#vague pangs of guilt

[leam1983]

Types

I used to think that being poly meant an end to most fantasies. I thought it would mean those three or four OCs I spent using strictly as a medium to yank on my crank would be pushed in some musty corner of my subconscious, but a check-in with Walter was all I'd need to realize that fantasies are like cockroaches. You can't kill them, but they also have a role to play in your relationship's ecosystem.

We just settled into bed and I mention this to Walt, who seems nonplussed. "George Grimm isn't real and he couldn't be real, hon. Am I supposed to be jealous of a made-up guy you've pulled up AI art renders of? He's never actually touched you, never actually kissed you - and you know what I noticed?"

Walt smirks. "You're feeling guilty about it. That means you probably went at it last week, during one of the two evenings I spent at the office, and now you've got irrational guilt pangs about having cheated on me with a JPEG of a guy that could be me if I got everything tailored on Saville Row and had absolutely zero backdoor shyness in regards to your kinks."

His smirk turns into a chiding gesture. "You're being silly, you silly goose. We've sploshed - you know we're open concerning our kinks. Come on, tell me about him. Tell me about George Graham Grimm the Food Vampire."

I figure I'll do it like this, instead.

George was a solid coping mechanism in my late teens, someone who's cropped up in my dreams during a phase of my life that saw me define myself as unloveable by default. I don't remember the specifics of that particular dream, but I do remember the broad strokes.

I dreamt I was dragged to some sort of symposium by my Ph. D. of an aunt and was forced to spend four hours dipping my lips in cheap champagne while pretending like I didn't have a piteous inferiority complex. Dreams go as they're wont to do, elastic and fluid in their arrangement of Time, and I find a secluded dining room on the floor being used by the reception. Its décor is ornate, and its four massive tables are arranged in a square. In the middle of one of the sides is seated a mountain of a man, about four hundred pounds and change, and he's dressed in custom-tailored clothing that's probably cost a fortune. As obese as he is, he's the most smartly-dressed of the assembly, with a bowtie and vest combo that's so perfect you'd swear he was born with them. His thick fingers are impossibly agile, swiping things from the piles and piles of food waiting on the table and wolfing them down with a mixture of sheer abandon and meticulous precision - extended pinky finger included. He somehow never stains himself and his thick and flowing beard remains immaculate no matter how fast he goes. His utensils are barely touched, and he instead keeps going back to sucking on his fingers. He's a very vocal eater, groaning in appreciation or drowning a satisfied chuckle in an umpteenth bite. He does it all with his eyes closed and a light frown, almost as though he's got a mental map of the table's furnishings he keeps perfectly up-to-date.

Considering the amount of food that's involved, my first thought is that this is actually a buffet and this dude here's just decided he'd click on that I Will Attend link for the RSVP for the exact purpose of stuffing his face with free food. I don't remember the exact dialog in the dream, so I'll sub what was probably said with what actually makes sense in-context. Guy sounds like Tony Jay and Sydney Greenstreet made love and had a posh, congested and vaguely eerie descendant - and he stops between two bites, eyes opening to reveal two gray slivers behind his bifocals and his thick and well-groomed snowy-white eyebrows.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I don't recall the help replacing the buffet sign on this table..."

Just that is enough to prime my hind brain. This man's voice is the stuff my insecure adolescent self's dreams are made of. The snootiest Received English Pronounciation imaginable, rendered in a low and rough timbre by a guy who looks more fit to mumble than ti articulate - except everything is crisp. My flustered teenage brain thinks he's being contemptuous so I nervously blurt out a response - and he laughs.

I woke up, the first time my subconscious made George Grimm laugh. Again, it's Tony Jay and Greenstreet melded together, as if normal people had Plosive Laughing Prefixes without veering into outright guffaws, or as if your classic swell of Evil Laughter could've actually sounded congenial.

"Never you mind, dear boy - I was merely... indulging."

Over time, I'd realize George refuses to call eating what it is. He seeks repaste or regales his tastebuds, or maybe he prays to the God of Luxury, which I've always taken as being my subconscious regurgitating my brief obsession with Roman mythology. Grimm does fit the bill for some sort of modernized and expanded take on Dionysius and he did first come into being during my High School History classes on the Roman civilization.

"Go on, fix yourself a plate," he then says. "I'll hardly miss these bites you'll take."

I realize that he's serious, at that moment. He was rearing to polish off all four of these tables on his own. Something makes me want to keep my distance and to settle with clearing off a bit of table surface for my plate - and what I put in it never quite gels into something. It's like AI Art's idea of a plate of food, with chunks of unidentified meat, mounds of recursive and self-cannibalizing stringy pasta, black masses that might be meatballs or olives, it's hard to tell - and Dream Logic being what it is, I'm not fazed by this at all. My plate seems endless, but I work through it at a pace that I assume matches with my usual pace for a normal-sized meal. In the meantime, the big man's gaining speed at an impossible rate. He's slurping, gnashing, worrying, moaning and grunting his way towards my location, and I get the sense that he'll just keep getting faster if I try and slip away. So, half-convinced this just flipped into Nightmare Country, I feel the dream turn lucid as the overly-dressed organic Shop-Vac I'm seated with works his way through enough food for twelve people in a few seconds. He stops right next to me, daintily raised a tiny piece of cheese to his mouth and politely covers his mouth. If he's burped, no sound's been made.

He turns to face me and outstretches a hand that certainly has the mitt-like qualities of the appendages of particularly fatter people, but with an almost feline level of grace.

"George Graham Grimm - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - at your service."

I take his hand. There's an instant of tension, the sense that Grimm's hunger's just shifted - and he's warm, warm like I've never felt anyone's hands being, before.

What I remember is that this was enough for my dream self to practically climb over his immense paunch and perch myself on it. His amusement and surprise immediately turns to relish, and George's kisses would be my measurement for Decent Snoggings for years, up until I met Prof - and eventually Walt. The specifics leave me, but I do know I dump everything on this posh quasi-ogre. Time dilation being what it is, George ends up being the perfect listener, as you'd assume, and he knows his voice is basically single-malt whiskey down my ears - again with weird plosive inclusions that make it so he hungrily moans or grunts at the beginning of every other sentence.

Obviously, my subconscious and my loins don't care about logical progression - we're Together, and that's it. George would crop up every now and again, typically when arousal was mixed with loneliness, and he'd call me his "dear boy" by repeating the word dear a good ten times or so.

Unsurprisingly, Younger Grem had Sugar Daddy fantasies and dreamed of a man large enough to be heavier than a loaded semi who'd take him out to walks and daintily request stops for "snacks" that would involve lifting hot dog carts à la Obelix the Gaul and tipping them into his open gullet. I understand that I spoke, in those dreams, but I don't remember anything I ever said. Even George's actual words faded, but I was left with a sense of either glowing praise or the sort of public expression of physical attraction that would normally make people ill-at-ease. Dude was horny on main the same way I was, adolescence oblige, and bowties-plus-silk-scarves affairs turned into spy thrillers as we both tried to find a sufficiently quiet and secluded space that would let us screw each other wild instead of catering to a gaggle of strangers in galas and receptions neither of us knew what to do with.

Then came Prof, and now Walt and Sarah. I started to feel guilty about an overdressed fatty that would've never left the confines of my mind - especially in regards to Walt.

The coincidence didn't escaspe me, back then. George Graham Grimm. Walter C. George. Walter's actually Grimm with the brakes on, the much more realistic idea of what it means to have a plus-sized boyfriend. The closeness isn't always welcomed on my end of things, seeing as I want to enjoy the Actual Man's emotional and intellectual availability, but my hind brain wants the Fake Man's relentless libido or his appetite. It's not that much of a problem, but it makes those occasional times that see me superimpose red paisley-patterned silk over Walter's gray gabardine feel like a dereliction I'm the only one to perceive.

I guess I needed George Grimm, back in the day. I needed a belly platform so big I could sleep over his chest without my feet touching the mattress, or the eventual internal running commentary on the various happenings in my life. I needed a guy with so much self-confidence and zest for life that he could turn morbid obesity around on a dime and make it look sexy. I do channel him on occasion, when I have to be snippier or more authoritative than I usually am. I probably needed the embryonic forms of the Loudest Fake Lover in Existence to make some inroads about my sexuality. I probably needed the imagined bedroom theatrics, Grimm gnashing his perfect teeth at me over climax, heatedly declaring that "our exquisite flesh" would "endure for aeons".

I think everyone needs or wants a concept of a certain "Forever Love", past a certain age, and it's probably natural to start out with an idea, a dream, a fantasy that's gone a little haywire in my case, that still sometimes looms over me while I'm working on our server stack, smelling of expensive cologne and of the cooked juices of something that's been expensively prepared. I don't need running commentary from Walt; he's always right around the corner!

George Graham Grimm, however - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - hasn't really left my side for a good twenty-three years.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Wanted, Unwanted

Leah Williamson x McCabe!Reader Warnings: None this is mainly the backstory

Leah's stomach churned, a mix of excitement and guilt bubbling within her. "A hundred quid," she blurted voice trembling slightly, the number seeming arbitrary in the face of her sudden nervousness.

Katie's eyes gleamed. "Deal. But it's gotta be believable. Dates, compliments, the whole shebang. And no backing out, Williamson, or you double the bet."

The rest of the night was a blur for Leah. Laughter felt hollow, and jokes fell flat. All she could think about was your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the nervous way you bit your lip when you were focused. Finally, the night ended, and Leah was left alone.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Leah made a conscious effort to spend time with you, initiating conversations during training, texting you funny memes, and even asking you to have lunch together a couple of times. You, ever trusting and eager for friendship, soaked it all up. You confided your anxieties about playing time, your struggles to connect with the other girls, and your admiration for Leah's confidence and leadership on the pitch. Leah listened intently, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut with every shared detail.

Leah tossed and turned in bed, sleep refusing to come. The guilt that had simmered for weeks boiled over in the quiet darkness. Katie's taunting face flashed before her eyes, the carefree challenge morphing into a cruel reminder of Leah's manipulation.

The more you confided in Leah, the heavier the charade felt. Your genuine affection, so evident in the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams, was a constant reproach. Leah initially reveled in the power of having you wrapped around her finger, a twisted satisfaction born from the win over Katie. But it had curdled into a gnawing sense of betrayal.

The next morning, training felt like an exercise in self-torture. Every laugh you shared with Leah felt laced with deceit. The playful teasing she used to initiate now felt like emotional jabs. You, oblivious, misinterpreted her forced distance as shyness and tried to draw her in further.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked, concern etched on your face. "You seem a little off lately."

Leah opened her mouth to offer a practised smile, but the words wouldn't come. The weight of the lie threatened to suffocate her. Should she confess? The thought of shattering your trust was terrifying, yet continuing the charade felt even worse.

Leah stared at your worried face, the knot of guilt in her stomach tightening to the point of pain. A million justifications and excuses swirled in her head, but none of them felt substantial enough. Katie's taunting voice echoed in her mind, "No backing out, Williamson..." The thought of doubling down on the bet was repulsive.

Taking a deep breath, Leah forced a shaky smile. "Honestly? Yeah, things have just been a bit hectic lately. Family stuff, you know?" It was a lame excuse, but hopefully vague enough to buy her some time.

Your brow furrowed. "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?" The genuine concern in your eyes sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over Leah. You deserved honesty, not fabricated drama.

"Maybe later," Leah mumbled, averting your gaze. The playful banter you usually enjoyed felt like walking on eggshells. Every word, every touch, felt like a betrayal. Steeling herself, Leah decided she couldn't take it anymore. She needed a way out, a way to confess without causing irreparable damage.

A confused warmth had bloomed in your chest over the past few weeks. Leah, the confident captain you both admired and were slightly intimidated by the girl you were utterly in love with, had started seeking you out. The stolen glances during training, the funny texts that made you snort out loud, the surprise lunches – it all felt unreal. Was Leah Williamson actually crushing on you?

The thought sent a giddy blush creeping up your neck. You confided in Leah about your anxieties, your struggles to connect with the team, and your hero worship for her leadership style. With every shared secret, the warmth in your chest intensified. Here you were, getting to know the real Leah, and she was amazing. Her focused gaze held a depth you hadn't noticed before, and her playful teasing sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

But lately, a flicker of doubt had started to cloud your sunshine. Leah seemed…distant. Her smiles seemed forced, the playful banter replaced by awkward silences. Your concern grew when she brushed off your attempts to reach out, citing vague family issues. The warmth in your chest started to curdle, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Was this just a phase, or was something else going on?

As Leah mumbled about family stuff, you couldn't shake the feeling she was hiding something. The hurt was sharp, tinged with a confusing mix of anger and disappointment. Had you misread everything? Was Leah just being friendly, and you'd gotten ahead of yourself? The thought of your budding friendship being a figment of your imagination was a bitter pill to swallow.

Yet, amidst the hurt, a spark of defiance ignited. You wouldn't let this go without a fight. You deserved honesty, and you were determined to get it from Leah, one way or another. The playful banter you once craved now felt hollow, replaced by a steely resolve. You wouldn't be anyone's fool, not even Leah Williamson.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, after Leah's mumbled excuse. Taking a deep breath, you decided to push past the awkwardness. "Leah," you began, your voice surprisingly steady, "is there something you're not telling me?"

Leah flinched, her gaze flickering away from yours. A moment stretched, then she sighed, deflating like a punctured balloon. "Alright," she finally admitted, running a hand through her hair. "The truth is... things with my family are rough right now, but that's not all of it."

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. "What else is there, Leah?"

She met your gaze then, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before shining in her eyes. "The reason I've been acting weird... it's because..." she took another shaky breath, "because I really like you, Y/N. More than just a friend."

The admission hung in the air, a weight lifting from your own chest. Relief flooded you, warm and sweet, washing away the hurt and confusion. A hesitant smile tugged at your lips. "You... you like me too?"

Leah's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Yeah. I guess I was scared. Scared of messing things up with the team, scared of rejection..."

A genuine smile bloomed on your face. Leaning forward, you reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Leah," you murmured, your voice soft, "the only thing I'm scared of is missing out on this."

The vulnerability in your eyes mirrored Leah's. A hesitant smile curved her lips. "So... what does this mean for us?"

You knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in your gut, that this wasn't just a fleeting infatuation. This was real. Taking another deep breath, you met her gaze head-on. "It means," you said, your voice firm with newfound resolve, "that I'd love to take you out on a proper date sometime, Captain Williamson. No family drama, no distractions, just you and me."

The smile on Leah's face this time was full-blown, radiant. "Sounds perfect, Y/N. Sounds perfect." But she couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach.

The air crackled with unspoken emotions as you and Leah walked away from the training ground, hands brushing every so often. The weight of her confession had shattered the awkward tension, replaced by a shy giddiness. Relief and a blooming joy washed over you – you weren't imagining things after all.

Weeks turned into months, and your relationship blossomed alongside Leah's ACL recovery. You became a constant by her side, a source of unwavering support throughout her physiotherapy. You diligently helped her with her strengthening exercises, transforming them into playful challenges that made the rehab less daunting. You celebrated every milestone, no matter how small, the glint of pride in your eyes a bigger motivator than any stern lecture from the physiotherapist.pen_spark

Training sessions became a delightful mix of focused intensity and playful competition. You mirrored each other's exercises, erupting in laughter when one of you inevitably stumbled or fumbled. Lunch breaks were spent strategizing for upcoming games and sharing childhood stories, your bond deepening with every conversation.

But Leah never forgot the initial deception that clouded the start of your connection. The guilt gnawed at her, especially during your physiotherapy sessions. She poured her heart into her recovery, fueled by the desire to be back on the pitch, playing alongside you, not just watching from the sidelines.

One particularly grueling afternoon, as Leah groaned through leg raises, you noticed the strain etched on her face. "Hey," you said gently, placing a hand on her knee, "need a break?"

Leah looked up, surprised by the concern in your eyes. "I'm almost done with this set," she mumbled, determined to endure the pain.

Almost doesn't count," you countered, a playful glint in your eyes. "Besides, wouldn't it be better to listen to your body? We don't want to set you back."

Leah couldn't help but smile. Your genuine care for her well-being was a balm to her soul. "Alright, fine," she conceded. "But only for a few minutes."

Those stolen breaks became a daily ritual. You'd bring her water, help stretch her hamstrings, and sometimes, just sit in comfortable silence, the unspoken bond between you a powerful comfort. You even started researching healthy recipes, determined to fuel Leah's body with the nutrients it craved for recovery.

As Leah's birthday approached, the excitement crackled in the air. You spent weeks planning her party with her family, before enlisting the help of her Mom after remembering her childhood idol Thierry Henry and how jealous she was when you told her you had a signed jersey from the French superstar much to your Dad's dismay. Amanda had asked you numerous times if you were sure you wanted to give that to Leah "She has made me feel more loved, seen, and wanted in these past six months than I have felt my entire life. I.....I just...I know I will never be able to tell her or show her how much I love her, how incredible she is and if this jersey shows her a fraction of that then I'm sure." Amanda pulled you into her chest tightly "You are the only girl i could have ever wished for Leah to fall in love with, but trust me darling she knows how much you love her."

1 Week Later

"I'm sorry you did what." Leah's eyes dropped to the ground unable to look at her mother's disappointed face. "I.....Leah of all the things and to Y/n.....Y/n she god Leah she was it she was your one....shes the one we all wanted the one we were all gunning for how.....how could you be so cruel and to Y/n I'm so disappointed, i actually cant even look at you." Leah turned “Mum…I.” But Amanda was gone

[undreaming-fanfiction]

In honor of Easter...

Eddie Munson can't sleep. Maybe it was the almost expired can of spaghetti that he had for dinner, maybe it's the new campaign he's itching to plan, maybe it's being back in the Hawkins High with yet another fight for graduation he's bound to lose because his literature teacher was yet another victim of Danny Munson's petty crimes, and what better revenge than to repeatedly fail his son that Danny lost to social services ten years ago?

Or maybe it's the weird rustling under his window.

Now Eddie, he's a survivor. He runs, yes, but that's because there's nothing to protect. His honor? Oh please.

But if there's someone trying to break into the only real home he's ever known? That's different.

He grabs an empty beer bottle that he's been intending to throw out for a week or so and heroically - and stupidly - jumps out of his window. He expects to maybe land into a bush. Do a superhero landing or something.

What he doesn't expect is a pained wheeze and "what the fuck?!" yelled by his landing zone.

Eddie scrambles back to his feet and raises the bottle. Perhaps he should have broken it first to make it more threatening? He swings it against the trailer wall and it shatters almost completely, leaving him with a small ring of glass in hand.

The figure he landed on curses again and tries to scramble back on their feet.

Eddie raises the pitiful remains of the bottle. "Uh. Stop you...you scoundrel!" he threatens, except it doesn't sound like a threat, more like a plea. "Or I'll stab you with this..." he looks at the glass ring again, "...with this."

He hopes the intruder will flee. More likely, he's going to be jumped, punched and killed. But what Eddie absolutely does not expect is the town's pretty boy, Steve Harrington, dusting his knees and glaring at Eddie with hands on hips like a pissed off soccer mom. "Jesus Christ, Munson, are you trying to wake up the whole park?" he hisses.

Eddie suddenly feels very stupid. He lets go of the broken bottle and it lands in the dirt with a quiet clink. "Harrington? Uh...dude, I mean no disrespect and all, but why are you under my window?"

Steve's look could kill. "It's Easter tomorrow, what do you think I'm doing? Hiding eggs." He points to the basket full of eggs nearby.

It makes sense. Except it doesn't. Eddie pokes the eggs and they don't explode, so at least that's good. "Why on earth would you, Steve "the Hair" Harrington, be hiding eggs in a trailer park? Don't you have like, a fancy neighborhood to do this in? With Belgian chocolate eggs and champaigne for the bored moms and stuff like that?"

Steve sighs and runs fingers through his hair. Eddie notices with a pang of guilt that it's flattened where his foot landed. That's also a good moment to realize that he's only in his boxers and a t-shirt and barefoot.

But Steve doesn't seem to notice. He just vaguely gestures around. "Those neighborhoods have committees and stuff like that. And it's normal there. Look, I don't think local kids have a lot of good stuff going on. I know one of them, and she deserves to have one day like a normal kid, no worries, no thinking if her mom can afford it. So I'm preparing an egg hunt here. Or I was, before someone half-naked dropped on top of me and shattered a bottle over a pretty good hiding spot I found."

"Shit! Sorry!" Eddie immediately starts picking up the shards, or at least tries to in the dark. At least until a large hand grabs his own.

"Christ, Munson! Stop!" Steve hisses. "Do you want to cut yourself? I will just move the egg somewhere else and pick up the glass before it starts in the morning. And for fuck's sake, stop moving! Do you want to step on a shard?"

That finally calms Eddie down. He sighs and hangs his head down. "You know, Harrington, one might think you're a good dude. If one wasn't careful."

