#and the alternative would be to leave them walk this on their own...

[uu-tella]

It's Latla's Birthday!

@tadpolebobatea made me realize how similar these two were on the previous loop, so here's a little angsty thing about that (Happy birthday Latla, I guess?)

Art by @lovethedanielhd !!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 54: The Farm

Summary: You adjust to your life on the MacTavish farm and learn some surprising things about yourself.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,237 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, A/B/O, alternate universe, angst, emotions, fluff, animals, you might fall in love with a fictional dog, slight language.

A/N: I love this chapter and I hope you will too!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You’re trying to fight the tears as they sting your eyes, desperately trying to stop them from falling as you walk back towards the house. Lily steps aside, letting you enter before closing the door behind you.

“Aw, hen.” She coos, rubbing your back. “It’s okay tae cry.”

You can’t stop them. They would have fallen without the permission, but being allowed to cry only makes them fall faster. Lily wraps her arms around you, pulling you tight against her chest. Her hand strokes your hair as she coos softly at you, rocking you back and forth gently.

“Saying goodbye is always hard.” She says softly. “I damn near cry a river when Johnny-boy leaves. It’s hard when ye don’t know how long it’ll be until ye see them again. I’m sure ye know that well.”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. You don’t know when you’ll see Johnny or Simon again. If you’ll see them again. You shove that thought aside into the deep recesses of your mind. You have enough to cry about, you’re not going to entertain those kinds of thoughts right now.

Lily kisses the top of your head before pulling back, wiping your tears with her shirt sleeve. “There we go.” You sniffle, trying to stop the flood sliding down your cheeks. There’s a wet spot on her shirt, but she doesn’t seem to even notice. She gives you a soft smile, holding your face in her hands. “Ye remind me of my youngest girl. So sweet and soft and polite. All beta. Quite the opposite of the rest of her siblings. She’s in medical school now training tae be an omega specialist.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. It makes you think of Dr. Keller and how she’s doing with her new job, how things are going with Ashley. Maybe you’ll ask John if he knows when you see him again.

“I’m sure she’ll be great at it.” You say. “Takes a lot of patience to work with omegas sometimes.”

You think about how much patience Dr. Keller had for you at the beginning, while she worked on helping you through your trauma and unlearning what the institute taught you. It had taken a long time, but you’re here today because of her and everything she did for you.

“I had an omega specialist on base for a while.” You say. “I owe a lot to her for getting me through those first few months.”

“I’m so glad ye had someone tae support ye.” Lily says, petting your hair. The tears have slowed to almost none. “I’m sure it was a great help.”

“I don’t know if I would have made it without her.” You say quietly.

“I think you could have. There’s a strength to ye. A quiet strength. I can see it.” Lily says, squeezing you against her chest one more time. “Ye’d have tae have it putting up with those boys.”

You giggle, hugging her back for a moment before she releases you.

“Come on,” She says, patting your head. “I have someone I want ye tae meet.”

You tilt your head as she moves into the house, heading for the back door. You follow, unsure who else you have to meet besides maybe the sheep.

“Here,” She says, pulling out a pair of boots. “These should work until we can get ye a proper pair of Wellies in town.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say, toeing out of your tennis shoes.

“Course we do.” She says, slipping on her own boots. Storm stands at the door, ready to run out as soon as its open. “Ye need a pair anyway.”

You don’t argue, following her out the door.

The back yard is spacious, a garden set up in one corner, and a veranda in the other with a barbecue. You can imagine sitting out there in the summer, eating a hot dog and watching the sun set over the green hills. Storm races around the yard, tail wagging, all excited.

“Still young at heart.” Lily says as she walks down the path towards the gate. There’s a barn off to the right in the distance, a dirt road leading between the pastures.

You can see why she insisted on the boots now as the ground gets muddy beyond the gate.

“Murray is over the hill with the sheep.” She says, pointing off to the right where a hill rises. “Spends most of his day out there.” She opens a gate to the left, passing through before holding it open for you. “I like to spend my time in here.”

Your boots squelch as you walk through the muddy grass towards a smaller barn.

“Ye ever lived on a farm before?” Lily asks as you approach what looks like a chicken coop.

“No,” you answer. “We always lived close to the base my dad was stationed at. We moved around too much to have animals.”

“He was in the service?” She asks.

You nod. “Marines. It was his entire personality.”

She chuckles. “Usually is.” She pauses in front of the coop. “These are my girls. I let them out early and collect eggs.”

There’s ten chickens that you can count roving around the coop. It’s decent sized, bigger than you would have imagined.

“I leave them in there so the hawks don’t get ‘em.” She says. “Now, who I wanted ye to meet,” She continues towards the barn, the grass getting more and more solid as you go.

You walk up a small hill to the barn, something standing beside it. Something large and brown.

“This here is my coo, Mabel.” Lily says, walking right up to the cow.

You nearly die of cuteness on the spot. Mabel is a highland cow, all thick hair and horns and perhaps the cutest cow you’ve ever seen.

“Ye can get close. She’s very sweet.” Lily says, patting Mabel on the side.

You step up to her, holding out a hand. “Hello Mabel.” You say, Mabel nosing at your hand for a moment. You pet her nose, feeling the coarse, thick hair draped over her face.

“She’s due for a haircut.” Lily says, brushing some of the hair to the side so Mabel can see better. “And she’ll start sheddin’ soon.”

“I love her.” You say, scratching Mabel between the horns.

“Yer welcome tae come out here whenever you’d like.” Lily says. “Mabel comes and goes out of her barn as she pleases. She’s good for some cuddles when you need some love.” Lily grins at you. “She’s a great listener too.”

You smile, continuing to pet Mabel.

You might just like living on a farm after all.

You had stayed with Mabel even after Lily had gone into the house to start on dinner. It wasn’t even lunch yet, but still she insisted on starting early for a proper Sunday roast. Lily had been right about Mabel being a good listener. She hadn’t minded you hugging her, leaning your weight against her body, petting her hair as you told her all of your woes and fears. Storm had stayed in the field with you, running around before settling in the grass with a stick.

Storm followed you back to the house around lunchtime, when you’d left Mabel with a pat and a promise to come back tomorrow. She hadn’t given much of a response, but somehow deep down you knew she understood.

“Will ye wipe her feet with the towel, hen?” Lily called from the kitchen when you entered with Storm.

“Yeah,” You say, spotting the towel hanging near the door. Storm stands dutifully, letting you wipe most of the mud off of her feet. She licks your face before heading for the kitchen, abandoning you for the prospect of food. You don’t mind. Your stomach is growling too.

“How many sandwiches would ye like, hen?” Lily asks, bringing a platter of chips and vegetables to the table.

“Just one.” You answer. She gives you a sideways glance. “I could probably eat two though.”

She smiles. “Two it is then. I won’t have ye going hungry here.”

You don’t doubt she means that.

“Murray’ll be in, in a bit.” She says, setting a plate of two sandwiches in front of you before taking the seat across from you. “He can make his own.”

“I could make my own too.” You suggest quietly.

“Nonsense.” Lily says, waving away the idea. “Yer a guest. I’m more’n happy tae feed ye.”

“Thank you, for doing all of this.” You say, taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Of course,” She says, grabbing a carrot off the platter. “John said ye were havin’ trouble bein’ on base. I wasnae gonna let ye live somewhere ye weren’t comfortable. Besides, I’ve been excited tae meet ye, get tae know ye.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet their families too.” You say. “I’ve met Kyle’s sister but that was it before now.”

“Aye, those Garricks are something special.” She says.

“They really are.” You grin. “Like perfect angels.”

“Indeed.” She says.

Silence falls over the table as you eat, Storm sitting by your side on the floor, staring longingly at your food. You’re tempted to ‘accidentally’ drop a piece but you’re not sure if that’ll be allowed so instead you try and look away, ignoring those big puppy eyes staring into your soul.

Murray comes in right before you finish eating, toeing off his boots at the door. His pants are splattered with mud, as is his shirt as he pulls off his jacket.

“Yers are in the kitchen.” Lily says, finishing off her own sandwich.

“Thank ye, love.” He kisses Lily’s cheek before heading into the kitchen.

“I hear ye like tae read.” Lily says, turning back to you.

You nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well help yerself to any of the books on the shelves. The kids have some books in their rooms too. Yer more’n welcome tae browse those too.” She says, standing from the table. She takes your plate, heading to the kitchen as Murray comes out with his own plate of sandwiches.

“Did ye have a good mornin’?” He asks, taking his seat at the head of the table.

You nod. “I got to see the chickens and met Mabel.”

“Good.” He smiles. “Mabel’s a sweet old girl.”

“She is. I’ve never been around animals, outside of a few petting zoos.” You say. “But I already like Mabel a lot.”

“Aye, we’ll turn ye into a farm girl in no time.” Murray grins. “Ye can see the sheep when I bring ‘em in later too.”

“I’d like that.” You say.

After lunch you settle into the couch with a book pulled off one of the many shelves in the room. Storm has joined you, curling up beside you with her head in your lap.

“That dog really likes ye.” Lily says as she joins you, pulling out her knitting.

You smile, petting Storm’s head. “I’m not sure why.”

“Dogs are good judges of character.” She says. “She senses something in ye.”

You scratch behind Storm’s ears as silence falls over the room again and you return to reading your book. You wonder if it’s really true, if Storm can sense something about you that’s drawing her in. Whatever it is, you’re glad she likes you. It could be the opposite, you suppose. She could dislike you. You wonder what that would say about your character if that were the case.

Regardless, you’re growing to find her presence comforting. The entire house is comforting, despite the turmoil you still feel inside. The farm is a good distraction, but in these moments of silence you know you’re going to struggle the most. These moments where you have to be present, you have to face down the truth that you’re hundreds of miles from your pack and there’s still a couple weeks before you’ll see them again...before you’ll see John again. It’ll be just you and John for a while. Then Kyle will join you. Then you’ll be three separated from the two others.

It breaks your heart that they won’t retire, but you’d never admit that.

Maybe someday they’ll make that decision, but you know it won’t be anytime soon.

You shift on the couch, Storm lifting her head before settling back down, adjusting herself so she’s even closer to you than she was before, almost as if she can sense the shift in your emotions.

You scan the photos on the wall in the hallway. You’ve been roving around waiting for dinner to be ready, taking in all of the artwork and the many photos decorating the walls. Photos of Johnny and his siblings as kids, family portraits, artistic shots of the farm and the animals and the kids with them. You’ve even found a framed photo of Storm and Bron on the wall.

You pass by a shadow box decorated with military medals and stripes. You’d almost assume it was Johnny’s but you know he’ll still wear his when the occasion requires. No, these are Murray’s. Chief Petty Officer MacTavish.

“You served?” You ask as the man himself rounds the corner.

He pauses, glancing at the box before nodding. “Aye. Royal Navy. Joined as soon as I graduated. Didnae know what else tae do with myself. I was forced to retire when Johnny was still a lad. Hip injury.” He smiles as he stares at the medals. “Moved the family out here, bought a few sheep, rest is history.”

“You must be proud of Johnny then.” You say. You can piece together that his father’s history with the armed forces played a role in his own decision to join.

“Aye. Though his job scares the piss out of me sometimes.” He pats your back. “I hear your own father served.”

You nod as the two of you walk down the hall. “Marines.” You say. “I can’t imagine him doing anything else. He was...very patriotic. Spent a lot of time preaching the necessity of giving our lives to protect the country to us kids. Two of my three older brothers joined too. The rest of us went on to do other things. I never thought I’d be back in it, though.”

“That must have been a shock.” Lily says as the two of you arrive at the table. She’s setting a pan of roast beef on the table. “I can only imagine what it was like tae leave that world only to be right back in it.”

“I was in deeper than I was with my dad.” You say, taking your seat. “It was an adjustment, but I’ll honestly say I’m glad I’m getting to leave it behind.”

“I don’t blame ye one bit.” She says, taking a seat at the table. “The stress is unimaginable, even when they’re not goin’ off tae war.” She passes a glance at Murray. “I’m glad yer gettin’ this chance.”

“Aye, I’m proud of John fer retiring. It’s time he settled down.” Murray says, staring to load his plate.

Roast beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables, yorkshire pudding. A proper Sunday roast, or so you’re told.

“You know him well?” You ask curiously as you start to load your own plate.

“Aye, he’s been here a few times since Johnny joined his pack.” Murray says.

“We were skeptical at first, but he proved himself alright.” Lily says. “He’s a good alpha, and a good man.”

“But whatever magic ye worked tae get him to retire…” Murray grins. “Consider it an act of god.”

You smile bashfully, your face warming just a bit. “I’m not sure what I did exactly, besides just existing in his life.”

“Sometimes that’s all a man needs.” Lily says, giving you a smile.

The Sunday roast is delicious. It’s better than what you ate at restaurants in town during the weekends that John insisted everyone go out for Sunday dinner. It’s even better than your own attempts at the cottage, though you’d never tell Dr. Keller that.

You’ll have to get some recipes from Lily before you leave.

After dinner the three of you settle in the living room again, Murray turning on the TV. Storm lays at your feet, Bron laying between you and Murray. You’ve got a beer in your hand, cold where it rests against your leg. Murray hadn’t even asked, instead passing one to you silently. You’d taken it, knowing it would be rude to refuse. It’s not your first time drinking by far. You and your brothers used to sneak sips here and there during barbecues and holidays, and the guys have made sure to corrupt you in that way.

Still, the alcohol makes you feel warm as you drink it, chasing away the nerves that nightfall brings.

A lot of things can happen at night, and you can feel the looming darkness outside. It’s darker here than on base, no light pollution to offer some respite from the inky blackness outside.

You’ve been avoiding looking at the windows, even with the curtains closed.

Despite the nagging fear at the back of your brain, the beer makes you feel warm and fuzzy. That, and Storm’s comforting presence against your feet. It’s nice knowing there’s someone that will sense something off before even you can.

It’s late by the time you decide to call it a night. Storm follows you to your room, standing in the doorway as you pull clothes out of your bag.

“C’mon Stormy.” Lily says, patting her back. “Goodnight, hen.”

“Goodnight.” You call, watching Storm hesitate before heading down the hallway with Lily.

You get ready for bed before turning out the light, crawling under the covers. You can still smell a bit of Johnny on the pillow and blankets. You breathe in his spicy, citrusy scent. It blends with the earthy scent of John on your shirt, offering up a comforting cocktail of your boys. You wish they were there still in person, but you’ll take their scents.

You wonder how long it will be until they fade away. You doubt they’ll last the entire time you’re here.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, pulling up John’s number. He had texted you earlier letting you know they made it safe, but you need to hear his voice. You listen to it ring, holding your breath. It’s late, and you half expect him to be in bed already. He has an early morning tomorrow, unless he decides to skip working out...you doubt he’ll do that though, now that he doesn’t have you to worry about.

“Hello, sweetheart.” His voice is rough, tired sounding.

“Hi,” you greet him quietly quietly, letting out a breath. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” There’s rustling on the other side of the line. “I was laying awake.”

“Same.” you say, pulling the covers up around you.

“How are things going up there?” He asks.

“Good.” you answer honestly. “I met a cow today.”

“Did you?” he chuckles. “How did that go?”

“Good. I really like her. She’s a good listener.” you listen to his chuckle on the other end. “Storm has also really taken to me.”

“Good,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Lily and Murray treating you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, rolling onto your side. “They’re amazing. Lily’s a really good cook. Makes me feel sorry for you that you’re going to have to eat my cooking.”

“Your cooking isn’t that bad.” He says. “I survived on it at the cottage.”

“Yeah but that was only a couple times. I can make like three things confidently.”

“Then we’ll learn together. We’ll only have to survive until Kyle’s paperwork is approved. Then he can cook. It’ll be good for him, having something to do.”

What are you going to do? You want to ask it but you’re not sure how well that will go over. What is he going to do once he’s retired? Maybe you can convince him to start a farm. It would be good for him to have some physical work to do every day. He’s used to never having a day off, and you don’t get days off on a farm.

You’ll worry about that later, when the time actually comes.

“How are things down there?” You ask. “How are the boys.”

“Coping.” He says. “Johnny pouted the entire way home. It’s not the same being just us again. We got so used to your presence it feels empty.”

A small smile forms on your lips. “It feels weird not having you here with me. I’m not sure I can survive.”

“I think we can make it.” He says. “It’s only for a couple weeks at most. By the end you’ll be sad to leave.”

“I do like it here.” You muse. “It’s cozy and comfortable and I like having animals around. Wish you were here though.”

“Soon.” He says, muffling a yawn.

“You should get some sleep. Early morning tomorrow, right?”

He hums. “Earlier than I’d like.”

“Ready to retire?” You ask.

“I can feel it coming.” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You should get some rest too. I know you didn’t sleep well last night.”

You likely won’t sleep well tonight either, but you won’t tell him that. You don’t want him to worry more than he already is. “I never sleep well the first night in a new place.”

He hums again. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, John.” You say quietly, holding the phone to your ear until he ends the call.

You stare at the screen for a moment before setting your phone on the nightstand once more. You feel more comfortable now after hearing John’s voice. It’s soothed some of the nerves churning in your stomach. He’s just a phone call away, and soon he’ll be back within reach. Just a couple weeks at most. You should be able to survive that.

You hope you will.

You do manage to sleep.

There’s light coming through the curtains when you wake, and you can hear the faint clacking of dishes down the hall. You squint blearily at your phone. It’s past nine. You’ve slept in later than you meant to. They’re early risers, being on a farm and all. You realized that yesterday when you heard them moving around before dawn.

Here you’ve gone and slept in.

You get up, changing clothes before heading to the bathroom.

Lily’s in the kitchen when you get up, still a bit bleary from a rough night’s sleep.

“Morning, hen.” She says, turning from the dishes when she hears you patter in.

“Sorry, I slept in.” You say, rubbing your eyes.

“None of that now, yer a guest. Ye can sleep in as late as ye’d like.” She says, waving her hand. “I’ve saved some breakfast for ye. Let me heat it up.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say.

“Of course I do. I want to.” She says, pushing you out of the kitchen. “Juice or coffee?”

“Juice is fine.” You say, taking a seat at the table. Storm comes over to you, pawing at your hand. You give her some pets, scratching behind her ear.

“Here ye are.” Lily says, bringing you a plate loaded with eggs and sausage and toast. She sets it down in front of you along with a glass of orange juice. It’s probably freshly squeezed.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.” You say, picking up your fork.

It tastes delicious too. You never knew a simple eggs and sausage and toast could taste so good. Lily must work magic in the kitchen. That can be the only explanation for how wonderful she can make even the simplest food taste.

You slip on your borrowed boots after you finish eating, following Lily out into the yard again. Storm trots along beside you, tongue hanging out in excitement.

“Ye ever driven an ATV before?” Lily asks you, and you notice one parked next to the gate just past the fence. You hadn’t noticed it yesterday.

You shake your head. “No.”

She pats your shoulder. “I’ll teach ye soon. I’m gonnae go grab some hay from the barn for Mabel. Ye go on ahead and start givin’ her a good brushin’.”

Lily opens the gate to the pasture where the barn sits before climbing on the ATV. You open the other gate to Mabel’s pasture, Storm running through as soon as its open. You leave it open, passing the chickens on your hike up the small hill to where Mabel stands, looking like she has no care in the world.

Her brush hangs in her small barn and you grab it off the wall. Her hair is thick and coarse, the brush catching on a few tangles. You’re careful not to pull too hard, working the knots out gently.

Lily arrives on the ATV, towing a small trailer behind it stacked with bales of hay.

“Come and help me unload this, hen.” She says, climbing off the ATV.

You shove the brush into your back pocket, treading through the grass to the stack of hay bales. Lily tosses you a pair of gloves, something you’re grateful for as soon as you put your hands on the hay. It pokes at you, a few pieces even sticking you through the gloves.

It’s also heavy.

Your arms shake as you lift one of the bales, just managing to get it up off the stack. You heft it the few feet to the barn, stacking it on top of the others. Lily lifts the next bale, making it seem almost easy.

“They’re heavy.” You say, letting out a breath as you return to grab the next one.

“Aye.” Lily says with a grin. “We’ve got tae get yer muscles built up. Turn ye into a proper farm girl in no time.”

You’re out of breath by the time the last bale has been stacked, a few small scratches on your arms where you’d pushed up the sleeves of your sweatshirt to avoid getting hay in the fabric. Somehow you’ve still managed, feeling the small pokes even through your jeans.

“Keep workin’ on Mabel, I’m gonnae take the trailer back.” Lily says.

Your arms feel like jelly as you grab the brush out of your pocket again, returning to brushing Mabel’s back. You knew you were out of shape compared to what you once were, but you think even if you weren’t that would have been a struggle. Farm work is hard and you’ve barely had a taste of it. It speaks volumes of just how strong Johnny’s parents are that they can do this every day.

Lily returns, walking up the hill to where you are. “We refill her ‘bout once a week.” She says, patting Mabel’s nose. “Can’t keep all of it here, or she’ll eat it all.”

You grin, Mabel’s head tilting as you brush a spot on the side of her neck. You’re getting covered in cow hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“She’ll be sheddin’ her winter coat soon.” Lily says running her fingers through Mabel’s hair, picking out a few chunks. “Things get very hairy up here.”

You laugh, brushing under Mabel’s chin as she tilts her head up for you. “I can imagine.”

“I’m gonnae go find Murray, ye stay out here as long as ye like.” She says, patting your shoulder before heading back down to the ATV.

Storm stays in the pasture with you again, happily laying in the grass while you finish up brushing Mabel.

You lean against her side, resting your head on her back. “We’ll be okay, right?” You ask, not expecting an answer, and you don’t get one aside from a loud cluck from a chicken.

You head back into the house, Storm following you. You toe off your boots at the door, wiping down Storm’s feet before heading into the living room. You pick up the book you had been reading from the coffee table, settling on the couch. Storm jumps up beside you, sitting there staring expectantly.

You stare back, tilting your head. “What?”

She puts a paw on your leg, sniffing your cheek.

“Oh alright.” You put your book to the side before scratching her neck. She leans into you, licking your arm as you scratch her. “You’re so soft.” You say, hugging her against your chest as you scratch down her back. “Must have gotten a bath recently, huh?”

You kiss her head before releasing her, going back to your book. She curls up next to you, leaning against your leg. You drop a hand to rest against her back, feeling her comforting warmth against you.

The days go by and you settle into a bit of a routine on the farm. You start to wake up earlier and earlier, adjusting to hearing Lily and Murray up and moving around early in the morning. You’re still not sleeping well, but you are managing to get some sleep at night.

John’s called every day, wanting to know how you’re doing, how you’re settling in. It gets easier and easier to tell him you’re doing alright, as you start to believe it. But no matter how comfortable you get in Lily and Murray’s home, there’s still a deep ache in your chest, a yearning for your pack, for your alpha.

You thought it might be weird being around an unknown alpha, but Murray has been careful to keep himself from being overbearing and overwhelming. Sometimes you forget he’s an alpha, but his strong scent reminds you every time you smell it. He’s not like any alpha you’ve been around before, but then again, you think he has Lily to thank for that.

You don’t know many alphas that chose to take beta mates over omegas. It was so unheard of in your circle of friends and family friends growing up. Your father surrounded himself with like-minded alphas, traditionalists that prided themselves on scoring a prize omega who could give them pups.

You suppose John had taken a beta as his mate, but you know that dynamic is different, and it became even more complex once you were added into the picture. Maybe John would have wound up more like Murray had it just been him and Kyle in the long run.

A beta’s soothing presence is enough to calm and alpha’s instincts over time. It probably helps that he’s older, those instincts less strong now than they would have been likely just a few years ago. You know alphas calm over time, those instincts settling as they get older, as they settle down.

You wonder how long it will take John’s instincts to start settling now that he’s retiring out of a high-stress job.

You’ve taken to being on the farm and helping out more and more. Mabel has become your lifeline, your stand-in therapist. It’s a bit healing, laying against her side, telling her how much you miss your pack, how nervous you are about this new chapter in your life, how fast things seem to be moving. You’ve only been with your pack for just over a year now and already so many things have happened, so many things have changed. She may not be able to offer much in terms of conversation or advice, but it’s still comforting to have someone there who can listen and not judge.

You’ve even come to know the chickens a bit, gathering eggs a couple times when you’ve gotten up early enough to beat Lily to it. You’ve had your fingers pecked more than a few times, but you’re growing fearless around them, shoving the broody ones to the side to grab their eggs.

A week goes by before you know it, settling into the clock-like rotation of life on a farm. It’s comforting to have a schedule, to always have something to do. It reminds you of being on base, of conforming to the guys’ schedules. You prefer this kind of schedule and work, though.

Maybe you can talk John into a farm. It would be good for him, help him settle into civilian life where you don’t have someone telling you what to do...or where you’re not the someone telling others what to do.

You wake early on Sunday, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you lay in bed for a moment. It’s early, but still you hear Lily and Murray moving around. You feel like dragging your feet this morning, but you don’t, sliding out of bed before grabbing clothes.

“Morning Stormy.” You say, greeting the dog laying at your door. She’s taken up vigil in the mornings, laying there waiting for you to get up.

You pat her head before stepping over her, heading for the bathroom. Lily had done some washing for you, despite your insistence that you could do it yourself. She was keen to do as much for you as possible. She said she misses being able to mother someone. Murray won’t let her. He’s stubborn like that.

You head for the kitchen, Lily already up with breakfast at the table.

“Mornin’ hen.” She greets you, pouring coffee into a mug. Murray is at the table as well, sipping his own cup.

“Morning.” You say, taking your seat and the offered mug. “You’re up early.”

“It’s Sunday. We’re goin’ tae Mass today.” Lily explains.

You hadn’t really thought much about it, though you should have guessed given the candles and the crucifix on the wall that they were religious. The idea of Johnny being raised Catholic is hard for you to grasp.

“Did ye go to church growin’ up?” Murray asks you as Lily sets a plate of food in front of you.

“Not really.” You say. “Mostly just Christmas and Easter.” As patriotic as your father was, he didn’t pay much mind to religion. Sundays were for beer and football and a good dinner.

“We try tae go every Sunday.” Lily says. “Though we don’t always make it.”

Like last Sunday, you think. They had been busy with helping you get settled in.

“Gives us an excuse tae go into town.” Murray says.

“We’ll do some shoppin’ while we’re there.” Lily says. “Get ye anythin’ ye might need too.”

You’re not sure what you might need. You thought you had brought enough to last you the couple weeks, though something tells you Lily is going to find something you need. She had said something about getting you a proper pair of boots. You wonder what else she might decide you need.

Church went well, although you had no idea what a Catholic Mass was like, nor what you were supposed to do, but you followed along well enough. Shopping afterward had gone as you expected. You got your new pair of boots, strawberry printed, and Lily had decided you needed a couple new pairs of jeans. It was true yours were starting to show the wear and tear of farm life, and they weren’t proper work jeans, according to her. You weren’t sure what that meant, but she hadn’t listened to your protests, buying you the pants anyway.

It was a nice, warm day so Lily had taken you out to her garden to help her set up for the spring plants she’d grow. You pulled weeds, harvested some of the last winter vegetables, dug holes, played in the dirt. It felt good doing something with your hands. It gave you purpose, something you haven’t felt in a while.

Sure, being an omega you had your purpose, but lately it had been a bit...mundane. You had been forced into the box of ‘sit there and look pretty and offer us some comfort,’ even if they hadn’t realized they were doing it. You hadn’t even really noticed it until now, until you got some space from it. Now that you were actually doing things, now that you had a true purpose, helping out on the farm, you realized just how deep you had been shoved into that box.

