything. We’ll uh, get someone to come by and fix the patio door. I apologize for all of the trouble.”

Natasha moved to follow you, her hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t realized you were trembling until her firm touch was there to quell it. Her words were said with a gentle authority. “I made a few calls. A patrol call will be positioned across the street for the next week. Longer, if you’d like. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” Dani stood from the barstool. “There’s one more thing. The man, he had on this gaudy jacket and there was a patch on the pocket. It was red and there was a skull with these tentacles coming out of it. Totally villain coded.”

You frowned, diverting your stare to the small bug light at the corner of the door. It emitted a small buzzing sound that was barely noticeable. If you stared at it long enough, the tears that threatened to spill over would eventually go away.

“I hope you find her.”

Dani had said in a quiet voice. And you hoped beyond hope that you did too.

There was ugly green tile in the bathroom. Veronica had counted them twice over, and then to check her blurry math, she multiplied the length and the height until the numbers matched. She was bored and cramped in the off-white bathtub of a shitty motel.

For the first half-hour, she had her eyes on the water-stained ceiling. There was an abnormally large roach that crawled in circles. It had the whole ceiling, why did it confine itself to one spot? She’d made up a story; the brown little bug was training for a race. He was following the imaginary track.

He’d win, she decided, tugging softly on her binds. Even if though the horsefly can move up to 90 miles per hour. They’d learned that in class and it was one of those facts that she just couldn’t seem to forget.

Veronica could hear Grant on the other side of the wall. He had made an exasperated phone call and threw it down on the bed. He’d been oddly gentle and patient with her when he removed her from the trunk and subsequently locked her in the bathroom.

After living with a family of deadly criminals for the better part of her life, Veronica toyed with the idea that she was being held for ransom. Her mama, she didn’t hesitate when it came to stuff like this. Veronica had asked her once if that was easier.

They’d been jogging along a small path that cut through the woods around the property. Natasha was used to doing stuff like that alone, pacing herself and breathing in the crisp scents that nature had to offer.

It had shocked her when Ronnie asked to join, but she was quick to agree. She’d slowed to a brisk walk when the girl started to fight for air. Natasha may have pushed a little hard, but she was content to walk with her daughter, all the same.

The question had caught her off guard. “Ronnie, I don’t think your mother would appreciate me answering this.”

“You’re my mom too.” She stopped by a particularly large rock, placing both hands behind her head to stretch her chest out enough to ease her breathing. “Unless you’re afraid of her.”

“You’re baiting me.”

Veronica gave her a wolfish smile. Of course, Natasha wasn’t afraid of you. She wasn’t. You would sometimes get a deep look in your eyes that made her squirm in her seat. It was the mom look- the type of look that you seemed to inherit from the moment you first hold a baby against your chest. The need to protect was deep seeded.

Natasha felt it too, especially with the girl that goaded her right now. But she knew when not to push, and when to gently suggest something to you. Right now was a terse moment that blurred the line between something you’d be okay with, and something you’d initiate the silent treatment for. She sighed.

“Sometimes, there is more to suffering than the pain that’s inflicted. Does that make sense?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Waiting for the end is more tortuous than the act of ending itself. What I mean is, putting someone out of their misery is not only a mercy in some situations, but a necessary evil. I’m not a monster, Ronnie.”

She believed her in that moment. Natasha wasn’t a monster. Not to her. She could see how some of her charges would think differently, but this was the woman who would curl up in fuzzy pajamas and watch shitty romantic comedies with her, even shedding a few tears when the lead got the girl.

Veronica let out a long sigh and slumped further down into the bathtub. An uncomfortable and sluggish hit of pain moved through her legs and to the base of her back. First the trunk, and now this.

Her body stiffened when she heard the giggle of the door handle. Heels dug into old porcelain as she pushed herself up. Parts of Veronica’s stance was numbed entirely. Her shoulders were tight with tension, and a fine layer of dust was kicked up.

Grant clenched his jaw and unclenched it at the sight of her. He’d left her to her own devices for far too long. She watched carefully as he unscrewed the cap of a water bottle. The seal cracked and she relished in the sound, praying that it hadn’t been tampered with.

He knelt down against the side of the tub, pulling her gag from her mouth. She drew in a desperate and clear breath, clocking him with a glare. Sickeningly, he smiled at that. “You must be thirsty.”

She didn’t’ dignify him with an answer but allowed him to guide the water bottle to her lips. She gulped down more than half in a hungry fashion. Spare drops soaked into her collar and drip against her jaw. He pulled away and recapped it.

“I want you to know this isn’t personal. I’m not big on the whole ‘kidnap kids’ thing. I have a son of my own, and I wouldn’t ever want something to happen to him.” He paused and resituated himself into a more comfortable position. “This is business. I do what I’m told.”

Grant was trying to relate to her, make her feel some sort of sympathy for him. She wasn’t going to fall into his tactics. Instead, she glowered at him. “I hope he has a good mom. Because when mine find you, he’s going to need one.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m counting on it.”

This time, you had made sure that the gun was fully loaded. You were all for showmanship, leaning into the nickname that those who roamed the streets had given you. Even those who didn’t, a woman at the laundromat or the waitress that had replaced you at the diner all knew you as Roulette.

Once upon a time, you couldn’t push past the shadow that Bucky Barnes had created. He was the Winter Soldier, Natasha’s immoveable force of nature. She’d command him with a solid hand and anyone on the other side of that wrath was doomed.

It was a reputation that was impossible to live up to, yet somehow, you had done it. Not only could you kill with such ruthless abandon, but you had found a family along the way. Bucky would never question Natasha’s orders. But the two of you made them together, and that brought a new type of fear.

When Leo Fitz had moved for the weapon tucked into the back of his neatly pressed pants, you made sure to move with a quickness that rivaled anyone else in the room. The tip of your revolver was pressed to his temple, his gloved hands raising in surrender.

Ophelia Sarkissian smiled. Blood dripped across her teeth from where Natasha had connected her fist with bone. She was slammed up against the back wall of her office now. Her mantle shook with the force of the hit, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

“That’s the problem with old buildings,” she said, a mix of sticky saliva and russet discharge. “The aesthetics are there, but you sacrifice the integrity of the room. Don’t you agree, Nat?”

“I’m not here to discuss architecture.”

Natasha reached into her own pocket, not releasing her hold on the leader of Hydra. The little organization of evil had gotten admittedly bigger than either of you thought was possible. They’d gotten more men, more property. But they were resigned to Hells Kitchen and that was simply not under Natasha’s jurisdiction. She never found it in herself to care, not until now.

Knives were Yelena’s weapon of choice, but Natasha still found joy in the subtle bout of fear that flashed momentarily across Ophelia’s serpent stare. Leo attempted to move, but stilled when you pulled the metal hammer back on the revolver. All you had to do was pull the trigger and there’d be a new mural in Ophelia’s office.

“Natasha, would you mind calling your dog off? Doctor Fitz is a brilliant scientist. It’s not any old brain she’s fixing to blow out.”

The side of the silver blade had found its way to the edge of Ophelia’s eye, not quite touching it, but she knew that the slightest movement would spear her iris. She stopped squirming under Natasha’s threats.

“Okay, okay! What is it that I can do for you lovely ladies?”

“What is it you can do for us?” Natasha’s voice was a thick and hollow growl. Any sign of mercy had escaped her, one hand clenching the woman’s throat, the other pressing the tip of the knife hard enough to break porcelain skin. “Sweetness, I think you know exactly what we want.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Natty. I have my fingers in a lot of cookie jars.”

“If you’re inclined to keep your right eye intact, I suggest that you lead us to our daughter. I have no trouble taking a woman’s sight.”

Ophelia laughed and it infuriated you. Rage and impatience made a dangerous cocktail. You had tolerated the woman and her lackies through dinner parties and the occasional get together. But that was the extent of your relationship.

Seven full years and she still viewed you as nothing more than Natasha’s pet waiting to be house trained. You’d long since left your probationary period. You’d married the woman who had an iron grip on the city and in turn, raised a competent daughter in your stead.

“I have no godly idea what you’re talking about. You think I’m stupid enough to steal from you? I wouldn’t take a wine glass, much less your daughter. I have some common sense. What led you to believe that I would?”

You hated to admit that you believed her, but you still refused to remove the gun from Fitz’s temple. “The symbol on the jacket of the man who took her. It was your insipid mass of tentacles.”

Fitz cleared his throat “Ma’am, it could be Ward.”

“Ward?” Natasha asked.

“I fired him months ago. He’s mostly harmless but would do anything to get into my good graces. I suppose it would be possible for him to pull a stunt like this. Last I heard, he was living at the Motel six off county.” Ophelia gritted her teeth “It’d be greatly appreciated if you both left before you do something you regret.”

Natasha mocked a pout, dragging the tip of the blade against the side of Ophelia’s face. A trail of pin-prink spots of blood rushed to the surface of her skin. “But you’d look so good with an eyepatch.”

Veronica had drifted into an incredibly fitful sleep. She could hear the world around her; the skittering legs of the bug that ran laps on the ceiling, the slow and steady drip of the sinks faucet, the football game that Grant had turned on to drown out her movements.

It was the unmistakable sound of woods splintering that had caught her attention. Ronnie forced herself to control her breathing, just like you had taught her. She clenched down on the sour tasting gag in her mouth, heart pounding violently in her chest.

The television had been turned off and Grant’s muffled voice seeped through the crack in the door. She knew that her mother’s preferred to work silently. They tried to shield her from everything and everyone that held a potential threat. But there were some things that Veronica wanted to see. Including the downfall of her captor.

She made a small noise against the back of her gag and slammed her heel on the puke-colored tub. The dull thumb was enough to halt the movement in the room. There was shattered glass, and an exclamation that could have only been from Natasha.

Grant had locked the bathroom door from the inside and closed it. There was a strong hit that rattled the weak wood. Her breathing picked up as another hit caused the door to bend like it wasn’t a solid force at all, but entirely breakable.

Finally, it gave way and you stumbled into the bathroom in a cloud of slivers and dust. None of that seemed to bother you, eyes darting directly to the tub that your daughter had been housed in for the last six hours.

Veronica was reduced to a bubbling mess of tears. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to see you, needed to see you. There was something so warm and safe about your touch and it cut through the cold bathroom air like nothing she had ever felt before.

“Oh baby,”

Your voice cracked as you dropped to your knees, making quick work of the gag. Veronica’s jaw ached when you removed it, tossing the cloth aside. You used the very knife that Natasha had used to threaten Ophelia with to cut the zip ties that had cut dark purple bruises into her wrists.

“Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry.”

She gripped you with a strength that reminded you of the first day you’d dropped her off at kindergarten. She’d cried then too, wetting the collar of your shirt with nervous tears. Veronica had clung to you and wicked her fingers into its fabric. It broke your heart to let her go then.

You’d had a meltdown in the driver’s seat of your car with all the other parents that had emotional attachment issues. It was where you met Jessica for the first time. She’d dropped Dani off. Her second child so it was easier this time. She brought you a beer and told you that everything would be okay.

“Mom,” she whispered, over and over again, gripping you to make sure you were real. She was much too old to carry, but you didn’t give a damn in this moment. You scooped her up like she was six years old again and she wrapped her legs around your waist without any protest.

You tucked her head into the small of your neck. “Keep your eyes closed, baby girl. You’re safe now.”

Veronica clenched her eyes shut and dug further into you. She tried to ignore the noises she heard in the single-bed motel room. The choking sounds that Grant let out as Natasha did what she did best with the electrical cord of a lamp.

She kept her eyes shut in the freezing stairwell, and even when the warm mist of an early-morning dew coated his skin. She waited until she could smell the familiar leather of her mother’s car, and even then, she held you in a vice grip that you weren’t willing to let go of anytime soon.

You’d taken your jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. She curled into herself in the backseat of the car. It only took a few more minutes for Natasha to exit through the same service door that you did. Her hair was disheveled, a long gash against the side of her arm that you were certain would need stitches later.

Black blood dripped from the wound and pooled from her fingertips in small splashes against the pavement. She didn’t’ seem to notice, her adrenaline screaming loud enough to quell any pain she would have felt.

Natasha gently urged you to the side before she climbed into the backseat wordlessly. Ronnie seemed to let out a long breath of relief. She launched herself into the woman’s arms. Natasha grunted at the force but squeezed her as tightly as she could, letting her cry.

“Mama, I’m so sorry.” Veronica sniffed “I shouldn’t have gone with him, but he was going to hurt Dani.”

“Do not apologize moy malen'kiy strelok.” She pressed a kiss to Veronica’s temple, fighting back tears. “Never apologize.”

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libraryofgage · 1 year

Text

Hashah Tovah! It's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and there's no such thing as too much Jewish Steve in my book (that being said, this story isn't about the New Year, it's about Shabbat hfjdks)

Also, I'm gonna be honest, this fic is a love letter to Judaism and my experiences with my temple and the people there. My experiences aren't universal, though, so please don't take anything here as, like, the end-all-be-all of Judaism. If you have questions about anything here, you can ask me; I'll be happy to answer ^_^

The time period is also very loose. Upside Down happened, but some of the attitudes are probably a bit more modern. Honestly, I suggest just shutting off your brain and enjoying the story lmao

CW: vague mentions of antisemitism and homophobia

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't

(also this is like 4k so buckle in bois)

----

Steve's car has officially given up on life. Honestly, he's surprised it even managed to live this long. For all it's been through, it probably deserves some rest and TLC. Steve just wishes it could have demanded that rest and TLC on any other day.

Because it's Friday. Because it's Shabbat. Because he's about to have a mob of concerned elderly members of his temple crowding his door if he doesn't go to services tonight, and that's not something he wants his neighbors to see.

He considers calling Robin, but she won't be much help. She might be his Emergency Goy, but she doesn't have a car. Now that he's thinking about it, Robin may not be the best Emergency Goy, not that he'd ever tell her that.

He knows one other person with a car, of course, but that means he has to call Eddie. Not that Steve has anything against him, of course, but Eddie makes him feel a lot of things that he's not quite ready to confront just yet.

Steve frowns, staring at the phone for a long moment, trying to come up with any other option.