Steve nudges his side. "One should be careful. Now come on, I will give you a boost." When Eddie stares at him, he adds: "to your window. You want to go back to sleep, no?"

Eddie clears his throat. "Actually, I was thinking I'd love to grab my sneakers and help you, I know a lot of good hiding spots. Is that cool?"

Harrington thinks for a moment, then he nods. "Yep, cool. Now, do you need a lift?"

Back in the familiar clutter of his bedroom, Eddie thinks it was a fever dream, a hallucination from a food poisoning, the final revenge of the spaghetti can.

But then he hears Harrington whisper after him: "Don't you dare come out without those sneakers, Munson! No bare feet are getting near shattered glass on my watch!"

And Eddie just snickers, leans out of the window and whispers back: "For you, big boy? I'll even wear pants!"

[wholoveseggs]

Rules {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

Tonight is the night of the dinner party and tensions are running high. Caught between the love for your family and your own desires, things take a dramatic turn when you make a choice you can't take back.

♡♡ I finally get to write about my #1 favorite TVD moment! The Dinner Partyyy! {the campyiness, the tension, the dramaaaa... Its peak TVD} Hope you enjoy! PS: there will be a part five ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: salvatore!sibling reader, no smut, lots and lots of drama, so much angst, Elijah being the sexiest middle-part menace he can be, secret affair, forbidden romance, Damon being over-protective, finally adding some proper Stefan moments to the plot, Elena being Elena, my sweet angel ♡ ANDIE STARRR ♡ , vervain, tension, violence, john gilbert & chocolate mousse...

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top!

If you no longer wished to be tagged just shoot me a DM {I won't be offended} xoxo~

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You sat in front of your vanity, outlining your lips with a deep shade of red, finishing off the look with a dab of gloss.

Damon didn't tell you any details of what he was planning, beyond having a weapon that could kill an Original, which would have seemed absurd if it wasn't your brother. You knew what he was capable of. 

Damon had left not too long ago, telling you he was going to lunch with his girlfriend Andie, and would be back later.

All you knew was that there would be a dinner party tonight and if Elijah showed up, Damon was going to kill him. 

Your phone rang and you glanced over to see Stefan's name on the screen, your pressed speaker, and went back to applying your lipstick.

"Hey," You said, pressing your lips together and checking the color.

"Hello," Stefan replied, sounding a bit tense.

"How's your trip with Elena going?" You asked, grabbing a tube of mascara.

"Well as it can be," he said vaguely.

"I guess you know about the deal then? Elena is willing to die for you, that's very sweet," you said casually, applying the mascara to your eyelashes.

"When did you get so callous? She isn't a martyr, she's just naive," he sighed.

You felt a pang of guilt for teasing him. He was right, Elena was kind and gentle, and both of your brothers loved her.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I know how you feel about her," You said, trying to sound comforting. "It's just that she possesses an unfortunate face,"

Stefan let out a humorless chuckle, and sighed. "Katherine's face,"

"Yeahhhh," you laughed.

"Funny you should mention her, Elena has been reading some old journals written by Johnathan Gilbert," Stefan explained. "It's brought up a lot of memories,"

"Didn't you eat him?" You asked, screwing the cap onto the mascara.

His silence was an answer in and of itself.

"Are you afraid that if Elena learns about your lovely alter-ego she won't love you anymore?" You teased.

"This is serious," he sighed.

"Ok, ok, sorry," You said, standing up and smoothing out your dress. "Always so uptight,"

"Not everyone has it so easy, sister," he grumbled.

"What does that mean?" You asked, your tone slightly offended.

"It's nothing," he sighed.

"No, no. Please, speak your mind," You said, rolling your eyes.

"You've always just been good at it," He began, you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"At what?" You snapped, pacing around your room.

"Being a vampire," He said bluntly. "You claim to loathe Katherine, yet you aren't that different,"

You didn't know what to say, his words cut you. How dare he compare you to the woman who destroyed your life, turned you and your brothers into monsters. Kept them under her toxic spell while you watched them suffer.

"That's not fair, Stefan," You said softly, feeling hurt and defensive.

"Isn't it?" He asked.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, you just stared out the window, the sun shining brightly outside.

"Anyway, I don't have time to debate your morals," Stefan continued. "I'm just calling to tell you to watch out for Damon, killing Elijah won't be easy, he will need your help,"

"And here I thought you didn't trust me," You said, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

"I trust you more than anyone," he said softly.

You wanted to tell him everything, how guilty and ashamed you felt. You didn't even know why you were feeling these things, Elijah was nothing to you, but you couldn't stop thinking about him, the pain in his eyes, the coldness in his voice, it haunted you.

And now you were going to kill him, Stefan was right... You weren't so different from Katherine.

"Then, trust me when I say, I'll handle it," You said, keeping your tone casual.

"Ok," he said, though his voice sounded hesitant. "Please be careful,"

"I will," you said softly, before ending the call.

You sat down on your bed and pulled on a pair of black velvet pumps. They were tall, and made your legs look amazing. You checked your lipstick and smoothed out your dress, and headed downstairs.

Damon was just arriving home, with Andie in tow. They were carrying bags of groceries, and setting them down in the kitchen.

"Hi, Andie," You smiled.

"Hello darlin," she said, her voice cheery, like always. "Don't tell me that your brother roped you into this mess,"

"Mess?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Damon a questioning look.

"Andie doesn't believe in my abilities to cook," Damon rolled his eyes.

"Damon has a tendency to go overboard with things," she laughed.

Neither of them were actually talking about the cooking. Damon had obviously told her about his plans for the night.

"What are we serving tonight, then?" You asked, giving him a warning look.

"A nice rack of lamb, roasted vegetables, some salad..." Damon trailed off, looking around the kitchen. "Annnd... A dessert that will be sure to knock our guest's socks off,"

You and Andie made eye contact and she smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Sounds lovely, brother," You smiled, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. "How can I help?"

Damon gave Andie a pointed look and she nodded and left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone to chat.

"So," he began, as he pulled out a box of matches and lit the burner on the stove. "Change of plans,"

"Change?" You asked, leaning against the counter, crossing your arms.

"I need you to stay upstairs, away from the party," He said, avoiding your eyes.

"What?!" You said, glaring at him. "Why?"

"Because Jenna is coming, and she thinks you are Elena's age... I can't have her asking too many questions," Damon explained.

"That's such bullshit!" You growled, pushing off the counter. "You can't do this on your own,"

"Yes I can," he scoffed.

"So, what? I'm just supposed to stay hidden away in my room, twiddling my thumbs while you try and kill Elijah?" You asked, getting more irritated by the second.

"Yeah, pretty much," He said, his tone casual. "And when it's done you can help me dispose of the body,"

"Are you being fucking serious?" You spat.

"Relax," he chuckled.

"How am I supposed to relax when I know you are going to get yourself killed?!" You asked, throwing your hands in the air.

Damon put down the pan he was holding and turned around, walking over to you and getting in your face, his eyes wild and bright.

"Despite you being a ravenous little killer, you are still my baby sister," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes were still angry. "I was wrong to ask you for help, it's my job to protect you, not put you in harm's way,"

You didn't like this one bit, Damon was stubborn and headstrong, and once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. It infuriated you, the way he saw you as this helpless damsel. Yet, you weren't surprised, he had a tendency to go overboard with things and forget logic. The fact that you were a vampire and could handle yourself was something he often forgot.

You felt humiliated and helpless, and that made you angry, so fucking angry.

"Fuck you," You snapped, turning on your heel, storming out of the kitchen, Damon called after you, but you ignored him, slamming the door to your room shut.

You stood in the middle of the room, feeling a wave of emotion hit you. This wasn't like you, you never let yourself feel like this, so out of control. The last time you felt anything like this was years ago, when you were human.

You hated that feeling, the way your stomach would twist, and your heart would ache. But it wasn't because of Damon... It was because of Elijah.

The sound of the guests arriving floated up to your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, a glass of wine in hand. You had been drinking all evening, trying to numb the anger, the sadness, and the regret.

The plan was already in motion, there was no stopping it now. Elijah was going to die, and you were told to stay put and let it happen.

You picked up the voices of several familiar people, Alaric, Jenna, Andie, even Elena's estranged father John. All chatting happily, blissfully unaware of your presence upstairs. 

You looked down into your glass, you could see your vague reflection in the dark liquid. You couldn't stand the sight of yourself, the guilt, the shame… it was eating away at you, no longer could you sit there and wallow in it. 

Fuck it, you thought. You finished the glass off with one large gulp and got up, walking over to the full-length mirror.

Your hair was down, the curls flowing down past your breasts, and your makeup was perfect, smoky eyes and deep red lips. All dressed up and nowhere to go, nobody to see.

You headed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, peeking through the railing on the stairs to see if anyone was there.

Then you heard Elijah's voice, it was hushed and cold, and the words were unintelligible, but it was him, and your heart skipped a beat.

You inched closer, straining your ears, desperate to hear more.

"Can I just say that if you have less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider."

His tone was dark and threatening, and you knew Damon would be on the receiving end.

"No, nothing, nothing dishonorable. Just getting to know you," Damon replied, and you could picture his cocky smile.

"Hmm. Well, that's good," Elijah sounded skeptical, and you could hear him walking inside and closing the door.

"Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal, if you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house. Are we clear?" Elijah's tone was firm and unwavering, and you could sense the tension.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and walked down the stairs. Your feet a bit wobbly in your heels, the wine was catching up with you.

Everyone was looking at you by the time you got to the bottom, and you were sure your face was flushed, your cheeks pink. But all you could see was Elijah. His dark eyes watching you, and your heart was racing. Surely he wouldn't kill you in front of all these people.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to join us," Damon chuckled nervously, walking up to you and putting his arm around your shoulder, squeezing you forcefully. "This isn't a party for teenagers, sweet sister,"

The tension was thick, and it was clear that Damon didn't want you there.

"I just wanted to come say hello, I was getting bored upstairs," You said casually, pulling away from him.

"Oh, c'mon Damon, it's alright. She can stay for the food," said Jenna, giving you a warm smile. She was so kind, you didn't want to see her get hurt.

"No, really. She should be going, right sis?" Damon said, glaring at you.

"No, I think I'm gonna stay, I was promised dinner, after all," You replied, meeting his eyes, defiance shining in them.

Elijah cleared his throat, stepping towards you and Damon, his face neutral. "Nice to meet you Miss Salvatore," he took your hand and kissed it, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Damon was looking at Elijah like he wanted to rip his throat out, and you had to resist the urge to smirk.

"And you, Mr. Smith," You replied, trying to hide your amusement.

Elijah gave you a knowing look, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"Call me Elijah," He replied, still holding your hand.

"Elijah, then," You nodded, a shiver running down your spine as his thumb traced your wrist.

You had no idea why he was acting so casual, he had to know this was a trap, and he was just standing there, touching you.

"Ok, now that everyone knows each other, let's eat," Andie cut in, leading everyone to the dining room.

Before you could follow, Damon grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression one of pure rage.

"What are you doing?" Damon growled.

"Having dinner," You said, pushing him off and brushing past him, walking into the dining room.

The only empty seat available was next to Elijah, who grew stiff when you approached him.

"Is this ok?" You asked, smiling sweetly.

He nodded, pulling the chair out for you, and pushing it back in once you were seated, always the gentleman.

Everyone was seated, and the dinner party was in full swing. Jenna and Andie asked Elijah all about the local history of Mystic Falls, and he bullshitted his way through, telling them stories of the old families that founded the town, local folklore tales, and other nonsense.

Elijah seemed to relax a bit, although he was purposely avoiding looking or speaking to you, his gaze focused elsewhere. But every once in a while you could feel his hand brush yours under the table, making your skin tingle.

You were drinking wine like it was water, and you could feel the effect it was having on you. The world was fuzzy, and everything was so funny. You would giggle or let out an inappropriate snort whenever Elijah would talk, and your face was flush and hot.

"Not to be a party pooper but aren't you a little young to be drinking?" John Gilbert said, looking at you, his eyes narrowing.

You glared at him, raising an eyebrow, he knew that you were a vampire, four times his age no less. But you weren't about to argue in front of sweet and innocent Jenna, who had no clue about the existence of the monsters she was surrounded by.

"She can have a glass, as her guardian I allow it," Damon said casually, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"Ahh, I see, I suppose the rules are a bit more lax when you have Damon as a parent," John added, his expression bitter and cold.

"I think she's had more than a glass," Andie said softly, her tone was concerned as she looked you over.

You felt Elijah's hand come to rest on your thigh under the table, it made your heart skip a beat and Damon look up from his plate.

"She's fine," Damon said, his tone final.

The other guests exchanged awkward glances, Alaric cleared his throat uncomfortably and Jenna and Andie both had worried expressions on their faces.

Elijah's hand was moving higher up your thigh, and it was making your face flush, and you were starting to get wet.

You had no idea why he was touching you, considering he wanted to kill you. But you supposed there is a fine line between lust and loathing.

As soon as everyone finished their meal, Andie got up and Damon gave her a pointed look, whatever he had planned had just begun.

"The gentlemen should take their drinks in the study," she said, giving everyone a smile, her gaze lingering on Elijah.

"I have to say the food was almost as wonderful as the company," Elijah said, smiling at her, and standing up.

"I like you," Andie said softly, returning his smile.

You watched as the men left, Damon looked back at you before he followed them, giving you a wink, and closing the door.

You were fuming, the wine making you angrier than usual, you went to follow but Andie intercepted you, handing you a pile of plates.

Sighing, you reluctantly carried them to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher, not wanting to draw too much attention.

"Here, let me help," Jenna smiled, taking the glasses from your hands.

"It's fine," You said, forcing a smile.

"Come, drink some water, your face is flushed," Andie said, handing you a glass.

"No more for you," John added, pouring the leftover wine down the drain.

You scowled at all three of them, lecturing you like you were a child. They had no idea what you were capable of, the things you've done. They wouldn't treat you like this if they did.

You took the water, glaring at them, and chugged it, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary.

Alaric came rushing into the kitchen with a wild look in his eye. He made eye contact with you, and he was out of breath.

"We forgot dessert!" He said, sounding panicked.

"What?" Andie asked, confused.

"Dessert!" Alaric repeated, his body practically vibrating with fear.

Whatever was going on, it definitely wasn't about dessert.

"I can make a chocolate mousse...?" Jenna began, trailing off, looking at Alaric with confusion.

"Perfect! Let's go tell Damon and Elijah," Alaric said in a rush, motioning to Andie who gave him a questioning look but followed him out.

"What is going on?" Jenna asked, turning to you, her eyes wide.

"No idea," You lied, shrugging, hoping to sound convincing.

As soon as Jenna had her back turned, you slipped out of the kitchen and headed for the dining room.

Everyone had already returned, and the tension was palpable. Alaric looked stressed and Damon was smirking, which was a sure sign of a disaster.

Damon and John were seated on opposite ends of the table, glaring at each other, while Elijah sat in center. Andie and Alaric were behind him, rummaging through her bag for some reason.

"What I'd like to know, Elijah, is how do you intend on killing Klaus?" John said sharply, looking over his wine glass at him.

It seemed that the dinner party discussions had finally turned to the real business at hand, you inched into the room quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

"Gentlemen, there's a few things we should probably get clear right now. I allow you to live solely to keep an eye on Elena. I allow Elena to remain in her house living her life with her friends as she does as a courtesy. If you become a liability, I'll take her away from you and you'll never see her again." Elijah's eyes flickered to you, but only for a second.

Before Damon or John had a chance to respond, Andie returned with her notebook in hand, sitting down across from Elijah, ready to interview him, "Okay. My first question is when you got here to Mystic..."

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, you watched Alaric approach Elijah from behind, an ornate looking dagger in his hand, ready to stab him in the back.

You moved without thinking, lunging at Alaric, wrapping your hand around his wrist and snapping it with ease, causing the dagger to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Alaric crumbled to the floor in pain, looking up at you in shock.

The room suddenly exploded into action, dark veins spread beneath Elijah's eyes, and he lunged at Damon, knocking him over the table and onto the ground, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him into the air, his eyes ablaze.

John grabbed Andie, pulling her out of the way, while Alaric crawled along the floor, cradling his wrist.

You grabbed Elijah's arm, trying to pry him off of Damon.

"Don't! Let him go!" You shouted, struggling against him, his muscles were tensed, and his grip was tight, he wasn't budging.

Elijah looked over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes cold and angry. You gave him a pleading look, trying to convey how important it was that he listened.

"Please, he's my brother, please don't hurt him," You said, your voice breaking as your tears began to flow.

He dropped Damon, who fell to the floor with a thud, coughing and sputtering.

Elijah looked around the room at all the frightened faces, then to the floor where the dagger was lying and picked it up, examining it.

"Clever boy," Elijah looked at Alaric, shaking his head and tsking. "I haven't seen one of these in quite some time,"

He moved to attack Alaric but you jumped in front of him, shielding him with your body.

"Please don't kill him," You pleaded, putting your hands on his chest, trying to push him back.

He was immovable, but his gaze softened when his eyes met yours and he put the dagger in his jacket pocket. His eyes went back to Damon, who was still on the floor, glaring at him.

"Please, don't hurt anyone," You repeated, your hand moving to his hair, running your fingers through it.

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, his shoulders sagging, the tension leaving his body.

"Get away from my sister," Damon snarled, his voice rough from being choked.

Elijah looked at Damon, giving him a wicked smile and wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him, your face pressed against his chest.

"Oh, she doesn't mind," Elijah smirked, looking at Damon with smug satisfaction.

Damon looked from you to Elijah, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure rage. His brain couldn't quite compute what he was seeing.

"What did I say?" Elijah began, pausing to pretend he was pondering, "Oh yes! If you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house,"

Your hands curled into his shirt, tugging on it, looking at him pleadingly. His dark eyes went to yours, and his gaze softened, he kissed you on the cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"Fortunately for you, your lovely sister has been most gracious in her hospitality," He said, looking over your head at Damon.

You were visibly shaken up, looking at your brother with tear filled eyes, your hands trembling against Elijah's chest. He lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of your devastated looking brother.

"So much for rule one," he said quietly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Damon was seething, his fists clenched, and he was practically shaking with anger.

"Now, I hate to cut this evening short, but it seems I've overstayed my welcome," Elijah sighed, pulling away from you, his tone neutral.

"And as for you. Let me be perfectly clear, if you, or anyone else, attempt something like this again, I will kill you. No mercy. Understood?" Elijah asked, looking directly at Damon.

"Yes," Damon said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Wonderful. Now, I think it's time for me to take my leave," Elijah turned and began to walk out, "I'll be in touch," he called over his shoulder.

As soon as Elijah left, all eyes were on you. Damon's angry glare made you squirm, and the disgusted expressions from Andie, Alaric and John made you feel deep shame. You needed to get out of there.

But before you could , Damon grabbed you, the speed blowing your hair back. His hand went to your neck and he threw you against the wall, his fingers crushing your windpipe.

"Are you crazy? You’re fucking Elijah? ELIJAH?" He yelled right in your face, his rage so uncontrolled he lashed out and hit the wall beside your head, causing the plaster to crack and break.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He continued, his eyes wild, spit flying from his mouth.

"Damon," Andie said softly, stepping forward to calm him. John held her back, helping Alaric to his feet and pulling them both out of the room. John knew better than to get between Damon and his wrath.

"How did this happen? How did he get to you?" He shook you harder, causing the plaster dust to rain down. "Did he compel you? I told you to drink vervain every day!"

You kneed him in the stomach, forcing him to drop you, and you gasped for air.

"No! He didn't compel me, he would never," You snapped, rubbing your neck. "I...I care for him,"

Damon stared at you, his breathing ragged, and his expression completely blank. Then he started to laugh, it was devoid of any warmth, it was all bitterness and mockery.

"Care for him? What is he, your boyfriend? Did he ask you to go steady in-between planning Elena's murder?" Damon sneered.

"That's not fair," You said, scowling, folding your arms. 

"So he's the reason you've been so distant? The reason you've been acting so weird? What, he's using you to get to Elena, isn't he?" Damon was pacing back and forth, his hands in his hair.

"No... We never discus-" You tried to explain.

"This is unbelievable," He groaned, cutting you off, and walking over to the liquor cart, pouring himself a drink, then he froze.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck him in this house," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"Not exactly...," You trailed off, averting your gaze, biting your lip.

Damon downed his drink and smashed the glass against the wall, "Fuck, Y/N, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I had a plan! Everything just spiraled out of control," You said, your voice shaking, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. "I tried... I tried to steal the moonstone, for you! For us! He caught me and... and I was stupid. I'm sorry.”

"So you thought you could pull a honeypot on an original?" Damon looked completely dumbfounded, and a little impressed. "Are you insane? Or just dumb?"

His words cut you deeply, mostly because they were the same things you had said to yourself, a million times.