Maybe coming here was a good thing after all.

That night you cry for the first time. You’re not sure why. Maybe the dirt under your fingernails had awoken something in you, some deep crevasse of your emotions opening under your feet.

It’s a silent cry in the darkness, the moon bright through the curtains, bathing your room with more light than even your nightlight. You’d just hung up the call from John and suddenly tears are falling down your cheeks. You miss him. You miss them all. You’re terrified for Simon and Johnny, you’re yearning for your alpha, for your comfort. You want the bed to dip behind you, for his arms to slide around you and hold you close. You want his scent to wrap around you and permeate your being.

You’re homesick.

The magic of the first week has worn off and now you’re feeling the complex emotions that have been brewing under the surface. There’s a deep ache in your chest, harsh and painful. You curl up tight in a ball, trying to ease the pain of missing home, of missing your alpha.

You drift off into a hazy sleep, floating in and out all night until you finally manage to slip into a deep sleep for a couple of hours early in the morning.

You wake later than you would have wanted to, and for a moment you forget where you are. There’s a warm weight against your back, and for a moment you think you’re back in the barracks, that John is sleeping behind you, pressed up against your back.

But as you wake up, you remember where you are: hundreds of miles away from the barracks and John.

The sun is up, shining its golden light through your window. You turn as best you can, the heavy weight pinning the blankets down over you.

You’re met with black and white fur. Storm has somehow snuck her way into your room and curled up on the bed with you. Tears prick your eyes as you turn to face her, running a hand down her back. She lets out a sigh, shifting her body onto her side so her head rests on your pillow.

“Hi Storm.” You whisper, burying your face in her fur.

She lays there, breathing steady and even as you try not to cry, as you fight the emotions welling up inside of you again. Storm licks your hand, dragging her soft tongue against your skin, almost like she’s trying to lick up your sadness.

“Okay, okay,” You sniffle, pulling your hand away. You lay there for a moment longer, both of you still in the quiet morning. Lily must be out gathering eggs or taking care of Mabel. You don’t feel bad for sleeping in this time.

Storm climbs down off the bed as you sit up, stretching your arms over your head. You grab a change of clothes before heading for the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Storm is waiting in the hallway for you and the two of you walk together towards the kitchen. Lily is sitting at the table, reading a magazine.

“Mornin’, hen.” She greets you before looking down at Storm. “Mornin’ ye sneak. Sorry if she disturbed ye. I tried to get her back out.”

You shake your head. “She didn’t disturb me. I didn’t even know she was there.”

Lily hums, patting Storm’s head. “Ye must have needed her, then.”

Tears start to prick behind your eyes, those emotions that you thought you had shoved down starting to come back to the surface. You know Lily won’t judge you for crying, for being homesick, but still that fear of showing too many emotions starts to overwhelm you.

“It’s alright, hen.” Lily says, on her feet before you even know it, pulling you into a hug. “Homesick, huh.”

It’s not a question.

“I understand.” She says softly, patting your head as you struggle to hold those emotions down. “I would be too.”

Her hands rub your back, her scent strong in the air as she tries to help comfort you. You both know it won’t be enough, but still the thought of it is sweet. She’s doing her best to try and make this easy for you, to try and help you through the inevitable breakdown of missing your pack and your alpha. From what John has said, it won’t be long before he’s finally free of the shackles of the military. A few more days at most before he’ll be making the final drive up here to retrieve you, and you’ll move on to whatever is waiting for you on the other side.

It makes you sad to leave too, though. You’ve grown comfortable on the farm, adjusting to life here and its routine and stability. It’s kept you more active than anything, and you’re going to miss having an excuse to do more than read and sleep all day. Of course, taking care of a house will involve a lot more, but you know there’s only so much you can do even in that regard.

You want to feel useful.

You don’t cry as much as you thought you might. Your thoughts have kept you stable, ideas forming, plans putting themselves together. You lean against Lily’s chest, arms wrapped around her. You’ll be forever grateful for everything she’s done for you, even if she doesn’t realize she’s done it.

You pull away, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Thank you.” You say.

Lily gives you a soft smile, petting your hair. “Of course, hen. Ye know I’m always here if you need a hug.”

You laugh, sniffling. “You give good hugs.”

“I’ve been told that.” She pats the top of your head. “Now, let’s get some food in ye.”

Storm sleeps in your room from then on. You’re not sure Lily could change her mind even if she tried. She’s on the bed as soon as you open the door to Johnny’s room, making herself at home. You’re silently grateful for her comforting presence, often waking cuddling her up on your pillow.

You’ve become inseparable, unless Lily is in the kitchen, then she betrays you for the prospect of any handouts. You don’t blame her one bit. You’d be in there begging too if Lily didn’t involve you as much as she has started doing. You had asked for recipes, so Lily had taken that as her excuse to start mentoring you in the kitchen, teaching you everything she knows.

You’ve been kept busy, and you’re grateful for it.

Storm follows you around as you do your chores, self-appointed chores. You fetch more hay for Mabel as she’s running low, give her a good brush to help loosen some of her shedding fur, feed the chickens and gather the eggs, pick a few of the last winter vegetables that have ripened before helping Lily make lunch.

You even get to hold a baby lamb.

You fall in love almost instantly.

Another animal to add to your list of animals to convince John to get for you.

Your last day on the farm comes with an unexpected morning phone call. Usually John called at night, but this time catches you by surprise at the breakfast table. You got up to answer, Storm following you down the hall as you speak to John.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sweetheart.” John says. “I have good news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. “Oh?”

“My paperwork was finalized this morning. I’ll be coming up tomorrow to get you.”

Nerves and excitement boil in your stomach. You’re excited that it’s finally happened, that he’s finally free and you’ll get to see him in just a few hours. At the same time you’re nervous for what this means, for this start of the new chapter. There’s also a bittersweet edge to it, from the thought of leaving the farm after the wonderful almost two weeks you’ve spent here.

“That’s great!” You say, trying to sound convincing, channeling that inner excitement.

“I’ll call before I leave so you know when to expect me.” He says, sounding almost relieved.

“Sounds good.” You say, leaning down to pet Storm as she paws at you. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I know. It’s been long enough.” He says. “I have to get packing, but I’ll talk to you tonight, okay?”

You nod even though he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.”

You walk back to the table, your stomach in knots. Excitement and nerves still race through you. You’re not quite sure what to feel yet, all of it a bit too much at once.

“Everything alright?” Murray asks.

You nod. “John’s paperwork finally went through. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Lily cheers. “That’s wonderful news! I’m sure yer goin’ tae be happy to see him.”

You nod again. “I am. I’ve missed him.”

“I bet.” She says reaching over to pat your hand.

“But I’m going to be sad to leave too.” You say. “I’ve really enjoyed being here.”

“And we’ve enjoyed havin’ ye.” Murray says.

“Ye can always visit, whenever ye want to.” Lily says, giving you a smile. “Yer always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” You say, trying to avoid looking down at Storm and her puppy eyes. You have a feeling she’ll be the hardest to say goodbye to.

You do your chores the next morning despite the fact John will arrive in a few hours. It just feels right to spend your last day on the farm doing as much as you can, savoring your last taste of farm life. You’ll miss Mabel, and you’ll even miss the chickens despite the few little cuts on your hands from sharp beaks. You’ll miss having stuff to do. Sure, you’re going to settle into your new life easier than John will, but at the same time, you’re going to withdraw from this routine you’ve grown to follow.

You spend the time after lunch cuddling with Storm on the couch. She seems sadder than usual, almost as if she knows this is going to be goodbye for now. Even Bron is at your feet, curled in a ball as you all wait for the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Your bags are packed and by the door, including your Wellies, ready to be taken away from this surrogate home, from your surrogate family. Well, they are your family, you suppose. An extension of your pack member.

You’re not ready to get up as the sound of tires eventually does come, Murray rising from his seat to greet John at the door. You let out a sigh, patting Storm one more time before standing.

It feels almost surreal seeing John again after nearly two weeks away. He greets you with open arms and a smile, not even waiting for anything to be said. You’re in his arms almost as fast as he opened them, pressing yourself close against his chest. You’ve been without him for longer, but this time it felt different. You were hanging over the precipice of a drastic change. His arrival has been the first step in that change, the start of a new chapter in both of your lives.

“I trust you’ve been well taken care of.” He says as you pull away.

“Very well.” You say, smiling.

“And ye better keep that up.” Lily says threateningly.

“Don’t worry, I will.” He says, giving her a hug. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s no problem. We’re always happy to have some company.” She says.

“Ye can visit us any time ye like.” Murray says, shaking John’s hand.

John grabs your bags, the four of you heading outside with the dogs. You hug Lily, tears falling as you say your goodbye.

“Call me.” She says, patting your back. “For anything, even just tae chat. And don’t forget to visit.”

“Thank you.” You say, wiping your cheeks. “For everything.”

“Yer welcome, hen.” She says, brushing a hand over your head.

“Thank you, too.” You say to Murray, giving him a hug as well.

“Of course.” He says, patting your back. “It was our pleasure.”

You kneel down in the gravel, giving Storm a hug. She licks your cheek, letting out a quiet whine. “I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

She gives you one last lick before you stand, giving Bron some pats before you turn away, heading towards the car. Sadness but also joy fills you as you climb into the passenger seat, buckling your seat belt. You turn to look behind you, the car full of boxes, but in the seat behind John your big bear sits, buckled in.

You smile softly as John climbs into the driver’s seat, turning to look at you before he turns on the car.

“Ready?” He asks.

You nod. “Ready.”

He turns the key, the car rumbling to life beneath you. They wave as you drive down the driveway, and you watch the house until it disappears around the bend. You turn back in your seat, letting out a sigh as John turns onto the road towards Glasgow.

“Can we get a dog? And some chickens? And a cow? And some sheep?” you ask.

John chuckles. “Let’s find a place to live, first. Then we’ll talk about that.”

NEXT ->

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[cicidarkarts]

Ways to connect with your f/o (a list for slow living and mindful moments)

♡ Go for a walk and imagine you're holding their hand

♡ Try to make your f/o's favorite foods

♡ If you'd prefer to be pampered, when you make food, put it down with a little love note from your f/o saying how happy they were to make it for you, and that they hope you enjoy it (even if it's just a sandwich or something small!)

♡ Bake bread with your f/o

♡ Go on a picnic with your f/o

♡ Use pictures of them on your phone or computer to body double when you do chores or study

♡ Use pictures of them on your phone or computer to play video games or watch movies and shows with them

♡ Along that same vein, watch something that they expressed interest in—or that you think they'd really like—and imagine the comments they'd make about their favorite media

♡ Print out a picture or use photos on your phone or computer to have a romantic candlelit dinner with them (even if it's just ramen!)

♡ Buy flowers or a plant from or for your f/o and take care of it

♡ Take up a hobby that they enjoy, even if you're not very good at it—additionally, imagine that your f/o is helping teach you Addition by @uss-moonveil

♡ Curate a playlist using music they would enjoy

♡ Or you can curate a playlist using music with meaningful lyrics about you and your f/o's relationship

♡ Write loving post-it notes or letters from your f/o and leave them around the house for yourself

♡ If you need reminders, write one for yourself in your f/o's voice (for appointments, medicine, to eat, or any aspect where you need a little help—they're so happy to help you!)

♡ Run yourself a bath with bath bombs or bubbles and imagine your f/o made it for you to relax

♡ If you prefer showers: light some candles, use your favorite music, and imagine your f/o set everything up for you

♡ Spend time in nature with your f/o enjoying the sun or the trees or the beach or whatever little safe spots of nature you can find around you

♡ Imagine their voice guiding you through meditative or mindful deep breathing

♡ If your f/o is from a different culture than you, learn about their culture—make food from their culture, immerse yourself in music or media from their culture, and/or learn their language (even if it's just terms of endearment or phrases of their love for you)

♡ On the flipside, have them learn from your culture, too, and be enthralled and surprised by what they learn

♡ Buy or thrift clothes that look like your f/o's so you can wear them—additionally, buy them in your f/o's sizes so you can pretend you stole them Addition by @razanhyperfangz

♡ If you have to purchase clothes for yourself, imagine your f/o hyping up every outfit you try on

♡ Buy or thrift trinkets they would own and decorate your home with them

♡ Buy perfumes or colognes that your f/o wears and spray them on your clothes or bed (or scents that remind you of them)

♡ Use shampoos, conditioners, and/or body washes that they'd use so you can have a shared shower space with them

♡ Paint your nails your f/o's favorite color or colors that remind you of them

♡ Read a book you think they would enjoy, and—if you own the book—annotate the margins with little notes for them

♡ Journal your thoughts about them—gush about them, write about their flaws and merits, outline all of your favorite aspects of their physical features or personality, all of the reasons you're grateful to have them in your life, and include lots of little hearts and declarations of love

♡ Alternatively, get a journal that they would have and do the same thing, but in their voice about you

♡ You can also use journals to vent to your f/o so they can read it and help comfort you

♡ When you purchase something online, buy it as a gift and have it sent from your f/o with a love note attached Addition by @nathandrakeisabottom

♡ If you're able, buy a Mystery Box/Bundle and address it to you from your f/o so you can be surprised at all of the cute trinkets and things they bought for you Addition by @kaydwessie

Remember: your f/o wants you to eat, drink water, remember your meds/vitamins, take care of your hygiene, and exercise! Not for them, but because it will make you feel better—they love seeing you happy!

[thbbie]

༄ roommate! suguru x f!reader.

suguru prefers savoury flavours over sweet ones.

that's just his preference, no deeper meaning or symbolism behind it.

and he always eats so slow. chewing carefully, mindful of every flavour and ingredient that hits his tongue. sometimes it's frustrating to match his pace, you'll never catch him scarfing his food down, never sloppy.

he enjoys it — every bite of his every meal.

suguru's likes sharing a plate with you, to save on washing extra dishes he says. sitting side by side eating together from one dish, the same dish. it's more intimate than either of you would ever admit.

you get to see him up close in those, not that it's a rarity (early morning together in your bed with his face still softened smelt sleep will always be dear to you) still though those moments are precious. the slow movement of his mouth, the way his lips look as he chews, his jaw and the skin covering the it. his hair framing his face so prettily. he's just so pretty. so refined and elegant in all his actions.

sometimes you'll ask if he ever craves something sweet, golden eyes will flit up to catch your own, that teasing customer service smile with an edge at his lips as he replies, "nope" popping the p at the end sassily "i have you after all" accompanied by a charming wink and too smug smile.

so when you come home to suguru in the kitchen with a pretty apron wrapped around his waist and all he says to you is "welcome home, you're just in time"

"just in time for what?"

just in time for what. the last coherent words you managed. splayed out on the dining table, his hands digging into the flesh of your thighs keeping them apart as he eats. sloppy and messy and eager. it's nothing like what you're used to seeing with him. not refined or composed at all, still though, suguru is painfully pretty.

you could swear this is a different man, only it's not. the silk like feel of the long inky tresses you tug on so unmistakably suguru. that velvet like voice groaning against you, this is suguru too. a hungry, insatiable side of him.

his tongue licks from the bottom of your slit till your clit in a single broad swipe. once, twice, thrice, before refocusing on your clit. lapping at it desperately. suguru circles on the little nub with his tongue, massaging little shapes onto the sensitive nerves.

you're so close. he alternates between ssucking at your swollen clit and tongue fucking you good, the muscle in his mouth moving on you fast. so.. close .

calling out for him, rigging him closer with both fists full of dark hair, you're so close. the pleasure building quickly and just as you are to come undone he pulls away — leaving you hot and needy.

suguru simply walks off. wordlessly. still clad in that apron, the lowers half of his face still slicked in you.

he pulls out a bowl out of the fridge and grabs a spoon before making his way back to a frustrated, annoyed you. cute pout on you lips and your eyebrows pulled tight in a glare but suguru isn't fazed in the slightest. pleasant smile at his lips, only humming softly in response to your sudden attitude.

given the grace and slow of his movements of him returning, one would think he's never been desperate for a thing. in his life.

you might've believed it had it not been for what you've seen, if not for the tent in his pants you see through the apron, if not for the starved look in his eyes, if not for that morning in your now shared bed.

he's so cool about all this. that's the front he's putting on at least. sitting back in the chair right in front of your body. his hands on your knees spreading your legs once again.

you watch him dip the spoon into the fluffy white content of the bowl, wiping the soft cool texture on your hip, bringing his face down to lick it off.

"suguru, what are you doing? what is th-"

a spoonful of soft fluffy cream fills your mouth cutting you off. it's good, a perfect sweetness balanced with a flavour of lemon that cuts through it. he made it. whisked at the fresh cream by hand until it turned full and fluffy. the apron makes more sense now.

standing over you, his bangs fall out from behind his ear, "m' just returning the favour roomie"

he spreads more on you. your neck and your collarbones. the dip of your breasts and the gardens peak of your nipples. he chases it with his tongue each time. the light coolness of the whipped cream followed by the feeling of his warm wet tongue on your skin.

he makes his way down, lower and lower until he's back between your legs, face to face with your twitching glistening folds. still dripping, still needy. still untouched from when he got you right on the edge just to pull away.

"so wet"

he spreads some of the whipped cream onto the hood your clit, the coolness on your heated cunt making you flinch away, though you can't get far with how suguru is holding your hips against the wooden table.

he licks it off, the cream and your wetness in a single swipe of his tongue, moaning out at the flavour — thin dark brows pinched together and his eyes closed in ecstasy. suguru doesn't get enough credit for the drama he brings to the table you think.

he dives back in suckling at you like a man starved and suddenly you can't think. mirroring his expression, brows pinched together and eyes closed in ecstasy. pretty moans spill from your lips, nails clawing at the wood of the table needing something to grip.

without so much as pulling away, his eyes trace over the lines of your face, guiding your hands to his hair. he breaks for a moment to breathe, in a low breathless voice,'issuing the command "tug" and you do.

the bridge of his nose rubbing against your folds as his tongue works like magic on your entrance. clamping your thighs around his head to keep him there, you grind your hips up into his face and oh he thinks he's in heaven.

whatever they have to offer up there will surely pale in comparison otherwise. here. clamped between you mr thighs with your hands tugging at his inky hair and your moans filling his ears, suguru will die a happy man. the happiest.

he lets you take the reins, his hands holding you by the waist as you grind up into his face, licking and sucking away at your crying entrance.

your high comes at you suddenly, pulsing through your body as your release washes over you — rendering you a twitching mess.

"sugur- shit. hah- that's enough, we're even. we're even!"

"yea? have i retuned to you the favour in full?"

you nod eagerly, fully unsure if you could even handle any more of him 'returning the favour' he's always been so generous.

suguru looks so pensive sitting their, leaning back into the chair with his thick arms crossed over his chest as if debating an essential question of philosophy or politics with a tongue filled of your flavour and chin shiny, coated in the excess of your mess.

"i'm not so sure about that roomie. we've still got tons more left." referring to the bowl still nearly filled with whipped cream. "it'd be a shame to let it all go to waste, wouldn't it? after i worked so hard to make it just for you"

the favour in question

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 1

Part 2

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, eventual smut, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly decided on nuking this because it feels so fucking bad and aimless guess in the end I'M really the tormented spirit huh anyway if I'm glad i didnt and decided to wait it out. if you enjoy this please think of leaving a comment and/or reblog because i need the reassurance. | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

"Father," Alicent pleads, "she needs to see you."

Otto's jaw clenches as he lifts his gaze from his desk. He looks upon his youngest child's features. You were one in the same, his first daughter and last. He thanks the gods that she did not inherit the curse you bear.

Alicent picks at her fingers while awaiting a response. Though she draws blood, no sound leaves her lips. She did not know it, but her father catches this anxious tick. He mentally corrects himself: at least she did not inherit it at equal intensity.

"A man has no place in the dressing room of a bride-to-be," the Lord Hand dismisses.

Alicent knew about as much would be said, yet she still tries, "please. She is having a-"

"And when has my presence ever soothed her?" Otto interrupts, raising his voice to make his point clear.

It was enough. Alicent understood.

He turns back to his papers. He reads them but none of the words register. He says, "I am sure your brother is already there, coddling her as he does."

Alicent does not respond.

Otto lifts his gaze, "go," he speaks as though his daughter missed the obvious, "if she needs someone so badly, coddle her with Gwayne."

Alicent returns to your chambers. Her heart pinched in every which way at the sight of you. Here you stood, clothed in one of the few precious dresses that belonged to your mother— a bride. Dark blue satin and gold jewelry embellished your form. Your brown hair was curled and plaited and pinned. Your face had a glow, only because it was stained with tears. It was terrible and magnificent all at once.

Rhaenyra goes to her best friend, and the two girls clutched hands before walking towards you. Gwayne spots them and gives your hands a tight squeeze. Because of this, you turn from your older brother to your younger sister. Your eyes are pink with melancholy.

"Lord Hand," Alicent mutters, "is deep in his work."

On his daughter's wedding day, thinks Gwayne.

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw, loathing your father more than normal in this moment.

More than your own, you cannot stomach your sister's duress. You stroke her cheek, "I am well now. Worry no more."

Alicent catches Gwayne's expression and knows that is a lie. Still, she smiles and nods, "I am glad," she looks you once over, "you are an exquisite bride, sister."

Rhaenyra offers a smile, "I agree, dear aunt."

Your face twists at the young princess's words, though you knew she meant well. You will away the dreadful sensation in your stomach and manage a smile, "thank you... sweet niece."

You relish their company for as long as you can in this moment. You gather strength from Rhaenyra's smile, from Alicent's touch, and Gwayne's words. Then, all at once, you were alone, walking towards Daemon Targaryen.

In truth, he was not curious of you. He despised you, for after all, you were the spawn of that Cunttower. But, gods, what could possibly be the reason you were taking so long to walk down the aisle? It was not like this room was that big. And so, he turns over his shoulder to inspect you. His hand remains on Dark Sister and his weight still rested mostly on one leg.

He squints at the sight of you, moving like a snail. He is about to roll his eyes, but then he catches a glimpse of your countenance.

Tis strange.

You were not nearly as repulsive as he remembered you, and not nearly as similar in likeness to your rotten twin. How could that be, when it was not only- what, a season since he had pummeled Ser Cuntface to the ground? He will never forget your screaming face in the audience, and how deliciously distressed your father had been from hauling you away.

Even now, as Daemon's lilac eyes appraised your distant silhouette, gliding towards him like a phantom intent on haunting, he second guessed if that weeping woman from the tourney was you. But then he turned to your brother and saw his jaw harden. It was unmistakable then you were the weeping woman, and now, you were his weeping bride.

Gwayne, could not help the way his hands tightened into a fist as he helplessly watched you inch towards his most ardent foe. Beside him, unmoving, stood the very man who allowed such madness to ensue: your father.

You pass the pew that seated your family. Your twin's expression softens. He nods, and you know he means take heart. Your sister does the same. But your father, who stood between his children, does not spare you a glance.

Daemon notices the coldness. He would feel bad, but then again, he has been proclaiming his ill-guided brother's Lord Hand was the biggest cunt in the realm for so long, so he doesn't. Oh, but then you look at him with those beady eyes, and he did not know why his thorax felt uneasy.

Twas strange indeed.

Soon you stood in front of your promised, and, finally, Otto lays his eyes upon you. He does not see you though. He does not see the woman dressed in the garments that once belonged to his wife. He does not see your trembling hand and glassy cheeks. He sees his timid, tremoring, little daughter that he had to leave a moon's length for work. He sees her frail body that shook on her tiny bed and found no comfort in the way he held her tiny hand when he returned.

As the septon begins this damning rite, all he could hear was the voice of the maester that promised the new medicine he procured would heal his girl. As tears rolled down your eyes, he remembers how he nearly killed the maester for feeding you herbs that caused you to retch the little food you had eaten.

Has my child not suffered enough?

Has my child not suffered enough?

ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵐᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ

Daemon turns to the pew beside the Hightowers' and finds his brother's face. Viserys seemed pleased to witness this wretched affair, as did Aemma, who clutched her pregnant belly. Rhaenyra beside her seemed more interested in you however, or at least the dress that she and Alicent helped dressed you in.

The septon blabbers and tells you both to speak your vows. You do, one as reluctant as the other. Then, as instructed, Daemon cloaks you and presses a kiss on your salty lips.

Twas bittersweet. On one hand, as he takes your clammy one, the image of Otto's face when Daemon told the King that he wanted to marry you comes to mind.

Oh, how excited he was to see the old fool look as though he was a breath away from lunging at him across the table, and how utterly horrendous that he hadn't. He would have simply, and justifiably, killed him. Then all this bother would not have ensued. The look upon the said man's face this moment, now that he's sullied what he so dearly protected, made his stomach giddy.

As the same time, as he held that same clammy hand of yours and felt it tremble, he remembers that you and he were bound. Though not in the manner of his house, he knew he could escape only so much of his wretched duties. Otto's vexation would only last so long, and deep down the cunt must enjoy that his daughter was now a princess. He knew soon Viserys would also begin nagging him again.

But then out of nowhere, he laughs. It was so abrupt that a few guests looked at him in confusion.

How could he forget? There was the matter of your... affliction. Perhaps he can frighten you to death on your wedding bed.

He chuckles once more.

The idea is so delicious, he is in good spirits the whole wedding feast. He does nothing but embarrass and shame you by entertaining literally every other lady save yourself.

What makes matters worse, at least on your end, is that your father refuses to go to your side and forbids not only your brother but as well as your sister from leaving their spots to come to your aid. There was no need to make the matter bigger than it was. You are left alone at your seat at the table, looking nothing but pathetic and weepy.

You sustain such temperament until you're in your marriage chambers, but then you do a funny thing and down two glasses of wine. Daemon laughs at how it spills from your lips, down your neck.

He, who had already much more than a measly two cups, comes behind you and takes the one you loudly prop on the table. You squeak and bolt away when Daemon's arm sneaks up from underneath your own; it only further amuses him.

"V'you a change of heart?" he pours himself a glass, "ready for debauchery, yes?"

You turn unbelievably pale, and it merits the fondest of laughs from your sadistic groom. Daemon drinks and licks the wine off his lips.

You gulp, reaching out a trembling hand.

He raises a brow at it. Suddenly, he's annoyed— twice was much because he has absolutely no idea what the gesture means.

That is, until you speak, "may I have some more?"

One of his faint silver brows raises. Suddenly, he is greedy with the wine he thought tasted too sour on his tongue. However, a curiosity within him urged to hand over the cheap drink, for why did his shivering wife have the nerve for this to be her first words to him?

He watched you throw your head back as you down the wine just as quick as you did the previous ones. He chuckles and crosses his arms. When you turn to Daemon, he tilts his head, "thirsty?"

You inhale deeply, though it is strangled, "for my anxiousness."

It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he does, his nostrils flare. Had he breathed fire, surely smoke would have come out his nose at this moment. Daemon releases an airy, unamused chuckle and averts his gaze, "eager to bed me, harlot?"

Your throat tightens, for that was not what you meant at all.

You forcibly swallow a lump that forms when he comes to your side. Your throat only further constricts when he grabs and yanks you into his chest. You whimper as he presses his nose against your ear. Goosebumps form when his hot breath hits your ear, "on the bed then."

Your heart thunders as he shoves you towards the bed. You nearly miss it. Actually, only your head and arms touch the cushion, and the rest of your body collides with the floor and the hard bed frame. Your tailbone throbs at the impact, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your chest that tightened, and tightened, and tightened and—

You barely manage to gasp. You are hard of breathing when Daemon crouches and grabs your thighs, pulling your skirts up. He feels your flesh tremble beneath his palm. His fingers touch your skin, and it brings him to hiss; you are ice against his burning hands.