Steve comes up empty.

Shit.

He takes a deep breath and takes the phone off the receiver, slowly punching in the numbers as though he'll suddenly have an epiphany before he's finished dialing.

Unfortunately, he doesn't, and the phone is now ringing. It rings twice before getting picked up, Eddie's familiar voice saying, "You've reached Casa de Munson. The fuck do you want?"

"Do you always answer the phone like that?" Steve asks, momentarily forgetting about the favor he was planning to ask.

He hears Eddie hum and can practically picture the way he's now leaning against the wall next to the phone, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Stevie. What, pray tell, has you calling me?" he asks.

Steve almost hangs up. This is already stressful for him. What if Eddie doesn't agree? Worst, what if he does? Wouldn't that mean Eddie is going to see a part of himself that nobody but Robin has seen? That's fucking terrifying. What if Eddie suddenly hates him?

"I, uh, I need a favor," Steve admits.

"What kind of favor?"

If he wanted, Steve could just lie. It wouldn't be his first time lying about Friday plans. "My car won't start," Steve says, hesitating for a second more before continuing, "and I need a ride to the next town tonight."

"Gee, Harrington, get invited to a party?" Eddie asks, a slight edge to his voice that Steve can't quite place.

"What? No. I...it's not a party, okay? This is really important to me, man. Can you give me a ride or should I ask someone else?"

Maybe Hopper or Joyce would have enough time to give him a ride. He just needs to be dropped off. Getting back...can be a bridge he crosses when he comes to it.

"What time would we be getting back?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

"Probably after nine. And we need to be there at six, so that means leaving here no later than five," Steve says, trying to ignore the growing hope and sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. "I know it's really last minute, but you could spend the night at my place after. If you want."

"Will it be fun?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know, man, it kinda depends. I find it fun, but you might get...bored," Steve says. Or offended. Maybe infuriated? Maybe betrayed that this is a whole part of Steve's life he's never hinted at.

"You're being real mysterious about all this, big boy."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just hard to explain."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm bored and curious."

----

On the drive, Eddie keeps trying to figure out where Steve is directing him. He keeps asking questions, Steve keeps dodging them, and that feeling of inevitable dread keeps growing.

Of course, all that dodging is rendered obsolete as Eddie pulls into a parking spot and shuts off the van. A few families are walking into the temple, some parents glancing curiously at the unfamiliar van, some glancing suspiciously, and some too distracted by kids to notice.

"Uh, are you sure this is the place?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly as he looks at the temple and then at Steve.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands nervously gripping the material of his sweater. "I'm Jewish," he blurts out, feeling his face burning. When a few seconds pass without any response, he burns holes into a tree outside and adds, "It's Friday night services. Shabbat. I've missed too many because of...you know. The, um, the Rabbi called and asked if I was okay, and I promised to be at services tonight. You don't have to stay if you don't feel comfortable."

"You don't look Jewish."

Steve tenses, jerking his head to look at Eddie. There's no malice in his eyes. No suspicion, either, thankfully. He just looks...confused. "What's a Jew supposed to look like?" Steve asks in return, wondering if Eddie even knows that he's toeing the edge of the antisemitic swimming pool.

Eddie opens his mouth before closing it again. "Uh...I don't know, actually. Just...not you, I guess?"

Okay. Yeah. Steve can deal with this. He forces himself to relax. "Well, Jews come in all shapes and sizes," he says. He hesitates before deciding to get a burning question out of the way. "Are you angry?"

"What the fuck would I be angry about?"

"That I didn't tell you. That I was Jewish. To be fair, only Robin knows."

Eddie shakes his head, turning in his seat to face Steve. "No, Stevie, I'm not angry. I mean, I live in Hawkins, too. Not exactly the place to be standing out unless you wanna get accused of murder."

Despite himself, Steve can't help snorting at that. He takes a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, uh, do you want to stay for services?" he asks.

"Can I? I'm not Jewish. And I'm dressed like this," Eddie says, gesturing at his clothes.

A Hellfire Club shirt, denim vest, gaudy rings, and dark jeans. It's incredibly Eddie, and something about it reassures Steve. He says, "You're with me, so not being Jewish is fine. And your clothes are okay, too. It's not formal."

"My shirt literally says Hellfire."

"Well, it's a good thing Judaism doesn't really have a hell."

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, clearly full of questions, but then he just nods and climbs out of the van. Steve blinks and scrambles out as well, wanting to create some kind of buffer between Eddie and the congregation members who see a stranger and instantly become defensive.

The moment he's shut the door, he hears a little kid shout excitedly, "Steve!"

He whirls around in time to see a young girl rush across the parking lot, much to the shock and concern of her guardian. Thankfully, there aren't any cars, so the girl is unimpeded in her rush to Steve.

Eddie comes around the side of the van just in time to see the girl launch herself at Steve, giggling when he lifts her up and spins. "Yael! Have you gotten bigger?" he asks, smiling brightly as he comes to a stop and sets her on his waist.

Yael returns his smile with a grin of her own, tilting her head up so he can clearly see the brand-new gap in her teeth. "I lost a tooth! See? It came out last week," she tells him, practically bouncing in his arms.

By now, Yael's grandfather has reached them, smiling indulgently. "Yael," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "you know better than to run across parking lots." When she mumbles an apology, he looks at Steve, his smile turning warm. "Steve, it's been a few weeks. I'm glad to see you again, and you've even brought a friend."

Steve returns the smile and nods, shifting closer to Eddie. "Yeah, things got a little...chaotic in Hawkins. Oh. Mr. Adler, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, Elijah Alder."

Mr. Adler's eyes light up, and Steve suddenly remembers something incredibly embarrassing. "Oh?" he says, looking at Eddie with renewed interest, "So this is the famous Eddie Munson? I'm glad to see you've healed well."

Eddie blinks, glancing at Steve. "Uh, thanks. How'd you know?"

"Steve asked the Rabbi to include you during the Mi Shebeirach."

"The Misha what now?"

"Mi Shebeirach," Steve says, gently nudging Eddie with his elbow. "It's a prayer for healing."

Mr. Adler nods once, his eyes practically dancing with new gossip. "Oh, yes, you've created quite the stir among the Sisterhood, you know. They have a backlog of Mi Shebeirach cards and nowhere to send them."

Steve translates that information as "the old ladies have been dying to know who this mysterious Eddie Munson is, so Steve had better brace himself." His smile becomes a little strained. "Well, let's get it over with, then."

Mr. Adler nods and gestures for Steve and Eddie to follow as he leads them toward the temple. While they walk, Yael looks at Eddie, her eyes wide. "Why is your hair so long?" she asks.

"Cuz I like it that way."

"Oh. Why are you wearing rings?"

"Because they're cool."

"Oh. Why did you need healing?"

"I was hurt really bad."

"Oh. By what?"

"A bear."

"Oh. Are you Steve's friend?"

Eddie glances at Steve, meeting his eyes for a brief second before smiling at Yael. "Yeah, Stevie and I are best friends."

Yael smiles right back. "Steve is my best friend, too! He's super strong and can carry me without getting tired and makes the best hamentaschen at Purim!"

"Yael," Mr. Adler says, cutting off any continuation of the conversation as they reach the doors of the temple. "Why don't you go let the Rabbi know Steve has joined us?"

Her entire face lights up with joy. "Okay!" she shouts, wiggling in Steve's arms until he lets her down. She tugs open the door, straining until Steve smiles and helps her. "Thanks! Bye, Steve!"

With that, she dashes into the temple, her voice carrying Steve's name into the room full of other people. When almost all of them, including three children that Steve can see, stop what they're doing and look over at the door, Mr. Adler says from behind Steve and Eddie, "Brace yourselves, my boys. The wolves have appeared."

Steve groans as Mr. Adler pushes them both inside. "Should I be worried?" Eddie whispers, leaning in closer to Steve as the door shuts behind them.

"I apologize in advance," Steve tells him.

Despite his words, he has a large grin as the three kids shout his name and rush over, much like Yael did. They're followed by a few teenagers and their parents. The kids pounce on Steve, two holding onto his biceps and hanging from them as he raises his arms while the third clings to his leg.

"Where ya been?" one of the teens asks, her hair pulled back into a ponytail so permed it looks ready to burst.

"Yeah, man, I've been manning the oneg table by myself," another teen says, his arms crossed over a Metallica shirt. He's got piercings climbing up one ear and through an eyebrow, and his gaze moves to Eddie as he speaks, taking in the other boy. "Who's this?"

"Yeah," another girl asks, smiling at Eddie and batting her eyes in a way that makes even Steve feel uncomfortable, "who's your friend, Steve?"

"Kids," an older woman says, pushing her way through them, "you know better than to crowd. Shouldn't you be passing out prayer books right now?" Once she's managed to shoo the teens away, she turns her gaze on the children still clinging to Steve. "And you three, I heard Mrs. Rost needs help in the kitchen. Something about there being too many cookies to platter all by herself."

Steve suddenly finds himself weightless as the kids abandon him, dashing down the hall toward the kitchen. He smiles with slight relief and looks at the woman. "Thanks," he says, rolling his shoulders.

"Of course, Steve. Now, who's your friend?" she asks, looking Eddie up and down curiously.

"Oh, right. Uh. Rabbi, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, this is Rabbi Sara. I, um, I was hoping he could sit in on services tonight?"

Rabbi Sara immediately smiles at them. She holds out her hand to Eddie, shaking firmly when he returns the gesture. "Of course! I'm glad to see you're doing better, Eddie. We've been a bit worried about you here," she says. She glances around before leaning in and conspiratorially whispering, "There's a betting pool on whether his name would be added to the Mourner's Kiddish."

Steve snorts, knowing exactly which members would have started that bet. "Yeah, well, tell Diane and Yakov they've lost."

Rabbi Sara barely holds back her laughter, nodding once as she lets go of Eddie's hand. "Well, how about I spare you boys from socializing more," she offers.

When Steve nods, she gestures for them to follow her, leading the way to the sanctuary. He glances at Eddie as they walk, taking in the way he's tugging on a lock of hair and looking at the hall around them. "You doing okay?" Steve whispers, leaning in closer.

Eddie glances at him, is silent for a few minutes, and then says, "It's a lot to take in."

"Service will be easier. Lots of music. You'll like it," Steve promises, smiling reassuringly at Eddie. He hesitates before adding, "And if you want to leave, just let me know. The important part was making sure people saw I wasn't dead."

That's not entirely true. Steve doesn't want to leave the Shabbat service. He misses the routine of it and the feeling of togetherness as everyone sings. But Eddie's comfort is taking precedence here; he's already given Steve a ride and has begun subjecting himself to Steve's nosy congregation. Leaving early if he gets overwhelmed is the least Steve can do, really.

The teen in the Metallica shirt, Sam, holds out two prayer books when Rabbi Sara leads them to the sanctuary doors. His gaze lingers on Eddie for a few seconds more before asking, "Dude, do I know you?"

Eddie blinks and raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you?"

Their gazes hold for nearly a minute before Sam's eyes widen and light with recognition. Steve is bracing himself for the worst (you know, devil worshipper, accused murderer, wannabe criminal, take your pick). Instead, Sam grins and says, "Yeah, I totally do! You're in that band, yeah? The one that plays at Hideout sometimes? Corroded Coffin. Your music is metal, man."

Eddie returns Sam's grin, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leaning in close. "You know, you're alright. Always happy to meet a fan. What's your favorite song?"

"You played that new one last Saturday. Bats, I think. It spoke to me, man."

Steve stares at Eddie, wondering how he missed the fact that Corroded Coffin started playing gigs again. A curl of something like regret or maybe hurt begins to build in his stomach, and he's almost overtaken by it when Eddie nods and says, "Oh, yeah, that one's about Stevie."

"Oohh, dude, that makes so much sense now."

"You wrote a song about me?" Steve asks, successfully regaining Eddie's attention.

Apparently, Eddie sort of forgot he was there. His relaxed posture becomes a little awkward, and he removes his arm from Sam's shoulder. He clears his throat, tugging a lock of hair in front of his mouth as he says, "Yeah. Is, uh, is that a problem?"

"No," Steve says, feeling a reassuring smile tug at his lips, "but you should play it for me sometime."

"This is all very touching," a voice says behind them, "but can you take the flirting inside the sanctuary? We still need our prayer books."

Steve jolts and looks behind them, laughing awkwardly when he sees Rivkah, a woman in her early 30s, and her partner, Tamar. "Sorry," he says, grabbing Eddie's arm and dragging him through the doors.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie whispers, allowing himself to be pulled over to some chairs near the left corner of the sanctuary, "is everything okay? Like...are we...safe?"

It takes a moment for Steve to understand what Eddie means. Like, of course, he can't guarantee their safety. It's a synagogue. Every person here old enough to understand the world knows the risk, the potential for one person to show up and wreak utter destruction. Steve is about to say as much (and explain the temple's "worst case scenario" game plan) when he notices Eddie glancing at Rivkah and Tamar.

A light bulb practically clicks on above him, and he almost laughs at himself. He sits down and tugs Eddie into the seat next to him. "Yeah, we're safe, Eds," he promises, smiling softly when Eddie looks at him. "Rivkah and Tamar are married. I attended the ceremony. It was very nice. Tamar broke the glass."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, and he looks around the sanctuary with renewed interest. His gaze especially lingers on the people that file in, taking in the couples and families and groups that wouldn't make much sense outside the temple's doors. Steve is content to let him look, allowing himself to relax back into the seat and wait.

After almost 15 minutes, Rabbi Sara approaches the bema and smiles at everyone. "Good evening, and Shabbat Shalom," she says, nodding along as her greeting is returned. "I'm glad to see so many familiar faces tonight. And some new ones. The week has been long for some of us, but it's now come to an end, and we have gathered to celebrate its end, another week's beginning, and being together. Now, please open your books to page 47 for the L'cha Dodi."

Steve flips open his book as Anna, the cantor and the same girl who tried to flirt with Eddie, starts playing the guitar next to Rabbi Sara. "Uh, the book is backward," Eddie whispers, leaning close to Steve.