"I thought it would work," You shrugged, your arms dropping, you were feeling defeated.

"And I suppose letting him fuck you was an added bonus, huh?" Damon shot back.

"Yes!" You screamed, frustrated, throwing your hands up. "I like him, Damon! He's interesting and attractive and he treats me like an equal!"

Damon snorted, "Because he thinks you're a slut."

That stung, he had never called you that before and tears sprang to your eyes. You glared at him, as they began to spill down your cheeks. You were done arguing with him, and you were done listening to him. He didn't understand, and you had nothing more to say.

Without another word, you pulled the dagger out of your bra, you had managed to remove it from Elijah's pocket without anyone noticing. You threw it at the floor at Damon's feet and stormed off.

Damon looked at the dagger, his brow furrowed, then back up at the spot you had just occupied, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had made you cry.

You ran to your room and crawled under the covers, letting all your pent up emotions flow out of you, coming out in gasps and hiccups. You had no idea what to do, you didn't want to choose between your family and Elijah. You didn't want to be forced to pick a side. 

You didn't want to have to give up what you felt when you were around him.

You didn't know how.

It had been a few hours since the disastrous dinner party. You were still laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events over and over again in your mind.

You heard Damon leave not long after your argument. You had no idea where he ran off too. Knowing him, he went to find more trouble. Part of you regretted the fight, the other part of you wanted to strangle him.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally. It was like every single part of your being was weighed down.

Just then you heard a loud commotion downstairs, the voices of your brothers and Elena floated up to you. There was a strange scraping sound, like they were dragging something heavy across the floor.

You quickly got up to investigate, hopping down the stairs, stopping suddenly in front of a very nervous looking Elena.

"What happened?" You asked, trying to look past her to your brothers.

"Damon told me what happened," She said softly, reaching out to touch you. But you spotted a pair of legs being dragged away towards the stairs leading to the basement.

Your eyes went wide as you figured out whose legs they were. Panic swept over you, and you pushed past Elena and rushed to the basement after them.

Stefan and Damon were throwing Elijah's body into the cell, he looked gray and cold, the dagger sticking out of his chest.

"Elijah! No, no, no," You cried, screaming and trying to get past your brothers. But they were too strong for you, holding you back, and quickly closing the gates.

"Let me go!" You punched at Damon's chest, desperate to get inside the cell, tears streaming down your face.

Damon just held you, refusing to release you, your screams filling the small basement.

Stefan locked the door, following you and Damon upstairs. You were kicking and fighting like a crazy woman, begging them to let you see him.

Once you made it upstairs, Stefan grabbed you and held you in his arms, still you fought and cried for him, despite his pleas for you to stop.

"Please calm down," Stefan begged, holding onto you tightly.

"He came to take Elena, we had no choice," Damon said, his voice sounding tired, like this had been an exhausting evening for him.

"He promised me he wouldn't," You said, your voice cracking, your throat raw.

"He lied, Y/N, that's what he does," Damon replied, sounding exasperated.

"Shut up!" You screamed, jerking out of Stefan's arms and rushing at Damon, your fist connecting with the side of his face. "You did this! He wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't provoked him!"

You managed to hit him twice, splitting his lip, before Stefan grabbed you again, pulling you back.

"Knock it off!" Stefan said sharply, giving you a firm shake. You stopped struggling for a moment, panting.

Elena came and stood next to Damon, looking more sad than angry. She wasn't sure what to say, or what to do in this situation.

"I love him Stefan, please," you begged, sniffling. It was the first time you could admit it out loud, to anyone, to yourself and you wished it was Elijah you could have told first. "You have to let me see him, even if he's dead...I just have to see him."

Your words cut through Stefan's heart. Trembling in his arms, he had never seen you so distraught and in pain. He looked over your head at Damon and Elena, silently asking for permission.

"Fine, I'll take you, but only because you'll probably burn the house down if I don't," Damon said, rolling his eyes.

Stefan let you go and you immediately ran down the stairs, your feet skidding slightly on the concrete floor. You rushed into the cell and fell to your knees beside Elijah's body.

"lijah," you said softly, trying to coax him out of sleep.

He was gray, covered in dark veins, his skin felt cold. Your fingers trembled as you touched his face, your fingers running through his hair.

You laid down next to him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the lack of heartbeat. You lay there for a few minutes, crying to yourself.

You could feel Damon watching you, and it pissed you off.

"Please leave me alone," You said softly, your voice breaking, not bothering to turn and look at him.

Damon was standing there, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and he looked at you thoughtfully.

"He's dangerous, and he's using you," Damon replied.

"He never learned anything from me!" You snapped, glaring at him, the anger boiling over. "We had an agreement, an understanding! It wasn't like that!"

Damon shook his head, and looked away from you.

"You can't be in love with him. You barely know him." Damon was trying his hardest to get you to see sense.

"Maybe, maybe I'm not," You lied, sniffling, "I just feel like there's something there, something real and I've never felt this way before,"

Damon let out an exasperated sigh, and closed his eyes.

"This will end badly, I'm not going to try and convince you anymore. You're too damn stubborn," He said, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Can you bring me a blanket and pillow?" You asked, changing the subject.

"No," Damon said, turning on his heel and leaving the basement.

"Asshole," You muttered, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

A few minutes later, Stefan came down the stairs, carrying a blanket and a pillow, and a bottle of bourbon.

"Thanks," You smiled weakly, taking the blanket and covering yourself with it. You took the pillow and gently lifted Elijah's head, placing the pillow underneath him.

"Is he really dead?" You asked quietly, not looking at Stefan, staring at Elijah's face.

Stefan let out a long sigh, he hated seeing you like this, the sight of you curled up next to a corpse was not a normal one.

I'm not entirely sure," he knelt down, crossing his legs and he sat on the floor next to you. "but he isn't alive either, he's frozen, asleep,"

He reached out and touched your shoulder, turning you to look at him.

"Damon wants to keep him on ice, he doesn't trust Elijah and... neither do I," he tried to say it gently, wanting you to know the truth. "if you wake him up, he will kill us for what we've done... Elena tricked him... He will not be happy,"

"Maybe he will forgive us," you said, looking at him with hopeful eyes, "what if he can feel everything? He must be so scared and lonely,"

"Do you really think he can feel fear?" Stefan asked, raising an eyebrow. "My impression of him is that he isn't the type,"

"He has a big heart, under all that arrogance," you smiled softly, touching his face, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Kinda like someone we know,"

"You've got it bad," Stefan shook his head, a little bit in awe of your feelings. "I've never seen you like this, not with any other guy."

You looked over at him, his expression was a mix of worry and sadness.

"Do you hate me? For loving him?" You asked, a knot forming in your stomach.

"No, never," he said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm worried, and scared... But I could never hate you. Ever."

"I can convince him Stefan, I can get him on our side, I know I can," you said, feeling the tears come back.

"And if you can't?" He asked, rubbing your back.

"Then... Then... I don't know..." You said, a sob choking you, unable to speak.

Stefan hated himself for what he had to do next, but it was the only way he could think to keep everyone safe.

While you were still in his arms, he pulled out a syringe and jabbed it in your neck, pushing the liquid vervain in. It was a large dose and it took about three seconds before you passed out.

He caught you before you slumped to the ground, lifting your sleeping body and carrying you upstairs.

Damon and Elena were waiting anxiously, eager to hear that Stefan had been able to talk you down from freeing Elijah.

"Is she ok?" Elena moved forward, "Did she try anything?"

"She had a bit of a melt down," Stefan said honestly, he placed you on the couch, ensuring you were tucked in and comfortable.

"What can we do to make sure she doesn't help him?" Damon asked, leaning on the doorway, unable to come closer to you. The sight of you like this broke his heart. "she's been completely brainwashed by the guy,"

"She loves him Damon," Elena said softly, walking over to him, laying her hand on his arm.

"Don't say that," he groaned, covering his face. "That makes it worse. She has to get over it."

"I don't think it works that way," Elena said gently, squeezing his arm.

"We have to keep her away from him," Damon explained, his hands dropping, he was looking at Elena now. "It's too risky."

"That will be impossible," Stefan said, shaking his head, "she's more stubborn than you, she won't give up until she has her way."

"So what do we do?" Elena asked, glancing between them.

"The only way I can think of is to keep her sedated, until I find a way to kill him for good," Damon said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"No, Damon.. that's not right," Elena protested, looking to Stefan to back her up.

Stefan couldn't meet her gaze, instead he turned away, "We don't have any other options."

"So we are just going to knock her out? That's cruel!" Elena said, feeling very disappointed.

"Got any better ideas?" Damon snapped, kneeling down in front of you. He placed his hand on your forehead, "I can't let her wake him up, he will kill us all,"

Elena sighed, shaking her head.

"She will hate us for doing this," Stefan said, not liking the idea one bit, but it was the best they had.

"Yeah, well, I can handle that," Damon shrugged, and picked you up in his arms.

He carried you to your room, gently placing you on the bed, pulling the covers up over your body. He sat next to you, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"You'll understand, eventually," He said softly, stroking your hair, before standing up and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly.

You were trapped in some sort of nightmare, everything around you was completely dark. You couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. You had no idea where you were, what was up or what was down.

You were calling out for help, your voice echoing back to you, but no one else was there.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you, it was warm, familiar and safe. You were drawn to it and you reached out, trying to find the source of it.

You heard the sound of a man laughing, it was a wild, maniacal laugh.

You started running, your feet hitting the ground hard, you couldn't breathe, but you didn't stop. The laughter kept coming, getting louder and louder.

Then the sound of a woman screaming nearly knocked you off your feet, but you kept going until you ran into something solid.

It was the edge of a coffin, made of wood etched with an ornate symbol on the top, a crest of some sort. Your fingers traced over it, feeling the deep grooves. It was the letter 'M', carved into a shield.

Finally, your hands found the lid, and you pushed, straining to open it. What was inside was three rings of fire, you could feel the heat on your face, the smoke making it hard to breathe.

The rings were getting closer, or you were falling into them, you couldn't tell. The screams became deafening. You were overwhelmed with intense anxiety, unable to move as you stared into the flames.

Then everything stopped.

And you woke up.

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

[little-star-library]

If you have the time, I’d like you to imagine if you will:

You and Astarion are in the middle of a small clearing just outside of camp and he has you pinned against a tree, staring you down with an intensity of his eyes, but there’s a flash of worry that crosses over his face before he replaces it with his usual mask of facade.

Only moments ago, he witnessed you speaking with Karlach in what sure as hells looked like something that was far more than friendly conversation. The two of you were speaking in hushed tones, giggling at each other’s anecdotes and inside jokes. He’s only just beginning to know you and has successfully bedded you already to ensure his protection and alliance, so why does he all of a sudden care about who you talk to? He was never one to get jealous over someone, surely, but there was a vague flash of possessiveness that overtook his mind and it was overwhelming to say the least.

“So, my dear,” he drops his voice into a low rumble. “Care to explain what you and Karlach were up to earlier?”

“I’m sorry, but what?” This took you by surprise and you honestly don’t know what brought this on.

“Oh come now, don’t be coy.” Astarion scoffed, taking a step closer to further intimidate you and trap you under his hardened gaze. “I saw everything that was going on between you two, your little whispers of shared delight. You were practically oozing into a puddle by her side.”

Oh. Now you understood what this was about. You didn’t think that he was one to actually care with his ‘devil may care’ attitude and you weren’t going to apologize for some friendly banter with one of your fellow companions. You felt like you were never in the wrong in the first place and it wasn’t his business to know who you were conversing with. But this was an advantage for you to see if he actually wanted something more than just a one night fling and a plan started to brew in your mind.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re actually jealous.” You matched his gaze and your lip twitch into a little smile in defiance. He grimaced at your response and his fangs gleamed in the low light of the setting sun with a disgusted curl of his lip. That was all the confirmation you needed and you couldn’t help but feel bad now that you caught him, but you wanted to see how far you could push him in retaliation for his blasé remarks he made of the last night you spent together.

“You know,” you teased. “You’re pretty cute when you’re angry.” That was the last straw by the look on his face, clearly unamused by how nonchalant you were about the situation.

“Oh really?” He leered, grasping your chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your jaw until there was nothing but a few inches of space from his lips making contact with your own. “Well I’m about to be fucking gorgeous.”

“You already are.” Your breath hitched at the sharp inhale he took in, expecting him to yell at you for being so infuriating, but you were pleasantly surprised when Astarion pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that left you shuddering from head to toe. You melted instantly in his embrace and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to further deepen the embrace, but it was shortly lived as he curled his fingers through the hair at the back of your neck and yanked your head back to glare at you with a look that held such a ferocity it made you weak at the knees.

“You’re truly insufferable.” He was seething at this point and a pang of guilt dropped low in the pit of your stomach for not taking him seriously. It was clear now that this was something that was gnawing away at him. “Pretending to be so oblivious to the rather obvious onslaught of flirtations from the others, it’s a rather pathetic act to uphold if you ask me.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.” You huffed out a laugh, trying to maintain a cool demeanor to not upset him more. “But you know that I only have my eyes set on you, right? I would never stoop so low to lead you astray like that and I quite enjoy spending my time with you. If you say that I’m ‘oblivious to their flirtations’, then I can only say that part is true because I’m not actively looking for it. That’s because I’m not interested in them. I’m interested in you, if you’ll still have me.”

Your confession had him pause unexpectedly and his stiff demeanor began to roll off of him in an instant as you saw the light in his eyes soften and his shoulders slumped lower. Of course he was quick to assume that you were anything but loyal to him, however that lingering sense of jealousy in the back of his mind began to fade as he flitted his narrowed eyes across your facial features in search of any hints of deceit and found none. Your face only reflected your reassurance of your feelings as you smiled softly up at him and he suddenly forgot why he was upset at all. You were too kind and sweet for your own good and Astarion felt as if he could never really deserve someone as devoted as you were, but here you are.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He chuckled lightly at the absurdity of the present situation, clearing his throat to chase away the anxious tension. “You don’t have anything to apologize for and I should be the one begging for your forgiveness. And I really am sorry, darling. I suppose I did get a tad carried away and assumed something was…off, to put it plainly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned cheekily. “You had your reasons and I understand where you’re coming from, honestly. And if there’s something on your mind that’s bothering you, I also hope you know that you can always come to me if you need to talk. We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not comfortable with yet and there’s no hurry to make anything official between us if that’s what you want, but I’m here for you nonetheless.”

You once again stunned him into silence and you could swear that you saw the faintest blush bloom across his cheeks when you raised up to the tips of your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. He really was cute in his own way. Through your eyes, you saw a man slowly learning to become his own person and you knew all too well how painful it could be when you feel like you were always being taken for granted. But you also witnessed a good number of his quirks that began to shine through as you grew closer to one another over time and you hope that one day he can see that he deserves to be loved and cherished just like anyone else does.

“Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, his touch gentle as he took your hand in his own to kiss at the back of your knuckles. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

You could tell that there was more on his mind, but didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words presently and that was okay. As long as he knew that he had your support, then that was enough for you.

[soapyghostie]

Hey! Absolutely random request, but imagine reader being a tired person that out of wounds and stress they just fall asleep when they're being carried, about to go on a hook. How would the dbd killers(any, really) react?

Like, imagine. Being carried, without anything under legs can already make someone sleepy if they don't have adrenaline pumped through their veins. Plus, i know that having wounds(aka blood loss) can make people very tired.

Since this request it a little vague, I decided to get a little creative with it and wrote some angst because I’m a sucker for angst with dad slashers (except Frank is your big brother in this request). 😭 Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny would be confused at first, bloodlust still kicking through his veins even after killing all our teammates as he carries you, his injured daughter, to the hook (Sorry (Y/N), he’s just doing his job. No hard feelings). He’ll pause for a moment, trying to process the fact that you feel asleep on his shoulder.

As he realizes that you fell asleep due to exhaustion and stress from your wounds, Danny’s demeanor would soften and his parental instincts within him kicks in. He’ll gently adjust you in his arms from being thrown over his shoulder to being carried bridal style, ensuring that you’re comfortable even as he still proceeds to hook you. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state would stir up a lot of internal conflict in Danny. He’s torn between his role as a merciless killer and his love for you as his daughter as he hesitates to sacrifice you to the Entity. Danny’s had a lot of bad performances in trials lately and he really needs the 4K. However, to get the 4K he needs to sacrifice you. Of course it has to be you: the Entity is so cruel. 

As to not get punished by the Entity, sadly, Danny will throw you onto the hook. Danny would feel a pang of remorse and sadness. He knows that he’s the cause of your pain and exhaustion, and seeing you in such a vulnerable state serves as a painful reminder of the life he’s subjected you to. He silently reflects on his actions and their consequences. He’ll gaze at your sleeping form dangling from the hook, grappling with the complexities of his emotions and the choices he made. 

Despite his conflicted emotions, Danny remains committed to his role in the Entity’s twisted game. However, Danny’s determination to protect you remains unwavering. He’ll play the Entity’s game and continue this dark path as a killer if it means to ensure your safety as he doesn’t want you to be harmed as a result of his shortcomings… 

The Legion/Frank Morrison

Frank would be initially shocked and panicked to see you, his younger sister, in such a vulnerable state. Despite his tough ‘bad boy’ exterior, he deeply cares about you and seeing you hurt triggers his protective instincts. 

The sight of you falling asleep from exhaustion and stress while carrying you to the hook fills Frank with anger and frustration. He’ll curse under his breath, feeling powerless to protect you and frustrated with the situation at hand. First off, your god damn heavy after going unconscious and, secondly, he has no choice but to hook you due to the amount of failed trials he’s had lately to try and please the Entity. 

Despite his anger, Frank, also like Danny, would feel a sense of inner conflict. On one hand, he wants to lash out at the Entity for throwing her into a trial with him, but on the other hand, he knows he has to get the 4K by hooking you so you end up safe and sound at the survivor camp instead of the agony the Entity threatened to put you through if he didn’t start stepping it up in trials. You’re the reason he has the strength to keep going in this awful, twisted game of cat and mouse. 

Frank would grapple with the feeling of guilt and responsibility for your condition. As your older brother, he feels entitled to preventing you from getting hurt in the first place and blames himself for everything that has happened to you. Despite his conflicting emotions, he would carefully and gently place you on the hook, making sure you're as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. As he watches you sleep on the hook, Frank would have a quiet moment of reflection. He reminisces about y’all’s childhood together and vows silently to himself to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. 

Seeing you vulnerable would only fuel Frank’s determination to perform better in trials. He would be even more relentless in his pursuit of survivors, driven by the desire to protect you from the Entity’s hungry claws. 

The Shape/Michael Myers

Michael would pause, a flicker of confusion crossing his expressionless face. The sight of you, his daughter, falling asleep despite the dire circumstances briefly disrupts his usual relentless pursuit to satisfy his murderous desires. 

Deep within his obscured psyche, a conflict brews. While Michael is driven by an insatiable urge to kill, his parental instincts stir, conflicting with his murderous impulses. This momentary hesitation leads to a brief internal struggle, the likes of which observers of Michael would never perceive. 

Despite the task at hand and the chaos of the trial, Michael momentarily freezes, holding your unconscious body with an eerie stillness. His iconic breathing momentarily ceases, as if he too, like Danny and Frank, were contemplating the peculiar situation. 

In a rare display of tenderness, Michael gingerly adjusts your position, ensuring that you're comfortable even as he prepares to hook you. His movements would be precise, almost caring, as if he’s trying to shield you from further harm, even in your unconscious state. As he gazes upon your sleeping form, fragments of memories flicker through Michael’s mind. Images of you as a child, innocent and untouched by the darkness that now envelopes you both, momentarily soften his gaze, perhaps even cause a subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth – a long-forgotten smile. You are his world. 

Ultimately, the weight of his desire to kill and the futility of his attempts to connect with you wash over Michael. With a heavy heart hidden beneath his iconic mask, he proceeds with the task at hand – sacrificing you to the Entity. With a solemn determination, Michael carries you to the hook, his obsession with killing eclipsing any semblance of any paternal sentiment.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Oooh! May I request a Wade Wilson x Reader (gender neutral pronouns preferred ^^!) where the reader comforts wade at his time of need because he feels insecure in his own skin? The reader explains that they understand what he’s going through and they show them their burn scars from a fire that they survived through years back :o???

Beneath the Surface

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. His mask was off, discarded on the floor, leaving his scarred face exposed to the dim light of the room. Usually, he was the life of the party, the one who cracked jokes and kept everyone laughing, but tonight, the weight of his own insecurities was suffocating.

You watched him from across the room, your heart aching at the sight of him so lost in his thoughts. Wade had always been good at hiding his pain behind humor, but you knew better than to be fooled by the bravado.

“Wade?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “You ever just… feel like you’re stuck in a body that doesn’t belong to you? Like you’re living in a nightmare you can’t wake up from?”

You hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside him. “Yeah… I do.”

He glanced at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of pity. When he didn’t find any, he turned his gaze back to his hands, clenching them into fists. “It’s like… no matter how many people I save, no matter how many jokes I make… I’m still just… this.” He gestured vaguely to his face and body, his expression filled with self-loathing.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do. “Wade, I want to show you something.”

He looked at you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. “What is it? You got a secret stash of chimichangas somewhere? Because that might help.”

You smiled softly at his attempt at humor but shook your head. “No, it’s something else.”

Slowly, you reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the scars that marred your skin. The burn marks were old but still noticeable—evidence of a fire that had nearly taken your life years ago. You watched as Wade’s eyes widened, his usual snarky demeanor melting away as he took in the sight.

“This… this happened a long time ago,” you explained, your voice steady despite the memories that surfaced. “There was a fire. I was trapped, and… well, I barely made it out alive. These scars… they’re a reminder of that day. But they’re also a reminder that I survived.”

Wade stared at your scars, his mind reeling. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected you to share something so deeply personal. He felt a pang of guilt for wallowing in his own self-pity when you’d clearly been through so much yourself.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

“Because I know what it’s like to hate what you see in the mirror,” you said softly, pulling your shirt back down and meeting his gaze. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re trapped in your own skin, to feel like no one could ever see past the scars. But I also know that those scars don’t define who you are. They’re just a part of your story.”

Wade swallowed hard, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. “But… look at me,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I’m a freak. I look like a monster.”

“No, Wade,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his. “You’re not a monster. You’re a survivor. And you’re so much more than what’s on the outside. I see you, Wade. The real you. The one who cares, who fights for the people he loves, who makes me laugh even on the worst days.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like someone truly understood. You weren’t just saying empty words to make him feel better—you knew what he was going through. You had lived it.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back, not wanting to break down in front of you. “How do you do it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “How do you live with it?”

You smiled gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “By remembering that I’m more than my scars. That I’m still me, and that I deserve to be loved and happy, no matter what I look like. And you do too, Wade. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be happy.”

Wade stared at you, overwhelmed by the depth of your words. He had never allowed himself to believe that he could be loved, not with the way he looked. But here you were, showing him that it was possible, that you cared for him in a way that went beyond the surface.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right above his scars. “You’ll never have to find out, Wade. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Wade closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he was worth it after all.

[cloudshuffle]

a new dawn. yan!childe

index / prev / next

You rise from a deep, dreamless slumber, tangled up in soft sheets and insistent hands. Ajax’s chest rises and falls gently, ginger lashes shut over his blue eyes, cradling you to him like his most precious treasure.

Asleep, he looks more like a boy in need of affection than a warrior.

The moon is still suspended in the sky, a silver balloon ready to burst. A glance at the clock tells you that you’ve only been asleep for about an hour. Enough time to sneak back into the cabin and pretend you've been there all night.

You begin to negotiate your way carefully out of his hold. With the alcohol no longer sparkling in your veins, you feel nothing but a vague sense of urgency to return to your cabin before anyone else sobers up and notices you’re gone.

It’s a declaration. It was exactly the sort of lovesick, foolish fairytale he’d fall for. And though you’d both enjoyed those once upon a time, one of you had to grow up. Had grown up.

A puff of air ruffles your hair, and you look up to meet his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Going somewhere?” he mutters sleepily, snuggling you closer.

You tense up so he doesn’t get too comfortable. “Yes, actually. I should be getting back before anyone notices I’m gone.”

His gaze roves around the room, as if he didn’t recognise where he was, followed by a lazy yawn. “I can sneak you off the ship. Stay here.”

You push against him and he releases you, more out of surprise than anything else. “Ajax. Be serious.”

“I am.” His puppy-dog eyes follow you as you get out of bed, collecting your discarded clothing and pulling it on. “Please?”

“No,” you reply, more sharply than you’d meant. Adjusting your outfit in the mirror, you just pray that no one can see the creases in the darkness. Or the torn stocking. Behind you, his expression is a little hurt, but it only fills you with a grim satisfaction. Good. Whatever it took to keep him at arm’s length. “Do you have a rag?”

He sighs, climbing out of bed to find one for you. You soak it with water, wiping down the parts he’d left more than just bruises on.

He accosts you on the way to the door, nuzzling a kiss right by your ear. “You’re so eager to get rid of me.” His sleep-warmed skin is littered with scars, you realise, slashes and stabs of all shapes and sizes, some pale with age and others fresher.

A pang of guilt. “Sorry,” you whisper, and then you’re gone.

────────────

Liyue Harbour dawns on the horizon, sprawling and golden in the morning sun. The roofs seem to glow, speaking of riches untold - but only if you knew where to look. Which was why the Tsaritsa was expanding her presence here, entrusting the task to her harbingers and soldiers.

High above, the Floating Palace looms like a sentry, guarding the city from celestial destruction. Your fellow soldiers gather at the side of the ship, watching in awe as Liyue draws closer in all its glory. Even your heart stirs at the sight.

Childe is nowhere to be seen, likely holed up in his cabin, doing last minute paperwork he hadn't had the chance to last night. 

Probably for the better. After… that, now there's a strange, ambiguous feeling in your relationship, one that had been carefully kept nonexistent during your time back in Snezhnaya. 

And like a wounded fox offered easy prey, you're not sure how he might strike out next.

There's a scramble of activity again as goods are unloaded, sailors prepare for docking, and you're all ushered off the ship like a flock of sheep rather than esteemed Fatui operatives. But finally you're on solid ground again, having arrived safely at the port of Liyue Harbour.

Nadia’s eyes are so wide you think they might roll out from her skull. You wonder what you all look like to the locals - foreign operatives here to butt into their business, dressed in heavy coats absolutely not suitable for the weather, looking around in awe like a group of schoolchildren. No wonder the Northland Bank was running into so many problems here.

Only once you’re sequestered safely within the walls of the Northland Bank do you begin to relax. Despite its golden walls and Liyue-esque decor, you’re relieved to see a Fatui mask at the front desk. She gives you all a tired once-over, then returns to her ledger.

You’ve been assigned to fieldwork - meaning tax collecting, outwardly, but also venturing out past the walls of Liyue Harbour and doing whatever Childe required of you. Knowing the Fatui, there was no such thing as simple tax collecting.

As you linger at the back of the group, following the Fatui senior on a brief tour of the bank, you think of what you’d seen in Childe’s cabin. Papers. Maps. Diagrams. Theories about… dragons in the water and adeptal magic? You couldn’t be very sure about what you’d seen.

You’re dismissed to your little offices to get settled in and start on some paperwork.

You shut the door, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s a blessing to be alone with nothing but your thoughts. 

You head over to your window first, peering carefully outside. Your view overlooks a regular street, lined with other businesses, their employees stationed outside to entice customers in. You watch as a gentleman, his long brown hair tied back, strides meaningfully past. He glances up.

You duck back, holding your breath until he passes.

Enough excitement for today. You shake yourself and take a seat at your desk, thumbing through the various files and folders for you to handle. Most of them are about clients of the bank you need to keep an eye on, but they’re all normal, low profile civilians. You don’t think you’ll have a problem dealing with them.

At the bottom of the stack, substantially thicker than the rest, a folder waits for you. It’s bound in red string, full to bursting. You untie it gingerly and flip it open.

Papers spill out across your desk. Adepti, rituals, ancient ink on gold paper.

Talismans.

You feel like you’re holding your breath as you sift through the information. It seems as if the Fatui in Liyue had been doing extensive research on talismans infused with adepti magic - Sigils of Permission, more commonly known. Created by Rex Lapis and infused with adeptal power, these sigils were once used by mortals to channel divine power.

On the last page is a breathtaking hydra, rising from the waters of Liyue Harbour - no, created from the waters of Liyue itself, jaws fixed in a ferocious roar.

Oh, Ajax. What are you up to now?

────────────

“What’s that?”

You wiggle aside to make room for Ajax. There’s not much room on the windowsill, but it’s just perfect for two little children about to waste the afternoon away reading fairy tales.

“Mama and Papa got me a book of Liyue legends.”

He hooks an arm through yours so neither of you slide off your seat as you flip through the stories, reading them out loud so he can keep up.

Something thuds against your window, startling both of you from a particularly riveting passage where Rex Lapis, unable to defeat his primal foe, pins Osial to the ocean floor. 

“Ghost!” someone yells from outside. “Dead girl!”

A jarring chorus of laughs as the boys ready another round of snowballs.

“Go away!” Ajax yells back, making a rude gesture, to which he receives one in turn.

“Nikolai!” One of their mothers hurries past, gathering the children up in her skirts. “Come now. It’s time for dinner…”

Her fearful, fleeting glance isn’t lost on you, as have the looks from so many other adults. They say you’d been in the water for so long that even a grown man couldn’t have withstood it. That the cold had infected you, kept you alive to spread its clutches into your village. Some of the elders even make the symbol of warding off evil whenever you come by. 

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as it should have.

— word count: 1368. thank you for reading!

[cyberstrm]

4:07 am

remus lupin x gn!reader

cws: consensual age gap, reader was formally remus's student but nothing inappropriate happened during that time, smoking, swearing

you took a long drag from your cigarette as you gazed into the black sky. leaning out of a cramped, 3rd floor corridor window was not the most glamorous way of smoking, but you were so desperate you didn't care.

as much as you valued being in the order of the phoenix, the current headquarters (the house formally owned by the blacks) was a fucking nightmare. it reeked of death and woodworms, and there were creatures of all shapes and sizes hiding in crevices and cupboards. it was only just liveable and you'd been stuck living here here for weeks, but at least you could leave when you wanted to, unlike poor sirius.

offering to stay and help clean up headquarters over the summer seemed simple enough at the time, but it was hard work. when the kids went back to school, you'd go proper househunting. you'd graduated from hogwarts only this year, and needed somewhere to crash, so in exchange for a free room and food on the table, you'd agreed to help make the black house fit for living.

mrs weasley did not approve of your smoking habits, hence the uncomfortable leaning out of the window. besides, it was too late (or rather, early in the morning) to go outside.

"care to spare one?"

you jumped, hitting your head on the window.

"ow! fuck!"

you pulled out, still holding a half-finished cigarette, panting. remus lupin stood in front of you, his face apologetic. he was wearing brown cords and a baggy, sage green button up that was half untucked, and mismatched socks.

"apologies, y/n. didn't mean to startle you."

"cough next time or something, merlin." you placed a hand on your heart dramatically and fumbled with your packet of fags. "we won't both fit out the window so we'll just have to sit and smoke vaguely in the vicinity."

remus laughed and took the cigarette, his fingertips brushing yours. he sat opposite you on the stairwell, lazily using his wand to light his cigarette.

"didn't take you for a smoker." you said, after exhaling deeply.

"yes, well. you're not exactly the smoker type either." he replied, taking a long drag with a grateful expression.

"excuse me, the last time you saw me i had shitty box-dyed hair and a nose stud. I'm definitely the smoker type." you said in mock defence, referencing the year that remus had taught your defence against the dark arts lessons.

he chuckled, nodding. "that's true. you did look very different back then."

"man, i miss your classes. they were so chill. sorry i was always a nightmare and never handed in homework."

"i had worse students." he smirked, and you smacked him playfully. you both laughed.

you hadn't felt this relaxed in a while. after everything that happened last year, you'd felt wild and panicked for almost every waking moment. you believed harry, of course you did, and being close with the weasley's meant you knew all about the order, and joined as soon as you left school. maybe it would've been better if you didn't believe harry. you wouldn't feel so...panicked all the time. but you did, so that was that.

"what are you doing up so early anyway?" you asked, checking your watch and feeling a pang of guilt at the little '4:07' staring up at you.

remus nodded at the window. you looked up and saw the almost full moon.

"i can never sleep in the days beforehand."

"oooh." you replied in understanding. "i'm....i'm sorry you had to leave hogwarts because of it. that fucking sucked."

"i'm used to it." he shrugged.

"anytime you need cigs, i'm your person. any time. for free. no charge. it's the least i can do, like honestly i wouldn't have passed DADA if it weren't for you."

"i'll hold you to that." he grinned.

he gazed out the window, his eyes glazed and unfocused. he looked exhausted, but he wore it well. you supposed that was because he was rarely anything but. he looked soft, blurry around the edges, like a mirage, or as if he were painted with watercolour.

"d'you wanna know something kinda funny."

don't say it.

"mm?"

don't say it.

"i kinda..."

you're going to embarrass yourself.

"i used to have the biggest crush on you when you were at hogwarts."

remus didn't say anything, but smiled humbly.

"i get that a lot, actually."

"really?"

"you sound surprised." he grinned.

"what? no- i just mean...who will i have to battle for your heart?"

he laughed, and you found your face was growing warm. you don't know why you'd told him, it was very spur of the moment, but you were glad you did. it was nice to see him properly laugh.

"things have changed so much." you muttered, getting to the end of your cig. "i changed so much. probably for the better."

"things have changed- are changing." he agreed. "but i do hope you didn't stop liking me."

you properly blushed this time. "you mean that?"

he gazed at you, and leant forward to stub out his cigarette on the windowsill. he didn't lean back. his eyes were on you, full of something you'd never seen before. not lust, more like-

but before you could think of what it was more like, he pressed his lips to yours gently. his facial hair was rough against your skin as he kissed you deeper, his hand cupping your cheek.

he pulled away, still holding your face.

"was that...okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at your flustered face.

"y-yeah....but....maybe we should go somewhere more private." you chuckled, gesturing to the fact you were both slumped on the stairwell floor.

"good idea, hun." he pecked your lips. he stood up and helped you to your feet.

"my room?" you asked, kissing his scarred cheek.

"desperate for more, hm?" he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist. he kissed you again softly.

"you know it, old man."

[steam-beasts]

Lady Come Down

(Part of this is a rewrite of part of the last story. Also, here's a little song if you want music)

Standing before Edward’s berth, Sir Topham Hatt took a deep breath, feeling his heart do flips. Carefully, he gripped the shed door’s handle, dreading the sight he was gonna see. Slowly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, wary of his surroundings.

“Edward? Henry? Is everyone alright in he–?” He trailed off the moment he saw the four giant creatures in front of him. Once he got a good look at each of their faces, he knew instantly they were his engines. All he could do was just stand there, staring up at them with wide eyes, he felt his heart had dropped in that moment. Sitting against the wall in new human-like forms were none other than Edward, Emily, Gordon and Henry.

They stared down at him, wide-eyed with confusion and fear, Edward and Emily were huddled together while Gordon and Henry sat behind them. Henry in particular looked the most shaken of the four. Sir Topham Hatt could just tell from where he was standing that Henry was visibly shaking, his hand clawing and clutching at his other arm while tears were rolling down his cheeks. The silence was crushing.

Finally, Emily let out a quiet whimper "Sir...?"

“I-I…uh..” the controller was simply at a loss for words once more, just like he was back at Knapford. Finally, he managed to let a few words slip out "W...What happened?"

"I...w-we don't...really know, Sir" Edward admitted meekly, exchanging a look with Emily. Gordon piped up "We all woke up like this...it is truly embarrassing" he groaned, trying to shield his privates, as the rest did as well. For their sakes, Topham kept his eyes on theirs.

He slumped his shoulders and hung his head low "Oh dear...first Thomas, James and Percy, now you lot" He sighed, his face riddled with guilt. Emily's ears twitched "W-Wait, so...we're not the only engines like this?" She asked tentatively.

"I'm afraid not, Emily. I was one of many at Knapford to see Percy turn into...well, what you lot are now"

"And what about Thomas and James, Sir?" Gordon asked, shifting himself on to his knees. Edward's eyes widened in realisation "Oh, yes! What about them, Sir?"

Sir Topham Hatt hummed in thought "I'm not too sure, Edward. But according to James's crew, Thomas came along when James turned, so–"

"Of COURSE Thomas was turned first!" Gordon suddenly scoffed "Gordon!" Topham and Edward snapped in unison. Gordon rolled his eyes "Well, he seemed to be the first one who turned, correct?"

"I suppose it seems that way. Yes, but what are you suggesting, Gordon?" Edward asked suspiciously. Gordon remained vague "Suggesting? Oh no, Edward, I'm not suggesting anything. But wouldn't you say it's odd that Thomas was near when James changed?"

Emily groaned "Honestly Gordon, Thomas isn't to blame here!"

"I'm not saying it's Thomas's fault, Little Emily"

Henry, still clutching at his bicep, sarcastically remarked "Yeah, Gordon. You're not insinuating at all–"

"Oh shut up, Henry!"

Edward gazed down at Sir Topham Hatt and saw that he was sitting down, hands covering his face in what appeared to be shame. Frowning, Edward slowly crawled towards the controller, being careful to not squish him.

"Sir? Are you alright?" He asked, reaching out a giant hand.

Sir Topham Hatt rose his head to glance it him before resting it on his hands "Ugh...hello, Edward. I must be honest, I feel like complete and utter dirt" He groaned, then gazing at his hands "You see, I promised my father, like he had with my grandfather, to take good care of the railway and my engines...and considering everything that's happened over the years, I feel like a failure at this point" He lamented. Edward felt a pang of sadness as he listened.

"I know everyone can make mistakes, but I've made one too many. Edward, be honest with me...would you rather have had me or my grandfather?" The stout gentleman asked, gazing up at Edward.

Edward's frown became deeper. Gently, and to Sir Topham Hatt's surprise, he picked up the man and held him up to his own face "None of us see you as a failure, Bertram. I'm sure Sir Richard would've been proud of you despite everything, even your father" He whispered reassuringly. Sir Topham Hatt let a soft smile grow on his face, wiping away a small tear. He gave Edward's chin a little scratch "Thank you, Edward". Edward gently leaned in and purred in response.

At that point, the others gathered around Edward and Sir Topham Hatt.

"It's not your fault, Sir" said a new voice.

Everyone immediately looked over at the open berth doors to see none other than Thomas, James and Percy, who all seemed to had made it on their own.

"Thomas?!" Edward exclaimed, face quickly etched with concern and relief at seeing his adoptive son.

He gave Topham to Henry, who gently and very delicately set him down. Thomas barked and quickly crawled towards Edward, who was fast to pull the humanoid E2 into a hug, their tails wagging happily. James and Percy crawled inside afterwards.

Their controller was surprised to see them “Wha- I thought you three were waiting at Knapford?”

Percy rubbed his arm “Sorry, Sir. We heard there was trouble here, Sir and we got worried…Sir”. Sir Topham Hatt was about to question how on earth they heard him over the crowds and everything, until he remembered that they all had really good hearing “Oh…” was all he could say.

After Edward and Thomas split from their hug, the drivers, firemen and women came in to see their engines. A couple were speechless and a few were amazed. Mr Conductor approached the shorter man as Junior ran up to Thomas’s calf and began climbing his leg, blabbering on about it.

“Are you ok, Sir? This is quite much to take in, even I must admit that this is fairly new” The magic keeper asked, checking in. Topham grunted in acknowledgment “I’m fine now, Mr Conductor and yes, it’s very new indeed. Have you ever seen this before, may I ask?” Mr Conductor shook his head “No I haven’t. I didn’t really think this was possible, either”

“Would it have anything to do with…erm…that sparkly gold glitter? Gold dust, you call it?”

Mr Conductor hummed thoughtfully “Maybe, Sir. I wouldn’t put it past anything if…’humanizing’ a living machine is something gold dust can do” in that moment, he came up with an idea “Ah..If I were to pinpoint the cause of any of this, Sir…I’d say this is the work of–“

“Oi, Cous’! Come over here an’ feel Tommy’s hair! Softest hair ah’ve ever felt!” Junior laughed, cutting away the serious mood between them. Junior was climbing up Thomas’s hair as if it were a bundle of vines, burying his face into the soft, silky mass. Thomas just rolled his eyes and huffed.

Mr Conductor rolled his eyes “I’ll be there in a second!” He called before sighing, he looked at Sir Topham Hatt apologetically “Sorry, Sir. You know my cousin…”. The stout gentleman waved his hand dismissively “No, it is fine, I had a cousin myself” he said. Topham looked up at the six humanoid creatures in the room. He can’t let anymore people see them, not until all this was figured out and fixed. Then another daunting realisation came: what about all his engines at the Little Western? What about the diesels? What about his engines at Harwick? The thought was indeed slightly terrifying, having a railway populated by giant grey humans. Sir Topham Hatt quickly shook his head “Don’t think about it, Bertram. Just cross that bridge if it comes” he thought.

Right now, he needed to address some things “Ahem!” He coughed “I know and understand what is happening right now is very stressful for you all, I can see that. But we must keep calm and not let it get to our heads!”

James scoffed under his breath “Ha, it’s already got to our heads…”

As if he was a school student, Thomas raised his hand “Sir?”. The controller smiled “Yes, Thomas?”.