He looks up at you. A line forms between his brows. You gasped for air that seemed unwilling to enter your lungs. Not only was your face stained with tears, but as well as your neck now

He mutters, "nyke pendagon jaelā naejot sagon ipradāri," I thought you wanted to get eaten, "I do so find fear delectable."

You continue to slump into the floor until you're a melted mess. You can do nothing but clutch your chest, not that it helps one bit.

Daemon is satisfied at this point. He stands and dusts his hands off. He looks at the pitiful Hightower, your dark locks spilled on the ground as if blood from a crime scene.

"Is that your affliction then, wife?" he tilts his head, "do you seize up when you're nervous?"

You look at him, but do not respond.

"S'rather inconvenient, no?" he sighs, as though he actually cared.

You shut your eyes and curl into a ball.

"Mmm, well, I suppose I will have to claim the womanhood owed of me some other time," he said, uninterested. With that, he exits the room with a skip in his step, pleased to know he had such a tremendous effect on you.

You remain in this turmoil for what felt like hours.

By the time you peel yourself up from the floor, your body is encased in sweat. You command yourself to calm; you cannot afford to slip into another bout of insanity. Your tears cannot be contained as you struggle to undo the ties of your dress; at least tremendous relief comes after you do. You struggle to your feet and remove the pins in your hair while making for the vanity table.

You sit before yourself; your horrid face reflects on the mirror that was far too clear for your liking. As you free your hair from its bounds, you think, perhaps it was fortunate that your husband did not lay with you. At least not tonight.

But then, comes to mind, the argument you with your father. Your chest threatens to tighten again as the severity of his voice replays in your head.

It was no secret, Otto despised Daemon. How then could he be so shocked at your horror of learning he had approved your marriage to him. His raging voice still rings in your head: "you ungrateful fool!"

You fall apart in your palms and nearly succumb to yourself again. Thankfully, you manage to take deep breaths and pick yourself up before you fall apart.

You always knew you were the spare in your father's eyes, but you thought that merited indifference. You did not think he hated you so deeply. How could anyone hand their child to their enemy? Perhaps this was his way of finally having use of you.

A spare. A pawn. Will it ever end?

You go to bed and wrap yourself tightly under the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, praying the same prayer you've prayed since you were eight: Seven, let this be my final slumber.

You nearly choke when you are awoken by such violent shaking. You jolt up, or at least as much as you can from the blankets you were so tightly bound in.

Daemon grins and brings the hands he had shaken you with behind his back, "I would say good morn, but it is apparently opposite to you, wife."

The name makes your skin crawl. You push yourself out of the sheets and sit up. You wipe your face and tell yourself; you must get used to this, "good morrow, husband."

Your brown curls spill down your shoulder as you sigh to yourself. Daemon thinks you look much more palatable this way, unlike yesterday, when your hair was jailed so tightly. He motions with his head, "ta. We make haste to the dragon pit."

Your eyes are suddenly devoid of any trace of sleepiness as you look at him.

His lips remain curled, "it would only be proper to do so, no?" He does not let you retort, as he is already making his way out, "tis Caraxes' right to know who his master has been shackled to," he opens the door, "at least momentarily."

If he was self-satisfied with how you shook under his grasp last night, one can only imagine his exhilaration over your severe disinterest in meeting his mount this morning. What's more, Caraxes could smell your anxiety, and it made him chuff and snap his jaws.

Of course, Daemon chastised his dragon, telling him to obey, even though he very much did not want him to. He eagerly fantasizes: oh, a shame my bride died the day I introduced him to my ride.

A true shame.

"Calm yourself," Daemon sniggers as he forcefully pushes you towards the blood wyrm, "the harder you make this for yourself, the harder it will be."

You found no encouragement in that, for no part of it meant to encourage. You continue to writhe against him, pushing yourself back, only to be pressed against the prince's chest and urged forward. It didn't help that he shackled his hands on both of your wrists, preventing you from elbowing him away.

Though your hair was braided to the side, you still manage to whip it to Daemon's face in your attempt to free yourself, only causing him to be more impatient. You could not help the harrowing shriek that left you when he ultimately brought you to the beast's maw, and the said creature pressed himself against your chest to sniff you.

Caraxes rips away and shakes his head at your piercing reaction. He shrieks in like, as if disapproving, or showing offence. He must exact appropriate retaliation. He draws a deep breath, readying to set you ablaze. Daemon would have let him, had he not been a direct target of his mount's wrath, "keligon, Caraxes!"

Caraxes hisses.

"Keligon!" Stop!

He does not enjoy the order, exemplified by the way he licked his teeth, but obeys, nonetheless. He roars one last time, spit sputtering onto your face as he does. It's enough to make you finally lose your resolve.

You cease your wrangling and find yourself going limp in his arms. Daemon is pleased. He can finally drag you on dragon-back and torment you even more mid-air. What he did not know, however, was that your stomach was tingling; it was not that of the usual dread so familiar to you, but twas familiar still.

Daemon takes you by the arm and tries to make you climb up to the saddle, but then he stills when he hears the sound you make. He pulls away just before the acid from your stomach rushes out of your mouth. You retch so much it comes out of your nose, and you feel yourself grow lightheaded.

"Fucking gods," Daemon recoils in disgust. He turns to one of the dragon keepers and orders you away.

The dragon keeper, who looked far older than your father, spoke to you in a language you could not make out. You understand the part where he says maester as he leads you out of the pit. You manage to convey you no longer needed his assistance once you were out and walked off by yourself. You flinch and shriek when Daemon takes off on Caraxes.

You do not go to the maester's, instead, you have your servants draw you a warm bath and stay in it until it is cold. Only then do you scrub your skin until it is tender.

Once you were clean, you looked for the only person in the world that did not use your name interchangeably with hysteria: your twin.

"That uliginous blinkard," Gwayne slashes the dummy before him. You watch him pace from the bench you were sat upon. "He is incapable of procuring a morsel of dignity out of his wretched existence."

You clench you jaw when he chucks his sword to the ground.

"I should smother him in his sleep."

The thought chills you.

"But then I would be no better than he, would I not?" he seethes as he walks to your side, grabbing the towel beside you.

He wipes his face. You look up at him, a line forming between your brows, "remember you are my confidant, not my vindicator."

"If not I," he chucks his towel back beside you, "then who?" His forehead wrinkles, "an affront to my twin is worse than one to myself."

"Then you would know better than anyone that I share your sentiment," you grab his arm, hoping to calm him down.

His face is hard. He pushes your hand away.

You sigh, "and you know well that I suffer more in circumstances where you've acted on my behalf."

He clenches his jaw. He draws a deep breath and denies the thought with the shake of his head, "father will not hold it against-"

"Father holds everything against me," your eyes instantly water, "he would not be our father if he did not."

Your twin has never spoken your name any other way but in gentleness, yet it is precisely why it chips you apart. Gwayne continues, "be it as it may, but I do not believe that he gave to the prince— certainly not willingly."

You laugh and lift your countenance to the sky. Tears fall from the corner of your eyes, down your ears and neck, "does it matter?"

"It does," he urges, "he fought for you."

"He does not fight for me," you turn back to him, "allow yourself to come to terms with it as I have. It will hurt you less."

Gwayne does not manage a response as someone else speaks in that moment. The way you both tense at the sound is that of instinct.

"You vomited in the dragon pit?"

You turn over your shoulder and shoot up from where you sat. You watch as your father walks towards you. He places a hand on your neck and looks you up and down, "did the prince jostle you so on his ride?"

His touch is like a searing rod against your skin, his eyes, even worse. The raised hairs on your neck remain even as he pulls away. You quietly retort, "I did not even touch his saddle."

"Oh," Otto raises his brows, "then perhaps your affliction is that of you carrying."

Carrying?

Both you and Gwayne are mortified by the idea. You stutter, "s-surely it is not that quick."

"The blood of the dragon runs hot," he sighs, "as he would so boldly proclaim."

Your face burns upon hearing this.

Your father looks past you, "take your sister to the maester at once."

"No, I-"

"Make sure that she is good condition and take note of what will be instructed of her."

"That is not-"

"I am sure she will be required to take further precautions because of her affli-"

"We did not!" you blurt, finally regaining the attention of your father.

Your heart races as Otto looks at you. Suddenly, you are like a deer shot by an arrow, pained and powerless. He is annoyed that you interrupted him, only to say nothing. He presses, "we did not what?"

You take a strangled breath before reply, "we... did not consummate ou-"

"You what?!" he steps forward.

Gwayne immediately takes your arm, eager to get between you two, "father-"

But Otto does the same and pulls you toward him, "you did not consummate, or you did not want to consummate your marriage?"

Gwayne's hold on you falters. Your saliva lumps in your throat, "I-"

"You do understand the consequences if you do not bear your husband heirs, correct?"

You turn to your feet, unable to hold his heated glare, "I-"

"Look at me when I speak to you," he shakes you.

You lift your eyes, and hot tears begin to rush down your face.

"You've proven your point, father," Gwayne blurts, "release her."

"Release her?" Otto redirects his ire. Though he does just that, release you, it feels as though an iron clamp around your neck replaces your father's hold. "Even if I were to release her, boy, your dearest twin sister will not be free of the truth," he turns back to you, "nor my point. Your failure to do what is necessary will lead you straight into the dragon's belly."

You clench your jaw tighter than anyone should.

"Do you understand, girl?"

You nod before you allow yourself to breathe. You blurt, "yes, my lord."

Otto looks you once over before turning and walking away. The moment he is out of sight, you fold like a deck of cards, and Gwayne must keep you upright.

He hushes you and sits you back down. He kneels in front of you, observing if you were about to collapse into another episode. You do not, for he was with you, but you do weep until tears could no longer fall. He leads you to your room after this and urges you to rest.

You repeat the prayer you prayed on your wedding night before you sleep.

[ghostedgwen]

hiii how are you doing ^^?

I love your writing style so much and I was wondering if I could request a James x deaf!reader where they have a very bad first encounter as first years (because James is James and because he didn’t realize reader was deaf at first), and reader has protective friends who won’t let James get near reader anymore, which makes James more determined to get to know reader and befriend them? Alternatively you can obviously write the story however you like, angst is very appreciated!!

Thank you regardless!

patch your broken wings | j.potter

note : I love this request, I have been well and just celebrated mother's day yesterday! Hope you are well too! Thank you for reading my other fics, and for the kind words about my writing! I hope I did this request some justice, thanks for the creative liberty as well and FOR ANGST YESS! I love angst! I hope you enjoy <33 given how neutral "reader" was described in this request, this will be a general reader fic with 4.4k words

warnings : hufflepuff reader, also made the gender as neutral as possible so if I missed anything then pls lmk! reader is Deaf, James is clueless and kinda stupid, sprinkle of bullying, ableism, sorry fellow slytherins we're the villains again

Your parents were unsure about sending you to Hogwarts. Ever since you were a kid, you had known that you were different from kids your age, they had something you didn't.

But you had never felt lesser than them with the love your parents gave to fill any empty space that could ever break into the surface like a crack on polished marble.

So when your letter came, they were scared.

They did so well raising you with so much love and care, and it scared them to think of how the world outside their arms would treat you. How a world who did not have people like you often would react to your existence.

But they relented once Dumbledore paid them a visit and eased their worries. He has offered to do research on the matter, to offer any help he possibly could give you.

There was no cure, there is no curing you because you were born with it and if you would be honest, you didn't feel broken at all. Having been born Deaf, you never felt lacking.

That word was reserved for people who had something to begin with, and you didn't lack it at all. So you assured them you would be fine.

The world outside your home might not be as understanding, but it's a world you had to enter nonetheless, and no amount of keeping you safe could ever truly keep you inside.

Now, a first year - you look at the train, blinking in amusement at the bold red colour while the people around were bustling. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see your parents teary-eyed looking down at you.

You Mum signed, "I am going to miss you, hunny," her tears almost fell then, "you be good and write often, okay?"

You give them a firm nod, not allowing tears to come. You had to show them that you were brave, that you were fine and you were going to be okay.

After that, they watched you board the train and watched it leave. Off you go exploring the outside world beyond the walls they built for you, and they can't do anything but spectate.

You stepped into the train, nerves curling up in your stomach like smoke from a blown-out candle. It was loud inside - visually loud. Limbs and trunks and owls in cages, older students walking past in packs like they owned the whole place.

You hovered in the corridor for a second, unsure where to go.

You lingered near a compartment, scanning for an empty seat, nerves coiled tight in your gut.

Someone inside noticed you. A tall, freckled girl with a thick braid knocked twice on the glass and gave a friendly wave, beckoning you in.

You slid the door open, unsure how to explain, unsure if they'd mind but it beats sitting alone for the entire ride to your new life.

“Hey, you can sit here!” said the freckled girl.

You blinked, eyes flicking from her lips to her expression. She repeated it, Hey, you can sit here!, slower this time.

You nodded, grateful, and took the seat beside her.

There were two others already inside. One of them had wild hair and was digging through a pack of sweets. The other was curled up with a book and a pair of round glasses slipping down their nose.

The freckled girl leaned closer, speaking again, her lips moving fast.

You furrowed your brow. “Sorry,” you said carefully. “I’m Deaf.” you had hoped your voice didn't sound too strained and they were able to understand - you didn't try to speak much or at all.

She paused.

Then, slowly, and clumsily, she lifted her hands and signed: “You. Deaf?”

You blinked, surprised to read her hands.

“Yes,” you signed back, and then cautiously: “You know sign?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Little bit.” She fumbled the words, but her excitement was obvious. “Grandma lost hearing. I learn. . . still bad.”

“You’re not bad.” You smiled, stunned by the kindness. “Thank you.”

“Emma,” she added aloud, pointing to herself and also spelled it out with her hand, you smiled at that.

“Kip,” said the one with the sweets, throwing a jelly slug in their mouth. “And the library over there is Molly.”

Molly didn’t look up but gave a friendly wave.

The train rattled on toward Hogwarts, and as the countryside blurred by outside, Emma became your bridge with the other kids. When Kip said something, she translated. When Molly offered you a chocolate frog, Emma made sure you knew it wasn’t poisoned (probably). Every minute, you relaxed a little more.

By the time the train came to a halt, you felt a little less like you were stepping into a battlefield and more like you were stepping into something you might survive after all.

You stood with the rest of the first years near the front of the room, neck craning back to take it all in.

Your parents had told you all about it but it paled in comparison to the real thing - the floating candles, the vast ceiling and the esteemed Professor Dumbledore stood there so proud and tall.

Emma nudged you and pointed upward, “Look!”, and you gave a soft laugh, letting yourself be distracted.

You didn’t notice the boy walking up to you until he was already speaking.

“Hi!”

You didn’t hear it, you kept watching the enchanted ceiling in awe.

He stepped closer, waving. “Hi!” he said again, louder this time, a little too sure of himself.

You didn’t turn, barely feeling his presence from how distracted you were - your friends were chatting amongst themselves to notice him as well.

To him, it must have looked like you’d seen him and dismissed him entirely. Barely paying him any attention he didn't deserve.

James Potter frowned, shoulders squaring defensively. “Alright, then,” he muttered. “Bit rude.”

You still hadn’t looked. But Emma had, only catching the last bit he said.

She turned her head sharply just in time to catch his expression - the flash of wounded pride giving way to scorn. Her jaw tightened.

“Problem?” she asked sharply.

James blinked. “No. Just said hi.”

“Okay." Was all she said, dismissing him. James frowned and turned to Sirius who was watching the whole interaction.

"Whad'ya think that was all about?" James asked him and he shrugged.

"Must be future dark wizards in the making, already so stuck-up," Sirius rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I know the lot."

Second-Year.

It started with a bang, a rain of glitter and then a chorus of screams from fellow students.

And suddenly the whole courtyard was flooded with enchanted snow that didn’t melt, and every person within twenty feet had sprouted neon-blue hair.

You blinked in stunned silence as a goldfish swam lazily past your head - through the air, no water required, like the weirdest dream come to reality.

You turned in a slow circle, watching the chaos bloom.

Kip had his arms raised in surrender, laughing loudly as his robes billowed with sparkles. Emma was glaring daggers across the yard, muttering something vicious you couldn’t lip-read fast enough.

And you?

You were laughing. Hard.

Snowflakes caught in your lashes as you ducked a flying toad (you hoped it was a toad), your chest heaving with silent joy. You hadn’t expected it at all but it was so funny to you.

Emma came up beside you, brushing flakes off your shoulders with a tight-lipped expression.

“Are you okay?” she signed, clearly trying not to scowl.

“That was amazing,” you signed back, still grinning.

She rolled her eyes. “That was them. The Marauders, again.”

Kip shrugged beside her, tossing a jelly bean in his mouth. “Honestly? Bit iconic.”

Molly didn’t look up from her book, even with glitter settling into her hair. Nothing could tear her attention away from those pages, she was married to her books.

Emma shook her head, arms crossed. “Trouble. All four of them.”

You weren’t so sure.

From across the courtyard, one of them 0 dark messy hair, glasses slightly askew - caught your eye before Sirius shoved him hard in the shoulder, both of them laughing like they'd never been in trouble a day in their lives.

You smiled, just a little.

Third-Year.

“Potter and…” Professor Slughorn squinted at his parchment. “Yes, Potter and ____, you’ll be together today. Cauldrons out, everyone!”

You froze halfway through reading the book instructions for the Shrinking Solutions.

James Potter - loud, glitter-happy James Potter was now standing beside you, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Lucky you.”

You gave him a shy smile and nodded.

He took it as encouragement. “I’m not saying I’m great at potions, but I’m not terrible. Probably.”

You smiled again, a little smaller. You were unsure how to approach him, you admit you developed a little crush after that prank last year.

“Err. . . did you like the snowfish prank last year?” he asked, eyebrows wiggling playfully as he tossed a dried root toward your side of the table.

You caught it midair, smiling wider, but still didn’t speak. You couldn't tell him you loved it.

James hesitated. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Across the room, Emma was watching.

Her eyes were sharp, unreadable. Her fingers twitched like she was seconds from marching across the class and dragging you away. Remus who was assigned as her partner could only watch in amusement.

James followed your gaze briefly, then glanced back at you, confusion brewing.

You were fiddling with your stirring stick, too flustered to sign, unsure if he’d even understand.

He leaned closer, voice still friendly. “I mean, that’s cool, if you’re just shy. Sirius says I talk enough for three people.”

You gave a small shrug.

James flopped backwards onto his bed like gravity had betrayed him.

“I think I’m cursed,” he groaned, arm thrown over his eyes.

Sirius, halfway through braiding exploding snap cards into his hair for reasons no one dared ask, didn’t look up. “You’re cursed because . . .what? Slughorn paired you with a quiet person?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, it’s not just that.”

Peter popped his head out from behind his bed curtains. “Did they mess up the potion or something?”

“No! The potion was fine. It was me. I was awful. Embarrassing, really, I kept talking and they just looked at me. Smiled, like they were being polite while I absolutely embarrassed myself.”

Remus looked up from his book, already sighing. “So, business as usual.”

James groaned louder. “No, Moony, listen. I was trying to be nice! Charming, even! I said like, three whole jokes. And nothing! Just -tiny smiles. It was like talking to a wall. A very attractive wall, but a wall nonetheless.”

Peter snortedat his words, unexpectedly. Remus stared at him for a second. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

James peeked out from under his arm. “Get what?”

Remus shut his book with a soft thud. “They’re Deaf, James.”

There was a pause.

“. . .what?”

“____. They’re Deaf.”

James sat up so fast he knocked a pillow to the floor.

“They’re what?”

“Deaf,” Remus repeated calmly, folding his hands in his lap. “As in, they can’t hear you.”

“No - no, that can’t be right. I would’ve - someone should’ve - ” He looked around like the truth might be hiding in the bedposts. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “You ever ask?”

James stared at him. “No!”

“There’s your answer, then,” Sirius said, flicking a card at him. It exploded harmlessly near his foot.

“I was just - I was making conversation. I thought they were just shy!” James buried his face in both hands. “I said a joke about armadillo bile, Remus, and they smiled. They smiled like it was funny.”

“Well, maybe it was,” Remus said, deadpan. “Unlikely, but maybe.”

James groaned again, flopping backward. “Oh my God, they probably think I’m a prat.”

“They probably didn’t think much of it at all,” Remus said. “You didn’t know. Just don’t be a git now that you do.”

James peeked through his fingers. “How do you even know?”

Remus leaned back. “I read. I observe. Emma Hopkins, the other Hufflepuff signs with them all the time. It’s not exactly a secret.”

James stared at the ceiling, a quiet, guilty sort of energy settling over him. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No arguments here,” Sirius muttered, smirking at his dramatic antics.

James ignored him. “I want to fix it.”

Remus snorted. “You just learned about it five minutes ago, besides you didn't break anything.”

“I know,” James said. “But I was so weird today. If they thought I was just annoying and pushy - and they couldn’t even tell me to shut up, Merlin, that’s awful.”

He sat up again, something determined growing in his eyes. “I’m going to learn sign.”

Remus blinked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even do your Divination homework.”

“This is different.” James stood like a man with a mission. “I’ve got to make it up to them.”

“You could also just. . .not,” Sirius offered lazily. “People exist without being your friends, you know.”

But James wasn’t listening. He was already digging through his trunk.

Peter watched him, baffled. “Do you even know how to start?”

“No,” James said cheerfully. “But I’ll figure it out. Can’t be harder than Quidditch.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling a little.

James may have missed the point at first - but now that he knew?

He wasn’t going to stop trying. Because what is James Potter if not determined to figure out a way to get his crush to like him back?

James lingered after class. You had already left with Emma, her hand gently on your back as she guided you down the corridor, her hands moving in quick, practiced signs.

James stood in the doorway, watching your silhouette retreat, guilt curling like smoke in his chest.

Remus fell into step beside him, a quiet presence as always. Sirius, on the other hand, jabbed James in the ribs with a smirk.

“She’s not going to bite you,” Sirius said, tilting his chin toward Emma, who had just glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“No,” James muttered. “But she might try to hex me.”

Before he could start walking, Emma doubled back, her robes swishing around her ankles as she blocked his path.

James blinked. “Err - hi?”

Emma crossed her arms. “Look, I don’t know what this is.”

“What what is?”

“This sudden interest,” she said coolly. “I remember you back in first-year.”

James shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize - ”

“I know you didn’t,” she said, and her voice wasn’t cruel, just careful. “But it’s not about that.”

He frowned. “Then what is it about?”

Emma glanced past him to where the rest of the Marauders were waiting. “You and your friends pull stunts that leave half the school coughing up glitter or dodging enchanted dungbombs. You cause chaos for fun. And maybe that’s fine for you. But not everyone wants to be caught in the splash zone.”

James looked confused. “We’ve never pranked them.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped, then took a breath and softened, just a touch. “You don't mean harm, Potter. I know that. But harm doesn’t always come from bad intentions.”

James opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Emma’s gaze held steady. “They don’t need to be dragged into one of your harebrained adventures. They’ve got enough to handle without dodging slytherins or getting swept into another ‘legendary’ Marauder mess.”

“I wasn’t - ” he tried, helplessly, “I just wanted to talk.”

Emma gave a faint sigh. “That's up to them if they want to talk to you. But please remember, leave them out of your mess.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

James stood still for a long minute. He hadn’t been trying to drag anyone into anything. He just . . .wanted to talk to you.

But maybe Emma was right. Maybe his world - the loud, laughing, explosive one - wasn’t safe for someone like you.

Still, he couldn't shake the look on your face when you smiled at him earlier.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would mean to be someone safe for you, instead.

Fourth-Year.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual chaos - floating candles, gleaming plates, and the low hum of returning students catching up after summer. The Sorting Hat had finished its song, and plates were filling themselves like magic (because, well, it was.).

At the Hufflepuff table, you were smiling at something Kip signed (Emma has been teaching them the basics) while Emma inspected a suspicious-looking pudding. You didn’t notice the Gryffindor boy striding confidently across the hall until he stopped right in front of you.

James Potter. He smiled, maybe a little nervously, and then -

He signed : “Hi. How was your summer?”

The room didn’t go silent. But your table did, or the ones who saw at least.

Your eyes widened. You blinked once. then again, trying to register if you saw that right and it appears you did.

Emma froze mid-bite, fork halfway to her mouth.

You stared at James for a beat too long. Then slowly, you lifted your hands and signed back: “It was great. I read a lot of books. You?”

James lit up like a Lumos spell, reading your hands with practised ease.

“Brilliant. Spent half of it elbow-deep in sign books and tea.”

You laughed. It was quiet and mostly breath, but real, and surprised, and warm. Emma still looked wary beside you, but even she didn’t interrupt.

James gave you a mock salute. “See you around.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to Gryffindor, smug as anything.

Back at his table, Sirius blinked. “Did you just flirt in another language?”

“Shut up,” James said, grinning and flushing all at once.

Peter leaned in, eyes wide. “Can you teach me? That was so cool.”

James beamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.”

Remus just nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

James Potter, for once, had said something without speaking, and it had finally been the right thing.

It was quiet in the corridor outside the library, too quiet. The torches flickered low and cast long, crawling shadows across the stone.

You had come alone, just a quick errand, returning a borrowed book before dinner. You liked these quiet walks. Or at least, you used to.

But something shifted in the air behind you. You didn’t hear them approach. You only felt the way the air changed - colder somehow, staler. The moment your hand touched the brass handle, a figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Then another. Then three more.

Green and silver. Slytherins.

One of them sneered. You couldn’t catch all their words, but you could read lips - and their expressions said the rest.

“Look who’s pretending to be special.”

“It was bad enough you're a Puff, but had to get associated with that blasted Potter, huh?”

“Maybe he likes broken things, he even got that scarred Loopy-n with him.”

Your stomach dropped. You backed up, hands hovering slightly, unsure if you should sign for help or run. Your fingers trembled.

They didn’t wait.

“She can’t even hear us. Isn’t that hilarious?” / “Wonder if it’s the same blood that made her Deaf. Must be rotten.” / “Magical defect. An abomination.”

The first jinx hit your side - hard. You stumbled into the wall, your bag spilling across the stone floor.

A second jinx flew, catching your hand, your signing hand - leaving it red and raw, already swelling. You gasped, clenching your wrist, pain blooming like fire up your arm.

You tried to shout, sign - anything. But your vision blurred, and you felt the walls closing in.

And then, bright light. You couldn't really tell what was going on, unable to listen in for context so you just watched as the Slytherins scattered like startled crows as a hex snapped past your head and exploded against the far wall.

You looked up in shock.

James Potter stood at the end of the corridor, wand raised, jaw clenched.

He didn’t hesitate. He advanced on them like a storm, wand flashing. He was shouting angrily but you couldn't read his lips well enough.

They didn’t try to fight back at all and there were more of them, they ran. He didn’t watch them go. He was already kneeling next to you, wide-eyed.

“Hey - hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, fast, panicked. “You’re alright. You’re - bloody hell, your hand - ”

You flinched when he reached for you.

James froze. “No, no, wait - I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You stared at him, confused, shaking. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form the signs properly with your hand the way it was. You didn’t understand what he was saying, not completely, but his face said concern and regret and please don’t be scared of me.

Still, you edged back against the wall, trembling.

James reached slowly for your book that dropped a foot away, and handed it to you, his hands open and careful.

Then footsteps thundered down the hall.

Emma, Kip and Molly. Your friends, two in yellow robes and one in blue.