"Hebrew is written right to left," Steve explains, taking Eddie's book and opening it to the right page. "Also, don't worry about singing along. Just try to follow. If you don't know where we are, just nudge me. I'll point you to the right spot."

Eddie nods, looking almost overwhelmed, but Rabbi Sara starts singing before Steve can reassure him verbally. Instead, he just shifts so their shoulders are pressed together, flashing a tiny smile when Eddie looks at him before joining the rest of the congregation in singing.

Steve has to point Eddie at the right line a few times, but he doesn't mind. He's memorized the prayer by now, and the book is really just for show. He pulls Eddie up with the rest of the congregation during the L'cha Dodi, turns him to the sanctuary doors, and places a hand on his back to gently nudge him into a bow. Eddie blinks through it, following along but seeming overwhelmed by the entire process. When the prayer is finished and Rabbi Sara invites them to greet each other, Steve looks at Eddie with a smile (one of the most genuine smiles he's had in weeks), holds out his hand, and says, "Shabbat Shalom, Eddie."

Eddie doesn't hesitate to take his hand, leaning in close and returning the smile. "Shabbat Shalom?" he asks, speaking slowly to test the words and let Steve approve of the pronunciation. When Steve nods, Eddie's smile grows wider, and he whispers, "Shabbat Shalom, sweetheart."

That...that's a new nickname. And Steve doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe Eddie just wanted the pseudo-alliteration, but his smile says otherwise, and Steve feels like he's frozen in place.

And then a few of the kids dash over to him, shouting, "Shabbat Shalom!" at the top of their lungs and practically fighting to shake his hand first. Steve would feel honored if he didn't know they raced to beat each other to every adult.

After greeting, they light the candles. After lighting the candles, Rabbi Sara leads them into the next prayer, the rest of the service flowing smoothly with her as their guide.

The service is (beautifully, wonderfully, incredibly, thankfully) the same as always. Prayers are sung, and Steve can practically feel them in his bones. He's never been particularly religious (his mother would say they're more culturally Jewish than anything else), but he can't deny that the sound of over 50 people, young and old and in-between, singing together is an otherworldly experience.

They are singing a language that only a few of them actually know how to speak. Steve is reading a language that he wouldn't recognize outside of the prayer book. It's disconcerting as always, but also special, because he shares in the ignorance and devotion wrapped into singing words he wouldn't understand without the book's translation on the opposite page.

The Mi Shebeirach and the Mourner's Kiddish are Steve's sign that service is almost over. And for the first time in forever, Steve doesn't speak any names when Rabbi Sara calls for them. He sinks back into his seat, an unfamiliar relief easing tension he didn't even know he had anymore. But it's true. Everyone is fine, and they've all healed, and Steve no longer has to say Max's name or Will's or Hopper's or Eddie's. He no longer has to dodge questions or call up the Rabbi and ask her to include an extra name in the service.

And this realization, the sheer relief he feels at the simple act of staying quiet when Rabbi Sara's gaze sweeps past him, is almost enough to bring him to tears. His throat gets tight, his eyes burn, and his voice almost cracks when he joins the rest of the congregation in singing for those in need of healing and those who have passed.

Eddie nudges him gently, and Steve glances at him and then at their shared armrest. Eddie's hand is lying palm-up, a silent invitation, and Steve doesn't hesitate to accept. He slips his hand into Eddie's, interlocking their fingers, and feels infinitely better when Eddie squeezes his hand gently.

----

"So," Steve says, refraining from getting up as others file out of the sanctuary, practically tripping over kids racing to reach the oneg brownies first, "did you...like it?"

Eddie is silent for a few minutes, staring down at their hands. Steve almost pulls away, an apology ready on his tongue, when Eddie squeezes his hand tighter. "Yeah. It was...different. But good. I...there was more singing than I expected."

Steve grins, glancing up to see the sanctuary has mostly cleared, and stands. He pulls Eddie up with him. "Yeah, we sing most of our prayers. It's nice."

"It is," Eddie agrees, still looking a little lost for words.

Steve doesn't push. Instead, he pulls, leading Eddie out of the sanctuary. He gives their prayer books to Sam, grabs two tiny, sample-sized cups of Manischewitz wine, and gives one to Eddie. "Don't drink it yet," he says, nodding to where Rabbi Sara has her own cup and is waiting for the rest to be passed around.

Once everyone is ready, she blesses the wine, blesses the challah, and invites them all to drink and eat. Steve braces himself before knocking the wine back, the strong, warm grape flavor coating his tongue, vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine. He sees the same grimace on Eddie's face. "This is shit wine," Eddie whispers, his nose still scrunched as he tosses the cup into the trashcan like he can't get rid of it fast enough.

"Yeah. It's specifically for services," Steve says, "it's not supposed to be good."

"Right," Eddie mumbles, glancing at the oneg table, his eyes lingering on the desserts laid out. "Do you wanna stick around? You know, talk to people?"

Usually, Steve would. He likes catching up with the kids and teens, likes ganging up on them when their parents come around and playfully scold them, and he likes hearing the most recent temple gossip. But as he looks at Eddie, feels their hands still tightly holding onto each other, Steve finds he doesn't mind leaving early.

So, he leans in closer to Eddie and grins at him. "Or," he whispers, "we could steal an extra pack of brownies from the kitchen, sneak out the back, and eat them on the drive home."

Eddie returns the grin, amusement and eagerness practically dancing in his eyes, and says, "You read my mind, sweetheart."

Later, when Eddie pulls into Steve's driveway after an hour-long ride spent eating brownies, explaining different prayers, and telling him about old temple gossip, a different kind of tension will start to fester between them. Steve will delay getting out of the car, Eddie won't comment on it, and they'll slowly gravitate toward each other.

And they'll kiss. It will be awkward and taste like chocolate and end far too quickly, but it will be perfect.

Steve will pull away, a faint blush rising and his heart racing faster than it ever did with Nancy, and shyly offer to let Eddie spend the night. And Eddie will accept and spend the night and ask to attend Shabbat with Steve again and...

And so much more.

But for now, while he has no clue of the future that's about to start after an hour's drive, Steve glances around the crowded hall and pulls Eddie toward the kitchen.

After all, they've got brownies to steal.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #jewish steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing #this is so fucking self indulgent guys

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kazz-brekker · 2 months

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hotd episode 6 thoughts

boy oh boy this episode was so full of many delicious character moments, i feel very well fed

aemond really was in his best goth villain era tonight, honestly good for him!

i have never seen tyland lannister look more uncomfortable than he did with aemond looming over him lmao

i enjoyed the scene where aemond is firing alicent from the council while also simultaneously holding her hand in place so she'll keep touching his face…tasty tasty family issues

loved that song that the dragonkeepers were singing while summoning seasmoke, it was a very cool detail

also, it was really fun seeing seasmoke again, especially since he's grown bigger since we last saw laenor riding him

man, aegon and rhaenyra really need to put out an ad in the paper for new members of the kingsguard and the queensguard, those guys are dropping like flies

ever since daemon's visions at harrenhal started i really hoped that we would get to see viserys since so many of daemon's issues stem from being cast aside as heir by his brother so i'm SO pleased we got those scenes, it was a present Just For Me

daemon bro stop threatening simon strong he's a nice old man who's done literally nothing bad to you

greatly enjoying this dynamic of daemon and his new bestie the weird witch who may or may not be psychologically tormenting him with visions of his past mistakes and issues

genuinely alys is my favorite new character this season, she's so fun and i just adore her scenes

madam sylvi, dyana, and ulf getting together to bitch about the food shortages…the greens better look out the smallfolk are unionizing

i am getting the sense that aemond and madame sylvi had a…less than amicable end to their working relationship

aemond tormenting aegon in his sickbed really made me go c'mon dude haven't you made him suffer enough, leave him ALONE!

from rhaena's scenes in the vale it appears that they've cut the character of nettles and give rhaena her storyline instead. not sure how i feel about this…i'm all for rhaena getting more to do but nettles is also an interesting character in her own right

knowing alyn and addam's parentage going into the show i suspected that alyn shaves his head because he inherited the velaryon white hair and i was pleased to see i was right

baby stormcloud is so cute! but holy shit my the pit of my stomach really dropped when jeyne arryn mentioned the ship the gay abandon. my fellow book readers, i am full of dread!

i really liked the scene between gwayne and alicent, since he wasn't in the first season it's interesting to see how their relationship with each other and otto has been affected by that huge distance

i kind of miss otto, i hope he comes back by the end of the season

daeron mention! facts about daeron! a personality! never thought i'd see the day!

one of my favorite hobbies is being emo about scenes of alicent physically putting herself between her children and physical harm so i liked her and helaena fleeing from the riot together

that scene with larys and aegon was sooooooo interesting, there's definitely some manipulation/attempts to curry favor coming from larys, but i also hadn't considered that he might now feel some genuine solidarity with aegon after his injuries and can speak frankly about his disability and offer advice

i have been waiting since daemon got to harrenhal and began being tormented for him to have a breakdown and start crying so i was quite pleased when that happened :)

knowing that seasmoke is chasing after addam because he wants him to be his rider made that whole sequence really funny to me

i have often blogged about how daemon and rhaenyra each have what the other one wants (freedom and patriarchal status vs. viserys's love and position as his heir) so it was super fun for me to hear rhaenyra actually verbalize that

i have been super into queer readings of this show since the beginning and all season whenever rhaenyra and mysaria interact i've been like "hmm…are they flirting…" but i truly did not expect them to actually kiss. rhaenyra targaryen canonically queer! on my tv screen! never thought i would see the day!

crazy to think that we only have 2 episodes of this season left after this, can't wait to see what unhinged drama still awaits us

#lots in this episode! i had a very good time!#pie says stuff #hotd #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #mysaria of lys

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lowlights · 7 months

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Recalibration

Din Djarin x f!reader / 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, medical diagnosis, reader is not able to have kids, lots of feelings, insecurity and worry, Din being just the absolute sweetest, comfort, reader has a uterus but this can actually be read as a gn! reader I think.

Last year, a cancer diagnosis robbed me of the choice to have kids. It's been a journey to grieve and process this, even when I thought I might not have kids anyway. This story was written in response to an ask to @haylzcyon who gave me the permission and strength to write this. This is dedicated to that anon, and anyone else who has gone through something like this.

---

You sat in a stunned silence outside the medcenter, wide-eyed and stone-faced. The people of the town bustled in front of you as they went about their day, buying fruits and textiles, laughing and arguing and living.

Rage boiled up inside of you. How could they just run their errands like everything was normal? Like your whole world hadn’t just been upended? The feeling was misplaced but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. Anger was easier than the unnameable monster that was eating at you from the very pit of your stomach. You clenched your hands into fists, knuckles white and aching.

“That deal took much longer than I wanted, I’m sorr- what’s wrong?” Normally the shiny Mandalorian was hard to miss - unless he wanted to be invisible - but you hadn’t noticed him walk up beside you. His hand went to his belt as he glanced around the crowd, his other hand protectively gripping your shoulder.

His touch shocked you out of your resentment of the world. “No, it’s- nothing’s wrong, Mando. Can we go back to the ship? Now, please?” You inwardly cringed at how high your voice was as you tried your best to be fine, and you knew that he clocked it immediately as well.

With a silent nod, Mando guided you back to the ship that you both called home. His left hand never left the small of your back as he parted the crowds for you wordlessly. At first, you found comfort in his presence but dread slowly seeped into your bones as you realized that you were going to have to explain what the doctor had just told you.

Mando’s helmet was off almost before the door of the ship had whooshed closed. “Cyare, what’s wrong? What happened?” His deep brown eyes bore a hole into your soul, and as soon as his hands cupped your face you broke down in tears. The ugly sobs poured out even though you wished them back into your body with every ounce of your being.

“I-I just went in to get my meds refilled and get some more bacta patches for the ship, right? I hadn’t seen a doctor in a while so he ran some…some tests.” Mando nodded along even though he knew all of this already. His thumbs stroked your cheeks as he tried not to rush you. The worry was clear on his face, though. You needed to just spit it out.

“He said I can’t, well I shouldn’t…I can’t have kids, Din. I can’t give you kids. I’m s-so…I’m so sorry. And I didn’t even know I wanted to have kids but now I can’t. I’m so sorry.” You collapsed against him as the sobs returned. He immediately wrapped his arms around you. Stars above, he must be so upset. What if he was angry? What if he didn’t want to be with you now? All you could think was the worst.

Mando murmured sweet, soft things to you as he softly kissed the crown of your head. As your tears subsided you could make out what he was saying.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. Please be alright, I love you.”

Your heart fully cracked open. “You’re not mad?” you asked with a shaky voice, finding the courage to look him in the eyes.

“Mad?” he asked quizically. “Why would I be mad?”

The assumptions you had made in your head spilled out of you.“You’re just…you’re such a good dad! And I can’t ever give you that. You deserve someone who can give you kids and the life that you want. I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Mando said firmly as he hugged you to his chest again. “Don’t apologize again. There is nothing to be sorry about.”

Relief rushed over you and you finally wrapped your hands around his waist. “Okay,” you whispered into the beskar chest plate. You stood there with him - your protector, your love, your Din - and said nothing as your breathing finally returned to normal. When you pulled back to look at him, you saw that his face was still twisted in worry.

“Are you- please, cyare, tell me if you’re well. Are you sick? Is it..is it bad?”

The realization that you had totally skipped over the why of this made you mentally kick yourself. “I’m fine! I’m- well, it’s not a terminal illness or anything. I’m so sorry- no, let me apologize for this,” you chided when he opened his mouth to protest. “It’s not something that will hurt me, so long as I don’t get pregnant. But I’m alright, physically I’m alright.”

Din felt his own relief with that reassurance and settled you both down on your shared cot so that you could fill him in on every detail. He held your hand the entire time and wiped away your tears when they came again, never rushing or prodding. When you were finally done explaining you looked at him with expectant eyes. What would he say now that he knew the finality of it all?

Din wasn’t a man of many words. This had certainly been the case when you met him, and he still was more likely to sit back and listen rather than speak. He cleared his throat and you held your breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is like to lose the choice to have children. But listen- we have a kid. We have Grogu. You’re my family. You’ve given me everything I could want.”