“Do you know if anyone else on the railway is like this?” He asked curiously. He shook his head “Afraid not, Thomas. As far as I know, you’re the only ones who have changed” Topham admitted “I am yet to hear if–“

Suddenly, the guardsman came running in, panting “Sir! A phone call just came in from the sheds at Arlesburgh! Th-The engines... they've–"

"Let me guess, they've turned into giant humanoid creatures?"

"I-I...yes, Sir. How did you know?" The guard stuttered, speechless at such an outlandish but spot-on guess. Sir Topham Hatt deadpanned "Oh...lucky guess, I suppose"

"But why is this happening?" Emily asked, an question everyone wanted to ask. Before the controller could answer, a blinding gold light shone through the berth door windows. The engines and humans squinted. The doors were then slowly pushed open by a 16ft tall grey woman, who unlike the others, had her own clothing. She entered with grace, her blonde hair styled like a greek goddess, highlighting her beauty. She stood tall, crouching slightly to enter the shed.

Thomas in particular blushed as she entered:

"L..Lady?"

(This design may change)

Lady gazed down at Thomas and his friends and simply smiled "Yes, my dear...it has been a while, hasn't it?" She replied.

Mr Conductor exclaimed "I knew it!"

"Huh, ah dinnae know the Lost engine was capable of doin' this?" Junior said, scratching his head. Mr Conductor smiled "She's a god, Junior. She has powers beyond even our comprehensions"

Lady got on to her knees in front of the group "I'm truly sorry for the scare" She apologized. "But why did you do this?" Gordon asked. Lady sighed "Well, it was a...dare from Patch. He didn't think I'd be able to turn myself into a human. While I did find it silly, I saw it as a new way to use my power. I...well, didn't think in that moment that it would affect all of you. So...silly me!" She shrugged.

"That american boy with the horse caused this?" James guffawed. Speak of the devil – Patch came walking in, hands in his pockets with Lily and Burnett following after. The three stopped as soon as they saw the scene. Lily instantly shot Patch a look "Did you HAVE to dare Lady, Patch?"

"Hey, it's not my fault, I was curious!" He exclaimed. He stood nervously as the big engines began to surround him.

Gordon let out a low growl "So...you initiated this, did you?"

It was at this moment that Patch knew – he fucked up.

The end

(Dw, he lived)

[always-andromeda]

⋆⁺. ❅ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ❅ .⁺⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ With Sarah away for the holidays for the first time ever, Joel is stuck without a single clue as to what to do for Christmas. That is when you decide to show him the most wonderful time of all. ♡

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Jana (@janaispunk)!! I'm your Secret Santa!! I really liked your prompts, so I ended up going with a little bit of almost all of them. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write some absolute tooth rotting fluff and hopefully you enjoy some of the creative liberties I took!! I am a massive fan of your writing so I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy this little piece!! Happy Holidays!! (divider credits go to @saradika-graphics)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ absolute fluff, bits of angst (Joel misses his daughter and has a hard time adjusting ;-;), no actual smut but there are a few suggestive moments (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no outbreak universe, mentions of Sarah sprinkled throughout but no mentions of Ellie whatsoever, mentions of alcohol consumption, non-religious celebration of Christmas, overall it's a decent helping of fluff with Joel learning to enjoy the holidays in a new way.

Sarah wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

When she had first called to deliver the news, Joel hadn’t known how to reply. He gave a curt affirmation and listened to go on about Christopher and everything pertaining to him. Christopher’s sister was going to take her shopping. Christopher’s parents owned horses. Christopher was going to take her to see a production of A Christmas Carol after having dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher.

The protective father in him was glad. Hell, he was overjoyed that she’d managed to find a guy who was so good to her. But the lonely, single father in him was…deflated.

For two decades she’d been home for the holidays. Year by year, no matter what changed, she was the one constant. There she was, dragging him off the couch to make cookies – because no matter how old she got, Sarah always insisted upon leaving some out for Santa. They’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate and for that moment in time…everything was wonderful. It didn’t matter how the business was doing or what kind of trouble Tommy had gotten himself into. Joel had his little girl. And for the longest time, he told himself that that was all he needed.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Work kept him busy enough. He took pride in being one of the few contractors in town who’d take work with the holidays looming so closely. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the celebration forever. Especially when you started questioning, “What are we doing this year?”

For the last two years you’d joined him and Sarah on their yearly tradition: takeout and Christmas movies. It had been the time of his life, spending Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and waking up to you beside him on Christmas morning while Sarah made cinnamon rolls. And before Christopher came into the picture, he could’ve replayed that Christmas over and over again and he never would’ve gotten sick of it.

The first time you asked about plans, he evaded it, giving some vague excuse about not knowing what his schedule was going to look like.

The days flew by and your tone grew more impatient until one day, while you sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your question turned into, “Joel, what’s going on?”

He’d just pulled into his driveway. If he wanted, he could dodge the question again. He could get out of the truck and slam the door behind him, putting an end to the conflict before it even had the chance to begin.

Then he risked a glance at you. Already, your brow was furrowing in frustration. A solid pang of guilt thumped heavily in his chest. He really couldn’t afford to avoid this one.

“I just–” he hesitated, not knowing how to word it; not wanting to embarrass himself. “Usually Sarah would be home and–”

“Oh…” you trailed off, obviously detected.

Joel quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’m just used to her bein’ here.” You still wouldn’t meet his eye. He softened his tone before carefully taking your hand in his. “Listen, darlin’, it’s not that I don’t wanna spend the holidays with you. Believe me, I do. It’s just that I haven’t had a holiday without that girl in so long. I ain’t even sure what I’m supposta’ do.”

You nodded solemnly, voice quiet but rigid as you replied, “I get that.”

Joel sighed. “I raised that girl for her entire life. Every year I had to figure out what a girl her age might want for Christmas. An’ every single year she’d get all excited waitin’’ for Christmas mornin’. Gettin’ to see that girl smile as she opened up her presents…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Finally, you spared him a look as he stared off into space, his eyes getting a tad misty from the memories.

He met your gaze, smiled wistfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I just miss my little girl. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed to put on a smile with pursed lips. Even if you didn’t understand exactly how he felt, he was grateful for the compassion. If he had told Tommy or one of the guys on his crew…hell, he didn’t think he’d have been able to express it in the first place.

But they wouldn’t have accepted those emotions like that. Tommy especially probably would’ve offered to take him out for a few drinks later to forget about it all. And sometimes Joel didn’t mind that. But something told him that this wasn’t something Joel could just drink to forget about.

You continued suddenly, “How would you feel if I came up with some activities for just the two of us? Every day this week leading up to Christmas, we’ll do one thing. And you can opt out on whatever days you want if you have something else in mind. Let’s just have a quiet, gentle Christmas, okay?”

Sarah was only going to get older. And if things with Christopher went well enough…there were going to plenty of Christmases without her to come. Joel had to accept that sooner rather than later.

And that was how the so-called Wonderful Week began.

Day one was simple enough, or so it seemed.

In all of his grief, Joel hadn’t really thought to put up the Christmas tree. After all, that was something he usually did with Sarah. And he’d done a pretty damn good job at avoiding anything relating to her for the first half of December. But if there was any hallmark of the season, a tree was most definitely the big one.

So he wasn’t incredibly surprised when he came home from work to see a massive box sitting in his living room.

“Hey, what’s this box for?” he called out in the house as he set his keys down in the dish beside the front door.

You emerged from the kitchen, smiling ear to ear, two whiskey glasses filled with a milky substance in your hands.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey?” Joel cocked an eyebrow, noticing the bright red Santa hat on your head. “What the hell do we have here?”

That only seemed to make you smile wider. Your eyes lit up as you walked across the living room and handed him one of the whiskey glasses. “What we have…is a brand new Christmas tree,” you answered proudly, pausing and waiting for his reaction.

Joel only squinted before stating, “I still got a perfectly good tree in the garage that you coulda’ dragged out.”

“Perfectly good?”

“Perfectly good,” he affirmed.

“Joel, remember when we put that thing up last year? Almost all of the lights were completely burnt out. Remember how we had to go buy a separate string of lights? And remember how much you hated putting them on and taking them off? You’ve had that old thing since–”

“Since Sarah was little,” he answered curtly.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Your smile turned sheepish and Joel could practically see the gears turning in your mind, wondering if you’d stepped over the line. 

Joel shot another hard glance at the box that sat smack dab in the middle of his living room. It seemed to challenge him. Was he really going to get this hung up over an old tree? Or was he going to take this opportunity in stride?

He looked back at you. You and your little Santa hat with the white puff ball at the end resting elegantly on your shoulder. Then there were your hands, nervously fiddling with the smooth edges of your whiskey glass. His gaze swept up to your hope-filled eyes that were awkwardly searching him for some sign of tension. He couldn’t be upset at any of that. You were only trying to cheer him up. What kind of Grinch would he be to get upset with a creature as gorgeous and lovely as you?

With a deep breath, Joel spoke, “Well. If we’re gonna put this thing together tonight…might as well get started, I suppose.”

At that, your whole being seemed to practically glow. You set your drink down on the coffee table before making your way to the box to cut at the tape holding it closed.

Joel took a swig of his drink. Egg-nog spiked with something. Another sip made him realize it was Kahlúa. He snickered and shook his head.

That was another little thing you’d gotten him into. Joe was firmly a hard liquor sort of guy until you insisted that if he liked plain coffee, he should at least try coffee liqueur. Sure enough, he liked it. Most of the time you were right about stuff like this. And here you were doing it all over again with this silly tree.

Before too long, you’d both lifted each section of the tree from its cardboard confines and nestled them on top of each other before locking them into place. Joel normally hated fluffing out the tree, and it certainly wasn’t made any better considering it was fresh out of the box. But the liqueur and the Christmas music you’d turned on and had softly playing in the background added a little ease to the task.

The best part was definitely adding the ornaments. Thankfully, you’d stuck with the old box of ornaments that he’d kept beside the old tree in the garage. For a moment he was grateful you hadn’t gone as far as getting brand new ornaments too.

He liked the old ones ten times more than he liked the old tree.

Of course there were random filler baubles in various shades of red, green, silver, and gold. But the ones that got to him were the handmade ones. Some of those went back thirty or even forty years. He pulled out a flat clay sculpture of a dog painted in blue that had faded significantly over the decades. Joel ran his finger over the words on the back.

Thomas Miller, 1980

Tommy had only been seven years old. His art teacher had just fired all of the ceramic ornaments the kids made before going off for winter break. Joel only vaguely remembered the day his little brother came home with that ornament in hand. But he remembered all too well how every year since he’d hit adulthood his brother would take a little glance at the little sculpture and proclaim that it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever made with his own two hands.

“Because I made it for my big brother,” he’d say in a faux sentimental tone. But underneath the machismo and the teasing, Joel knew that it really did mean a great deal to Tommy. Which was why he was still hanging it up thirty years later.

However, the next one made him stop in his tracks. Joel carefully pulled the ornament out from under a layer of bubble wrap. Though it was also made by Tommy, 

Sarah’s first Christmas hadn’t been the easiest. Her mother had just left and money was tight. Joel had been taking every job he possibly could to scrape together money for rent and the necessities. Tommy was still in high school and had his own life to live, yet he always offered to babysit Sarah after he got out of class.

That year, Joel hadn’t had the time to worry about the holidays. Little did he know that Tommy had been saving up since Halloween to get a little tree and some cheap plastic ornaments. But the cherry on top of it all was the one other ornament that Tommy made.

It was a small circle of clay, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Right in the center was a little footprint. Words carved into the clay underneath it said: Sarah’s First Christmas, 1988.

Joel could picture it then, fifteen year old Tommy carefully pressing his niece’s foot into the clay before rewarding her with Cheerios. That period of time forged them into something greater than brothers, Joel thinks. It made them Sarah’s protectors. The ones who would always make sure she was taken care of. And no matter how old she got, that would always be true.

Right as tears started welling in his eyes from the memory, he felt your hand brush his shoulder. “You alright, Joel?” you spoke softly.

“Look at this one,” he answered hoarsely before showing you the ornament.

To his delight, you smiled tenderly and asked, “Where did that come from?”

Much of the night went that way with Joel telling stories about the various ornaments that were in his box and you telling stories about the ones that were in yours. After another drink, he found himself loosening up even more.

The two years prior hadn’t exactly been like this. Both of those Christmases happened before you’d moved in. Back then you were merely observing his and Sarah’s celebrations. This year was different though. This time…you and him were making up your own celebrations.

In the days following, Joel found himself looking forward to whatever you had planned. It was a relief to know at the end of a long day, he’d get to come home to you waiting with some new trick up your sleeve.

Day two immediately presented a challenge in the form of two gingerbread house kits. Because, you argued, who better to construct a gingerbread house than a contractor? Joel couldn’t help but snicker and roll his eyes when you pulled out a level and the tape measure from his tool kit.

“Think you got this wall straight, Miller?” you joked, holding the level up to the solid cookie wall. 

“You’re funny.”

“Just making sure everything is all even,” you shrugged. “One would hope that the big fancy contractor would care that his gingerbread house was up to code.”

Day three was a bit of an unexpected one. You finally got him to load up the boxes of old clothing and other odds and ends that had been gathering dust in his garage for far too long. Joel kept telling himself he’d donate them some weekend but continually forgot. So of course you were the one to remind him by remarking how important it was to give a little for the holidays.

It was a little bittersweet, especially since a good chunk of it was stuff Sarah had gotten rid of before moving out for college. Joel was all too aware that there was a small part of him that feared that the second he gave it all away, his daughter would definitely be calling him up just begging to have that butterfly tank top she wore in fifth grade back. But he also knew that that probably wasn’t going to happen.

So bye-bye went the dusty boxes of hand-me-downs, off to homes that could appreciate them again.

Day four brought popcorn garlands. He opted out of spiked drink for that one, knowing that he needed a steady hand if he was going to be able to thread delicate little pieces of popcorn onto some string. However, with his thick fingers, he still managed to poke himself with the crafting needle.

And really, making the garland was soon forgotten by the dozenth time you grabbed his injured hand to kiss it better. Joel really didn’t need any sort of alcohol in his system to start feeling lightheaded before pulling you into his lap for a bruising kiss.

By the end of the night, both of your garlands were only long enough to hang in a single doorway. But that was just fine with Joel.

Day five was Christmas Eve. Another night where he was sure you had something big planned – he later learned that you originally wanted to make Christmas cookies. But Joel was never any good with the whole cooking and baking thing. And tonight seemed as good of a night as any to take a load off.

“What will Santa eat when he comes down the chimney?” you protested in a teasing tone.

Joel scoffed, “Santa can starve for all I care. Tonight, I want to settle down and relax with my lady.”

“Lady,” you rolled your eyes. “Who are you calling lady?”

“You, Little Miss Christmas. Now go put your pajamas on. We’re gonna have a nice night in and you’re gonna like it.”

You laughed one deep laugh from your belly and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The next time you showed your face downstairs, Joel had planted himself firmly on the carpet with a box of old photos.

“Whatcha’ got there?” you asked as you folded your legs and settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Joel glanced over, catching the tail end of a wide eyed expression on your face as you peeked over his shoulder. 

“What’s that look for?” he chuckled.

Joel tilted the photo in your direction. It was a picture of you and him from the year prior; the second Christmas you spent with him. You were ice skating, Joel standing firmly behind you, one hand placed firmly on your hip and the other wrapped around you, keeping you from completely falling over.

“I didn’t know you got a picture from that night,” you mumbled.

“Oh,” Joel set the photo down and picked up a small, leather bound album from the box in front of him. “Sarah took a whole buncha’ pictures that night. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Really?”

Joel didn’t miss the sentimentality in your tone. He himself had almost forgotten that Sarah had brought her camera along that year. She’d taken a photography class during her freshman year of college; so it was practically attached to her almost every time she came home that semester.

She’d surprised him with the album a few months afterwards, raving about how adorable you and him had looked the entire night. I’ve never seen you get so sappy about a woman before, she’d teased him before adding, but it’s kinda cute, ya know?

Joel had brushed it off then, putting it with the rest of his old family photos. But over time it quickly began to mean something more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled that little book out and flipped through the photos. And now, for the first time you were looking at them with him.

“Really,” he asserted. “You look real pretty in all of ‘em.”

And God, did he mean it. On the next page was one of you wearing this red, satin number at a dinner party. He could easily remember the way that the material practically flowed down your curves like water. And he remembers the way his attraction for you pooled heavily in his belly and the way he had to make himself stay cool until he could get you home and get that outfit off of you himself.

The shot right next to that one was from the same dinner party. Joel had a can of whipped cream in one hand and a dollop of the stuff in the other. And there you were, attempting to lick at the smear of whipped cream on your nose.

He showed you the album and you grimaced before smiling sheepishly, “God, I can’t believe Sarah got that moment.”

God, that smile, Joel thought to himself. He could never get tired of that smile.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “I’m glad she did. I tell ya’, that girl can really capture the beauty in a moment.”

You started to speak, “You say beauty…I say–”

“Beauty,” Joel repeated. “You’re beautiful. And that’s that.”

You were quiet for a few seconds as Joel continued to flip through the album. The more little moments he remembered from the year before, the more gratitude welled up in his chest. And before he could really control it, his mouth was moving.

“You know I’m glad I get to spend time with you, right?”

“Oh, that’s good. After last night I was sure that you were just sick of me,” you quipped.

“I mean it,” Joel said with a playful nudge at your side. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’m old and I’m ornery and I’m probably a real pain in the neck sometimes. And the fact that you’re willin’ to put up with a pain in the neck like me…especially around this time a’ year…it means a lot. Everything you’ve done this week…all for me? I’m grateful, darlin’.”

Your expression faltered and you batted your eyelashes, gaze fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I just like taking care of you. I like making you happy,” you murmured.

Joel turned his head and leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

“Good thing you always make me happy, darlin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

As he pressed a kiss against your lips, his hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you into his arms. The little photo album dropped between his legs and was soon forgotten, the same way a lot of his worries for the holidays had as soon as you came in.

At that moment…he didn’t think about Sarah. Didn’t think about her never spending another holiday in his home again. She'd come back home at some point, just like his worries probably would; he’d always worry about his little girl. Though he wouldn’t forget the years of memories he’d had before you, he wouldn’t let himself dwell on them for so long that he forgot about you. Your presence was more than enough of a present for him.

[rabbit-or-rib]

Hi! So I never do requests like these but getting into MH and EMH has forced my hand lmao

Watching Tim and Evan sleep head-canons with a GN!Reader. (😭)

Hear me out! I feel like these two don’t get as much sleep, knowing their circumstances it’s understandable. (Especially Tim.) You can try to coax them to sleep all you want but they’re stubborn.

But the second that they fall asleep, you can’t help but to observe, take in their features. Hell, caress them softly or give them a small peck on the forehead or cheek. It’s peaceful and you wish it can be like this all the time.

That’s what I’m currently thinking about and I would love for you to expand on it, or just your thoughts on it, if you can!

Love reading your posts, and thank you for feeding us with them! 😭🙏

~ 🐐

THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVED WRITING THESE SM !!!! this took me forever cus i kept getting in my own head and being a sap instead of writing lolz thank you so much for your patience 😭 Evans is much more angsty than i thought it was going to be

☠️🚬 Evan Myers / Tim Wright x gn!reader helping them fall asleep :)

· · ·

Evan :

He’s sprawled out on the couch, trying to focus on the low budget horror movie on the tv, but you can tell that he’s fighting sleep and you’re immediately hit with pangs of guilt. You and Evan have both been struggling with sleep for a long while, and for reasons neither of you can exactly help; Evan has started a pattern of trying to stay up as long as possible when his paranoia gets rough because he doesn’t want to wake up to find himself not in control of his body. He can’t stand the feeling of seeing you and not being able to trust “himself” not to hurt you. You know this about him, you’ve watched and tried to help him through it time after time on sleepless nights- assuring him that you love him and that you don’t plan on leaving no matter how many times he insists you deserve better than this.

So, walking over to him and quietly planting yourself next to him on the floor, you cup his face in your hand and you can feel him leaning into your touch. Closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to layer itself on top of yours, his eyebrows furrow in a mix of relief and pain. You quietly suggest that the two of you should get to bed as you lean over to kiss his forehead, and he grasps your hand a little tighter as he whispers out a desperate “i’m so sorry.”

Your heart breaks for him in that moment. The guilt you know he feels rubs off on you more every time, but you don't want him to know. You don't want him to feel more responsible than he already does for all of this. You stretch your other arm over his drowsy form to hold him impossibly closer to you, and his frame bends into yours as he takes a deep, shaky breath. Your hand rests on the back of his head, entangled in his soft hair with your lips still connected to the top of his head as you whisper soft reassurances to him; you're hoping the onslaught of 'i love you's and 'i still trust you's will still get through to him in his tired daze.