Emma’s eyes widened when she saw you on the floor, then immediately narrowed when she saw who was next to you.

“You.” She shoved James back, hard enough to make him stumble. “What did you do?!”

James’s mouth dropped open. “What? Nothing! I - they - I helped - !”

“They're injured, Potter!” Kip was already crouching beside you, inspecting your wrist with a worried frown. “Back off.”

“I didn’t - I swear, I stopped them!”

“I told you to stop before they get more attention,” Emma snapped, wrapping her arm protectively around your shoulder. “It's bad enough the heat we get from those snakes, you just had to bring the spotlight.”

You didn’t know what was being said exactly, but you could tell -Emma’s sharp voice, the way Kip pulled you close, the way James stood still and heartbroken and helpless.

James stepped back, hands falling uselessly to his sides. He didn’t argue anymore, nor did he fight.

He just watched as your friends gathered around you, guarding you like a flame in the wind, and led you away.

You looked back once, barely and James stayed frozen in that corridor, alone.

Kip was pacing, Emma had her arms crossed tight, and Molly has finally abandoned her books.

You sat curled into one of the armchairs, your hand bandaged and propped on a cushion, your eyes on the fire.

Then, finally, you started signing, slowly at first. Kip was the first to catch on, eyes flicking to your hands and back to your face.

“They were waiting for me. The Slytherins. I didn’t hear them come up. They said horrible things.”

Emma moved to your side instantly, her hand on your arm.

“They said I was wrong. That I shouldn’t exist. That I was - ” You looked away. “And then they hurtme.”

Kip’s fists clenched. “What?!”

“I couldn’t get away fast enough.” You swallowed, then added, “But James came.”

You looked up, meeting Emma’s sharp stare. “He fought them. He made them run.”

Emma’s jaw tightened. “Still doesn’t mean he gets a medal.”

“He didn’t expect one,” you signed softly. “He looked like he’d cry.”

Molly finally spoke up after heaving a sigh loudly. “They like him,” she said simply, nodding at you. “They’ve liked him.”

Kip’s head snapped around. “Wait - what? You and Potter?”

You flushed, your hands going still in your lap.

Emma heaved a long, slow sigh. “I guess. . . ” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t guard you forever. You’re your own person. If you want to do this, we’ll stand by you. But if he hurts you - Helga, I'll hex his bollocks.”

You smiled faintly. “He won’t.”

You turned to Emma again and signed: “I’m going to tell him. We’ll figure it out together.”

Emma just nodded once, fierce and fond.

The air was crisp, sun catching the edges of gold leaves as they fluttered down into the courtyard. James stood with Remus by the arched stone entryway, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“Hopkins said they wanted to talk?” James muttered, nervous.

Remus smiled. “Looks like your bravery’s about to be tested somewhere besides a Quidditch pitch.”

James shot him a look. “Not helping.”

Then he spotted you.

You stepped into the courtyard, hands tucked into your sleeves, expression unreadable - but calm and focused.

You glanced up at him, and James straightened instantly.

Remus gave a low whistle and faded back into the hallway with a muttered, “Good luck, Romeo.”

You reached James, heart thudding.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He raised his hands instead, signing slowly: “Are you okay?”

You nodded. Then you signed: “Why did you learn sign?”

James blinked, surprised at the sudden inquiry. Then his face softened. “You.”

You raised your brows. “Me?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Properly,” he said. “And I - I like you. I didn’t want you to keep being the one left out. Or for me to be the idiot who didn’t know how to listen.”

You smiled, and it was slow, a little shaky. “I like you too.”

James stared at you. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “I came to say it out loud - or sign it out loud.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it all year.

“Do I still have a chance?” he asked.

You didn’t need your hands to answer. You just grinned and nodded again. James took a step closer. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you. From them, from anyone.”

“I believe you.”

He hesitated, just for a moment - then signed, awkward but earnest: “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t sign back.

You leaned in and kissed him.

His hands found your cheeks, careful and warm, and yours found the hem of his jumper. It was a kiss with trembling nerves and quiet relief.

When you pulled back, you laughed under your breath. James then thought in that very moment that he ought to preserve that smile and laughter.

end. masterlist

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

WEEPING WILLOW

summary: alternative universe where die young reader lived and actually met her siblings yet still she meets her end even in another universe.

Time never stops, nor does the world yet, whenever I peer back at your picture name , I feel like time has for you. You still look youthful , still vibrant as if the world's cruelties haven't touched you yet. Haven't gutted you out and left you for nothing.

For the first time in twelve years, I visited that tree you were so insistent on seeing that day . It's an old willow that overlooks a sea - straight out of a picture book like the ones you always read before you sleep.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore name , not without you here anymore . It feels empty and cold without you. Big brother Dick has yet to visit Gotham , his last visit was your own funeral.

Your other older brother Jason started getting violent again every patrol , he beats up criminals so bloody they practically flee. Tim hasn't said much , he's been so quiet, and he just floats around now . Damian took your death the hardest .

He sleeps in your bed every night , wailing to himself about it. Barbra and Stephanie are trying to keep the family afloat, but they know deep down we're cracking. Duke stopped playing hockey - he says it feels so wrong to not when your not there to throw the puck back at him.

Alfred started back drinking and smoking - we hear him in dead of night sobbing and pleading for you to come back home. Bruce stopped living - he barely eats , sleeps , he barely does anything . Every day, he visits your grave , flowers in hand, and just wails about everything.

Again, the willow tree on that hill just sways to the beat of the calm breeze , as if time doesn't affect it. No one would ever understand why on that Sunday you went to that willow tree alone .

No one would understand why you hugged us all so hard before you had set off . No one will ever understand why your body was found laying on the bark of the tree so lifeless and cold .

We will never understand why you choose to go by yourself - why not go with us around you. Uncle Clark told Bruce, " Name was always a kind child , she didn't want you all to have the last memory of her to be sad sad." Your dad punched him in the face - he had argued , " my child didn't have to go through death by herself!" .

We would never know why - it's not like you're here anymore to tell us to comfort us. Long gone with the Friday nights, we all stayed up past 4 A.M. , all ganging up on Bruce and Tim in monopoly, Dick always quick to tackle Tim to the floor because he swears he robbed him of $100.

Gone were the days we'd all make bets if Damian was going to walk in with a new stray to his name and watch him and Bruce go back and forth on it. It feels like yesterday when Barbra , Steph and Cass took you to sephora and convinced you to buy that one overpriced lipstick. It's still sat on your nightstand idly.

Gone were the late nights , Jason and you would have snuck out late to drive around Gotham on his motorbike and stop by Dairy Queen. Gone were the quiet evenings spent with you and Tim building a castle on ya'lls minecraft base.

Gone were the days you and Damian would argue when you would both try to build legoes and would fail miserably . Alfred misses the times where you use to join him in attempting to cook - god knows the evidence of your attempt to fry an egg is still stuck on the ceiling.

Bruce misses your hugs the most - you were the only child he had that actively hugged him, and he missed the way how after patrols you always made him hot chocolate .

Nothing feels right - never will because you're not here . It feels wrong to walk these halls, knowing you would have walked them too . It's weird living knowing you could have been living - breathing along with them.

It feels like no matter what universe we have you in , you always leave, and it always hurts. Why must in every universe you leave us behind ? Why must every other universe does God have to take you away ?

Why must in every universe we always mourn you ? It hurts - it hurts so much to watch your body be covered in soil . No one talks about how you practically hold your breath when you see your loved one go down in that grave as if - by some miracle, they'd open their eyes and jolt out the grave. It sounds so ridiculous, but they'd never get that desperation of wanting that loved one to be alive.

It hurts when we hear about the rumors - the rumors that you killed yourself ? That you went to the willow tree to end your life ? Bruce had practically went raging mad that evening when he got word - that same night, the entire PR team got to work into suing those persons.

Some suspected you got possessed because you had sold your sold your soul off - that's why you hugged us all before you left - you didn't want the demon to follow the family back home. It was a stupid rumor going around in school, and Damian had practically beat the shit out of the senior who started it.

Some said we abused you - that had Alfred cursing them out because how dare they - you were loved in this family and still very much loved even though you are long gone.

No one would know , not even we will - all we know was one Sunday evening . Dinner was being set up when Bruce got a call from Comissioner Gordon , " Two passerbys reported seeing your daughter laid unresponsive atop Willow Hills" .

Bruce dropped everything in that moment and immediately bolted to that willow tree , the others running behind him . He didn't wanna believe it - wants to believe you're just asleep - had just accidentally dozed off and lost track of time because there was no way in hell his 15 year old daughter is dead.

When the others reached him , they just saw him embracing you and crying his heart out . You were long gone , had long passed away without them, and none of them knew how to handle that reality .

We miss you name , please come home , we need you back .

▬▬ Wayne Family

Taglist ▬▬

@itsmossy @sugarrush-blush @shirp-collector-of-fixations @anteroz @cxcilla @shynerdtriumph @amber-content @azulesworld @1abi @crazycaoticsimp

ty for reading <3

[ghouljams]

Thoughts on virgin ghost?

Yeah, many. Love the idea of Ghost being a virgin especially in the context of his sexual assault in the comics. Love the idea that he went "that doesn't count, that wasn't sex." Or Alternatively that everything was nonpenatrative for plausible deniability to fuck with Ghost's head, leaving him with a huge complex around sex and his sexuality that makes the idea of actually engaging in intimacy feel like an insurmountable task.

Love the idea that maybe Ghost just never got around to it, was just so focused on survival that he never considered sex as an option for himself. Now he thinks he's too late to the game, sitting in the corner of the pub and glaring down a bird that any man 10 years younger than him would walk up to, trying to will her to come over and talk to him. Absolutely scaring the hoes every time he attempts to talk to one of them because he has no qualms with saying exactly what he's thinking. Can't be telling birds you just met that you wanna split them open and watch them cry on your cock, they'll call security.

I'd let that man get all the way up to captaining his own squad before I let him lose his virginity, grabbed by a bird at the bar and hauled into a restroom stall, forced onto his knees and the only thing Ghost gets to think is "this must be what heaven looks like" before his mouth is pulled against her cunt.

[guardianlegends64]

[Open RP] Alternative Love Life Universe of Sunny Day Jack In “Double Love in Neptune University”

[Note: This is an Alternative Love Life Universe and the Beginning of Sunny day Jack As Music and Vulgar Words and also romance are also Allowed but Only those who are 21 or older can RP]

In the Great but a chilly Weather of September and the Beautiful City of London there were Two Men walking to their First day to University and these two men were named Joseph and Elijah as these two were both half brothers and they were talking how Joseph will create his very own show as Elijah Wanted to be a successful Singer but also wanted to help and support Joseph’s idea on creating his show After They’re Both were Finished with University…

Both Joseph and Elijah were going to the biggest University in the whole City of London and which is Ultimately and Extraordinarily and Uniquely Hard to enter or to be selected to be in the University but both Joseph and Elijah Worked Together Incredibly and Extraordinarily and with great potential and Talents That they were Selected to be in Neptune University!

Though The Two may have some Incredible Similarities and resemblance but just a Few Key Points of Comparison and with a Unique precision of eyes and ears can make a difference between the two of them!

Both men have the Same Height [11ft], Age [30] , eye Color[Blue], The Same Hair Color [Black], Same Haircut [Straight], Incredible Strength and Physic! Many people think that they’re twins but Just a Closer Eye and unique hearing would make a great difference!

Both Men are Exponentially Wealthy but do not spend as much because they don’t want to spend on Any Essential and Needed Items just yet…

The Two continue to walk on their way to University as they meet many other students who were also Selected to Neptune University and those Students were Surprised to see them…

Both Elijah and Joseph Have very Special Talents and Secrets that no one ever knows about because no one has ever seen their talents with their very own eyes and ears…

When the two Entered the University they firstly encountered a Group that were Picking And Harassing and Bullying on a student on the First Day of University…

Elijah and Joseph never Liked those who bullied and Harass others and the innocent who can never fend for themselves as Joseph cooled everything down and talked about ever messing around with any other students is incredibly uncool as a few of the bullies were intimidated by his presence before others try to talk back with Fierce Expressions until Elijah walked in and asked if there was a problem and trying to say anything about his half brother as the whole group was deeply afraid and intimidated by their Presence and Powerful Aura the group of Bullies walked away with no words…

Joseph Chuckled and Elijah just smiled as the student Thanked them for the save…

Then the Two Started Exploring the University and as they were almost done exploring the entire building… they then were on their way to their Dormitory in which they came across with someone that Catches their very own eyes and someone that they never seen or met before in their lives and that someone was a female student with Very Magnificent color of eyes that she also caught her eyes on them too as it was Synced but until…

Some Student with a Toxic Personality interrupted the connection and Synchronization and was starting to act Inappropriately and Forcing to Speak with The Female Student as Both Elijah and Joseph heard her saying…

“(Your OC’s Name):Leave Me Alone!”

Then Elijah and Joseph intervened and they were going stop the Toxic student who was Acting Inappropriately trying to Forcefully greet The Female Student as the Toxic student’s Name was Atlas and who Had a Dark Aura and as there weren’t any Teachers around as Joseph and Elijah who had to step in and stop him from ever proceeding with his actions and behavior as Atlas Questioned them angrily from interrupting his Conversation but then Realized that it would become too difficult and it would bring A Ton of Unwanted Attention as Altas then Walked away Grumbling angrily as Elijah and Joseph Looked at him Knowing that he will come back…

Elijah and Joseph Reassured The Female Student to see and just to be sure that she’s Safe and Sound as they both noticed that she’s nearly the same age as they are…

“Joseph: Hey You’re alright There?”

“Elijah: That guy didn’t do anything inappropriate to ya did he?”

The two Asked Her Politely and calmly as The Female student then spoke and Said to them…

[themoonlightfae]

So Close

Pairings: Fem!Reader x Hongjoong and Wooyoung

Summary:

Wooyoung crashes your and Hongjoong's scheduled hangout day, which you kinda expected.

You wind up in bed with them.

Which you did NOT expect.

Genre: Friends to Lovers

WC: 6,078

Rating: Explicit

Originally Published: 250530 on ao3

Tags: Under the cut

A/N: For @spacequokka

Tags: friends to lovers, hangouts, implied cannabis use, awkward crush, awkwardness, first kiss, safe sane and consensual, threesome - F/M/M, safewords, oral sex, vaginal fingering, sex toy use, sexual overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, post-coital cuddling, defining the relationship, happy ending

And these could be the best or darkest days The lines we walk are paper thin And we could pull this off or push away 'Cause you and me have always been So close So close to giving up So close to going all the way

~ Andrew McMahon in the Wildnerness, "So Close"

You hurried to get the door as someone stood on the other side, endlessly mashing the doorbell. There wasn’t a single doubt in your head who might be the culprit, and sure enough, you opened the door to find Hongjoong there as planned, with Wooyoung at his side, a wide smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. 

“I picked up a stray,” Hongjoong laughed. "Hope that's okay with you. Wooyoung didn't seem to think it would be."

“Oh, gee, both my best friends here together? You’ll have no objections from me,” you laughed as Wooyoung stepped forward to envelop you in a full on koala hug. You froze as he gave you a peck on the cheek, suddenly self-conscious in front of Hongjoong. You’d had a huge crush on Hongjoong or quite a while now, and although you were sure he didn’t feel the same, some small part of your brain was still clinging to the hope that one day he’d up and confess some feelings of his own.

Until then, you supposed you didn’t mind the alternative. When you had moved six years ago, you had never imagined that you’d have found such caring and kind friends in your new city, but the universe clearly had had plans for you. You had bumped into Hongjoong and Wooyoung one night at a late movie— quite literally in fact. You still remembered the resultant mess— the contents of two large buckets of popcorn strewn across the floor, drinks spilled, and several angry staff. 

The wild laughter that followed from all three of you was enough for said staff to ask you all to leave, and your newfound acquaintances lost no time in inviting you to their favorite 24 hour diner as an alternative.

Since then, the three of you had been joined at the hip, and you had quickly fallen in with the rest of their friend circle to boot. 

“I brought snacks,” Hongjoong announced as Wooyoung detached himself from you. Woo grinned mischievously. 

“I brought something too,” he giggled. 

“Should I be scared?” You feigned horror as you let them in, though you had a feeling you knew what the surprise was.

Hongjoong made a beeline for the kitchen, and Wooyoung sauntered in behind him, that same grin never leaving his lips. 

“Let’s just say… I thought of a way we can really… elevate … our rot day,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. 

Called it. What a dork. But also… hmm. I hope that doesn’t make things weird.

Hongjoong appeared at your elbow, slipping an arm around you and giving you a gentle side hug, causing your heart to drop into your feet. You knew that he was generally hesitant when it came to skinship, and more than a little picky about who he chose to allow himself to be close to. You had noticed over the last several months that he seemed to be getting more comfortable with you, which had been both a blessing and a curse. Part of you wanted at the very least to be able to cuddle with him the way you sometimes did with Wooyoung.

The rest of you knew that was a supremely terrible idea; the more Hongjoong paid you attention, the harder it was to talk yourself out of your stupid crush.

You knew if it ever escalated from where you were now, you were a goner.

Absolutely unfair, really.

Once the three of you were comfortably sprawled out around the living room— you and Hongjoong on opposite ends of the sectional and Wooyoung in your old, well-worn recliner, Woo reached for his computer bag with a giggle. 

“So… I brought gummies,” he announced. “No one is obligated of course, but they’re here if anyone wants.” 

You watched as he opened the small pack and ate one himself, holding it out to you next.

"Jagiya?"

You tried to ignore the tingle down your spine at the pet name.

“Oh, sure, why not,” you shrugged, and Woo tossed the bag to you. Although it wasn’t a regular occurrence for you, you did occasionally enjoy getting out of your head like this. The few times you had done so had really amped your creativity, to the point where you could absolutely see why Wooyoung had recommended it in the first place. As a budding writer, you were now nearly done with your very first novel, and you had scads of ideas logged away for future endeavors.

You checked the dose on the bag before partaking, and held it out to Hongjoong.

“Joongie?”

“Sure, just don’t make fun of me if I fall asleep immediately,” he giggled. “Might as well at least try to be on the same level once you and Wooyoung get even more silly I guess.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Wooyoung said airily as he turned to his book. “I’m very serious all the fucking time.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Hongjoong scoffed as he downed his gummy and opened his laptop. 

“Someday someone will believe me,” Wooyoung said solemnly. “Just you wait.”

“Music preferences?” You interjected as Hongjoong made a face at Wooyoung.

“No preference,” both of them said in unison. 

“Weird nostalgia playlist it is,” you shrugged, pulling up a lengthy playlist of your old favorites and hitting play. 

“Weird playlist for the weirdo,” Woo said. “Who’d have thunk.”

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, laughing brightly as he did so. 

“You asked the elder emo what she wanted to listen to, now live with the consequences, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to government name me,” Woo pouted as he snuggled down further under your favorite blanket and picked up his book again. “Gosh.”

“Are there days people don’t have to do that?” Hongjoong asked, eyes never leaving his computer, but you could see the faint smirk on his lips.

His stupid, perfect, disgustingly kissable lips. 

You tried to internalize the sigh as you turned to your writing. You had been having some trouble with the resolution of one of the core relationship conflicts, which annoyed you in more ways than one, but mostly because at this point you felt it was just a parallel to your predicament with your crush on Hongjoong.

You shook your head as you began to feel the effects of the gummy, and glanced over to your friends. Wooyoung was engrossed in his book, one foot sticking out from under the blanket as he lay sprawled out on the recliner, absentmindedly cuddling one of your Stitch plushies. 

Hongjoong, however, was staring at you, eyes slightly glazed over, and you froze, quickly looking back to your computer screen. You heard a small kerfuffle and peered to the right as best you could without moving your head to see Hongjoong closing his laptop and moving the tray table aside.

“I need a snack,” he said hurriedly.

“Ooh, munchies already?” Woo asked. “Will you bring me the bag of gummy worms?” He added.

“Sure,” Hongjoong nodded. He turned to you, cheeks visibly flushed. “Do you want something?”

“I don’t suppose you brought pretzels—” You started, and Woo began to giggle.

“Hongjoong was sure to pick out some of your favorite snacks,” Woo said, brushing his long black hair out of his face. 

“I got two kinds of hummus,” Hongjoong mumbled. “Roasted garlic and that lemon dill one you like.”

“Roasted garlic please,” you hummed happily. 

Not like I’m gonna be kissing anyone anytime soon.

You immediately regretted this thought, as your thoughts were loosening up further, and you were well aware of where they’d go if you let them run unchecked. You turned back to your writing instead, but found yourself just staring at the screen. You startled when Hongjoong appeared in front of you, offering the bag of pretzels and a small dipping cup of hummus.

“Thanks Joongie,” you said, and now it was your turn to blush. You noticed Wooyoung was staring at you and Hongjoong, the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

You watched as Hongjoong quietly returned to his station on the sofa and reopened his laptop. 

“What are you working on?” You asked him, your curiosity getting the best of you. Hongjoong had been designing clothing since you’d known him, but he had recently been hired by a brand local to you, and they had immediately asked him to design a line for them. You knew he was excited, but you also had no doubt that he was probably stressing over it too. But now, with relaxation flowing through his veins, he happily scooted closer to you, bringing his laptop with him.

You listened, your slight haze growing a bit as Hongjoong animatedly walked you through the dress designs he’d been working on that week. He was quick to blush as you complimented his work, raving over a few designs in particular that you knew you’d have to have for your own closet. Hongjoong returned to his end of the couch, now seventeen shades of red. Out of nowhere, Wooyoung chuckled to himself, and your eyes flicked to him. As you suspected, he was not laughing at his book, but he was looking at you with a knowing grin.

You hadn’t meant to let Wooyoung know about your crush, but if anyone was good at reading people, and even better at learning their secrets, it was Jung Wooyoung. You glowered as you tried to return to your writing, but your brain was too far gone, and the only thing left was Hongjoong. The snack you’d had had only served to elevate you further, and you flipped over to your socials instead as the room fell quiet again, save for the music still playing over the speaker. 

You jumped as you got a Discord notification from Wooyoung.

Wooyounggg_ [2:53pm]: Hongjoong keeps staring at you :)

You tapped out an answer, your eyes flicking over to Hongjoong. Sure enough, he was looking at you again, and your heart skipped a beat.

You [2:54pm]: Listen here you absolute carrot don't make me murder you I like that chair too much to bloody it up

Wooyoung burst into a fit of giggles, and you rolled your eyes. Hongjoong remained oblivious, though he had managed to wrestle his gaze back to his own computer.

You [2:54pm]: He’s just super stoned. Remember the time Mingi gave him half of one of his homemade brownies and he slept for 20 hours? Poor guy is probably totally zonked.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: I will never forget or let our darling Joongie live it down. But it’s not just that.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: You know as well as I do that people tend to be more real when they’re under the influence. ;) 

You sighed. He was right, of course. You knew this from experience.

Most notably, the first time you and Woo had gotten high together, which had started quite innocently, and had ended in heated makeouts and an all-nighter for the history books. Since then, the two of you had decided to just be friends, but you knew you’d never get those memories out of your head.

If you were being really, truly honest with yourself, you liked both of them. You had realized quickly that you had more of an attachment to Wooyoung than you wanted to admit.

But the risk of ruining everything had kept you from going any further with him, and anywhere at all with Hongjoong. They were friends. That was that. As much fun as you’d had with Woo during your previous escapades, you knew you couldn’t chance repeating it.

Your head snapped to the side as you heard Hongjoong sputtering, and Wooyoung began to laugh again. Joong was clearly loopy now, not that you were faring much better, though you were also willing to bet you were slightly more functional than him, considering he had entirely missed his mouth when taking a drink, dumping water down his shirt instead. 

“Fucking fuck,” he muttered. You flitted to the kitchen to grab a towel, bringing it back to him and helping him clean up. You took a seat next to him, sensing some prickliness, and gently laid a hand on his forearm. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as his gaze flicked from yours, to your hand, and back again.

Seconds later, he was pulling away, shoving his laptop into his bag, muttering about how he should probably head home and lie down. Your eyes stung with tears, and you silently admonished yourself for reacting the way you were. You had been scared it was only a matter of time before you overstepped somehow. 

And of course all of us being zooted helps exactly nothing.

He was out the door in less than five minutes, leaving you sitting on the couch, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. Wooyoung was next to you almost unreasonably quickly. 

“You okay, jagi?”

“I don’t know what I did,” you sighed, ignoring the pet name. 

“I’ll go get him,” Wooyoung told you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No,” you said, taking a swig of water. “Um. I’ll go.”

Wooyoung did not say a word, but gave you a sly grin. You rolled your eyes yet again and clambered to your feet, donning a pair of slippers as you stepped outside to go find Hongjoong. 

You were surprised to find he had not gone far, and was standing just outside your apartment door, fumbling with a rideshare app. You closed the door behind you quietly, clearing your throat quietly. Hongjoong jumped, nearly throwing his phone.  

“Joongie. What’s wrong?” You frowned. “I thought we were having a nice day.”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just… thought maybe I should go home? I don’t know. I just.” He shook his head. “I can’t think straight right now is all.”

“Why leave though?” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t even understand what hap—“

Your sentence was cut short as Hongjoong stepped to you, slipping his arms around your waist and tugging you to him roughly, his lips crashing onto yours in a heated, desperate kiss. You gasped against his lips, but it did not deter him, not that you minded in the slightest. He pushed you back against the door with a thump , pressing his body to yours in the same second as he continued to kiss you like his entire existence depended on it. 

Your head was spinning now, and you thought you heard a cackle from the other side of the door. You broke the kiss, and a split second later Wooyoung opened the door. Hongjoong caught you before you tumbled backwards, pulling you back to him and holding you tightly. 

“Hey there kids,” Wooyoung said gleefully. “Having fun out here?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you and Hongjoong said in unison. 

“All I’m saying is it’s more comfortable in here,” Woo said insistently, and you caught the wink he gave you. 

Carefully, you extracted yourself from Hongjoong’s grasp, and he allowed you to lead him back into the apartment, though you could tell he was somewhat timid, his face still flushed red. 

“Should I leave you guys to it?” Wooyoung asked, still grinning from ear to ear as you and Hongjoong sat down together on the sofa. “Or…” He winked at you again. 

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung. 

“You know,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Jung Wooyoung, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

“I mean…” he shrugged. “I bet I could show Hongjoong a thing or two.”

“Wait, wait,” Hongjoong said, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Did… did you guys sleep together?!”

“There is a distinct possibility that that is a thing that happened,” you admitted. “Sorry we didn’t tell you. It was totally an impromptu thing and it didn’t happen again and I didn’t want to—“

“Well that’s not fair,” Hongjoong said calmly, interrupting as he scooted closer to you. Carefully, he pushed you back against the pillows next to you, and before you knew it, his upper body was pressing you down further as he kissed you again, with a renewed fervor that left your head spinning even more than it had been. He broke the kiss after a few moments, and you stared at him blankly. He had not moved, his weight on top of you comforting yet insanity-inducing. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Is…” You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your head and knowing it was a losing battle all the same. “Is this real?”

“Hmm, sounds like you need convincing,” Wooyoung surmised, stroking his chin as if he was thinking big thoughts. “I have a few ideas as to how we could orchestrate that.”

“I’m sure you do, you little shit,” you fired back, still hyper aware that Hongjoong was basically still lying on top of you. Wooyoung let out a high-pitched giggle, and you sighed.

“Are… are you guys sure this is what you want?”

“To be clear, we are talking about a threesome, right?” Hongjoong asked, his question followed by a nervous giggle. 