You bit your lip. “Swear?”

He nodded. “I swear. Down the line, if we want kids, we can adopt them as our own. I was a kid who needed a home, and so was Grogu. But as long as it’s the three of us, that’s all that matters.”

You believed him. The look in his eyes, the way he held you to him, the way he has always protected you with his life. You believed him.

Din kissed you, long and slow, and you melted into each other. “Speaking of, it’s time to go pick up Grogu from Greef. He’s probably destroyed his office by now,” he said with a chuckle. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” you sighed. You knew you would be, even when it got hard again.

You both stood and Din led you by the hand to the cockpit. It was time to go pick up your child.

#din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #tw medical #tw medical diagnosis #tw fertility #tw pregnancy talk

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deluxewhump · 2 months

Text

Guilt Rituals II

Cam asks Zee about their history

CW: past abuse, discussion of past dubcon, cam/zee stuff. Zee is largely forgiving/sees it more like Cam does than Alex does if that squicks you!

I think I avoided this conversation in depth because I think Cam would definitely avoid it for a long time, but it would happen eventually. Alex’s house timeline

Cam let himself into Zee’s room one night after work, discarding his work shirt in the laundry hamper. It was wet with warm rain from the short walk from his car to the apartment. The summer storm continued to drive against the windows. He pulled one of Zee’s tee shirts out of a drawer and sat on his bed.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?”

Zee looked up, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “Sure.”

Cam told himself anyone who was asked a question like that felt slight discomfort. It wasn’t because it was coming from him. He pulled the clean shirt over his head.

“When did you start to like it?”

It was out of the blue, but it had to be. He didn’t know how else to bring it up. He dreaded the answer he might get, but it would feel better than the speculation he’d been suffering in lately.

“When did I start to like what?”

“You know what,” he said quietly. Seriously. “With me.”

“Oh.” Zee thought for a moment, looking back and forth between Cam’s eyes. There was a pit of unease in Cam’s stomach that gnawed all day and only grew stronger at night. He felt it now. It made his heart beat faster.

“When I knew what you were doing,” Zee answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Well at first…” he switched off his tablet and repositioned on his bed so he was facing Cam more directly, his legs crossed beneath him. “Look, I wasn’t opposed to it. I never was. I just didn’t know how far you’d take things. I didn’t know if you’d try to hurt me with it. Like, is this sex or is it going to turn into something else?”

Cam nodded. That was more than fair. He’d thought Zee might say it was all a part of the hurting. That it was just more violence in a different form. His own thoughts paced in circles telling himself it wasn’t, it was, it wasn’t.

“If you’d asked,” Zee added, “really asked, I would’ve said yes.”

I’m sorry was on Cam’s tongue, but it felt vile. He said nothing.

“And it wasn’t something else,” Zee said gently, trying to reassure him. Reassure him. It was absurd. “You never hurt me with that, Cam. It was fucked up. I see that. Back then I was… not myself, a lot of the time. What was I gonna do, turn you down? But I’m not mad at you. I was just a little afraid of you still.”

“I’m sorry.”

He could say it for that part, for some reason. He was sorry he ever made Zee afraid of him when they were alone. He still couldn’t say it for the other thing.

“I know,” said Zee. “I can’t tell you it’s okay, but… you and me are okay.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m glad about that.”

“Did Alex bring it up again or something?”

“No,” Cam answered, pressing his fingers over his eyes. He had barely seen Alex this last week. Their schedules were fairly different. Now even Zee was working, albeit from home. He kept saying it was nothing much, that it was just an hourly gig, but Cam overheard Alex telling him it wasn’t “nothing much,” it was a leaps-and-bounds accomplishment considering the damage they’d done to his reading, and how hard he’d worked to regain it. Most importantly, it gave Zee some money of his own that wasn’t a gift from a former keeper, and a daily sense of purpose.

“I’m just stuck in the past right now, I think,” said Cam, just to say something.

“You’ve kind of made a lot up to me, you know.”

He winced. “How can I ever really make it up to you, though? How can I make it up to myself?”

Make it up wasn’t even the right words. He wanted to pay for it. There was no way to pay for it.

“I’ve wondered that, too,” Zee told him. “I’ve done more than one stupid thing in my life that I’m reminded of every single day.”

“Stupid isn’t the same as mean.”

Zee stared at his dresser in the corner before deciding whether or not to ask him something. “Why were you so mean? I remember trying really hard to be whatever you asked me to be. I get why the other stuff happened between us. I really do. I was there. But I still don’t get that part.”

Cam shook his head. “I dunno. I resented you. Not for who you are, I didn’t know you yet. Just for… being. Once you got there I kind of couldn’t stand to look at you. I think because I knew it wasn’t right. The conditioned responses and stuff kind of freaked me out. And, I think I wanted you to myself, and in order to be okay with the arrangement, I went with the part of me that resented you.”

Zee was looking at him calmly, indulgently. “I guess. I do wish it could’ve been a little different. I had Alex and Dom. They kept a lot on the rails for me. Kept me from, I don’t know, totally despairing, I guess? You guys made a frat house feel like a prisoner of war camp sometimes. It would’ve been awesome to have you, too.”

The gnawing grew stronger, spread outward and felt like missing a step on the stairs and nearly falling. Gutted, was the word he was looking for.

“I wish I could go back,” he said. He was pretty sure he meant it. That if he could press a button and have to relive all the bad parts of that year and a half over again, he wouldn’t hesitate. “I’d do it differently. I mean, I wouldn’t buy a boxie in the first place…”

“Don’t say that,” Zee said, widening his eyes for effect. “You guys were still a better deal than I might’ve gotten a lot of other places.”

“Okay, well, day one then. I’d… do it different. But I can’t.”

“That’s what regret is. It means you would if you could. But you can’t.”

“And what do I do about that?” he asked flatly, to no one in particular.

“I don’t know.” Zee laid back against his pillows and put his legs across Cam’s lap. “But if you figure it out, let me know, would you?”

#dubcon mention #cam and zee #bbu #I am so interested in cam feeling remorse #hope it isn’t trite

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blessthegulag · 4 months

Text

I Hate You, pt. 2

“A problem with authority? Of course I have a problem with authority, I’ll fuck it.”

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the incident, Alejandro confronts you, and you decide what to do with the situation.

Warnings: Smut, p in v, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), light degradation, rough sex, no protection, light angst, bad emotional management, reader kind of has commitment issues?, emotionally unavailable reader, cannon non-compliant (vague, incorrect use of the MW2 plot because I benefit from it ;) ), Spanglish, swearing, arguments, not proofread!, fucking the power out of the dynamics

Word count: 6.1k

Notes: This part 2 took the lyrics ‘Fuck the police’ quite literally. Anyway, it was really hard for me to write this chapter, since I didn’t want to make Alejandro too clingy, yet I still wanted him to be true to his emotions, like any mature person would (except reader, bc we love an emotionally unavailable woman around here who makes men suffer)

Aaaaand, might, and just might be a part 3, though I’m not very sure.

BY THE WAY, here’s some translations for the Spanish words that appear later on:

-Calentón: It’s just a way of saying something that happened in the heat of the moment, something not really thought out.

-Chula: A prideful girl who likes to flaunt herself, who thinks she is interesting and sometimes is self-centered.

-Pasión latina: Latino passion

**Manifesting that this happens to me with the 6.2ft cuban guy I met at my gym, who also happens to have the same vibes as Alejandro 🤞🏻🤞🏻🥴**

Part 1

Several weeks had passed since the incident, and guilt flooded your mind.

The morning after, the sirens had awoken you, taking you by surprise. You dressed up as quickly as you could, waking Alejandro up in the process. By the point the search party found you, you were sweating and agitated, your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, still trying to process what the hell happened the night before.

You didn’t know how you two didn’t end up getting caught, knowing that the aftermath of that night was still very present in the car, like a tiger had been locked inside of it. For weeks, you feared that the smell left behind would arise cheeky comments, suspicion within Alejandro’s men.

But nobody seemed to notice.

You were embarrassed, still.

For some time, Alejandro didn’t glance your way, and neither did you. No missions assigned, no meetings, no training.

It was as if God had given you a moment of reflection, of peace.

After that day, you had intentions to stop any sort of relationship with Alejandro. You didn’t even want to keep hating him, you just wanted to forget, to go on with your life as if nothing happened.

However, life had other plans for you.

The dreaded call came, Captain Price’s voice informing you of a new mission. From the tone of his voice, you knew it was important, an emergency. The mission required your specific skills, and you were sure that Alejandro would be there, too.

You had to accept.

Anxiety flooded you. It had you biting the bars of your enclosure, feeling a pit of nerves in your stomach. You were barely able to function, the time until the day of the mission slipping through your fingers, unstoppable.

Then, the day came.

Upon arriving at the meeting point, you saw Alejandro already present, reviewing maps and discussing strategies with the rest of the team. The moment he saw you, his expression hardened, quickly returning to his task, his eyes fixed on the documents before him.

The tension between you was palpable, unbearable. You were sure no one noticed, but the way his jaw muscles shifted, told you that he felt the same way.

Throughout the mission, Alejandro and you remained civil, working together like life long partners. The few words that came out of your mouths were about the mission, about the next course of action.

If anybody else were to be next to you two at that moment, would surely catch on to the tension. From screaming in each other’s ears, to agreeing in order to avoid interaction.

What you thought was nothing but a tough, distasteful situation for you two, turned into an even more ugly moment the second Alejandro opened his mouth.

“Escuchame, güera, (Listen to me, güera)” he began, his voice low, professional. He was using his Coronel voice, distancing himself from you. “We both know something happened between us. You can ignore me all you want, but that won’t change what we did.”

You side eyed him, the grip on your Glock tightening. “Is this really the moment, Alejandro?”

Alejandro’s expression darkened, his features set in a tight frown. “What other moment am I supposed to do it, with you avoiding me like the plague?”

“Maybe you should catch a hint,” you whispered, looking the other way.

Alejandro clenched his jaw, frustration evident. “You think I haven’t? I get it. You regret it. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain focus on the task at hand. “We have a mission to complete, Alejandro.”

“Go ahead and avoid it,” he scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper. Alejandro’s gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “But I can’t pretend, not like you.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Alejandro, please. Not now.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “No. Listen to me—”

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears, deafening you. You turned around, facing him. “No. You listen to me. There’s a mission on the line, so focus.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly agape. “For how long?” He demanded, his voice a low rumble. “How long are you going to keep running from this?”

“As long as it takes,” you replied, turning away from him.

And with that, Alejandro remained silent. You could feel him behind you, distant, angry. In any other situation, you would’ve already started screaming at each other.

But today, nothing happened.

You had turned down Alejandro in the way that hurt most, disregarding what he wanted to say. He took that personally, playing your own game, ignoring you in the same way that you had done with him.

The rest of the mission passed in a haze, Alejandro’s words echoing in your mind. You felt his presence like a weight on your shoulders, the regret of your harsh words gnawing at you tormenting you.

It drove you insane.

Back at the base, days turned into weeks. The tension lingered, thick, suffocating. Your tasks went on with robotic efficiency, losing track of your surroundings. You tried detaching yourself from reality every time you two crossed paths, but the hurt in his eyes weighed on your conscience.

Alejandro didn’t make it easy. He was everywhere— leading training sessions, briefing the team, conducting inspections. His voice was a constant in your daily routine, each command a bitter, sickening reminder of what you had done.

Of course, you remained distant, strictly professional, but every interaction, every glance left you feeling more hollow. You needed to put an end to this, but you were too prideful for that, too scared to face the reality of the situation, of Alejandro’s true feelings.

You were not ready to confront him, listen to him and expect to stay strong.

There were only two ways in which it could end, and you wanted neither. You were tired of the yelling, of the anger; you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, for your own sanity.

Late night workouts became your best friend. It helped you ease your mind, forget your worries. Some music on your headphones, the low light of the base’s gym keeping you from looking too much at yourself. You pounded the punching bag, lifted weights, ran on the treadmill— anything to exhaust your body and drown out the storm in your mind.

One night, you decided to make your way to the training room, making sure that the base was already asleep. You grabbed some disks, placing them on the bench press, ready to start lifting.

As you laid on the bench, staring up at the ceiling, you let the music in your headphones drown out the silence. You lifted the bar, feeling the strain in your muscles, the burn on your chest grounding you.

The door to the gym creaked open, but you didn't notice. It wasn't until you saw a shadow move across the ceiling that you realized you were no longer alone. You glanced up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Alejandro standing there, watching you.

He had that look in his eyes again, a mixture of melancholy, and deep vulnerability.

You set the bar back on the rack and sat up, pulling out your headphones. “What?”

Alejandro didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood there, his gaze intense and unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick, nerve-wracking.

Finally, he broke the silence. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, lifting your brows. “We’ve been over this, Alejandro. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, chula,” he said, stepping closer, still comfortably far from you.

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the bench. "It was a thing of the moment, Alejandro. Nothing more."

“A thing of the moment?” he repeated back, his voice laced with an edge of annoyance. “Es así de verdad como lo ves?”

Is that really how you see it?

His gaze searched your face, defiant, vulnerable, still wary.

“What do you want me to feel, Alejandro?” you said, your tone honest, tired. “What do you expect of me?”

The genuine note in your question caught Alejandro off guard, momentarily silencing any response he had ready. He took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. "I don’t know what I want you to feel," he admitted, his voice low and serious. "But I know that there was something real between us at that moment. And I don’t believe you can just dismiss that as a 'thing of the moment' or pretend it didn’t happen."

“Mira, Alejandro,” (Look, Alejandro) you said, exasperated, scared, the tornado of emotions in you making you feel dizzy. “Fue un calentón, y ya. It happened, but that doesn't mean that things have to change.” (It was in the heat of the moment,)

Alejandro let out a tense huff at your casual attitude, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Un calentón, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that what you want to call it?”

You nodded plainly, tired of the constant conflict between you two. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Alejandro’s jaw tightened, the muscles working under his skin. “So that’s it, then? We just go back to pretending nothing happened?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes. For both of our sakes, it’s better this way.”