It takes longer than you wish it would for his breathing to even out and for his grip on your hand to loosen, but you're just grateful he was able to get there at all. You gently kiss his cheek before adjusting yourself to lay your head on his shoulder, and you take a deep breath as you take in the moment engulfing you. Evan is finally sleeping, the credits are rolling on the movie he had on, and you can hear the crickets outside through the quiet background music. Everything is okay right now, and you'd do anything to keep it that way for the both of you- but for now, you'll just get comfortable and make sure you're here for him in the morning.

Tim :

Tim needs a lot of comfort to fall asleep. He has frequent nightmares that, while he doesn't like to talk about them very often (in fact you've only heard him talk about them twice, and very vaguely), you know they're bad enough to make him want to stay up for the hours on end he usually does. Whenever you do manage to coax him to get into bed with you at a reasonable hour, don't think it'll mean you'll be sleeping any time soon.

Not that he asks you to, if anything he tries to reason with you to go to bed without him being asleep, but nonetheless you stay up until you can make sure he's getting some rest. Tonight, though, is a very different story. He had been exhausted, and it was one of the very few times he asked you to join him in bed. He had hovered behind you reading on the couch, placing his hands on your shoulders gently and touching his forehead to the top of your head and mumbling a deep, "'m tired, darlin'.", too tired to try and hide his low southern drawl this time.

So, here the two of you were in your bed. You're lying on your back, and Tim has himself draped on top of you, tightly wrapping his arms around your torso. You have one hand running through his hair and gently scratching at his scalp, and the other is tucked under his loose, unbuttoned flannel resting on his back. You can feel the way his body slowly melds to yours the more comfortable he gets, every couple minutes he sinks more and more into your form. You're whispering quiet praises to him, reminding him you love him, that you'll be right here when he wakes up in the morning, he doesn't need to worry his pretty little head about it. You feel a gravely laugh rumble through the both of you as he smiles, mumbling something about how he should be talking to you like that, and you tell him that is the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard; the loving and sleepy smiles are evident in both of your voices.

Eventually, when he does fall asleep, you find yourself stuck reminiscing on the world the two of  you have built together. You live together, the two of you have learned to cook different meals together, you both talk about the future with the other like they’ve always been there- it feels like the stars aligned at just the right moment for such a perfect match to have been made. You recall one of the few nights Tim has been especially sappy; the two of you cuddling on the couch with your head leaning into his hand as he quietly told you how much he loved you. He couldn’t look you in your eyes and his thumb was gently but nervously swiping along the side of your cheek, but he mumbled about how he didn’t understand how he got so lucky with you- he doesn’t know why you’ve stayed with him but he’s always gonna be grateful for you. Remembering that now, with your hand still in his hair and him softly snoring, this is one of the very few times everything feels peaceful.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

May I request a magic yandere lady X non binary reader (fem presenting)? If that’s! Not in the cards it’s alright!

Sure thing! Magic is kind of a vague subject, so I decided to make the Yandere lady (her name is Ivy btw) a witch, I hope that’s ok! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: kidnapping, spell induced drugging, mind control, typical yandere behavior

Nonbinary! reader

Banner/divider credit goes to @strangergraphics

Witch! Ivy who's so used to being alone. She's something of a recluse, having lived solely by herself ever since her mentor died. Her cottage is in the middle of the woods, far, far away from society's prying eyes, which unfortunately also means it's far, far away from most people. The only real company she has is her cat lavender (she's gray instead of black, despite what you may think), and the wildlife that lives around her home. Great companions, but not so great when you crave human contact. But hey, at least she has all the herbs and plants she needs for her spells!

Witch! Ivy who 's shyness was her downfall. She had never been fond of interacting with people, even as a child, so when her mentor took her in, the lack of human connection didn't bother her much. Even when her mentor died, she didn't feel as if she was missing out on anything, as sad as she was to lose her. She was just... too used to not seeing people.

Witch! Ivy's who's surprised when she finds you, unconscious in the woods, probably from dehydration, malnutrition, and exhaustion. After some deliberation, she carries you (well, uses a spell to carry you, she's not that strong) back to her cottage, placing you in the now vacant room adjacent to hers. It's nerve-wracking for her to have a stranger in her home, especially considering society isn't so kind to witches, but she couldn't just leave you there! Who knows what would have happened? There's a lot of wild animals out in the forest, and she's not so sure you'd be able to fight them off, assuming you regained consciousness, that is.

Witch! Ivy who nearly shoots out of her skin with fright when she hears you scream from upstairs. She sneaks down the hallway toward the room you're currently occupying, nervously gazing through the wooden doorway to the sight of you shivering in fear under the bed covers, having no clue how you got there. Your fear only grows when you notice her peeking around the corner, and a pang of guilt swamps her at the fact that she scared you more.

Witch! Ivy who rushes into the room, hurriedly explaining how she found you before you start screaming again. Thankfully, her words seem to calm you, understanding dawning on your face. Your fear turns to gratefulness, and you thank her repeatedly for saving you and bringing you into her home, despite the fact that you're a complete stranger.

Witch! Ivy who blushes at your thankfulness, unused to such praises. She quickly excuses herself, using the food she's been making for you as an excuse to leave the room before you can see how flustered she is. She flees down the stairs, spending the next few minutes tending to the soup she's created for you while she tries to calm herself down. She busies herself with the food in front of her, lacing it with a spell that will help you heal up quicker once you consume it. Due to how poor your condition was, it'll take a while for you to fully regain your strength, even with the spell, but after a couple of weeks, you should be back to normal.

Witch! Ivy Who brings you your food, silently gesturing for you to lie back when you make a move to get up. She sits silently beside you while you eat, mostly to make sure you're strong enough to keep the food down, and you use this opportunity to explain to her how you got in the position she found you in. Turns out you had been hiking, and decided to go off the trail. A bad idea in hindsight, but you thought it would be fun, and besides, you weren't that far from civilization anyway. But then the hours rolled by, and you hadn't gotten out of the wilderness, and then hours turned to days, and you were still lost, the only landmarks around you being trees and rocks and more trees. You had packed enough food and water for a day or two, but you had quickly run out, leading to the predicament Ivy found you in.

Witch! Ivy who assures you that you're safe now, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need to to recover. She's more than nervous at the idea of someone she doesn't really know staying in her house for weeks on end, but she can't just throw you back outside! She warns you that it'll take a while for you to regain your full strength, but you remain positive, thanking her for providing you shelter while you recover.

Witch! Ivy who spends the first week of your stay hiding away from you, only approaching your room when she's bringing you something to eat and drink. It honestly hurts your feelings a little bit. Did you do something to offend her? Is she scared of you? Why is she avoiding you like the plague? You're still too weak to get up and explore the house on your own, so for now, your stuck trying to figure out how to keep her with you for longer from your bed. You try to strike up a conversation every time she visits, but she always keeps her sentences brief, answering your questions enough so that you aren't ignored, but nothing more. It begins to frustrate you, until one day, you decide to do something about it.

Witch! Ivy who's surprised to see a sad, sullen look on your face the next time she visits. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could, your voice, smaller than normal, rings out. "Why are you so scared of me?"

It's a simple question, but it throws Ivy of balance for a second. She nervously asks what makes you think she is, and you sigh before explaining how her reserved and skittish nature made you worry you had done something to scare or offend her.

Witch! Ivy who stands there silent for a moment before gaining the courage to speak. She reluctantly opens up, explaining that she's not really used to interacting with people, and in fact, is kind of scared of them in general. You can tell how nervous she is by the way she's fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, but she reassures you that you've done nothing wrong, she's just... not good with people.

Witch! Ivy who notices how much gentler you are when she enters the room, now that you know why she's so shy. You speak to her in a softer voice, still trying to engage her in conversation, but not as pushy as before. You start asking questions about her life and how she lives on her own, and she takes the bait, allowing herself to open up more and more with each conversation the two of you have. It impresses her how you've managed to draw her out of her shell, engaging her attention until you're all she can think about. There's just something about you that's so... captivating!

Witch! Ivy who thinks your the most beautiful person she's ever seen. Or, well, could ever see. Now that you're not on the brink of dying from malnutrition and dehydration, your natural features are much more prominent, and she thinks you look absolutely stunning. She lends you her dresses and blouses while you stay, and her long, flowy clothes only aid in bringing out your beauty. You've caught her staring at you on more than one occasion much to your amusement. Sometimes, she'll even work up the courage to ask if she can mess with your hair.

Witch! Ivy who starts to cling to you more and more, until almost all her time is spent with you. It's a complete 180 from how she was acting before, but now that she's gotten more used to you, she can't get enough. It's like all the years of isolation have finally come crashing down on her all at once, forcing her to seek out your company in order to squash the heavy feeling of loneliness that crashes down on her as soon as she's left alone. She spends most of her time in your room, only leaving when she needs to get on with her daily chores. It doesn't bother you, you're glad for the company, and besides, you've found that past all her shyness is a really sweet, lonely woman.

Witch! Ivy who gets so nervous when you're strong enough to get up and roam around the house, following you around as you wander like a lost puppy. Not because she doubts you've strength, but because she didn't really hide any of her witchy stuff beforehand, which means you're more than likely to discover what she actually is. She doesn't want to lose the only friend she's ever had, she can't lose you're companionship-

Witch! Ivy who nearly faints from fright when you discover her cauldron and begin questioning her, asking her why she has so many herbs and spellbooks strewn around the black pot. She doesn't answer, although she can tell by your expression that you're already figured out the answer to your own question, and she prepares to flee the cottage as soon as you inevitably begin screaming in fear once again.

Witch! Ivy who's astounded when instead of calling her a monster, you start asking her all sorts of questions about witchcraft, carefully observing all of her things with keen interest. The whiplash she gets from her own emotions is insane, she goes from terrified to overjoyed within seconds. You're not scared of her! And you think she's cool! Ivy doesn't hesitate to show you everything she can, explaining what all her tools are for, what her herbs can do when used correctly, and even demonstrating a couple of minor spells for your entertainment. You're head will be spinning by the end of it, but it's worth it to see the massive grin on Ivy's face.

Witch! Ivy who shyly asks you why you aren't afraid of her. You mention that you get what it's like to be an deemed as an outcast by some, and when she asks you what you mean, you explain how your identity isn't the most welcomed by certain groups of people, especially when your more feminine appearance makes some question your validity. Because of how removed she is from society, Ivy doesn't really understand why your identity is such a big deal to some people, especially when it doesn't affect anyone but you, but she appreciates that you can empathize with her, even if it's not the exact same.

Witch! Ivy who spends as much time as you'll let her teaching you everything she can about witchcraft. It's almost like she's taking you in as her apprentice, and in the back of her mind, she secretly thinks of you as such. the idea of you leaving no longer thrills her, in fact, she dreads the idea of such a thing ever happening. She hopes with all her heart that you'll stay here with her, learning and growing alongside her for the rest of your lives. Maybe if she shows you the powers you could unlock, you'll forget about your old life and stay with her. She'll never have to be alone again!

Witch! Ivy who grows increasingly nervous as the stronger you get, the more you start speaking of the life you've been living before this. She tries to distract you with spells and potions, even bringing you along to help with chores, but it's just not enough to keep you from wanting your old life back. Once, she implied that you should stay with her, if only for a little while longer, but you gently turned her down, explaining how much you missed your friends and family back home. She said she understood, but she really didn't. Why did you want to leave her so bad? Was she not enough for you? She could give you everything you could possibly want, why do you want to leave? Especially when the world was so cruel to you for no reason, why would you ever want to go back?

Witch! Ivy who freaks out when one day, you tell her that come morning, you'll be heading back home, using the map she has hung up on her wall. You promise her that you'll be safe and careful, but she still frets, begging you to reconsider. You remain adamant in your decision, and eventually she calms down, apologizing for her anxieties about you traveling alone. You offer to take her with you, but she refuses, citing that society would never accept her, and that she was happier here, in nature.

Witch! Ivy who watches you climb the stairs to your room, bidding you goodnight. Internally, she's freaking out, trying to figure out how to make you stay with her. She can't let you leave, she can't be alone again! You've shown her what it's like to have companionship, and now that she has it, she won't lose it. The possibilities run through her mind: She could use a spell to weaken you, but she doesn't want to risk your health, and besides, you would know she had done something if you were to get ill right before you were meant to leave. She could send you into a long, interrupted sleep, but that would be no different from you leaving: You're true presence would be absent. She could cast a forcefield spell around the property, but then you would hate her for keeping you here against your will. There was only one option left.

Witch! Ivy who insists on making you breakfast before you leave in the morning, and you agree, seeing no harm in it. She may have magical abilities, but you would never expect her to use them against you, right?

...Right?

...Why is she looking at you like that?

Witch! Ivy whose eyes meet yours, sadness and a hint of regret shining in them. Uneasiness begins to rise in you as she tells you she's sorry it's come to this, but before you can question her, she says something in a language you don't understand, and suddenly your body feels heavy, like it's being weighed down by an unseen force. You can't move anything except your eyes, you can't even speak, you just remain sitting there, your empty plate laying in front of you, mocking you.

Witch! Ivy who tells you to stand up, and you do, completely against your own will. Her soft voice commands you to walk back up the stairs and enter your room, and your body obeys, completely oblivious to what you want it to do. You aren't in charge of it anymore. You're body marches up the stairs, almost robotic in its movements, and Ivy follows close behind you, guilt radiating off of her.

Witch! Ivy who starts rambling, explaining how sorry she is to do this, how terrible of a person she must be, but that she can't lose the only companionship she's had since the death of her mentor. She tells you how you've opened her eyes to what she's been missing out on, but that she can't enter society as a whole because of how dangerous it would be for her. This is the only solution she could think of. She assures you that she'll give you anything you could possibly want, how you'll always be comfortable as long as you stay with her, and how the spell isn't permanent, it's just there until you become more comfortable with the idea of living with her. She lifts it enough that you can control your body freely, but if she needs to, she can regain control once again. Ivy promises not to use it unless you try to leave, but she can see the mistrust in your eyes, even after all her words. How could she do this to you? She had been so kind, so why? Why was she adamant you stay here?

Witch! Ivy who can see the hurt in your eyes, so she leaves the room. She's fairly confident you won't try to leave, and besides, she has a detector spell set up around the house, so no one can get in or out without her knowing. She understands why you're upset, and she truly does feel bad, but she can't lose you! She wouldn't survive the loneliness returning, she needs you by her side. All she can do now is hope that one day you'll understand, and you'll stay by her side willingly.

[campingwiththecharmings]

Good Neighbors (6)

PART 5

AN: Hello, welcome back to my horny, Neighbor!Santi series 😌 Please be advised that there is facefucking in this and I don't think I've ever written that so, my apologies if it's terrible lol 🥲 Without further ado, here is the sixth smutlet in a series set after the events of Night Moves.

Santiago swallows, cheers ringing up and down the street as another three fireworks go off. You bite back a smile, noting he’s tense for an entirely different reason now. Now this, this you can help him with.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,505 Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, semi-public sex, oral sex, rough sex, facefucking, vague references to PTSD, neighbors with benefits AO3

——————

“What time are they supposed to be setting them off again?” you ask, glancing at your watch.

Santi grunts, swallowing his mouthful of beer. “I think around midnight.”

You nod, eyes scanning the building across the street as you take a swig from your own bottle, the glass cool against your lips. Rumor had it, someone over there had gotten married (or maybe it was divorced?) and they were planning to set off fireworks to celebrate. You loved fireworks, loved the colors, the fire, the explosions that were so loud you could feel them in your bones. Being a vet, you knew Santiago wasn’t as thrilled about them—brought back too many bad memories, he said—so when he’d invited you to watch them on his fire escape, you knew you had to make sure it was fun for him too. 

Movement on the rooftop across the way catches your eye and your lips quirk a little, bouncing on your toes in your excitement. A chuckle reaches your ears and you turn, Santi watching you with fond amusement in his warm, brown eyes.

“What?” you ask, a little more defensively than you meant to.

He shakes his head, smile on his lips as he raises his beer to take another sip. “I didn’t say anything.”

You raise a brow at him and his smile just widens, the sight making your stomach flip. 

A whistle and some cheers drag your attention back across the street just as the first firework bursts into a shower of colorful sparks. Your eyes and smile widen with glee as two more are set off at the same time, the bright colors lighting up the sky. After about ten minutes of this, you chance a glance at your companion, noting his rigid back and tight jaw. The idea that he might be uncomfortable sends a pang of guilt through you; sure, he’d been the one that suggested this get together but that didn’t mean you wanted him to suffer. You had to do something, something to make him relax, something that would help him enjoy this.

A loud ‘boom’ across the way regains your attention, your mouth quirking slightly as you lean closer to Santi.

“Bet I could make you burst like that,” you breathe, your lips almost brushing his ear. 

Santiago swallows, cheers ringing up and down the street as another three fireworks go off. You bite back a smile, noting he’s tense for an entirely different reason now. Now this, this you can help him with.

You lean in more, tracing the shell of his ear with your nose. His breath catches, fingers tightening like a vice around the bottle in his hand. You wonder if he’ll break it, can imagine the satisfying pop as the glass shatters, the remnants of his beer spilling through his fingers and through the slats in the floor of the fire escape. You suck his earlobe between your lips as a quick round of four fireworks go off, the noise making him flinch involuntarily.

“Santi,” you whisper, pressing a kiss beneath his ear. “I want you to fuck me.”

He groans, turning toward you and quickly capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, pushing you back against the fire escape railing. Another round of fireworks explodes across the street but he pays them no mind, losing himself in the taste and feel of you. He cups your face in his hand first, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he licks into your mouth. Then he moves it down your neck, stopping briefly to run his fingers over the hollow of your throat, down further to ghost his knuckles over your breasts. He squeezes your hip before moving on again, and you just know he’s planning to slip those talented fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. 

But you want this to be about him, about making him feel good, you want to give him something good to think about the next time he’s in a situation like this.

So you stop him, your fingers tangling with his as you pull them up and push him back gently. He breaks the kiss as another firework explodes across the street, his eyes confused.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he slurs, beautiful eyes blown wide, lips a little swollen from the amount and force of your kissing.

You smile at him, an impish gleam in your eyes. “I didn’t mean my pussy.”

It takes him a minute to figure out what you mean, his brow furrowing adorably as you reach out to unbutton his jeans. His eyes widen when he finally realizes, his mouth falling open as you slip inside and take him in your hand. He groans as you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing him slightly, his hips thrusting involuntarily into your fist. You pull him closer, claiming his lips and swallowing his moans as you move your hand up and down his hard shaft.

The booms and crackles are coming more regularly by the time you sink to your knees before him, and you know the celebration is nearing its end. His palm gently cups the back of your head as you take him in your mouth, his fingers flexing against your scalp when the tip of him hits the back of your throat. His choked groan is drowned out by the cheers from the crowd when you swallow, tongue working against the underside of his cock. 

His eyes are fixed on you when you look up at him, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Wordlessly you try to tell him that you’re ready, jaw slack, palms braced against his thighs. He places his now empty bottle on the windowsill and takes one of your hands, loosely entangling your fingers.

“Squeeze my hand if you need me to stop, hmm?” he rasps, patiently waiting for your acknowledgement before slowly pulling back his hips, the tip of him almost leaving your mouth. 

He pushes back between your lips with a sigh, the warm softness of your mouth contrasting delightfully with the slight roughness of your tongue. You hum around him as he does it again, this time a little harder, a little faster. It takes a few more thrusts for him to figure out what he wants, but by the time he does, you’re moaning around him, drool running in rivulets down your chin and neck as he fucks into your mouth. His eyes are glued to you, and you know he’s making sure you’re okay, that he’s not giving you too much. You want him to lose it though, want him to be selfish just this once, to really use you.

The fireworks are coming one right after the other now and you know their finale is near; it’s now or never. You dig your fingers into the cheeks of Santi’s ass as you pull yourself closer, gagging a little on his cock as the tip hits the back of your throat again. His pace falters and he moans, his eyes fluttering but not closing completely like you want. He seems to understand though, his lip curling up slightly in a snarl as he pulls back and roughly thrusts back into your mouth. You moan around him and his eyes finally fall shut, the hand on the back of your head pulling you forward on his cock as he spears into you over and over. 

He comes down your throat with a broken groan just as the finale begins, the booms and blasts, echoing down the street as the colorful sparks explode across the sky. His hand is braced against the railing when you pull off him with a slick pop, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His fingers are still laced with yours against his thigh and you gently squeeze them. He squeezes back as your eyes meet, a smile forming on his lips. 

“You okay?” you ask, amusement dancing in your eyes.

He chuckles breathlessly and nods, pulling you back up to your feet. He glances around, noting that people are starting to filter back inside. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

You smile, absently licking your lips, drawing his gaze. He swallows, eyes dark when they meet yours again, making your skin heat. After a moment, he leans in, claiming your lips with a sigh. His kiss is slow but deep, his tongue delving between your lips and brushing against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. 