“Yes, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said exasperatedly. “God. You need to get out more.”

“Well, I’m out now,” Hongjoong whispered as he lowered his lips to yours again. “Should we take this adventure somewhere more comfortable?” He whispered against your lips as he kissed you softly now, with deep, unhurried kisses that had you gasping for breath. It felt so intimate, even though you could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you, could see his smirk in your mind’s eye.

“S…sure,” you managed to get out. At once, Hongjoong had moved, and he and Wooyoung were hauling you to your feet. Wooyoung stopped you before you could take a step, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you to him to kiss you deeply. He giggled into the kiss, as he nipped at your lip, sucked on your tongue. He had clearly not forgotten a single thing from your previous encounter. You felt wetness pooling between your thighs at an embarrassing rate now. The idea of being with both of them was almost enough to make you come on the spot.

“Mmm,” Wooyoung murmured as he came up for air.” I missed this, not gonna lie. I don’t think once was enough.”

“Come on,” Hongjoong urged, taking your hand. Wooyoung let you go, taking your other hand and squeezing it. 

You led them to your bedroom slowly, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. Part of you hoped you weren’t making a huge mistake.

The rest of you was practically vibrating at the chance to finally show Hongjoong how you felt about him, in more ways than one. 

The second you were across the threshold of your bedroom, you found yourself sandwiched between your friends, their hands everywhere at once, two sets of lips kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach— which happened to be a lot, considering you’d dressed for comfort in sweats and a tank top that probably showed just a bit too much . 

You felt hands tugging at the waistband of your pants, and looked back to see Wooyoung with a wicked grin. He leaned over to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna let me show Hongjoong how to make you come?” 

You gulped. You turned back to Hongjoong, who was staring at you, wide-eyed. 

“Joongie?” You asked. “Would you like that?” You took a deep breath as you put your hands on his waist, pushing his t-shirt up and hooking your thumbs underneath to graze his pecs as you pulled it up and over his head. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you pressed your lips to his collarbone, kissing a trail across and down, trailing your tongue lightly across what was evidently a very sensitive area. 

“Careful, jagiya,” Woo laughed. “You’re gonna make him come in his pants before we even get started.” 

Wooyoung made quick work of your clothes, then his own, but Hongjoong stood stiffly now, staring at you, jaw falling open as you strode back over to him. You tugged at the waistband of his own sweatpants. 

“You should take these off,” you asked softly. “What’s wrong, Joongie? Are you nervous?”

I say as though I’m not . Holy fucking hell. 

He fixed you with an unreadable gaze, and you began to trace soft lines over his hips. When he did not stop you, you hooked your thumbs into his waistband, pulling everything down in one go. His cock was rock-hard, and you tried not to stare, imagining how that girth would be stretching you out later, pushing into you over and over until both of you were quivering messes. 

Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, unsure where your sudden courage was coming from, but fully willing to embrace it. You ghosted your palms up Hongjoong’s thighs, watching as gooseflesh rose in their wake. As you began to tease closer to his cock, Hongjoong let out a loud moan. 

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered. “We don’t have to do any of this.”

“Please don’t,” Hongjoong hissed as he grabbed your shoulders. “Please, fucking hell, do not stop…”

You moved to grasp Hongjoong’s cock at the base, and he cried out at the contact, stumbling a bit and catching himself on the wall next to him.

“Maybe we should lay you down,” you suggested, straightening up. “Before you fall and hurt something.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“No sir,” you tutted. You grabbed his wrist and guided him to your bed, and he begrudgingly clambered up to lie down in the center. 

“Oh fuck me, my head is spinning more lying down,” Hongjoong whined.

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” you said softly as you lay down on your tummy on the bed, pushing his legs apart. You could feel his eyes on you, and you peered up at him through your lashes as you lowered your lips to the head of his cock, tongue swiping up the drops of pre-cum. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Hongjoong whined, immediately trying to thrust up into your mouth. You were quick to lay a hand on his waist, pressing him down into the mattress.

“No no,” you chided, dipping your head lower, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, relaxing your throat as you went. As your nose nudged at his pelvic bone, he let out a long string of curses, hands scrabbling to grab ahold of you. 

“Please move,” he begged. “Oh please. Please. Fuck.”

You hummed as you began to suck him, drawing out each movement, licking slowly and firmly up his shaft, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, changing things up every few moments to make him extra insane.

You yelped as you felt fingers between your own legs, and looked to one side to see Wooyoung perched on the bed, stroking his own cock with one hand. His other was now pushing your legs apart, wasting no time finding your slick folds. 

“Ah… so, so wet for us,” Wooyoung cooed. “Hongjoong, just wait til you feel this perfect pussy…”

Wooyoung shoved two fingers into you without warning, and you nearly choked on Hongjoong’s cock as Woo stretched you open. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you picked up your pace, working the base of his cock with one hand while you continued to suck him off with a renewed intensity, matching Wooyoung’s pace as he finger-fucked you from behind. Woo’s next thrusts hit you in just the right spot, and you moaned around Hongjoong’s cock. 

“I’m… help,” Hongjoong whined. “Close, I’m getting close, ah, fuck, fuck…”

You did not relent despite Hongjoong’s high pitched cries that he was overstimulated, and continued through until his cock was pulsing, shooting thick ropes of hot cum down your throat. You swallowed every drop before backing off a bit, continuing to give kitten licks to the head until he found the strength to sit up and scramble away from you. 

“Perfect," Wooyoung remarked as he stopped his own movements. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. “Ah, fuck. Forgot how good you taste,” he moaned, and you heard Hongjoong groan in the background at the mere idea of tasting you. 

Woo was across the room now, rummaging in the bottom drawer of your dresser. You joined Hongjoong in the center of the bed, and he kissed you deeply as you leaned back against the pillows.

“I can’t believe you,” he whispered. “That was…”

“Do you need a do-over to believe it?” You asked with a wicked grin. His eyes widened, and you giggled. “Don’t look so scared, Joongie.”

“Not scared,” he breathed. “Just… haven’t come like that in a long time… Wanna…” His cheeks were red again, and you kissed him softly.

“Wanna what?”

“I wanna make you come too,” he said breathlessly as he kissed you again. “I want… I want you… in every way, please…”

“You scrambled his brains already,” Wooyoung laughed as he returned, holding a few things behind his back. “What happened to pacing?”

Hongjoong flipped Wooyoung off, and Woo cackled in response as he crawled onto the bed, reaching for your ankle and tugging your leg.

“On your back, jagiya,” Wooyoung instructed. “Now, please.”

“Or what?” You challenged. 

“Or I’ll go back for the restraints,” Wooyoung warned. “Don’t test me today.”

You shivered. This was a side of Wooyoung you were unfamiliar with. 

“Do it then,” you said smugly. Wooyoung stared at you for a second.

"Color?"

"Green."

"Safeword?"

"Red."

"Good," he said shortly, turning and heading back to the dresser. You glimpsed a black box in his hand, and clenched around nothing.

Oh fuck, so he’s going to show Hongjoong how to totally and completely ruin me. Fabulous.

Hongjoong was a little bit concerned at the restraints given the circumstances but calmed down significantly when scissors were brought out as a potential safety measure.

He then lost zero time lying down next to you on the bed, pressing his flushed, naked body close to your own, slender fingers tracing your skin, and it wasn’t lost on you how he was marveling at the experience. 

“I… I don’t even know what to do first,” Hongjoong admitted. "You're so fucking pretty that it makes me feel insane."

“Her neck is sensitive,” Wooyoung piped up from over near the dresser, where he was rummaging again, and came back holding your vibrator as well. “Also, she likes it when you twist her nipples.”

“Jesus Christ in a crock pot, Woo, just tell him all my secrets why don’t—” 

Your words died in your throat as Hongjoong leaned in, pressing sloppy, desperate kisses down the column of your neck, across your collarbone, then dipping lower. Once his lips reached your breasts, he began to suck a trail of marks before closing his mouth around one nipple and sucking hard. Your immediate whine must have been like music to his ears, as you heard him giggle. Instead of pulling away however, he reached for your other nipple with one hand,  twisting it firmly as Wooyoung had suggested.

“Holy fuck, Hongjoong,” you whimpered as he continued to tease. “You’re— FUCK!”

Your entire body tensed as you felt Wooyoung shove two fingers into you roughly. 

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Good.”

Just as quickly, his fingers were gone, replaced by heavy, cold metal, and you shrieked at both the intrusion and the temperature. 

“Mmmhmm. She likes this metal dildo a lot,” Wooyoung explained to Hongjoong, speaking in such a casual way he might as well have been just explaining how to do any simple task. 

“I can tell,” Hongjoong breathed, nipping at your neck. Between your legs, Wooyoung was staring up at you with a wicked grin as he began to fuck you slowly with the toy. He was gentle, but clearly had not forgotten the firm upstrokes to your g-spot that were bound to make to come in seconds flat— and so you did, tumbling off the edge as your release ripped through you like a wave of blistering heat. 

You were completely unsurprised that he did not relent, sending you quickly into another orgasm without giving you time to come down. 

“Wooyoung, I adore you,” you whined. “But the second you let me out of these restraints— FUCKING HELL!” 

You came again, having been partially distracted by your empty threat, head spinning as you tried to form any coherent sentence.

It did not help in the least that the effects of your earlier edible were in full swing, elevating your releases to levels you had never dreamed were possible. 

That being said, it also enhanced the overstimulation— something which Wooyoung knew full well, as he pushed you towards yet another orgasm, now with the vibrator planted firmly on your clit and set to an infuriatingly teasing pattern. 

“Wooyoung, please, please,” you choked out, though you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking at the toy every time he plunged it into you. “Woo. Baby. Please.”

“Oh, you want me to stop? Okay,” he said nonchalantly, ceasing his movements at once. The brattiness was radiating from him in waves, and you rolled your eyes. You had been close again, of course, but you weren't sure whether you could have handled another orgasm so quickly.

Then again, you also regretted not trying, if for no other reason than it was Wooyoung. 

You knew he knew this too, judging from the look on his face. 

“You little shit.”

“Who me?” Wooyoung chirped, gesturing to himself. “What an accusation!"

“She does have a point,” Hongjoong said dryly. 

“Wow, you guys stink,” Woo laughed. "Whatver."

“I want to try,” Hongjoong said, abruptly changing the subject.

Oh god, help me.

Wooyoung handed Hongjoong the dildo, and you tried not to giggle as they discussed in hushed tones. You could tell Hongjoong was afraid of hurting you— it was in the way he gently pushed the toy in, the hesitation in his initial movements. But before long, you were over the edge again, begging loudly for them to give you a break. 

You were unsurprised that Hongjoong relented, but judging from the way Wooyoung was moving, you could tell he already had other ideas. 

He’s so… I don’t even know. Insane? But also… good god damn, if these encounters with him aren’t some of the hottest I’ve ever had. Fuck.

"How about we let our pretty girl out of her restraints before we have some more fun?" Wooyoung suggested. You saw Hongjoong flush bright red at Woo’s verbiage, and he slipped out of the room, muttering something about getting water. Wooyoung proceeded to untie you, and rested quietly with you on the bed, massaging your wrists and ankles until Hongjoong came back bearing a few bottles of water. After the three of you had hydrated, Hongjoong lay down on your other side. 

You felt fingers nudging your legs apart again, and glanced to see it was Hongjoong taking the initiative. The second he touched your clit, you nearly came off the bed with a shriek. 

“Mmm. So sensitive,” Hongjoong whispered. “So many things I want to do, but I want to be inside you the most,” he admitted with a small smile and another rather impressive blush. 

“Idea,” Woo chimed in.

Yep, there it is.

“Jagiya,” Wooyoung said sweetly as he nuzzled your cheek. “What would you say to me fucking your mouth while Hongjoong fucks that tight little cunt?”

“I’d probably accuse you of trying to murder me,” you answered, turning your head to face him. He kissed you softly, but nipped at your lip as he pulled back.

“Only a tiny bit. But in a good way,” he assured you. "So it's still legal."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Mmhmm," he said as he kissed you softly. 

Moments later, Hongjoong was slotting himself between your legs, having given you some reprieve from the overstimulation, if only for a short time. 

Wooyoung was moving too, throwing one leg over you to straddle your upper body, moving closer and checking that you were okay every step of the way.

“Color?” He asked, clearly just wanting to be sure.

“Green as fuck, my dude,” you breathed. “Are you going to let me suck that pretty cock or just dangle it in front of me?"

Wooyoung pushed into your mouth at the exact time Hongjoong buried himself in you to the hilt, but your cry was muffled by Woo’s cock. 

Hongjoong began to move first, and you whined, causing Wooyoung to curse and hunch over, grabbing the headboard for leverage. He was looking down at you as he fucked into your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts that you knew were driving him even more insane than they were you. Wooyoung loved to be teased and edged; he had confessed this to you the first time you’d slept together— which is how that night had ended with you bending him over your bed and giving him the strap until he was pleading and beating at the mattress, begging for you to let him come. 

Oops. Maybe this is payback. Oh well. Not sorry.

Your head was surprisingly clear for just a few moments, before Hongjoong changed his angle slightly, and you nearly came again right then and there. You tried to speak, but Wooyoung continued to fuck your mouth, and your words came out garbled, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“I think that’s a good angle, Hongjoongie,” Wooyoung called back to him. "Keep it up."

“Mmm. Good for me too,” Hongjoong whined, and he increased the pace, hitting you just right every time in the process. 

Hongjoong was the first to come, spilling inside you as you crashed with him. Wooyoung followed quickly, emptying himself into your throat, praising you as you swallowed it all and continued to suck until he was overstimulated himself. They pulled out of you quickly, losing no time in lying back down and snuggling close. 

“Wow.” Hongjoong was first to break the silence. “Just… wow.”

“Mmm,” you agreed. 

“Yep,” Wooyoung nodded. “Wow, fuck, holy shit, all those good terms. Yeah.”

After a shared shower, the three of you returned to your bed after a quick stop in the kitchen to retrieve snacks. You flipped on the TV, navigating to a movie that was familiar to all, before settling back down between them. 

“I could get used to this,” Wooyoung said suddenly.

“Same,” Hongjoong murmured. “For sure.”

“Wait, hold on,” you said, sitting up. They followed you, each slipping an arm around your waist. 

“We should just tell her,” Woo said. 

“Tell me what, exactly?” You asked cautiously. 

“You tell,” Wooyoung told Hongjoong, and you smacked him in the back.

“You brought it up, dweeb.”

Hongjoong sighed. 

“I wanted to hang out today because I wanted to talk to you,” Hongjoong said quietly. “I… I wanted to ask if you’d go on a date with me. And then I told Wooyoung, and he wanted to tag along to… I don’t know. Cheer me on? But also…”

“Also?”

“I like you too,” Wooyoung blurted out, clapping a hand over his mouth immediately. 

“You…” You were trying to get a handle on what was happening, your brain clearer now but but not at 100%. “Huh? You both like me?”

“So yeah, we kinda… did things… backwards...” Hongjoong started, but you cut him off.

“That’s not really so important,” you reassured him as you took a deep breath, still a little scared to make your own confession. “What is important is that… I like you both as well.”

Neither of them seemed particularly shocked by this news, which made you wonder if you had ever been good at hiding it.

Oops?

“Mmm,” Wooyoung hummed happily, nuzzling into your shoulder and giving you a squeeze. On your other side, Hongjoong was pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“So…” You said. 

“So you’re our girlfriend now?” Wooyoung asked eagerly, eyes shining with excitement.

“Please?” Hongjoong added. 

"Say yes?" Woo giggled.

“Absolutely,” you told them, without hesitation. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted this… so… you can have all of me. I’m yours,” you said breathlessly.

“Ours,” Hongjoong repeated.

“Ours,” Wooyoung affirmed, as they lay you back and snuggled up to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like that you’re ours, jagi.”

“Me too,” you told them. “Always."

[kxsagi]

"𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞"

a/n: includes three different alternative endings!

the moment yoichi isagi stepped onto the pitch, he felt the familiar heat rise in his chest, not just from the roaring crowd, but from the sight of him. 

michael kaiser. 

the guy had been a thorn in isagi’s side since their blue lock days. now, playing for rival clubs in the german league, their rivalry was a headline every season. their clashes were fierce, their words sharper than any referee’s whistle. 

but neither of them knew how much worse it could get.

until you.

you weren’t just beautiful. you were brilliant, an up-and-coming fashion designer whose work was making waves in elite social circles. you had designed custom suits and jerseys for some of the biggest names in sports, and somehow, both isagi and kaiser had ended up on your client list.

at first, it was harmless. just fittings and polite conversation. but then kaiser started noticing how isagi looked at you. how he lingered after appointments, how his usual tough demeanor softened when you adjusted the collar of his jacket.

it became a silent war, more ruthless than anything on the field.

kaiser would "coincidentally" schedule fittings right after isagi’s, ensuring you had to compare their styles, his tailored elegance against isagi’s effortless confidence. isagi countered by requesting custom pieces on short notice, forcing you to spend extra time working with him. if isagi sent you flowers to congratulate you on a successful fashion show, kaiser sent a limited-edition designer handbag.

the rivalry bled onto the pitch. if kaiser dribbled past isagi, he’d smirk and tug at his jersey, the one you designed. if isagi scored, he made sure kaiser saw him pointing toward the VIP section where you sat, elegantly unimpressed.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what was happening.

and then came the night that changed everything.

a high-profile charity gala. both men, suited up, courtesy of your designs, having a stare-down. you, in a sleek black dress, looked between them with an exasperated sigh.

“you two are ridiculous,” you said, swirling the wine in your glass.

kaiser leaned in. “ridiculous? we just happen to have –”

“– great taste,” isagi finished, smug.

you rolled your eyes, then took a sip of your wine before smirking. “so, you both like me. that’s cute.”

kaiser and isagi exchanged uneasy glances.

you set your glass down and grinned. “and it’s a shame, really, because i don’t date clients.”

silence.

then, your laughter, soft and amused.

you walked away, leaving two of the league’s fiercest competitors standing dumbfounded.

isagi exhaled. “we’re idiots.”

kaiser nodded, rubbing his face. “yeah.”

for the first time in years, they had something to agree on.

and the rivalry continued. just, perhaps, with a little less venom. 

a/n: alternative ending: instead of saying you don’t date clients, you say you’re dating rin itoshi

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

you had been around footballers long enough to know that rivalry ran deep. you just never expected to be part of one.

isagi and kaiser were both your clients, both infuriatingly charming, both unbearably competitive. for months, they had turned your fashion studio into a battleground, one-upping each other in ridiculous ways.

but kaiser was different.

it wasn’t just the grand gestures or the sharp suits he requested. it was the way he lingered after fittings, asking about your designs with genuine curiosity. the way he brought you coffee without asking how you took it because he already knew. the way he listened, really listened, when you talked about your dreams of launching your own boutique.

so when he showed up at your studio one rainy evening, you weren’t entirely surprised.

“hey,” he said, leaning against the doorway, looking unsure for the first time since you’d met him. “i know you said you don’t date clients.”

“i did,” you said, crossing your arms. “still true.” 

kaiser exhaled, then stepped inside. “then let’s change that.”

you raised an eyebrow. “how?”

he pulled out a neatly folded contract, sliding it onto your worktable.

“i’m officially switching to another designer.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i already talked to someone else. from now on, i’m just michael.” he smiled, slow and confident, the way he did right before scoring a goal. “not a client. just a guy who really wants to take you out to dinner.”

you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. the idiot had actually fired you.

you shook your head. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re beautiful.” he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “so… what do you say?”

you pretended to think about it, even though you already knew the answer.

“i say,” you said, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, “you’d better not be late picking me up.”

and just like that, the rivalry was over.

at least, for one of them.

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

you had dealt with egos before, but nothing compared to isagi and kaiser. the two were locked in an endless game, using you as the unwitting referee.

it was exhausting.

but isagi… isagi made it fun.

sure, he was cocky. but he was also the one who showed up unannounced with dinner when you were working late. the one who made you laugh with ridiculous impressions of his teammates. the one who, despite all the posturing, always looked at you like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet.

so when he walked into your studio one evening, drenched from the rain, his usual bravado stripped away, you knew something was different.

“i’m done,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “i’m tapping out of this stupid game with kaiser.”

you raised an eyebrow. “game?”

“the competition. the ridiculous stunts. the flowers, the bags, the suits, the –” he exhaled. “i don’t want to win against him. i just want you.”

you stared at him, your heart hammering.

“so,” he continued, shifting awkwardly. “if you don’t feel the same, tell me now, and i’ll walk away. but if you do –” he paused, then smirked, some of his confidence returning. “then i’d really like to take you to dinner.”

you bit your lip.

isagi was bold, relentless, and sometimes infuriating.

but he was also standing in front of you, completely vulnerable, offering something real.

you stepped forward, slowly, until you were close enough to hear his breath hitch.

“dinner,” you murmured. “no competition?”

he grinned. “no competition.”

you smiled. “then pick me up at eight.”

and just like that, isagi had finally won… without even trying. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rosenclaws]

Over and Over Again || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan wakes up in 2023 in a brand new timeline. In this world you're still alive and you're married, but he doesn't remember a thing.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending

wc: 3.5k

a/n: damn bro these song fics keep getting longer and longer lmao. Anyways here is my third instalment of a fic based on “Would You Fall In Love With Me Again” from Epic the Musical. I hope you like this one too! If you wanna read the other two you can find them here and here

Yesterday everything made sense. Yesterday you woke up next to your husband Logan, made coffee, graded a few essays, trained with Logan in the danger room, and then went to dinner. You kissed him good night and turned out the light to go to bed. Today? Your whole fucking life is being flipped upside down.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw Logan standing barefoot in Charles' office. He had this look on his face. A mix between confusion and grief. A longing in his eyes that just didn't make sense when you had kissed him good morning only a few hours ago.

"You're alive?" Logan says breathlessly, his eyes widening as the words leave his mouth.

Realizing his mistake immediately. But he couldn't help himself. Not when the last memory he had of you was holding you as you died.

"Charles, what's going on?" You asked in a panicked voice. Logan, this Logan, your? Logan, reached out for you but you stepped back. You don't know why but you just did it. Though it's hard to see the hurt in Logan's eyes when you do.

"My dear," Charles says softly, his eyes darting from you to Logan.

"I think you should sit down for this."

You aren't the only one to be called into Charles office. Standing around you was Ororo, Jean, Scott, and Hank. Before you stood Logan with his arms crossed as Charles weaves a wild and frankly impossible story.

This Logan is not the man you knew.

He's from an alternate timeline where the X-Men were being hunted and eradicated, the world being over run by these things called the Sentinels. How everyone in this room was dead in Logan's world. The last chance they had was sending his consciousness back in time to stop the chain of events and according to Charles he had done it. He had saved the world and everyone in this damn mansion. But at the cost of his own memories, his own life in a way.

"Jean, please stay. I want you to help in attempting to get his memories back. The rest of you thank you and please do not tell anyone else about this." Everyone starts to move but you.

You stay seated in your seat, unsure of what to do. Do you go up to him? He's still your husband after all, but is he? You feel his eyes staring into your head as you finally make your move and get up. Walking right up to him.

"Hi, Logan." You say softly.

"Hi." You bite your lip nervously as you try and think of something to say. There's this awkward tension between the two of you. Something you haven't felt since you first met. Though you guess this is technically a first meeting. It's really confusing.

"Logan, shall we begin?" Charles cuts through your thoughts. You don't want to leave, in fact you have a million questions that will pour out once you figure out how to talk to him. But it's going to have to wait.

"I uh...I'll find you after." He mumbles, his hand moves to cup your face but he stops before he can actually touch you.

"Yeah, I'll see you after." You smile awkwardly and gently grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze before leaving. Logan wants so badly to hold on, to tighten his grip and never let you leave his side. But he can't. So he just lets you go.

You waited. Hours passed and you heard nothing from Logan or Jean or Charles. Every hour you'd pass by the office, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. It was tearing you apart just waiting for them to be done. But that's all you can do.

By the time the sun goes down you give up on waiting for Logan. Slinking to a small corner of the mansion. What if something horrible happened? What if they can't get his memories fixed and he'll never remember what your life was like together. How you met, how you fell in love, how he proposed, your first dance. Did he truly forget it all? You rest your head in your hands as you listen to the grandfather clock tick and tick.

Or...does he remember it all. Does he remember it and regret it? You're dead in his timeline. So what if you two were never meant to be together, what if he remembers both timelines and...he doesn't want you anymore.

You trudge back to your room, wanting to just sleep. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow this will all be some insane dream. Unfortunately you forgot that you share a room with Logan. As you open the door you see him sitting on the bed. A cigar in his hands as he stares out the window. Though he quickly turns around when he hears you.

"Hi, again." He says, snuffing out the cigar.

"Hi." Fuck can you say any other word but hi to his man?

"How did it go with the professor?" You ask, wringing your hands together behind your back. Logan shrugs and the look on his face doesn't give you much hope.

"Not great." You just nod, unsure of what to say next.

"I um, Chuck set up another room for me so...I'm gonna sleep there tonight." Logan winces as he sees your face fall. He doesn't want to be apart from you but it's what's best. He needs to sort out his...well everything. Besides, he's practically a stranger to you now.

"Oh." You squeak out.

"If that's what you want." It's not.

Still Logan just nods his head and stands up, grabbing a few things and silently slipping past you.

"Room 246. I'm in room 246." He tells you, staring at you one last time before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

You sleep like utter shit. You're so used to having Logan by your side that being alone just fucking sucks. You miss him so much. You contemplated going to his room but you didn't think he wanted you there. Logan has another session with Charles in the morning. You only see a glimpse of him before he disappears into the office. You wonder if he feels just as miserable as you do.

The next week is filled with the same tension and unbearable awkwardness. It's like he's a ghost. Only there when you turn around, out of the corner of your eye. You hated it. God it was awful, you longed to be next to him. For him to hold you again, kiss you. You don't even know why he's avoiding you. Logan had always been difficult when it comes to opening up but Logan, your Logan was getting better at it.

It's well into the night and you're still sitting in an empty classroom. You don't really sleep in your bed anymore. It reminds you too much of him. There's a couch near your desk anyways. With Logan in memory recovery you have been covering his classes. You sit in silence as you grade the latest test when you hear heavy boots approaching you.

"It's late," You look up to see Logan leaning against the doorframe.

"I know, but I need to get this done." You gesture to the stack of tests next to you.

"You need to sleep, I've noticed you haven't been doing that much." Your heart skips a beat, has he really been keeping tabs on you like that.

"I'll be okay Logan, really." You say gently. But your answer isn't good enough for him. You watch as he walks over to your desk and grabs half of the tests and a red pen.

"Logan It's fine really," You argue but he doesn't listen.

"What if-" You stop yourself before you finish the question.

"What if my history is different? Don't worry sweetheart I went back to the 70's not the civil war." The nickname rolls of his tongue with ease, he doesn't even realize he said it until he sees you get shy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Logan apologizes, silently kicking himself. He never should have come here. He just. He just really misses you.

"Don't apologize, It's just been a while since you called me that." You try to hide the soft smile by propping a paper up to block your face. Time passes, the only sounds being the scribbling of pens.

"Damn, Was I that bad of a teacher?" He asks as he crosses out a whole paper in red pen. You giggle and Logan looks up, a smile on his face as he hears that sweet sound.

"You're not a bad teacher, you're the favorite actually. Though sometimes you play favorites with your students." You tease, remembering how easy Jubilee could get out of being late just by bringing Logan coffee in the morning.