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger, a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite conceal. “Lying to yourself won’t solve anything.”

You looked at him, vulnerable, done. “I know.”

You saw Alejandro’s eyes falter for a moment, his jaw tightening. His eyes searched yours one last time, looking for something, anything that might give him hope. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he pulled himself together.

Without another word, he turned slowly, resignation in each of his steps.

The soft click of the door echoed in the empty room, the magnitude of your confession hitting you. Your heart pounded in your chest, the situation having you on edge. The conversation replayed in your mind, each word a dagger to your pride, to your own feelings.

You wanted to reach out, to run after him, to take back the words that had pushed him away. But fear kept you rooted in place, unable to move, unable to change what had been said.

You had messed up.

—————

Days after, you found yourself exactly where you wanted to avoid. It had taken you hours of self-convicting, of self-restraint, and at first it worked. The days after the conversation in the gym, anger blinded you. You didn’t want to speak to him, you just wanted to forget, to move those thoughts away. You thought that, because your stay in Mexico was temporary, that you would be able to power through the situation.

But you were wrong.

It had taken a toll on your performance, and as a consequence, on the team. There had already been warnings on Price’s part, and you knew that another would mean game over. Due to that, too, your mental state deteriorated greatly. Eating was hard, training was hard, you didn’t want to speak to people. Everyone knew something was going on with you, but weren’t able to understand what happened.

Alejandro, on the other hand, carried himself with more grace. His duties were much more important than heartbreak —or whatever this situation happening led to—, which meant that it was an escape. He had remained professional, focused, as effective as he had always been.

Seeing him like that boiled your blood.

You needed to speak to him, to apologize, but it appeared that was doing just fine without you. And it was to expect, taking in account what you said about what happened.

You had turned him down, essentially.

And in that situation, it was him the one supposed to be suffering. But it wasn’t like that.

He was fine, and you were not.

It was all your fault for lying to yourself, for disrespecting his feelings like that.

But, what were you supposed to do?

Involving yourself with a colonel while being a staff sergeant, in an extra-official mission for the 141, after ending up stranded in God knows where. Hell, that was like being the mayor of a small town, and involving yourself with the minister of defense; with the president, even.

And worst of all, that said colonel had no fear nor doubt about what he was feeling.

That’s what you call ‘pasión latina’.

But you, as (in the words of Alejandro) a güerita from Colorado, weren’t used to such insinuations.

Facing a man like Alejandro wasn’t easy, and you wanted to believe that any woman would be intimidated by him. He was imposing, self-assured, proactive, dominant, there was no way in the world that you would face him.

Or so you thought.

The door of his office was closed, but from the noise inside, you knew he was there. You didn’t want to do it, you weren’t ready; hell, you could wait and escape to the US in no time.

But you had to. You knocked on the door a couple times, then waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears. Part of you hoped that he wouldn’t answer, that he’d ignore you so you’d have an excuse to get away, to avoid confrontation. But deep down, you knew you had no choice.

“Come in,” Alejandro said from the inside.

You made your way into the room silent like a cat, your steps calculated.

He wasn’t expecting you, you could tell by the way his eyes opened, by how he looked like a deer in front of headlights. Of course, his demeanor soon changed back to a mask of professionalism, looking at you just like he did when you arrived in Mexico: like a stranger.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice firm.

You took a deep breath, closing the door behind you. “We need to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “About what?”

Your intentions at first were to be more empathetic, more willing to listen, less reactive. But just like every time, Alejandro had a way of pushing your buttons like no other.

“You know exactly about what,” you said, your back still pressed against the door.

Alejandro's eyes hardened, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. "If this is about the gym, there's nothing more to say. You made your feelings clear."

You inhaled, trembling.

“I was scared,” you admitted, as honest as you could. “ I thought I had it all under control, I thought I would be able to ignore it until I left Mexico, but I can’t… It’s— It’s affecting everything, my performance, the team, my sanity.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Alejandro stood up, moving to the window, looking out the base.

“You think you can come in here and say that?” he finally said, avoiding you. “You think admitting it now changes anything?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep going like this.”

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you saw weakness, a moment of pondering. But of course, he shut himself back up. “And what do you expect me to do? You made a point to say that it was in the heat of the moment.”

You felt as if you had been punched in the throat. “I don't know, Alejandro. I— I was not being honest with myself. You said it, I knew it, I just… I panicked, okay?”

He took a deep breath, walking over to you, still keeping his distance. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “No puedes agarrar y alejarme para luego volver cuando te parece. Esto no es un juego, Y/N. No puedes jugar conmigo así.”

You can’t go ahead and distance yourself from me and then come back when you want. This is not a game, Y/N. You can’t play with me like this.

“What do I need to do to show that I’m not playing games? Do you want me to kiss you? To leave everything behind and stay in Mexico for you? What did you want from me in the first place?” you blurted out, desperate. “You've hated me ever since I arrived.”

“I never said I hated you,” he said.

“You acted like it,” you said, the heat in your voice making it difficult to remain calm.

“Because you have a problem with authority,” he barked in front of you, barely leaving space for you to stand.

“Of course I have a problem with authority,” you admitted, the intensity in your eyes burning holes in Alejandro. “But you fed it. This goes both ways.”

“Feeding it?” he scoffed. “It’s called discipline.”

“What discipline?,” you laughed in surprise, getting in his face, arrogant. “Is kissing your subordinate a known form of discipline?”

Silence set between you. Alejandro pressed his jaw, fidgeting with his fingers. You stood there, frozen, looking at him, waiting.

“No quiero escuchar una queja tuya nunca más,” he said, authoritative, his voice barely a whisper.

I don’t want to hear a complaint from you anymore.

He grabbed your neck, pinning you against the door in a harsh movement. He squeezed it, cutting blood flow for a couple seconds. You felt light headed, your mouth opened due to the euphoric sensation. Alejandro looked at you, angered, intense.

You felt weak at the knees, lost, needy of him.

Then, his lips crashed against yours. You felt his coarse beard on your skin, his sweet, earthy cologne overtaking your senses. His touch burnt, leaving a scorching, tingling sensation there where it landed.

His kiss was raw, primal, hungry. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him, desperate to feel you. You moaned in his mouth, trapped, weak. You wanted to scream. You needed him.

He locked the door. Goosebumps ran through your body, the implications of his actions sending waves directly to your core.

Alejandro took you with him, manhandling you to the desk. He sat you on top, kissing your mouth, your neck, the exposed part of your chest, everywhere he could.

You moaned his name, breathy, barely a whimper. It was overwhelming, your head spinning in circles as every kiss, every bite ignited fire within you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your back against the cold wood of his desk grounding you.

Then, his hands slid under your T-shirt. They caressed your sides for a second, before he brought his hands up your chest, your T-shirt following behind. Soon, you felt the cold air on your bare breasts, the fabric bunched up on top of them, leaving the perfect view for Alejandro.

His hands caressed your skin, his fingers dancing lightly on your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, taking in the view. His touch was soft, greedy, insatiable, squeezing your breasts lightly, grazing over your nipples so he could hear your breathy moans.

Your belt went next. Then your boots.

The fabric of your pants and panties hit the floor with a soft thud, resonating in the overall silent room. Alejandro had you under his control, perfectly fixed in his desk, surrounded by his belongings. Your cheeks were red, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

It took everything it had in him not to cum right then and there.

With one hand, he lifted one of your legs up to your shoulder, exposing your glistening pussy to him.

He swallowed, mesmerized, taking a couple seconds to appreciate what he was seeing.

Then, barely able to breathe, Alejandro took a couple fingers, sliding them through your wet lips. He passed them agonizingly slow, savoring the way your body reacted to him, how you looked desperate, needy, ready.

“Eh, chula,” he whispered, his fingers making small circles on your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mírame.”

Eh, chula. Look at me.

You looked at him, lost in pleasure, already fucked out. The sight of him had you clenching around nothing, trying to buck your hips up for more pressure. He looked breathtaking, absolutely mesmerizing: messy hair, trimmed beard, reddened lips from biting them so much.

You needed him.

You could see the desire burning within him, the need that matched your own. Your hands continued to tease, to tempt, bringing you to the edge, then pulling back. It had you moaning, crying, pleading with him to let you cum, but he would not give in. It was torture, the worst yet sweetest kind, the one that had you melting in front of him, urging you to do whatever it took to reach your release.

When he stopped giving attention to your clit, your mouth opened to complain. You were sweating, horny as fuck, completely broken down because of him. Not even a gasp could come out of your mouth when you felt his fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in, getting pulled in by your greedy pussy.

You mewled at the sensation, clenching around his thick, rough fingers, savoring every second of it. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the smell of sex already flooding the room, the sticky, lewd noises of your pussy so loud, that you were sure any passerby could hear.

Alejandro’s hand left the underside of your knees, bringing you back to reality for a second. You saw a glimpse of his face lower towards you, him kneeling to the ground.

For a second, you were confused, empty; but the moment his tongue made contact with your clit, every feeling except pleasure escaped your mind. The sensation was electric, sending waves of warmth through your body.

Alejandro had a way of taking over your mind, of clearing any doubt, any fear. With him on your pussy, licking every drop of your juices, abusing your clit with his tongue, it was impossible for you to hate him. The way he was making you feel had you in a cloud, at his disposal, seriously considering if staying in Mexico just for this was a good enough excuse.

Of course it was.

If it meant getting this treatment, you'd stay in a heartbeat; if disciplinary action was to be taken like this, you'd be in his office more than in your own barracks.

You'd fight your way into his bedroom.

Alejandro’s fingers curled inside you, while his tongue worked on your clit, making you squirm, gasp and moan his name, grabbing his coarse dark hair, pressing his face against you. The room filled with your sweet, pretty moans and the wet, more than obscene thrusting of his fingers inside your pussy.

He grabbed your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark, spreading you even more open.

You squeezed the muscles in your pelvis, feeling your orgasm bunch up, sending the nerves in your body into overload. You started panting, whispering his name, using his face as your own personal toy, your whole being so tense, that it took you a while to realize.

Your orgasm crashed over you. The tension dissipated in a second, making you melt against his desk, moaning in pure ecstasy.

Alejandro didn’t stop, his movements becoming more deliberate, his fingers slowing but deepening, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure from your body. You felt the aftershocks, your muscles contracting around his fingers as he eased you down from your high.

When he finally withdrew, you felt empty, unsatisfied.

You needed more.

He stood, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. He then took his fingers in his mouth, cleaning your arousal off of them.

Your mouth opened at the sight, your breathy whimpers catching his attention.

“Venga, güerita,” he said, grabbing you by the back of your neck. “De rodillas.”

C’mon, güerita. On your knees.

His tone came out as teasing, authoritative. You complied, sliding off the desk, your knees on the cold wood, your hands on his thighs, ready, impatient.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and eager, the anticipation building in your chest. Alejandro’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark, filled with a primal desire that made your heart race. Alejandro undid his belt, the sound of nylon slipping through the loops of his combat pants echoing in the room. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the thought of him.

Alejandro's hand brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing your lips before pushing into your mouth. You sucked on it eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the salty tang of his skin. He watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Abre,” (open) he ordered, and you obeyed, parting your lips, ready for him. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth, bunching up your hair, using his hand as a tie, to then guide you directly to the head of his cock, pressing it against your tongue. You moaned at the roughness, wrapping your swollen lips around him, taking him slowly.

He groaned, the grip on your hair tightening. You could feel the heat of his arousal, the way he throbbed in your mouth; it only fuelled your desire. You took him deeper, ready to please him, to make him lose control.

Alejandro groaned, pushing himself further into your mouth, pressing into your throat. Tears bunched up in your eyes, taking every inch of him, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, addicting; you were loving every second of it.

Alejandro's groans fueled your desire, each one reverberating through you, making you feel useful, submissive. You moved your head, sucking him deeper, feeling his cock throb against your tongue. His hand on your head guided your movements, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk for support.

He hissed through his teeth, the sound raw and primal, spurring you on. You could feel him twitching, his body tense with need, and you knew he was close.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop.”

His words were a command and a plea, and you had no intention of stopping. You bobbed your head, taking him deep, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your face, your breath coming in short gasps around his cock, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, his pleasure, the way he was losing control because of you.

Alejandro’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you closer, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You gagged slightly, but the discomfort only added to the intensity of the moment. You moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan louder, his hips bucking against your face.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was trembling, his control slipping away.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his hot release filling your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the way he shuddered with each spasm of pleasure.

Alejandro pulled out of your mouth, his breathing ragged, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes still wet with tears, and saw the pride in his gaze.

He reached down, pulling you to your feet, his hands roaming your body, feeling every curve, every inch of your skin.

Then, he kissed you.

His kiss was ravenous, claiming you with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him, your bodies melding together. The taste of him lingered in your mouth, mingling with the sweet intensity of the kiss. You felt his erection, still hard and pressing against your stomach.

You had to be dreaming.

Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. He bit gently at your skin, sucking lightly, guiding you back to the desk.

He took you in his arms, placing your ass on the desk, a hand on your chest making you lower your back against the wood. He took off his shirt, the sight of his bare torso having you salivating.

You were spread wide open waiting for him, taking in the sight of him. He swallowed thick, his mouth parted, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Then, he aligned his cock with your entrance. And slowly but surely made his way into you, painfully calm, loving the way in which you tried taking him faster than he wanted.

Your whole body shuddered, a breathy moan escaping both your mouths. Feeling him balls deep inside you had you losing your mind, drunk off the sensation. You two barely moved for a couple seconds, looking into your eyes, realizing what you were doing.

Before moving, Alejandro grabbed your thighs, folding you in half, your knees against your shoulders, his body weight on you, pinning you into submission. His presence was overwhelming, intimidating, and utterly intoxicating.

Once he started moving, a knot formed in your throat. It was slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch. Your body responded instantly, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper.

The way he filled you was too much, splitting you so good that it had you gasping for air.

Alejandro's slow, deliberate thrusts made you see stars. Each movement was precise, hitting every sensitive spot within you, making your body respond with uncontrollable shivers. You were completely at his mercy, folded in half, making you feel small and vulnerable under him.