“Maybe we should take this inside?” he pants, breaths puffing against your lips when he pulls back.

You feel his cock twitch, still bare, against your thigh and bite back a moan. Nodding, you release him, swallowing when he tucks himself back in his pants. He holds out a hand to you when he’s done, a soft smile on his lips. You smile back, taking his hand, allowing him to lead you back inside to his apartment through the open window.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 7 (coming soon)

[gabby297]

You Look So Pretty, Pretty Like The Sun - Chapter 10

Tommy parked the car farther up the street, on the opposite side from where Athena had pulled over, giving them a clear view of the house she had just entered. He killed the engine, leaving the two of them in silence as they waited. Buck’s eyes scanned the street, searching for anything out of place, but everything seemed still, almost too quiet.

He leaned his head against the cold window, the chill offering brief relief from the dull throb in his head. At least the sunglasses helped to keep the worst of the pain at bay.

“No sleeping,” Tommy reminded him gently, breaking the silence after a few moments.

“I’m not,” Buck mumbled, his voice low and tired. He reached out and gave Tommy’s hand a reassuring squeeze where it rested on his thigh. He wasn’t sure he could sleep even if he wanted to; the tension and worry gnawing at him were enough to keep him wide awake.

Buck sighed quietly, forcing his eyes open again, his mind still racing despite his body’s exhaustion. Beside him, Tommy shifted to stretch, his movements slow as he adjusted behind the wheel. They had been sitting there for the past half hour with no end in sight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Buck watched Tommy, a familiar pang of guilt tightening his chest. Tommy had just finished his shift before this whole mess unfolded, and though Buck couldn’t be sure how much time had passed between him grabbing the phone at the station and Tommy showing up at the hospital, he was certain the man had to be just as exhausted as he was. Maybe more.

And yet, Tommy didn’t complain. He hadn’t once brought up his own fatigue or the fact that Buck pulled him into a weird chase down the city with very little explanation. It wasn’t fair to Tommy, and Buck knew it. He hadn’t meant to make Tommy’s life harder, but somehow, it always seemed to end up that way.

Buck let out a soft breath, his hand twitching towards Tommy as if he wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say that would make it better?

Before Buck could find the right words, Tommy shifted lower in his seat and turned his head toward him. “I can hear you thinking from over here,” he said softly, a hint of a tired smile playing on his lips.

Buck swallowed, his gaze dropping to his hands as he fidgeted with his fingers. “I just… sorry for dragging you into this. Whatever this is.” He gestured weakly with his free hand, motioning vaguely toward the space around them, as if it could somehow explain the chaos that seemed to follow him everywhere.

It wasn’t just this night. It was everything. First, messing up their first date. The weeks where he kept messing up Tommy's coffee orders while trying to guess it rather than ask it like a normal person. Then dragging Tommy into that Bachelor party at the last minute, and Maddie’s wedding right after Tommy had spent all day fighting fires. Leaving him behind in order to check on Bobby. Then leaving him again to check on Eddie. Now this. Every time, Tommy had been there, steady and understanding, but Buck knew it wouldn't have been easy.

God, could he ever do something right? There had to be a line somewhere, a point where it all became too much. Right?

"Why are you sorry? I wasn't aware you were the mastermind behind all of this," Tommy kept his voice light as he mimicked Buck's gesture. "Knocking yourself out would have been a sloppy choice."

Buck let out a small, tired laugh despite himself, the weight on his chest lifting just a little at Tommy’s attempt to ease the tension. But underneath the humor, Buck still felt the guilt gnawing at him. "I mean… I didn’t even think to ask how you’re doing. You just came off a shift, and I dragged you into driving me all the way here."

Tommy raised an eyebrow suggestively, a smirk playing on his lips. "You do remember I have no problem throwing you around, right?" he teased. Letting go of Buck’s hand, he moved his hand to rest gently over the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers grazing lightly against the back of Buck's head. "Trust me, I'm exactly where I want to be. And for the record, I’m fine. Tired, sure, but looking forward to when Bobby wakes up and we can finally go home, order some greasy takeaway, and crash on the couch together."

"That sounds… really nice, actually," Buck admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips as he leaned slightly into Tommy’s hand. "I’ll hold you to that."

Before Tommy could respond, their moment was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway of the house Athena had entered. Buck sat up straight, instinctively pulling off Tommy's sunglasses to get a clearer look at the driver stepping out.

"Wait, I know him," Buck muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his eyes narrowing as he tried to place the man.

Tommy glanced over, his curiosity piqued. “You do?”

"Yeah, that's Amir," Buck said, his voice low but certain. "Remember when Athena picked me up on her way to the hospital last time? When Bobby went to Jacumba. I definitely saw him at the hospital. Him and Bobby… they’ve got history.

Tommy’s brow furrowed, the tension in the car thickening. "So, Athena suspects he's behind last night's arson?"

Buck shrugged lightly, his mind racing. "I mean, it could be? I didn’t see anyone until it was too late. But if Amir’s involved… It's not a coincidence. He’s up to something, and Athena knows it."

They watched Amir grab his dry cleaning and headed in. Just as he shut the front door and disappeared into the house, Buck scrambled to undo his seatbelt, ready to follow. But Tommy's hand shot out, grabbing his arm and tugging him back.

"Ass in the seat, Evan. That was our deal," Tommy said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"She could be in danger," Buck tried to reason, his hand still hovering over the seatbelt.

Tommy’s grip tightened just slightly, his eyes locked on Buck. "She's a highly skilled sergeant, and you're a civilian who also happens to be injured and shouldn’t be here in the first place."

Buck’s jaw clenched, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I can’t just sit here, Tommy.”

Tommy didn't let go. “Being reckless won’t help her either, Buck. If anything, barging in might make the situation worse.”

Buck shook his head, the urge to jump out of the car and run after Athena still gnawing at him. He was sick of waiting, to not take action when someone he cared about could be in danger for the second time in the last 24 hours. “But what if she needs us? What if—”

Tommy cut him off. “Athena knows how to handle situations like this better than either of us. Rushing in without knowing what’s happening could end up putting her in even more danger. We need to trust her.”

“I hate this,” Buck muttered, his frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

"You and me, both." Tommy sighed.

The screech of tires caught both of their attention as a heavy-duty pickup truck, covered in dust, made a sharp stop right outside the house. Buck couldn't do anything but watch as the doors of the truck slammed shut with a heavy thud. The truck, hulking and grimy, had its massive frame blocking any clear sight of who had exited.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before Amir emerged from the house, his hands raised in surrender. He didn’t resist, complying immediately with whoever was waiting for him. Muffled words drifted through the air, but from where they sat, Buck and Tommy couldn’t make out what was being said. Then, one of the men stepped momentarily into view.

Buck's breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening as his eyes locked onto the unmistakable outline of a rifle, dangling loosely by the man's legs. The weapon swung casually as though it were an everyday object, but the sight of it sent a wave of cold dread through Buck.

Just as swiftly as they had arrived, the men piled back into the truck, and with a screech of tires, the vehicle tore away from the curb, disappearing down the street as fast as it had come.

“Well, shit,” Tommy muttered, shaking off the tension first, his voice the first to break the silence.

"What the hell was that?" Buck asked, his voice laced with disbelief as he looked up at Tommy.

Before Tommy could answer, a loud knock on the car window beside him, made Buck jump violently. His heart leapt into his throat as he whipped around toward the sound, adrenaline surging through him once more, every nerve on high alert.

When his eyes landed on Athena’s unimpressed face, standing just outside the car, it didn’t do much to calm his rising panic. He fumbled clumsily to roll down the window, hands shaking as he did.

"Okay, now... don't be mad," Buck forced a sheepish grin, his tone hopeful but unconvincing. This part—bracing for Athena’s stern, unimpressed stare—had become all too familiar over the years.

_________

Athena was, in fact, far from pleased, and she made sure her displeasure was crystal clear. It didn’t take long before both Buck and Tommy found themselves unceremoniously crammed into the back of her car while she drove off. Buck had insisted that they weren't going anywhere without her, and Athena had eventually given in, though not without making her irritation known. It was quite the sight: two grown men, normally full of bravado, now shrinking into their seats as Athena scolded them relentlessly.

"Come on, Athena," Buck half-whined, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of her reprimand. "What were we supposed to do? You needed backup!"

"Backup?" Athena's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You are concussed! Don't you even think, for a second, that I do not have eyes and ears everywhere." Her voice held the sharp edge of disbelief, as though the mere idea of Buck being useful in his current state was laughable.

"Barely," Buck muttered under his breath, trying to downplay it, though his hand instinctively moved to rub the sore spot on his head.

"Moderately," Tommy chimed in with an unhelpful grin. Buck shot him a mock glare, as if to say, Whose side are you on?

"And you," Athena's eyes turned to Tommy. "Don't think for a second you’re off the hook. I have no doubt only Buck here would come up with such idiocy. Yet here you are."

Tommy shifted in his seat, the weight of her disapproval pressing down on him. "Someone had to keep an eye on him," he mumbled, trying to sound casual but failing miserably under her scrutiny.

"That’s your defense?" Athena scoffed, her disbelief palpable. "You thought tagging along on his reckless stunt was somehow a smart move?"

Tommy straightened slightly, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "He was gonna go through with it no matter what. I caught him just as he was about to rush off on his own. I figured, better me there than letting him fly solo and end up in worse shape than just a concussion." He paused before adding, "And in my defense, I didn’t think it would lead to... this. I don’t even know what this is anymore."

Buck glanced nervously between the two, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. "Athena—" he started, but she silenced him with a look. The words died on his lips.

Athena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she considered his words. "So instead of talking him out of it, you decided to jump headfirst with him?"

Tommy shifted again, clearly uncomfortable but not willing to back down completely. "Respectfully," he said, carefully choosing his words, "has anyone ever talked him out of anything?"

Athena’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, it seemed like her frustration might boil over, but then her lips twitched, just barely, in something resembling reluctant acknowledgment. "Fair point," she conceded, her voice softer but still firm.

"Guys, come on, I’m right here!" Buck finally interjected, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "And besides, is this really the main issue right now? Or are we just gonna ignore the part about the random men with guns?"

The random men with guns," she said, her voice dripping with a combination of sarcasm and frustration. “Are more or less Cartel, Buckaroo. So you might understand why I’m not exactly thrilled to find you two snooping around."

Oh.

"Not going to lie, I am so confused." Tommy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

With a sigh, Athena filled them in with the details that she knew about Bobby's trip to Jacumba, her suspicion about Amir being behind the attack and what he told her in his house. 

They ended up in an industrial park somewhere as the sun set, out of sight. Athena killed the engine and lights in one swift motion, plunging the car into darkness. The silence inside was palpable as she dialed 9-1-1, her focus sharp.

Without a word, the three of them surveyed the scene in front of them. They made it just in time to see at least three people bringing Amir inside. Their silhouettes were barely visible, but the outline of at least one rifle was clear as day.

Buck swallowed hard, his nerves creeping in as his gaze flicked toward Tommy. Quietly, he reached out for Tommy’s hand, and Tommy, sensing his tension, clasped it tightly, giving a reassuring squeeze.

The dispatcher’s voice came over the line. “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

Athena’s voice was low but steady, her professionalism cutting through. “This is off-duty Field Sergeant Athena Grant, badge number 1275. I’m at the industrial park on the 7,000 block of La Tuna Canyon Road. I have an abduction in progress.”

There was a brief pause as the dispatcher processed the information. “Can you describe the suspect or suspects, Sergeant?”

Athena’s eyes never left the figures patrolling the entry. “Three Hispanic males, mid to late 20s. The victim is a Black male, 40s. I’m requesting immediate backup.”

The reply came back quickly. “Units en route, Sergeant. ETA is approximately 14 minutes.”

A tense silence followed, broken only by the soft creaking of leather as Tommy shifted in his seat. He finally spoke, his voice low and resigned. “He doesn’t have 14 minutes, does he?”

Athena didn’t hesitate. “No, he doesn’t.” With a grim determination, she unbuckled her seatbelt, her movements deliberate and steady. “I’m going in.”

Tommy blinked, but the resolve in his eyes matched hers. “I’ll come too,” he said, his voice firm as he unlatched his seatbelt. “You never know—those army skills might actually come in handy for once.”

Buck's heart dropped into his stomach as the words sank in. Wait, what? They were seriously going in there? His pulse quickened as he moved to follow them.

But Tommy was quicker, shooting his hand out to stop him, gripping Buck’s arm tightly. “You’re staying here, Evan,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Buck’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice rising in protest. “The hell I am!” He jerked his arm free, his heart pounding. “You think I’m just going to sit here while you go in there alone? Not happening.”

Tommy turned to face him fully, his expression both firm and pleading "Evan, you are injured. I don't have the time to help Athena and worry about you."

"But-" Buck started, his voice cracking, desperation creeping in.

Tommy cut him off, gripping Buck’s shoulder tightly. “Trust me, okay?” His voice was softer now, but no less resolute. “We need someone out here. And I need to know you’re safe. Please.”

Buck’s breath hitched, a whirlwind of frustration, fear, and helplessness battling inside him. His instincts screamed to go after them, to not just sit and watch, but the look in Tommy’s eyes made him pause. He hated this. Every fiber of his being rebelled against staying behind. Reluctantly, he gave a small nod, even though it felt like a betrayal to himself.

Tommy gave Buck’s shoulder a final squeeze, then stepped out with Athena. He sat there, jaw tight, hands gripping the edge of the seat until his knuckles whitened and watched them silently sneak inside.

______

For what it was worth, Buck lasted a grand total of five minutes in the car before his resolve crumbled. He muttered a frustrated "screw it" under his breath, throwing caution aside as he quietly slipped out of the car.

Best case scenario, he’d just sneak up, make sure they were okay, and then sneak right back without them ever knowing. Worst case scenario? Well, he'd have their backs and help. It was a win-win scenario in his eyes.

Entering the warehouse turned out to be easier than Buck imagined. All he had to do was stick to the shadows and not make noise. The building was old, with rusted steel beams, stacks of forgotten crates and metal shelving racks, offering plenty of cover. Voices echoed throughout the warehouse, at times getting louder. He consciously slowed his breathing, forcing himself to inhale and exhale as quietly as possible. Any sound, even a misplaced breath, might alert the wrong person. He couldn’t afford to be reckless now—not when Athena and Tommy were out here somewhere in the dark, too.

Buck moved forward, one step at a time, nerves on edge. He finally spotted Athena and Tommy further up ahead, seeming to quietly gesturing to form a plan. Buck paused, staying just out of sight, his heart pounding as he watched them. His instincts screamed to join them, to help, but he waited, watching what they were about to do. They were grabbing brightly red containers out of the shelves.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, something moved—a shadow flickered, barely perceptible but enough to catch his attention. His heart skipped a beat. A moment later, the faint shuffling of feet reached his ears, sending a spike of adrenaline through his veins.

Someone else was there. And they were coming closer.

Buck’s heart hammered in his chest as he glanced back at Athena and Tommy, hoping to see some sign that they’d noticed. But to his terror, they hadn’t. They were still focused on the red containers, oblivious to the approaching danger. His mind raced—there was no way he could alert them without exposing himself and drawing attention

The figure came closer, too close, and Buck's pulse spiked.

The man didn’t notice him, his focus elsewhere as he headed toward Athena and Tommy’s position. Buck’s breath hitched as he instinctively pressed himself further into the shadows.

He held his breath, willing himself to be invisible as the figure passed by, mere feet from where he was hiding Buck’s heart pounded in his ears, and for a split second, he was sure he’d be discovered. But by some miracle, the man didn’t turn. Instead, he walked past, exposing his back and giving Buck the perfect opportunity.

Instinct took over like a raging storm. Pure adrenaline surged through Buck's veins, and before his mind could catch up, his body moved. In a blur of motion, he launched himself from the shadows, muscles tense with raw energy. His hand shot out, clamping tightly over the man’s mouth before a full shout could escape. But a muffled cry did manage to break through, sending a jolt of panic through Buck.

He tightened his grip even further, his other arm locking around the man's torso, wrestling him back into the shadows. Buck didn’t dare glance around to see if anyone had heard. He couldn’t afford to. His focus was singular—disarm the target before anything else happened.

The man struggled, squirming violently, his breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts against Buck’s palm. Buck’s pulse hammered in his ears, but he held firm, shifting his weight to keep the upper hand.

It had been years—more than a decade—since he had trained for the Navy SEALs. He hadn't trained since then. That brief, grueling chapter in his life had faded into the background, buried beneath years of a career and life choices that led him away from the violence he had once trained for. He hadn’t kept up with the training, and hadn't wanted to. The thought of what that kind of training could lead to had unsettled him for too long. Over time, the exact stances and maneuvers had slipped from his conscious mind, filed away as distant memories. They were replaced by a different life, a different kind of service. The kind where he saved lives, not taking them if he ever completed the training.

Yet, in that moment, his body remembered. Muscle memory kicked in, the countless hours of drills and hand-to-hand combat training surging back to life. He didn’t have to think—his body knew exactly how to shift his weight, how to leverage his position for control—it all happened seamlessly, almost out of his conscious reach.

On autopilot, in a few seconds that blurred into one continuous motion, Buck had disarmed the man with ease. His grip on the man tightened just long enough for Buck to bring the butt of the gun down in one swift, controlled strike. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his struggles ceasing as silence settled back into the air around them.

The rifle now sat heavy in Buck's hands, the cool metal against his skin feeling foreign, uncomfortable. His eyes flickered down to it, heart still pounding, as he stared at the weapon. He hadn’t held a gun like this in years, the weight of it felt wrong. For a moment, Buck stood there, gripping the rifle with steady hand.

But there was no time to reminisce. Buck snapped out of it, forcing himself to refocus on the present. He looked up, his breath still unsteady, and locked eyes with Athena and Tommy. Both stood frozen, their faces a mix of shock. Athena’s sharp gaze flicked from the unconscious man on the floor to the rifle in Buck’s hands, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Tommy’s expression, however, was different—no less stunned, but there was something in his eyes. A flicker of recognition. His brow furrowed, like he was trying to fit together the missing piece of a puzzle.

But before any of them could say another word, the sharp scrape of a chair echoed through the warehouse, snapping their attention back to the situation at hand.

The commotion from the center of the warehouse was escalating, voices rising. It was clear things were about to spiral out of control, and fast. Buck’s heart raced as he exchanged a quick glance with Athena, her eyes already scanning the room. They were running out of time.

Without hesitation, Athena made a bold decision. She shoved one of the nearby shelving racks with all her strength, sending the items on it crashing to the floor in a loud, chaotic clatter. The noise reverberated through the warehouse, instantly drawing everyone's attention away from Amir and onto the disturbance. As the clatter echoed, Buck caught a faint whiff of gasoline in the air.

The shadows played to their advantage, concealing them from view as the cartel members turned, weapons raised, to investigate. Tommy didn’t waste a second—he grabbed Buck’s arm and dragged him into another hiding spot, the sudden movement almost causing Buck to fumble the rifle in his grip. But Buck held on, his pulse racing as he steadied himself, watching the men fan out.

Athena, ever the strategist, seized the opportunity, slipping deeper into the shadows and out of sight. Their luck held as the two cartel goons separated, each moving in a different direction to cover more ground. It was a split-second opening, and they all knew it.

Without a word, they moved. Silent. Precise.

Moments later, Athena and Tommy were both in position, creeping up behind the two cartel men. In perfect synchrony, they struck—Athena wrapping her arm around her target’s neck, the cold steel of her gun pressed to his temple, while Tommy swiftly locked the other in a chokehold. The men struggled briefly, but it was futile. They had lost control of the situation.

Emerging from the shadows, Athena and Tommy dragged the subdued men into view, their guns firmly in place. They stepped into the dim light, approaching where an older man stood towering over Amir. The tension in the air was palpable as the older man glanced from Amir to Athena, his eyes narrowing as he realized what was happening.

Buck moved into position, his heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through him as he aimed the rifle squarely at the older man. His finger hovered near the trigger, ready for any sudden movement. His eyes darted briefly to the remaining men in the warehouse, sizing them up, assessing whether they posed an immediate threat.

"Who the hell are you?" The man walked a few steps towards them, with a glint of surprise in his eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected this—an ambush from the shadows, his men subdued, and strangers holding him at gunpoint.

"I'm Mrs. Bobby Nash." Athena declared, her voice steady and cold, In one swift motion, she flicked open a metal lighter, the small flame casting an eerie glow across her face for just a second before she tossed it to the ground.

For a second time in less than 24 hours Buck found himself in the middle of a fire.

The moment the flame hit the gasoline-soaked floor, chaos erupted. A roaring whoosh filled the air as the fire ignited, spreading with terrifying speed. Flames instantly tore through the warehouse, licking up the walls and engulfing everything in their path.