"Favorite? I doubt that." He snorts, Logan isn't exactly the fresh faced happy go lucky teacher that you bring an apple to. In fact he never considered himself much of a teacher of anything.

"It's true, you're tough on them but they just love you." "That doesn't sound like me." Logan jokes, though he quickly regrets his word choice when he sees your eyes cloud with sadness.

"I..." He sighs, great he fucked this up already.

"It's okay, sorry I just, I'm still getting used to all this." You offer him a small smile but he can see right through it. You're still his wife after all and he knows you.

"How are you? This must be a lot for you." You ask, turning the conversation away from you.

You've been so focused in your own grief that you hadn't given what he must be feeling much thought. You start to feel guilty, I mean this can't be easy for him either. Logan sets the red pen down. Sighing as he runs his hands through his hair.

"I'll be alright sweetheart," He doesn't want you to worry about him.

"Please, talk to me." You reach your hand out.

Your left hand. The one with the wedding band still sitting on your finger. Logan's breath hitches as he recognizes that ring. It's a little worn from the years of wear but he knows it. He bought that ring for you a long time ago.

"I feel like a ghost. I remember my old timeline and Jean and Charles have been able to unlock bits and pieces of this one but it doesn't feel real." He admits.

"Do you regret it? Changing the timeline?" You ask and Logan shakes his head.

"No." Not at all. In fact even with all this confusion he would do it again in a heartbeat. Anything if it means you're alive. You start to ask another question but a yawn cuts through your words.

"Alright, it's bedtime now." Logan says with little room for argument. He gets up and heads to the door but you don't follow. He turns around to see you laying out a blanket on the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You jump at the harshness of his voice.

"I've been sleeping on the couch the last couple nights." You say casually.

Though to Logan it's like a knife to the heart. Not on his watch. You roll your eyes seeing the look on his face, that protective grumpy look.

"It's comfortable and my room is too far, I'm just going to take a short nap. You grumble. You always were stubborn and Logan knows there's no changing your mind.

"Fine." He shuts off the lights and walks over, sitting on the edge of the couch putting a pillow on his lap.

"Logan..."

"Come on, just a nap right?" You're too tired and if you're honest too selfish to pass this up.

To be this close to Logan again is a dream. You settle down with your head in his lap groaning as your head sinks to rest on his big thighs. Logan drapes a blanket over you, his hands coming to rub your back in a gentle soothing motion. It doesn't take long before you're out like a light. Drifting to sleep faster than you have all week.

When you wake up you're not in your classroom anymore. In fact you're in a bed with the covers tucked in and the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Just a nap right?" You mimic in a high pitched voice as you get out of bed. It becomes very clear the moment you spot the clothes in the corner of the room that this isn't your bedroom.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's it is. You take one of the pillows and hug it to your chest. The smell of Logan's cologne wraps around you. Fuck you missed waking up next to him. You gently set the pillow down and swipe one of the shirts sitting on the floor before darting back to your room.

"Good morning sweetheart, sleep well?" Logan asks as you walk into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I haven't slept that well in a couple days." You sigh as he hands you a cup of coffee.

You take a sip and to your surprise it's perfect, just how you like it. Before you can say another word Logan is already gone. The hope in your chest deflating just a little bit. But last night was the closest you've been since he came back. It's a step in the right direction.

It's another week of dancing around each other. You talk more, laugh more. He still sleeps in a separate room but you find yourself spending more time together. It's little things that you notice first. That he still hates pop music and he drinks black coffee. His favorite brand of beer is still Molson. In small ways it's like you have him back. But then you see that he picks the salt and vinegar chips over plain and it all comes crashing down again. How stupid is that? Heartbroken of his favorite chip flavor? But to you it's just a reminder that he is different. But does that even matter?

You find yourself drifting to sleep in your bed this time, holding onto Logan's shirt as a way to soothe you to sleep. But you're quickly pulled from dreamland by a loud knock on your door. It's frantic and quite startling. You throw the covers off and stumble to the door, throwing it open to see who's bothering you so late.

"Logan?" You ask half asleep, rubbing your eyes as you see him standing in front of you. You notice the fearful look in his eyes and it seems to snap you awake. You step aside and let him in.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to see you." He's tense and his eyes keep darting around the room, like he's waiting for an attack. Seeing you is slowly helping his brain but every time he closes his eyes his nightmare replays in his head. He looks down at his hand and swears he sees blood.

"Logan, come here." You take his hands, covering his palms with yours and guiding him to the bed.

"I don't want to bother you sweetheart," He mumbles, his resolve breaking pretty quickly as he lays his head next to yours.

"Tell me about it, your nightmare." He furrows his brows in confusion, how did you know?

"I know that look." You cup his face and smile. It feels so right to be next to him right now. Logan sighs, his hand covering yours as he just soaks in being next to you. That nightmare felt so real, probably because it was.

"It was the day I lost you. In my timeline."

"The sentinels?" You ask but he shakes his head.

"No you...you died before they were even created. Probably for the best. It was a mission. A simple one that went to shit so quickly." It was all Logan's fault. He woke up every day knowing that if he had been faster, been better. You would still be alive.

"They took advantage of my super senses, they overwhelmed me with noise and smells. I tried to fight through it I really did, but I was too weak." Logan feels you wipe his cheek, a tear he didn't even realize was falling.

"By the time it was over, you were fatally wounded. I held you in my arms. I begged you not to go. Not to leave me but it was too late." Your eyes cloud with tears as Logan tells his story.

The absolute grief in his voice, god how horrible. You don't know what you'd do if Logan died, how you'd even continue on. Yet this man kept fighting, kept saving peoples lives. Even when he wanted to give up and walk away.

That's the Logan you know. He'll always be the hero he never thinks he is. So what if there's a few differences. At his core Logan will always be the man you fell in love with.

"I'm so sorry," You whisper, you crawl onto his chest and hug him tightly.

Your face buried in his neck. He holds you tight. Breathing in the smell of your shampoo. He holds you for a long time before loosening his grip on you. The urge to stay like this forever is strong but there's a nagging in the back of his head. He's over stayed his welcome.

"I should get back to my room." He gently lays you back on the bed and moves to get up.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, scrambling to grab onto his arm.

"Please don't go Logan. Please the last two weeks have been horrible without you. I miss you, I miss my husband." You beg, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Sweetheart I'm not the man you married." He wipes away your tears.

"I miss you too. So fucking much. But it's best I keep my distance."

"Logan please! What do you mean you're not the man I married?!" You grab his shirt and pull him close to you. Logan grabs your wrists firmly but gently.

“You were my guiding light, the only thing that kept me going in the right direction. When I lost you, It felt like I lost myself." He tries to pry your hands off of him but you stand firm.

"I stayed with the team, I fought and killed and maybe they called me a hero. But it was never the same. I lost my way."

"But you saved the world, you're still my hero." Logan just chuckles sadly.

"I didn't give a fuck about the world." He confesses. He did care. Sort of. He knew that he was the X-Men's only hope when he got sent back. But his real motivation, his true motivation was you.

"Sweetheart, I may have saved the world but I did it for you. It’s always you.” He did it for the chance that he could save you, that somehow going back to 1973 would undo everything, that you'd be alive. He would sacrifice everything if it meant you got to live another day.

So when he woke up and saw that it had worked, he had never felt such relief. But the way you looked at him, you were scared. So uncertain. He couldn't just pick you up in his arms and kiss you like he had dreamed of. You were married in this world but he understood that he had essentially replaced the Logan that you knew.

So he kept his distance. The more he learned from Charles the more the other Logan sounded better. This Logan never had to stab Jean or watch his friends die one by one. How could he ever compare? He'd rather you be alive, even if it breaks his heart.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." The words flood out of your mouth, unstoppable as you finally get the chance to see the truth about Logan.

"You're mine. Always. We belong together. Our love transcends timelines, universes, and all that bullshit."

"Don't you love me?"

"Of course I fucking love you don't you ever doubt that." He snaps.

He pushes you away because he loves you, he doesn't think he's worthy because he loves you so fucking much. He'd kiss the ground you fucking walk on if you asked.

"Then listen to me Logan." You grab his face and smash your lips on his, kissing him desperately.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms around your waist. You fall onto the bed, Logan propping himself up with his elbows. You tug on his hair, messing it up as you comb your fingers through it. You pull apart breathlessly, almost brought to tears from just getting to kiss your husband again.

"You're it for me Logan, forever." You mumble as he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too sweetheart, I missed you so much." He cradles your face in his hand, legs interlocked as the sheets become a tangled mess.

"How long has it been since you saw me?" You ask, Logans eyes filling with tears as he listens to your heart beat against his chest.

"Over 50 years." As the moon shines through the window the only thing on both of your minds is how lucky you truly are to have found a love like this.

To be destined to be together in every timeline, every world. It's you and Logan.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 10: Treat Me Gently

Summary: You and Price take your relationship to the next level. It might be the best decision you've ever made.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral, first time sex, unprotected(ish) sex, reader has an implant, creampie, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, the author is a bit rusty writing smut.

A/N: It's finally here. It's finally arrived, the moment we've all been waiting for! Uh, yeah, it's mostly badly written smut with just a little plot thrown in there. So...I hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Your attention is pulled from your book as the couch sinks on either side of you, two bodies joining you. You glance up from your book as an arm drapes itself across the back of the couch behind you. Your eyes flicker between Gaz and Johnny, mischievous grins on their faces. 

“We heard you have a date this weekend.” Gaz says, leaning in closer. 

Your face warms at his words. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a date...” 

“What are you wearing?” Gaz asks. 

“Do ye have anythin’ to wear?” Johnny asks. 

Their questions give you pause. The most formal thing you have are jeans and, though you doubt Price would care if you showed up in sweatpants, you would like to have something nice to wear. 

“Come on.” Gaz says, slapping your thigh before standing. “We’re going shopping.” 

“What?” You glance between him and Johnny as they stand over you. 

“Already got permission from Price.” Johnny says. “So come on.” He grabs your hands, lifting you to your feet easily. “Let’s get goin’, kitten.” 

Your cheeks warm at the pet name, Johnny’s hand settling on your lower back to steer you from the rec room. You don’t have much of a choice but to follow, grabbing a couple things from your room before you leave the barracks with them to a car parked outside. It’s different from the car you and Price had taken to town last weekend. Of course, they probably all have their own vehicles, or at least a few at their disposal. 

“I’m driving.” Gaz says, plucking the keys from Johnny’s hand. 

“Aww, ye never let me drive!” Johnny pouts. 

“Yeah, because with our luck you’ll traumatize her so badly, she’ll never want to leave again.” Gaz says, opening the driver’s side door. 

You can’t help but giggle at the dejected look on Johnny’s face as you get into the back, Johnny muttering the entire way to the passenger side. 

“I’m no’ that bad of a driver.” Johnny says, buckling his seatbelt. 

“Yeah, but both you and Simon seem to be in agreement that the speed limit is a suggestion, not a law.” Gaz says as he turns on the car. “I’d like to make it there and back in one piece, thank you. Besides, Price would have both our heads if anything happened to our girl on our watch.”

Your cheeks warm as you meet Gaz's gaze through the rear view mirror. Your heart flutters at the look in his eyes, the dedication and protectiveness shining in them. 

“I wouldnae let anything happen to ye.” Johnny says, reaching back to squeeze your knee for a moment. 

You stare out the window of the car as Gaz drives towards town, half listening to the conversation in the front seat. You're beginning to recognize landmarks, buildings, areas between the base and town despite it only being your second trip. They'd be proud of you, you think. At least if something happened, you'd be able to give a landmark. 

The farmlands fade into the city and soon Gaz is parking on the street in front of a shop. You take Gaz's hand as he helps you out of the car, lacing your fingers together. Soap holds the door to the shop open, letting you and Gaz walk through first. 

It's a nice boutique filled with all sorts of formal wear. You wonder how they even knew about this place, or if they had done some research beforehand. Both make you feel honored that they would even go to those lengths just for you. 

They are going to be your pack soon. 

Packs do this sort of thing for each other. They take care of each other, spoil each other, make each other happy. It’s hard to be a good pack if one member is unhappy. 

“Good afternoon.” One of the workers approaches you. “My name is Emily. Is there something I can help you find today?” 

“Our omega has a date with our alpha this weekend.” Gaz says, smiling down at you. “She needs something to wear.” 

The worker, Emily, smiles at you. “How exciting! Did you have anything in mind? Style, color, anything like that?”

“Probably nothing too fancy,” You say, eyeing the racks. “And, probably a dress.”

“Alright, we've got lots of options for that. Let's take a look and you can try some on.” Emily says. 

Gaz keeps hold of your hand as you follow Emily through the racks, looking at some of the options. Johnny goes off on his own, perusing the racks himself. 

“Is there a certain color you have in mind?” Emily asks you.

You hum in contemplation, looking at the many racks. You're not sure what color Price would like, or if he even has a favorite. 

“His favorite color is blue, like a dark navy blue.” Johnny answers for you. “Though, I think he'd like you in any color.” 

You can't help the way your cheeks warm a bit at Johnny's words. You realize you don't even know their favorite colors. There's still so much about them that's a mystery to you. 

“What's your favorite color?” You ask, looking up at Gaz. 

“I don't think I have just one.” He says, running his hand over a sequin covered dress on the rack in front of you “I like warm colors. Reds, oranges, purples.”

“Like a sunset.” You say, looking at a tag on one of the dresses, nearly choking at the price. 

Gaz gently removes the tag from your hand, giving you a look as you meet his gaze. “Don't even worry about it, love.” He says quietly, leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

“My favorite color is green.” Johnny says, appearing next to you suddenly. 

“Let me guess, Ghost’s is black.” You say. 

Johnny's mouth twitches. “Now how'd you come to guess that?” 

You shrug, unable to hide your grin. “Call it intuition.” 

Emily takes you to the changing rooms, the boys taking seats outside to wait for you to try on the dresses you've chosen so far. You pick a sleeveless, blue, knee-length dress first with a ruched skirt. You already don't like it, but you know the guys will want to see it regardless. 

You feel nervous, strangely exposed as you step out of the dressing room and make your way to where the guys are sitting. They both straighten up as you approach, Johnny’s eyes immediately on your legs. Gaz let's out a low whistle as his eyes scan your figure, ending on your legs as well. 

“What?” You ask concerned as you stare down at your own legs thinking the worst, like how you might have missed a spot shaving or something. 

“Nothin’ love,” Gaz says, unable to lift his gaze from your legs. “Just never seen you in anything but long pants before.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. It's true, the climate had yet to allow for anything but long pants. Even to sleep, you found yourself too cold without long sleep pants. 

“Christ, you've got gorgeous legs, kitten.” Soap says, letting his eyes trail your form. “Keepin’ those hidden from us?” 

Your face feels like it's on fire as they stare at you, and quickly turn to face the large mirror across from them in an attempt to steady the butterflies in your stomach. 

“What do you think?” Emily asks, stepping up next to you. 

“It's a little too...churchy for a date.” You say smoothing your hands over the skirt. “Definitely need something fancier than this.”

You try on a few of the others, but none of them are right. Too short, too long, too formal, not formal enough. Johnny brings you more to try, a couple sticking out, but you're not sold on any of them. 

The last dress you have yet to try on catches your eye as you pull it off the hook. It's a deep blue color, almost black. It's long sleeved and covers your front entirely, but the back is open. It's short, the skirt hem long enough to cover your ass, but you wouldn't dare bend over. It hugs your figure, accentuating the curves and lines of your body. 

Your cheeks are warm as you step out of the changing room, both Gaz and Johnny going slack-jawed as they stare at you. Even Emily looks in awe as you stand in front of them. 

“I think you've found the one, love.” Gaz says, his eyes trailing your form. “Give us a spin.”

You do a slow turn, not missing the way their eyes widen in the mirror when they see the back, Johnny still frozen as you turn back to face them. 

“How do you feel?” Emily asks, stepping up to you. 

���Good.” You say, your face still warm. “Really good.”

“Yeah,” She says, looking you over. “I think you've hit the mark with this one. Let me grab shoes and we'll put the whole look together.”

You turn to face the mirror as she steps away, your eyes meeting Gaz's as he steps up to you. 

“You look fantastic, love.” He says, leaning in close over your shoulder, his breath fanning your ear. Goosebumps form on your skin as his fingers slowly trail up the line of your spine. “Price is going to want to devour you instantly as soon as he sees you in this one.”

You shiver at his words, biting your lip as his fingers splay out across your upper back. “You think so?”

There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “He won't be able to keep his hands off you. Gonna drive him insane, making him sit through dinner looking like a delicious dessert.” 

You fear you might start smoking from how warm you feel, glad for Emily's reappearance. You try on the shoes she brings, opting for the shorter heels for the sake of your own dignity. 

Johnny distracts you as Gaz pays for the items, spending far too much on you but neither will let you complain. It's what they're supposed to do. 

They are your pack after all. 

“What about lingerie?” Johnny asks, turning to look at you as you sit in the car. 

Your face burns at his question. You hadn't thought about that bit. 

“Gotta dress up the whole fit.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

“Lay off her, perv.” Gaz says, smacking Johnny's chest. “He's right though, gotta make sure the whole outfit matches.”

You feel like you might implode in the backseat. You might not make it to Saturday at this rate. 

You wake early on Saturday. You don't have to be up early. There's nothing going on until tonight, no need for you to rise earlier than the sun. Yet, you can't help the anticipation burning in your stomach, the nervous fluttering in your chest. Tonight you're going to sleep with Price for the first time. Tonight you'll allow him closer than you've ever allowed anyone. 

You have an outfit, you have fancy underwear, even new shoes. You're not sure how you want to wear your hair. You're not sure on makeup either, though Price has seen you plenty without it and has yet to offer any complaints. 

You grab your phone, laying in bed and scrolling hair tutorials until the sun comes up and you start hearing movement in the hallway. You don’t bother changing, pulling on shoes before stepping out. You are hungry, even after spending half the day in town and eating dinner out with Gaz and Johnny yesterday. You slip out the door, coming face to face with Ghost. You tilt your head back, staring up at him. 

“Didn’t expect to see you.” He grumbles. “Figured you’d be busy getting ready.” 

“I’ve got like ten hours until I have to be ready.” You say, blinking up at him. “It doesn’t take that long.” 

He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Come on.” 

You follow him out of the barracks, but you find yourself not having to speed walk quite as fast to keep up with him today. 

“Are you upset?” You ask, kicking up your pace a bit so you can walk side by side with him. 

“About what?” He asks. 

“Price and I.” You say. 

“Why would I be?” He sounds genuinely baffled that you’re asking him. 

You shrug. “You’re an alpha in the pack too, and I didn’t really ask anyone but Price.” 

“Price is your alpha.” He says, as if it’s the most straightforward thing in the world. He’s not wrong, Price is the only one that really matters when it comes to you, since he’s the pack alpha, and he’ll be the one claiming you. 

“Would you ever want to be?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He meets your gaze as he opens the door to the mess, not answering as you slip into the hall. He stands closer to you than he normally does as you get in line for food, tailing you like a shadow as you find Johnny among the drowsy and hungover soldiers in the mess. 

You take a seat across from him, Ghost taking his spot next to Johnny. You can feel the nerves beginning to take hold as you eat, thinking about your date tonight. It’s not like you really have to impress Price much, though you suppose you could make him dislike you rather easily. You’d rather avoid that situation, as there’s no getting out of mating and being claimed by him. You’re going to be part of his pack whether he likes you or not. 

What if he finds you boring? You’re not even sure what you could talk about. It’s not like you do much, and he already knows most everything he can about you. The only thing you have to talk about are things you’d rather not discuss during your first date. You’d prefer not to discuss them at all. 

“You’ll be fine.” Johnny says as you walk back to the barracks. “Just get ‘im talking, and ye won’t need tae worry about gettin’ a word in yourself.” 

Johnny’s words do make you giggle. You’re sure Price has so much more to talk about than you do. You barely know anything about him in general. 

It’s ironic that you’re more nervous about dinner than you are about the fact Price is going to take your virginity tonight. 

You did ask for this. It’ll be good, getting to know him before your heat starts. The idea of going through your heat with a virtual stranger is terrifying to you, and Price had so willingly offered to do this so that doesn’t happen, so you feel more comfortable with being mated and claimed by someone you at least somewhat know. This is your chance to get to know your pack alpha, your alpha before you’re forced to. This is your chance to make your own decision, to have some control over a life that’s been dictated for you this far. 

You spend the morning in a nervous panic, looking up tips online, tutorials, possible questions he might ask and thinking up answers that will make you sound interesting at least. Answers that won’t just be parroting things that he already knows. Gaz brings you lunch, letting you continue to prepare for your date, knowing the chances of you having a breakdown if you’re forced around people are high right now. 

You give yourself ample time to get ready, showering and moisturizing, making sure you smell clean and look nice. You do your hair, taking your time to make yourself look decent. You opt for minimal make up, wanting to make yourself seem like you at least put a little effort into your looks. 

You're strapping on your shoes when the knock comes at the door. Six o'clock sharp, just as you expected. You take a deep breath, adjusting your dress before you open the door.

John is standing on the other side, dressed in a button up shirt and slacks. You look him over, the fresh scent of cologne reaching your nose. His eyes rake your form, his scent slipping through the cologne as his gaze darkens a bit. Gaz was right. He does look like he wants to devour you. 

“You clean up nicely.” You say, looking him over again. His shirt hugs his muscles nicely, his pants obviously tailored to fit him. You haven't seen him in anything but fatigues and civilian clothes so far. 

“Was going to say the same to you.” He says, lips pulling up into a smile. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” 

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Hungry?” He asks, offering you an arm. 

“Always.” You say, taking his arm, letting him lead you towards the rec room. 

The lights inside are dimmed, the table usually reserved for games set up with a tablecloth and candles, along with two plates covered with cloches, and a bottle of wine. You're not sure when he managed to procure the wine, or maybe he had it saved and decided this was as good a time as any. 

“Wow.” You say, impressed by the effort he obviously put into everything. 

“I bribed the boys out of here for a few hours.” He says, leading you to the table. “Wasn't easy.”

“I bet.” You say, sitting down in one of the chairs, letting him push it in for you. 

He pours you both glasses of wine before taking the cloches off the plates. You blink in surprise at the meal on the plate. Spaghetti, a salad, and bread. It's so simple, yet it takes you right back to weeknight dinners at home. 

“You made this?” You ask as he takes the seat across from you. 

He nods. “I've amassed many skills over the years. I'm no five star chef, but I can throw things together in a pinch.”

“Well it looks good.” You say, picking up your fork. 

It tastes good too. It's so simple, yet it's one of the best things you've eaten in the last month. You miss a lot of things about America, and the food is starting to be one of those. 

You and John make small talk as you eat, the wine warming your body and easing your nerves. 

“How long has it been,” You ask him as you clear your plate. “Since you were with an omega last?”

“Two years.” He says, taking a sip of wine. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. You know they've been with omegas in the past, taking advantage of barrack bunnies and the swaths of willing omegas you know populate near military bases. You just hadn't thought it would be that far back in the past.

“Right around the time the task force was created.” He continues. “We were too busy bonding and working on the task force, by the time we had a moment long enough for anything like that, we didn't need them anymore.”

“That must have been torture.” You say, staring at him wide eyed. 

“We're trained for that sort of thing.” He says with a smile. “How to fight off those urges, those needs. When you're in the field, something like that could get you killed. You don't pass selection into the SAS until you can show mastery over those skills.”

“Damn.” You say, taking a sip of your wine. “Still, it couldn't have been easy.”

“It can be hard, once you've been with an omega, to go without. But that's just part of the job.” 

“Well, I suppose that's partly why I'm here.” You say, huffing out a laugh. 

“Perhaps.” He says. “I'm certain we're not getting the full story.”

The double meaning isn't lost on you. There's a lot they don't know about you, things that are safer buried deep where they can't hurt anyone. Things you'd like to keep buried for the rest of time. 

“It’s nothing...bad is it?” You ask, searching his gaze. 

“I’d like to think not,” He says. 

But... 

You don’t need to hear him say it. You know it’s there, lingering at the end of that statement. You wonder how many times he’s been in these situations, forced to place blind trust in someone and hope they have the best intentions in mind. You’re all too familiar with those sorts of situations. Putting blind trust in strangers was your life purpose as soon as you presented as an omega. 

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He says, staring at you with such conviction you can’t help but believe him. “You’re part of our pack, which makes you part of this team, even if bureaucracy says otherwise. We take care of each other, and that includes you. You’re our omega, regardless of whatever the endgame is for this initiative.” 

You feel almost breathless at his words, at his declaration of loyalty to you. You know how much loyalty means to someone like him, the kind of promise words like that uphold. They’d give their lives to defend you. You’d fight to defend them too, if it came down to it. Not that you could do much, but you’d try. 

“You’re my omega.” John says, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “I take care of what's mine.”

You nod, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes. “I know. You've...you've been a better alpha than I could have ever hoped for. Despite everything you've been kind and caring and understanding. I know some things we learned at the institute weren’t right, but...I was expecting a lot worse.”

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, his fingers gently squeezing yours. “I'm glad I could prove that wrong. I know this situation is weird and less than ideal, but I fear I'll have to tell Kate she was right. She did pick a good omega.”

You smile, preening a bit under his praise. “That’s all I can try to be.” 

“You can be so much more than that.” He says, lifting your hand to his lips. His beard tickles your skin as he presses a line of kisses across the back of your hand before turning it, kissing across your palm to your wrist. He presses his nose against the skin there, inhaling deeply. “You’re sure, about tonight?” 

Your fingers brush his cheek as he holds your hand against his face. Your heart is thudding your throat at the proximity, those nervous flutters starting in your stomach again. He’s giving you an out, a chance to take back what you had asked for. You know he wouldn’t blame you. He was more than willing to wait for your heat to start, for when you had no choice, when it would mean less because you would be desperate and needy for him. 

You don’t want that, though. You want him to want you before his instincts tell him he does. You want to know he’s not just fulfilling a duty, scratching an itch that’s been tickling him for two years now. You want him to want you as you are now. You want him to choose you. 

“Yes.” You say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. “Just...be gentle with me?” 

“Of course.” He says, kissing your palm again. “You change your mind at any time, you tell me, yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” He takes your hand in his again, standing from his seat. 

Nerves mix with excitement as he pulls you to your feet with him, stepping up close to you. His hand lifts, tilting your chin up. Your stomach flutters as you meet his gaze, his eyes warm and soft as he stares at you. Affection shines in them as his thumb brushes your lip before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is short and sweet, like the ones you’ve shared with him before. Yet, at the same time it feels different. There’s warmth beginning to blossom under your skin, the kiss not just a simple sign of affection this time. It’s the overture, the appetizer, just a teasing taste of what’s to come. 

You hold his hand as he leads you down the hallway, heels clacking on the tile floor. It makes your face warm, the thought that they all know what it means, they can hear it and they know what’s about to happen. They know where you’re going, what you’re about to do. 

John opens his door, motioning for you to enter. You haven’t been in any of their rooms yet, you haven’t invaded their own sacred spaces. Your steps are slow and cautious as you breach that barrier, John’s scent washing over you as you step into his room. 

It’s neat and tidy, just as you expected it would be. It’s not laid out all that differently from your own, though perhaps a bit more organized and clinical than yours. There’s a shelf next to his nightstand, stuffed with books and what you can assume are souvenirs from places he’s been. There’s stacks of papers on the desk, his clothes and shoes tucked away neatly in their places. His bed is slightly bigger than yours, and you wonder if that’s a perk of his status, or if he pulled some strings once he learned he was getting an omega. 