He watched you intently, his dark eyes burning with a primal hunger. The way he moved was almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every gasp, every moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk, your body tense to withstand his intense, deep thrusts.

He had you moaning his name, gasping, whimpering. The sounds that were coming out of your mouth were so sinful, so obscene, that even the devil would catch himself blushing. His dick plowed into you, Alejandro admiring the way you frowned in pleasure, how you couldn’t shut up, all because of him.

“Lower your voice, güerita,” he said with a smirk, the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts plain up brute. “No quieras hacer que sepan a quien te estas cogiendo.”

You don’t want to let everyone know who you’re fucking.

The words barely registered when you felt his hand on the back of your head, grabbing a bunch of hair, pulling you to face the place where you two connected. Your free leg fell to rest on his shoulder, his grip on you harsh, dominant, forcing you to see how he drilled into you.

The sight was overwhelming. Watching his cock disappear inside you, over and over, slick with your arousal, had you on the brink of losing control. Alejandro's grip on your hair tightened, his other hand pressing your thigh against your chest, keeping you in place, dominating you completely.

The desk creaked under your combined weight, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the small room. Your breaths were ragged, each thrust sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body. Alejandro's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

Alejandro’s eyes were locked onto yours, possessive. Every thrust, every touch, every word he spoke was designed to drive you wild, to break down every barrier you had left.

Your mind was consumed by him, by the raw power and desire radiating from his every movement. You were his fuckdoll, surrendering to the primal urge that pulsed between you.

The desk beneath you groaned in protest, barely holding on as you fucked like animals. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, lost in a haze of lust and need. Alejandro's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you deeper into a state of ecstasy. You felt like you were transcending your body, your whole being aching with pleasure.

He growled, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, his grip on you tightening as he neared his own release. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

The way he said your name, how the Spanish came out of his mouth like a prayer, had you in a haze, desperate, hungry. You wanted him inside you, rutting into you forever.

Alejandro’s thrusts became erratic, silkier, smoother. He pulled your face harder into your chest, your only view your two bodies. You watched as his body tensed, heard how he moaned; his cock pulsing as pumped one last time into you, coating your insides with his cum, filling up to the brim.

You cried out in ecstasy, his thick cock still twitching inside of you, your body destroyed, sweaty, sprinkled with goosebumps.

For a moment, you were suspended in time, lost in the intensity of the moment. As the waves of pleasure began to become weaker, you collapsed against the desk, used, satisfied.

Then, you realized. A wave of guilt ran through you, the position you were in embarrassing you deeply.

You had fucked Alejandro, again.

He looked at you with caution, your expression not helping him be at ease. You dragged your T-shirt back on, the fabric damp and wrinkly, the coldness of the room bringing you back to reality.

What had you done?

You were out of your mind.

The realization hit you hard, the after-sex clarity giving away the blend of guilt and confusion. Alejandro, still catching his breath, watched you carefully. The intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air, heavy, undeniable.

You pulled away from him, quickly going to look for your clothes in a futile attempt to cover how vulnerable you felt. Alejandro’s eyes followed your movements with concern, unable to figure out what was going on in your head.

You stood there, your heart racing, trying to make sense of the situation. The silence between you was palpable, and Alejandro’s presence made it even more intense. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Guilt and shame were weighing heavily on your heart, and you felt yourself struggling to stay composed. With each passing second, it felt like the walls were closing in, the reality of what you had done becoming all too real.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his pants already buttoned, his shirt on his hand. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thick, turning to face him like a lost puppy. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

He took a step towards you, closing the distance between you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind. “Hey, talk to me, please.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… This wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t come in here for this.”

Alejandro’s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion evident on his face.

“I’ve realized that I don’t want this, whatever it is.”

“Then, what?” he said, desperate.

“I need to go,” you blurted out, turning on your feet.

But before you could walk away, Alejandro’s hand grabbed your shoulder softly, barely a graze as to not startle you.

“Wait,” he started. “Don’t go.”

His voice came out as a whisper, low and defeated.

You turned to face him, your breath hitched in your throat.

“I didn’t do this as a punishment, or in the heat of the moment,” he said, his eyes digging into yours. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You froze in place, his hand on you the only thing keeping you from losing touch with reality.

“Quédate aquí, güerita, únete a Los Vaqueros.”

Stay here, güerita, join Los Vaqueros.

“I’m part of the US Army, Alejandro,” you smiled humorlessly. “I can’t.”

“Things could be arranged.”

“My war is not here,” you said plainly. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

He nodded to himself, pressing his lips into a small line.

Then, he looked at you, taking in every feature of yours.

His eyes were dark, glistening with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Maybe it was sadness, maybe it was disappointment, you weren’t sure.

“Is this how it ends?” he said.

You looked at him, hurt.

“I can’t see a different outcome,” you whispered.

He nodded, his jaw pressed shut.

The room fell silent.

You were scared.

He was disappointed.

But it was how things were meant to be.

It was the end, even if you didn’t want it to be like that.

—————

A/N: God, I’m so sorry for those of you who don’t know Spanish, but this fanfic is SO much hotter without the translations. Also, seriously thinking about making a part 3, buuuut… not sure. On one hand I need more of Alejandro, but idk how to develop a relationship that started out as sexual, lmao

#smut #mw2 #call of duty x reader #mw2 x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas smut #call of duty #call of duty smut #cod mw2 #cod x reader #los vaqueros #task force 141 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 x reader

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zablife · 1 year

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Lily

Tommy x Lily Shelby (OC)

Summary: Tommy attempts to deal with the aftermath of his wife and daughter's kidnapping.

Author's Note: Written for @runnning-outof-time 3K celebration Tales from the Flower Garden with the prompt "Promise you'll come back to me." Congratulations again, K!!

Warnings: heavy angst, mention of blood, child death, mention of murder, trauma, anxiety, catatonia, fighting, drinking

“Kill…kill…kill,” the words fell from her lips in haunting whispers. The only words she spoke since returning from the clutches of the Changretta family, covered in blood. There was so much it caked in her hair and under fingernails. She’d done terrible things, but exactly what transpired was locked inside her mind forever, the price she’d paid to return to Tommy far too great to be revealed.

“You’re the only one who was there. What happened, Arthur?” Tommy begged to know. It was the question he’d asked day after day, but Arthur had been high on snow that night in the warehouse and the painful memory was erased in the white abyss.

“Told ya, Tom, it was over when I got to her,” Arthur explained, reaching for the whiskey on the sideboard to stop the aching in his head. Tommy grabbed Arthur’s arm, stopping him with a dangerous glare.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, eh? My daughter’s dead and my wife’s a fucking ghost,” Tommy spat, shoving Arthur into the wall with all the force he could muster. “I won’t ask again. What do you remember?” he shouted, trembling with emotion.

Arthur struggled under Tommy’s iron like grip as he repeated Tommy’s words from the night his sister-in-law and niece were kidnapped. “Do it…do it or else they kill your daughter. Lily knew it was the only way.”

“My fucking orders…” Tommy muttered as he released his brother from his grasp, stumbling backward as the guilt crushing his chest made it difficult to draw breath.

“May God forgive ya,” Arthur said, looking at the ground. He wanted peace for his brother, but knew that was impossible. The vendetta Tommy and Luca had started was to blame for all the turmoil and nothing would change that now.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his eyes as he exhaled a shaky breath. “You think anyone would forgive me now? Would you?”

“Forgiveness is out of my hands,” Arthur said numbly, looking out toward the garden where Lily sat still as a statue. “It’s not for us to decide.”

Polly walked into the study at that moment, determined to pull Tommy from his work and back to his duties as a husband. “Tommy, you should go to her,” she urged, but he only stared out the window at his wife’s motionless profile.

“And say what Pol?” he asked, shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

“You don’t have to say anything. She just needs to know that you’re there,” she advised. It was the only thing anyone could do until Lily decided to return to them. However, she needed the support of her family.

The servants were doing most of the work caring for Lily because Tommy was too afraid to go near, worried he might inflict more damage on her tortured soul. As it was his wife screamed through the night and unless someone took her outdoors in the fresh air, she'd claw the walls until her fingers bled.

Tommy turned with a nod, acknowledging he’d heard his aunt’s words and shuffled toward the doorway to the gardens. Inhaling a deep breath at the threshold, he took a step onto the lush green grass and began a path toward his wife, squinting in the bright afternoon sunshine. He couldn’t deny the lovely warmth he felt on his face, but the aching dread in the pit of his stomach held off any pleasure he felt at the sensation.

As he approached the bench where Lily sat, he hesitated momentarily. Although she hadn’t attempted it, she looked beautiful. Frances had dressed her like a china doll in a gown he'd chosen for her because she lacked the capacity to decide for herself. Her hair was fastened in a loose braid to keep her locks from her face and Tommy longed to stroke it, smelling the lavender bath salts she used.

God how he missed pressing her against his body, feeling her skin on his when he awoke, and wondered if she might feel the same. Since her return, she slept in a separate room. Tommy reminded himself it was best for her recovery. Her screams the first night she was home were proof she wanted nothing to do with him and why he had retreated instantly, so as not to make the pain worse. She was so fragile now, he worried one touch from him might break her.

Her back was ridged as he drew close, shoulders pulled backward tightly as though someone had forced her into position and her distant stare made him ill at the sight of her. She looked more like a waxwork than a human being. Tommy carefully took a seat next to her, leaving a small distance between them as he swallowed harshly. Did she even know he was there? he wondered.

Then she stirred ever so slightly, hands raising from her sides to rest in her lap daintily and her head moved to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes didn’t fix on him, but Tommy knew she spied him from the corner of her eye and he cleared his throat to speak. The words would not come to him as his heart thundered in his chest. How could he apologize for what had happened? All that she had suffered because of him?

A gentle breeze blew through the garden, lifting a few wisps of hair from her neck momentarily and Tommy caught the scent of her perfume mixed with the flowers from the garden. It was an intoxicating mix that reminded him of their days as newlyweds, caught up in the passion of early romance. They’d stroll the gardens after dinner and when the mood struck, he'd pull her into the flowerbeds, crushing the delicate petals as they made love. Lily chided Tommy for ruining her efforts at growing a proper garden, but secretly loved his affections. He smiled at the memory, but it was soon carried away as the breeze died down and he noticed his wife’s eyes staring back at him.

“Lily? Darling, can you hear me?” he asked hopefully, slipping one large hand under both of hers. “I want to tell you something," he began hesitantly, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. When she didn't flinch, he continued earnestly, "I know you weren’t meant to be with a man like me. This isn’t the life you deserved and there are things I regret, but nothing more than leaving you to defend our daughter by yourself. Whatever happened with the Changrettas, I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day." He searched her eyes for understanding, a lump forming in his throat as he choked, "It’s all my fault and I’d do anything to have you back.” Tommy’s eyes welled with tears as he spoke the words he hadn’t said out of fear or pride, but thought a thousand times before.

Lily’s chin raised slightly, lower lip twitching as though she would begin speaking at any moment and Tommy held his breath, anxiously waiting for her reply. Squeezing her hands gently, he noticed a slight change in the brightness of her eyes and he ran his thumb across the back of her hand to encourage her. However, after several minutes, no sound came from her parted lips and he sighed in agonizing defeat. Making one last desperate plea, he begged, “I can’t live without you, Lily. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Continue reading their story here- Windflowers.

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby x imagine #Tommy Shelby x OC #Arthur Shelby #Polly Gray #cillian murphy

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thedemoninme141 · 7 months

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A thing of beauty I know, Chapter 3: Forgive Me For Letting You Down Again.

Previous Chapter

[Changed the story name, felt like this one suits it more.] Wednesday approached the scene with Enid, her dark eyes scanning the crowd gathered around the grisly sight. As she attempted to push through, leaving Enid behind in the crowd, she almost went through the barricade tape but the sheriff stopped her, a stern expression etched on his face.

"Sorry, Miss Addams," the sheriff began, his voice firm. "But this area is off-limits to civilians."

Wednesday's gaze flickered over to the new sheriff, a familiar face she had seen before during interactions with Ex-Sheriff Galpin. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his attempts to assert authority over her.

"Since you know my name you should also know what I am capable of. I'm not a civilian, I solved the Hyde's case you failed to do. This incident may have implications for the safety of my school. So I expect to be at least briefed on the details.

The sheriff sighed, relenting slightly under Wednesday's persistent gaze. "Fine, But I must warn you, It's a grisly sight, Miss Addams."

Wednesday's lips quirked in a semblance of a smile, devoid of warmth. "I've seen worse."

"That's what I fear." the sheriff joked.

"We found the body mutilated, missing parts. The head's nowhere to be found yet. Other students suspect it might be some girl who used to roam around the school. Y/n L/n maybe, or...

But Wednesday didn't hear anything after your name. She felt her heart stop, a cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach. The world seemed to blur around her as she struggled to process the implications of the sheriff's words. For the first time in her life, Wednesday Addams felt something she had long believed herself immune to fear.

But it was not the fear of the unknown or the fear of danger that gripped her heart in its icy embrace. No, it was the fear of loss, the fear of facing a reality in which you no longer existed. The thought was unbearable, unthinkable, and yet it hung over her like a shadow, threatening to consume her whole.

"Miss Addams? Hello?" The sheriff's voice broke through Wednesday's reverie, bringing her back to the present moment.

Without a word, Wednesday turned away, her mind consumed by a single thought: she had to find you, to ensure that this nightmare wasn't your reality.

"Enid Where is Y/n?" her voice stoic but only her best friend Enid can hear the worry lurking there.

"I haven't seen her here, why what happened.. wait"Enid's eyes widened in concern. "don't tell me you think it's.." Enid couldn't continue as Wednesday went into the jungle to find you.

"Wednesday, wait! I'm coming with you!" Enid called out.

It would be good to have someone who can turn into a werewolf if needed, so Wednesday let Enid join her.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Wednesday asked as they went deeper into the jungle.

"I don't know before classes. I guess? But you should have an idea where she might be, I mean, considering..." Enid trailed off, her words hanging in the air, unspoken but heavy with implication.