The room exploded in shouts as Athena and Tommy threw the men they held to the floor, the cartel stumbled to get out and smoke filled the room.

“Evan!” Tommy’s voice cut through the roaring fire and the chaos of panicked voices. His eyes locked on Buck, urgency flashing across his face. Without thinking, Tommy lunged forward, shoving Buck toward the exit.

The force of the motion sent Buck stumbling, his grip slipping, and the rifle flew from his hands, clattering somewhere out of sight as flames danced around them. Buck barely had a moment to register it before he felt Tommy’s hand gripping him tightly, yanking him away as a beam fell down behind them.

“Move!” Tommy barked, pulling Buck with him as they barreled toward the exit, the inferno raging behind them. Buck had no idea where Athena or Amir ended up in the commotion.

Flashing lights greeted them as they burst out of the warehouse, the cool night air hitting Buck like a shock after the oppressive heat of the fire. He stumbled forward, gasping for breath. The sound of roaring flames behind them was drowned out by the blaring sirens of fire trucks and the chaotic shouts of emergency responders.

A firefighter grabbed Buck by the arm, gently but firmly, trying to guide him further from the warehouse. Buck instinctively resisted, shaking off the touch, his mind still struggling to catch up with everything that had just happened. His grip tightened around Tommy's arm, panic bubbling just beneath the surface, as though if he let go, he would disappear.

“Hey, hey, Evan, I’m right here!” Tommy’s voice cut through the haze, “Look at me. I’m right here.”

Buck blinked, his breath still ragged as he met Tommy’s gaze. Buck nodded weakly and Tommy turned to the firefighter.

“Off duty, Kinard with the 217,” he explained quickly, "My partner here—Evan Buckley, off-duty firefighter with the 118—he needs to be checked out. He recently sustained a moderate concussion.”

“We’ll get him checked out immediately,” the firefighter responded , signaling over to the paramedics.

Buck tried to shake his head, still clinging to a need to push through, to stay on his feet. But Tommy’s hand on him tightened, steady and firm. “Evan, it’s okay,” he said softly, “Let them take care of you. Everything is okay."

“Athena—” Buck protested, his eyes darting back to the fire raging behind them.

Just then, the warehouse doors burst open with a loud slam. Athena emerged, guiding Amir out with her, both of them alive and unharmed. The sight of them made Buck’s breath hitch, relief flooding through him as his knees wobbled, weak for a moment under the weight of the tension draining from his body.

Tommy was there in an instant, his arm wrapping around Buck effortlessly, taking some of his weight as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Buck leaned into him for just a second, exhaling a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“See, baby? They’re fine,” Tommy murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Buck’s cheek. “Come on, let’s get you checked out.”

“I’m fine,” Buck sighed, still trying to brush it off, though the exhaustion was beginning to weigh on him.

“Humor me then,” Tommy replied with a small smile, his arm still firmly around Buck.

Buck muttered a quiet, defeated "fine," knowing there was no point in arguing. He let Tommy take the lead, as they moved toward one of the parked ambulances.

Tommy stayed right beside him as the paramedics assessed him. Buck sat there, half-listening as they checked his vitals, asked questions, and went through the motions. But for the most part, he zoned them out, choosing to focus on Tommy's warm hand resting on his shoulder. Without thinking, Buck reached up and placed his hand over Tommy’s, squeezing it gently. He tilted his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Just keep an eye on him. Check on him every few hours for the next 24 hours to be safe.” he paramedics instructed Tommy before nodding and leaving them alone.

Tommy watched them go, then sat down on the bumper beside Buck, his hand slipping from Buck’s shoulder to take Buck's hand and bring it to his own lap, holding it gently. He gave Buck’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Hear that? Plenty of rest, doctor's orders,” he teased.

Buck let out a tired chuckle. “God, I could sleep for a week,” he mumbled, the exhaustion clear in his voice as he leaned over, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Deal,” Tommy chuckled softly, his tone light but laced with affection. He planted a tender kiss on top of Buck’s head, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

Eventually, the soft crunch of footsteps drew their attention. Athena approached, her arms crossed and a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she took in the sight of them together.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” she teased, her voice light and playful.

Tommy glanced up at her with a small shrug, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “It’s been a long day,” he replied with mock casualness, as though the chaos of the last day was nothing more than a mild inconvenience

Buck gave a tired chuckle, not even bothering to move. “Understatement of the year,” he mumbled.

As the moment settled, another police officer approached. He smiled at Athena as he held out a phone. “There’s someone who’d like to speak with you.”

Athena raised an eyebrow, taking the phone cautiously. “This is Athena Grant,” she answered, her voice firm but curious as she held the phone to her ear.

Buck watched closely, noting how her expression remained carefully neutral as she listened. Whatever was being said, Athena wasn’t giving anything away, her focus entirely on the voice on the other end. The call was brief, and when she finally hung up, she took a quiet moment to glance down at the phone in her hands, as if processing the news she’d just received.

When she looked up, her face had transformed. A wide, relieved smile spread across her lips and she spoke the words that made Buck’s heart skip, possibly the best words he could’ve ever heard.

"Bobby's awake."

_________

The journey back to the hospital was uneventful. They had ended up quite far from the hospital, and somewhere along the drive, Buck managed to doze off, despite being cramped in the back seat. The rhythm of the car had lulled him into a light sleep, his head resting comfortably against Tommy’s shoulder.

He jerked awake when the car pulled into the hospital parking lot, blinking groggily as he lifted his head questioningly. Tommy gave him a light smile, his arm still resting around Buck as if he hadn’t moved the whole ride.

“How are you feeling?” Tommy asked softly as Athena killed the engine.

"Hmm, better," Buck mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His head wasn’t pounding anymore, which was a relief, but the bone-deep exhaustion still lingered. "Athena, you go. We’ll catch up.”

With a nod, Athena didn’t wait any longer. SSe passed the car keys to Tommy and slipped out of the car, heading inside with a determined stride.

Buck sighed and pushed open the car door, stepping out into the cool night air. He stood for a moment, stretching his arms above his head, feeling the satisfying pull of his muscles as he tried to shake off the stiffness from the cramped ride. Tommy joined him, and together they took their time heading inside. There was no rush now, not with Bobby awake. When the doors slid open to Bobby’s floor, they stepped out, walking slowly toward the room.

As they neared, they noticed everyone standing on the outskirts of Bobby’s room. Athena was inside, seated beside Bobby, holding his hand, the two of them locked in a private moment. Chimney and Eddie turned as Buck and Tommy caught up with them.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Chimney asked, his tone playful but edged with curiosity as he turned to face them. Tommy clapped Chimney’s shoulder in greeting, flashing him a tired but warm smile. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

Eddie gave Buck a nod, his expression softer. “Everything okay?” he asked.

Buck smiled, the exhaustion still clinging to him but his heart lighter now. “Yeah, everything’s good,” he said, glancing into the room where Bobby lay, his voice filled with quiet gratitude. “Better now.”

Tommy stretched his arms above his head and reached for his phone. “Speaking of better, I need to go grab my car,” he said, scrolling through his phone to check the time.

Eddie perked up. “Want a lift?” he asked. “I could use stretching my legs, and it’ll definitely be cheaper than Uber.”

Tommy chuckled, clearly appreciating the offer. “Sure, man. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Eddie waved him off with a grin. “No trouble at all. I’ve been cooped up here for too long anyway,” he said, already moving to grab his jacket.

Chimney leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a smile. “You two have fun. Don’t get lost on the way back," he teased.

Tommy laughed and gave Chimney a mock salute. “No promises,” he joked. He then turned to Buck, squeezing his shoulder. “You gonna be alright here?”

Buck nodded, giving Tommy a grateful smile. “Yeah, go. I’ll be fine,” he reassured him. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“I'll be back soon,” Tommy said softly. Leaning in, he placed a quick peck on Buck’s lips, before following Eddie as they headed toward the exit.

Buck watched them go with a smile, warmth settling in his chest. But as he turned back, his eyes caught Chimney leaning against the wall with a smug smirk plastered on his face. Without missing a beat, Buck rolled his eyes and playfully muttered, “Shut up.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the thought of entering the hospital room didn’t fill Buck with dread. Bobby was awake, the order had been restored.

As Buck stepped inside, it felt almost surreal. His gaze lifted, and there, sitting up in the hospital bed, was Bobby—awake and smiling. It was like waking up from a long, heavy dream, one that had weighed on his chest.

For a moment, Buck just stood there, taking it in. The room felt brighter somehow, as though all the dark clouds they’d been living under had finally lifted. Their eyes met, and Buck couldn’t help but grin, the relief washing over him in waves. Bobby’s eyes crinkled at the edges, his smile just as warm and familiar as ever. It was like a weight had been lifted from Buck’s chest.

Athena, seated at the edge of Bobby’s bed, glanced over at Buck and waved him inside, her own smile soft and inviting. “There he is,” she said.

Buck stepped forward, his grin widening as he approached. “Hey, Bobby,”

Bobby smiled back, his eyes full of warmth and affection. “Hey, kid,” he said softly, his voice a little weaker than usual, but Buck would take that anyday over not hearing it.

That was all it took for Buck to close the remaining space between them. Without hesitation, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around Bobby, pulling him in probably too tight hug.

Bobby chuckled softly, patting Buck on the back. “Easy, kid,” he murmured, his voice still soft but full of warmth. Despite his words, Bobby’s own arms tightened slightly around Buck, as if he, too, needed this moment

________

By the time Tommy returned, the room had quieted. Most of the 118 had already left, each departing with promises to return later. Now, it was just Bobby, Athena, and Buck, who was lounging comfortably in one of the chairs by the bed, his legs stretched out on the corner of the bed.

A soft series of knocks interrupted their conversation, and Buck turned to see Tommy entering the room. He walked up to where Buck was lounging and offered a smile.

"Good to see you, Captain Nash," Tommy greeted, extending his hand as he approached Bobby.

Bobby smiled warmly, shaking Tommy’s hand with a relaxed ease. “Tommy, please, it’s just Bobby now,” he replied with a gentle chuckle.

Tommy nodded, his grin widening. “Alright, Bobby. Good to see you up and about,” he said. He glanced at Buck, who was still lounging comfortably in his chair, and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Buck gave Tommy a lazy grin, shifting slightly but not moving from his spot. “Took your time, huh?” he teased lightly.

Tommy just shook his head with a smirk. “Had to make sure your car was still in one piece. Did I miss anything?” he asked, his tone warm as he glanced back at Bobby and Athena, both of whom were watching the interaction with soft smiles.

Athena chuckled softly. “Just Buck here pretending he’s not ready to pass out,” she teased, raising an eyebrow at Buck’s slouched form.

Buck rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m perfectly fine,” he muttered, though the comfortable sprawl in the chair told a different story.

Tommy laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, sure you are." he teased, giving Buck a knowing look.

“Anyway, as I was asking…” Buck waved them off, the tone of his voice growing more serious. “What’s going to happen next? With the station, I mean?”

“The station has well-established contingency plans for emergencies like this,” Bobby explained “In situations where a station is damaged, we rely on neighboring stations to step in. One of them will share their space with us, depending on their capacity, until the damage at 118 is assessed and restored."

At least he would still have his job.

"The police will be taking statements later on," Athena added, looking at Buck.

“Me?” Buck asked, surprised. “I didn’t see anything. I went to the locker room to grab my phone, and the next thing I know, Bobby was grabbing me to get out. That’s not much of a statement.”

Locker room?” Bobby frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” Buck replied, his own expression puzzled.

But Bobby shook his head gently, his expression serious. “You were in the storage room when I pulled you out.”

Buck felt a chill run through him. His memory of that moment was hazy, but hearing Bobby’s words, it didn’t add up. He hadn’t gone to the storage room—why would he?

Tommy's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Bobby, what are you not saying?"

Bobby hesitated, his gaze flicking between Buck and Tommy, clearly weighing his words. “When I found you,” he began carefully, “it looked like the fire had started near the storage room.”

Buck’s stomach dropped, a sinking feeling settling deep inside him. “Wait… you’re saying the fire started in the storage room?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Bobby nodded slowly, his expression grim. “At least part of it. There was a blaze in the loading bay too, but realistically, it wouldn’t have had the time to spread to the storage room so quickly. I didn’t even know you were in the station until Anderson brought it to my attention."

The room fell into silence.

Buck tried to wrap his head around it. HHad someone really dragged him into the storage room and set a fire? The thought was jarring, surreal. It would mean that if Bobby hadn’t found him in time, he would have suffocated or burned alive. It didn’t feel real.

“Oh,” was all Buck managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced up, his eyes landing on Tommy. Tommy wasn’t looking at him, though—he was staring off at some distant spot in the room, his jaw clenched tight, the tension in his body making him look unnervingly rigid. His usual calm, steady demeanor had vanished, replaced by something darker, something Buck wasn’t used to seeing in him. It didn’t look right.

Buck reached out and clasped his hand, wanting to fix it. Tommy blinked, his gaze snapping back to Buck. He softened, just a fraction, but the storm still brewed behind his eyes. He squeezed his hand in response.

Before either of them could speak, a soft series of knocks interrupted the silence, drawing their attention to the doorway. May and Harry appeared, their presence a welcome break from the heavy atmosphere.

“Hey,” May said gently, offering a small smile as she stepped inside with Harry. Her eyes scanned the room, catching on the look etched in everyone’s faces. “Is it a bad time?”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Athena replied with a smile, waving them in. With May and Harry’s arrival, the mood in the room lightened just a bit, the tension giving way to something softer as everyone exchanged hellos. Tommy, introduced himself quickly, and the conversation soon flowed into lighter topics

After some time, Tommy leaned over, his voice gentle as he spoke quietly by Buck’s ear. “Ready to go home?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I am.”

________

Buck couldn't have been happier to see the driveway to Tommy's house. As the car rolled to a stop, Buck exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing. It felt like forever since he last saw it.

Tommy glanced over, giving Buck a small, reassuring smile. “Home sweet home,” he said softly, turning off the engine.

As they approached the door, Tommy unlocked it with a fluid motion, pushing it open to let them inside. Buck followed Tommy in, closing the door behind them. The familiar scent of Tommy’s home wrapped around him, grounding him in a way that words couldn’t describe.

For a moment, Buck stood there, just soaking in the peace of it all. No alarms, no fires. Just the quiet hum of the house, and Tommy right beside him.

"You hungry? We could order something in, some place is probably still open." Tommy asked, watching him.

Buck shook his head slowly, his fingers reaching up to grab the lapels of his jacket, tugging at them absentmindedly. “Just bed,” he murmured, giving him a small smile. “Please?”

Tommy’s expression softened immediately, He nodded, stepping closer, his hand resting lightly on Buck’s arm. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his tone filled with reassurance. “Let’s get to bed.”

Without another word, Tommy guided Buck toward the bedroom, his arm resting around him. . It took only moments for them to strip out of their clothes, tossing them aside carelessly, the thought of a shower long forgotten—something to worry about tomorrow. The bed was waiting, warm and inviting, and when they fell into it, Buck let out a satisfying moan. HHe shifted further, moving instinctively until he was plastered against Tommy, his head resting on the man’s chest. The steady rhythm of Tommy’s heartbeat surrounded him.

Tommy’s arm wrapped around Buck, pulling him even closer.

After a moment, Tommy’s voice broke the silence, soft and gentle. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, his words barely above a whisper.

“About?” Buck mumbled, his voice heavy with exhaustion, though he already knew what Tommy meant.

“Anything,” Tommy responded, but there was more behind his words. Buck didn’t need to hear it all—he understood the unspoken meaning, the way Tommy was offering him a chance to let it all out if he wanted to.

“Tomorrow?” he finally whispered, his voice soft but sure, settling on the promise of another day to face the harder conversations.

Tommy’s grip tightened just slightly, a silent acknowledgment of Buck’s choice. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, his voice filled with understanding.

The silence returned and the last thing Buck felt threading through his hair before he finally surrendered to sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 5

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

The other girl in this one is from Black Light

Part of The Club AU

You limp along the pavement, your platform dragging slightly with each step. You swallow a grumble as you try to ignore the persistent pang deep in your pelvis. It's easy to distract yourself as your bubbly companion continues her rambling.

You're still in disbelief. You really can't figure out how you woke up in a heap of trash. You've made bad decisions before, but you're not that desperate.

"You okay?" She calls to you as she stops and you keep walking.

You turn back as she opens the door of a storefront, the bell jingling loud enough to make your head throb. You assure her that you're fine as you follow her inside, welcomed warmly by the lowlights.

"Hot chocolate?" You confirm with her as you squint at the menu.

"Oh, sure, and whatever cookies they have," she trills.

"Right, well why don't you find a–" you begin as you flip open your purse and shove your hand inside. Your phone is gone and your wallet too. There's no more than your lip gloss and some old receipt. "Ah, fuck."

"What?" She bats her lashes fearfully.

"I got fucking robbed."

"Oh, it's okay, I can pay–"

"Thanks but… that's not gonna solve the issue," you mutter, "they took my phone."

"Ah, oh," she frowns, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine," you wave her off as she pouts, her fawning eyes making your chest give an unusual twang, "look, I'll figure it out."

"Excuse me," the worker behind the counter chimes, "how can I help you today?"

"Oh, uh," you step up, all too aware of how she eyes you up and down. You know you look like the trash you woke up in. "Sorry, I'll have the largest coffee you got with a shot of espresso."

"Great," they key in the first item.

"Er, can I get a small hot chocolate and a half dozen of the smores cookies?" The other girls asks as she searches her pockets, "can I get whip cream on my hot chocolate too? Please and thanks."

"Sure thing," the barista chirps and reads out the total.

You feel a sear of guilt and somethinf you won't acknowledge as the girl pays for you. You sigh as the employee assures you she'll come to you. You turn and trail after your new companion to a table in the corner. You flop onto the plushy chair and brace your head.

"So…" she squirms as she sits on a beanbag, sinking a bit too deep, "you got the summer off?"

"Summer off?" She asks.

"Uh, no, I'm a bit past those years," you shrug, "flattering of you to assume."

You lean your head back and exhale. You remember a vague silhouette. Something fucky is going on. You can barely even picture arriving at the club. The whole night is just wiped from ypur mind. Still, you know what happened. You feel it deep in your guts.

You shift and try to ignore the tenderness as your thighs brush together. You rub your eye and lean your chin in your hand. You watch the girl as she watches you.

"Well, your friends, they okay?"

"Um, yeah, they're fine. Amanda ditched us. Again. And Kam is mad at her. Again," she giggles, "they're so dramatic."

"Mhmm," you chew your lip as you think, "this guy that tried to drug you, you remember what he looks like?"

"Huh," she taps her finger to think, pausing to thank the barista as they come with your order and lay it out on the table, "the lights were flashing a lot but… tall. Uh, sandy blonde– no, brown hair… you know that shade where you're not quite sure. And his eyes were super blue. You know, he's cute enough he doesn't need to be doing that–"

"Yeah, well men do a lot of things they shouldn't," you scoff, "if you saw him again, do you think you'd recognise him?"

"Maybe," she shrugs and takes her cup, swiping her tongue through the mound of whip cream.

"If I need you to, can you?" You ask more urgently.

She blinks and her expression turns dire, "did… did something happen to you?"

"Look, I didn't just lay down with a garbage bag as a pillow. I didn't drink that much last night. Not enough to black out."

"Oh," she gulps audibly and her eyes sparkle, "oh, I'm so sorry. I… should we call the police?"

"Pfft, they won't do shit," you roll your eyes, "they never do. Not even when my ex climbed through my window– doesn't matter," you stop yourself, her rambling must be contagious, "what matters is I'm gonna find the fucker and get his ass back."

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna drug him and leave him in the trash."

"Wait, er, what, you can't–"

"Why not? I have every right to fuck him right back."

She looks around as your voice gets louder. You ignore the looks from other diners and you lean forward, lowering your voice.

"You don't have to, alright? I can find the jerk on my own–"

"No, I'll help," she insists, "you can't go back alone."

"I don't want to make you–"

"No, no, I want to. Just thinking… if he did it to you, he'd do it to someone else. He almost did it to me," a tear wobbles out and she tamps her cheeks with a knuckle, "sorry, I… I just… you don't deserve that."

"Shit happens," you try to sound steady but your voice wobbles just a little. This isn't the place to let it in. "Hey, don't get upset, okay? I'm alive. Just…" you search around and reach for the tray of cookies, "have a cookie, they look delicious."

She sniffles and nods, taking the cookie from you and biting into it with a hiccup. You watch her chew and swallow. She gives a tight-lipped smile, "they are delicious," her face crumples again and she falls back into sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Shhh, hey, hey, it's fine. Look at me," you snap your fingers at her, "it's fine. You and me, were gonna get him back, right?"

She nods and takes another bite. You smirk and grab a cookie of your own.

"Alright, so we just need to come up with a plan."