The door clicking shut draws your attention back to John, the click of the handle a finality. You’re doing this. There’s no going back now. 

Not that you want to. 

John steps up to you, staring down at you. You stare up into his eyes as his hand comes to rest on your waist, his touch hot through the thin fabric of your dress. “You’re sure you want to do this?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest. 

You nod, your hands slowly sliding up his arms, feeling the muscle hidden beneath his dress shirt. “Yes.” 

His lips meet yours, beard tickling your skin as he kisses you. You let him lead, leaning into him as he pulls you closer against his chest. He’s so warm, so firm under your hands as you grip his shoulders. His hand slides from your hip to your back, a gasp parting your lips as his calloused fingers touch the bare skin of your back. Goosebumps raise on your skin, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. He tilts his head, taking advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He tastes like wine, a quiet sound leaving your throat as he pulls you tighter against him, pressing your body into his. You can feel all of him, the hard ridges, the strength in his body as he cages you in his arms. Your head is spinning, intoxicated purely by the smell and taste of him. 

Something rumbles deep in his chest, your entire body shivering in response. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your hips pressed flush against his. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach. You’ve been able to smell the musky tinge of arousal in his scent all evening, and you wonder how long he’s been hard. Has it been since he saw you? Or has he been thinking about this all day? 

The thought thrills you, makes your omega preen in the back of your mind. You did this. Your alpha is all worked up because of you. 

A whimper leaves your lips as his hand slips lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass. He mumbles a curse against your lips before they blaze a path down the line of your jaw to your neck. You tilt your head, bearing your throat for him. A low rumble of approval vibrates through his chest, his hand squeezing your ass. The sound has your omega practically belly up, the dampness between your thighs intensifying as your scent gets heavier in the air. 

John groans against your throat, teeth nipping at your neck just over your scent gland. “Such a good girl for me.” He groans, his hand on your ass guiding your hips to grind against his. “Such a good omega.” 

You whine at the praise, hands blindly sliding down his chest to pull at the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers are trembling slightly from excitement, fumbling as you attempt to get his shirt off. You need to feel him, his skin against yours, the warmth of him pressed against you. 

“Easy pup.” His voice rumbles against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin before he pulls back, hands taking over to strip him of his button up and undershirt. 

You lick your lips as his skin is revealed to you, your hand automatically lifting to touch him. You hesitate for a half a second but he makes no move to stop you. Your eyes trail over his form, over the many, many scars that decorate his skin like some kind of macabre painting. Lines and jagged slices, the telltale star shaped marks of bullet wounds. Cuts and nicks from knives or bullets, you can’t tell the difference. 

Your fingers settle on a rather large scar on his side, starting at the base of his ribs and curling around his side. It’s an old scar, but the skin is still rough and uneven. Whatever had caused it, it took a chunk out of him. You don’t want to think about it, about how every scar could have been a close call. How many times he’s been on the brink of death. 

“I’ll tell you about them later.” He says, taking your hand in his and lifting it to his lips. He kisses your fingertips, his beard tickling your skin. “Tonight is about you.” 

He pulls you close again, leaning down to press his lips to yours. His hands are warm against your back as he wraps himself around you again, trapping your hands against his bare chest. Your nails dig into his skin as his hands sink lower, grabbing handfuls of your ass. He groans, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. He presses you backwards, and you trust him to guide you until your legs hit the side of his bed. 

“Gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?” He growls, his voice rough around the edges as his alpha slips through. 

“Yes, alpha!” You gasp against his lips, your head tilting back in submission. 

“Always such a good omega for me.” He praises you, teeth nipping at your throat. “Good omegas kneel for their alphas.” He says, pushing you backwards so you plop down on his bed. “But a good alpha,” He slowly lowers himself before you, dropping to one knee, then the other as his hands wrap around your ankles. “Kneels for his omega.”

Your face warms as you stare down at him, unable to do anything but watch as his hands make quick work of your shoes, setting them neatly beside the bed. His skin is rough against yours as his hands drag up your legs, slowly parting them. He moves himself closer, kneeling between your parted thighs. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he reaches up, pushing on your stomach until you're laying flat on his bed. He can see up your skirt now, and you're silently glad for the lacy panties Johnny had insisted on. 

“Do you trust me?” His lips brush your inner thigh as his hands pause just at the hem of your skirt where it's ridden up almost to your hips. 

“Yes, alpha.” You say, lifting your head to stare down at him. 

He meets your gaze as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his hands continuing to press upwards until your dress is hiked around your waist. Your heart is fluttering rapidly in your chest as you stare down at him, his gaze leaving your eyes to stare at the soaked lace barely covering your most private parts. 

His hands leave your hips to curl around the lace, giving it a sharp tug. The fabric snaps easily, the shreds falling to the floor. Your lip part as you stare at him in shock.  

“I'll buy you a new pair.” He says, his hands gripping your thighs to pull them further apart. 

The cool air in the room hits your slicked folds, making you shudder. He's barely touched you and already you can feel how slick you are. His lips press against your inner thigh again, blazing a path upwards. His gaze meets yours again as his hands shift to grip your hips, adjusting your position on the bed before he leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds. 

You gasp at the foreign sensation, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders. His mouth is warm as it closes over your pussy, his tongue licking another slow stripe up your folds until he reaches the spot that has your inhale turning into a gasp. 

He focuses his attention there, dragging slow lines across your clit with his tongue. You let your arms give out, laying flat on the bed again. Little whimpers leave your lips as he teases your clit, your thighs already trembling. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself. Not since before you left the institute four months ago. 

You don’t last very long. 

Your thighs squeeze around his shoulders as your orgasm is ripped from you suddenly. You let out a cry that’s probably too loud, but you don’t care who could have heard you as your back arches off the bed, pressing your hips closer to John’s face. His hands hold your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue continues to tease your clit, working you through your orgasm. 

It’s not until you’re writhing in his grasp, letting out little whimpers that he relents, lifting his face from between your thighs. His beard is shiny with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It’s obscene and yet, it has heat pulsing straight between your legs again. He lets out a chuckle, the scent of your arousal washing over him. 

“Fuckin sweet as sugar, love.” He says as he pushes himself up from between your legs, his body folding over yours on the bed. 

His face presses into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him claiming you now, sinking his teeth into your skin to mark you as his forever. He could. It would be so easy for him to do it. His tongue laves over the skin covering your scent gland, a shiver running through you. Your arms wrap around him, holding him against you as your scents mingle, musky with arousal. 

“Alpha...” You whine, your hips pressing up against the bulge in his pants. He’s fully hard now, the fabric of his pants providing delicious friction against your folds. 

He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your throat before he pushes himself up over you. “Soon, love.” He says, moving until he’s standing in front of you. “Think you’re a bit overdressed still.” 

Your eyes dart down to his pants. “So are you.” 

He smirks, his hands dropping to your waist, slowly pushing your dress up higher. You let him slip it over your head, lifting your arms to help him. You’re bare before him, warmth spreading through your veins as he stares down at you. Your hands lift, coming to rest on his thighs. You can feel the muscle through the fabric, the strength of him beneath your hands. How easily he could take control, pin you down and take what he wants with little regard for you or your pleasure. How easily he could hurt you, snap your bones like they’re toothpicks, bruise and batter your body without even straining a muscle. 

Yet he stands here, patiently watching as your hands move closer and closer to the prominent bulge in his fitted pants. He doesn’t even twitch as your hand cups his hard length, your breath stuttering at the sheer size of him. He’s big like most alphas are, or so you’ve heard. 

His eyes stare into you as you undo his belt, popping the button on his pants open. He finally moves as you pull down the zipper, helping you tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, almost as stiff as he is. You stare at his veiny cock with wide eyes, the tip flushed almost red with how hard he is. 

“Christ.” You breathe, staring at him in awe. 

You did that. 

“Easy, love.” He says, leaning down to wrap an arm around your waist. “I said tonight was about you.” 

He moves you so you’re laid out on the bed, your head hitting his pillow. The scent of him floods your nose as he joins you on the bed, the frame creaking as he kneels between your legs. Nerves twist in your stomach as you continue to stare at his cock bobbing between his thighs as he runs his hands along your legs. It’s going to hurt, you know that. It suddenly seems daunting, this request. At least during your heat you’d be so out of it with need you wouldn’t really feel anything. And you’d have plenty of slick to help. 

“None of that.” He says, squeezing your thighs gently. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly. 

“We’ve got more work to do before we reach that point. I’m not just going to stuff my cock into you like some needy pup.” He stares at you. “You tell me and I’ll stop, alright?” 

You nod again. “Yes, alpha.” 

Your breath hitches as his hands reach the junction of your thighs, one moving to your stomach, the other dragging through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingers. They’re so much thicker than your own, your pussy clenching as he presses against the entrance. 

“Relax for me, love.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your stomach with his thumb. 

His finger presses into you and your lips part at the intrusion. You clamp tight around his finger, making him groan. 

“Easy.” He says, his thumb moving to circle your clit. 

A breathy whine leaves your lips as his finger presses deeper into you, reaching further than you ever could. Your hand reaches up to thread through his hair, letting the short cropped strands slide through your fingers. It’s softer than you imagined, though you expect he too had spent the afternoon preparing for tonight as well. The mental image of him lathering himself in moisturizer would have made you laugh if his finger hadn’t brushed against a spot inside you that has your hips lifting off the bed. 

He leans down, lips blazing a path up your stomach, between your breasts to your throat. He swallows your moans as he works you open with his fingers, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into your wet pussy only adding to the pleasure coursing through you. You can feel it building within you, heat burning through your veins. Price groans against your lips as your nails scratch his scalp, his cock leaking against your thigh. You want him, need him inside of you. You need to feel him, you need to be close to him. 

“Alpha, please.” You whimper, tugging at his hair. 

He stares down at you, eyes blown with lust. “Please, what?” 

“Need you.” You whimper, grinding against his hand. “Please, sir.” 

Price closes his eyes, letting out a groan. His cock twitches against your thigh, his fingers slipping from you. He breathes out a curse, shifting to open his nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube, sitting back on his knees to squirt some into his hand. You’re plenty slick, but you watch as he rubs the lube on his cock, tossing the bottle back into the open drawer. 

He kneels between your thighs again, staring down at you as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. You feel intoxicated, your head spinning from the intensity of his scent around you and the knowledge of what’s about to happen. 

Price folds his body over yours again, the head of his cock brushing your folds. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, parting your thighs further for him as his tip catches on your opening. Your hands grip his shoulders as he presses into you, the stretch stinging a bit as he works you open. This is it. There’s no going back now. 

You don’t want to. 

You whimper quietly as he pushes into you, nails biting into his skin. It’s too much, yet you can’t get enough of it as he sinks further in. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from your lips staring down at your face. 

“Alright?” He asks, stilling where he is. 

You nod. “Just need a moment. You’re really big.” 

His lips twitch up into a smile, a pleased growl rumbling through his chest. “Don’t start talking like that, love.” He says, leaning down to press kisses to your face. 

“Or what?” You ask, your nails digging harder into his skin. 

“I might not be able to control myself.” He growls, his alpha slipping out around the edges of his voice. 

Your pussy clenches at his words, walls clamping down around him. He lets out another growl, hiking your leg up over his hip. It forces him deeper into you, your breath catching at the feeling of him spreading you open. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, rocking your hips to take him even deeper into you. 

John’s arms frame your head as he presses his body against yours. Your arms slip around his back, legs locking around his waist as he begins to move slowly, working himself deeper and deeper into you until he’s pressed flush against you. He stills for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as you both breathe. You’re trembling just slightly, overwhelmed with being so close to him, to your alpha. The pain and discomfort is gone, replaced by burning heat as desire pulses through your veins. 

“Please, alpha.” You whimper. 

He shushes you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you, omega.” 

Your skin is slick with sweat already as he begins to rock his hips into you. Your hands press into his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex as he moves. It feels good, the friction of your bodies, the way he stretches you open with every thrust. Your head is spinning with pleasure at the thought of being so close to another person, being so connected with someone else. 

Not just someone else, with your alpha. 

The wet squelch of your pussy as he thrusts into you is loud, the mattress creaking as he picks up speed. You’re trembling, your thighs squeezing around his hips as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. You’re not sure how he’s lasted this long, especially without any sort of release for himself yet tonight. 

Perhaps it was the training he spoke about earlier.

You’re not sure how he manages it. You couldn’t have that kind of control. Not after this. Not after knowing how good it can feel, how good he can make you feel. 

“Fucking feel so good.” He grunts, his breath fanning her ear. His own skin is slicked with sweat, muscles twitching under her hands. “So fucking tight and warm.” 

“John!” You gasp, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades as he picks up the pace even more, his hips snapping against yours. 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum like a good omega? Need you to cum for me.” He grunts, staring down at you. 

You let out a whine, arching against him as you seek your second high of the night. His cock brushes that spot inside of you, stars nearly erupting behind your eyes. 

“Right there.” You gasp, thighs shaking around his hips. “Fuck, right there!” 

You’re being loud but you don’t care, nails dragging down his back as he focuses his thrusts right at that spot inside you. You cum with a cry, pussy squeezing around him. He lets out a loud groan, his hips stilling as he twitches inside you. His muscles go lax, his body falling on top of yours. He manages to keep himself from squishing you beneath him, his face pressing against your neck. 

The smell of sex, arousal, sweat, and your own combined scents are heavy in the air. You’re shaking, still wrapped tightly around John as he lays on top of you. He’s breathing heavily, warm breaths fanning against your neck. You don’t want to move, your mind buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm still. 

“Alright?” He murmurs, lips pressing a gentle kiss against your throat. 

You nod, slowly unwinding yourself from around him. “Yeah. ‘M good.” 

“Fucking Christ, a man could get addicted to that.” He says, lifting his face from your neck. “Sweet little omega.” 

Your face warms more than it already feels, and you lean into his touch as his fingers brush your cheek. 

“Let me go get something to clean this mess up with.” He says, pushing himself up so he’s kneeling. 

You can’t help but giggle as his joints pop and he lets out a groan at the effort. “Need a break, old man.” 

His eyes flash playfully, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Going with the old man insults again, huh?” 

You give him a look. “You’re the one grunting while getting up.” 

You let out a surprised yelp as he brings his hand down on your thigh, the skin tingling as he gets up. “I’ll show you old man.” He murmurs as he heads for his en suite. 

You bite your lip as you begin to feel his release slipping out of you, the feeling causing desire to stir in your stomach once more. 

John tsks as he comes back, wiping the mess between your thighs. “Needy little thing.” He practically purrs, stepping away to toss the rag into the bathroom sink before he returns, climbing back onto the bed.

You press as close to him as you can, nuzzling into his neck. Your limbs are still twitching a bit, your mind buzzing from the aftermath of what had just transpired. John wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. You press a gentle kiss to his neck, earning a rumble in response. Your own rumble starts up as you purr contently, tossing a leg over his hip to allow you to get as close to him as possible. 

He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Comfortable?” 

You purr louder in response, sleep beginning to fog the corners of your mind. 

“Good girl.” He says, pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep. Alpha’s got you.”

NEXT ->

Taglist:

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[littlelovelunette]

heeey, I love your work <3 Would you like to write very bimbo reader x sevika headcanons/story? I think it would be cute <3

Thank youuu

Headcanons

Sevika x Bimbo!reader

Contains mentions of violence

You wear the stark red lipstick/lipgloss you own because whenever you leave kisses on Sevika's neck, they are like a sharp contrast to her dark skin. If you for some reason change up the colour of your lippie, Sevika notices. She doesn't let you wear colours that won't pop on her skin.

Sevika makes you wear frilly small skirts and dresses

Asks for mirror selfies like it's her alternate Shimmer dose or something like girl calm down you ain't going nowhere

Has a preference to which panties you wear even, she likes seeing you in pristine white panties and degrading you because of the wet stain on the crotch

Sevika has to redirect you when you walk with her on the roads and often she'll do this by just grabbing your head and angling it towards the right path

Although she acts annoyed, she'll buy you whatever perfume you want

Everytime Sevika looks at your products in the shower, she wonders how her water bill hasn't skyrocketed

You don't understand cards for the life of you. Sevika has taught you so many times but you don't understand shit about it. So Sevika told you, "Just be pretty and watch." While she played.

Sevika pays crazy amounts of money for your hair treatments and facials

Sevika often carries you around on the road because if anyone ambushes the both of you, you can't run in your heels and even without that circumstance you're always falling off

Sevika loves your feminity with every cell in her body

Sevika does the dishes after every meal so your nails don't get ruined and you don't complain about it either

Sevika lets you decorate her mechanical arm from time to time with whatever ribbons and stickers you come up with. She'll grumble about it but won't take it off unless she really has to clean it or get ready for a brawl

When you unknowingly flirt with someone, Sevika will not pay heed to it but after you're safe and sound at home, she'll hunt that guy down and likely take his favourite organ out of him

When you call her Sevi, her ears turn red and she takes a few minutes before she responds with a "...yeah?" In a strained choked voice.

Sevika has you carrying a taser, pepperspray and knuckle busters. "Anyone unpleasant come your way, give them either of these three. I suggest the taser. Just don't kill yourself."

[pathologicalreid]

forwards beckon rebound | s.r.

[previously]

in which fate reveals itself to you and Spencer. it's exactly as you feared, you're in love with him.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: blowing smoke FINALE (p4), maeve, kidnapping, russian roulette, imminent death, violence, blood, nondescript case fic, no hea word count: 1.88k a/n: two things 1) i do have an alternate ending to this series 2) fluff this weekend i promise

Brightness seared your retinas when the blindfold finally came off, you felt the sore skin in places where the fabric was too tight over your face. An abstract of indents were left over your skin.

Dots and shadows danced in your vision while you tried to blink them away, forming the shape of someone who oddly resembled Spencer. He was hunched over in a chair in front of you, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. Your solace was the steady rising and falling of his chest. Each time he took a breath it eased your own.

“Spence,” you called for him, your throat so swollen that it came out as a hiss. The desperate cry of a rattlesnake hindered by whoever had crushed your windpipe.

Tunnel vision blinded you to anything in the periphery, your eyes scanned Spencer while you acquainted yourself with the binds around your wrists and ankles. He seemed unharmed, save for the obvious unconsciousness. You had no idea who had taken you, but the BAU had no shortage of enemies. The two of you were, by extension, always targets.

Your ears perked up at the first sign of noise in the warehouse, hot air rose to the floor you were on, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable in the humid prison. Glancing over your shoulder, you watched a masked figure waltz through the doorway.

Clocking the gun affixed to their hip, you quickly looked over to Spencer, hoping he would wake up soon. The fabric ties around your wrists dug into your fragile skin as you looked around the room, remembering there was someone else in here with you, someone who had pulled your blindfold off.

Silently, you started putting the pieces together. “Spencer,” you whispered, having half a mind to reach your foot out and try to kick him awake. There was a reason you had been the one blindfolded. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew where you were. It led to the horrifying realization that this was about you.

His nose wrinkled, and the first sign that he was starting to wake up was interrupted when the masked figure stood behind him, gripping him by his hair and lifting his head.

Your body instinctively tried to jump to its feet in protest, “Hey!” You shouted as your chair creaked from its bolts in the ground, “Let him go.” Cringing, you watched as he dropped Spencer’s head, letting it loll to the side while he woke up.

The two UnSubs walked out of the room, leaving you and Spencer to your own devices. You shushed him slightly while he groaned, your breath hitching when your name slipped past his lips.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “I’m okay, I’m right here,” you assured him, though you weren’t entirely sure how comforting it was knowing you were both bound to chairs.

Spencer didn’t respond. You twisted your wrist within your binds and winced when it pulled in precisely the wrong way. Looking around, you chewed on the inside of your lip and tried to find something to help you, but there was no next step if you couldn’t get your hands free.

He groaned across from you, and you swallowed back a consolation. You studied him, his head tilted so aggressively to the side that you could see the glint of the scar on his neck. The faded mark was invisible to the naked eye, but when it caught in just the right light, you remembered the way you’d succumbed to dread in that hospital in Texas.

You should’ve called it then. You should have thrown in the proverbial towel and committed yourself to him that very night, with that guy bleeding out on the hospital floor and Penelope shouting about her ears popping.

But you’d heard the gunshot, and you’d seen the fear on his face, and at that moment, the only thing you could remember was trying to pick him up from the floor when he tried to crawl over to Maeve’s lifeless body. You remembered the way he cried when the team tried to give him space and you watched him push Diane’s body over so he could finally get a look at his dearly departed.

Even before she became the most beautiful girl in the world, you never trusted yourself with him. Your lack of faith in him pressed upon your shoulders like the weight of the sky. The pendant he had gifted you seared your chest like a brand. The Tree of Life weighed heavy over your heart.

Your romance with Spencer was like a car crash you couldn’t take your eyes off of. He relentlessly rammed his shoulder into the wall you’d constructed between you while you were on the other side reinforcing the bricks. His soft skin had been marred with bruises, and debris was littered across your body.

You should’ve called it then, but besides your sinking feeling that you’d never step up to the pedestal he had placed Maeve on, you knew you’d only have him temporarily. Life was excruciatingly short, and no amount of time would suffice when it came to him

The wall remained standing in the same way that Maeve’s had, refusing to let Spencer in, refusing to let Spencer help. “Spence,” you whispered. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, his eyes lifted to look at you, and you imagined he was witnessing his worst nightmare. Maybe he’d convince himself he was dreaming, damning you to the fate of telling him this was really happening. “You’re bleeding,” he said, voice gruff from lack of use. His brown eyes flashed with fear when they met yours, but it was no longer residual fear from Maeve’s death—it was fear for you. Had it always been fear for you? Was it possible that the terrorized look in his eye that pushed you away from him had always stemmed from his fear of losing you?

Wrinkling your nose, you finally felt it on your upper lip; blood had trickled from your nose down your face. You shook your head once and said, "It’s just my nose.” You watched his face contort as he tried to free himself from his binds.

Birds chirped outside of the windows; the setting sun invaded the blinds that shadowed the otherwise dark room. Lines of tangerine light lit his face while he ascertained your well-being for himself. There was no point in asking if you knew what had happened, and Spencer wasn’t in the habit of wasting time.

You tried using your thumbnail to cut through the twine around your wrists, the broken piece of keratin on your hand was, so far, the best option you’d had. “Did you see anything?” You asked him, trying to use conversation as a distraction from your current predicament.

He only said your name in response, wide eyes looking past you and watching as the man in the ski mask walked back into the room. The revolver that had previously been holstered on his hip was now in his hands. He spun the cylinder as he approached you, and your heart dropped when he raised the gun, pointing it at Spencer.

“No,” your voice was no more than a whisper while Spencer looked up at your abductor. He met his gaze and refused to flinch, even when he pulled the trigger. Someone who had never met Spencer would think he was entirely stone-faced in the face of a weapon, but you watched the light in his eyes shift and his Adam’s apple bob.

When he pulled the trigger and nothing happened, your chest tightened, but everything about Spencer’s demeanor changed when the gun was turned on you. The barrel pressed to your temple, you shook your head when the shouting started, “Stop!” You closed your eyes, two silent tears streaking your face as the cold metal pressed against your skin. “Let her go,” Spencer urged. “You don’t need both of us.”

The bargaining started, and memories flashed behind your eyelids. Her for me. Let me take her place.

Spencer called your name when the trigger was pulled again, and the weapon clicked without expelling a bullet.

“Where is she?” Your abductor asked, his voice ringing out in an unfamiliar accent, referring to a mystery woman.

You shook your head once when the weapon was removed from your temple, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Part of you wished you were just egging on a suspect, but you felt entirely powerless while you looked at Spencer, confused.

His clenched fist made contact with your cheek, eliciting a shout from Spencer while your head twisted to the side. “Don’t lie to me! I know she called you.”

The gun rose again, “Please,” you cried as the barrel met Spencer’s forehead. “We can help you if you tell us what’s going on,” you assured the unnamed man.

Flinching, you watched the revolver click again, now halfway through the six cartridges. You were left with three more chances and, presumably, one bullet. “Killing one of us isn’t going to get us to help you,” Spencer tried to reason with him, but if there was one thing you knew, it’s that you can’t change a mind that’s been made up.

He scoffed, lifting the gun to your head, and you felt the blood drain from your face in anticipation. Every part of you ran cold as the gun met your temple, “Spencer, close your eyes.”

You continued digging at your restraints, jumping slightly when the gun clicked again. The mechanical sound of the trigger rang in your ears, echoing endlessly when you looked back at Spencer. You swallowed back an I love you, not wanting to succumb to the cliché while you met Spencer’s eyes again. A piece of you hoped the look in your eyes said everything you needed, noises came from elsewhere in the building, and you wished it was a savior.

With the revolver up at his temple, he nodded reassuringly at you, “I know.”

“Please let him go,” you begged, your voice catching over your tears. “If this is about me, you have to let him go,” you promised.

When the trigger was pulled again with no consequences, your heart dropped. The blood-pumping organ fell through your entire body, and you looked up at Spencer, unable to hide the terror in your eyes.

You shook your head as the gun was pressed against your temple, “Spencer, don’t watch.” You faced down your own death, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled as you tugged at your binds in a last-minute escape attempt. “You don’t need to see this,” you didn’t add again, but the thought crossed your mind while you thought of the necklace that sat over your heart.

“I have to see you through,” Spencer insisted, silver lining his eyes while he furiously pulled at his own restraints.

Your chest rose and fell in desperate, shaking breaths. You couldn’t do it; you couldn’t meet his eyes with a revolver pressed to your skull. You should’ve done it. You should’ve called it then, but that was how life worked. Things were already clearest when they were in the rearview window. There was nothing for you to do.

All Spencer could do was watch as he pulled the trigger, and the cycle repeated.

"History repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done." - Sydney J. Harris

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 12

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i would just like to bring everyone's attention to the fact this fic is called tormented spirit. BTW some of yall might wanna read my weasely twins fluff cuz 😀 yeah you should read some fluff! leave comments/reblogs ok!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Since your sister's wedding, there were two things you no longer did: speak to your sister and go to your father. Everyday, instead of having the Lord Hand accompany you to your maester, you were accompanied by one of your wards.

At first, you were apprehensive with the change. After all, they were your knights, but neither of them were the father to your babe, and even fathers were rarely involved with prenatal care. Though, the patience they extended is not unusual, you were surprised that Erryk and Arryk took time asking the maester additional information concerning things that might need their attention in the future.

Today, you walk to the maester's ward, one hand on your belly the other on Erryk's bicep. As he opens the door, you freeze when you hear the voices in the room.

"Daughter." "Sister."

These words are spoken at the same time. You clench your teeth and turn to Erryk, whose jaw is set. You take a breath and decide to simply come back later.

Alicent stands the cot she sat upon and raises a hand, "please! I'm finished. You can come now."

Finished? Why is she being examined by the maester?

Otto is angered by your persistence to ignore them. He scowls and glares at Erryk, "you remind your princess to practice some humility," he points a finger, "her actions are affecting the queen, who is now carrying an heir."

Your face drops as you turn to her.

She is already staring at you. You watch her pick her nails. You catch the redness of her cuticles.

Erryk is equally shocked. He stutters before nodding in regard, "congratulations, my queen."

Alicent shakes her head, forcing a smile, "t-thank you, ser."

Your father's eyes remain on you. He waits for you to offer the same sentiment, but his anger only intensifies at your continued silence. He scoffs, "will you not even congratulate your sister?"

You clutch your pronounced belly and turn to your maester, "may we please do the examination? I cannot bear to stand for long."