Wednesday sighed, of course, she knows where you are.

Wednesday's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings about you, keeping her awake at night with dreams filled with memories of your eyes. What had you done to her? It felt like you had cast a spell, making her feel emotions she didn't understand. Maybe you were like a siren, using your music to captivate her.

Days passed, and she couldn't stop thinking about you. She couldn't resist following you around, trying to figure out what made you tick. Even when you disappeared into the jungle, she couldn't help but follow.

She followed you for almost half an hour before finally reaching your place. She quietly tracked you through the thick trees until she found you by a peaceful lake. It was a place she'd never seen before, a hidden spot away from everyone else.

From her hiding spot behind a tree, Wednesday watched as you went into a small shed and then sat down by the water with your guitar.

"I can hardly see the moon

Hope we'll get there pretty soon" you sang, your voice echoing through the quiet jungle.

"Trying so hard to release you out of the misery" Wednesday didn't even notice that she had already started walking towards you.

"Hold on to your wishes

If you can't hold on to me

… Forgive me for letting you down

Forgive me for letting you down again

I guess I'm not strong enough

Right now" Each word pulled at Wednesday's heartstrings, making her want to get closer to you.

"I know you have been following me Wednesday."

Suddenly, a voice spoke in Wednesday's mind, stopping her in her tracks. She froze, realizing it was you, somehow talking to her without speaking.

"No, you're not going crazy," you said "I am a telepath. I can read your thoughts and feelings. But I won't invade your privacy unless you want me to. Come sit with me, Wednesday."

With cautious steps, Wednesday approached the spot where you sat. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, a mixture of apprehension and anticipation coursing through her veins.

As she drew nearer, you turned to face her, your eyes holding a depth that seemed to penetrate her very soul. There was an understanding in your gaze, a silent invitation for her to join you in your sanctuary by the lake. Without a word, Wednesday lowered herself to the ground beside you.

For a while, neither the two of you spoke.

Finally, Wednesday found her voice, tentative yet filled with curiosity. She could feel the warmth of your presence beside her. It was a strange feeling, being both out of place and yet completely at ease at the same time.

"Your song... it's like it's stuck in my head," Wednesday confessed, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and fascination. "Whenever I close my eyes, I can hear your singing."

Your smile was gentle, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Is my singing that bad?" you teased lightly.

"No, that's not what I meant," Wednesday hurriedly corrected herself, feeling the weight of her words. "It's just... I'm not like this. I don't usually listen to music, I don't dream about someone's eyes... I don't usually fall in love..." She cursed inwardly, regretting her slip of the tongue.

You smiled, your expression understanding.

"With someone's voice," Wednesday quickly added, attempting to recover from her admission.

"Well, I suppose I should feel honored then," you replied, your tone playful yet genuine. "The Wednesday Addams, savior of nevermore, likes my voice."

Wednesday rolled her eyes but returned your smile with a hint of bashfulness. "I suppose you should," she replied, the corners of her lips twitching upward despite her efforts to maintain her composure.

"Maybe if you spend some time with me, like going out to get some coffee, spend some time here, perhaps you could sleep well?" you suggested, your voice carrying a hint of hopefulness.

Wednesday's heart skipped a beat at your invitation, a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through her. You were asking her out. The idea of spending more time with you both intrigued and terrified her. Yet, there was a part of her that longed to explore this newfound connection further.

"I... I suppose that could be... beneficial," Wednesday replied, her voice betraying a trace of uncertainty.

Your smile widened, a soft warmth in your eyes. "Great! How about we meet tomorrow afternoon?" you suggested, your tone gentle yet eager.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with doubts and hesitations. But as she met your gaze, she found herself unable to resist the pull of your presence.

"Tomorrow sounds... perfect,"

"So what happened Wednesday?" Enid had to finally ask pulling Wednesday from her thoughts, it was eating her to see her best friend so lost like this, you two were happy, and Wednesday seemed happy, so what happened?

"What do you mean?" Wednesday responded, her tone guarded.

"You and Y/n," Enid persisted gently. "You two seemed so good. What happened?"

Wednesday sighed heavily. "I don't want to talk about it," she said quietly. "We're almost there."

What if you weren't there? What if... she couldn't bear to entertain the thought. But then, amidst the rustling of leaves and the whispering of the wind, a faint melody reached her ears. A familiar sound that stirred something deep within her soul. Wednesday's steps faltered for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She knew it was you, she could feel it in every fibre of her being. But until she laid eyes on you, she couldn't be sure.

And then, there you were. Seated just as she had imagined, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, your fingers dancing across the strings of your guitar.

For a moment, Wednesday just stood there, feeling a rush of different feelings. She felt relieved but most of all, she was thankful. Thankful that you were there.

"Go talk to her. I guess, I will give you two some privacy." Wednesday nodded.

Wednesday approached you with cautious steps, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched you, lost in the melody of your guitar. It was a familiar scene, once she had seen so many times in the past few months.

Despite the familiarity of your shared moments over the past months, today felt different, as if she were facing you for the first time.

"I've been worried about you," Wednesday finally spoke, her voice laced with a potent mixture of concern and frustration. "A body was found in the jungle, mutilated and left to rot. And yet, here you are, lost in your music, oblivious to the dangers that lurk in the shadows. What if it had been you in that girl's place? What if the same monster that took her life decided to strike again?"

You paused, a wry smile playing on your lips as you met Wednesday's intense gaze.

"I don't just use my telepathy to chat with people, Wednesday," you responded "I can control them, I can drive people to madness, unearth their deepest regrets, their deepest fears. I could destroy them if I wanted to. And yes, I know about the body. That's why I came into the jungle, I tried to sense the monster, but I only sensed you looking for me."

"But still," Wednesday interjected, her voice firm despite the emotional turmoil she feels whenever she is near you, "It's not safe for you to come here anymore. You should talk to the sheriff, they suspected that it was your body."

"Why are you here, Wednesday?" you finally stood up, abandoning your guitar on the dusty ground. "I thought you didn't need any more distractions in your life,"

"I.." Wednesday wanted to tell you the answer, but it seemed like it was stuck in her throat, she was always so precise with her speech, and yet whenever she is with you she forgets how to use her vocal cords correctly. All of a sudden the other side of the lake seemed more interesting than your questions, she felt like she saw someone but in a blink, they were gone.

"For a girl who can be so attentive, you get distracted quite often Wednesday." you sighed "At least look at me when I am talking to you Wednesday."

Wednesday had always been hesitant to meet your gaze directly. Whenever she did, it felt as if she were staring into the depths of the universe, unable to decipher the complex emotions swirling within. Though you can just read her mind if you wanted to, you never did, as you promised, but yet, Wednesday feels like you can read her mind right through her eyes.

"Tell me you feel this. Please!" your voice pleaded softly, a whisper carried on the breeze.

"Because I don't need to read minds to understand how you feel, Wednesday," you murmured, reaching out to touch her hand gently. "Just give me a hint, and I'll forget whatever you said that night."

Wednesday could have agreed, could have confessed everything in that moment. So why didn't she? Why didn't she stop you as you turned to leave after she gave you nothing but silence? Why didn't she declare her love before it was too late? As you passed by Enid, she gave you a pitiful look, before looking disappointed on Wednesday.

"What really happened, Wednesday?" Enid asked once more, her voice tinged with concern.

Wednesday remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her mind echoed with the answer.

"I guess I'm not strong enough, Right now." 👉 NEXT CHAPTER

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dumbslxtclub · 1 year

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let me put my lips to something | e.m - part two

eddie munson x fem!reader

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, reader is 19, anxiety, ANGSTY angst, fluff, no use of y/n, mentions of cheating (eddie kisses reader while with chrissy)

word count: 2.1K+

a/n: big thank-you to @sidthedollface2 for this request! can't believe how many requests I received for a part two! and of course I'm gonna give you what you want, because I love ya x

taglist: @1paire2vans @spear-bearing-bi-witch @81rain @casmosmoon @eggo-segual @jazzycurls @bibieddiesgf

part one / part two

Guilt.

It’s a funny thing, how cyclical it is in nature.

A snowball effect, coming to terms with the ramifications of your actions, rendering you paralyzed with anxiety. Your friendship with the two people closest to you in the immediate blast zone, your guilt, a grenade without its pin. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Trapped by circumstance.

You know you should tell Chrissy, she has a right to know. If the roles were reversed, her pure heart couldn’t take harboring such a secret from her best friend, needing to make things right. But, unfortunately for you, you are not Chrissy. Selfishly, you don’t know how you’d cope with that. It’s almost unfathomable, the image of her Bambi-eyes widening, heart breaking in front of you as you confess the truth. Why couldn’t it be a different truth? Mistakes happen, and surely she could forgive an intoxicated kiss between long-time friends, unattached and purely platonic. But the truth is, you have feelings for Eddie and he feels something for you. Something he doesn’t feel for his girlfriend, a missing piece only you can give him.

Eddie was right. This is so fucked up.

As you bypass hoards of your peers in the school hallway, you feel as though you’re running on autopilot. Keeping up appearances, despite wanting nothing more than to seclude yourself and pray that this situation never happened. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best option. And that’s exactly what you’ve elected to do today. Keep your space from the both of them, withdraw and hope they can settle whatever differences lead to last night’s events. Distance yourself, at least for the moment. Let the wounds scab over before you pick at them again.

Successfully avoiding Chrissy for the first two periods, you’re thankful you don’t share every class together. You need time to rehearse your withdrawal. And withdrawal doesn’t have to just be physical, you pray you can get away with just nodding and smiling during your inevitable conversations. Her altruistic nature means she could see through any facade, and you need time to stabilize before hard questions are thrown your way.

Eddie, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. His homeroom seat remains empty as it has countless times before, you deduce he must have skipped school today. You should feel relief. Instead, you feel a sense of longing. It’s terrible, you shouldn’t want to see him after everything. But last night, with the ebb and flow of your guilt complex, you experienced moments of clarity. A cruel irony, the sudden lack of guilt breeding more of the same. Recalling the plush lips brushing against yours, hitched breathing tickling the nerve endings of your cheeks, setting your skin alight. And then, cognisance around your apathy hits you like a freight train, a new wave of culpability causing you to double over. It’s useless denying how you feel about him now, it would barely make a dent in the whole situation.

You pass through the morning like a specter, there but not. Scribbling notes onto blank pages, hoping if you scratch hard enough it might alleviate the dread lingering in the pit of your stomach. Floating from class to class, cementing yourself to a quiet corner of the school for your morning break. Your apple tastes rotten, your muesli bar far too dry. Nothing digestible right now, it seems. Less than you desire, and more than you deserve.

Eddie remains unseen for the rest of the day, as does Chrissy. It’s not until you unlock your bike from the rack at the end of the day that you spot them. Or rather, the end of them.

Eddie’s van speeds away, leaving Chrissy in the dust, still in her cheer uniform. A striking image, something so perfect stock-still like a statue frozen in time, it doesn’t take much to deduce that what’s transpired isn’t good. Betraying legs carry you towards her before your mind can catch up.

“Chrissy?” Words escape shakily, crossing the short distance between you. She doesn’t respond. You know a shell-shocked look when you see one. Like approaching a stray dog, you tread carefully and prepare for a bark or bite.

“Chrissy-”

She spins on her heel, the white’s of her beautiful eyes red with unshed tears. Anger. Heartbreak.

“Don’t come near me.”

Your stomach lurches, an ache penetrating your core, you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself. Willing that, at this exact moment, the earth beneath you might open and swallow you whole.

“I’m sorry-“ Is all you manage to get out before Chrissy retreats, beelining for the last school bus of the day. You’re smart enough to not follow her, knowing it won’t do any good right now. Teeth grinding together, your grasp on the handlebars tighten as you mount the bike and set off in a familiar direction.

Your knuckles rap against Eddie’s trailer door with such ferocity you’re sure it could break the fragile structure. Every inch of you is shaking, blood running cold with dread. You need answers, to start the Golithian task of fixing what you’ve broken.

The door swings open to reveal Eddie, standing in sweat pants and a very worn band tee. He looks like shit.

“What did you say to her?”

“Good day to you, too.” His voice is weary, complimenting the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He always knew how to get under your skin. Shoving past him into the living room, the air is stale in the stuffy room.

“Don’t start with me. What happened?” Your tone is demanding, causing the taller boy to shrink into himself. His gaze shifts around the room, uncertainty rendering him speechless. “Eddie, what did you do?”

“I ended things. With Chrissy, after school.”

“Oh my god.” Running your hands along your flushed cheeks, you pace aimlessly around the room. “Why did you do that?”

“I just couldn't, anymore. The whole thing felt like a lie-“

“To you, it was real for her. Did you ever consider that?”

Eddie winches physically, bearing the brunt of your apathy towards him. Leaning on the kitchen bench, he needs all the support he can get right now.

“I never should have said yes to her in the first place.”

“Then why did you?!” Your emotions betray you, seeping into your words. You’ve played that day over and over in your head like a broken record, when Chrissy practically skipped towards you to announce her new Homecoming date. Relationships blindside you, rendering you incapable of seeing a world without your person. You knew things could have been messy, but never anticipated just how bad it could be. But it scared you even more to imagine a world in which everything went well.

“I don’t know.” Eddie’s reply is mumbled, running his hands through his mess of curls.

“Bullshit.”

Vulnerably, you are poking around for his truth. The silence that follows hangs thick, your gaze pressing on Eddie knowing you can crack him.

“I thought if I couldn’t have what I wanted, I’d go for the next best thing.” His words are mumbled, shameful.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

For the first time since letting you in, Eddie’s sheepish gaze meets yours. He holds it, eyes softening with a sense of pleading. Communicating so much without uttering a word. And it hits you like a bullet to the head. It’s painful, the way you want to run and hold him, and the tension you experience from keeping yourself in place. You understand what he’s saying. And you refuse to accept it. You can’t.

“No…”

“Sweetheart-“

“Eddie, don’t-“

Surprisingly, Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. “Didn’t know it was possible to care about someone so much ‘til I met you.”