Otto and Alicent watch you move past them. The latter is resigned to your commitment of not speaking to her, the former seethes and laughs dryly. He offers his arm to the queen, "come, daughter. Let us pray that your sister's impertinence is merely as side effect of childbearing."

Your sister spares you a glassy glance before taking Otto's arm and leaving with him. You watch as they leave, feeling yourself grow hard of breathing.

The maester asks you to sit, but before you do, you snatch his arm, "is she truly with child?"

He looks at your teary face. He feels the tremble of your hand as he places his own atop of it. He carefully speaks "it is joyous news, is it not?"

You release a shaky breath as he helps you sit.

"Princess," the maester warily says, "breathe for me. We cannot proceed if you overcome by your affliction."

You place both your hands on your belly and take a couple deep breaths. You close your eyes and resist the sob that threatens to come. A couple of tears wet your cheeks, but you manage to remain intact. You wipe your face and mutter to yourself, "it's barely been a moon since they've wed."

Your maester hears it though and offers, "your sister is blessed with a fertile womb."

You wish he had not tried to comfort you with such an idea.

You try not to think of Alicent as you do your daily examination, but she is all you think of. You think of how frightened she must be. You think of how your father surely told her about your daily visits to the maester. You wonder if he would force her to do the same, just to get you to talk to her. She wouldn't need daily examinations like you; she is perfectly healthy, stronger than you, as she said herself.

You are so deep in thought, you don't even realize the maester was finished with you, up until he says something that demands your full attention.

"What?" you knit your brows at him.

"We will be more certain of it as the moons wax and wane, but considering you are a twin yourself, and, again, because of the rather rapid growth of your belly, chances are my deduction is correct."

He helps you up and Erryk is quick to take your arm. You mutter through a shaky breath, "I'm carrying twins?"

Your maester nods, "highly likely."

You turn to Erryk, who offers you a reassuring smile, "I... congratulate you, my princess."

You stare at him for a moment and blink rapidly.

"You might give birth to a boy and girl who will have the same devotion you and your brother have," Erryk says in an attempt to take away some of the fear written across your face.

It does actually. You recall your visit to Oldtown and find yourself nodding, "I... I must write a letter at once."

Many moons come and go, but across the sea, the sun shines. Daemon's day has just started. His mood is nothing but sour, as it always is. He is loathe to start his day, but he does, and with a grunt, and leaves his tent to break his fast.

We eats with the Velaryons, Corlys, Vaemond, and Laenor, and though he did not hold any particular fondness for them, there was something in the way they all spoke in nothing but High Valyrian that made mornings not completely unbearable.

"My prince," Corlys greets him in their mother tongue. He hands Daemon a plate, "duck."

Daemon raises his brow at it, "with salt?"

"And pepper," Leanor says with a half-amused expression.

"My," Daemon sits down with them, "I am spoiled."

Corlys waits for Daemon to have a few bites before continuing conversation. He clears his throat, "before the day passes, allow me, my brother, and my son-" he looks between the said people, earning furrowed brows from Laenor, "-to greet you, both on behalf of House Velaryon, and as your comrade in battle for you—"

"Oh, yes!" Leanor interjects once he remembers, "congratulations, my prince!"

This earns him a look from his father, and his uncle. Laenor, who had been grinning, slowly raises his brows, "a-... apologies for interrupting, father."

Corlys sighs, "as I was-"

"And have we won the war overnight?" the prince says, rather uninterested, both in small talk and in his duck.

Corlys is confused by this, "I... no." He slowly tilts his head, "does your lady wife not write to you?"

Daemon is immediately on edge at the mention of you, "and what of her?"

Corlys narrows his eyes. He puts him to the test, "... you are aware your brother, the king, has remarried?"

Daemon whips his head his direction.

"And that also he expects an heir to be delivered come spring?"

"Remarried?!" Daemon repeats in offence, "and which scheming cunt managed to tricked him into marriage?"

Corlys turns to Vaemond, who turns to Leanor, who turns back to Corlys. The latter clears his throat, "your bride's sister, my prince."

His eyes widen. He looks between the Velaryons, then scoffs dryly. He begins to laugh, "that roach of a Hand has Viserys's bollocks shoved down his fucking throat."

Their faces contort at the foul language. Vaemond, in particular, is so offended that he cannot help but ask, "doesn't the princess write to you every day?"

Daemon clenches his plate

"And she never mentioned thi—"

"WHAT USE HAVE I TO READ THE WEEPY WRITING OF MY WIFE?!" the prince snaps, coming to a stand as he chucks his plate to the ground.

Corlys understands then Daemon's initial shock. However, he is still confused, "have you not read any letters from your wife?"

"Would you rather I be distracted, Corlys?" he snaps again, hands now clenched into fists.

Corlys is not intimidated by Daemon's anger, but he is also unincited by the idea a fight. He raises his hands in surrender, "most men gladly welcome distractions in the heat of war."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "I am not most men," then storms all the way back to his tent.

"Jiōragon hen ñuha ñuhoso!" he snaps in High Valyrian still, shoving the unwitting soldier aside. Get out of my way!

He returns to his tent. Another unwitting victim is there. "My prince," he bows, "a letter from Lady H-" Daemon snags the letter from him and shoves him away with exceeding anger and force.

He enters his tent and immediately chucks the letter to the floor, as if it was a vase he intended to shatter into a million pieces. It doesn't, of course; the paper remains intact, along with its seal. He crushes it beneath his heel then grabs the sack containing all your unread letters. He empties it on the floor and violently begins to stomp all over them.

You were his. You were meant to be his! Yet here you were, a pawn in someone else's game. His lust and infatuation has blinded him from this truth. You and your sister were mere tools of your cunt father to manipulate the throne.

He continues to trample your letters until they are brown with the dirt. He catches a lone letter that managed to evade his violence. He picks the unscathed object and only now does he realize its red waxen seal had an imprint of a dragon with a long neck that resembled Caraxes. Daemon scoffs, even his dragon you covet.

He breaks the seal. The letter was sent nearly a moon ago.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔴. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢; ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢, 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢

A good place to raise children?! He scoffs and crumples the paper away. You fantasize of bearing his seed now? He laughs at the idea, chucking the paper across his tent. His amusement goes dry when he realizes it must be your father's ploy.

He's read enough.

Back in the Keep, you too receive a letter. It is from Gwayne, whose weekly response has finally arrived. You do not mind that he does not write to you daily as you did; you are grateful to receive a response at all.

You were set on reading his response, but as is was, you were experiencing terrible nausea and found yourself unable to sit or lie still. For some reason, the only thing that could combat this was walking around. You instead had your ward read your brother's words aloud for you.

Arryk's eyes trail back and forth you and your letter. He comes to your side when you gag, "princess."

You place a hand on your mouth, walking away from him. He watches as you circle your bed, "perhaps, I-"

"Please," you sigh, "do not make me beg you to read it."

Arryk stiffens and shakes his head, "my apologies, your grace." He turns to the parchment, "my twin."

" Louder," you grunt as you momentarily lean on your bed.

"My twin," Arryk repeats slightly louder, "I pray that your health is good, that you have been eating and sleeping as goodly as you did in the days of your visit here."

You take a deep breath and walk towards nothing in particular.

"While I confess a certain light has been lost in the halls of our Oldtown home since your leave, I..." your ward knits his brows, "disagree with your sentiments to return."

"What?" you gasp softly, turning to Arryk.

He looks at you and hesitates, "I... will not honey my words: you disappoint me with your coldness towards our youngest."

You clench your teeth as you feel another gag coming up, "fucking, Gwayne."

"She has written to me more than once to lament your severed relations since she's wed."

Your scoff makes Arryk pause. You look at him as you walk over, "do not stop."

He looks at you as you walk past him. He clears his throat, "I did not speak of it until now, for I believed you to be wiser than your betrayal."

"Ha!" you scoff, eyes immediately watering, "incorrigible pest," you grunt and rub your belly. You pace faster, "unyielding. Unfeeling."

Arryk watches you pace and takes a few steps back and forth so to remain arms reach of you.

"Continue!"

He stiffens, "I—," he turns back to your brother's words, "you've written you believe it will be better for you both that you away, lest your childbearing interlope with hers. I disagree. Consider me a fool-"

"He is," you scratch your eyes.

"-a man who knows nothing of childbirth, which I am, but I know my sisters— I know you at the very least." Arryk watches you as he says the next words, "leaving Alicent will haunt you, your satisfaction short-lived."

You stop in your tracks. You feel your dress tighten around you.

"Lay down your pride and allow yourself to reach for your sister who understands your struggle unlike anyone in the Seven Realms now more than ever."

You feel sick, sicker.

"Upon doing so, see then if you still wish to come to home."

You heave as you continue walking around.

"I offer many prayers to the Mother for both you and our sister. We are truly grown from the same womb, for I too share in your hope that you give birth to a twin boy and girl."

You rub your belly, as the thought softens you a fraction.

"Mostly, I speak thanks and praise for I am to be doubly an uncle. I pray your births come timely and smoothly, and I pray the Lord Hand has extended nothing but gentleness to you both," he folds the paper, "Your Twin."

"See now," you turn to Arryk, "even my twin betrays me, abandons me," you feel tears run down your cheek.

He slowly walks towards you, "that is not what he's done, my princess."

"Then what?!" you shake your hands, "am I not allowed even my anger now?!"

He is taken off guard when you shove him back.

"Even you are against me!"

Arryk steps back, though you barely mustered enough force for him to need to. You quickly pace around again. He feels the flesh beneath his steel you touched begin to push. His lips part "do not accuse me so harshly."

You whip your head back, glaring at him with red eyes, "SHE COULD HAVE BEEN MARRIED TO A LORD IN THE RIVERLANDS! OR HIGHGARDEN!" You throw your hand out, "ANYWHERE BUT HERE, BUT HERE SHE IS!"

His face falls when your rage makes you crumble. He gasp your name out as he catches you just before you fall.

"And for what?!" you wheeze as you are dragged to your bed. You rip at your collar as your chest tightens and tightens and tightens, "for me?"

"Princess," the knight's voice breaks with worry as he sits you down, "I beg you, ple-"

"Undress me," you mutter as you strugggle for air, "unlace my dress, I-"

He does not wait. He is quick to undo your bodice. He is so frantic, he nearly cuts your ties.

You moan as you feel a pressure leave you. You rip your dress off you, thinking of nothing else but catching your breath. Arryk helps you undress and you find it slightly easier to breath once you are left in nothing but your chemise.

Your ward struggles with himself; he does not wish to take advantage of this moment to ogle you, but he also cannot avert his gaze completely, lest you need his assistance. He clenches his jaw and lowers his gaze to his lap, muttering your name softly.

"Never mind my inadequacies, Arryk," you sigh in between deep breaths, "never mind that I will forever be second best to my father, who even wed me to his greatest enemy... who I am to make grandsire to not one but two Targaryen babes."

"Princess," he shakes his head, "I do not wish to-"

"I am used to his insistence of my dimness," you rub your chest, "of my capacity only for tears and succumbing to my own pain," your lips wobble, "but my sister—"

He stiffens and turns to you as lean into him. Your breath is too short and your head too heavy for you to keep yourself upright. Arryk calls our your name as he shifts, bringing his arm around to pull you upright.

"No," you wince, feeling a sharp pain in your belly, "hold me please."

He is immediately alarmed by how you clutch your side, "princess, are you-"

"Please," you rest your head on his armor, "hold me, even if you do not want to."

His hand twitches before, placing it your bare arm. He leans close, close enough to press his lips on your head, but he does not dare. He rubs your skin and whispers, "I want for nothing else."

You are too distracted by yourself that you do not hear him. Uncomfortable as the feel of his armor was, he lulls you into calmness.

When you feel well enough to realize how compromising it would be if someone were to witness you both, you pull away.

He says nothing, does nothing. He simply sit besides you, taking in your sad face.

You a tear drip from the tip of your nose. You rub it away before mumbling, "I had well-made plans for her... plans to shield her, to prosper her."

His eyes fall. He looks at the hand you had on your lap and dares to take it. It is cold and clammy, which is why he rubs it, eager to spread warmth.

The gesture makes goosebumps form on your arms. It makes your breath hitch, but not in a painful way. His gentleness encourages you to continue, "I once thought she looked up to me," you sniffle, "but when she said she was stronger than I," you lower your head.

He frowns.

"I knew then," you look back at him, "she sees only my weakness, along with the rest of the world."

He cannot help himself. He reaches for your cheek and wipes your tears.

You lean into his touch, "I can be strong, Arryk," you both his hands and squeeze them to prove a point, "can you not feel it?"

The gesture makes his heart break. He squeezes your hands in return, "you need not prove such a thing to me," he rubs your skin with his thumbs, "perhaps she does not want you to be strong... not for her."

You huff, "I am her older si-"

"But for your babe."

You are frozen by his words. You open your mouth but find nothing to say.

"Your brother," he gives you a solemn expression, "he says he prays the Lord Hand extends his gentleness to you, but I wonder if all that remained of his gentleness manifested into his daughters' beings."

The thought brings a tear from your eye, "Arryk."

"My princess."

"Should I speak to my sister come the morrow?"

He squeezes your hand again before slowly nodding.

The next day, you do everything in your power to do just that. You found Alicent breaking her fast, but you did not want to inadvertently ruin her appetite with your sudden appearance, for you knew how fickle it was in these times. Later, you found her in her chambers napping, but you didn't wish to interrupt her then either.

The rest of the day, you started feeling unwell, and you could not find it in you to leave your own chambers. When you finally did, the sun had set and Alicent was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, you ventured to the king's chambers.

Erryk announces you once you reach Viserys's door. You look at your knight with apprehension but he only returns a reassuring nod. There is a rather... sickly smell that assaults your senses when the door opens. The king himself answers, brows quirked in surprise.

"My king," you barely manage a curtsy. Erryk nods, "your grace."

Viserys regards you both then asks, "what brings you to my chambers at this hour?"

"I wanted to know if my sister was here," you absentmindedly rub your belly, "I wish to speak to her."

The king catches your belly, "oh, yes." He places a hand on your shoulder, "you are also with child," he chuckles, "I keep forgetting to congratulate you face to face."

You are taken aback by the half-hug he pulls you into.

Viserys chuckles as he pulls away, "well done, my dear. You have made the realm, and more importantly my brother, all the more richer for this."

You are rigid as he beckons you inside. Viserys motions to Erryk dismissively, and he nods. You wards gives you a silent look, and you know he'll wait for you outside.

Once you enter, you are assaulted by a scent that has clearly been attempted to be masked by fragrances. It makes you gag slightly, but it is not so bad that you cannot comport yourself.

You had expected to be lead to your sister, but instead, the king leads you to a massive diorama of what you could tell to be King's Landing.

"I am unsure where my wife is presently-"

His regard to your sister makes you clench your jaw.

"-but she visits me oft at this time of hour. Might as well show you my miniature figurines whilst waiting," he grins as he motions to the said object.

You feel an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach as you walk over to him.

Viserys immediately beams over his creation, recounting the trouble he had carving out the tower, exclaiming how much he enjoyed shaping the bridge. You have never seen him in such a light and it makes you wonder if this was his true self. Did he regard your husband this way? What were they like as children?

As he handed you two separate failed attempts of carving his fallen dragon, Balerion, you listen to him muse how the beast's skull was preserved in the basement bellow, and how he would gladly bring you there if you wanted to see. You groan and slightly lurch when another painful sensation ripples within you.

Viserys notices this. He quickly takes the figurines from you, "oh, where are my manners," he pulls a chair to your side, "sit, sit."

You gratefully take a seat and take a couple deep breathes as the king continues to drone about his diorama.

"You know, I used to make toy soldiers for Daemon growing up. I was aghast when he came back to me with severed heads."

You chuckle at his words, but instantly regret it when it adds to your pain.

"I still made him new ones, but this time, I put less effort and detail," Viserys speaks before noticing your reaction, "are you alright?"

"Mmm," you shake your head, "I think my babes are moving."

His brows quirk, "ah. That's right. You are expecting twins, are you not?"

You release a sigh when the uncomfortable sensations finally wane. You take a breath and offering a smile, "so says my maester. I hope it to be a boy and girl, like me and Gwayne."

He smiles, "it is quite fortunate that you and your sister are to have children at the same time," he looks over his miniature castle, "don't you think?"

"I think..." you turn to your belly, another groan leaving your lips, "Alicent is not ready to have children."

Viserys turns to you.

You look up at him and purse your lips, "nor am I."

He chuckles softly, "none of us are," he places a hand on your shoulder, "but I assure you, you learn as you go."

You find no comfort in his words.

"You know who has been ready though," he raises a finger, "Daemon."

The thought nearly makes you flinch.

He chuckles, "do not look so averted. There is gentleness in him," he turns back to his diorama, "do you not perceive it?"

You begin to feel sick.

"I tell you, when Rhaenyra was born, his face shone."

Your brows tighten at the smile the king offers you.

"I could tell as he held my child, he thought her the most precious thing in the worlds," Viserys face softens, "I could tell he wanted to have something precious to hold as his own," he absentmindedly examines a chisel, "the gods bless me with a wife who is going to birth me something precious," he turns to you, "and a good-sister who is going to birth my brother something doubly precious."

His words make your heart tinge. You are blindsided by how genuine, how vulnerable your conversation is. You wonder if Alicent saw this amidst the cruelty of the world and decided to settle for it rather than the uncertainty from another man. As he falls deeper into another fond tale of his brother, you feel a dull pain spread across your hips.

"That reminds me," he claps his hands, "do you have any names picked out yet?"

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, "well... I've-" you huff, "gone through some books that held Valyrian names," you inhale, "and found a few names for boys, namely Vaerus,—"

"Ah, Vaerus," Viserys repeats, "meaning genuine."

"Eadan—"

He grins and points, "little fire."

"—and Alaeric," you huff.

"Hmm," he turns to the ceiling in thought, "no, I don't know that one."

You are restless because of your pain. You groan as you stand, "I- mmm- prefer the last one the most because it is similar to my mother's name, and I should like to name my boy and girl after her."

He chuckles, "you seem quite set on a boy and a girl."

"Mmm," you hum uncomfortably, "I- I hope for it." You rub your belly, "I hope they have fondness for each other like me and mine own twin."

He knits his brows at your demeanor, "a son and a daughter would suit you well," he smiles fondly, "what was the name of your late mother again?"

"A-" you groan, "Alyrie."

Viserys finally reaches for you, "are you quite certain you're alright?"

You hum as you take the king's bicep, squeezing him tightly, "mmm, I should like to lie down now."

"Yes, of course," he shakes his head, leading you to the door.

Just before you can reach the entrance, a great pain forces you to lurch forward and yelp. You grip onto Viserys's arm for dear life and he grips you with hands. He thinks to grab the chair he pulled for you again, but as he looks back , his eyes widen at the trail of blood that leads to it. "GUARD! GUARD!"

You are in too much pain to react to the king's screams. You can only screw your eyes shut.

Erryk bursts through the doors, face white, heart racing.

"CALL THE MAESTER AT ONCE! SHE'S BLEEDING!"

Your eyes widen at the word, "bleeding?" You momentarily manage to gather enough wits to see what Viserys was speaking of.

Erryk does not linger in his horror. He bolts out and sprints down the halls, screaming for a maester as if his life depended on it because yours did.

The sight of your blood is mortifying. You lift your skirt as pain continues to seizes and a horrified noise leaves you when you find the red that pools by your foot.

It all happens at once after. An ache so great forces you to the floor. You are burning hot yet shivers run down your spine. You do not know if Viserys is speaking as you slowly crumple your knees but you do know that you are screaming loud.

Then it passes. Serenity ebbs and flows. You manage to sit on your bum, but then it's back with a vengeance. You resist the squeal that morphs into to a shriek and then— you gasp, "no."

Viserys watches, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms watches as you rip your skirt up and tear your ruined undergarments down, powerless.

Your scream makes his stomach curdle.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the two small bodies between your thighs. You bring them into your chest, uncaring of all else, how wet they are, how red stains you, how Viserys speaks your name. Your babes are are small; they are both far, far too small.

Anguish draws more noises from your throat. It doesn't take long until your voice is hoarse. You cannot keep your peace as you take in their tiny faces. You wipe them with your skirt, finding the silver of their brows and lashes. You also find the gods gave you a girl and a boy. You choke on a sob as you wipe the red away from their thin, white locks, "please wake for your mummy."

The words arrest Viserys. He recalls holding Baelon as life left him. He cherishes now more than ever that at least his boy gazed upon him once. He shares in your misery, yet does not know if how he should approach you; he does not know if he should. He does anyway, no matter how haunting the sound of your wails are.

You quiet momentarily as the man crouches beside you. Your lips wobble, "p-perhaps they'll wake up if you speak High Valyrian."

The thought is gutting.

You gently pull at one babe's eyelid, finding a violet eye looking back at you. Except it isn't looking at you at all and the thought makes you squall. You clutch your children tightly into your chest, rocking them back and forth, "forgive me, my loves. Forgive me for birthing you too soon."

Erryk finally arrives with the maesters. He is stunned in his spot whereas the maesters run to your side. He falls to his knees as you lift your children up. They do not touch them, but instead look at each other before muttering something that makes you pull your twins back into your chest.

Your ward is ashamed to face you. He has failed you. Erryk comes to a stand and dares to come near you. You do not notice him. You do not care for anything or anyone else in this moment.

Crimson grief trails behind you as you make your way to the maester's ward. Erryk meant to carry you, but you refused, knowing the walk there would be the last time you'd ever get to hold your children. He silently walks beside you, eyeing your every move.

You freeze when you see your sister by the door. Erryk looks between the two of you, ready to give you space.

Alicent is distraught. Her eyes are nearly as red as yours and you can how her hands tremble even as she picks at them, "sister, I-"

"I wanted to talk to you earlier today."

Her face falls and she immediately runs up to you. She reaches for you but stops herself.

You frown at it, thinking it was because you had been cruel to her, "forgive me, sister."

She rapidly shakes her head, "do not even mention it."

A tear fogs your vision, "very well," you sniffle as you lower your gaze, "would... would you like to see them?

She wordlessly agrees.

You step closer to her, "this is Alaeric... and Alyrie."

A hand comes to her mouth, "sister."

"They're perfect, are they not?"

She nods rapidly, "yes—" she shudders, "they are."

You sob with her as she brings her arms around you. Erryk cannot bare the sight. Hot tears run into his armor. Both him and Alicent stay with you as the maesters see to your health. They let you hold Alaeric and Alyrie until your examination commences, and then you confess that if they do not take them now, you will never let them be taken from you ever again.

You were exhausted as you lie in bed. Your body yearned for repose, but you could do nothing of the sort. You groggily stand and walk to your door.

Erryk starts. You caught him in the middle of scratching tears away from his eyes. You frown, "forgive me."

"No, princess," he shakes his head and turns to you, "how might I serve?"

You bite your lip, hating yourself for what you were about to request, "I know it is terrible..." you sigh deeply, "I know it is inappropriate, and wrong, and an abuse of my power over you," you tremble, "but please you sleep with me."

"My princess, I-"

"Please," you raise a hand, "if it is too horrible, per- perhaps-" you hiccup, "you can drag the set— the settee beside my bed-"

He silences you by taking your raised hand. You continue to sob as he shakes his head, "I would do anything you ask of me."

You sob and throw your arms around him. Erryk embraces you back, though he was afraid his hard uniform might hurt you.

Otto sees this exchange from across the hall. He had not been moved to tears until this moment. He scratches his eyes before they fall and steels himself away as he walks off. He mentally takes note to observe the Cargyll brothers and to sternly remind them of their duty and vows.

Erryk follows you to your bed. You crawl into your bed as he drags the settee from across the room beside you. You offer him a pillow and he gratefully takes it. You knit your brows when he lies down. You sniffle, "will you not take your armor off?"

"I..." he starts, about to explain it is inappropriate.

"Is it hard to remove by yourself?" you sit up, "I can help."

"I-" but his words go dry when you begin to undo his steel uniform with much ease.

All your years assisting Gwayne in and out of his armor has made the act come easy for you. You think nothing of it, but Erryk's heart races as you undo his chest plate. He sucks in a sharp breath as you put the metal down, then refuses your help, resigning to undo the rest himself.

You sink into your sheets as you watch your knight lay his armor down. It occurs to you in this moment that this was the first time you'd ever seen him without it. Even through his loose dress shirt, you can see his defined arms and torso. You even see a sliver of a scar from where his shirt opened on his chest and it makes you avert your gaze, knowing you've looked where you should not have.

Your lips begin to wobble as you think of Daemon and the scars he had on his skin. You feel pathetic as you begin to sob again.

Erryk hates the sound. He sits down on the settee and sniffles, "would you like me to sing for you?"

You wipe the snot on your philtrum as you look at him.

"I do not think I inherited her voice, but my mother used to sing to my brother and I when we were younger."

The word mother makes you feel sick, but you do not tell him that, and simply nod.

He clears his throat and takes a breath, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breathe fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

A chuckle is drawn amidst your tears as Erryk continues to sing.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

You ask him to repeat this song over and over and he humors you each time.

The day breaks and Arryk comes to your door for his shift. He holds a basket of flowers and a frown. He knocks on your door and announces himself. He is surprised when he hears footsteps approaching. His eyes widen when Erryk opens the door for him. His mouth falls at the messiness of his hair, then it clicks. Arryk nearly drops his basket as he grabs his twin by the collar, "what in seven hells have you done, you fool?"

Erryk is stoic as he responds, "my duty."

"Your-" he looks over his shoulder and pushes his brother into the room, closing the door behind him. Arryk makes sure to keep the silence and spares you a quick glance. The sight of your sleeping form makes him slightly soften, but he still manages to glare at his brother, "did you sleep here?"

Erryk turns to you, "she asked-"

"Did you sleep with her?" Arryk snaps.

The twins glare at each other. Erryk's face contorts in disgust, "I slept on the settee, brother. What do you take me fo-"

"I take you for a fool!" Arryk quips under his breath as he points an accusing finger.

Erryk scoffs, clenching his fist, "and you would have left?"

"I would have waited for her to sleep and resumed my post outsi-"

"Please."

The twins turn, finding you sitting on your bed, rubbing your puffy face. They both instinctively step forward and speak in unison, "princess."

"Please," you repeat, "I asked him to stay."

Arryk turns to Erryk.

"I do not want you to argue because-" you cannot continue because you begin to cry.

Both their faces fall, but Erryk wastes no time in coming to you. He kneels beside your bed and takes your hand, repeating the song he sang to you last night.

Arryk immediately recognizes the tune. His heart tightens as he watches the display. He mutters under his breath, "what have you done?" He walks over to him and watches the way you squeeze his brother's hand. He thinks of how you did the same for him just yesterday and clenches the basket's handle tightly. He begins to sing with his twin.

"The fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breathe fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head.

The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

These are the very words you sing to your sister's son.

Alicent was with child again, and you were giving her a much needed reprieve from her energetic boy who was now nearing his second name day. Aegon happily reached for flowers as you carried him through the gardens. He laughs with not a care in the world. It is strange how deeply happy and deeply sad the boy makes you feel.

Through it all, you smile as you sing. You bounce him in your hip once you finish, "right, shall we go back now?"

Aegon blissfully ignores you when his hand brushes against a flower. You pull him away before he can grab it, and push his hand down, "no, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

Aegon cares little for your words and raises his hand again, "flower!"

You push his hand down and look at him, "you want the rose?" You adjust him in your arm, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

"Mummy?" Aegon repeats, turning to you to reach for your brown curls.

You chuckle when he tries to eat it and pull your hair away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you.