The pair of you remain perfectly distanced, neither daring to move a muscle. Two stars stuck in orbit, the only force keeping you together is the fact you’ve been doing it for so long. Biting the tender flesh of your cheek as you have so many times before, it offers little relief. You’d love to say something, anything, to stop what’s about to be disclosed. But you’re numb, quietly despondent.

“Thought you’d leave sooner. I mean, here’s this girl. Pretty as hell, loads of friends, treating me like a person? Felt too good to be true. Thought the day in the library was a one-off, was sure you’d never stick around. I mean, why would you? And then you did and- I just didn’t want to fuck that up. Didn’t want to lose you, even if that meant caring about you from afar. And then Chrissy-“ He signs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “- I dunno, I guess I thought I could convince myself to care about someone else. But I just- I fucking couldn’t. I tried, I really did. But, It just never felt right. It never felt like you. I always wanted you, and it fucking killed me. You don’t know what that feels like.”

Eddie’s vulnerability dries up your mouth, leaving it incapable of formulating a response. But your expression betrays you in ways you were oblivious to. Eddie studies your expression, desperate for validation. Wide-eyed like a baby cow, big and helpless. And something shifts. A quiver in your lip, an exposing softness in your glossy eyes. He sees it. Finally.

“You feel the same way, don’t you?” There’s an air of finality to his statement that sets you on edge, backing you into an emotional corner.

“No.” You lie through your teeth, and Eddie doesn’t believe a second of it. It’s vile, the way guilt transforms to pining. Undeserving.

“You do.” Eddie takes a pace towards you, and you don’t move. You don’t think you could if you tried.

“Eddie-” Voice barely a whisper, Eddie closes the gap between the pair of you. Running a hand through your scalp, you can’t help but melt into his touch, electricity coursing through his fingertips. It’s embarrassing, really. The effect his touch has on you, rendering you drunk, right there for him to bear witness to. Wrapping you in his musky scent, the marriage of cigarette smoke and cologne. Deliciously Eddie. There’s no use lying, not now. Fingertips trace their way along the frame of your face, snaking around the crook of your jawline. It’s heavenly. Lips ghosting above yours, breath intermingling as a sigh betrays you, causing Eddie’s grip on your jawline to tighten slightly.

“Tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll stop.” His tone is firm yet sincere, the trust between you palpable. No inebriation to scapegoat your actions now, the burden of blame is purely on you. You say nothing. And your silence is a response in itself.

Agonizingly slowly, Eddie lowers his lips to yours. A suggestion of skin on skin, so many unseized moments to back out, to stop. But every fiber of your being, every screaming nerve ending on your sensitive lips, cries out for more. Muscles soften at his touch, sinking into him. His lips catch you, warm and soft, finding yours with tenderness. It’s different, without the haze of a high numbing your senses. You feel him fully. The brush of his hair, curls falling around your face, tickling receptive skin. How his exhale feels like a caress, nose bumping against yours as his lips embrace yours. The expertly subtle flick of his tongue exploring your parted mouth, an invitation of more. But what buckles you, causes a coil to tighten in your belly, is the groan. Subconsciously emitted from deep in his throat, an unintentional byproduct of mutual wanting. Laced with hunger. Relief. The sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

And you know, right then, you need to stop. The temptation is beckoning, Eddie’s grip providing much needed comfort, solace between his lips. You could stay there eternally. Which is precisely the problem.

Before a moan can expose your neediness, you find the courage to mutter the only word flooding your mind.

“Eddie.”

He breaks away, lips feeling suddenly entirely too empty, buzzing from his touch. He sighs, holding the minute distance between the pair of you.

“I know. You can’t have it all.”

As if to keep him locked in place, your hand wraps around his, relishing in the cool sensation and grooves of his rings.

“Just- let me try to fix things with Chrissy first. She deserves that.”

Eddie nods, forehead pressed to yours. In another universe, the two of you could remain there, witnessing each other for an eternity. But you need to try to make things right, regardless of whether your guilt is absolved.

“Sure. You know where to find me.”

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #dumbslxtclub #eddie munson request #eddie munson drabble

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 1 year

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You’ve successfully become an overnight hyperfixation for me with all your FL brainrot all bc of one of your SAGAU posts, thank you for hauling me into the FL fan base :3

I had a sudden thought about Childe’s shift into FL being like a werewolf kinda shape change. Like he may have expended a lotta energy from sparring and when he feels the change coming he tries to hold it back but it causes him more pain along with what’s happening. His fingers/nails just slowly start to sharpen and armor is starting to jut out of his skin, and don’t even get me started on the sounds you’d hear from him as things happen- him in pain and the sounds of his body changing making my sympathy pains fire like crazy :’3

we’re absolutely concerned and horrified when we see it happen for the first time and shrink away and we might reach out to help but he swipes at us unknowingly. once he sees us tucked into a corner and realizes it’s us and he might’ve hurt us his mood shifts instantly. sad mothman feels mega guilty with little whiny growls and chirps :’3

But then cuddles make everything better >:3

ehehehe yesss, join the moth cult >:)

Childe takes a while to learn that holding back his Foul Legacy transformation just makes it worse- it's much easier to let it happen and get it over with, but he's stubborn and terrified that you'll be disgusted by his Abyssal half. you know something's wrong the minute you hear an awful cracking sound and a muffled hiss of pain, armor breaking through and spreading across Childe's skin as he grips a chair to keep himself steady. when you rush over to see what's wrong he pushes you away, collapsing to his knees as his teeth begin to morph into fangs and horns start growing from his head. you watch, nausea rising in your throat from the breaking bone and flesh until Childe is gone and Foul Legacy is left on the floor, wheezing from exertion. you take a tentative step forward- this is still Childe, isn't it?- but immediately jerk back when he swipes his claws at you with a low growl, unable to see you properly

you stumble backwards, eyes wide and full of hurt, and dart away to your room. Foul Legacy shakes his head, the fog in his eye clearing, and a cold pit of dread forms in his stomach when he realizes what he's done, scrambling to his feet to follow after you

he finds you in the furthest corner of your room and you flinch when he enters, his footsteps heavily landing on the floor. oh, his heart breaks when he sees you jump- Childe's beloved partner, and Legacy's already gone and messed everything up! the Abyssal beast lets out his softest whine, slowly lowering himself to your height and approaching. at first he doesn't dare touch you, but when you don't run away he carefully brushes his claws against your arm, whimpering when you flinch again. but then your hand slowly extends towards his, your smaller fingers wrapping around his sharp talons, and Foul Legacy's fur ruffles in joy as he starts to lovingly croon. he lets you trace the ridges and dips in his crimson mask, your posture becoming more and more at ease by the second, and tentatively he reaches up to hold your cheeks in return

to his delight, you don't run or jump- instead you smile softly at him, the same way you do for Childe, because you love him, too

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astraphone · 2 months

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every angle of unfair advantage

1.4k, alistair/surana. set immediately before the battle of denerim. She wants them both to survive this, and if that makes her a bad Grey Warden that’s a price she’s more than willing to pay.

The hour is late, tomorrow she marches to Denerim, and Aislyn Surana should be asleep. Instead, she finds herself pacing the expanse of Redcliffe Castle, ostensibly triple-checking that the forces she’s gathered are as ready as they can be, but mostly trying very hard not to think about what Alistair and Morrigan are doing right now.

Trying not to think about that, or about much of the past few hours at all. Not the pit of dread in her stomach when she learned that a Grey Warden had to die to end the Blight. Not the warring feelings of betrayal and relief when Morrigan told her she’d known all along, and knew another way. Certainly not the look Alistair had given her as she explained what, exactly, she wanted him to do.

She gives up haunting the corridors when Wynne gently but firmly suggests that Aislyn’s obvious and uncharacteristic anxiety might start rubbing off on the soldiers, and resorts to walking circles around her guest room instead. She tells herself she isn’t expecting Alistair, even though they’ve been sharing tents and beds every night for months now.

When the knock on the door does come, it’s more of a relief than Aislyn cares to admit. She pauses a moment to make it seem like she hasn’t been anxiously waiting for him—old habits die hard, and a lifetime of careful poise and restraint doesn’t vanish just because she’s in love—before answering. Alistair is waiting, his expression more blank than she’s seen it in a long time.

“It’s done?” She steps aside to let him in, biting down the bizarre and deeply unhelpful urge to ask him how it was.

“Would it shock you to learn Morrigan isn’t one for pillow talk?” There had been yelling, on both their parts, as she’d talked him into the ritual, but Alistair’s voice is toneless now. He looks as exhausted as she feels, and she wants desperately to reach for him, but the fear that he wants nothing to do with her after what she’s just asked of him keeps her hands at her sides.

“Are you alright?” She asks instead.

Alistair snorts, that bitter half-laugh he gives when he’s not actually amused at all. “What do you think?”

She thinks that she doesn’t know how to fix this in the few hours before they march to Denerim. “I’m sorry, Alistair.”

(She is, and also she isn’t. She’s sorry there was no better way, that it had to be him, that she’s certain he’ll take on any consequences down the line as his own responsibility. She’s not sorry at all that she doesn’t want them to die, that she was offered a loophole and she took it.)

Alistair sighs and flops down on Aislyn’s bed, covering his face with a hand. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Not tonight.”

“We might not get another night.” Aislyn remains standing by the door, unsure what to do with herself. Over these past few months she’s gotten used to the two of them comfortably existing in each other's spaces; a kiss on her cheek after a battle, a hand finding hers as they trek through the wilderness, an arm around her shoulder as they sit beside the campfire at night. She doesn’t know what to do with distance anymore, nor is she sure in this moment how to close it.

“We might. That’s what this whole plan was for, wasn’t it?”

“We’re about to fight an Archdemon, ritual or no,” she points out. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Don’t try to tell me that was for nothing, Aislyn.” A bit of heat creeps into Alistair’s voice, which is almost a relief after his uncharacteristically blank tone.

“Not for nothing,” she says, taking a tentative step forward into the room. “You gave us a chance. But I don’t want to go into this with anything unsaid.”

“What do you want to hear? That it was awful? That I think I’m a terrible person for doing it? That I wanted to spend what might be one of the last nights of my life with the woman I love, and instead I spent it having sex with Morrigan?” Alistair spits out the end of the last question, then seems to deflate. "It’s over with, at least."

“You’re not a terrible person,” Aislyn says quietly. “It wasn’t even your idea.”

“Then why won’t you come near me?”

Aislyn startles. “I wasn’t—I didn’t want to force anything on you. Not after—you know.”

Alistair’s voice softens again. “You’ve never forced anything on me, ever. Can you come here, please?”

Aislyn obliges silently, curling up next to him on the bed. With a sigh, he presses a kiss to her forehead, and they both lie there silently for a few moments.

“Why do you think you’re a terrible person for doing it?” She asks finally. “Because of the magic? Because it was Morrigan?”

“Well, there is that. But no, not really." Alistair is quiet again for long enough that Aislyn isn't sure he's going to continue, but he takes a deep breath and presses onwards. "The rest of the Grey Wardens died trying to end this Blight. In some ways this has all been for them, you know? It would've been an honor to die for them. And I suppose I feel like I'm spitting in the face of everything they were—everything we are—by finding another way out."

“Would you rather I have kept it from you?” Aislyn challenges, pushing herself back up on one elbow so she can look him in the eyes. “Told Morrigan no and doomed one of us to die?”

She’d thought briefly about not telling him, actually. Aislyn’s journey as a Grey Warden began with the betrayal of her best friend. She ruined Jowan’s life to get here, and for all the excuses she’s made it still keeps her up at night sometimes. When she’d heard Morrigan’s proposal, a voice in the back of her head had told her spare Alistair this burden. Do right by someone you love, for once, and don’t put this on him.

But Aislyn has spent far too long wanting only what she’s supposed to want. She’s had a taste of life this year—real life, not the shadow of it that she’s come to realize the Circle was—and she wants more. She wants them both to survive this, and if that makes her a bad Grey Warden that’s a price she’s more than willing to pay.

“It wouldn’t have been you,” Alistair says sharply, which Aislyn thinks is rather missing the point. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“It wouldn’t have been only your call, Alistair. What if I’d died killing the Archdemon, and you’d learned later there had been another way?”

Aislyn feels a twinge of guilt at Alistair’s flinch, but she’s made her point and they both know it. “I never would’ve forgiven myself,” he mutters.

“Then you understand that I couldn’t have gone into this without you knowing all our options.”

Alistair sighs again, pulling Aislyn back down and closer to him. “I know. I know, and I… don’t regret it. I wouldn’t have agreed if I hadn’t been willing. I want a future with you, truly. I just want to do right by the Wardens too.”

“You do,” Aislyn says firmly. “Every day. Victory and vigilance as well as sacrifice, remember? We’ll both die for them eventually. But we have decades before our Callings, and I’d like us to live in the meantime.”

Alistsir quirks half a smile at her, and Aislyn knows she’s won. “You’re infuriatingly persuasive, do you know that?”

“I do, actually.”

“Alright, so let’s say we do stop the Blight,” Alistair muses. “We both survive. We have decades ahead of us. What then?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aislyn says. Before leaving the Circle, she knew more or less exactly what the rest of her life would look like, and this year has been a straightforward kill the Archdemon or die trying. The thought of an uncertain future is sort of exhilarating, when she lets herself imagine it. “Fight more darkspawn, rebuild the Grey Wardens, maybe have a little cottage?”

“A cottage?” Alistair laughs, sounding lighter than he has since the conversation started. “Could we have a garden?”

“Of course. With roses, and all sorts of herbs, and anything else we want.”

“You know, I’m not actually very good with plants.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“I look forward to it, my dear.” With that, Alistair’s lips find hers, and neither of them find there’s much more that needs to be said.

An Archdemon and an army of darkspawn still stand in the way of any imagined future. But whatever tomorrow brings, tonight they still have a chance, and Aislyn will cling to that with everything she has.

#dragon age: origins #alistair theirin #warden surana #this didn't go exactly where i wanted it to but i do think there's so much fun stuff to unpack with morrigan's ritual #and i think having alistair doing it after his whole 'i wish i'd been at ostagar with the rest of the wardens' thing is juicy!#cleo writes #aislyn surana

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